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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (July 21, 1904)
l _ || JOO|W m TDT Bjr FREDERICK fej P OVrlll^ D\J$& 1 UPHAM ADAMS ^ Author of “The Kidnapped Millionaires,’* “Colonel Mon res's Doctrine,” Etc. W cwj Copyright. 1902, bt I All rights Copt right, 130S. by k& Fredbhick Upham Adams | reserved A. J. Dueiel Biddle JgjJJ —" •—ssssasaffiraa CHAPTER XX.—Continued. "\ou remember that I was speaking of the remarkable success of a west ern man. named Blake? Well, here is a letter from him! JThis is what he writes:” “New York. June 2. “Dear Sir—I am informed that you hold an equity in ten thousand shares of the L. & 0. railroad company. I have customers who are interested in this property, and represent them in negotiations now pending. It is pos sible your interests may be conserv ed by conferring with me on this matter. I shall be pleased to meet you at your earliest convenience. To a gentleman of your experience an in junction to secrecy is unnecessary. “Awaiting the pleasure of a confer ence in my office, and trusting that it may result to our mutual advantage, I remain, "Very truly yours. “JAMES BLAKE. “Presiden*. James Blake & Co.” “That is odd, isn't it?” said Jessie. The general's face glowed with pleas ure. “Do you own ten thousand shares of stock in a railroad, papa?” “I own an equity in that amount of stock in an alleged railroad.” he said, with a grim smile. “An equity is some thing you think you own, and hope to realize on. but do not expect to. Do not bother your head about it, pet. From wnom is your letter?” “From Mr. Morris. He wishes to call some evening this week.” “Ah, am—m.” The general cleared his throat and appeared to be concern ed only indirectly. “Suppose you in vite Mr. Morris to take dinner with us Wednesday evening.” “I have no engagement for Wednes day evening,” said Jessie, carelessly, “I will write and ask him to call at that time.” “I have not told you of the change in Mr. Morris's affairs,” said General I----r—-anismmr old hopes awoke and the courage of youth came back. 1 “I will follow your advice, Mr. Blake.” he said, firmly. “My one am bition is to insure the happiness of my daughter. You must be sure of | your ground, and I am content to rely j on your judgment. I therefore ac | cept your original offer, Mr. Blake, j and will sign an agreement to that j effect.” Blake called a legal subordinate and, in General Carden's presence, dic tated the terms of the contract. ; duplicate copies of which were signed j and witnessed. “I should be pleased and honored,” said General Carden, as he arose to go. “to have you accept the humble hospitality of my temporary home. If you have no other engagement, dine with us on Thursday evening.” "I have none, and shall do myself that pleasure. Until then, adieu, Gen eral Carden.” James Blake shook hands with the general, and turned and entered John Burt's private office. “It's all right. John!” he exclaimed, with the enthusiasm of a boy. “You couldn't have managed it better your self. I have his option and a contract which gives us absolute control. He’s a dignified and at times a crusty old gentleman, but he stood in proper awe of the famous firm of James Blake & Company.” “Did General Carden say anything about his daughter?” asked John, with anxious eagerness. “Has she re turned from Europe?” “I think the fair Jessie is in New’ York at this very moment,” said Blake, smiling as he noted the flash of joy in the other’s eyes. “I’m not supposed to know that he has a daughter, and you cautioned me to be very careful to say nothing which might arouse his suspicions. But he invited me to dine with him at the ■ j •+' - - - - - PI£ZZ, * S2F c$4JD j£zzS£^3^7ZZX^>J%^f// Carden, with some eagerness, “nor Lave I mentioned my good fortune in consequence of that change.” “And your good fortune is what, papa?” asked Jessie, without lifting her eyes. “A much more important position has been awarded to me. with a cor responding increase in emolument.” replied General Carden with more of dignity than of pride. Jessie threw her arms around her father’s neck and spoke tender words of congratula tion. “We will talk no more of money and other gloomy things.” she de clared with a laugh which brought the roses to her cheeks. “I am going to play for you. “Listen to this, papa!” She ran her fingers over the keys of the piano. The liquid notes swelled into the in toxicating melody of a gypsy dance and quiveied with the trilling of birds among the trees. For half an hour Jessie played. Then she began a spir ited recital of her exeriences abroad. She mimicked the staid old German professors, and the general laughed until the tears coursed down his cheeks. General Carden made an early ap pointment with James Blake and was promptly admitted to the private of fice of the famous operator. “If you have no objection, general," said James Blake, after the usual com monplace remarks which preface busi ness transactions, “explain the exact status of this block of L. & O. stock.” “There is no secret about it,” re plied the former banker. “A number of years ago I became convinced that the L. &■ O. railroad had a brilliant future. I purchased fifteen thousand I shares on speculation. Then the panic 1” swept the country. Not dreaming that ' my bank would be involved, I decided § to protect my L. & O. stock and ae ! cordingly bought it in at fifty, pay ing the sum of $500,000 in cash. Then I the crasn came and my bank wo».t under with the others. Randolph Mor ris was ray principal creditor. Mr. Arthur Morris consented, as a per sonal favor, to lend me two hundred thousand dollars on the stock. In terest and other charges have since accumulated until Mr. Morris has now a claim of $248,000 against the stock.” “At what price dees Mr. Morris^ro pcse to sacrifice the stock?” asked Blake. “At twenty-six.” James Blake made a rapid calcula tion on a writing pad. “I have a proposition to make you. General Carden,” he said. “I will ad vance you the money to exercise your option, on the condition that you do so when it drops to 26. You will de posit tne stock with me and place it in a pool to be handled at my disefe tion. As an evidence of my good faith I now offer you 35 for your stock —eight points more than the market price. After meeting the Morris claim this will leave you a balance of $100,000.” General Carden looked into the landsome face of the young man who salmly made this proposition. For jome moments he was silent, but the ^ v. % Bisnop residence on Thursday even ing.” “Of course, you accepted, Jim?” “I should say I did.” laughed Blake. “How would you like to take my place, John?" “Very much. Jim.” There was a wistful, far-away expression in the deep gray eyes. “I must wait a time yet—not long, I hope.” “Never mind, old man,” said Blake, heartily, “I hope you may live to dine with her a million times, and that in future years an old chap named Blake may occasionally be permitted to have a scat at the table, and that he may be surrounded by a new and in creasing generation of sturdy young John Burts and fair and radiant littie Jessie Burts.” “Thank you, Jim.’ returned John Burt, his expressive face aglow with pleasure. “When that happy day comes you must bring Mrs. Blake and the children with you.” CHAPTER XXI. Breaking Old Ties. On the Thursday afternoon follow ing his interview with General Car den. Blake strolled into his favorite club. He was chatting with Kingsley when Arthur Morris arrived, and at the first opportunity led Blake to a secluded corner. “Padon me. old chap, 1 don't often talk business after hour's,” apologized ' Morris; “you will excuse me for men tioning a little stock matter, won't you ?’’ “Certainly, Morris. What's up?” Morris looked cautiously around and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Once in u while I get hold of a good thing, and I've got one now,” he be ; gan. “There’s going to be a boom in ; L & O.!” “Yes? What makes you think so. Morris? “Cawn't go into explanations, old ! chap, but you buy a little L. & O. When it drops below 26 it will take a jump of eight or ten points. Take my word for it, old chap!” ‘‘Much obliged to you, Morris,” Blake took out his memorandum book and carefully made a note of the prof fered advice. "I imagine you’ve got control of the stock. You needn’t tell me, old man—I'll do my own guess ing. We \ ankees are great on guess ing.” Blake ordered his coachman to drive to the Bishop residence. Ke lay back on the cushioned seat and laughed softly. "To think that such a hound is engaged to Jessie Carden! I fear Miss Carden is too fond of money. Well, money’s a good thing, but if I were a woman I wouldn't marry Morris if he had a billion. And John’s got .enough to buy and sell him.” The carriage drew up at the Bishop residence. General Carden greeted Blake in the drawing-room. It was restful to contemplate this abode, to breathe the air of domestic luxury, j and to contrast it with the frigid ele j gance of the bachelor apartments | where his recent years had been spent. Blake’s eyes wandered along the walls until they rested on a por trait—that oi Jessie Carden. He paus> ed in the middle of a sentence,. his ; eyes riveted on the canvas. “A portrait of my daughter. Jessie— one of Steinbach's best productions,” exclaimed General Carden, with fath • crly pride, mistaking Blake’s amaze ment for polite admiration. “She returned from abroad only a few days ago. Ah. here she comes now!” As he spoke Blake heard the faint rustle of silk and the music of laugh ing voices. The portieres parted, and Mrs. Bishop entered with Jessie and her cousin, Edith Hancock. With old-school dignity, General Carden pre sented James Blake. There is born in every man’s brain the image of an ideal woman; the ignis fatuus of fancy hovering above the swamps of realism. James Blake's ideal was dethroned the mo ment he looked into Jessie Carden’s eyes he felt the mysterious thrill of her presence. After a delightful hour spent over dinner, during which Blake was in lively humor, the young ladies left the general and his guest to the en joyment of cigars. For the first time in his life Blake would willingly have sacrificed the soothing delights of the weed. He was glad when his host gave the signal and conducted him to the drawing-room, where they found Jessie and Edith awaiting them. At the general’s request Jessie played several of his favorite selec tions, Edith standing by her side and deftly turning the music pages for her. Then they sang a duet; a Ger man folk song. Jessie’s voice was a pure contralto—tender, rich and won derfully expressive in its timbre. Blake was passionately fond of music and, though he had been given little opportunity to cultivate his decided natural talents, was nevertheless an excellent singer and a capable critic. “That was grand!” he exclaimed, his handsome face aglow with ad miration of the music. “I have never heard Wanderer's Nachtleid rendered more exquisitely. Please favor me with Der Tannenbaum. will you?” “Willingly,” said Jessie, as Edith smiled her assent. “But Der Tannen baum is much more effective with a tenor part. You sing, do you not, Mr. Blake? Something tells me you do.” “I’m sure Mr. Blake sings.” assert ed Edith. “Come, Mr. Blake, the gen eral shall be our audience!” “I have been charged with singing, but never by such fair accusers,” laughed Blake, stepping forward. “I trust the general will not mete out a punishment to fit the crime.’ Sing the English translation and I will do my best to carry a part.” Blake acquitted himself famously. In San Francisco clubs and social circles his clear, strong voice had add ed to his popularity, but never did he sing so well as on that night standing by Jessie Carden's side. (To be continued.) ILLUSTRATED WITH A PARABLE. Democratic Leader Made Point Against Visiting Committee. John Sharpe Williams, Democratic leader of the house, was greatly an noyed when a visiting committee tried to map out for him and his colleagues a line of duty. “You remind me of the preacher,” said Mr. Williams to his visitiors, “who remonstrated w-ith a man in his community for not coming out to church. The man, after much persua sion, consented to attend worship on the following Sabbath. During the sermon a violent storm raged and crashes of thunder interfered with the speaker making himself heard. “ ‘I won't attend any more,’ said the reluctant church attendant when at the conclusion of the service the preacher asked him to come again. “‘And why not?* asked the divine. “ ‘If the Lord had wanted me to listen to your sermon,’ said the man as he fumbled his hat. ‘I don't think he would have interrupted your ser mon with a thunder storm.’ ”—New York Times. Locating the Blame. An amateur actor, w-ho has a pro found faith in the efficacy of advertis ing, was complaining, after the enter tainment, to the chairman of the com mittee on arrangements. “Who got up the programmes?” asked the young man. “I did,” replied the chairman. “I suppose you think that your part ol the performance was not given suffi cient prominence.” “I don’t see that you ought to say anything about the way in which we called attention to you. The audience didn’t seem to know you were there.’ “On the contrary, a number of my friends told me I was first-rate, espe daily when I sang that comic song.’ “I didn’t hear anybody laughing.” “Of course not. And that’s where I say you are to blame. How could you expect them to laugh? You didn’t state in the programme that it was a comic song.” The Limit Reached^ Dr. W. H. Tolman. director of the American Institute of Social Science, told the following story the other day *as an unconscious illustration of the prevailing sentiment in regard to the “race suicide” problem: “A family of my acquaintance has a certain pewter cup which has been the property of five children in suc cession, at the period when they first begin to use cups. The other day one of the older children, a small boy, was discussing the propriety of be stowing the cup upon some poor child. His little sister remarked: ‘Why, no, we’ll keep it for the next *baby.’ “ ‘Well,’ said the brother, ‘I sh’d think God would have sense enough to know that five babies in one fam ily was enough.”—Now York Times. Food, Not Form. Assistant Attorney General Robb while in a Washington restaurant sat near a man from Texas who evidently had not traveled to any extent. The w-aiter said to the stranger from the Lone Star state: “Here’s the bill of fare, sir.” “Say, look here!” shouted the Tex an; “1 haven’t had a mouthful to eat yet, and I’ll be hanged if I’ll pay any bill till I get the goods. Fetch or your victuals first and I’ll pay fer ’err afterward.” Song Time. When the robin calls good morilng And the thrush's note is heard In the distant, dewy woodland. Like the spirit of a bird: I When the world is just awaking I To the beauty of the day— , Then. O love, my heart nu.kea music In a lover's roundelay. I When the golden sun has vanished And the swallows settle low. When the daylight seems returning In the flushing afterglow: When the fireflies light their lanterns And the mist is on the dell— Then. O love, my heart makes music In u lover's villanelle. —William Wallace Whitelock, In New York Herald. • WHEN IMIS DONE (Copyright. 1901. by Dally Story Publishing Co.) She looked across a shimmering waste of barren sand and withered buffalo grass, from which the heat waves radiated until the distance was hazy with them. A few distorted cac tus plants reared their weird forms in the heat, and here and there a dead and parched mesquite bush helped to break the monotony of the scenery. Afar off, to the southwest, the tops of the mountains in Old Mexico could be seen faintly, miles and miles away. She liked to speculate on how pleas ant it was beneath the trees on their slopes—where the cool waters flowed, the wild flowers blossomed and the birds sang. She was tired and utterly w-eary of the whole business. Four long years she had lived here—she married John Haw’kins back in the states, and came out to the El Dorado ranch, where he was going to make his fortune raising cattle. He was only foreman and she was cook for the cowboys. The worst of it was, she was regarded by him as scarcely more than a cook. He would come home late at night, gulp dow-n an enormous supper, tumble in bed and snore like a grampus until day light, when he would bolt his break fast and start out on the range again. Not a word of sympathy, of fellow ship: not a bit of tenderness, no sen i timent, only work, work—left to her self, her lonely thoughts and the , gloomy contemplation of the dreary waste without. Sometimes he was away at night— i and she had heard him joking with some of the- cowboys about Rita— and then ne would watch her covertly : out of the corner of his ayes to see if j she heard, or understood. But she did not betray herself, and they went on talking of-, where the mescal and the music and pulque, and women drove men mad. That was where Rita i stayed. Rita was, perhaps pretty and dainty. Well, maybe Rita did not have to cook—cook, all the time for a lot of men, and wash dishes and sweep up and prepare for another meal when one was finished. That would take the good looks away from anybody. And when John had talked of com : Ing west, 6he had dreamed of cool adobe houses with splashing fountains in the patio—of orange and lemon trees in blossom—of great scarlet geranium trees and vines and flow ers—an indolent, easy “manana’ sort of existence. But thi$, instead. She looked about the rough plank house in utter disgust and weariness. What was the use of it all? What did it amount to? What was there to look forward to, except a continuation of the drudgtry? And day by day her youth, her good looks were slip ping from her. ground into nothing ness by toil of an unremitting sort What was there left for her, now that she had found out the base clay of her John—now that love was dead? She remembered a little verse she had read somewhere, in her mor« im pressionable days, and there was a refrain running through it at the end of each stanza: “—and the light of a whole life dies, When love is done.” It kept ringing in her ears. Ju*t that much of it. She could not recall the rest of the lines. ***** “Sonora!” . She turned about from the pile of dirty, greasy dishes, and wiped the perspiration from her red face and frowsy brow. “Oh. it's you, Rafael? Sit down.” “Yas, Senoora, it me. Senor ’Aw kins. ’e tell me to tell yo’ he goner Fronteras on er business—h« not come back for day or so.” “All right, Rafael. Make yourself comfortable as you can; Lord knows it’s mighty hot here.” She liked the Mexican. He was always the quint essence of politeness to her—artici I Looked across the shimmering waste. pating her every wish, and treating her with the deference of a princess He was U»e only one of all the men who seamed to remember that she was a woman, and was hungry for sym- | pathy and attention—that she was j more than a cook. Something impel!- ' ed her to turn and look at him. He was fanning himself with his som brero, and looking at her with a glance that was unmistakable. He sprang to_hit feet and took one of kc' hands, 4 wet with the greasy dish water "Senora Helen—I lofe yo—dam mj soul, but I lofe yo’, ah, so much. Yo’ so good, en so kind, en sweet, en so hard worked, en yo’ Senor ’Awkins, he doan’ lofe yo no mo’—he lofe dat fandango senorita down at Fronte ras.” "Rafael—, stop, you mustn’t talk that way.” Her head spun a little. It was the heat. "Senora, I lofe yo’. I lofe yo’ free year. I not make yo’ cook, en cook,— dam de cookin’, come en go—vamos, wi’ me, I'll mek de peons do de cook in’. I got big ’dobe house way town in Durango, cool, nice 'dobe house wiz what you call him—squirt w’ater up in the patio or de ferns. En de orange, en de feeg, en de rose trees all ’bout de house—it so cool, en shady. I got land, heap land, en cattle. I only stay ’roun’ hyar ’cause I lofe yo’. Yo’ come en I get de padre to marry us—de padre ’way down in Durango—he know no deeference if Senor ’Awkins be live. Ef yo’ say so I go keel Sen or ’Awkins?” He had his arm about "Senora, I lofe yo’.” her now, and with the other hand he smoothed the damp hair back from her forehead tenderly. “No—no, Rafael, that would never do. But are you sure that you would love me always, and not make me cook—and not be mean to me. and not make me stay at home all the time and work—and you would not love any fandango girls?” “No—no—I hope de good Gawd sen’ me to hell w’en I do not lofe yo*. I lofe yo’ always—always, an’ I treat yo’ as bes’ 1 kin. Come on—I eaten a pony for yo’ en we get way. way down in Durango to my home, en ’Awkins he never find us.‘ We get der in week. Come Helen—come les’ go now, now, down dera de mountains are so cool— en I lofe yo’ so!”1 She listened to him. As he spoke sb«i thought of the purple mountains in the distance—of the shimmering blue Pacific waters—of a lifetime’s dreams unattained. She was not old —and when she had a rest and some new clothes she would be better look ing. Insensibly, she knew that her heart had already turned during the toil marked months to this “Greaser” —this Mexican gentleman. At last she bowed her head. She thought of all she had lacked, and from the withered wastes of a heart from which love had faded, there blossom ed anew the flower of hope. “I will go with you, Rafael,” she said, simply. As the sun went down that evening its ruddy rays gilded a man and a woman on horsebaok loping steadily, swiftly, toward the mountains in the purple distance. There was a llgnt on each one’s face brighter than that of the sun—the light of a great love. * * • • * "Well, I reckon she’s vamosed for the states. It was pretty tough on a gal ter keep her out here in this derned shack, cookin’ all the time. Oh, well, she can have her fling, and some of these days I’ll go back after her and dress her up fine and be nice to her to make up for It all. Then she’ll forgit all about her troubles. “Come on you fellers, we’ve got ter go ter Fronteras ter git some supper —besides, my little Greaser gal Is anxious ter see me. I’ll set up the drinks first—I’m dry as this damned sand. Where’s the old woman? Oh damflno. Gone back to the states, 1 reckon. Come on.” Gave Himself Away. A man who was too old by ten years to be appointed a fireman, but who put his conscience to sleep and dream ed he was young in applying for ap pointment. was undergoing the physi cal examination. The doctor finished and then announced that the man could not pass. “Why?” asked the applicant. "You have a varicose vein,” replied the doctor. “An’ is that all that's wrong?” said the would be fireman, forgetting all cmitlon in his Indignation. “Why, I’ve earned my living for forty years with that vein in my leg.” • “I’m glad you told me so,” said the doctor, "now I can reject you also aa feeing over the age iJaiit.” CfigftJCf v t\nd INV^NTI^L New Electric Block Signal. A *-ain may throw its own danger signal two blocks ahead if the newly perfected idea of a Canadian inventor is in use. This is an electric block signal intended for use upon railways. By the inventor it is intended partic ularly to insure a more reliable ar.d simpler device than those at present in use, and the tests have proved en tirely satisfactory to critical railroad men. It is claimed that the device is so arranged that the train automatic ally will display a danger signal on the block upon which it stands and in the block ahead, and that it may au tomatically display a safety signal in the block to the rear. The system is arranged for service on either single or double tracks. Another useful signaling device Las been recently brought into use by electric city and suburban railways. This is so arranged that the motor man may signal to the engineer at the power house or the crew of the following train or car when trouble exists at his point on the line or in case of accident to the train under his operation. It is claimed by this that the seat of trouble may be defi nitely pointed out to the officials at the pow’er house and sometimes reme died from there without the delay and overwork of sending a man out over the line. Can Press His Own Trousers. Any man who desires to be particu larly neat about his appearance will uot neglect to keep his trousers press ed free from wrinkles. There is prob ably no other seemingly trivial thing which will so detract from the per sonal appearance of a man as wearing a pair of wrinkled trousers. Some men are so particular about this point that they pay more for pressing than the trousers cost originally, and oth ers take advantage of the tailor’s offer to keep their clothing pressed for a year after purchase, visiting the store so often that the tailor gets sick of his bargain. With the aid of the in vention shown in the picture it should uot be a difficult matter for a man to ; keep his trousers in shape himself, t without the necessity of visiting the tailor at such frequent intervals as to , Designed for Use in the Home. - make his pocketbook suffer or cause him to feel ashamed of himself. This device consists of a pair of flat boards shaped like the trouser legs, with a j set of clamping levers around the edges j which make it possible to draw the two presser boards tightly together. These clamps consist of pivoted levers, having cam faces of such shape as to decrease the space as they are re volved. To use this trouser stretcher and presser the bottoms of the legs are first clamped in position. Then the waistband is pulled up until the legs are tight and smooth, after which the remaining clamps are tightened and the garment allowed to remain as long as necessary. Electro-Magnetic Waves. Prof. A. A. Atkinson of Ohio Uni versity has been studying the “waves” i or vibrations which cause the various effects known as light, heat electric ity, etc. The electromagnetic waves which are used in wireless telegraphy he found to be about equal in magni tude to those vibrations of the air which cause sound. fWhen they are so short as to approach in length those which produce the invisible red rays of the solar spectrum they begin to produce heat. The shorter they become the greater their heating ef fect, until they enter the region of the visible spectrum, and then they pro duce light. As they continue to short en the color of the light runs through red, orange, yellow, green, blue and Indigo to violet. The heat effect de creases, and the actinic, or photo graphic, effect increases, and when the waves pass out into the invisible violet region, the chemican effect reaches its maximum. Yet more short ening, and the waves begin to exhibit the properties of the*X-rays. Flat Motor Boats. A series of experiments is cow’ be * ing made with motor boats in France, | which may revolutionize the construc ! tion of these greyhounds of the river 1 and harbor. Instead of building the hull of the boats like toothpicks, after the fashion now approved, they are constructed like shingles, the pur pose being to have them skim over the surface of the water instead of plow through it. A broad flat-bot tomed boat of 9^ feet beam and 19^ feet long was equipped with a motor capable of driving an ordinary launch eight or nine miles an hour. She at tained a speed of seventeen and one half miles an hour, a result which has called forth still more experiments. Flat-bottomed shallow boats have proved very successful sailing craft, and largo numbers of them may be found on every sheet of water fre quented by saiHng boats, but these experiments with them as motor boats are unique and it is expected that they will result in a marvelous devel opment of speed. To Save Life in Steamboat Disasters. A device which may prove of ser vice in steamboat disasters has been lately patented by a German inventor, vho holds the theory that many per sons are drowned because of their in ability to keep the waves from dash ing in their faces. In order to guard against this he has invented a life mask, fitted with a valve which per mits the intake of air from overhead, but effoctuaily keens out the water. Running Will Do. It. Wright—What is that newspaper canvasser running about so for? Penman—He’s trying to get up a circulation. GOOD HOME MADE WINDMILL Suilt by Nebraska Farmer at a Cost of Only $25. W. S. E.—Please describe a wind mill for pumping water, which may b* maae at home. The windmill, represented in the ao companying illustration was built at a cost of $25. It is in use for pumping water on the farm of J. S. Peekham in Nebraska. The tower which stands 20 feet high is made of 4x4 in scan tling, the cross pieces being 2 by 4 inch material. The tower spreads to 16 feet at the base. The axis is 8 inches 3quare and 16 feet long, and the diameter of the mill 16 feet. Each of the eight arms carries a heavy wooden fan, 514 feet long, and 5 feet at the top, tapering to 2% feet or 3 feet at the bottom. Thus each of the eight fans exposes nearly 25 square feet of surface to the wind. The 1 . pumping capacity of this mill is nearly one thousand gallons per hour in a fifteen mile wind. The description and illustration of this windmill were taken from Bulletin No. 59 of the Uni versity of Nebraska, which is exclu sively devoted to home-made wind mills. Staining a Floor. A. M. G., Man.—Please tell me whether it ie better to paint or stain an edge grain, fir floor. How should stain be applied? Provided the floor is smooth and clean, staining is preferable to paint ing, as the stain which soaks into the wood wears well and is very attract ive. A very satisfactory staining ma terial is a weak solution of perman ganate of potash. This when first ap plied produces a wine color, but on exposure to the air quickly oxidizes, becoming a rich oak shade. In pre paring the stain the permanganate of potash should be dissolved in water and diluted, and a little of it applied with a brush to a piece of smooth board of the same material as the floor; this should be allowed to stand exposed to the air for half an hour; if the color is too dark the stain mu3t be further diluted with water until the desired shade is produced. The floor should be made very clean and dry, soiled places being sandpapered. One application of the stain should be given, and when thoroughly dry, one or two coats of good varnish should be given. This will protect the stain leaving a beautiful surface in which the natural grain of the wood may be seen. An Asparagus Bed. R. J. E.—How should a bed of ft* paragus be managed? Should I cut the small shoots that come up? No, do not cut the small growth of asparagus, but let it grow until seed is formed; then cut and allow to lie cn bed over winter. It would be bet ter for the bed if you did not cyt next year; but as one is always anxious for product, you could cut a few of the stronger sprouts, leaving the rest. It is important that you cut down the growths before the seed has matured, because if the ripe seed falls on the ground the bed will become full of seedlings, which will be much harder to destroy than other weeds. Cover the bed with a good coating of well rotted manure each fall and fork it over* very carefully early In the spring. After the bed is in full bear ing, a top dressing of nitrate of soda each spring would be beneficial, using about 250 pounds per acre. Soggy Potatoes. W. E. G.—I can grow excellent po tatoes. but when stood In a cool cellar all winter they become very wet and soggy. What is the cause and rem edy? Should judge that your soil has much to do with the watery condition of your potatoes, and should advise that you underdrain your land. The first cost of doing this is considerable, but the results obtained in better and larger crops, added to the fact that the land is in condition to be worked earlier and later than land not drain ed, will, in a very short time, pay all cost of draining. A slightly higher storing temperature might be better: but the soil has much to do with the moisture in the tubers. Curing Egg-Eating. Take an egg and puncture a small hole on the side, take a small piece of stick, about the size of a match, stick it into the egg and churn the egg with it, constantly dipping the stick into a little red. pepper and mus tard, until the egg is thoroughly in pregnated with the pepper and mus tard, then jmt it in the ne^st where the hen usually lays, with the open side up, and let the hen get it as soon as she wants. She will never trouble the eggs again, and it will not injure the hen one bit. This will stop the habit in the most inveterate egg eater. -*. Choice Selection. "I learn that the Van Ruxtons allow their chickens to diet on their neigh bors’ flowers. Do they keep it a se cret?” “Well, I should think not. If you dine with them the suave Mr. Van Ruxton will ask if you prefer violet-fed fowl or ‘chicken de roses.’ ” Proper Definition. Little Willie—“Say. pa, what is th® meaning of premonition?” Pa—“It’s something that ails peopl® who say ‘I tcld ycu so,’ my son.”