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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (May 2, 1912)
- . - . . &L4S' _-r- 2««W»»V sa. isa.ma'ia I ' ' ttr ■ -r .tl> n -,-;u IT >m make a k ; u»l ;.ui. »ill be badly t.- -*i is ihi* h< !’• :.ad ; - • d a had *-rr *« :ed t»il jtcj. s . oder youth. £. with ironic Riu»'ai ■ - " . ; lied t!> s-.iar .-■ ; nine, as shr J*jfj* »* 4$ T !,:•*' i lut 1 *'*4i Q. I* *a* May. lhij, in tb« » of I* n S!«“ \ • 1 -lest <:.«... . r of Vaii : as. A ..«• «f Bavaria, a - r..*fc . «1 »ha» all his d.u » ’ • : :e » 4* Fran • J r*.tr of Au» tr>. king of Hungary. Hohe ia. K- iavon.., -and *aen #«%.•• H— lad e b»-i «T n<l;«d blond**!!* • * *v.4 ask t>.:br Muir and snake a $irant|<" alo-if phatanr » a:' *-d tie hand of So ;t.<* »ouk! do. The ■ • f a liapsburg >! ’na'* h. Ha i aft* r *!se banquet a* ay to V> nna. • -• :•«; U1- nsp -tt r* t 'a >i.A a fresh. assert >outig voice A i*t- fc. .»i» i. k‘ And ha ma.neled ** ih» • laiaTi a toaunful girl of Sinara. supple. **■ *"‘r- '* ::(‘ad. parr > pe. laughing fluster • a **•'«■ > • had running. •*-■1 *■ fc-.*n =; breath!* o Fb-tseem In k, «toii.a*#trr!~ !► i afaalwgiae f tr Idrt. augemciineile. H.» ^ncri-iy .» a r»< omm*~ndanon 1 know 1 • * -ft -af *fce house. Is** ansaered. ' Fa t er thinks so." *r*- laughed, law fa'her? Thru yon aw*—~ Kkzabr:k knrlU. darkens so Bavaria." Francs* Jo*.-;.!, had air* sdy *tnrt<-d in for a * -a i.o H- |>y--d. 'oubled. Holj.ng not * » hand, fc* a*k**d ’ tk"h* tas* I not e*-.n tou before T" '*'*■> pots Etc. MRat and haughty. yet ira ►»!*■** **< 'red*r anafm:d of the youth in t:*ur.»* *a.-.'jis and atxwk fc|" sudden a-iniirj. t.«n, n:ub-h held tot her beautiful atiir band ‘ I an. -no ; ostia to figure at *fc* banquet." 0 ' ii And Kras '» Joseph utiderstwod His »>-V •-“s-ord *o marry uf 'tie elder daurhter brat He »hisptd 1 to tbr younger girl. laush oe.. io ydsaa* »** -»» <« 'be ia« a. berore the ban oort lU arrange." It sas -bo- first « s'a pride of Elizab* th. ard v t*4 t# • -e «f l i e a* fir** eight. She 4 a •! d*»»-i!d«d lalnlt, pursued by **(-«**•• 4 • n* *-nn'-r> Oa the lawn Francis J -*e*.t iff- #d her t.i» rtrtn Tbe • !f---t «ar Ibmr.-.i l*Lik. ilaiimtltja *j< wild ai'h ***•' AT r 'bo- bouquet tbe young ♦mj^ror f J- » bita -.kid* "II) -c V.“ h» mi4 "1 bav«- ih< honor »o >►* ’be kitl. mu of tay cousin Bop... bu" of my owk.li Kinlirtli “ My n*pfe*t„;d the duke, " :i Is impos ash-e." “Torn ITI ask Tot neither." said Fran- is Jo mpt. So re qu.'ied f'ossenb-jfea Three mon’hs laker, on the birthday of the emperor, all Is. hi • oik let#. To >i. imperial villa many gteat •oes »st invited. notably link- Maximilian, it r du •*■** tie r rbree sons and four <ia•.ls,: M The 'lurch of Ischl tu jhi k«-<i for tncni m* service To unnersn] surprise, as the im peul are*# entered, lb- proud mo-net of fran. is iieyh humbly stood aside, and mo Ima-d >«*t Ctuketh. the blonde Elizabeth. Is pass before h» r. And 'be |CWC *a peror took h« r by the band Appro*, ng the altar, be said to the priest My fatter i * re is my fiancee. 151.--s ns"* "I m-ir **■<-•' ng tour pa-—-<1 in Moravia. It a as am in'* honeymoon .n a mctiutair.ous sssn’ty. nber. the young -mperor mas nor »biped by a loyal peasantry They rode from t an to t»«n. almost alone, Frauds Joseph triumphant. zabe'h ba| » She tad found *W Enter • rmiag of her droams AU chant-d when ’bet returned to Vi* cna. Tbe first morning the bioon icg luatttv • as refund entrance j« her husband s study. As a*b<r .t gresr- and gold, with ge:d chain amd (fury vand. birred :.er a ay. boning rere mrmions'l*srti>»n. your imi<eri*l majesty may oof aster to .J. ;tc,» rial ctapsty without b tog »ntsttole--d A* Wtfiafcwb. cracple Bavarian princess, pro *es«d 'S-at #t . v ;d ;ai«. a high 'd“<er cor tafcorat.-d 'he flunkey's words Ashamed, o mnded. s*e vas forced to wait, feel ana *n - - of cour -'s behind her back, os » d snt# that the *mperor would re-.ne b*r Bitterly rhe 'omyilained 'o him. bm Era: -* Joseph o la red that etiquette must be observed ■» a t«Mm. ’ had no et pertm-e to MrGocW agt-inst a hundred con st' ' -* of tbe ran sagzes’ed by the brutal dgkwiuy of her mother in law. Thu releotb-es soman had <W.r--*d her son 'v»RJoHr PMRSC^S _np3jz scr- otaz& zzz£*zvzzr ZZfSsrz&F ZP&tevsr svzxerv arv*s».r AA77&zezA& j&taearir t»> i .irry Sophia, whom she could rule. Forced to ; :«-ld to Francis Joseph's infatuation, she r« e ,.d 'hat the blonde Cinderella should not loti- rule over the light and thoughtless heart of the emperor. Ti. first deceptions were wrapped in mys tery. His mother feared to risk the tears of Elizabeth. A- that r.-.on:e-nt they spoke of a beautiful It. Man outress. How had she entered the ><-d < rde of Vienna? Just before the birth of Elizabeth's first child, when the mother-in law aga.n directed ceremonies, the Italian wot- n was invited to a great court ball, and Francis Joseph paid her such attentions that she was at once* dubbed favorite. V.'chin twenty-four hours a charitable soul irfon: d the tender Elizabeth of her misfor 'une. She was so stricken that she fell grave 1? ill. bi remained faithful to her system of silent dignity. _ -. a little son. Rudolph, was a great j. . to Elizabeth; yet before he was six tr a': ; she karnrd that his bringing up was to be t.ik*>n out of her hands. ' Bu- he is my son." she faltered. "He is the heir of the Hapsburgs.” replied • - \r< hdti i:ess Sophie. "Hu 'he < mperor has authorized me—” "I v i draw the authorization," said the t* :;.!>> irother-inlaw. Tears, protests were 'i.c'.t result; the baby boy was given a wet t ur.-, : d governess. r« placed later by a tutor. • <V::n Bombelles, who. many years later. '< k part in the orgie of Meyerling which ter rr raved Rudolph's life, which shews the char a Tcr of >h_e »utor. A: d Elizabeth was only at the beginning of her troubles. At ' s moinent there appeared at the pal ■ < -directed and financed by the pm peror—a Mae. Roll, actress of small talent but radiant beauty. During a whole season < ■ urt asked one question: "Who is Mine. Roll's protC' 'or?" It could not be the eth P* ror. He was never seen with her. At vaca ;jon. when i; was learned that the Roll woHld take- a viila at Iscbl. summer residence of the imperial family, everyone said. ‘Now we stall know who is the protector!" The bijou town was too small to keep a secret. And within a v • ck it was known to the general stupefac tion. The phantom lover of lime. Roi! ap p. area! unmistakably. It was the emperor! It was too much. Never before had he flaunted a favorite so publicly. Elizabeth told him that he must choose between Mme. Roll and herself; and the emperor pretended to send away the actress. But the wife was not deceived- She waited. She had taken a resolve. The occasion was a hunting scandal. Fran < is Joseph, w ith certain gentlemen, had gone to Muraeuschlag. and when be did not return with them a strangely piquant story was con fided by one. Count K- to his young wife. n oath of secrecy. The emperor had been struck by the beauty of a peasant girl of ten der years, whose conquest had details worthy of a ruder age. Now the emperor was staying “to console the child.” The Countess K- hurried to the tea of the empress. In a circle of spiteful young women all the details of the adventure were whispered with such tact that Elizabeth heard every word. When the last guest had kissed f her hand she called her old curse, brought from Possenhofen. "Pack my valises," _ said Elizabeth, “we leave tonight. "For long?" "For always." The two women slipped from the Hof burg and took the first train at the southern Station Only the next morning did her mother-in law learn of Elizabeth's flight. • An hour later the chief of police had discovered that the empress was en route for Trjeste and the imperial yacht. A telegram wafe sent to retard its de parture on some pretext, while high function aries followed on a special train. What they were empowered to promise is not known, hut Elizabeth returned. The scene was terrible, between husband, wife, and mother-in-law. Francis Joseph, fear ing scandal, dragged himself on his knees be fore Elizabeth and even reproached his mother for her cruelty. But nothing could change Elizabeth s deter mination. She would only consent to avoid scandal. That night Professor Skoda of the \ :enna faculty, after much repugnance and long discussion, signed a bulletin declaring that the health of the empress demanded a milder climate than Vienna. The next day. ac companied by high dignitaries, she left for Antwerp, where a magnificent yacht was hired to take her to Madeira. She tired of Madeira. The imperial yacht was put at her disposition. She visited Nor way, the Mediterranean, the Adriatic. Francis Joseph came on her unexpectedly at Venice and persuaded her to return temporarily to Vienna, for the sake of appearances. To distract, her mind she spent millions on a chateau at Linz, where her great pleasure became to break in young horses. This was the period of her friendship with the famous circus woman. Eliza Renz. w hom Elizabeth de clared to be a better lady than any of the Vi enna court. Finding Linz too near Vienna, she spent other great sums on the chateau of Goe doelloe..in Hungary, where her taming of the man-killing stallions of fount Festitics became almost a historical event. It was whispered that Elizabeth was try ing to get killed without the sin of suicide. There were reconciliations. To return to her husband was represented to her a religious duty. Each-time, however, the interest of Francis Joseph in the theater seemed so para mount that she started off again. She returned for Rudolph's marriage, where she wept bitterly. She rejoiced a while in . Rudolph's- habv child. On the morning after the' tragedy of Meverting it was to her that Count EombelTes* brought the awful ridings— Rudolph' hail committed suicide with Marie Vetschera. aftd it was Elizabeth who broke the news to the emperor. .. . Her hobby now became her palace at Corfu, the Villa Aehilleton. which will remain famous in history as the greatest' folly of luxury and art of a prodigal sovereign. It cost above $16,000,000. William II. of, Germany now has it. Only .a terrible craving for sleep caused Elizabeth to leave. Corfu. Now commenced a round of climates and specialists. At Baths Nauheim the populatipn so followed her about that she decided for Switzerland. Francis Jo seph. who had joined her for a week, objected. •'I have bad reports on Switzerland.'” he said- "Full' of. anarchists." "I am only a poor woman. Francis," she replied. ‘ They will not hurt me." Yet Laicchiai stabbed her as she boarded the lake steamer at Geneva—like a simple tourist, with a single companion. None sus pected that she was more than jostled. The boat steamed slowly out. The Hungarian or chestra struck up a lively esardas. Elizabeth fainted. The Countess Sztaray cut her corset strings and found a tiny tri angular wound below the left breast. "Quick, a doctor. The empress is wounded 1 There was no doctor, and the boat put back to Geneva. Opening her eyes Elizabeth asked: "What is the matter?” "I'o you suffer?” faltered the countess. Elizabeth smiled “no” and feebly waved her hand in time to the jaunty music of the csar das. There was a melancholy smile on her face as she slowly shut her eyes. Elizabeth had died in beauty. An aged emperor dines alone on gold plate from the famous service whose central decora tive piece is worth $15,000. There is but one guest—a general aide-de-camp or high official of the court. The proudest monarch of Europe is alone with one guest. Etiquette demands it. Five gorgeous flunkeys in pale blue. buff, pink and gold, serve the two men. There have been no flowers on the table since the tragic death of the Empress Elizabeth; but the lights of was candles glint the golden service and :he rare wines in cut glass They flit from his toric tapestries to carved wood furniture and panels such as no museum possesses and make dancing shadows in the distant corner. Silence. The aged emperor is dreaming of the gor geous gala dinners of the past. He sees tne ideal througs of other days. Again he hears the three taps of the grand chamberlain's cane to announce the entrance of their im perial and royal majesties. How lonely is the immense palace, fall of hiding courtiers, func tionaries. servants. It is still early, not yet seven. Franels-Joseph rises. His guest takes cere monious leave and the sovereign goes to his study. His real life begins. A confidential valet helps him into hat and overcoat. By a bijou elevator, whose door imi tates a bookcase, be descends to the ground floor. He walks twenty steps across tne uiue cuun yard to the door, where an auto-limousine awaits him. There is no special secrecy—it is to avoid ceremony merely. He gives no direc tions; the chauffeur knows where to go. Quitting the frigid, solemn Hofburg. out into the bright-lit bustling early evening of Vienna, past crowds hastening to theater and music hall, into fair streets of residence, the auto stops at a comfortable villa. The old sovereign enters the gate alone. The front door opens as he mounts the three marble steps. When the door shuts he is no longer the dread lone ly emperor and apostolic king, but Herr Schratt. regularly called the “colonel." careless and easy, negligent and slouehy, bright, warm, cozy, snug among old friends. Years ago. when the Burg theater was a wing of the Kofburg. the great actress Katha rina Schratt—the Sarah Bernhardt and Rejane of Vienna—was presented to Francis-JosepU by Empress Elisabeth herself. For long, she too has lived retired; and the mourning emperor found her so intelligent, so fine and also good, that old loves and sorrows having burnt out. an affectionate friendship grew up to give him a kind of peaceful solace. Leaving crown and scepter on the hat rack, he enters the bright little cardroom that ad joins two bijou little parlors and takes the best easy chair, while Madame Katharina has tens with the foot-warmer. Herr Schratt sprawls in unspeakable content. The bell rings, and the partners of intermin able games of tarok—a sort of Austrian bridge —arrive. They are two ancient friends of the great actress, become friends of Herr Schratt. always the same; Herr Painter, director of the Bank des Pays Autrichiens. and an interna tional private banker so extremely illustrious that his name is as well known as Franz-Jo sefs. and—a thing that never ceases to upset the court—an Israelite by race, birth and reli gion in the strict sensei The Jewish banker and Monsieur Schratt— not the head of the Holy Roman empire—are fast old cronies to the sorrow and scandal of the Countess Ohotek. morganatic hut directing wife of Archduke Francis-Ferdinand. heir to the dual crown. Often the emperor loses all the money in his purse—a dozen florins—at the nightly game of tarok. He plays badly. None wants him for partner; so they out to see who takes him. He laughs boisterously. Meanwhile tea is prepared in the adjoining dining room. At ten o'clock the auto-limousine is an nounced. and Madame Kathrina helps the "col onel" into hat and overcoat. The auto rolls through the streets ot Vienna, still bright and boisterous, to the cold, solemn Hofburg. It stops at the little door of the small courtyard. The oid man en ters. and a silent valet meets him. I*p the bijou elevator they ride, to the study he had left three tours ago. The confidential vale? takes his hat and coat. The emperor has returned. How About You’ So iua> of us holier, as me wear (be fcea* y roUar. that the world is set against as and our plats, as we figure our (tmdiuuE me shut dome on all aoit-'ais and prepa."* to get our com pt;m*st of t-ans But tbe truth is. cmM you hit It. and you never mould adwut h. that r«u yourself are more , half to blame; you're not treat ing )omrseir fairly if yom don't treat jwrrrlf Hjuarely. and that's the only way U play the game For tbe whole ^arld hates a mummy and smart peo pie dodge a dummy; make a noise, grab all tbe credit you can take, and the world will not reject you. It will make room and respect you—so give yourself the best of every break — Cincinnati Enquirer. Charged With Irreverence. Is it a breach of law for a priest to ride through a cemetery, smoking a cigar and with his hat on, while a fu neral is in progress? This somewhat complicated inquiry summarizes the charge cn which Italian residents of Rock Springs, Wyo., caused the arrest of the Rev. Father M. J. Keley. His; accusers assert that while a funeral was in progress, no priest officiating, i the Rev. Father Kelley rode around the lot and funeral party with his hat on his head and a lighted cigar in his mouth. The technical charge is that he rode a horse in the cemetery, when under the regulations of the j burial tract horses are not permitted within the enclosure. The case is expected to go to the district court and possibly to the supreme court. Telephone Fatal to Cat. The telephone has always exercised a curious* fascination for a cat be longing to a lady living In Wester ieigh. X. Y. The instrument was on a table in the main hall of the cot tage, and every time the bell rang, puss would scurry through the house, leap on the table, cock his head on one side and pnt his nose in the trans mitter. Recently the cat’s mistress gave a reception. Just before the guests arrived the little creature sud denly darted down the stairs, sup rosedly having heard the phone be!I. Half an hour later he was found dang ling from the phone cord. He had evidently jumped on the table, become tangled in the cord and in trying to free himself strangled. An Unfeeling Remark. "1 am wedded to my art," said the prima donna. “Well," replied the harsh manager “if you couldn't treat a regular hus band any better than you do you: art, some man Is lucky." The Wayfarer * * * By MAUDE BERNARD (Copyriih^ 1,12. bj Associated Li:eraiy Press.) Cecily was bora for romance. She aa'ed anything that smacked of the ccmiaflEplace. Hence when she saw Bruce Esmond, for the first time, she believed herself madiv in love with him Bruce was an artist with a leaning toward illustration. He set tip his easel one April day on the edge of a newly plowed field, and proceeded to make a sketch of Cecily's father. Mr. Drake resented not only the impertinence f having himself put in a picture—but in being put in one when he was not dressed in his Sun day best. So he told Brace Esmond to go elsewhere for his inspiratica Then Cecily interfered. "Why. fa'ht-r. he paints such lovely things." she said, "just look a: those horses." Drake grudgingly adc:tred that Remus and Remains looked well, and compromised on a sketch in which he should be left oat. "You can put in the field and the sky and the horses.” he stated gen erously. "but no: me.” Then be went cn plowing and Cecily and Bruce Esmond proceeded to get acquainted. Bruce said the conventional things—that Cecily was too pretty to be buried in the country, that he was tired of city wetnen with their feath ers and furbelows, that Cecily rested him and pleased him. Thus. Cecily believed herself madly in love with him and if it had not been for the Wayfarer she would either have married Bruce to live unhappily ever after, or she would not have married him and would have felt her self broken-hearted. The Wayfarer came slouching along the read in old clothes, with a fishing creel slung over his shoulder and a rod in his hand. He did not compli ment Cecily at all. He simply asked ! n “What Have You to Say About It?" for a glass of water and sat on the stone bench and drank It. He looked very tired and Cecily invited him in. "When father comes home we'll have supper." she said, "and he's always glad to have company." Cecily sat by him on the stone bench and chatted of many things. She talked most of Brace Esmond. "You've heard of him. of course?" “Yes. He has a promising career before him." “Oh. I hope so,” said Cecily, ar dently. The Wayfarer said nothing. “Humph!" said the Wayfarer. Mr. Drake was very enthusiastic about the Wayfarer that night. “He wants to board here through the fishing season.” said the farmer to Cecily. "I don't know but we might as well let him." “Of course," said Cecily. But when she told Esmond, he raged. “How can I have any inspiration with him around? I want onlv you Cecily." “But you see father needs the money.’ 'said Cecily, gravely. Esmond loked at her keenly. “I thought your father owned the farm." he said. “He does. But there's one mortgage And times are bad and the crops have failed." Two weeks later, the Wayfarer, com ing up from the stream, stopped be hind Esmond's easel. “There are just two things you should try to do." he said. Quietly; “you shouldn't try to paint sunlight on that silver pool, or to make love to a girl like Cecily." Esmond turned an angry face up to L*m. "What have you to say about it?" he snarled. '‘Something." said the Wayfarer, quietly, “I know your reputation in town. Esmond—and Cecily is too sweet to be hurt by you." “In love with her yourself?" de manded Esmond. ■Perhaps. But that has nothing to do with the case. You'd better pack up ycur pictures, and run along home." “Ill take Cecily with me." said tha ether "I think not," said the Wayfarer, “because t ken Cecily learns the truth 1 n’t think she will want to go.” "It s a pretty small thing fur one e ar. to talk about another." ‘ Xot when the other is using the hospitality of a girl's father to ac complish his own ends. 1 shall teil Drake w hat I know of your past. He can decide whether it is necessary to warn Ceciiy. Personally. I don’t be lieve that Cecily will miss you after you have been away a week." "Like you?” “At least I can offer clean hands and true and steadfast affection.” The nest day the artist went in town. After his departure Cecily drooped and faded. "Can it be that she really loved him?” the Wayfarer often asked himself. He tried in every* way to make her happy. "I'm an old fellow." he said, “but really I know some interesting things." Cecily began to enjoy the walks with him. He did not talk to her as Bruce had done of the beauty of her eyes and the charm of her smile. But he had a way of telling her things that were delightful, and as time went on Cecily began to feel that she was in close communion with a wonderful heart and mind. “You don't paint your pictures." she said one day. timidly. "You tell them." Such a sweet -comradeship as it grew to be! The Wayfarer sent to •'own. now and then, for books, and once there was a box of candy, and at another time a wonderful bunch of violets. "How extravagant!" said Cecily, sr^thng the flowers with delight. “But you like them," saio. the Way farer. One day Bruce Esmond came back. "I have a perfect right to come." he said to the 'W ayfarer, “1 am free." ‘■Legally ?" was the question. “A divorce,” said Esmond. “Now 1 shall marry Cecily.’ The anger of the Wayfarer burst cut. “You shall not have her,” he said. "You ■will break her heart as you have broken the bear's of other women who have trusted you—you shall not have her.” And just then some one said behind them. “Are you Talking about me?" Cecily stood there, looking at them with grave eyes. It w-as Esmond who answered her. “He says I shall not marry you.” he said. “And probably you think I treat ed you badly because I wooed you before I was free. But I lcved you so n.uch, Cecily. And he—he has noth ing but his money.” Cecily looked up at the Wayfarer.. “Does he mean—that—that you are rich?” she asked. • Yes.” said the Wayfarer. “But you came tramping along the road like any common traveler." ‘‘Because I was tired of the things that riches could bring. I—I wanted other things—like love—Cecily.” And so they stood before her. these two men, asking, pleading for her favor. Cecily sobbed with her face in her hands. “Go away." she said, “go away, both of you." But as the Wayfarer went slowly, she cried after him, "Oh. I shall miss our long walks together, and the bocks." He turned back. ‘‘Why should my, money stand in the way?” “You deceived me," she said, "and —and if I should say 'yes' now you might think it was because I wanted; to be rich." “I should think it was because you loved me." he said. From the other side of the hedge. Bruce spoke, bitterly, T's always wealth that wins.” But Cecily smiled at hin. “He has taught me something that you will never know." she said. “I ask only that we shall be good com rades along the road—wayfarers to gether—until death parts." Watson on Problem Novels English Poet Thinks Present Day ' Realists Get Their Stories From the Sewers. William Watson, the English poet, who has been visiting this country, in voicing his opinion of the "problem” I novels says things in a way that many people have doubtless thought, but not been so well able to express. He says: But. why should the novelists make "problems” of these things? Is the great mass of the people interested in a depressing discussion of them? For most of us they are not problems at all. In the hands of the so-called "realistic" writer, however they fur nish an opportunity for prudence, for ; the exploitation of scenes and situa tions which were eschewed by the great novelists of the past as being unhealthy end demoralizing. I think the tendency of our present day real ists is to take the {goddess Cloacina for their muse, and to hunt through the mere sewers and dregs of human life for their stories. Sir. Watson Is enthusiastic on the subject of John Milton and says: "When I was fourteen I had the whole of ■Comas’ by heart and since then I have ever made Milton ny favorite study. I don't think that any ether poet comes up to his ankles. Walter Savage Lender said that *a rib of Shakespeare would have made a Mil ton; a rib of Milton would have made all the poets who have come since.’ I don't agree with the first part of the quotation, but I do, heartily, with the last.'*—Indianapolis News. New Fashion in Horseshoes. rtubby—I must take h m to the blacksmith. He needs new shoes Wile—Can't you have the old ones soled and heeled’ The uppers look perfectly good.—Harper's Weekly. The Reason. “I have tried in vain to borow some loose change from my friends.” "I suppose their money is tight."
