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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 1, 1906)
A FOOL FOR LOVE By FRANCIS LYNDE AUTHOR OF “THE GRAFTERS." ETC. (Copyright. 13Uf>, by J. P. lappinoou Co.) CHAPTER XI.—Continued. The Rajah dropped his cigar butt in the snow and trod upon it. “Possibly you will faveh us with your company to breakfast in the Rosemary, Misteh Winton—you and Misteh Adams. No? Then I bid you a vehy good morning, gentlemen, and hope to see you lateh.” And he swung up to the steps of the private car. Half an hour afterwards, the snow still whirling dismally, Winton and Adams were cowering over a handful of hissing embers, drinking their com missary coffee and munching the camp cook's poor excuse for a breakfast. “Jig's up pretty definitely, don’t you think?” said the Technologian, with a glance around at the idle track force huddling for shelter under the lee of the flats and the decapod. Winton shook his head and groaned. “I’m a ruined man, Morty.” Adams found his cigarette case. “I guess that’s so,” he said, quite heartlessly. Then: “Hello! what is our friend the enemy up to now?” McGrath’s fireman was uncoupling the engine from the Rosemary, and Mr. Darrah, complacently lighting his after-breakfast cigar, came across to the pissing ember fire. “A word with you, gentlemen, if you will faveh me,” he began. “I am about to run down to Argentine on my engine, and I propose leaving the la dies in your cha'ge, Misteh Winton. Will you give me your word of boneh, seh, that they will not be annoyed in my absence?” Winton sprang up, losing his tem per again. “It's—well, it’s blessed lucky that you know your man, Mr. Darrah!” he exploded. "Go on about your busi ness—which is to bring another army of deputy sheriffs down on us, I take it. You know well enough that no man of mine will lay a hand on your car so long as the ladies are in it.” The Rajah thanked him, dismissed the matter with a Chesterfleldian wave of his hand, climbed to his place in the cab, and the engine shrilled away around the curve and disap peared in the snow-wreaths. Adams rose and stretched himself. “By Jove! when it comes to cheek, pure and unadulterated, commend me to a Virginia gentleman who has ac quired the proper modicum of west ern bluff,” he laughed. Then, with a cavernous yawn dating back to the sleepless night: “Since there is noth ing immediately pressing, I believe I’ll go and call on the ladies. Won’t you come along?” “No!” said Winton, savagely; and the Technologian lounged off by him self. Some little time afterward Winton, glooming over his handful of spitting embers, saw Adams and Virginia come out to stand together on the observa tion platform of the Rosemary. They talked long and earnestly, and when Winton was beginning to add the dull pang of unreasoning jealousy to his other hurtings Adams beckoned him. “I should think you might come and say ‘Good morning’ to me, Mr. Win ton. I’m not Uncle Somerville,” said Miss Carteret. Winton said “Good morning,” not too graciously, and Adams mocked him. “Besides being a bear with a sore head. Miss Carteret thinks you’re not much of a hustler,” he said, coolly. “She knows the situation; knows that you were stupid enough to promise not to lay hands on the ear when we could have pushed it out of the way without annoying anybody. None the less, she thinks that you might find a way to go on building your railroad without breaking your word to Mr. Darrah.” winton put ms sore-nearteaness rar enough behind him to smile and say: “Perhaps Miss Virginia will be good enough to tell me how.” “I don’t know how,” she rejoined, quickly. “And you’d only laugh at me if I should tell you what I thought of.” “You might try it and see,” he ven tured. “I’m desperate enough to take suggestions from anyone.” “Tell me something first. Is your railroad obliged to run straight along in the middle of this nice little ridge you’ve been making for it?" “Why—no; temporarily, it can run anywhere. But the problem is to get the track laid beyond this crossing be fore your uncle gets back with a train load of armed guards.” “Any kind of a track would do, wouldn't it?—just to secure the cross ing?” "Certainly; anything that would hold the weight of the decapod. We shall have to rebuild most of the line, anyway, as soon as the frost comes out of the ground in spring.” The brown eyes became far-seeing. “I was thinking,” she said, musing ly, “there is no time to make an other nice little ridge. But you have piles and piles of logs over there”— she meant the cross-ties—“couldn’t you build a sort of cobhouse ridga with those between your track and uncle’s, and cross behind the car? Don’t laugh, please.” But Winton was far enough from laughing at her. Why so simple an expedient had not suggested Itself in stantly he did not stop to inquire. It was enough that the Heaven-born idea had been given. “Down out of that, Morty!” h« cried. “It’s one chance in a thousand Pass the word to the men; I’ll b« with you in a second.” And wher Adams was rousing the track forc< with the bawling shout of “Ev-ery body!” Winton looked up into thi brown eyes. |- “My debt to you was already verj > great; I owe you more now,” he said But she gave him his quittance in i whiplike retort. “And you will stand here talking about it when every moment Is pre clous? Go!” she commanded; and h< -went So now we are to conceive the mad dest activity leaping into being in full view of the watchers at the windows of the private car. Winton’s chilled and sodden army, welcoming any bat tle-cry of action, flew to the work with a will. In a twinkling the corded piles of cross-ties had melted to reap pear in cob-house balks bridging an angle from the Utah embankment to that of the spur track in rear of the blockading Rosemary. In briefest time the hammermen were spiking the rails on the rough-and-ready trestle, and the Italians were bring up the crossing-frogs. But the Rajah, astute colonel of in dustry, had not left himself defense less. On the contrary, he had provid ed for this precise contingency by leaving McGrath's firemap in mechan ical command on the Rosemary. If Winton should attempt to build around the private car. the fireman was to wait till the critical moment; then he was to lessen the pressure on the automatic air-brakes and let the car drop back down the grade just far enough to block the new crossing. So it came about that this mechan ical lieutenant waited, laughing ia his sleeve, until he saw the Italians com ing with tlie crossing-frogs. Then, judging the. time to be fully ripe, he ducked under the Rosemary to “bleed" the air-tank. Winton heard the hiss of the escap ing air above all the industry clamor; heard, and saw the car start backward. Then he had a flitting glimpse of a man in grimy overclothes scrambling terror-frenzied from beneath the Rose mary. The thing done had been over done. The fireman had “bled” the air tank too freely, and the liberated car, gathering momentum with every wheel-turn, surged around the circling spur track and shot out masterless on the steeper gradient of the main line. Now, for the occupants of a runa way car on a Rocky mountain line there is death and naught else. Win ton saw, in a phantasmagoric flash of second sight, the meteor flight of the heavy car; saw the Reverend Bil ly’s ineffectual efforts to apply the hand-brakes, if by good hap he should even guess that there were! any hand brakes; saw the car, bounding and “RUN, CALVERT. lurching, keeping to the rails, may hap, for some few miles below Ar gentine, where it would crash head long into the upward climbing Car bonate train, and all would end. In unreasoning misery, he did the only thing that offered: Ran blindly down his own embankment, hoping nothing but that he might, have one last glimpse of Virginia clinging to the hand-rail before she should be lost to him forever. But as he ran a thought white-hot from the furnace of despair fell into his brain to set it ablaze with pur pose. Beyond the litter of activities the decapod was standing, empty of its crew. Bounding up into the cab, he released the brake and sent the great engine flying down the track of the new line. In the measuring of the first mile the despair-born thought took shape and form. If he could outpace the runaway on the parallel line, stop the decapod and dash across to the C. & G. R. track ahead of the Rosemary, there was one chance in a million that he might fling himself upon the car in mid flight and alight with life enough left to help Calvert with the hand-brakes. Now. in the most unhopeful struggle it is often the thing least hoped for that comes to pass. At Argentine Winton’s speed was a mile a minute over a track rougher than a corduroy wagon-road; yet the decapod held the rail and was neck and neck with the runaway. Three miles more ot the surging, racking, nerve-killing race and Win ton had his hand’a-bresdth of Had and had picked his place for the million cbanced wrestle with death. It was at the C. & G. R. station of Tierra Blanca, just below a series of sharp curves which he hoped might check a little the arrowlike flight of the runa way. Twenty seconds later the telegraph operator at the lonely little way sta tion ot Tierra Blanca saw a heroic bit of man-play. The upward-bound Carbonate train was whistling in the ; gorge below when out of the snow wreaths shrouded the new line a big i engine shot down to stop with \ fire grinding from the wheels, and a dropped from the high eab to dash across to the station platform. At the same instant a runaway pas* senger car thundered out of the can yon above. The man crouched, flung himself at it in passing, missed the forward hand-rail, caught, the rear, was snatched from his feet and trailed through the air like the thong of a whiplash, yet made good his hold and clambered on. This was all the operator saw, but when he had snapped his key and run cut, he heard the shrill squeal of the brakes on the car and knew that John Winton had not risked his life for nothing. And on board the Rosemary? Win ton, spent to the last breath, was lying prone on the railed platform, where he had fallen when the last twist had been given to the shrieking brakes, his head in Miss Carteret’s lap. “Run, Calvert! Run ahead and— stop—the—up-train!” he gasped; then the light went out of the gray eye3 and Virginia wept unaffectedly and fell to dabbling his forehead with handfuls of snow. “Help me get him in to the divan, Cousin Billy,” said Virginia, when all was over and the Rosemary was safe ly coupled in ahead of the upcoming train to be slowly pushed back to Ar gentine. But Winton opened his eyes and struggled to his feet unaided. “Not yet,” he said. “I’ve left my automobile on the other side of the creek; and, besides, I have a railroad to build. My respects to Mr. Darrah, and you may tell him I’m not beaten yet.” And he swung over the rail ing and dropped off to mount the octopod and to race it back to the front. Three days afterwards, to a scream ing of smelter whistles and other noisy demonstrations of mining-camp joy, the Utah Short Line laid the final rail of its new extension in the Car bonate yards. The driving of the silver spike ac complished, Winton slipped out of the congratulatory throng and made his way across the C. & G. R. tracks to a private car standing alone on its sid ing. Its railed platform, commanding a view of the civic celebration, bad its quota of onlookers—a flerce-eyed old man with huge white mustaches, an athletic young clergyman, two Bisques and a goddess. “Climb up, Misteh Winton, climb up and join us.” said the fierce-eyed one heartily. “Virginia, heah,. thinks we ought to call each otheh out, but I tell her—” What the Rajah had told his niece is of small account to us. But what Winton whispered in her ear when he had taken his place beside her ia more to the purpose of this history. “I have built my railroad, as you told me to, and now I have come for me—” "Can’t "Hush!” she said, softly, you wait?” “No.” "Shameless one!” she murmured. But when the Rajah proposed an adjournment to the gathering-room of the car, and to luncheon therein, he surprised them standing hand-in-hand and laughed. “Hah, you little rebel,” he said. “Do you think you dese’ve that block of stock I promised you when you should marry? Anseh me, my deah.” She blushed and shook her head, but the brown eyes were dancing. The Rajah opened the car door with his courtliest bow. “Nevertheless, you shall have it, my deah Virginia, if only to remind an old man of the time when he was sim ple enough to make a business con federate of a charming young woman. Straight on, Misteh Adams; after you, Misteh Winton.” [THE END.] ENOUGH SAID. Gerald—We all have our weak nesses. Geraldine—Well, you’re not mine.— Illustrated Bits. "I have two lovely little puppies,’1 said Mrs. Tawkley. “I have met your husband,” replied the man. “Who is the other one?”-* Judge. Training the Nose. THEj^UMPTAlMNrXD . AMD dTJDT YOUR NOdlf MOd£°f_CJdClUA UQF.TUd — — -tut SUMWeam, manna; 11 THE &UGHTET TINTED NOW, MjlThe one that rd.rmcALu American There are beauty doctors these days who do nothing but train the nose. Their mission is to preserve it so that it shall be both useful and aristocratic. They treat the nose until it becomes the handsomest of features. “You would scarcely believe,” said one of these, “how many women come to us to have the nose doctored. We had a woman the other day whose nose was the color of a peony. It was not only bright red; it wras scarlet. No red nose was ever any redder than this nose. The woman wept when she told us about it. “ ‘I have done everything,’ she said, ‘and my nose gets redder and redder. The last thing I did was to dip it in very hot wrater every night. Somebody told me it would take the color out of my nose, but has only put more color into it.” “We quieted her. here in our beauty shop, and requested her to wait a few days. ‘Follow these instructions,’ we said to her, ‘and your nose will stop being red.’ She did as requested and her nose is now quiet perfect. She was otherwise a beauty except for this awful red nose. “The woman with a coarse ugly nose should take care of it at once. It is the beginning of a permanent blemish. Noses grow old first of all. You can tell how old a woman is simply by the appearance of her nose. It is bet ter than looking at her teeth. "To keep the nose from growing old you must massage it. Massage does not make the nose red. Soap it once a day and scrub it with a cloth. It will make the skin grow finer instead of reddening it. “When the nose is coarse and ugly as to its texture and when the pores are big and open the only thing to do is to rub it with alcohol. The beauty doctors will tell you to use a benzoinated bath. This means a big basin of tepid water, with a few drops pi benzoin in it, just enough to make it milky. But, if you don’t want to go to all that trouble, just take pure alcohol. Bathe the tip of the nose with it for a week. The pores will begin to contract.” The Bondage of the Blues. Intangible Perils, Rather Than Definite Ones, Are Those at Which We Are Most Frightened. BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER. Being in bondage to the blues is precisely like being lost in a London fog. The latter is thick and black and obliterates familiar landmarks. A man may be within a few doors of his home, yet grope helplessly through the murk to find the well-worn threshold. A person under the tyranny of the blues is temporarily unable to adjust life to its usual limitations. He or she cannot see an. inch beyond the dread ful present. Everything looks dark and forbidding, and despair with an iron clutch, pins its victim down. People think, loosely, that trials that may be weighed and measured and felt and handled, are the worst trials to which flesh is heir. Loss of fortune, loss of children, loss of friends, they call these disasters that must tax the soul to its utmost endurance, and crush the heart beneath their weight. But they are mistaken. Hearts are elastic and real sorrows seldom crush them. Souls have in them a wonder ful capacity for recovering after knock down blows. It is the intangible, the thing that one dreads vaguely, that catches one in the dark, that suggests and intimates'a peril that is spiritual rather than mortal; it is the burden that carries dismay and terror to the Imagination. Half our fears in life and more than half our troubles, as we known when we are reasonable, are perfectly groundless. Apprehensions of evil are worse than evils themselves. A tendency to the blues may be an unfortunate legacy from a forgotten great-grandfather. Away back In the shadowy past there was somebody in the family line who had lost the power of looking up and, like Bunyan’s man with the muck rake, spent his time in looking down and raking to gether useless rubbish and who never knew that there was another world than the one at his feet. This man bequeathed a fatal tenden cy to those who came after him. Pos sibly it skipped a generation or two to pounce like a beast from an ambush on somebody who should be enjoying the gladness of this blithe age, but who has little chance of escaping the chains of his birthright. _ Still, inher ited handicaps, if recognized, may be vanquished and thrown aside. “I would give,” said a man, not long ago, “all my worldly goods if I could be freed from the despotism of the spirit of my grandfather that dwells in and controls me, and turns my days the color of indigo when they might be the’ color of the rose. I would change places willingly with the tramp by the roadside, if I could be as light hearted and cheerful as he.” In nine cases out of ten, actual tramping to the point of fatigue and actual camping out of doors, with noth ing but a tent between the starlit heaven and the hard pillow, would be a cure for this malady. It is a malady, and should be met and coped with de fiantly on this issue. A thoroughly healthful, wholesome and sane phil osophy of life has nothing to do with doleful terrors and cheerless views. Nature has balm for wounded hearts. The blues often come as other mor bid affections do from a disordered liver. Undoubtedly, it ia a mortifica tion to admit that the ethereal part of one, the mind, the soul, the spirit, may be at the mercy of the liver or the spleen or the stomach, but facts bear out the assertion that a blue piil will often conquer the blues, and that a doctor’s prescription will put a new face on the sufferer’s world. The chronic dyspeptic is sure to be blue unless he is a saint high on the roll of those of whom the world is not worthy. ***** Manifestly, we have no right to yield to the tyranny of the blues, either for our own sake or for that of others. It is bad enough to wander aimlessly through a labyrinth of de pression, but it is criminal to drag one’s family along. The blues are con tagious, as contagious as smallpox, yellow fever or whooping cough, and as much to be avoided as they. They are less easily dealt with, on the whole, and therefore it is positively wicked and almost unpardonable to risk the safety and comfort of other people in their neighborhood. Apart from the obvious necessity of securing for the body such a regimen as shall bring it up to the best avail able standard of health, apart from se curing rest for jaded nerves, there is another way of escape from the bond age of the blues. It is the way taken through the centuries by those who have believed that earth is not all, and that heaven is forever near us. Faith in the Unseen, the faith that tramples doubt underfoot and takes hold on the everlasting power of an infinite and Almighty God, can transform the bar ren waste of melancholy into a Garden of Paradise. By prayer and pains one may escape from the bitter bondage of the blues. Why forget the aphorism that the darkest day lived till to-morrow will have passed away? Just around the corner, at the turn of the road, an angel may be waiting whose sharp sword will rout the demon that has dogged your steps. Look for the angel. The angel is stronger than the demon, as life is stronger than death. (Copyright, 1906. by Joseph B. Bowie*.) Lace Waists in Black and White. The white lace waists with black handwork run in have become very smart. Indeed, one does not know where they will end, for their vogue has become so great. One sees them everywhere: yet they are costly. “If I wanted a handsome white lace shirt waist and could not afford to pay $60 for one of French origin,” said a modiste, “1 would buy a plain white lace one and embroider it. I would choose a novelty lace, for the Irish lace waists are rather difficult to em broider. And I would run the black silk threads through the pattern in such a manner as to bring it out nice ly, without making it too conspicuous. “If I were trying to embroider an Irish lace waist I would make tiny wheels of black silk and of chiffon, and would set them into the lace be tween the heavy figures of Irish hand work. In this manner one gets an effective waist to wear under an Eton.” Torpedo toques are not so danger ous as their name implies, but they are really well named and are the newest thing in small hats. Our Washington Letter A Bevy of Pretty Debuntantes Will Make the Coming Social Sea son at the Capital an Unusually Interesting One—Figures Show ing the Salt We Eat WASHINGTON.—There Is always a delight ful expectancy relative to the debutantes of at Washington season, and this year's crop presents, unusual features in many ways. There are rich girls and poor girls, pretty girls and homely girls, , accomplished girls and athletic girls, but there ’ is no gainsaying that they are all highly interest ing girls, and each possessed of many endearing' young charms. There will be at least 40 to enjoy the Ftache lors, the Sixty Couple and the numerous subscrip tion dances, and there are more ballrooms to be open next season than ever before in this city.. Usually a girl has established a reputation for dancing before her formal presentation, and even thus early in the game it is not unusual to hear some well-seasoned bachelor remark that a cer-' MISS MARGARET SHONTS. turn gin til ills set is niuiust as nuc « uiuim as was her mother or perhaps her elder sister. There is no longer such a thing as surprising the social world with some shy beauty who has been kept housed, shjelterjed . and almost smothered with accomplishments and learning. Not much. The oud of to-day generally has a generous foretaste of the world for qt least a season before she is launched, just to make her easy and'at home, you know. She dances through a winter, romps through tennis and golf on the open field in the summer, rides with all the old beaux, and is even pretty well introduced abroad before formally making her bow here, and sometimes even presented at court abroad just to give them experience. Most all of the girls will make their debuts in December, and, so far as now known, the old-fashioned afternoon tea will prevail, with a charming exception, such as a pretty ball like the one at which Mrs. Gaff introduced Miss Zaidee Gaff two winters ago, or the series of dinners, which method was adopted by Mrs. Postlethwaite in presenting her daughter, who was mar ried Wednesday, October 3, to Henry Ives Cobb. There is quite a little story connected with that series of dinners of’ Mrs. Postlethwaite’s, however, which was revived by her daughter’s marriage.- All of the guests, bidden to the first dinner 0ere surprised not to find the bud there at all. Then ensued an explanation to the effect that Mrs. Longworth. then Miss Alice Roosevelt, had telephoned over to Miss Postlethwaite saying that the President and Mrs. Roosevelt were dining out and that she would like the debutante to come over and enjoy dinner with her and a few of her friends. Miss Postlethwaite, now Mrs. Cobb, in her charming manner ex plained to Miss Roosevelt that she was having a dinner at home that night. Mrs. Postlethwaite, however, who took a different view of the situation and looked upon Miss Roosevelt’s invitation as an order, insisted that her daugh ter leave her own guests and go. So Washington had its first experience of a debutante dinner without the debutante, an e-.vent quite as cheerful as a wedding without a bride. CAPITAL BEAUTIES IN GREAT VARIETIES. There is a delightful variety of girls to be presented. One cabinet girl. Miss Erma Shaw; one diplomatic gin, so iar as Known, naroness Elizabeth Rosen, who astonished the North Shore with, her expert swimming, strong tennis and de lectable horsemanship all last summer. There are more than a half dozen girls from the army and navy sets, and others from official and resident society. Newest of all the girls in Washington who will be presented this season is pretty, tall, wil lowy Katherine Jennings, who is one of the most winsome girls ever introduced from what is known in Washington as the “South African con tingent.” She is the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Hennen Jennings, who last year, as they will this, occupied Mrs. A. C. Barney’s residence in Rhode Island avenue, near the French embassy, from wmcn miss z^aiaee uan maae ner aeDui two years ago. JENNINGS. The daughters of chairman of the Panama canal commission and Mrs. Theodore P. Shonts, Miss Theodora, and Miss Marguerite, have the double advantage of having been presented at the spring court in London this year, where they were much admired, and a good share of the entire season under the chaperonage of Mrs. Whitelaw Reid, but they also have many friends in Washington. INTERESTING FIGURES ABOUT SALT. The United States consumes 26,872,700 bar y<5w000;000 y pounds / rels or salt annually, or a barrel for every three persons In the land. Last year it went abroad for only 1,151,133 barrels. In 1880 63.5 per cent, of the salt used in our country was of home pro duction. Last year 95.7 per cent, of the product consumed was produced within the borders of this country. In 1880 the consumption in this country was only 9,384,263 barrels. Thus we see that the people of the United States are using an nually three times as much salt as they used 26 years ago. Only 5,961,060 barrels wtfre produced in this country in 1880, and the consumers were forced to go abroad for 3,427,639 barrels. Last year the total production at home was 25,966,122 barrels. The tariff act of 1894 placed salt on the free list and the importations increased to nearly 560,000, 000 pounds the following year. The tariff act of i__i_i_ _Ai_ __ — UV.U LUV »•» M**u Ul* M, 111 UU^,0, UU1 1 V.IO U1 WIUV1 (/MV, n ages is now subject to a duty of 12 cents a hundred pounds, or 33.6 cents a barrel. The chief salt producing states are Michigan and New York. Statistics recently gathered by the government show that the combined output of these two states amounts to more than two-thirds of the total production of the United States. No attempt has ever been made to ascertain what per cent, of the salt consumed in the United States is used for culinary purposes. The annual out put is largely consumed in the industries of meat packing, fish curing, dairy ing and the like. REHABILITATING “OLD IRONSIDES." Under an act of congress, “Old Ironsides” is to be rebuilt once more and refitted for sea serv / iCTX The work is to be done where she was orig inally built—Boston—and the money is being raised by the Massachusetts State society, United States Daughters of 1812, through an appeal to patriotic Americans for the preservation of this historical object lesson, which will once more cruise under “Old Glory” as a training ship for naval apprentices. The original plans of this old fighting ship were recently, unearthed in the East Indian Marine Museum, Salem, Mass., and will play an important part in the rebuilding. In 1830 it was reported in the newspapers that it was the intention of the government to destroy the Constitution, together with a number of other ships. xjui t.iic vcij- anuuuuLcmuu wuu a puuuc clamor of disapproval, as did Secretary of the Navy Bonaparte’s recommenda tion, late last year, that she be used for a target. The Constitution was built in Boston in 1797, a frigate of 1,576 tons and designed to carry 45 guns. She was one of the first ships to see active service in the war of 1812. Small wonder indeed that the New Englanders were moved to recite the career of the famous old ship to the navy secretary, inasmuch as it is the only real relic of that branch of American arms that preserved the United States in her second war with Great Britain. The “Old Ironsides” remained in active commission until the advent of the real ironclad, when she was used for auxiliary purposes. At last, having no utility, even as a training ship, her destruction was ordered, and had been begun when the wave of popular dissent, voiced in the poem of Oliver Wendell Holmes, forced the navy department to desist. Since that time she has been lying in the Boston navy yard—her decks roofed over like a nondescript building. 8AY8 UNITED 8TATES OWNS CUBA. Congressman John James Jenkins, of Wiscon sin, chairman of the judiciary committee of the house, insists that we have absolute sovereignty over Cuba. He says: “Cuba is domestic and not foreign territory. Under international law, independent of all treaty obligations, Cuba became domestic territory at the close of the war with Spain. But after the ratification of the treaty with Spain Cuba became domestic territory by virtue of the treaty and subsequent action of the United States. “The United States can only divest its sov has not been done. The supreme court of the United States in Neely vs. Henkel sustains my position by holding that in June, 1900, the Island of Cuba was occupied by and was under control of the United States and that it is still so occu pied, and control cannot be disputed.” Congressman Jenkins has represented the Tenth Wisconsin district at Washington since 1895. He served during the civil war with a Wisconsin regiment. He was bora in W'eymouth, England in 1843, and came to America at the age of nine years. At the time of the insurance scandals last spring Mr. Jenkins, as chair man of the judiciary committee, reported that, after an exhaustive study, they found that congress had the power to regulate insurance companies. Mr. Jenkins has spent most of his life in Chippewa, Wis., where he has held the offices of city clerk, city attorney and county judge. In 1876 he went to Wyoming for several years, having been appointed United States attorney for the territory by President Grant.
