THE INVENTIONS OF HAWKINS
JBva EDGAR..FRANKLIN
THE CHEMICO-SPRINKLER SYSTEM.
The gathering at the Hawkins'
home that night was, I suppose, in
the nature of a house-warming.
The Blossoms, the Ridgeways, the
Eldridges, the Gordons were there, in
addition to perhaps a dozen and a half
other people whom I had never met.
Also, Mr. Blodgett was there.
Old Mr. Blodgett is Hawkins’ fa
ther-in-law. There is a Mrs. Blodgett,
too, but she is really too sweet an old
lady to be placed in the mother-in-law
category.
Blodgett, however, makes up for any
deficiencies on his wife’s part in the
traditional traits. He seems to have
analyzed Hawkins with expert care
and precision—to have appraised and
classified his character and attain
ments to a nicety.
Consequently, Hawkins and Mr.
Blodgett are rarely to be observed
wandering hither and thither with
their arms about each other’s waists.
Finally, I was there myself with my
wife.
It seems almost superfluous to men
tion my presence. Whenever Hawkins
is on the verge of trouble with one of
his contrivances, some esoteric force
seems to sweep me along in his di
rection with resistless energy.
Sometimes I wonder what Hawkins
did for a victim before we met—but
let that be.
Dinner had been lively, ior u«
guests were mainly young, and the
wines such as Hawkins can afford;
but when we had assembled in the
drawing-room, conversation seem'd to
slow down somewhat, and to pass over
to a languid discussion of the house as
a sort of relaxation.
Then it was that a pert miss from
one of the Oranges remarked;
“Yes, the frescoing is lovely—almost
all of it. But—whoever could have
designed that frieze, Mr. Hawkins?
“Er—that frieze?” repeated the in
ventor, a little uncomfortably, indi
cating the insane-looking strip ol
painting a foot or so wide which ran
along under the ceiling.
“Yes, it’s so funny. Nothing but
dots and dots and dots. Whoever
could have conceived such an idea?”
“Well, I did. Miss Mather,” Hawkins
replied. “I designed that myself.”
, “Oh, did you?” murmured the in
quisitive one, going red.
Hawkins turned to me, and the girl
subsided; but old Mr. Blodgett had
overheard. He felt constrained to put
in, with his usual tactful thought and
grating, nasal voice:
“It’s hideous—simply hideous. 1
don’t see—I can’t see the sense is
spending that amount of money ic
plastering painted roses and undressed
young ones all over the ceiling, Her
bert.”
“No?” said Hawkins, between his
teeth.
“Folly—pure folly,” grunted the old
gentleman. “No reason for it—nc
reason under the sun.”
Hawkins at least reserves familj
dissensions for family occasions. H<
held his peace and his tongue.
“Yes, sir,” persisted Blodgettt
“everything else out of the question
the house might catch fire to-night
and your entire stock of painted ha
hies go up in smoke. Then where’c
they be? Eh?”
“See here,” said Hawkins, goadec
into speech, "you just keep your mint
easy on that score at least, will you
papa, dear?”
“This house isn’t going up ii
smoke.” went on the inventor, tartly
“You can take my word for it.”
“Isn't, eh?” jeered the elderly Blod
gett with his nasty sneering littli
chuckle. “And how do you know it’s
not? Eh? Smarter men than you
my boy, and in better built house:
have—”
“Look here! This particular place
isn’t going to burn, because—’’ Haw
kins rapped out.
“What isn’t going to burn, Her
bert?" inquired Mrs. Hawkins, with i
cold, warning glance at her husbanc
as she perceived that hostilities were
in progress. “Is he teasing you again
papa?”
“Teasing me!” sniffed Blodgett witl
an unpleasant leer at Hawkins.
“Teasing that antiquity!” Hawkins
growled in my ear. “Say, isn’t thai
enough to—”
“Don’t whisper, Herbert—it isn’t po
lite,” continued Mrs. Hawkins, th<
playfulness of her manner somewha
belied by the glitter in her eye. “Le
us all into the secret.”
“Oh, there’s no secret,” said the in
ventor, shortly.
“No dance, either,” pouted the gir
from Jersey, who was an intimate o
the family.
It was the signal for the light fan
tastic business to begin. Hawkins i:
notoriously out of sympathy frit!
dancing. He took my arm and guidet
me stealthily from the drawing-room
“Phew!” remarked the invento
when we had settled ourselves up
stairs with a couple of cigars. “Say
Griggs, do you still wonder at crime?’
“Meaning?”
“Meaning dear Papa Blodgett,’
snapped Hawkins. “Honestly, do yoi
believe it would be really wicked t<
lure that old human pussy-edt dowi
cellar and sort of lose him througl
the furnace-door?”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Hawkins,”
laughed.
“It isn't nonsense. It’s the way
feel. But I’ll get square on that spite
ful tongue of his some day—and whei
JViM lairyVlt </^W—u/tyW—gryWwWyW*—
C/. 5. SOLDIERS ON A BEE HUNT
C. Childs, company I, Twenty-sev
enth Massachusetts, tells the follow
ing amusing incident of his war ex
periences in the National Tribune:
“One hot day at Newbern, N. C., in
1862, when our regiment was doing
picket duty at Deep Gully, about eight
miles up the railroad from Newbern,
two of my comrades came up and
proposed that we go and get some
honey. We took two pails and left
camp for a plantation about one mile
out. We arrived safely ani found ten
swarms of bees, but as luck would
have it the owner of the Insects, his
wife, daughter and a bloodhound were
watching them. Though we tried, we
could make no headway with the
vigilant watchers, and finally resolved
to move on and try eur luck at an
other plantation where I knew there
were two swarms of bees. The hives
were located on either side of the
door of the house, a small one-story
building containing two rooms. We
decided that one of the boys should
engage the old man in conversation
and keep him to the rear. I was to
stop up the holes in the hives and
keep a lookout for the lady of the
house, in case she tried to interfere
with our operations, and the third
man. Morgan, was to take the bees.
Everything worked well, and soon I
saw Morgan running across the field
with one bee hive. In those days
hives were made of hollow logs, with
boards nailed on the ends and holes
cut in them to let the bees go in and
out. I followed him as soon as pos
sible, first notifying our other com
panion that we had the bees. When
I caught up to Morgan I discovered
that one end of the bee hive had
come off and he was having a hot
time. I threw my coat over the hive
and asked for the pails, quick. In our
»**«*W||Wt>w^Wt<M/||Wt«rf||Ww
excitement we had entirely forgotten
them, and Morgan ofTered to go back
after them. I guess he was glad
enough to get away from those pesky
little bees. By the time he got back
I had killed all the bees, and we
hastily filled our pails and hurried
off to camp. The old man came to see
the colonel next day, but we had cov
ered our tracks well, and he found
nothing suspicious about camp. As
soon as he went we boys took the
colonel some of the best honey.”
I do! There isn’t anything sweeter
waiting for me in Heaven than to feel
myself emptying a pan of dishwater
on that old reprobate from one of the
upper windows.
"Why, Griggs, sometimes in the
night I dream I have him on the floor,
that I’m just getting even for some
of the things he's said to me and
about me, and I wake up in a drip
ping perspiration and—”
“Stop, Hawkins!” I guffawed.
"Strikes you funny, too, does it?”
the inventor cried angrily. “I sup
pose you think it’s all right for him
to talk as he does? Criticise my deco
rations, tell me theyll all burn up
some day, and all that?”
“Well, but they might.”
“They might not!” shouted Haw
kins in a fury. “You don’t know any
more about it than he does. You
couldn’t burn up this house if you
soaked every carpet in it with oil!”
“Why not?”
“Aha! Why not? That’s just the
point. Why not, to be sure? Be
cause it’s all prepared for ahead of
time.”
“Private wire to the engine-house?”
I queried.
“Private wire to Halifax! There’s
no private wire about it. See here,
Griggs, do you suppose that poor lit
tle brain of yours could comprehend a
truly great idea?”
“It could try,” I said, meekly.
“Then listen. You remember those
dots on the frieze all through the
house? You do? All right. Just
close your eyes and conceive a little
metal tube running back into the wall.
Imagine the little tube opening into
a large supply pipe in the wall.
“Is that clear? Then conceive that
the supply pipe in each room connects
a wooden affair, lined with lead.
Over the top, and some two feet
above the tank proper, the heavy
cover was suspended by a weird sys
tem of pulleys and electric wires. To
the under side of the cover was fas
tened a big glass sphere filled with
white stuff.
It was a remarkable contrivance.
"There—that’s simple, isn’t it?”
said Hawkins, with a happy smile.
“It may be if you understand it.”
“Why, just look here. See that big
glass ball? That’s full of marble dust
—carbonate of lime, you know. The
tank is filled with weak sulphuric
acid. When the ball drops into the
acid—what happens?”
“You have a nasty job fishing it out
again?"
“Not at all. It smashes into flin
ders, the marble dust combines with
the sulphuric acid, and forms a neu
tral liquid, bubbling with carbonic
acid. Even you, Griggs, must know
that carbonic acid gas will put out
any fire, without damaging anything.
There you are.”
“I see. You smell fire, rush up here
and knock that ball into the tank, and
the house is flooded through the dots
in your frieze. Remarkable!”
“Oh, I don’t even have to come up
here,” smiled Hawkins. “See that?”
“That” was a little strand of plati
num wire in a niche in the wall.
“That’s just a test fuse, so that I
can see that she’s all in working or
der,” pursued the inventor, leaning
his cigar against it. “There’s half a
dozen of them in every room in the
house. As soon as the heat touches
them, they melt and set off my electric
release—and down drops the cover of
the tank—ball and all. The ball
breaks, the valve at the bottom opens
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“But I had it up-stairs. We were
both smoking.”
“So you did,” I said. "The last I
saw of it you leaned it against that
fuse thing—”
“Great Scott! That’s what I did!”
gasped the inventor, turning white.
"Well, what of it?”
“Why, suppose the infernal thing
has burned down to the fuse!” cried
Hawkins, hoarsely. “Suppose it melts
through the wire and sends down that
top!”
“Will It start the stuff running?”
“Start it! Of course it’ll start it.
Gee whizz! I’m going up there now,
Griggs!”
Hawkins made for the stairs. I
smiled after fim, for he seemed rath
er worked up.
I turned back to the dancers. It
was a pretty scene. To the rhythm
of a particularly seductive waltz, the
guests were gliding about the floor.
I noted the gay colors of the ladles’
gowns, the flowers, the sparkling dia
monds.
And then—then I noted the frieze!
My eyes seemed instinctively to
travel to that stretch of ugliness—
they fastened upon the dots with a
kind of fascination. And none too
soon.
From one of the dots spurted forth
what looked like a tiny stream of
water. Another followed and another
and yet another. The whole multitude
of dots were raining liquid upon the
dancers from all sides of the room!
The streams came from north, east,
south and west. They came from the
hallway behind me—a hundred of
them seemed to converge upon my
devoted back. I was fairly soaked
through in a second.
The Streams Came from North, East, South and We?;.
with a supply in the rear of the house,
and that the big pipe terminates—or
rather begins—in a big tank on the
top flooor?”
“But what on earth is it all?”
“It’s the Hawkins Chemico-Sprink
ler System!” announced the inventor.
“For the Lord’s sake!’ I gasped.
“Yes. sir! It’s something like the
sprinkling system .you see in factories,
but all concealed—perfectly adapted
to private house purposes. Every one
: of those dots is simply a little hole
in the wall through which, in case of
' fire, will flow quart after quart of my
chemical fire-extinguisher? How’s
| that?”
"Er—is the tank full?” I asked,
gliding hurriedly away from the wall.
“Of course it is. Oh, sit where you
* were, C”iggs, don’t drag in that
i asinine clownishness of yours. Or,
I better still, come up with me and see
the business end of the thing—the
‘ tank and all that.”
“The stuff isn’t inflammable, is it?
. We’re smoking, you know.”
“An inflammable flre-extinguishing
liquid!” cried Hawkins. “Why, can’t
’ you understand that—bah!”
i He laid a course to the upper re
• gions and I followed.
i “Out here in th,- extension,” he ex
i plained, when we reached the top
floor. “There!”
1 We stood in a bare room, whose
emptiness was accentuated by the cold,
: electric light.
Furnishings it had none, save for
i the big tank in the center. This was
automatically—and down goes the
tank, full of extinguisher.”
“Well, I must say it looks prac
tical.”
“It is!” asserted Hawkins. “Some
night—if the night ever comes—when
you see a roaring blaze in one of these
rooms subdued in ten seconds by the
gentle drizzle that comes out of that
frieze, you will—”
“Mr. Hawkins, sir,” interrupted
Hawkins’ butler at the door.
“Well, William?”
“Mrs. Hawkins, sir, she says as how
your presence is desired down-stairs.”
“Oh, all right,” said the inventor,
wearily. “I’ll be dov/n directly.”
"No rest for the wicked,” he com
mented to me. “Come on, Griggs,
we’ll have to dance.”
The festivity was in full swing when
we descended.
Mrs. Hawkins came over to us and
remarked in low tones to her spouse:
“Now just try to make yourself
agreeable, Herbert. It’s not nice for
you to steal away and smoke.”
“I’m not smoking.”
“Mr. Griggs is.”
“So I am,” I said, suddenly realiz
ing the fact “William, will you dis
pose of this, please?”
“Now go right in, both of you,” Mrs.
Hawkins began. Then she was called
away.
“Griggs!” muttered Hawkins,
thoughtfully tapping his forehead.
“Yes?”
“What—what the deuce did I do
with my cigar?”
The panic can hardly be fancied.
Men and women shrieked together in
the utter amazement of the thing.
They laughed aloud, some of them.
Others cried out in terror.
They leaped and sprang back and
forth, to this side and that, in the
vain endeavor to dodge the innumer
able streams. Some slipped and al
most fell, carrying down others with
i them. And all were doused.
Then, as suddenly as it had started,
the flood ceased. •
“Well, God bless my soul!” ejacu
lated Mr. Blodgett, putting up a hand
to wring his collar. “What in Heav
en’s name happened?”
“Great Caesar’s ghost!” said Haw
kins’ voice behind me.
He bad returned from his trip to
the top floor extension.
“It’s all right,” he called with
cheery indifference to the contrary
sentiments of two dozen people.
“There’s no danger. It won’t hurt
you.”
“But it does. It bites!” cried the
girl from Jersey. “What is it?
Where did it come from?”
“Yes, it does bite! It smarts awful
ly! By Jove! The stuff’s eating me!
What is it, Hawkins? Oh, Mr. Haw
kins, wherever did it come from?
Why, it ran out of those dots—I saw
it! What is it?” echoed from different
parts of the room.
“It’s only my sprinkler—my fire
extinguisher,” Hawkins explained.
“It went off by accident, you see.
There’s nothing in it to hurt you. It’s
perfectly neutral. It can’t bite—that’s
imagination.”
“But it does!” cried Mrs. Gordon.
“It stings like acid. It actually seems
to be eating my skin!”
“Bite! I should say it did!”
growled Mr. Blodgett. “It’s chewing
my hands off—I believe it’s carbolic
acid. I do—I’ll swear I do. No smell
—but it’s been deodorized. That’s it
—carbolic acid!”
"Carbolic fiddlesticks!” sasid Haw
kins. •
Then a puzzled expression came into
his eyes. He raised one of his wet
bands and tasted it—and spat vio
lently.
“Say! Hold on! Wait a minute!”
he cried.
Hawkins darted off up-stairs. I
could hear him bounding along, two
steps at a time, until he reached the
top.
Silence ensued for a few seconds,
save for an exclamation here and
there, as one or another of the guests
discovered that bis or her neck or ear
or arm was smarting.
Then the servants piled up from be
low. They, too, were wet and fright
ened. They, too, bad discovered that
the liquid emitted by the Hawkins
Chemleo-Sprinkler System bit into
the human epidermuis like fire.
“Phat is it? Phat is it?” the cook
was drearily intoning, when hurrying
footsteps turned my attention once
more to the stairs.
Hawkins was coming down at a
gallop. In his arms he carried a keg,
which dribbled white powder over the
beautiful carpet.
"Say,” he shouted to me. “That
ball didn’t bust!”
“It didn’t?” I cried.
“No! There’s no marble dust in
the stuff!” said the inventor, landing
on the floor with a final jump and
tearing into the parlor. “It’s pure,
diluted sulphuric acid!”
“Acid!” shrieked a dozen ladies.
“Yes!” groaned Hawkins, depositing
his keg on the floor. “But we’ll get
the best of it. William, bring up a
wash-tub full of water! Mary, go get
all the washrags in the house!
Quick!”
The homely household articles ar
rived within a minute or two.
“Now,” continued Hawkins, dump
ing half the keg into the tub. “That’s
baking soda. It’ll neutralize the acid.
Here, everybody. Dip a rag in here
and wash off the acid.
"Oh, hang propriety and decency
and conventionality and all the rest
of it!” he vociferated as some of the
ladies, quite warrantably hung back.
“Get at the acid before it gets at you!
Don’t you—can’t you understand?
It’ll burn into your skin in a little
while! Come on!”
There was no hesitation after that.
Men and women alike made frantical
ly for the tub, dipped cloths in the
liquid, and laved industriously hands
and arms and cheeks that were al
ready sore and burning.
Picture the scene: A dozen women
in evening dress, a dozen men in
swallow-tails,” clustered around a
washtub there in Hawkins’ parlor,
working for dear life with the soak
ing cloths.
Ludicrous, impossible, it was just
the sort of thing that could happen
under Hawkins’ roof and nowhere else
—barring perhaps a retreat for the
insane.
Later the excitement subsided. The
ladies, disheveled as to hair, carry
ing costumes whose glory had depart
ed forever, retired to the chambers
above for such further repairs as
might be possible. The men, too. un
der William’s guidance, went to draw
upon Hawkins’ wardrobe for clothes
in which to return home.
The inventor, Mr. Blodgett, and my
self were left together in the drawing
room.
"Well, it's a good thing that was
diluted acid instead of strong, isn’t
it, Griggs?” remarked Hawkins. “Orig
inally I had intended using the strong
acid, you know, for the reason—”
“Aaaah!” cried Mr. Blodgett. “So
that was more of your imbecile in
venting, was it? Fire-extinguisher!
Bah! 1 thought nobody but you could
have conceived the idea like that!
What under the sun did you let off
your infernal contrivance for?”
“Oh, I just did it to spite you,
papa,” said Hawkins, with weary sar
casm.
“By George, sir, I believe you did!”
snapped the old gentleman. "It’s like
you! Look at my coat, sir! Look
at—”
I was edging away when Mrs. Hawk
ins entered. She was clad in somber
black now, and her cheeks flamed scar
let with mortification.
“Well!” she exclaimed.
“Weil, my dear?” said Hawkins,
bracing himself.
“A pretty mess you’ve made of our
house-warming, haven’t you? You and
your idiotic fire-extinguisher!”
“Madam, my Chemico-Sprinkler sys
tem is one—”
“And not only the evening spoiled,
and half our friends so enraged at you
that tney’ll never enter the house
again, but do you know what you’ll
have to pay for? Miss Mather’s dress
alone, I happen to know, cost $200!
And Mrs. Gordon’s gown came from
Paris last week—$450! And I was with
Nellie Ridgeway the day she bought
that white satin dress she had on.
It cost—”
“Glau of it!” interposed Blodgett,
with a fiendish chuckle. “Serves him
jolly ^ell right! If you’d listened to
me 15 years ago, Edith, when I told
you not to marry that fool—”
“Griggs! W-w-w-where are you go
ing?” Hawkins called, weakly.
“Home!” I said, decidedly, making
for the hall. “I think my wife’s ready.
And I’m afraid my hair’s loosening up,
too, where your fire-extinguished wet
it. Good night.
(Copyright, 1906, by W. G. Chapmv.r.)
***^1^-**—- -** -- -
PILGRIMAGE TO HOLY HILL
THOUSANDS PRAY FOR CURE AT
MIRACULOUS SHRINE.
Located at One of the Beauty 8pota
of Southern Wisconsin—Famed
for Many Wonderful Cures
—Its Chapel.
Milwaukee.—Pilgrims in thousands,
maimed, halt, blind, deaf, vicitims of
the deadly cancer and of the “white
'Plague," the afflicted of every sort,
will gather from ail parts of the coun
try at the foot of Holy Hill, the famed
Wisconsin shrine, there to climb pain
fully the steep and stony path that
leads to the Church of St. Mary at the
summit and to And, if may be, that
miraculous release from sickness and
suffering that so many devout Cath
olics before them are said to have met
'With in that sacred place.
What Lourdes is to the Roman
Catholics of France and western Ger
many, Holy Hill is fast becoming to
the followers of that faith in this
country throughout the northwest.
Each year sees an increase in the
number who make the pilgrimage
until of late from 15,000 to 20,000 have
visited the place each year.
Holy Hill is a lofty and grandly pic
turesque place near Hartford, about
30 miles from Milwaukee. The hill
has gained great fame as a shrine of
sacred pilgrimage. Its popularity has
become so great in recent years that
jits renown has no parallel among the
jinstitutions of its kind anywhere in
.the United States.
The history of Holy Hill is a long
series of remarkable events, and
■through the omnipotent power which
is deemed to pervade its sacred pre
cincts the lame walk, the blind see,
the maniac raves no more and the af
flicted who approach its shrine with
zeal and fervent supplications, devout
ly invoking divine aid and the inter
cession of Mary, the mother of God,
are said to depart therefrom, in many
instances, happy over the miraculous
acquiescence of an unseen power in
their prayerful petitions.
There are few places In southern
Wisconsin whose beauty transcends
that of Holy Hill and the surrounding
country. It is located about six miles
southeast of Hartford and covers a
tract of ground nearly 40 acres in ex
tent. The hill upon which the shrine
proper, or chapel, is located is tall,
conical shaped and towers high above
the surrounding country. It rises to
a height of 289 feet above its base
and 827 feet above the level of Lake
Michigan.
The church stands on the highest
point of the hill and can be seen for
miles away. The building is of brick,
with little ornamentation, and of the
Gothic style. The church spire is on
the end over the main entrance of the
PORTUGAL’S COOL-HEADED KING.
Carlos’ Conduct in the Lisbon Disaster
Won Acclamation.
KING CARLOS.
(The Popular Monarch of Little Por
tugal.)
London.—It is not very often that
we hear much of King Carlos in his
snug little kingdom of Portugal, but
he has certainly won the world’s
acclamation for his coolness at the
Lisbon disaster—coolness which alone
PRIZE MONEY NEVER CLAIMED.
British Admiralty Has Sums on Hand
for Destroying Slave Ships.
The days when prize money was
looked upon in the navy as an ordi
nary source of income are recalled by
a notification from the British ad
miralty of money waiting to be claimed
—the proceeds of bounties for the de
struction of pirates and of the sale of
slave ships.
There is a sum of $25,000 from the
sale of slaving vessels captured in the
’60s awaiting claimants, also a goodly
amount of naval prize money and
bounty for the destruction of pirates
which nobody applies for.
double doors, which open under a cir
cular gallery attached by the ends t«
both sides of the church. The interior]
is cheerful and well lighted by thej
tall windows of stained glass. The
roof is supported by six sanded col
umns, whose slender proportions in
crease the height and beauty of the
place. The chancel is carpeted and
separated from the chapel by a low,
latticed communion rail of wood, cov
ered with dark c!!oth extending across
the narrow passageways on each side.
In the chancel there are one main and
two side altars. The combined cost
of the three altars was $1,100, which
was contributed by persons interested
ST. MARY’S CHAPEL.
(Located on Top of Holy Hill, Wis
consin.)
in the welfare of the church. Back of
the mensa and projecting from under
neath the canopy of the main altar
stands the tabernacle, built in ac
cordance with the rules of Catholic
architecture, having a double door
with lock and key, ornamented in gold
with grapes and heads of wheat, the
emblems of the sacrament. Under
neath and in front of the mensa is a
figure of the Lamb of God resting on
a sealed book. The candelabra and
many of the accessories used in wor
ship are the gifts of Charitably dis
posed persons. On the left of the
altar, in the main body of the church,
is a confessional. A pipe organ is
located in the gallery. To the right
in the chancel, suspended from the
side wall, hangs a square case with a
glass front entitled a “votive tablet."
Among the vow offerings are several
pairs of spectacles left there as proofs
of the efficacy of the place in curing
eyes impaired by disease. There are
also stored in a recess of the church
a number of old crutches which have
been discarded by men whose lame
ness has been cured. A peculiarity
about the church is that no marriage
ceremony has ever been solemnized
there nor has any funeral ever been
held.
averted a frightful panic, when a
canopy fell on a state procession. The
private life of Portugal's monarch is
rather interesting, because it is more
like that of a private gentleman than
the daily round of a sovereign. As he
rises at five in the morning, he man
ages to get all his work done before
mid-day, then five days of the six he
gives over the afternoon and evening
to his one amusement—sport.
He has explored every corner of his
kingdom in his motor car, and a short
time since, when driving through some
out-of-the-way place, he had rather an
amusing experience. Arriving at a
small town, he found a crowd waiting,
but no one recognized him. In fact,
the chief point of interest at that mo
ment was an old woman, who had had
her basket of eggs upset by those who
jostled her. The king, with his usual
good nature, approached and asked
what was the matter. “They say the
king is coming through here to-day,
so these idiots are waiting to see him.
One cannot even do one’s daily labor,
with this crowd watching for a fat,
lazy fellow, who does not work and
spends his tiime in eating." The king
laughed, presented her with a coin to
pay for the eggs, and to “remember
the fat, lazy fellow by,” and a moment
more the royal car had vanished in a
j whirl of dust before anyone knew it
I had arrived—save one dumb struck
| peasant woman.
Some of those to whom money is
due are, no doubt, still alive, but if
they are dead they probably left de
scendants who if the names were ad
vertised would be forthcoming to sub
stantiate their claims.
As it is, there is little demand for
the money in hand. During 12 months
dealt with in the statement issued
from Whitehall under $40 have been
paid out.—Court Journal.
Heard In Chicago.
Ella—You have been married more
times than I have.
Stella—Yes, but what of it?
Ella—I was going to ask you if mar
riage licenses were any cheaper by
the dozen.
HAD LOST FAITH IN DOCTOR.
“Motions” Failed to Rid Old Negro
of Rheumatism.
An old negro hobbled into the county
prosecutor’s office.
“That motion doctah beaten me out
of $3.50 and Ah wants him ’rested,”
the old negro said.
“What kind of a doctor was he?”
Bert Kimball, assistant prosecutor,
asked.
“Motion doctah, boss; jest motion
doctah. He weren’t nothin’ else; he
says the Lawd was behind him and that
he was a ‘devine healah,’ but Ah calls
him a motion doctah; he didn’t do
nothin’ but make motions with his
hands and arms and chahge me $3.50.”
“What kind of motions did he
make?” Mr. Kimball inquired.
“Well, suh, fust he taken me over
and stand me in de corner. He wave
he alls hands up and down and snap
'his flngahs. When he done dat an'
roll he alls eyes till Ah see de whites
he done hold up free flngahs an’ de
fourth flngnh half way up. Dat mean
Ah must pay him de $3.50, so Ah done
paid him.”
“Didn’t he talk to you at all?” the
assistant prosecutor asked.
“Yassir; he talk to me 'fore he put
me In de spell. He say he all could
cure me if Ah wus in a hundred
yahds of him and Ah ’greed to pay
him de t’rse-flfty.”
“Didn’t he cure you?” Mr. Kimball
inquired.
The old negro crossed his crippled
legs with difficulty.
“Well, toss, hit 'peared to me like
dat motion doctah was a-curin' me
when he makes dem moves, but jest
as soon as Ah gets home dem ‘rheu
matiz’ pains comes back same as
ever.”
The assistant prosecutor could do
nothing. He sent the old negro to the
police clerk hoping that the police
might give him redress.—Kansas City
Star.
Han Densest Population.
Bombay claims the greatest density
of population in the world, and ita
claim is only disputed by Agra, also
in India. Bombay has 760 persons pa.
acre in certain areas.