THE INVENTIONS OF HAWKINS
gyo EDGAR. FRANKLIN
THE CRANO-SCALE,
I had Intended it for a peaceful, soli
tary walk up town after business on
that beautiful Saturday afternoon; and
bad in fact accomplished the better
part of it. I was inhaling huge quan
tities of the balmy air and reveling in
the exhilaration of the exercise.
But passing the picture store, 1 ex
perienced a queer sensation—perhaps
“that feeling of impending evil” we
read about in the patent medicine ad
vertisements.
It may have been because I recalled
that *n that very shop Hawkins had
demonstrated the virtues of his infalli
ble Lightning Canvas-Stretcher, and
thereby —ruined somebody's . priceless
and unpurcbasable Corot.
At any rate my eyes were drawn to
-the place as I passed; and like a
cuckoo-blrd emerging from the clock,
out popped Hawkins.
“Ah, Griggs,” he exclaimed. "Out
for a walk?”
“What were you doing in there?”
“Going to walk home?”
•‘Settling for that painting, eh?”
“Because if you are, I’ll go with
you,” pursued Hawkins, falling into
step beside me and ignoring my re
marks.
1 told Hawkins that I should be
tickled to death to have his company,
which was a lie and intended for bit
ing sarcasm; but Hawkins took It in
good faith and was pleased.
“I tell you, Griggs,” he informed me,
“there’s nothing like this early sum
mer air to fill a man's lungs.”
“Unless it’s cash to fill his pekets.’
“Eh? Cash?” said the inventor
“Thit reminds me. I must spend some
this afternoon.”
indeed! Going to settle another
damage suit?”
"I intend to order coal,” replied
Hawkins, frigidly.
He seemed disinclined to address me
further, and I had no particular yearn
ing to hear his voice. We walked on
In silence until within a few blocks of
borne.
Then Hawkins paused at one of the
cross Streets.
"The coal yard is down this way,
Griggs,” he said. “Come along. It
won't take more than five or ten min
utes."
“Now, the idea of walking down to
the coal yard certainly seemed com
monplace and harmless. To me it sug
gested nothing more sinister than a
super-heated Irish lady perspiring over
Hawkins' range in the dog days.
At least, it suggested nothing more
at the time, and I turned the corner
with Hawkins, and walked on unsus
pecting.
Except that it belonged to a particu
larly large concern, the coal yard
which Hawkins honored by his patron
age was much like other coal yards.
The high walls of the storage bins
rose from the sidewalk, and there was
the conventional arch for the wagons,
and the little, dingy office beside it.
Into the latter Hawkins made his
way, while I loitered without.
Hawkins seemd to be upon good
terms with the coal people. He and
the men in the office were laughing
genially.
Through the open window I heard
Hawkins file his order for four tons
of coa!. Later some one said: “Splen
did, Mr Hawkins, splendid.”
Then somebody else said: “No,
there seems to be no flaw in any par
ticular.”
And still later the first voice an
nounced that they would make the
first payment one week from to-day, at
■which Hawkins' voice rose with a sort
of pompous joy.
I paid very little heed to the scraps
of conversation: but presently I paid
considerable attention to Hawkins, for
while he had entered the coal office
a well-developed man, he emerged ap
parently deformed.
His chest seemed to have expanded
something over a foot, and his nose
had attained an elevation that point
ed his gaze straight to the skies.
"Good gracious, Hawkins, what is
It?” I asked. “Have they been inflat
ing you with gas in there?”
"I beg pardon?”
‘What has happened to swell your
bosom? Is it the first payment?"
“Oh, you heard that, did you?” said
the inventor, with a condescending
smile. “Yes, Griggs, I may confess
to some slight satisfaction in that
payment. It is a matter of $1,000—
from the coal people, you know.”
“Bui what for? Have you threatened
to invent something for them, ant
now are exacting blackmail to desist?”
“Tush, Griggs, tush!” responded
Hawkins. “Do make some attempt to
subdue that insane wit. I fancy you’ll
feel rather cheap hearing that that
$1,000 Is the first payment on some
thing I have invented!”
“What!”
‘‘Certainly. I am selling the patent
to these people. It is the Hawkins
Crano-Scale!"
“Crano-Scale?” I reflected. “What Is
It? A hair tonic?”
“Now, that Is about the deduction
your mental apparatus would make!”
sneered the inventor.
"But can it be possible that you
have constructed something that act
ually works?” I cried. “And you’ve
sold it—:actually sold it?”
“I have sold it, and there’s no ‘act
ually’ about it!”
And Hawkins stalked majestically
•way through the arch and into the
yard beyond.
He Had No Vision For Colors
Bright Hues Without Significance for
the Poet Whittier.
-It is well known that the poet Whit
tier was color blind, and unable to dis
t -igulsh red from green. He once
bought himself a necktie which he sup
posed to be of a modest and suitable
olive tint, and wore It—once. He
■ever wore it again, for hlst friends
goon made him aware that It offended
against the traditional quietness of
costume enjoined alike by the habits
of the Friends and by his own taste.
The tie was of flaming scarlet.
On another occasion, when he found
a little girl’s distress on account of
a new gown, made over from her
elder sister’s, which was not becoming
to hfcr coloring and cofplexion. he
tried to console her.
“I wouldn’t mind what a rude boy
says about it, Mary,” he said, kindly.
“The looks very well indeed in it—
like an oread, Mary, dressed all in
green.”
Unfortunately, Mary was not dress
ed in green. She was red-haired, and
her dress was red; that was the
trouble.
Once, on a day in mid-March, when
out walking with a friend, and deeply
engaged in conversation, Mr. Whit
-v....... '
tier approached too near for safety to
a place where blasting was going on.
The danger signal was shown, but
neither Friend noticed it, until a
workman, violently waving his arms
and shouting, leaped before them and
warned them back.
“I didn’t see the flag at all,” said
Mr. Whittier’s companion.
“I saw it,” rejoined the poet, with
a twinkle in his eye, “but I thought
It was in honor of St. Patrick—thee
knows my defect- I can’t tell Erin
from exploaions, except by the harp!”
Taste That Age Withers
According to a member of tne
candy-loving sex there Is no sadder
evidence of age in a woman than be
ing able to pass a bonbon shop with
out being tempted by the wares.
“When a woman can do this,” she
says, “she is frankly middle-aged.
During your school days chocolates
are a recognized necessity of exist
ence. During the early bud period of
matinee hero worship they are indis
pensaoie: lO me eujuyuieu*. ui a
formance. When your mouth does not
water at the mere idea of a caramel
or a marshmallow begin to search for
the first gray hair.”
Looks for Disastrous Earthquakes.
Prof. Gregory, of the Yale geologi
cal department, says the San Francis
co earthquake wilt be repeated with
universal disastrous results.
The idea of one of Hawkins' inven
tions actually in practical operation
was almost too wild for conception. He
must te heading for it; and if it ex
isted 1 must see it.
I followed.
Hawkins strode to the rear of the
yard without turning. About us on
every side were high wooden walls, the
storage bins of the company.
Up the side of one wall ran a ladder,
and Hawkins commenced the perpen
dicular ascent with the same matter
of-fact air that one would wear in
walking upstairs.
“What are you doing that for? Ex
ercise?” I called, when he paused
1 some 2b feet in the air.
“If you wish to see the Crano-Scale
at work, follow me. If not, stay where
you are," replied Hawkins.
Then he resumed his upward course;
and having put something like 35
feet between his person and the solid
earth, he vanished through a black
doorway.
Climbing a straight ladder usually
sets my hair on end; but this one I
tackled without hesitation, and in a
very lew seconds stood before the
door.
in the semi-darkness, I perceived
that a wide ledge ran around the wall
inside, and that Hawkins was standing
upon it, gazing upon the hundreds of
tons of coal below, and having some
thing the efTect of the Old Nick him
self glaring down into the pit.
"There she is!” said the inventor,
laconically, pointing across the gulf.
“There!” cried Hawkins, triumph
antly.
“It works!” I gasped.
"You bet it works!”
“But it must cost something to run
the thing,” I suggested.
“Wei!—er—I’m paying for that part,’
Hawsins acknowledged, “until I’ve fin
ished perfecting a motor particular
ly adapted for the Crano-Scale, you
see.”
I smiled audibly. I think that Hawk
ins was about to take exceptions to the
smile, but a voice from without
bawled loudly:
"Two—tons—nut! ”
"Ah, there she goes again!” said the
inventor, rapturously. .
This time the Crano-Scale executed
a sudden detour before descending. In
deed, the thing came so painfully near
to our perch that the wind was per
ceptible, and when the giant coal
scuttle had passed and dropped, my
heart was hammering out a tattoo.
“I don’t believe this ledge is safe,
Hawkins.”
"Nonsense.”
“But that thing came pretty close.”
“Oh, it won’t act that way again.
Watch! She’s dumping into the wag
on now! Hear it?”
“Yes, 1 hear it. I see just what a
beautiful success it is, Hawkins—
really. Let’s go.”
“And now she’s coming back!” cried
the inventor, his eyes glued to the re
markatle contrivance. “Observe the
ease—the grace—the mechanical poise
—the resistless quality of the Crano
“Y.'e—11?” came a voice from far
above.
“Where are you?”
“Hanging—to—the—scoop!” sang out
the inventor.
And there, up near the roof, I lo
cated him, dangling from the Crano
Scele coal-scuttle!
"What are you going to do next?” I
asked, with some interest.
"I—I—I—can’t—can’t hang on long
here!”
"I should say not.”
“Well, climb out and tell them to
lower the crane!” screamed Hawkins.
I looked around. Right and left, be
fore and behind, rose a mountain of
loose ccak 1 essayed to climb nimbly
toward the door which the Crano-Scale
had used, and suddenly landed on my
hands and knees.
"Art—you—out?” shrieked Hawkins.
"I can’t stick here!”
“And I can’t get out!” 1 replied.
“Well, you—ouch!”
There was a dull, rattling whack be
side me; :b'lts of coal flew in all di
rections. Hawkins had landed.
“Well!” he exclaimed, sitting up. "1
honestly believe, Griggs, that no man
was ever bom on this earth with less
resourcefulness than yourself!”
“Whlcn means that I should have
climbed out and informed the people
of your plight?”
“Certainly.”
"Well, you try it yourself, Hawk
ins.”
The inventor arose and started for
the door with a very convincing and
“Four Tons Nut!”
I made my way to his side and ;
stared through the gloom.
Something seemed to loom up over
there.
Presently, as my eyes grew accus
tomed to the change. I perceived the
arm of a huge crane, from which was
suspended an enormous scoop.
"You mean that mastodonlc coal
scuttle?"' 1 Inquired.
“Precisely. That’s the Hawkins
Crano-Scale.”
“And what does she do when she—
er—crano-seales things, as it were?”
"You’ll be able to understand in a
moment. That coal-scuttle, as you call
it, is large enough to hold four tens.
See? Well, the people in the yard
are going to want two tons of coal
very shortly. What do they do?”
"Take it out, weigh it, and send
it,” i hazarded.
“Not at all. They simply adjust
the controlling apparatus to the two
ton point and set the Crano-Scale go
ing. The scoop dips down, picks up
exactly two tons of coal, and rises au
tomatically as soon as the two tons
are in. After that the crane swings
outward, dumps the coal in the wagon,
and there you have it—weighed and
all! It has been in operation here for
one month,” Hawkins concluded, com
placently.
"And no one killed or maimed?
No Crar.o-Scale widows or orphans?”
“Oh, Griggs, you are— Ha! She’s
starting!”
The Crano-Scale emitted an ear
piercing shriek. The big steel crane
was in motion.
I watched the thing. Gracefully the
coal-scuttle dipped into the pile of coal,
dug fer a minute, swung upward
again. It turned, passed through a big
doorway In the side, and we could hear
the coal rattling into the wagon.
The Crano-Scale returned and swung
ponderously in the twilight.
Scale's motion! See, Griggs, how she
swings!”
I ilid see how she was swinging. It
was ptecisely that which sent me near
er to the ladder.
The_Urano-Scale was returning to
position, but with a series of erratic
swoops that seemed to close my
throat.
The coal-scuttle whirled joyously
about in the air—it was receding—no,
it was coming nearer! It paused for a
second. Then, making a bee-line for
our little ledge, it dived through the
air toward us.
■'Look out, there, Hawkins!” I cried,
hastily.
“It’s all right,” said the inventor.
“But the cursed thing will smash
us hat against the wall!”
"Tush! The automatic reaction
clutch will—”
The Crano-Scale was upon us! For
the merest fraction of a second it
paused and seemed to hesitate; then it
struck the wall with a heavy bang;
then started to scrape its way along
our ledge.
The wretched contraption was bent
on shoving us off!
“What will we do?” I managed to
shout.
“Why — why — why — why — why
—” Hawkins cried, breathlessly.
“But, my course of action had been
settled for me. The scoop of the Crano
Scale caught me amidships, and I
plunged downward into the coal.
That there was a considerable de
gree of shock attached to my landing
may easily be imagined.
But small coal, as I had not known
before, Is a reasonably soft thing to
fall on; and within a few seconds I
sat up, perceived that I was soon to
order a new suit of clothes, and then
looked about for Hawkins.
He was nowhere in the neighbor
hood, and I called aloud.
elaborate display of indomintable en
ergy. He planted his left foot firmly
on tiie side of the coal pile — and
foun 1 that his left leg had disappeared
in the coal in a highly astonishing and
undignified fashion.
“Humph!” he remarked, disgusted
ly, struggling free and shaking some
thing like a pound of coal from his
person. "Perhaps—perhaps it’s more
solid on the other side.”
“Try it.”
“Well, it is better to try it and
fail than to stand there like a cigar
store Indian and offer fool sugges
tions!” snapped the inventor, making
a vicious attack at the opposite side
of the pile.
It really did seem more substantial.
Hawkins, by the aid of both hands,
both feet, his elbows, his knees, and
possibly his teeth as well, managed to
scramble upward for a dozen feet or
BO.
But just as he was about to turn and ,
gloat ever his success, the treacherous
coal gave way once more. Hawkins
went flat upon his face and slid back
to me, feet first.
When he arose he presented a re
markable appearance.
Light overcoat, pearl trousers, fancy
vest—all were black as ink. Hawkins’
classic countenance had fared no bet
ter. His lips showed some slight re
semblance of redness, and his eyes
glared wonderfully white; but the rest
of his face might have been made up
for a minstrel show.
“Yes, It’s devilish funny, isn’t it?”
he roared, sitting down again rather
suddenly, as the coal slid again be
neath his feet.
“Funny Isn’t the word. What’s our
next move 10 be?”
“Climb out, of course. There must
be some place where we can get a
foothold.”
“Why not shout for help?”
"No use. Nobody could hear us
down here. Go on, Griggs. Make your
attempt. I’ve done my part.*’
“And you wish to see me repeat the
performance? Thank you. No.”
“But it’s the only way out.”
"Then,” I said, “I’m afraid we’re
slated to spend the night here.”
“Good Lord! We can’t do that!”
“I have a notion, Hawkins,” I went
on, “that we not only can, but shall.
You say we can’t attract any one's at
tention, and I guess you’re right.
Hence, as there is no one to pull us
out, rnd we can’t pull ourselves out,
we shall remain here. That’s logic,
isn’t it,“
“It’s awful!” exclaimed the .invent
or. “Why, we may not get out to
morrow—”
“Nor the next day, nor the one’ after
that. Exactly. We shall have to wait
until this wretched place is emptied,
when they will find our bleaching
skeletons—if skeletons can bleach in
a coal bin.”
Hawkins blinked his sable eyelids at
me.
“Or we might go to work and pile
all the coal on one side of the bin,” I
continued. “It wouldn’t take more than
a week or so, throwing it over by
handfuls"; and when at last they found
that your crano-engine wouldn't bring
up any more from this side—’’
“Aha!” cried the inventor, with sud
den animation. “That’s it! The Crano
Scale!”
“Yes, that’s it,” I assented. “Away
up neat the roof. What about it?”
“Why, it solves tne whole problem,”
said Hawkins. “Don’t you see, the next
time they need nut-coal, they’ll set the
engine going and scoop—”
“Four—tons—nut, Bill!” said a far
away voice. “Yep! Four ton. Start
up the blamed machine!”
“What? What did he say?” cried
the inventor.
“Something about starting the en
gine.’
‘That’s what I thought. Tney’re go
ing to use the Crano-Sca'.e. Griggs! j
We’re saved! We’re saved!”
“I fail to see it.”
“Why, when the thing comes down,!
be ready. Ah—it’s coming now! Get
ready, Griggs! Get ready! Be pre- 1
pared to make a dash for it!”
"And then?”
“And then climb in, of course. There
won't be much room, for they're going
to take on four tons, and the thing
will be full; but we can manage it. W’e
can do it, Griggs, and be home in time
for dinner.”
“And you're a fine-looking object to
go to dinner,” 1 added.
Hawkins countenance fell some
what, but there was no time for a
reply . The coal-scuttle of the Crano
Scale was hovering above us, evident
ly selec ting a spot for its operations.
“Here! We're right under it!”
Hawkins shouted. “This way, Griggs!
Quick! Lord! It’s coming down—it'll
hit you! Quick!”
And I dived toward Hawkins as
he was struggling for a foothold, and
then—
* * * * * * *
A line of asterisks is the only way of
putting into print my state of mind— !
or absence of any state of mind—for
the ensuing quarter of an hour.
My first idea was that some absent
minded person had built a three-story
house upon my unhappy body; but I
was joggling and bouncing up and
dow'n, so that that hypothesis was
manifesUy untenable.
The weight of the house was there,
though, and all about was stilling'
blackness.
I tried to turn. It was useless. I
couldn't move.
The house had me pinned down hard
and fast.
Then I wriggled frantically, and
something near me wriggled frantically
as well. Then one of my hands struck
something that yielded, and there came
a muffled voice trom somewhere in the
neighborhood.
“Griggs!” it said.
“Yes?”
W-v/-w-wliere are we? This isn’t
the toal bin. Are you hurt?”
"I give it up. Are you?”
“I think not. Why, Grigs, this must
be ons of the big coal carts!”
"I shouldn’t wonder,” I assented,
vaguely.
"But—how—”
“Your miserable coal-scuttle must
have stunned us, picked us up and
dumped us in with the coal!” I ex
claimed, suddenly enl ted.
“Do—you—think,” came through the
blackness. ’’Huh! It's stopped!”
For a long, long time, as it seemed,
there v>as silence. The weight of coal
pressed down until I was near to
madness. Hawkins was grunting pain
fully.
I was speculating as to whether he
was actually succumbing—whether I
could stand the strain myself for an
other minute—when everything began
to slide. The coal slid, I slid, Haw
kins slid—the world seemed to be
sliding!
We landed upon the sidewalk. We
struggled and beat and threshed at the
coal, and finally managed to rise
out of it—pitch black, dazed and bat
tered.
And the first object which confront
ed us was the home of Hawkins! We
had been delivered at his door, with
the foui tons of nut coal.
“They’ll have to sign for us on the
driver’s slip,” I remembered saying
That person let off a shriek and
vanished down the street. Then the
door of the Hawkins home opened, and
Mrs. Hawkins emerged, followed by
my wile.
That numerous, things were said
need not be stated. Mrs. Hawkins said
most of them, and they were numer
ous.
Mrs. Griggs limited herself to ruin
ing a |50 gown by weeping on my
coal-soiled shoulder as she implored
me never again to tread the same
street with Hawkins.
It was a solemn moment, that; for
! saw the lighi. I realized how many
bumps and bruises and pains and duck
ings and scorchings might have been
spared me, had I taken the step earlier.
But r is never too late to mend. Prob
ably I had still a few years in which
to enjoy life.
I turned to Hawkins—a chopfallen,
cowering huddle of filth, standing
upon two pearl-and-black legs—and
said:
•'Havrkins, when in the course of
human events it becomes necessary for
one man to sever those friendly bands
which have connected him with an
other, and so to assume a station apart,
a decent respect for the opinions of the
latter usually make it necessary to de
clare the cause of that separation. It
is so in this case. You know mighty
well what you’ve put me through in
the past. There’s no need of going
into it.
“But this Crano-Scale business is my
limit—my outside limit,” I went on,
"and you’ve passed it. If you ever at
tempt to address another word to me,
or ride in the same elevated train, or
even sit in the same theater, I’ll
have you arrested as a suspicious per
son—and locked up for life, if money’ll
do it! Hawkins, henceforth we meet
as strangers!”
An 1 Hawkins, piloted by the un
happy woman who bears his name,
walked up the steps, turned and stared
stupidly at me, and then stumbled into
the house and out of my life—forever.
(Copyright. 1906, bjr W. G. Chapman.)
Writing a Business Letter
Where Many Writers Fail—Fault of
Poor Manners.
• _
i
"I kuow," said a business man of
wide experience, "how crowded with
studies the schools are now, and I
should be loath to recommend the in
troduction of any new ones; but I do
wish sometimes that the boys and i
girls who are giving time to so many
little fads could be induced to give j
more to art of writing letters."
He did not refer to the mere art of
writing correct English or the art of
writing an interesting personal letter,
but to the preparation of really good
business letters, in which the matter
in hand should be treated not only
clearly and concisely but also courte
ously.
The need he mentioned is one which
is felt by thousands of business men
and may well claim the attention of
young people of both 3exes who look
forward to business life. The ability
to write intelligibly is not rare, but
the capacity to write in such a way
as to produce a pleasant personal feel
ing for the house one represents is
extremely rare.
Many writers fail in the matter of
courtesy—either in the way of con
stant omission of articles and constant
abbreviation, or, more commonly, in
neglecting to give the other man the
benefit of the doubt. In other words,
the fault with most business letters is
a fault of poor manners rather than
of mental deficiency.
“Never, in any circumstances, allow
your first letter, in a case of difference
to be harsh or discourteous," said a
business man to one of his clerks.
“No matter how much you think the
man has injured'us, give him the ben
efit of the doubt. Assume that he has
made a mistake rather than that he
lias misrepresented. To take the other
course is to enter a blind alley. You
may have to turn around to get out
of it.”—Youth’s Companion.
Rain, Air Purifier.
An Englishman named John Aiken
has for many years made a study of
the solid impurities found in the at
mosphere. He invented apparatus for
counting the number of dust particles
in a cubic inch of air, thus making it
possible to institute comparisons be
tween the condition of air at various
elevations and in a single place at dif
ferent times. While he was making
some meteorological observations with
his dust counter on the Eiffel tower, at
Paris, recently, a heavy thunder
shower occurred. Before the rain the
number of dust particles was large
and showed that the impure air of the
city came up in great quantities to the
top of the tower. After the shower
the number of dust particles was so
far reduced that the air finally became
as free from dust as any that Mr.
Aiken ever tested on the mountain
tops of Switzerland. This increase in
purity is ascribed to the "dragging
down” of the upper air to the level of
the top of the Eiffel tower, for the
reason that “rain cannot wash the air
to anything like that purity.”
A Chaser.
“Do you think all those city folks
will come to visit us this summer?”
said the farmer.
“No, there’s no danger,” said his
wife. “I've just written them- that
we've gone into the bee business.”—
Detroit Free Press.
Prudence.
“I am going to have my hands in
sured,” said the eminent pianist.
"Don’t do it,” answered his man
ager. “Your hands do not constitute
your most valuable asset. Have your
hair insured.”—Washington Star.
i
i
i
i
It was quiet in the studio. Outside,
in the November twilight, the wind
and rain beat and wailed in pathetic
harmony with the occasion. Within
no sound broke the silence save an
occasional sob.
“Buried to-day! Buried to-day!”
This was the burden to which John
Gray’s heart was breaking. And jet,
oddly, he could not think of Anita de
Lee as buried. To his eager memory
she was so alert, so vital, so sweetly
full of life.
They were to have been married at
Christmas. The world had not known
it. The sternly affectionate old father
who had borne her to Europe at the
first hint of a love stronger than his
own had said "No!” to the bare idea,
but Anita had smiled encouragement
at her lover.
“I’ll go with him, dearest,” she had
decided, “and try to help him to a
happy summer. And when we coine
back it will be your turn, and we’ve so
many happy years before us, dear boy."
But she had clung to him weeping
when it was time for good-by.
Then had come her dear letters,
bearing no hint of sickness or sorrow.
And then, yesterday, her father's
[brusque telegram:
“Anita died suddenly this morning.
Buried Florence, Friday.”
And this was Friday. He threw him
self on the lounge from which she so
often had smiled at him, and turned
,his face to the wall.
A tap at the door startled him to
sudden action. All day he had kept;
lonely vigil, refusing to answer any!
summons; now he could have sworn
it was their oft used signal. He flung
the locked door open, but, of course,
;the bright hall was empty. Yet when
he returned to the sofa there she was,
.lightly poised on the arm of the big
chair, smiling at him in the old, ac
customed way.
“No, you’re not mad or dreaming.
Jackie,” she laughed, as the thought
flashed through him. “That’s why I
turned on the light, so you’d be sure'
you really saw me, and why I’ll leave
you a little sign when I vanish. No,"
waving back his impetuous movement,
“you mustn't touch me, though you
may look and listen. You’d better,
really, for I may not be able to visit
you again.
“There must be no more of this fool
ish despair, Jackie boy,” shaking at
him the tiny finger that had so often
pointed her sweet lectures. “Why.
even in heaven I heard you grieving,
and—it hurt me, Jackie. Love isn't
worth much if it makes life less worth
living, and I’d hate to think that lov
ing me made you unhappy. Look me
straight in the ey'es, Jackie—there's a
dear boy!”
She did not actually touch him, but
something thrilled from her leaning,
flower-like figure and face to his soul
and spirit. Suddenly he found himself
viewing the years they were never to
spend together. He, successful, com
placent, doing work but little above
the average and finding it good. She
delicate, adoring, not so much helping
as holding his hands.
The next picture showed him the
long years without her visible pres
ence, with a grave, strong companion
to tread life’s road beside him. But
now his work held a real message for
the uplifting of his fellows, and the
growing child, Anita, held wondrous
promise in her heart and eyes.
The soft voice talked on gently,
soothing the cruel ache that had dead
ened his senses, fading at last into a
tenderly whispered “Good-by. Jackie,
dear Jackie. God bless you! Be a
good boy, for my sake! Some time—
perhaps—if you're brave and patient
She was gone, and his heart went
with her. Again he sprang to the
door, and again the bright hall showed
empty. But the still room was sweet
with the delicate perfume inseparable
from her, and the violets he had that
morning placed before her portrait
now lay on the arm of the big chair.—•
Chicago Tribune.
Those Haunting Notes.
There was a peculiar sound from
the direction of the woods as the mem
ber of ihe Birdlovers’ society sat in
the window of her friend’s country
home one summer afternoon.
She quickly took her small “Bird
Guide” from her ever present bag, and
rapidly turned the leaves. At last she
paused with a smile of satisfaction,
and listened, with her finger between
two leaves of the little book, till the
sound came again.
When it was repeated an expression
of doubt flitted across her features,
but still she was hopeful.
“You probably know many of the
bird notes, living so near the woods
and in such a quiet spot,” she said to
her friend. “Can you tell me what
bird that is?”
“That,” said her friend, briefly, “is
our goat. We shall have to move him
further off.”—Youth’s Companion.
Didn’t Like the Sample.
Clark Howell, of the Atlanta Consti
tution, enjoys telling how, in his early
days ifi the newspaper field, he was
visited by a Georgia farmer, having
his 17-year-old son in tow, and who,
upon entering the office, said:
“I came to git some information, Mr.
Howell.”
“1 shall be glad to afford you any
that I can,” politely responded Howell.
“Well,” said the farmer, "this boy o’
mine wants to go into the literary busi
ness; an’ I thought you would know if
there was any money in it. It’s a good
business, ain’t it?”—Harper’s Weekly.
Safer Than Registered Letter.
Safer than registering, says the Lon
don Pall Mall Gazette, it is to put in
sufficient postage on a letter. Says
the Gazette: “The postoffice never
loses a letter which is insufficiently
stamped.”
Tribute to Farmer’s Life.
United States Senator Pettus of
Alabama who is 86 years of age, when
recently asked what vocation lie
would choose if he were again begin
ning active life, replied: “The high
railing of a farmer.”