JOHN BURTlS.ST'SS:
A3thor oi “The Kidnapped MllUoaa'.res,'* "CoioR-.l Monroe’s Dectrlce,” Etc.
1903, BT i All rights Copyright, 100U. by
A- J. Dbbiel Biddle
* ( CHAPTER XXX—Continued.
How much L. & O. have you?” he
demanded.
“Thirty-five thousand shares,” re
plied Mr. Mason.
How many have you sold?” ad
dressing his son.
"About seventy-five thousand.”
“Hu-m-m-m. Fine outlook! Forty
thousand shares short on a stock, with
only a hundred thousand shares in
all,” growled Randolph Morris. “By
God, if I pull out of this thing with a
dollar I’ll place it where you can’t
find it with a set of burglar’s tools!”
Randolph Morris glared at his son,
fumbled for his glasses and bent over
the tape.
“Fifty-five bid for L. & O.” It read.
“Bid sixty for any part of ten thou
sand shares. Gimme that telephone!
Go to the exchange. Mason, and get
on the other end of this wire, and I’ll
give yon the orders.”
Shortly before noon a news agency
made public a statement which
hastened the crisis. It read:
“The deal in L. & O. was engineered
by Mr. James Blake, tne dashing
young operator whose advent in New
York was signalized by the recent up
heaval in prices. For several weeks
Mr. Blake has quietly been absorb
ing blocks of L. & O. To-day he se
cured ten thousand shares from Gen
eral Marshall Carden, which, with the
holdings of Mr. John Hawkins, gives
the syndicate of which Mr. Blake is
the head absolute control of this valu
able property. Another railroad com
pany has been a bidder for control,
but the Carden stock gives Mr. Blake
the coveted advantage.
“It Is rumored that a well-known
and powerful banking house is short
this stock to the amount of nearly
forty thousand shares. It opened at
29% and rapidly advanced to 75, and
then by leaps and bounds reached 125.
It Is believed that only a few scat
tered shares are yet in the market,
and that the stock is cornered.
“Later.—It is rumored that the
banking house of Randolph Morris &
Company has suspended.”
CHAPTER XXXI.
Father and Son.
One by one the directors of the
bank had entered the room where
Randolph Morris, was making his
to shame and poverty in my old age.
I hope, by God, that everything you
buy with that money will give you
pain! I wish to God-”
His voice was choked, the blood
surged to Lis temples, his hands
clutched at his throat, and with a
gasp for breath he fell heavily to the
floor.
Before Arthur Morris realized what
had happened, others were - by his
father’s side. The stricken old finan
cier partially recovered consciousness
before a physician arrived, but again
sank into a most alarming condition.
••Apoplexy,” said the physician, in
answer to a question. "‘Is this his
first attack?” he asked Arthur Mor
ris.
“I don’t know,” was the reply. “I’ve
seen the governor so mad he couldn’t
speak, several times, but never so bad
as this.” *
As he spoke Randolph Morris
opened his eyes and they rested on
hi3 son.
“Take him away.” he said, averting
his eyes. “Take him away, and give
me a chance to live.”
“You're all right, governor,” said
Arthur Morris, as the doctor gave him
a signal to stay out of sight. “Keep
cool and you'll coine out on top. I
feel as bad as you do about it, but
there’s no use in kicking. Brace up
and take ycur medicine like a man;
we may win out yet.”
To which encouraging advice Ran
dolph Morris made no reply, and the
son left the room.
As Randolph Morris was tenderly
carried down the steps, through an
angry crowd, and placed in an ambu
lance, he opened his eyes and looked
longingly at the building which bore
his name. Thus he made his last
journey away from the roar and tur
moil of Wall street; a mental, physi
cal and financial wreck, cast on the
shores of oblivion by a storm terrific
and unforeseen.
Arthur Morris, stripped of all power
by the action of the directors, stood
amid the wreck of his fortunes.
He was a witness to the compro
mise by which a representative of
James Blake & Cempany agreed to
terms, which, while protecting the de
positors, called for the sacrifice of the
millions which once stood in his name.
The fifty thousand dollars he had suc
ceeded at the last moment in draw
Grespng big rnasave jbid-lxoded cane be brought it dow oo the jkss dome
fight against overwhelming odds.
Some he recognized by an almost im
perceptible bow, but no words came
from his lips as he bent over the tape.
The faces of the directors were pale
and drawn from tension.
When L. & O. had mounted to
eighty dollars a share, Randolph Mor
ris changed his tactics and attempted
to check the rise by throwing all his
holdings on the market. In less lhan
an hour he hurled thirty-five thousand
shares into the speculative whirl
pool.
It was like stemming Niagara with
a straw. The price did not sag. The
powerful Interests back of L. & O.
pledged three millions of dollars for
this stock and clamored for more.
In response to a demand for mar
gins, Randolph Morris deposited sev
eral millions cash and valid securi
ties. Alarmed by rumors, patrons of
the bank formed in long lines and de
manded their deposits.. There was no
gleam of hope, but grim in defeat the
old banker stood by the wheel and
watched the ship of his fortunes as
she swiftly neared the reefs of ruin.
A clerk entered and handed to Ran
dolph Morris the yellow slip of paper
containing the bulletin. He read It
slowly, crumpled it in his hands and
threw it on the floor.
Grasping his massive gold-headed
cane, he brought it down on the glass
dome which covered the delicate
mechanism of the ticker. One of the
flying fragments cut his cheek and a
few drops of blood slowly trickled
down his face.
“The corporation of Randolph Mor
ris & Company is bankrupt!” he said,
rising to his feet and looking into the
faces of his astounded associates.
“The Board of Directors will convene
at once and take formal action to that
effect. Be seated, gentlemen, and
come to order. You may make the
motion for suspension, Mr. Mason.”
When Randolph Morris adjourned
the directors’ meeting he looked about
for his son, but he was not in the
room. He found Arthur Morris with
in the caged enclosure occupied by
the paying teller. In his hands were
several packages of money.
"What are you doing there?” de
manded Randolph Morris.
"Cashing a check,” was the sullen
reply.
"You are a thief as well as a fool,”
roared Randolph Morris, his hand on
the door and his features convulsed
with passion. “No officer of a bank
on the ppint of suspension has a right
to accept or withdraw funds, and you
know it*
, He grabbed Arthur Morris by the
shoulder and dragged him through the
narrow doorway.
. "My curse goes with that money!”
he shouted, hie face convulsed with
rag* "You hare dragged me down
ing from the bank was all that was
left to him.
* * • • «
Through the long hours of that
eventful day General Carden’s eyes
were fixed on the stock board. Few
of the excited customers of James
Blake & Company recognized the ex
banker, and none knew the reason for
his absorbing interest in the fluctua
tions of the stock labeled L. & O.
Who was this man Blake, and why
had he offered to place a fortune in
his hand? WThy had this stranger
come from out the West, and by the
magic of his touch, transformed a
worthless stock into one of so great
value that millionaires struggled mad
ly for its possession?.
When he took his last look at the
stock board L. & O. was quoted at
105. He nervously drew a slip of
paper from his pocket and made a
rapid calculation. If Blake chose to
realize at the quotation, General Car
den's share of the profits would be
nearly eight hundred thousand dollars.
The figures puzzled him, and he made
the calculation anew, only to find it
accurate. This represented more than
the fortune he had lost.
A wild impulse came which urged
him to demand of Blake the sale of
his stock. What right had he to im
peril that which would insure the hap
piness of his daughter and the repose
of his old age? Hurriedly he retraced
his steps until he reached Broadway,
and again he entered Blake’s office.
An hour had passed, and he hardly
dared look at the quotations. Per
haps the deal had collapsed? Per
haps—
L- & O. 145, 145%, 146%,” called
out the man who was reading the
ticker. “Two thousand L. & O. at
150!”
An exultant shout went up from the
crowd of men vjho surrounded James
Blake. His handsome face was aglow
with pleasure as they slapped him on
the back.
“My congratulations, general,”
Blake said, grasping the old soldier’s
hand. “Our little pool is working
splendidly! Do you feel like getting
out at 150, general? I wouldn’t ad
vise you to do so, but if you wish it
can be arranged. I have a customer
who will take the stock oft your hands
at that figure.”
“I—I am entirely satisfied to let it
alone,” said General Carden, drawing
himself up proudly. “Handle my
stock according to your judgment.
The subordinate should not question
the policy of a victorious command
er.”
“Mr. Burton wishes to see you,”
whispered a clqrk to Blake, and the
famous head of the firm turned and
left General Carden.
He heard the shouts of victory and
found himself shaking hands and
laughing with strangers. He felt a
itrong grasp on his shoulder and
turned to see James Blake.
"We settle with Randolph Morris
& Company at 175.” he whispered.
"Your share of the profits is nearly a
million and a half. I'll call at your
house this evening and give you a
check for the exact amount.”
"I can find no words to express my
feelings,” said General Carden, deep
ly affected. “I do not think that I am
j entitled to so large a share of these
profits. I—I—really I do not know
what to say to you, Nff. Blake. God
bless and reward you.”
"Don’t thank me,” replied James
Blake.
* A strange expression came over his
face and a look of pain to his dark
eyes. "I am not—I should not-”
He paused, released General Carden’s
hand and turning abruptly, rushed
across the room and vanished into an
inner office.
In the turmoil of his own feelings
General Carden paid little attention
to this strange action. Six hours be
fore he had entered these rooms all
but penniless. He left them more
than a millionaire.
In a darkened room in a remote
quarter of the city, a gray-haired man
gasped for breath and moaned in his
delirium. A great financial battle had
been fought. Randolph Morris was
one of the stricken victims, and Mar
shall Carden was one of the victors
In this age of commercial and indus
trial barbarism, man must climb tc
glory over the dead and mangled bod
ies of the losers. Commercial compe
tition has all the horrors and none of
the chivalry of physical warfare.
Thoughts such as these came tc
John Burt when the news circulated
that Randolph Morris had been strict
en in his office. The blow aimed at
the son had fallen with crushing force
on the father. In the hour of victory
John Burt was silent and sad, and
John Hawkins was not slow to glean
the reason.
“I wouldn’t worry over Randolph
Morris,” he said, with a gruffness
which was assumed. ‘‘The old man
will recover. One stroke of apoplexy
won’t kill him."
“Write to Randolph Morris,” said
John, addressing Blake, “and say that
his personal property is exempt in this
settlement. He has scheduled it as
having a value of nearly a million dol
lare. I shall not take it from him.
He's an old man, with daughters and
others dependent on him.”
‘‘Good for you, Burt!” exclaimed
John Hawkins. “It isn't business, but
business is hell—as old Sherman said
about war. I'm going to my hotel to
take a nap. Where can I see you this
evening? Dine with me at the hotel
at nine o’clock. Wrhat d’ye say? You,
too, Blake.”
(To be continued.)
YACHT COST HIM NOTHING.
Hew Commodore Monroe Was Made
Eligible for Position.
Just what the Larchmont Yacht
club will do, now that Gus Monroe Is
dead, the members are wondering.
With Mr. Monroe the Larchmont
Yacht club was a hobby. He worked
harder to make that organization suc
ceed than many men work at their
business. He was identified with the
club for more than twenty years, and
all that time he was an officeholder.
In 1883 he was chosen commodore.
He did not own a yacht then.
“Bill,” he said to his friend, W. S.
Alley, “they want me to be commo
dore, but I can’t be, because I haven’t
a boat.”
“Is that all that prevents you from
accepting the nomination?” asked Mr.
Alley.
“That’s all,” was the reply.
“Then I’ll give you my yacht, the
Schemer. I’ll have the boat properly
transferred to you in consideration of
»1. You can keep her as long as you
like, but when you want to get rid of
her you must give me the opportunity
to take her back again for $1.”
“That’s a go,” said the commodore.
The Schemer, which was the most
famous sloop in her day, was duly
transferred, and Mr. Monroe paid Mr.
Alley $1.
“Now, I’ll match you for the dollar,”
said the commodore.
They matched, and Mr. Alley lost,
so the commodore got his flagship for
nothing.
He kept the Schemer for two years,
retired from office, and then had the
yacht transferred back to Mr. Alley.
When Mr. Alley paid the dollar he sug
gested that they should match for it.
“Not on your life,” said Commodore
Monroe. “That dollar is going to be
a souvenir of the flagship I owned
that never cost a cent.”—New York
Sun.
Causes of Nervous Prostration.
» “Believe me,” said a Spruce street
physician who makes a specialty of
treating nervous disorders, “it isn’t
overwork that superinduces nervous
prostration. The men who succumb
to nervous strain are not the men who
work continually under high pressure.
The man who has no relaxation has
no time to brood over his health, and
brooding is fatal to a man whose
nerves are highly strung. If a man is
constantly busy in mind from morning
until night he isn’t in any danger of
nervous trouble. It’s only when he re
laxes and gives himself a certain
amount of leisure that he is danger.
A man is a good bit like a piece of
machinery. It’s the relaxation that
tells. Take Russell Sage, for in
stance. He celebrated his 88th birth
day to-day, and he is in the harness
all the time. Should he give up even
a part of his daily routine the proba
bilities are that he would be a dead
man in six months. The man whose
nerves trouble him is the man of com
parative leisure.”—Philadelphia Rec
ord.
Mountain Air to Blame.
A new guest arrived at a New
Hampshire farmhouse where a Bos
ton gentleman happened to be holding
forth on the piazza. The newcomei
was much impressed by the speaker’s
fluency.
“I declare,” he remarked to the
landlord, “that man has an extensive
vocabulary, hasn’t he?"
The landlord was mightily pleased,
“That’s so,” he said. “That’s what
mountain air will do for a man. He
ain't been boardin’ with me but two
weeks, and I know he must have let
his waistband out much as four
times. —Rochester Herald.
EXPENSIVE PHRASE.
The late Gov. Patison used to tell
with keen gusto the following:
A certain candidate thought that
his chance for election would be in
creased if he acquired a knowledge of
Pennsylvania Dutch, so he prevailed
on a friend who was familiar with that
patois to accompany him and post him
how to get off a
Dutch sentence at
the end of each
speech. This plan
proved a great suc
cess and the candi
date was delighted!
with the experi
ment. |
In the excite-!
ment of one meet
ing, however, he
forgot the phrase
so patiently taught
him early in the
day by his mentor, and under cover
of taking a glass of water hastily
communicated that fact to his friend.
“Never mind,” was the whispered
reply, “just say *W^ nempst?’ ”
This the speaker innocently did, and
the result astonished him.
“SHch a rush from a hall,” he after
ward said, “was probably never before
witnessed in the state of Pennsyl
vania. That little phrase was Penn
sylvania Dutch for ‘What will you
have to drink?’ and the proprietor of
the hotel to which my audience had
adjourned taxed me $24 for my ‘Was
nempst?’ break.”—New York Times.
SUCCESSFUL CONVERSION.
T. Dart Walker, art editor of Les
lie’s Weekly, has been persdaded to
make a monograph of this year’s ex
periences with the navy as an art
seaman.
He saw many things aboard ship
that have escaped the eyes of the lay
man. The Kearsarge was his marine
home for some time.
“One of the quaintest characters,”
he said, "that I knew was O’Brien,
the navvy who policed the ship. He
was chosen because he could lick
any man on board. The spirit of fight
is developed, not squelched, in the
navy, but there must be some one who
is able to silence the biggest man that
walks the deck.
“O’Brien’s methods were simple* but
sure. One afternoon two men got into
who was in nay
stateroom,was sent
for. He excused
himself, walked
down the deck, and
in five minutes re
turned as if noth
ing had happened.
Two things had
happened if not
more, a bump over
his left temple and
the beginning of a
black eye. *
" ‘How about It, O’Brien?’ said I.
" ‘Nawthin’,’ he replied.
“ ‘Nawthin’,’ I repeated, pointing to
eye and temple.
“‘Nawthin’ much,’ he went on; ‘I
had a quiet conversation with Jake in
his bunk. I took him below and shut
the door, and we labored religiously
together. We’re both believin’ more
in the power of God and Old Oire
land and less in the divil now, than
we did afore our tate-a-tate.’”—New
York Times.
SISTERS-IN-LAW.
The negro is sometimes a good deal
mixed regarding relationships, as the
following incident illustrates:
A lady had a negro cook who must
SHOES WERE HIS SPECIALTY.
Beggars Waive Explanation of His
Mode of Livelihood.
“One day last week,” observed the
man who has bachelor apartments, “a
chap who bore all the marks of a pro
fessional hobo presented himself at
my door and begged for a pair of old
shoes. As evidence that he really
needed tnem he extended a foot for
my inspection. The utterly dilfpidat
ed condition of his foot covering was
proof enough, and I immediately root
ed out a pair of old shoes from my
closet and handed them over with the
feeling that I was relieving actual
want.
“A few minutes later I had occasion
to leave my rooms, and as I walked
down the street and turned the corner
at Seventh avenue I noticed ahead of
me the man to whom I had just given
the shoe* I followed him, not out of
curiosity, but because my course lay
in that direction. Before long I saw
him enter a second-hand shoe store.
A dark suspicion popped into my head,
and I waited until the man nose out.
\ . 1; . 4 v ^ .
have been 70 years of age, but who,
in spite of her years, was “fine the
business” when it came to cooking.
Another colored woman of advanced
years was in the habit of coming to
see the cook, and one day tne lady
said:
“Dinah, who is thae old colored
woman I sometimes find in the kitch
en with you?”
“Dat ole ’ooman, missus? Oh, she’s
jess a relationship of mine.”
“What kind of a relationship,
Dinah?”
“Well, she’s—she’s—well, I guess
she’s my sistah-in-law.”
“You guess that she is your sister
in-law? Don't you know.”
“Well, I reckon I does. I reckon
she’s my sistah-in-law because, you
see, we bofe had de same husban’ be
fo’ de wah. Dat’s how come she’s
my sistah-in-law.”—Lippincott’s Mag
azine.
NATURALLY RED HEADED.
Shortly before he sailed for Europe
Col. W. H. Cody (Buffalo Bill) was
entertaining Dr. J. L. Girdner with a
few lessons in ethnology gleaned from
experiences among the Indians in his
early days.
“By the way. Doc,” he asked ab
a row and O’Brien,
ruptly, “ever see a
r e d-h e a d e d In
dian?”
“Never did, and
never heard of
such a freak, Colo- <
nel.”
“I saw one, a
Cherokee, down on
the Fort Scott
trail,” quietly an
swered Cody, and
then stopped, wait
ing for “a rise.”
It came. “Rather
unusual sight, that, wasn’t It?”
•’Rather; but, you see, this Indian
was bald.”—New York Times.
WIDOWED HENS.
In the early summer a friend hired
a house on Staten island with all its
belongings, indoors and out, the lat
ter including a horse, a cow, pigs and
poultry. While there were about 100
hens, there were but two roosters, and
in this flock the eight-year-old daugh
ter became deeply interested. “Papa,”
she said one day, “what are those two
big chickens with red combs on their
foreheads?” “Those, my child, are
roosters,” she was informed. “Well,
what are roosters?” “They are the
fathers.” "Oh! And what are all the
others?” “Why, they are the moth
ers.” After a moment’s reflection
Edith innocently remarked: “My
gracious, papa, what an awful lot of
fathers must have died to leave so
many mothers all alone.”—New York
Press.
SUPERFLUOUS GOOD NEWS.
It was at the close of the campaign
in which Mr. Harrison defeated Mr.
Cleveland for the presidency. Senator
Blackburn and “Private” John Allen,
the keen-tongued representative from
Mississippi, were standing together in
:he capitol at
iVashington when
W. R. Hearst hur
led up and excit
edly displayed a
:elegram from his
ather, Senator
Hearst, in Califor
lia. The message
ead:
“As sure as there
s a God in heaven
} rover Cleveland
ias carried Cali
ornia.”
It was already
sown that New
York had gone for Harrison, so that
It really made no difference which
way California cast her vote. Mr.
Allen solemnly folded the telegram
and handed it back, and remarked:
“Your father's telegram deminds
me of a friend of mine who went to
Colorado. Not long afterward his wife
received a telegram which read: ‘Jim
thrown off a broncho and his neck,
both legs, and one arm broken.’ A
little later, in the midst of her tears,
the widow received another message
from the sympathetic cowboys. It
read: ‘Matters not so bad. Jim’s
arm not broken.’ ”—New York Times.
SECRETARY TAFT WAS SORRY.
Brig.-Gen. John F. Weston is happy
over the order permitting officers to
wear civilian clothes while on duty at
the war department in Washington.
It is current gossip in military circles
that Gen. Weston was responsible for
the order. He went into Secretary
Taft’s office the other day—and it
was a hot day—wearing his heaviest
uniform blouse, which some of his
fellow officers say he donned purpose
ly, and showed that he was uncom
fortable. The order was issued by
Secretary Taft immediately after the
Soon he appeared without the package
of shoes which I had given to him.
On his feet were the same battered
wrecks which had so moved me to
compassion. Confronting the Impos
tor, I said somewhat angrily:
‘“So that’s your little game, is it?’
“He recognized me instantly, but in
stead of being nonplussed he calmly
remarked, smiling facetiously: ‘Wot
kin a poor bum do wot’s too honest
ter steal an’ too lazy ter work? Shoes
is my specialty, boss. Say we have
a drink an’ call it even!’ ”
Steamship Lines to Durban.
Twenty-one steamship lines connect
with the port of Durban, Natal, South
Africa, among which are four from
New York—the Prince, the Bucknall
Currie, the Clan Union American and
the Houston lines. There is also the
Canadian and African steamship line,
runnine between Canada and South
African ports. During the year 1903,
794 steamships, with 1,821,245 ton
nage, and 158 sailing vessels, with
157,973 tonnage, entered the port of
Durban.
general left. A few days later Secre
tary Taft met Gen. Weston in a corri
dor of the war department.
“I was looking for you,” said the
general. “I wanted to tell you how
good it feeis to be able to wear my
jacket unbuttoned.”
Gen. Weston had on a light civilian
coat. He threw it back around his
shoulders to display the pinkest pink
negligee shirt that ever adorned the
person of a general officer of the
army.
“Gen. Weston,” said Secretary Taft,
“if I had known that that order would
permit any officer to expose a shirt
like that I’d never have issued it.”
THE FRESH AIR CHILDREN.
In crossing the ferry a little boy
who was going to the country for the
first time stood on the upper forward
deck and looked thoughtfully toward
Jersey City. Noticing that he kept
apart from his friends and was much
absorbed in thought, the missionary
in charge of the party put her arms
around the child and said:
“What are you thinking of?”
“Is dat de country over dere?’
asked the child, as he raised his thin
little arm in the direction of Jersey
City. »
“No, that is the city. The country
is miles and miles beyond that.”
The little boy turned to the mis
sionary and, with a smile of relief,
said: “I’m glad that ain't the country,
’tause if it was I wouldn’t go. Dat
place over dere is the place where the
bad boys go when they die, ain’t it?”
The missionary looked puzzled for a
moment, but caught the child’s mean
ing when a bright flame shot up from
the gas works of Jersey City and light
ed up the sky.—New York Tribune.
NO TIME TO LOSE.
Miss Maude Tennant of the Presby
terian Hospital Nursing Bureau meets
with many memorable experiences in
her daily rounds. The w’ork is of lat€
foundation, and the nurses are markec
in the neighborhood of their visits
The children particularly make friends
with them and call them “Perfesser/
“teacher” and “officer.”
A few days ago Miss Tennant was
on an emergencj |
eas*. and was hur
rying to her pa
tient when scores
of gamins sur
rounded her, seiz
ing her by skirt
1 hands, cape anc
bag, and begging
for candy and pea
nuts.
“Hull o, Perfess
er,” said one
Might we go along
with yer?”
“Teacher! Teacher!” shouted an
other with a fierce grip on her skirt.
“Now, boys, you must let me go
I've got to see a very sick woman
Another time I’ll talk to you, anc
we’ll have candy-”
“We know all about it,” shouted th«
ringleader, a boy of seven. ‘You’v«
got a Presbyterian baby in your bag
for the Ferrararas, and you bettei
hustle, ’cause there's a Catholic anc
a Salvation Army nurse on the waj
and they’ll get theirs in first.”—New
York Times.
WHAT PLEASED VETERANS,
Dr. C. Alphonso Smith, recentl)
elected president of the University or
Tennessee, has been chuckling to him
self for the last few days over a let
ter he got from a Confederate veter
an. Since the publication some month*
ago of his English grammar Dr
Smith has received many congratu
latory letters, but none that gave him
so much real
pleasure as the
one from the old
Kentucky soldier,
who is one of that
fast disappearing
few who have not
yet found out that
the civil war is
over.
“I have read
with pleasure,’*
the letter said,
“your E n g 1 i s h4
grammar, and
want to write you
a personal note of thanks for giving
our school children such a text book
But, as an old Confederate soldier, i
want to thank you especially and tel)
you how happy I am that a grammai
has at last been written ‘from th«
Southern standpoint.'”
When Dr. Smith was asked wher
he showed this letter how he could
possibly have dragged “the Southern
standpoint” into an English grammar
he replied:
“I’m sure I don’t know. But per
haps in illustrating some construction
I used a sentence like this:
“ ‘One Confederate whipped tei
Yankees.’ ’’—New York Times.
He Couldn’t Be Bluffed.
“Sir,” said the landlord of the sum
mer hotel to a new arrival, who lookec
like a chronic kicker, “iet me say tc
you before you are assigned a room 1
that we have mosquitoes here.”
“I presume so,” was the careless re
ply.
“And there is no fishing.”
“I don’t want any.”
“And you are quite certain to gel
malaria.”
“1 can cure that with quinine.”
“Sir,” continued the landlord, “there
are no gorgeous sunsets.”
“Well?”
"No hunting, no bathing, no sal]
ing.”
“That suits me down to • the
ground.”
One thing more, sir, I do not claim
to set a good table.”
“I was in hopes you didn’t, as I am
a dyspeptic. As for the rest of the
drawbacks. I’ve just got away from
my wife for two weeks for the flrsl
time in ten years and nothing hert
can make me kick.”
I
I
Her Ex-Son.
Mrs. Wabash—There goes Mrs. Mar
rimore with her stepson. What a
homely boy he is!
Mrs. De Vorse—Yes, and yet I re
member several years ago I thought
him quite pretty,
Mrs. Wabash-'-Ah! but you were hi3
mother at that time, were you not?
Mrs. De Vorse—Why, yes, I believe
I was.—Philadelphia Press.
A Logical inference.
Little Bess—Who is that strange
lady, mamma?
Mamma—That is Miss Goodwin, the
philanthropist, my dear.
Little Bess—What is a philanthro
pist?
Mamma—it is a word derived from
the Greek signifying "a lover of men.”*
Little Bess—Then 1 guess all women
are philanthropists, aren't they, mam
ma?
About the Size of tt.
"Ever notice it?” queried the man
who begins his remarks In the mid
dle.
“Ever notice what.” asked the easy
mark.
“That for every dollar a maw wins
on fast horses he loses two oa slow
ones?” continued the other.
The Old, Old Story.
Ted—Well, ta-ta, old chappie, 1 must
get away; I have an engagement
Gus—A pressing one?
Ted—Well, it generally ends in that,
don’tcherknow, when the gas is
turned down.—Half-Holiday.
Retribution at Hand,
"Handy,” said Farmer Corntossel,
"do you know that one of them board
ers is the man that got me Into a
crooked game in the train last win
ter?'
"Are you goin’ to have him arrest
ed r*
"No, jes’ you see that he doesn't
pay his board in counterfeit money an’
we’ll get even all right.”
Two Ways of Seeing It.
First Lump of Delight—My husband
Is so jealous!!
Second Lump of Delight—How ab
surd!
First Lump of Delight—Why, isn't
yours?
Second Lump of Delight—Of course
not
First Lump of Delight—How humili
ating!—New Yorker.
Blaming It on the Bread.
“Sick at your stomach, eh?” said
the boy’s mother. “What made you
that way?”
“I guess,” said the boy, reproach
fully, “it was that bread you made me
eat at lunch time.”
“Indeed? W’here have you been ail
afternoon?”
"Over in old man Peters' apple or
chard.’*
Looking Over the Family.
Mr. Watkyns—Do you think that
that young Mr. Spryggyns is especial
ly interested in Mabel?
Mrs. Watkyns—Well, it looks that
way. The last time he called he per
sisted in having her bring out the old
photograph album and show him the
pictures of all the near and distant
relatives.
Could Not Believe It.
Jack—I thought that the author of
this book was famous for his keen
understanding of women?
Jane—Well, do you doubt it?
Jack—Of course. He says that the
heroine suffered in silence.
Now They Don’t Speak.
Mrs. Fox—Your husband paid me
such a pretty compliment yesterday.
*Mrs. Knox—Indeed! What did he
say?
Mrs. Fox—Why, he said I was look
ing younger and handsomer than ever.
Mrs. Knox—Oh, I’m not surprised
it his saying that. Poor John is get
ting awfully nearsighted.
A Life Risk.
Crawford—Why, old man, what
makes you look so blue?
Crabshaw—My wife went to get her
life insured.
Crawford—And they refused her?
Crabshaw—No; said she was good
for another forty years.—Town Top
,cs.
Just Like the Giver.
“Whew! Who gave you this cigar,
old man?”
“Why, Dauber, the artist.”
“I thought so. It’s just like him.’*
“In what -vay?”
“Why, it's cheap, full of flaws and
draws poorly.”