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.”
