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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (June 30, 1910)
When Fate Relented is* s» L4««i baa "Oh. Ms a asset tittle raoa." said Mia WHn Instrallr Her case roamed poecteelr over the •*U- hall rum she d self Is. from the |bst di» as rush loss to the book ^T* %*^as | . I her sad thee pro «e»dej aifh a Bene* at smaller bump* M> the stairs sad leaded with a final cr**h overhead "*<•* sae aes “ Fa 1st bops flick weed ap. to die instantly -Bat at ■room* so aae worth while would rams here to Use.” she mamhied scornfully •■tier distaste at her summadlncs. of her dally grind. of her colorless day* asoa* s ttia her aad Jagged her mo mentarily sol at the rat at dogged fhnrtdini aad acceptance of en ftnannt that aha bad forced herself “1 bats ’em." thumping her bead *nvs the pillows rinonsly “I hate everybody " R>tg_ she faced herself ocrosiigli (a the wary-surfaced mir ror "I bate myself, tan I'm even be Chart to crook my little fingers like Cheat—therU he calling me genteel •rr Cgfc. I d rather he had—down right homd- than genteel, with a cot Coo wool brain aad a saaduat heart.' a soft wtsd stirred tbe ruffled cer tain and whisked her katr. and. turn ing. she throat her hem! out into the Sally girl hut you're got the { Ike informed herself, sniffing as eagerly »*icb the stirring at spring cap emu an eagerness la the blood may , hap hot M's the fall for the reefclens mrws aad sest at adventure »Ith It* I—meat sarciag shisper at depart ing days. Ha urge to make baste, that me'e eyes ts fleecirr youth. Its hreath charged with the last cent* at summer * meet news. It moved uauontedly in Sarah i she miffed the keen the repression of her Ups UW «g yoar Uh and put on your tna pumps. Sarah, and I are tbee --_ r ^f/aaey-^r j**V A7&* «redL "isl perfeapa . To* '* tb* rtxwl- ' t feint and la •atmkir Aar »*». to tint fe*»n and Ij i« daily ’*rH an* area aad a rfdmi darted arenas the mtoM rr,^ Ittea ®2>* kicked her fcrri* ata.r.et '' tbe fence to ns prrrfeed oa aU la »"•frnTaWii afewndwe tktev hark hn* a Bfciac whierltac retrain of bar brr see atkad tore Faiat’j tonne* freer, the finisr* awferr wbtaO* cVtoed ta. aad toe ■asawd. to td(«« of brr aaal abrfi drawn* ££**tber taat*arUTe»T, bat a •eaUr batwed aa few Upa PtaiatUe «* nrti( and tall-a*. Cbr aotr* came araiwr MUr to Ctrl crept ta to 'UM rw leant “The Fanner Boy* lit a little red school boose, too?" bel soederwd. and at the honest wistful ness la his voice the last remnant of Sally's caution melted. "Foolish, reckless, horridThe world s thousand voices crooned It sarnlugly In her ear. but the smiled back into the boyish eyes. “It a as a gray stone school house with a hoys' yard and a girls' yard, and a ptmp In front where we all waited our turn for the tin dipper." "Rut there was a boy who cleaned > our slate and left pink, mint hearts oa your d*sf “Kugrated ‘I love you.’" she as sented “And was there a girl you made carl wheels In front of all the way home—all whirling hands and legs*" “Gee. I wished you'd gone to my school*' His eyes were shining de lightedly. and Miss Stiles sobered sud denly. "But we're grown-ups now." she sighed “Only sometimes me forget." "Wouldn't it be great to slide back to those kid days, when everything was shat It seemed, when we cried when we were hurt and laughed when we were glad, and believed In every body we ktew and everything we were told— be asked "Nos ! smile when I'm hurt and cry when I'm glad." she said “Well7” he challenged, his hands still thrust deep in his pocket and his eyes dancing eagerly. "You don't look like a girl who would take a dare " "I'm no 'Iraid cat.“ she boasted. "I know » here there's a birch." The laugh la her eyes flickered anxiously. “Ob-o*" Her little squeal of delight was gen uine. “And we might find some win tergreens Tough, old ones, you know, with red berries Oh. it's tine to be a kld~ “Yufc betrhyu. Tain t no fair to talk like grown-up*, though." he pro test'd To think there was a mac like this la that grubbieg city beyond* Her eyes were as childish and blue as the autumn sky ms she protested “111 beat you to that sumac, there, little hoy." pointing with outstretched Unger "One. two. three, ready—go “ With thai mad scamper. Sarah Stiles began an afternoon of unalloyed, fool ish fun that never flagged until she wa* homeward bound, loaded with the gorgeous foliage of the autumn woods. »lauwi ax a Deed m me road where cottages below were glimpsed through the haves and a sky of molten *r>id poured itself into a glittering river. The laughter curves fell away from Miss Stiles's Ups in a tired, satis fied sigh “But It must be good by.“ she wa • ovist icg. “Miracles cannot bear repe titioa. It's a rainbow afternoon for memory —let's not touch it with the stupid finger 3t reality and shatter it boy Besides, if fate is eager and ■rilling. "Tonre a silly. little girl." said the man softly. “Voure cruel, too Haven't •e grown up together?" “Tmy Improperly—In one after noon." she pointed oat “But. don't yoo understand? I can't be the little g'rl any more. Any way. 1 m afraid. • know —H wouldn't last " “1 can't lure you any more." be said “uefully "But 1 am sorry. Here," he drew out a card and rapidly wrote a line upon It. “At least, you'll take »hia. And If you relent—1 11 be wait iag “ Runs.icg lightly, she stared down 'be read Th«u she looked back and while be mat died with a wistfully re gretful smile, she tossed the card into 'be wayside bisbes She had paused a scant moment In 'be boarding house ball to survey her tumbled hair when through the cur tained door she saw him coming, tumbling a batch of keys in bis hand With a smothered cry. she fled up to t-er own room and waited, peering br-atitlensly through a tiny crack It was the fame gray figure, with hands deep hi his rockets—the very ■ b.s'iitg man into whose arms she had almost fallen two hours before. Hi* heavy tread mounted slowly and rounded in the room overhead, where the crash (fit: unk had driven her to de*i*lr that same day She buried her bead in the rash tons, la ugh lug hysterically Then arising, she sur veyed her rod ant face ic the tiny mirror ' »‘hal a dear, sweet, lovely old thing late Is," she murmured Th* Last Wore <>~t li tr tty tan*« tod. »>»* Md *ot mo sear* to aaJd v»** thy ■■not* AD tune tsst. That ii:> stf wait brook si lool to tto Woe oaomtVs rrur' re onm and oseno ara jrroo tot ttotot V^v* tt tors they trill: Than an Uiad. bra: to arill Tto} wealkad tto* bln'd thae. tor* ■*<«* Itor. fared thus tofore thee; tttor r!r.*t*e »*»« and pass'd. Hotly rkarftd—iu*l al '»*« r~*-.: -r* wt more, rton and to dumb! to tto tsrtora. m tor they roar. Tiro tto forts of o-.Tj fall. Ktod thy body hy U . trail' —ttsttbaw Arnold Meat a kub Las became a lover ol the Bible |»y he*line some infidel talk •Cutest tt. Illl I 111! I «ll H»l Wl— —III II I ■■■! I II I — Oecter*. Parsons. Lawyers. Ftar Mtonlmc to our old sating, its tree leaned professions Ute by roguery on tbe three parts of a — T*** doctor mauls our bodies, the par i eon starves our souls; but the lawyer c»ust he tbe adnst«-st knave, for he Has to ensnare our minds. Therefore ; he takes a careful delight In coveting his traps and engines with a spread of dead-teaf words Whereof himself k»©ws little mote than half tbe way I *• *P-1I them — BUckmore. “U>rnu Ooooe~ A Merger. Regular Customer—"There used tc be two or three little bald spot* on the crown of my head, away back. Are hey there jetT" Barber—-No. sir; It ain't so bad as all that. Where those spots used to he. sir. there's only one ' nos.** Vnry Particular. LJUie Char leg aged four, la very j fond of chicken, and when be aaw the j chicken pie brought in for dinner said: -Please, papa. 1 want some chicken, hat not may of the coop.-— The Detiaeater. T E HAVE no written record to prove that the makers of the first Fourth of July were given to boasting about their posses sions. If they were In the habit of writing letters to their Eng lish cousins. In which ! they casually referred to the fact that they owned a territory of over 297,000 square miles, or some five times as large as all England and Wales, neither Poor Richard nor any of the other dear old chroniclers made note of the lact. But Inasmuch as the colonists felt big enough and strong enough and rich enough to pitch Into Great Britain, and. not e>nly did pitch into her, but beat her after a fair fight, it would look to. an unbiased person today as If the forefathers of the firecrackers had a pretty good opinion of them selves and of what they had In hand. It Is quite likely that after the un pleasantness known as the Revolution, when the country was striding ahead with Its commerce, was selling its cotton and Its tobacco to every one that wore clothes or used the weed, the} felt they had more reason to pat themselves on the back for the mar velous growth they showed before the eighteenth century was done. But just supposing one of the framers of the Declaration could read over a few statistics and observe a few events that that are at'hand today! If you told him that since his day the country—his country—has increased more than ten times in area, more than 3t* times in population, and more than a thous<*.rJ rimes in wealth, how wouil he take the news? Would he still assert, as some of our friends among the oldest inhabitants are prone to do. that the "good old days were best." or would he not be more likely to sally forth In search of the beadle and make a peremptory de mand for your Incarceration as a dan gerous lunatic? Surely if truth is stranger than fic tion figures are stranger still when measuring the vast strides that our country has taken since the Fourth of July. 1776 What one of the signers dreamed that In 1S03. or less than 30 years after his Ink dried upon that historic document, the I'nlted States would acquire a territory of 875.000 square miles, or nearly three times the sire of all the 13 original states put together But that was what we got w h“u we bought l>oulslana for 115.000, 000 In 1819. when we took In Florida, we added more than 70.000 square miles to our area; In 1845 we look In Texas with Its vast domain of 389.000 square miles; and within three years thereafter had absorbed Oregon and the Mexican concession, adding In round numbers 800,000 square miles more tvery once In & little while Uncle Saui seemed to grow teFritorlaily hun gry, end would lunch off a promising fragnu nt of the continent. The Gads den put chase of 36.000 square miles was made in 1653. Alaska was bought for $7,206,000 in 1667. adding nearly 606.666 square ruiles to our map. and in 1697 we Took in the Hawaiian is lands to prove that we were not dis criminating against the Pacific ocean In 'he matter of our favor. Then ail in a bunch, during the days of 1898 and 1*?? we took in Porto Rico. Guam and tbs Philippines, and a few of the Samoan Islands The Sandwich is lands were scarcely worth mentioning for they added only a wee mite to our real estate holdings—6.740 square mtles. to be exact—and Porto Rico with its 3.600. and little Guam with Its 17* might be left out altogether and wed hardly notice that we had lost them The Philippines totaled about 143. POC square miles, and you'll hardly be able ;o suppress a smile when you are Informed that the Samoan 'islands" that we took over in 1899 had the enormous area of 73 square mtles. But even at that there’s plenty of room upon those little ocean dots for ca ble houses, dry docks and coaling sta tions. A few thousand tons of coal slor-'J at any one of those places may •t some time In the future save the American battleship fleet and give it the power to overcome a foe in the far cast Thus, all told, when jou add up the various breakfasts, luncheons, and dinners of new land that our uncle h# enjoyed since 1776 we get the tidy showing of 2.936,731 square miles. Tliis new territory cost the United States treasury exactly $67,039,768. or about $30 a square mile. Add what we’ve lought to what we had during the Revolution, and you get a total of a little more than J.OOO.OOO square miles of territory. The government figure experts, who ought to be the best on earth, for they get more pay than any other statisti cians on the globe, calculate that the total wealth of the United States to day is over $110,000,000,000. They have com ? to the conclusion, after going over acres and acres of numerals that every man. woman and child in the United States has $34.72. If you have not as much as that you should go to Washington and demand the difference from Maj. O P. Austin, chief of the bureau of statistics. If every one who has mure than $34.72 should go to Major Austin and “whack up” A'lth him to the extent of every penny they have above that sum. he could maka an exact distribution of our national wealth and everybody might be satis fied—lor a minute. The calculation of what every one in a country ought to be worth Is the estimation of what is known as the “per capita wealth.” According to the bureau of statis tics' reckoning, you and 1 are worth » good deal more than we were in the [lays when the country was young. In 1800. or at the time when they have the first record of per capita wealth, the citizens of the United States were only worth $5 apiece. The gain In per capita wealth has not always been steady during the decades. Certain pensus years showed us poorer than during the previous ten years, but most of the time we have been getting along nicely, thank you. In 1810 we were worth $7.59 a head. 1820 had fall en to $6.94: In 1830 we were even a little poorer at $6.79. but In 1840 had jumped to $10 91. In the middle of the century we had advanced to $12.02 apiece, and from that time oo there were no more bar gain drops or reductions whatever. But while we are talking of what we are worth per capita, it might not be amiss to mention the fact that every one of us here In the United States has also a debt per capita. In 1300 the per capita debt was $15 63, or more than three times as much as the wealth per capita. Now. thank good ness and the statisticians, we seem to be well out of the financial woods, for £ach and all of us has a per capita debt of only $10.76. or considerably less than one-third of what we own. With a showing lijte that we may be pardoned if we take the day off and go celebrate. The biggest figures that the govern ment has complied this year are prob ably found In the freight records. They are so colossal that they really mean nothing to any one outside of ’he rtiilroad business, and perhaps not so \ery much to the railway expert except by wav of comparison. Last year the railroads hauled 236,601.390. 103 tons of freight one mile. We can not easily compare that showing with the amount of freight hauled during colonial days, for during colonial days railroad freight was not known. Pos sibly there were figures compiled showing how many pounds of freight were tarried by the coastwise vessels or the ships that plied between Amer ican and Knglish. Dutch, French, and Portuguese ports If these figures were prepared, however, they have been lost In the dust of time and the world has been too busy to bant for them. in the year 1800 the I'nited States coined all of $317,600 worth of gold That was going quite a bit. oue must acknowledge. Last year we converted $131.6>.8.632; the silver coinage record was $;24.294; last year It was $12,391. 777. More than $96,000,000 worth of gold was taken from our territory last year. In 1810 when the gold mining business was In Its cradle, the produc tion was $2,463. and even that amount Is not touched for as absolutely ac curate. In 1830 the pig Iron production of the entire country was estimated at 24.060 tons; last year It was about 16. 000.000. In the year 1810 there wera said to be ;139 newspapers In the country, as compared with 21.330 at the present time. The records do not attempt to tell what kind of newspapers the edi tors printed 100 years ago. nor do they give any sworn statements of circula tion. The war department spent 82.360.000 In 1800 as against more than $173,000. 000 last year. The navy expended $3,448,000 in 1800. as compared with $118,000,000 last year, while the pension roll of the two years was $64,131 and S133.S92.46?. Cotton consumed In 1800 amounted to 18.829 bales; now we use 4.300.000 bales. We are consuming more than 6.000. 000,090 pounds of sugar a year just now; In 1860. the first recorded year, the consumption for the 12 months was 631,000.000 pounds. Almost equal ly enormous and unfathomable figures are produced to show the annual value of the stock products of the oountrv. Of farm animals there were produced for the market last year $4,525,259,000. Half a century ago. when the statis ticians first began to busy themselves about such things, the record was $344,180,000. showing that the farmer has been doing his duty by his coun try ami his family as well as by th« : manufacturer, the miner, and the rail road man. Tho postofflee has grown from an in stitution with 903 branches la 1800 to nearly 70.000 today. The salaries paid public school teachers have increased from $37,000. 000 in 1870. to $197,000,000 this year, and the number of telegrams sent over the wires has jumped from 3.000.000 40 years ago to 90,000.000. or there abouts, this year. These figures, while eloquent. giT« but a faint Idea of what has hap pened in our material welfare depart ment within the space of 134 Fourths of July. With airships floating, or about to float, above the cities; with messages to Mars almost released and answered, with radium ready to revo lutionise the scientific world—why is it not fair to presume that before 134 more anniversaries occur the United States will show even more marvelous progress In the world of nations? Word* That Ar« Out of Styl*. Most old English word* have fallen from their high estate and are now handed in the besF society, at any rate In Mayhur and Belgravia. Of these 1* the Saxon word “lady." which wT"are told ia derived from 'loaf giver." In 1910 we speak of a “woman" and the word "lady" has become almost a term or reproach. A young single woman is a girl—pronounced "gylrr —as the name "young lady" 1* re served for barmaids, shop hands and telephone operators. Then the word "dress" used to de scribe the outer garment of our moth ers and grandmothers, but "gowns" and "frocks" are worn by women of the twentieth century. Also we may talk of "relations." but not of "rela tives;" and the most venerable of rooster must be called a "chicken." as the word "fowl" has sunk almost to the level of low language—Queen. People of Other Planets. Calculations as to the site required for human beings on the other planets vary widely according to the basis of reckoning According to those based upon the attraction of gravity. Jupiter should be peopled by pygmies of IS Inches Wolfius. on the other hand, argued that Goliath himself would be accounted decidedly understxed upon that planet. He worked from the; feebleness of the sun's light there, which would demand that the pupil of the eye should be much more dilata ble. Since the pupil stands ta con stant proportion to the ball of the eye. and that to the entire body, said Woltius. a little calculation shows that an average Jovian must be nearly thirteen feet seven Inches tall—not quite four Inches shorter than Og. king of B&shan. according to the measure of his bedstead given In Deuteronomy. Mai* Fashion* in 1850. Mat* rash tons of 80 years ago had other discomforts besides long hair. ' Trousers were tight and buttoned un- ; der the foot with broad straps. Every man who aspired to be well dressed wore his coat so high In the collar that the back of the hat rested upon it. This fashion was so prevalent that, according to Sir Algernon West, “every hat had s crescent of cloth on the back of th« brim to prevent the rubbing of the beaver, or imita tion beaver, of which the hat was made, for silk hats were not then in vented." And from the same author tty we learn that "opera hats were unknown, nnd In the evening a fold ing chapeau bra* was always carried under the arm. Nobody but an apothecary or a solicitor would have dreamed of leaving his hat in the hall of the house where he was calling or dining." Englishmen Go To Canada At_ ___ Dominion Receiving Thousands of Good Citizens From Mother Coun try—Worries Economists. London.—The steady flow of emi grants from England to Canada is be coming a source of worry to English ■ economists. During the present month more than thirty thousand persons hare embarked from different English ports to make their homes in Canada. and the prospects are that this num ber will be exceeded next month. The surprising feature of this great tide of emigration westward front Great Britain is not the quantity, but the quality of the emigrants. This aspect of the new emigration from the shores of Great Britain was strikingly Illustrated by the 19 fam ilies which left Liverpool recently for the "ready-made farms’* of the Can adian Pacific Railway company, and by the party of two hundred settlers who accompanied them. All these were people of substance with an av erage capital of $1,000. Thla month a similar party will leave, and others will follow during the summer. Dally Thought. What an ornament and safeguard Is humor! Far better than wit for a poet and writer. It Is a genius Itself, and so defends from the Inanities— Walter Scott. Marjorie and the Moon By Edith S. Sp**d Copyright. 1910. by Associated Literary Ftaa “It Is no use asking mother. She will not give her consent," whispered Marjorie as they stood together In the summer house. "She insists that 1 wait at least eight years before I marry." Philip Drayton smiled down at her earnest little face. “But your mother was or.ly twenty when she was married.” he said. "Yes. 1 know. Phil; but she says 1 am too young." "Then we shall have to elope." “Elope! Mother would never for give me." “Oh. yes she would; she would be angry for a little while: but would soon make up. 1 can't wait eight years j for a home and you. Marjorie." he ; pleaded. "Leave It to me and every thing will be all right." “But. Phil, is there no other way?" ' “1 am afraid not." he answered. "1 will have my boat at the landing to morrow night and we will cross the bay to Willow Point, where the min ister will marry us." “Oh. won't it be romantic!" said Marjorie. “It will be moonlight and l will wear my white dress and my white hat with the pink roses that you like so well." The moonlight shining through the vines brought out the gold lights In the girls pretty hair. On the hand that lay in Phil's sparkled a little ring. He reverently kissed her. *T wish your mother could attend | your wedding," he continued after a silence, “but she will not consent, and : eight years is too long to wait." All the next day Marjorie Brant sang as she worked. Upstairs, on her bed. lay the white dress and white hat. In the closet was the suit case with her dainty belongings, packed for the first time without her mother's super- , vision. Now and then she ran up and tried on the hat. laughing at herself in the mirror and picturing Phil's face w hen he should see her. “If you are going upstairs again." her mother called from the kitchen, "will you close the windows? There I I ts a cloud tn the west, which mean* wind." But Marjorie, excitedly combing out her curls tn preparation for the wed ding coifTure. forgot the injunction un til the flapping of the curtains brought her out of her dreams. "Did you shut the windows?' her mother called to her. “Xo. but 1 will." answered the girl. Marjorie could hear the roar of the wind and the lashing of the waves, and knew that they could not cross the bay that night. She slowly con tinued her dressing, wondering how they would get to Willow Point. She helped her mother with dinner, but ate little. "Don't you feet well?” asked her father. "I am all right, but I am not hungry." she replied. Marjorie was to meet Phil at eight o'clock. At 7: SO she went upstairs. In the darkness she pressed her face against the window. She could see nothing: the rnoou w as hidden behind the clouds. Wrappings a shawl about her. she stealthily descended the stairs and 1 went out by the side door. Her Eight • figure bent to the wind as she sped down the path. "Phil," she called softly. Then she felt his arms about her. "Where Is your hat?" he asked. 'We can't gc in a boat: so we will drive. I hare brought blankets; you won't be cold.” ' Marjorie slipped out of his arms. “1 haven't any bag. I am not going. Phil.” "Xot going!” he exclaimed. "Why not?" “Oh. I couldn't go oa such a mgat Who ever beard of running away &a<1 getting married oa a dark night r* “What haa the weather to do with our happiness?- he asked gently. "Don't you love me. Marjorie?" “Yes." she whispered, then tattering ly continued. "It was all going to he so beautiful, the moonlight and the water—and now there isn't any moon. When It grew so dark and windy, 1 felt that even the elements were against us and I was not doing the right thing—running away from par ents who have been so kind: so l came out to tell you. Oh. Phil." she sobbed. "I don’t know what to da* "My poor little girl." he said "I don’t believe 1 should run away with you. 1 am going into the house to ask your father and mother to let me marry you." "Phil.* “1 can’t go home without knowing something certain. Come." As the two young people entered the sitting room Marjorie's father and mother stared at them In astonish ment. The girl, cold and wind blown, slipped into a chair. Phil walked up to the table. "Sit down, won’t you?" asked Mr. Brant, hesitating, as he looked at the young man’s stern face. "No." said Phil. “Til stand. Maj* jorie and 1 were going to run away “ "Run away!" exclaimed Mrs. Brant and her husband’s fist came down on the table heavily. But as Phil told of his love, the older man gased at him intently, visions of his own youth and courtship stirring him deeply. When Phil had finished he said: ’’I understand that If It had not been windy tonight and Marjorie had not thought It was wrong you would have run away?" “1 think so" “And what then?" The young man's gaxe met that of the older man's squarely. “I should have taken care of her and kept her safe. 1 love her." He was very earnest. The father seemed stirred by his uprightness and he turned to his wife. "Well, mother?" "It Is out of the question." she flared. "Marjorie Is only twenty. I shall not let her get married for eight years* "Oh. mother!" "Yes. and by then. Marjorie, you will know your own mind." "I do know it" pleaded the girt “You were married when you were twenty." "Yes; but I was older. You are only a child. Now you run up to your room" With a despairing glance at Phil, who stood looking stern and deter mined. she left the room. Her moth er turned to the young man. “1 thought when I consented to tha engagement that you would he satis fied Now you are trying to coax the child to run away.” “I mlgbt h»ve taken her .” was PhllM answer. The father, noting the set mouth of the young man. perceived the neces sity of a compromise. "Perhaps we had better talk It over, mother," he said- * "No," was the firm response, “t shall not let Marjorie marry until she is twenty-eight. That is young enbugh." "But we were married when we were young and have been happy.” "What we did has nothing to do with Marjorie It Is no good your ta king their part; 1 shall not give my consent.” Her husband saw that It was use less to argue, and held out his hand to Phil. "I guess we shall have to do what mother thinks best. After all. she is right.” He accompanied Phil to the door. The wind had abated and through the scurry of clouds the moon shone brightly. The young man stood look ing at It for a moment then stiffly said; "Good by." and went down ihe path. The horse's hoofs had died away ta the distance when the father returned to the sitting room. As Phil drove slowly homeward, he moodily gazed out upon the night. The vagrant wind caressed hts cheek and the salt air tilled his nostrils. Suddenly his horse reared and came to a sudden stop. Marjorie!” he exclaimed as the girl stepped to the side of the car riage. She laughed nervously, as she climbed in beside him. "Quick!" she urged. "Here Is my hag. They are arguing in the sitting , room 1 took the short cut across the lota They will not discover that l am gone for awhile, and. eh. Phil. I climbed down the grape arbor!" He urged the horse to a run with one hand while with the other he tucked the blanket around her. "I cant believe It!” he said as she nestled close to kirn. "I can't believe that you are really here." "Well," said the girl, "lather was al most ready to give in and mother will soon make up. site always does, and I wasn't going to wait until l was twen ty-eight to get married. Phil—especial ly after I looked out of my window and saw that glorious moon—our moon.” Why Franc* Is Rich. Paris Is the mecca of foreigners. They come from all parts of the world to enjoy life in the great me tropolis; and the yearly income from this source alone approximates $600. 000.000. Along with this item the earnings of French capitalists on their Investments in the securities and properties of other countries amount to fully $260,000,000 yearly. On the other side of the account is an adverse balance of trade, which in 1007 amounted to $120,000,000. Deduct this outgo from her income of $650,000,000 j and it leaves France with $730,000,000 j to the good. Instead of getting an in come of $600,000,000 from foreign tour ists, the United States pays out at least $160,000,000 for the expenses of American tourists abroad. Again, in stead of drawing $250,000,000 yearly from foreign investments, this country pays out $300,000,000 to foreign in vestors in our securities and proper ties. A third factor is the army of aliens who flock here from all parts of the world to hoard up money which they take back to their own coun tries; this drain coats us $300,000,040 | more. Add $100,000,000 more which we pay for ocean freights In foreign vessels and the yearly outgo Is $$50 ' 000,000. Deduct cwjt yearly iftcome of $500,000,000 for favorable trade bal ance. and it leaves a yearly deficit of $350.000.000 —Moody's Magatine. Following Illustrious Example. If your best girl will not see you When you wish to make a vail. Issue then an exhortation To the human family all. Say you trust there won't be slaughter And you deprecate with cars Any war between the sexes On account of the affair. If your debtor will not see you When you call to get your’ cash, I Hope that creditors and debtors Will do nothing that Is rush. Trumpet to the earth's four corners That you pray no ill may bode And there may not be a olasa war From the private episode. -McLandburghe Wilson. In New Tm Sun. * For Remembrance, ®11—"Since I base come back I find that I'm forgotten by all ms friends." Will—“Why didn't yon bo£ row money from Own before yon leftT" '