By OLIVE ROBERTS BARTON
/
iCopyriglu. 1909 by Associated Laterary Press.!
Sibyl was furious. Branson. the city
editor, had asked her to interview the
only man in the city who absolutely
refused to be interviewed.
There were men on the paper for
work like that, hardened veterans
grown old in the service. Why not
they? Hut Branson knew why. Each
one hud had his turn matching his
wits , ■ inst those of the financier,
trying to surprise him into a few un
guarded words. Ail had failed. He
had lit:!e hope of the girl doing more,
but it was worth a try.
, Sil-yl went home and cried. She
was ! red and discouraged after two
wem-s r i hard work. This was the
jour: ism that she had dreamed of
all h t life.
Then I r pluck, never long daunted,
returned and she dried her eyes.
Won.: i .e, rile wondered what she
word v. .nr when she w ont. She de
cid Tir.e. it was her color and
*l* • ’ ’• ’ er eyes.
' see why a newspaper wom
t. d lea scream," she said ai>
r • to tu" d: inly figure in the
f I suppose, though, I would
It. e biifinesriike in a shirtwaist
and hi , skirt and a ouiior hat, with
a i : ; run through my hair. And
1—I sh. i wear gla. ;es. Well, I
guess ! am ready to heard the lion in
his den I hope he doesn't oat me."
lint her bravery diminished as she
neared Ik • building in which were the
offices of the man she sought. And
her spiiits sank as rapidly as the ele
vator i. e.
When the office boy who had taken
lior emd returned to the outer office
with, ".Mr. Hill is out." her frozen
blood thawed and dyed her cheeks.
Then rhe breathed a little prayer of
thankfulness and left. She had gained
a day’s respite anyhow.
Once more in the street, she looked
at her watch, it was too late to report
at the office ar.d too early to go home.
A Pretty Little Creek Splashed Over
Stones.
It was a perfect day and the glimpse
of a green hilltop between the build
ings made her long for the country.
She was tired and she wanted peace
gr.:* quiet. She would hunt some
c-l'g nook and rest
TL\; car left her standing at the cor
r.E-' f f a combed A dusty road
ere .“ 1 the trad: here, hut Sibyl had
seen from the car that it ran past the
rows of corn straight to a clump of
willows. Thcie must be water near
bj
She was right. A pro!tv little creek
splashed over (he stones as if in a
hurry to get away, and all along the
banks were ferns and moss and
brown-eyed daisies.
As she stood looking down into the
water a green crab slid from beneath
a stone, looked for a minute at the
groat blue creature bending over him
and slid under again. With a cry
Siby. was down on her knees tugging
at the stone. She had not won honors
in the zoology class for nothing. She
would get thr.t lovely crab or know
why. lint she must have something
t? ptfl him in. She looked about.
A husd; ed feet or so down stream
lay a n an fiat on his stomach, his
head sticking out over the water. He
v.as in cap and knickers, and seemed
to bt poking at something in the
watwl Suddenly he made a. grab and.
flops i something into a rusty lard
bucin !'• ide him. He, too, was
catcd ng crabs.
"Vc' eie's a beauty under this stone,"
call-- Sibyl excitedly.
The man locked surprised, then
smiled. “All light,” tv? answered
heartily. ‘Can you catch him? Wait
and I will heip you.” He came toward
her dangling the bucket.
“fy’o—never mind, i'll get him,” she
answered, tugging at the stone. "I—”
pull—“I just—" pull, "want your
.bucket, please." Then the stone came
up. She waited a minute for the water
to clear and caught Mr. Crab by the
back just as he was backing into a
hole under the bank. She held him
up for inspection.
; “Bravo!” cried the man.
1 "isn’t he a beauty?" she exclaimed,
dropping him into the proffered
bucket.
‘A perfect whopper! Beats mine all
hollow, I suppose there will be a fight
now, a tempest in a tin."
Sibyl started to answer—then stop
pad. She realized with a gasp that she
talking to an utter stranger. She
taraed a fiery red and the harder she
tried to think of something to say the
hotter the blushed. She looked down
ht the mud stains on her skirt; then
she made an effort to brush them off
and smodlh out the wrinkles.
“I get so excited,” the said apolo
f,etically, “when I see a bug or crab
or anything like that. We used to
eaten crabs in the park and—and I am
afraid I'll never grow up.”
“And so did we," said the man.
“Wasn’t it fun!” He reached into his
i pocket and hauled out a piece of string
and some pins.
“I got these and the bucket at the
farmhouse yonder. I was looking for
bait when I spied the crab you saw
me go after. There are a million min
nows in that pool beyend the log. Do
you want a line? I am afraid, though.
I that 1 can offer you no better hook
jihan a bent pin. 1 came unprepared
to fish.”
“Yes, I’d love to fish.” said Sibyl.
They rolled away a rotten log to
look for bait. The man stuffed grubby
looking worms and bugs into his jacket
pockets like a boy.
When they had sat for a time in
silence waiting for a bite the man
took out a cigarette case. "Do you
mind if I smoke?" he asked.
"No: I wish you would. It’s restful
to see a man smoke.”
They gazed in silence again into the
clear water below them. The bank
| over which they swung their leet was
a straight drop to the water.
"1 need this rest,” said he finally.
He looked at the quiet girl beside him
patiently holding the line over the wa
ter. He was enjoying himself im
mensely.
“So do I." answered Sibyl frankly,
woth a bright smile. "Hut I'll tell you
a secret, 1 ran off to-day.”
"Han off?"
"Yes. < am shirking mv duty. 1 ran
away from trouble.” A cloud passed
over her face, as she thought of the
hateful task ahead of her. Before she
realized it, she was telling the whole
story. He listened quietly.
"it is not fair to send me to try to
bully a lew words out of a man like
I Grant Hill. I get frightened to death
whenever I think of it. 1 have tried so
hard to get along, but Mr Branson
gives me the hardest things he can
think of to do. Journalism is not what
1 thought it—Oh. oh, oh!” She jerked
up the line with a shining white fish
on the end, and—the bank gave way.
They were both soaked and muddy
when they stood again on terra firma.
They laughed as they faced each
other. Then Sibyl realized she was
cold. There was no sun in the woods.
"Come,” said the man with author
ity, "we must get out of here. There
are covers in my motor car over by the
road, and I'll have you back in town
in 15 minutes." Without waiting for
l an answer from Sibyl he took uer
hand and they ran for the car. where
be wrapped up her wet, bedraggled lit
tle figure.
When they reached town and Sibyl
was unwinding herself preparatory to
leaving, the stranger slowed up the
machine and spoke for the first time
uuring the trip home.
"Miss Morris.” he said, "you were
kind enough to tel! me your name.
Wi>l you pardon my rudeness in not
teH»g mine? But you will forgive me
perhaps when I tell you that it would
have spoiled one of the happiest days
of my life. You cannot understand
wnat the companionship of a fresh in
nocent girl means to a lonely man like
me.” He stopped.
‘Oh, thank you!” was all Sibyl could
think of in her confusion.
“I, too, ran away to-dav.” he con
! tinued, a merry twinkle in the gray
| eyes. "I ran away from reporters. I
I have been bothered to death all the
I week, but l forgot to read my horo
1 scope or I would have known it was of
no use.”
lie waited for her to speak. She
was silent. A look of terror was
• dawning in her eyes. He hurried on
[ with a smile. "Am i so very dreadful
I after all?” He handed her a card. She
i took it with trembling fingers, and hot
I tears of mortification started to her
' eyes. She tried to think ol ail the
lawful things she had said. The man
| beside her was Grant Hill.
The car stopped. She was at home.
Oh. to get away. She slipped to the
ground, not seeing the hand the man
held out to help her.
"Please, Miss Morris, forgive me,”
he begged. “You haven't said a word
about me I didn’t deserve, so please
do not feel badly about that. And if
you still want 'that hateful interview'
you shall have it and I shall try to
make it as pleasant as possible. Will
you do my sister and myself the honor
of coming to dinner to-morrow night?'
Sibyl extended her hand gratefully.
"Thank you. Mr. Hill, I have behaved
like a spoiled child. 1 shall be de
lighted to come.” The blue eyes smiled
radiantly again. He bent over her
j hand.
! "And perhaps you will allow me to
go fishing with you soon?" he asked.
"Perhaps.”
Life of English Princess.
Princess Mary of Wales, who in fu
ture will have a little suite of rooms
of her own at Marlborough house, is
in her thirteenth year. She is tall
and strong for a girl of her age and is
endowed with excellent brains. She
is now to nave two governesses, Dili
her education tfill, it Sis said, not be so
strenuous as that of her aunts, daugh
ters of the king and queen of Eng
land, who had to go in seriously for
mathematics, in spite of their objec
tions to the study. Princess Mary is
fond of fishing and of all sorts of out
of-door amusements. A few years’ago
she was a decided tomboy and her
taste for adventure on land and water
often made her lead her admiring
brothers into situations from which
they were extricated with some diffi
culty by their attendants.
Resourceful.
"So you run your own motor car?"
‘ Certainly,” answered Mr. Chuggins.
'‘Wouldn't think of trusting its delicate
mechanism to a chauffeur."
“And you know just what to do in
case anything goes wrong?”
"Yes. Push her up ‘to the side of
the road and telephone to the repair
shop.”
ud t if
am
GREAT LOVE STORIES
= OF HISTORY =
By ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE
Flora M’Donald and “Prince Charlie**
fitful uy tuo Author, j
This is the story of a Scotch girl
who, through nearly a half century o
happy wedded life, cherished the
memory and love of a man she hac
not married. The girl was Flora Me
Donald, one of the finest character?
cf her sort in all history. The man
she loved and did not wed was “Ron
t ie Prince Charlie," a Stuart pretend
er to the British throne. Flora's hus
hand was a brave, honest Scot, worth
r. dozen such princes as he on whom
iris wife had wasted her girlish
thoughts.
England was tired of the fickle
Stuart kings. Queen Anne was the
last of the Stuart line permitted to
reign in England. On her death parlia
mint gave the throne to George, elec
lor of Hanover, a stolid German, who
could speak no word of English and
whose claim to the crown was based
on his descent from James I. Anne
lad had a younger brother, James,
who was next in line as monarch. Rut
the English people at large had had
enough of the Stuarts. So they set
tside James' pretensions. James
lived on in France, where he kept up
a semi-regal court, supported largely
by contributions from "loyal'’ Eng
iish friends known as Jacobites
JamcT had a son, who, at 25, resolved
to make an effort
at winning the
British throne.
Cash for
Throne.
This son had been somewhat
lengthily christened Charles Edward
Louis Philip Casimir Stuart. From
his beauty of face and magnetic
| charm of manner he was known as
Bonnie Prince Charlie.” He had all
the subtle attractiveness of his ances
tress, Mary Queen of Scots, and the
I power of so winning the loyalty and
1 affections of those with whom he
! came in contact that they gladly laid
down life and fortune for him. Es
pecially did he appeal to many of the
Scotch, who (never over-loyal to Eng
land) were quite carried away by the
young prince's wondrous personality
and who eagerly flocked to his stand
ard. Poets and patriots for years
: dwelt on Prince Charle's charm and
I said little of the undoubted fact that
i he was dissolute, a drunkard, incon
i stant and possessed of all the worst
Stuart vices. To this day there are
i hundreds of Scots to whom his name
I is an honored household word.
Prince Charlie landed in Scotland
in 17-13, raised 6,000 men, captured
several cities and marched toward
London. But he was soon forced to
retreat. An English army followed
him and. at Culloden, April 1G, 1746,
annihilated his forces. Charles was a
/refugee, with a reward of $150,000 of
fered for his head. Then it was that
j Flora McDonald came into his life.
»aa u. xiiyuiana lass or old and
noble family and spent much of her
line at a country estate on the island
“f Skye. Although she was only
2G she already had a merited reputa
tion for wit and resource. Capt.
O’Xeill, one of Charles’ followers, de
clared that if any one could rescue
the prince from his dilemma it was
Flora McDonald. So to Flora the cap
tain went, with an appeal that she set
her clever brain to work (and inci
dentally risk her life) by planning
some means of escape for the royal
fugitive. Flora saw no reason why
she should put her life and liberty in
danger by befriending a man who was
flying from British justice. So she re
fused.
But O’Xeill was not discouraged. He
knew the magnetism of Charles’ man
ner and counted on ft to win where
argument had failed. So he brought
about a meeting between the two
young people. The result was all he
had foreseen. Flora, completely won
by Prince Charlie's fascinations,
agreed to do all in her power for
him. The English soldiery were close
behind him, and desperate measures
were necessary. Flora dressed the
prince as a woman and passed him
off as her Irish servant, ’’Betty
Burke.” Thus disguised, Charles
went safely, under Flora's escort, to
the island of Skye. She hid him in her
house there for some time, until the
first zeal of the soldiers' pursuit had
died down. Then she managed to get
him transported to France. Never
again after they said farewell at the
seashore did the two meet. Yet ail
memory of the prince.
The British government found out |
her share in Charles’ escape and she
was sent to prison. There she remain- i
ed for a year. After her release she
married and later emigrated to Amer
ica, settling with her husband and
numerous children in Xorth Carolina, j
Thence, during the revolutionry war,
she sailed for Scotland. On the way j
home her ship was attacked by a
French frigate. Pistol in hand. Flora i
fought side by side with the bravest ;
sailors, even after her arm was j
broken by a bullet. Through her cour
age the French ship was beaten off.
When, in 1700, the 70-year-old wom
an lay dying, her last request was ]
that her body be wrapped, for its final
sleep, in a treasured old sheet that
had once covered Charles while ho j
was her guest at Skye. For more j
than 10 years she had jealously pre- i
served that odd relic and had secret- j
ly enshrined in her thoughts the im
age of "Bonnie Prince Charlie.”
The Price of
Loyalty.
her life Flora
kept fresh in her
romantic heart the
Baron Trends and Princess Amelia
j Friedrich. Freiherr von der Trenck |
j —better known as I3aron Trenck—had
| the audacity to fall in love with Prin
cess Amelia, sister of Frederick the
j Great, king of Prussia. Amelia's love
I cost him his liberty, almost his life
‘ and indirectly made him for a time
: the romantic hero of all Europe,
j Trenck helped to swell his own fame
by the fact that he was a most bril
liant liar and an unconscionable brag
gart, as well. In his autobiography
he attributes more heroic and impos
sible adventures to himself than a
half-dozen dime novel heroes could
possibly have achieved. Thus it is
hard to get at tlie exact truth about
; him. Here is his story, as it is gen
erally accepted:
Trenck was of Doble birth. In 1742.
when only 1C, he became an officer
in the Prussian army. He was br^ve
almost to foolhardiness, and had a
positive genius for warfare. He at
tracted the notice of Frederick the
Great, and the lad was quickly pro
moted from rank to rank. At 18 he
was the king's aide-de-camp. Then it
was that he met and fell in love with
the Princess Amelia. His good looks,
his dashing courage and growing rep
utation made an
instant impression
upon the young
girl's heart. They avowed their love
for one another and began a long, se
cret correspondence. Each knew
that there could be no marriage be
tween a king's sister and a mere sol
dier. Yet, both being very young,
they had not the wisdom to part.
Thus affairs went on for a brief
time. Then came a sudden awaken
The Soldier and
the Princess.
I mg from - their loots paradise.
| Trenck's quick rise in the army and
in Frederick’s favor had gained for
| him many enemies. These foes, seek
ing the young hero's downfall, got
! hold of some of the letters he and
Amelia had written to each other
and showed them to the king. Fred
j erick, in rage at his aide-de-camp’s
presumption in daring to- lift his eyes
to a royal princess, cast Trenck into
prison. This term of imprisonment
was ended a few months later, for a
military campaign set in and Freder
ick needed every brave officer he
could muster. But the confinement
had lasted long enough to teach
Trenck what the inside of a jail was
like and to lead him to study ways of
escaping from such a place. This
odd knowledge later stood him in
good stead.
Scarcely was the campaign at an
end when Frederick, still enraged at
Trenck’s. love ror Amelia, had the
young man arrested on a trumped-up
charge of treason and thrown into the
military prison at Glatz. Here was
a chance for Trenck to apply some of
his theories on escaping from jail. He
did so. After one or two failures he
broke out of the fortress and fled to
Vienna. There the story of his affair
with Amelia had presumably become
known. Whether because the prin
cess’ name was lightly spoken of by
Austrian officers or because of some
weightier reason, Trenck issued chal
lenges right and left and fought a
series of spectacular duels. Thence,
while waiting a chance to return in
safety to Amerila, he took service un
der the Russian empress, Elizabeth,
and bore himself so gallantly iu her
wars that the empress gave him a
diamond-hilted sword.
Perhaps he thought that so famous J
a man as he had now become would
be safe in returning to Prussia. Per
haps his love for Amelia overcame his
prudence. At all events, after a so
journ in Austria, he ventured back to
Germany. Frederick, on hearing of
his arrival, at once threw him into
prison. But Trenck had a positive i
A Genius for Jail genU’s for ^aU
_ . . breaking. No or
Breaking.
dinary bolts and
bars could stop him. With no other
implement than his penknife he cut his j
way out of his cell. Then, recaptured,
he was loaded with chains and was 1
further tortured by being forced to
answer to the turnkey’s cry of
"Trenck, awake!” every 15 minutes in
the day and night. He slipped off his
chains and learned to answer the jail
or's summons in his sleep. At last
Amelia, by ten years of tearful plead
ing with her brother, secured Trenck's
release. She had pined away for love
of him. The two unfortunate lovers
were allowed to have one farewell in
terview a few days before the prin
cess’ death. Their two lives and
bright futures had been sacrificed,
Willingly, if uselessly, for each other.
After his sweetheart's death Trenck
drifted aimlessly from place to place.
Once he was sent to an insane asy
lum, again to a prison. From both he
won his freedom. He found time to
write his autobiography—a mass of
exaggerations that won him world
wide renown. At length, in Paris,
during the reign of terror, he was
falsely accused of being a Prussian
spy and, at the age of 6S years, was
beheaded.
What’s in a Name?
Among those who could tell you that
nomenclature is not altogether with
out reason are the Glassers of this
city. Ten of them, no less, and Glas
ser is not as common a name yet as
Smith or Wolff or Murphy, make a
living by selling glass or are listed as
glaziers in occupation. Another, Itzig,
doesn’t feel it at all inappropriate
that he should find in the sale of mir
rors his vocation. Three Glassmans
can answer you simply but truthfully,
if you ask, ‘‘What’s your business?”
by giving you their surnames. Nor
could one say with entire accuracy
that there’s nothing in a name, so far
as it concerns the Brilliant family, one
of whom sells diamonds and another
of whom runs a dye shop.—New York
Tribune.
Human After All.
“Well, I must leave you. I’ve got
an engagement with a collection agent
in 15 minutes.”
“And you’re hastening up to the of
fice to meet him, you honest man.”
"No, I'm hastening to get hid, for
lie’s due along here any minute.”—
Kansas City Times.
NEEDED THE KNIFE.
Speaking of table etiquette some
time ago, Gen. E. Burd Grubb told a
6tory about a man who was justified in
eating pie with a knife. Smith was
standing in a hotel lobby one day, ac
cording to the general, talking to
Jones, when the conversation turned
to a dinner that had been given at the
home of a mutual acquaintance named
Brown.
"You should have seen Barton,” rer
marked Jones, referring to one of the
guests. "I thought he had better table
manners. When bis pie was served he
actually ate it with his knife.”
“1 don’t blame him for that,” was
the startling reply of Smith.
"You don't blame him?” repeated
Jones in amazement.
"Mo,” smilingly said Smith. "I have
eaten pie at Brown’s myself, and it is
a wonder to me that Barton didn’t take
an ax.”
Reason Enough.
Mrs. Newlywed (weeping)—Henry,
I am sure I have grounds for divorce
I am positive that you have deceived
me.
.Mr, Newlywed—What in the world
do you mean? What have I done to
arouse such a suspicion?
Mrs. Newlywed (weeping harder) —
I—I—saw a memorandum in your
pocket this morning to—to buy some
new ribbons for your typewriter.—
Judge.
The Fly in the Amber.
"That man (Jrindle is a wonderfully
interesting fellow. He has traveled
so much and so far, and he is so high
ly cultured that it is always a pleasure
to listen to him.”
"No doubt. But I must confess I
was just a little disappointed.”
“Disappointed? Why so?”
"1 noticed that when he pronounced
the word Copenhagen he gave the ‘a’
the long sound.
The New Butler.
Mr. Stubb—I am so glad we can af
ford to keep that new butler, John. He
has been employed by the first fam
ilies of the town and is a regular well
of information.
Mr. Stubb—Yes, Maria, but you'll ;
3nd him a dry well.
Mro. Stubb—Dry well?
Mr. Stubb—Yes; he can't be pumped
WHEN SHE REALLY “ARRIVES.'
A woman may never be properly
classed as a social favorite until the
society editors begin writing about her
something like this:
"Owing to numerous social affairs
arranged in her honor, Mrs. Clarissa
Maye Johnes, who has spent the past
month in Bunktown, will prolong her
visit to that beautiful city for some
weeks.”
The Accent.
When some hair-dressers seek to give
lls hair to fit the hat.
We get er-rat-ic coiffures with
The accent on the rat.
A Judicial Process.
"Prosy old Judge Talkit got bold of
Smythe the other day and treated the
poor fellow to a regular judicial pro
ceeding.”
“What was it?”
"First, he arrested his progress and
then he tried his patience.”
Sounds Appetizing.
Journal—I wonder if moths have
any preference as to textile fabrics?
“I should think cheesecloth would
make tasty eating,” responded the
other party to the conversation.
Turning On the Faucet No Use.
Mrs. Wynn—Do you ever get things
you want by weeping? I do.
Mrs. Glynn—No. My dear, with
my husband tears are not worth their
salt.
Decollete.
Lady in Box.—Can you look over
my shoulder?
Man from Country—I've just been
lookin' over both of ’em, by gosh,
they’re all right!
Adam’s Excuse.
His Wife—This paper says that a
man’s hair turns gray five years earli
er than a woman’s does.
Her Husband—If it does I’ll bet a
woman is the cause of it.
A Puzzle.
Mrs. Crimsonbeak—I saw a new
puzzle in the paper to-night, John.
Mr. Crimsonbeak—Oh, has the rail
road company changed its time table
again?—Yonkers Statesman.
Kerolc (remedy.
Bill—I believe I talk altogether too
much.
Jill—Well, why don’t you stop it?
"How can I?”
"Why, get married!”—Yonkers
Statesman.
Knew Biikins.
"I presume Mrs. Biikins Is listening
to a great many barefaced lies these
days,”
•Why do you think so?”
"Biikins has shaved off his mus
•r.the.”
WHAT THE RADIATOR SINGS.
What is the* song that the radiator sings?
Is it a melody from throbbing reeds of
Pan?
A sweet song of summer shine and all
the fabled things
That sport upon Arcadian meadows
never seen by man?
Or chill fall’s cicada notes a-rattling from
ragged throats?
What is the song that the radiator sings?
Is it the rumbling of bumble bees that
boom?
A splashing brooklet washing through the
clover land that llings
Its sparkling spray in splendor on the
morning glory’s bloom?
Or anvil chimes at Vulcan’s forge and
tempests in a mountain gorge?
SOUR AND SWEET.
Flora—Jack, I’m surprised at you,
and after kissing Miss Chimsonbeak!
Jack—Iiush! That is ray excuse. I
must have something sweet to take
away the taste.
Queer Language.
Anil when tlie fisher leaves the pool
And gladly home doth hie,
Bet sonie li-kely stories with
The accent on the lie.
Down on the Farm,
New Arrival—What time do the
summer boarders begin to thin out
down here?
Farmer Ryetop—Wall, neighbor,
they get thinner and thinner every
week until about the last of Septem
ber they are so thin they cut the
hammocks through and then we ship
them back to town.”
Waiters have the Palms.
“I’m sure I don't know why they
cal this hotel The Palms. Do you?
I ve never seen a palm anywhere near
the place."
‘'You'll see them before you go. It’s
a pleasant little surprise the waiters
keep for the guests on the last day
of their sojourn.”—Puck.
Rather Strenuous.
Mr. Cassidy—Awn will yez listen to
this, Nora? A Baltimore man hugged
his woife so toightly on th’ golden
wedding thot he broke two av her
ribs.
Mrs. Cassidy—Ah. Patrick, awn
isn t ut grand to see such affection
alter all thim years?
It Gets There.
Manager—Why do you call this play
“Dust?”
Playwright—Because I want it to
get in the public eye.
Just Gossip.
“Mrs. Tewkly says she would like to
join an aero club.”
“Well, the Lord knows, she’s flighty
enough!”
Very Probably.
"Was it a heated debate you at
tended?”
”lt ought to have been. It had
enough hot air in it.”
HOT STUFF.
Clergyman—I don’t see your hus
band with you so much as when you
were on your honeymoon. Has he
grown cool?
Late Bride—Not if what you preach
is true. He's dead.
A Misnomer.
I wonder why a lion cub
Is always called the J'on’s wliclp?
But more than that t wonder why
Our servant girls are called “The
Help?”
Ennui.
"They must be people of great
weal th.”
"What makes you think so?”
“Why, even the baby looks bored.”
An Easy Mark.
“It’s a pity Henry Hudspn can’t be
in New York now.”
“If he were there he would prob
ably get his pockets picked.”
His Only Recreation.
“But why do you give your fash
ionable butler an entire day off every
week?” asked the friend.
“Sh!” whispered the man who made
a fortune in a few weeks. “It is the
only opportunity I have to sit in my
shirt sleeves and smoke. Wouldn't
dare to do it when he was around.”
The Way of the World.
“Faken boasts that he has all the
gems of literature in his library.”
“So he has, but they are uncut
gems.'
New England Stirred by Ranch
man’s Claim to Estate.
Daniel Blake Russell of North Dakota
Says He Is Son and Heir to
State Senator’s $1,000,000
Property.
Heston, Mass.—All New England
was excited over the remarkable case
in East Cambridge court, where Dan
iel Blake Russell, a western ranch
man, sought to establish his identity
as the long-missing son of former
State Senator Daniel B. Russell of
Melrose, and heir to half the $1,000,
000 fortune the senator left to Wil
liam C. Russell, who, the claimant
says, is his younger brother.
There is a great difference of opin
ion as to the merits of the case, some
insisting that Russell is an impostor,
trying to obtain a share of the big
estate, while others declare that he
is really the son of the late Senator
Russell, and that his brother dare not
defend his suit in court.
The trial developed new and inter
esting features at every hearing.
The big ranchman from Dickinson,
X. D., was identified by an old sweet
heart, Hattie May Keith, and bashfully
admitted his boyhood liking for her,
to the evident glee of his wife, who
was an interested listener and engaged
her husband’s old flame in animated
and long conversation during part of
the day.
Lawyer Nason spent considerable
time questioning Russell as to how
many weddings he had attended as
groomsman prior to leaving the town
of his birth. Every detail of his boy
hood in Melrose was gone into, and
the plaintiff was always ready with
answers, sometimes so ready and so
voluminous In detail as to confuse his
questioners.
A sensational episode occurred In
court when Russell faced Mrs. Rous
seau and three grown children from
Messina, X. Y., who claimed him as
their long-lost son and brother. The
ranchman was telling the attorney for
William C Russell, who, although
fighting the suit, remained out of the
state, how' his boyhood home looked,
when the Rousseaus came into the
courtroom. ^Lawyer Xason paused.
Daniel Blake Russell.
Suddenly, he pointed at .Mrs. Rousseau
and asked sharply:
"N'ow, I ask you. Is not this lady
here your mother?"
Russell regarded the woman care
fully and replied: "No, sir," appar
ently without the least hesitation or
effort In turn, he specifically denied
any relationship to the others of the
Rousseau family.
"Did you receive a lock of hair from
this woman?” asked counsel.
“Not as i know of,” answered Rus
sell. “I don't know who sent it to
me ”
At the suggestion of the defense the
claimant drew a r ip o( the floor plan
of the house where he claims he was
born. Lawyer Nason protested that
It was incorrect. Investigation estab
lished that Mr. Nason was going by
the house as it exists now, while Rus
sell had given correctly its old-time
proportions and arrangement.
Boys’ Perilous Voyage.
Two brothers, aged twelve and eight
years; residing in the village of Oak
ley, near Dunfermline, Scotland, had
an extraordinary adventure a week
ago. The lads having disappeared,
their father, along with constables,
searched the countryside without find- "
ing any trace of them. Further in
quiry, however, showed that the run
aways had tramped six miles,
cut loose a boat and set out into the
firth. Having got far from the shore
the craft, which was minus oars, was
soon at the mercy of the current. The
boat attracted the attention of the
crew of a fishing smack, who over
took it and transferred the boys to
their vessel. Owing to the dense fog
the sm3ck could not make for the
shore that night. They were landed
next morning and taken to their pa
rents’ home, none the worse of their
adventure.
Substitutes for Cotton.
Owing to the high price of cotton
some German textile experts have
been turning their attention to other
fibers that might be used as a substi
tute for it. Recently a spinning com
pany at Chemnitz has succeeded in
spinning the fiber contained in the
seeds of the kapok, or silk cotton tree
of the tropics. In Us natural state
this fiber cannot be spun owing to its
extreme brittleness, but it is reported
that Prof. Goldberg of Chemnitz has
found a method of treating it to make
it spinnable, and the yarn is de
scribed as having a peculiarly soft,
silky feeling. The fiber has the ad
vantage of being considerably cheaper
than cotton, but no Information is at
hand showing the wearing qualities ot
fabrics made from kapok yarn.
Not the Place tor 8rains.
A western woman holds that large
eet are evidence of great brains. May
ie, but it’s no place to carry them.—
New ork Herald.