' A WARRIOR BOLD.
B\j ST. GEORGE RATHRORSE,
Author of “Wile Sfnt MUlione.' '■The Spider'e
Web," ' Dr Jack ! Willow'," ■■Slim Capriet," etc.
Copyright. 1901, Street and Smith, New York.
CHAPTER VII.
“Take Care, Captain Brand!”
Artemus looked into his companion's
face as the other made this strange
and unexpected announcement.
Himself something of a practical
joker, it was natural that the dramatic
student of human nature should be
suspicious lest he fall a victim to some
deep-laid plot to bring down upon his
head the laugh that cuts so keenly.
But Charlie looked as grave as a
deacon. Had he been attending the
obsequies of the man who was hung,
he could not have appeared more sol
emn.
Matters of this character always pos
sessed for him a peculiarly strong in
terest, and he was eager to glean the
particulars.
“Well, it isn't given to most of us
to see a man hung, and then meet him
afterward alive and well. Tell me
about it, Charlie, my boy.”
There isn't a great deal to narrate.
At the time an insurrection in Chili
was causing the most intense excite
ment, and some very bloody battles
were fought about Santiago.
"I chanced to be. as I said, in Val
paraiso. One day 1 found myself in a
crowd of excited citizens and soldiers,
in the midst of whom stood a prisoner
—a spy, caught red-handed, upon
whom they were about to execute sum
mary judgment.
That was Captain Nathaniel.
“The word was given, and I heard
a roar from five hundred throats as
the wretch was jerked off his feet.
"One moment I saw him as he
dangled in space, hands and feet strik
ing out wildly—a spectacle 1 shall nev
er forget to my dying day.
“There came a sudden shot, and
Kedge fell to the ground in a heap—
some one had cut the rope with a well
aimed bullet.
“Immediately the deuce of a row
broke out, but bless you, the affair
died away as speedily as it began, and
then, gradually, it dawned upon the
minds of the crowd that a great hoax
had been successfully carried out.
“For when they looked for Kedge,
in order to complete their artistic lit
tle job, behold! the man who had al
ready been partially hung had disap
peared, nor were they able to discover
him, though Valparaiso was thorough
ly searched.
“That is my little story, and I am
almost ready to swear that our Capt.
Brand in yonder is the identical
Kedge, grown a little gray in the ser
vice of beating the world, but just
the same old sixpence.”
Artemus nodded, and they separated
for a time.
But their meeting had not been un
observed.
The ubiquitous baron had his eye on
^ them, and possibly figured out some
wonderful game as connected with
his mysterious conversation.
Charlie went back to Arline and
tapt. Brand, and the three chatted for
a while.
Then Arline graciously consented to
play several favorite pieces, while
Charlie idly glanced through a book
made up of fugitive songs and music.
It was while doing this he suddenly
came upon an opportunity to make
another test of the man’s identity. So
Charlie handed the well-worn book of
music to the fair girl.
“Play that for me—an old favorite—
always revives pleasant recollections.”
Charlie was so situated that a side
glance into a massive pier glass gave
him an excellent view of the man who
had arisen from the dead.
What Stuart had so accidentally, yet
fortunately, come across was the Chi
lian National Hymn. He watched the
•‘ffect upon Capt. Brand.
When the first rather weird notes of
this Spanish-American music throbbed
upon the air, Brand sat bolt upright
upon the divan.
Involuntarily he seemed to gasp for
breath; his tongue partly protruded
from his mouth, as though he were
being choked, while his hand crept up
to his throat and clutched his loose
collar, as if to tear it away.
Charlie exulted in the sight. It con
firmed his suspicions.
There was no longer the faintest
doubt remaining in his mind.
This was the man!
Finally they said good-night.
Charlie managed to whisper a few
sentences in Arline’s ear while the
captain waited at the door, »o that
he was assured of seeing her again
on the morrow.
Capt. Brand led her away.
One smiling glance she sent back
over her plump shoulder—gods! what
a thrill it save the bachelor who re
ceived it!
Here was a miracle.
He felt dazed—felt as though he
walked in a dream. He who had scoff
ed at such a ridiculous thing as love
at first sieht. who hart always declared
the holy passion a flower of slow
growth, founded upon mutual friend
ship and esteem, now discovered his
theory in utter ruin, and not only that,
but himself engulfed in the chaotic
debris'.
Finally he aroused himself to a
realization of the fact that there were
a few more people in the world besides
Arline Brand.
How about the baron? Had he learn
ed of his mistake by this time with re
gard to the identity of the Countess
. Isolde?
* The idea of taking Arline for the
fascinating countess was absurd. How
could so shrewd a man hav# been de
I
celved? Why did an occasional 3n
gerina doubt, still find lodgment In
Charlies heart. No woman could
play such a game. Arllne must be
what she seemed. Hank Peterhoff and
his miserable warnings!
Mo he trusted blindly.
If there was a pit, he would fall into
it. headlong, for love had already
blinded him.
Or was the Russian bear still on
guard?
Could the hotel be surrounded by
his emissaries, ready to entrap the
wonderful adventuress?
Having decided to smoke a weed and
take a look around ere retiring to his
bunk, Charlie lighted up and saunter
ed toward the open door leading to the
street.
When he stepped out of the hotel
door, he was astonished to discover
little knots of men, dressed in the
well-known uniform of the Antwerp
gendarmes, standing near the Hotel de
la Paix.
Then it burst upon him that he had
not placed eflough significance upon
what the baron had confided to him.
This did not mean the mere arrest of
a clever adventuress, charged with no
specific crime save that of enslaving
men of rank, and compelling them,
through her witchery, to contribute
from their wealth toward her regal
support. It stood for something
grander, something that might yet
shake a greater part of Europe with a
mighty convulsion, since the conspir
acy in which the Countess Isolde was
connected concerned more than one
imperial throne.
Charlie forgot that he had been
sleepy.
His eyes were never brighter than
now.
it seemed that the countess had fin
ally made a stupendous blunder, and
Peterhoff * hour of triumph was at
hand.
It would mark an epoch in the lives
of many prominent men in Europe
when Isolde Brabant vanished behind
the walls of a military fortress.
Some who had been in the tolls
would breathe easy for the first time
in many moons, and drink a bumper
to her long residence in her new and
exclusive palace.
So Charlie watched and waited, deep
in reflection.
When his cigar was about half con
sumed, he thought he would saunter
down the street a short distance, to
see what effect, if any, his appearance
might have upon the officers on guard.
The result was really more than he
had anticipated.
He had not gone more than u dozen
paces before, without the least warn
ing, he felt a rough hand laid roughly
upon his arm.
As he turned to see what was want
ed, a second hand gripped his other
arm.
A bended face looked into his own.
“Messieurs, 1 am afraid you—” he
began.
“Silence!”
“Have made a little mistake.”
"Silence on your life!" was hissed.
He saw’ frowning pistols.
It was evident that the officers
meant business.
Charlie began to grow a little indig
nant.
“See here! send for the baron!” he
Insisted.
“He is engaged.”
“But he is my friend—he will be
angry with you for making so ridicu
lous a blunder."
“So. But we carry out his orders.
Now, not a word more, mynherr.”
“Confound—”
“Do you hear? Not one word, on
your life!”
Charlie shrugged his shoulders.
Ah! a whistle!—evidently a signal.
The game was about to be called.
Even as he stood there, held fast by
his captors, he saw a man enter the
door of the hostelry.
It was Peterhoff.
Another and another followed, until
Charlie had counted a round dozen.
At the same time there was a
stretching of lines in the street Sig
nals passed from mouth to mouth,
and Charlie understood that the well
known Hotel de la Paix was in the
center of a strong cordon of officers,
through which escape was impossible.
Alas! for the countess! It was her
hour of doom!
He listened, swayed by contending
emotions.
Somehow Arline was in his mind.
Perhaps there might be a tight.
Some of those who would be found
in the society of Isolde Brabant were
desperate men. connected with an
archists and nihilists, sworn to re
duce society in Europe to one dead
level.
They might take their lives in their
hands and endeavor to give battle.
Still, the awful influence of Peter
hoffs dreaded name was sufficient,
under ordinary conditions, to freeze
the fighting blood in the veins of
most men, however brave they might
be.
To his surprise, he heard no shot,
not even a shout or a scream.
The baron's sudden appearance in
their midst must have paralyzed the
conspirators.
Presently they would be trooping
forth under escort, to be hurried away
to gloomy prison cells.
And as for himself.
Charlie smoked calmly on.
This was another experience, that
was all.
He seemed bound to suffer In the
cause of Arline Brand. Because she
chanced to resemble the notorious
Countess Isolde in possessing an en
trancing figure, and also golden hair
and eyes that rivaled the summer skies
of Italy, forsooth, the baron must fall
Into error and bring about this en
tanglement.
Well, perhaps all things would work
together for good, if he but put hi*
! shoulder to the wheel.
And tin cause wna on# In wVrti h#
could stand considerable knocking
about with complacency.
He watched the hotel door.
The baron would be sorry on ac
count of his blunder. Naturally, h«
would want to make amends, and
Charlie had already concluded to en
list his valuable services in tho work
of unmasking Captain Brand.
If anybody could accomplish this
matter, surely it was Peterhoff. whose
long experience and facilities for se
curing information would stand him
in good stead.
Ah! there were signs of life.
A number of sombre closed vehicles
came dashing down the gassen.
They drew up before the hotel.
A few loungers gathered in the door
way out of idle curiosity. Heads ap
peared at the windows across the way,
as though some spirit of intuition,
passing through space, gave warning
that strange events were occurring.
Charlie’s captors began to move
along toward the hotel door, and of
course, he was forced to accompany
them.
He was still twenty paces away
when the baron came out.bearing upon
his arm a lady with a sylphlike form,
but who was heavily veiled.
Charlie's traitor heart leaped at
sight of her. The graceful carriage
was so like that of Arline, so queenly
and perfect.
Yet he knew beyond peradventure
that this was the countess who had
finally fallen into the toils of the
fowler.
Charlie was inclined to rush and
seize upon his friend, the baron; but
those two guards held his arms in a
grip of steel.
Attract the attention of Peterhoff
he could not, since the other had eyes
only for the woman at his side, know
ing his men were capable of executing
the orders previously given.
So he assisted her into a vehicle and
swept one last glance around.
Charlie cried out.
Other sounds there were in the
street just then. At any rate, the
baron never vouchsafed a single look
in his quarter, but waved an arm,
jumped into the vehicle and was gone.
By this time the gendarmes were
issuing from the hotel, each with a
companion, most of the prisoners be
ing gentlemen.
As fast as the vehicles were tilled
with guards and captives they dashed
away.
Charlie's turn came. He attempted a
protest, but was roughly shoved along
and thrust into one of the closed ve
hicles. which presently lumbered
down the street.
And so th<» innocent suffered with
the guilty.
(To be continued.)
A MIDNIGHT CALL UPON METHUEN
Soldier’* Sense of Human Not Deatroyad
by Hard Work.
The recent capture and release ol
Lord Methuen by the Boers has given
rise to a number of stories relating
to this unlucky commander's career in
the army, says the Cleveland Plain
Dealer. Long before the Boer war
began Lord Methuen was campaign
ing in South Africa at the head of the
famous band of rough riders known as
Methuen's Horse. A member of the
regiment. G. L. Chesterton, has since
made a reputation as a worker in the
field of London journalism, and he it
is who tells this anecdote of cam
paigning on the borders of Bechuana
land;
“When we were encamped on the
big hill overlooking the Setlagoli Riv
er, not very far from Mafeking, Lord
Methuen used to occupy a common
bell tent, near to which slept a couple
of his orderlies and myself, his field
trumpeter. One dark night the Hon.
'Dick' Cotton came stumbling into
camp and, endeavoring to discover the
whereabouts of the commander, ap
proached us, shouting in a high voice:
’Paul, I say, Paul, where are you?
Presently from the inside of the tent
came a more sonorous sound: 'Is that
you, Dick? What do you want?’ The
jaded wayfarer remarked: 'Do you
know, Paul, that I asked one of yout
men where 1 could find you, and he
told me to go to -!’ Without a
moment's hesitation Lord Methuen re
plied: ‘Come inside, Dick, come in
side.’ ”
The Sarcemful Wooer.
Men would have a great deal more
chance of success In their wooing il
they understood better how girls like
to be wooed. As it is, they have nc
idea on the subject that is at all use
ful, and many a lover's suit is unsuc
cessful just because he is ignorant ol
a girl’s tastes in that direction.
Now, if girls had the matter in theii
own hands they would manage verj
differently. To begin with, they would
never play the bashful lover. There il
nothing less calculated to make a girl
say “yes” to the important question
than the wooing of a lover who is shy,
She despises a man who can't ha\(
courage enough to ask her boldly, and
when he stammers and hesitates ovei
it, instead of walking up boldly to th«
lion's mouth, he reduces his chances tt
a minimum, says the Philadelphia In
quirer.
Above all things, woman delights it
feeling the superior strength of man
When he comes and asks her to be hit
wife with a flue, bold front and manlj
bearing, the battle is half won.
She respects and admires him foi
pressing his suit with decision, and
when she begins to admire a man lovi
does not lag far behind. The trem
bling, timorous lover never command!
her respect.
The fool who buries his head in th«
dust has usually the impudence to de
clare that there can be nothing di
vine.
0 The Mountain of Transfiguration 0
0 By FREDERICK HALL. 0 j
JjJ ropyrtgfct im«. Daily Story Pub. Co. i
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Dwight Van Wert was not deformed
in any way, and yet he was fearfully
and wonderfully made—there was no
denying that. His luxuriant crop of
flame-hued hair took on quite without
culture, indeed despite all culture, the
contour of a full-blown prize chrysan
themum, from an archipelago of
freckles resembling a sepia map of
Oceauica. His nose rose like the
tower of Lebanon that looketh toward
Damascus. To right and left a spread
ing ear flapped defiance to any threat
ening head wind and this was but the
cupola, so to speak, for an assortment
of legs and arms that had apparently
been selected quite at random from a
pile of left-overs in some forgotten
corner of the creator's workshop. All
of which description is grossly exag
gerated, of course, but in no way mis
leading, for I found out long ago that
in portraying Van it was absolutely
necessary to exaggerate in order to
make one realize how far from beau
tiful he was.
From the day he entered scnooi ne
was the legitimate prey of tease and
bully. I suppose it was hard on Van
at first, for at home his mother nad
not called him Bricktop nor his father
taunted him with the upward tilt of
his nose, but he took it all w.th
stoical heroism, thrashed whom l c
could, diverted whom he could, helped
some with their lessons and bribed
others by judicious outlay of his spend
ing money until, at graduation, he was
as popular as any fellow in the class,
bowbeit as far from handsome as when
a little tad of six.
At college he came out at the head
of his class. He took a year in Eu
rope after that; then he came home,
went in with his father and fell in
love with Grace Sereno.
Of course, he fell In love with Grace.
Grace had a nose Phidias could not
have bettered, a complexion like the
blending of the wild rose and the lily
of-the-valley, a figure that was the
glory of a tailor-made and the apo
theosis of a ball gown, hair she could
let fall in lustrous billows to her feet,
eyes so big and brown and deep It
made you dizzy to look Into them. It
was simply heartbreaking to contem
plate, and all the more so when tbe
victim was a personal friend.
Van never took me into his confi
dence, but I suspect Grace had figured
in his plans ever since his first day at
school, when she had asked to havo
her seat changed “because it made her
feel so bad to look at that little Van
Wert boy.” Anyway, In had always
done things for her; written to her,
sent her presents, and now he went at
it deliberately to pay her every cour
teous attention affection could suggest
or money furnish means for.
If you have ever done anything in
vivisection, you remember how you
felt the first time you saw a live ani
mal cut to pieces. It is not a pleasant
sensation, but with some of us It came
to be almost chronic while we watched
Van’s courtship drag out its sickening
length.
He was such a good fellow and she
such a nice girl. To pour his soul out
in her service and yet never bore her
seemed to have become the purpose of
his life; to let him know the truth and
yet spare him all she could seemed to
be hers.
Grace and her mother spent the sum
mer at the lakes, and so did Van. In
the latter part of November she went
Into the city on her aunt’s invitation,
and immediately Van’s business took
him in at least as often as once a week.
When she returned early in February,
and Van was as attentive as ever, I
knew that that blindness-of-love busi
ness (man’s love) is a true story, for
Van never seemed to realize that she
had been running away from him, and
(he whole miserable thing was worse
tangled than ever, because we saw that
she had got to strike hard, which wa9
not going to be pleasant for her, and
Van was going to be cut up to beat
everything.
It was up in my room one night in
Van was far from beautiful.
March that Ken and Trenchard and 1
got to talking it over. We had heard
a rumor that Grace and her mother
were going to Europe, and we knew
that meant one of two things—either
Van would be reckless and get his
quietus right away or else, on some
cooked up excuse or other he would
follow them.
"Of course," said Ken, as he gave a
vicious pull at his cigar, “there’s no
use kicking against the pricks. Van
has got to swing some day, and maybe
the sooner it’s over the better.”
“Of course,’’ Trench admitted, “Van’s
f«t is take bis medicine, that's all
right, but—hang it!—he's such a no
end of a good fellow and it’ll break
him all up and—Lord! 1 wish some
body would chloroform him.”
•'Fellows,” said Ken, "can't wre do
something for Van to break his fall?
Hold a blanket for him or something."
I told Ken he was a fool, but that no
longer makes the impression on him
that it should.
‘‘No—hang it!” he said. ‘‘I mean It.
Now, look here. We all know that
Van isn't what you might call a tear
ing beauty. And—great hat! there
are other girls, nice girls, slews of
girls, that would take him quick if
they could get him. Fellows with six
figure bank accounts aren't at a dis
count—not yet. Suppose we three
were to form a sort of benevolent con
spiracy, get one of the girls into it,
Mamie Crane, maybe, and then pull
every wire we could—Beatrice Bene
dick fashion—until we had him mar
ried-”
"No U3e,” interrupted Trenchard;
"we might break Mamie Crane's
heart, probably would, but that is all
would ever come of it. Better leave
the whole thing alone.”
I felt that I knew Van a little better
than either of the other fellows did.
and I thought I understood the situa
tion, so now I spoke up.
"1 tell you, fellows,” I said, “there is
just one thing can ease the pressure.
You can't drive Van, you can’t coax
[ . ■ m. — '
‘‘Rod,” he said, in a constrained voice,
"I would like to speak to you—pri
vately—for a minute.”
him. and he is not trying to win on
his beauty, you can be mighty sure of
that, but he knows and cares a lot for
Grace; he knows he’s got ability, he
knows he’s got money and he thinks
he could make her happy enough so
that after a while that countenance of
his would be—forgotten, you know—
she’d get used to It. What you want
isn’t another woman in the case—It’s
another man, and If you were as smart
as Van, as rich as Van, as much In
love with Grace as Van, and hand
some, I tell you Van would give him
a free field for her sake—only provid
ing he were just as good a fellow as
Van, and Van would have to be the
judge, but he would judge fair."
We were all silent, and just at that
moment there was a tap at the door.
“Come in,” I called.
The door opened and—It was Dwight
Van Wert.
We must have looked like a trio of
detected counterfeits, but Van never
noticed.
•’Rod,’’ he said, in a constrained, un
natural voice, "may 1 ask the boys to
excuse you—I—I would like to speak
to you—privately—for a moment.”
I knew It must mean his death sen
tence. and I followed him, like a lamb
to the slaughter. Van closed the door
softly, took my arm and led me aero is
to where the great hall lamp shed its
red light down upon us both.
"Rod, old man,” he said, “I have
come to tell you that I am engaged to
be married. You know to whom—the
best girl and dearest in the world—
and I wanted you to be the first to
congratulate me. It will be In a couple
of months, here, and on the 6th of
June we sail for Europe on the Cam
pania.”
He gave my hand a numbing pres
sure, then gripped me by the shoul
ders and held me off at arm’s length.
And I looked at him—at his rubricated
hair, his tip tilted nose, his lavish
wealth of freckles, his wind-break earj
and his eyes. In which was shining
the glory of the New Jerusalem—and —
by Jove! Dwight Van Wert was the
handsomest fellow I ever saw.
Fatver Convict* In Kansa*.
The warden of the Kansas City
penitentiary casts doubt on the suppo
sition that a convict does not have the
opportunity to go much in society and
form a large acquaintance.
He says that two of the convicta
now in his charge have seen 9,000
prisoners come and go during the
twenty-five years since their arrival
at the institution.
By the way. there are fifty fewer
convicts in the penitentiary at this
time than there were a year ago. and
the warden wonders if Kansas is be
coming more law-abiding.—Kansas
City Journal.
Record Trip of liallooo.
Teisserene de Bort, the French aero
naut, has secured the lowest tempera
ture mark on record—72 degrees cen
tigrade, or 97.6 degrees Fahrenheit
The reading was registered on a ther
mometer in a trial balloon **\Dt up
recently, which rose tz a height of
38,000 feet.
. .liter* .Mi#
OHILDREN WITH ORIGINAL IDkAS
Vouugatrf* OIt* Tableau of Garden of
Kdra. “In Coitnmh"
This story is told by a Philadel
phian :
“My friends in Santa Barbara, Cal
ifornia, that land of perpetual sun
shine. have three most interesting and
originally minded children, one girl
and two boys. They were quite accus
tomed to roaming around their fath
er's place very scantily clad, so we
were not much surprised, upon re
turning from a drive one very warm
morning, to find all three, clothed only
in Nature's garb, at play in the or
chard back of the house. The two
younger children. Walter and Kath
erine, were seated under the branches
of a tree—totally naked—looking like
Raphael's cherubs, while a few yards
away, the eldest boy, George, a man of
about seven years, stalked solemnly
up and down with an old high silk hat
of his father’s perched on his cuily
head. Calling Walter to her. the
mother said:
“What are you playing, darling?’’
“Oh, this Is the Garden of Eden,”
responded 5-year-old Walter. "I’m
Adam and Kathy's Eve.”
“But what on earth is George doing
with his father's hat on?” questioned
the mother, too well accustomed to
the children's mode of Illustrating Bib
lical truth to he very much surprised
at anything. But even her composure
was shaken when, with a most solemn
look on his cherubic face Walter re-'
sponded, “Oh, he’s God.”
WISHED HE HAD THE STORY BACK
fonnj Tele I.ost on Non-Appreciative
Herman Audience.
Col. Adolphus Busch, who has been
doing some booming as a member of
the St. Ixmis Exposition exploiting
committee, tells the following story:
"Last summer when I went to Eu
rope 1 took along my head brewer,
whose admiration for his adopted
country is only equaled by his desire
to appear thoroughly Americanized.
Together we visited his native town in*
Germany, where he was made much
of. Of course they had a kommers,’
and my companion took the oppor
tunity to endeavor to make a speech
after the American style, but in the
German language, of course. He start
ed out boldly, though be is no public
speaker, and got along fairly well un
til he attempted the funny story which
he knew should accompany every
American speech worthy the name. It
was funny, I assure you, as he told it,;
but his hearers were too well-man
nered to laugh at their fellow-towns
man. and so it fell flat. Discouraged!
and disgusted by this lack of appre
ciation of American humor, he drop
ped heavily into his chair, and, lean
ing across the table, whispered hoarse
ly to me:
" I’d gif ten tollars If dot story was
pack into me.' ”—New York Times.
The World's Greatest Problem.
An organized effort to conquer the
greatest problem of the age is urged
by Prof. John Perry. The world’s
present comfort depends upon coal,
but our steam engines are wasting
from 90 to 99 per cent of their fuel,
while the store of coal is vanishing
at Buch a rate that in another hundred
years the English hamlets of content
ed working folk that have become
cities of luxurious people will decay
again into hamlets, inhabited by a dis
contented, poverty-stricken popula
tion. Taking the value of human la
bor as the normal value of energy,
England is wasting 900 times its na
tional debt every year. The voltaic
cell wastes less than 10 per cent of
its fuel energy and paths have been
epened that seem to lead to a conver
sion of the energy of coal into me
chanical work through electricity with
like small loss, but the efforts of
scientific men are discouraged by the
difficulties and the small prospect of
personal reward. The investigation
must be national or International. “I
feel sure," Prof. Perry concludes, “that
if one or two chiefs like Lord Kelvin
or Lord Rayleigh were entrusted with
the expenditure of a million a year
for two or three years, • * * with
power to impress the services of ail
scientific workers likely to be of use.
• * • they would bring the inven
tion within the reach of the ordinary
engineer.”
Panama Hat* Bring Penes.
According to S. P. Bogran, son of
the late President Bogras of Hondu
ras, the republic is enjoying greater
prosperity than for many years past
simply because Panama hats are in
fashion. Honduras and the State or
Panama are the only two countries
where Panama hats are made, and the
revolution in Colombia haB kept peo
ple in Panama too busy to be manu
facturing hats. So Honduras has
plenty of business in this line.
The Honduras government has
found the new industry so advanta
geous that it is giving it every encour
agement and extending special privi
leges and exceptions from taxation to
the factories manufacturing Panama
hats.
As long as the fashion keeps up
Honduras wil be prosperous, says Mr.
Bogran. and the prosperity thus as
sured has done much to give the coun
try peace.
Attacks Darwin's Theory.
Darwin's theory of the origin of
man has been attacked by Mme. Ce
line Renoof, a French scientist, in
a lecture recently delivered before a
woman's club in Paris she argued in
a vastly plausible way that man is
of vegetable origin and does not des
cend from the monkey.
The best way to win on a horse race
Is to forget to take any money to the
| poolroom with you.
