SYNOPSIS.
FI? AN
BY
JOHN BEECKENEIDGE ELLIS
ILLTJSTK ATTON S BV"
O-IRWIN-MYERS
\cOPVGlGHT 1912
BOBBS-hEPeiLLCO.)
Fran arrives at Hamilton Gregory’*
tiom ■ in Ltttleburg, but finds Mm absent
conducting the choir at a camp meeting.
She repairs thither in search of him.
laughs during the service and Is asked to
•cave Abbott Ashton, superintendent of
schoolS. escorts Fran from the tent. He
tells her Gregory is a wealthy man.
deeply interested in charity work, and a
pillar of the church. Ashton becomes
greatly Interested in Fran and while tak
ing leave of her. holds her hand and is
seer by Sapphira Clinton, sister of Rob
ert Clinton, chairman of the school board.
Fran tells Gregoi y she wants a home
■with him. Grave Nolr, Gregory's private
secretary, takes a violent dislike to Fran
iand advises her to go away at once.
Thou hints at a twenty-year-old secret,
jtnd Gregory In agitation ask* Grace to
leave the room. Fran relates the story
of how Gregory married a young girl at
Springfield while attending college and
then descried her. Fran is the child of
• hat marriage Gregory had married his
present wife three years before the death
of Fran’s mother. Fran takes a liking to
Mrs Gregory. (Trego ry explains that
Fran Is (lie (laughter of a very dear friend
who is dead. Fran agrees to the story.
Sirs Gergoiy insists on her making her
pome with them and takes her to her
arms The breach between Fran and
©race widens. It Is decided that Fran
futusf go to school. Grace slio.'s persis
tent Interest tn Gregory's story of his
dead friend and hints that Fran may be
fen Imposter. She threatens to marry Bob
C linton and leave Gregory’s service, much
jfo the latter's dismay. Fran declares that
the secretary must go. Grace begins nag
ging tactics In an effort to drive Fran
jfrotn (he Gregory home, but Mrs Greg
ory remains stanch in her friendship
CHAPTER X.—Continued.
. Miss Sapphira was highly gratified.
l*I wish you'd talked this reasonable
at first. TFs always what people don’t
see that tlie most harm comes of. I'll
give a little tea out here on the ve
randa, and the worst talkers in town
will be in these chairs when-you bring
Fran away from Abbott’s office. And
I'll explain It all to ’em. and tbey’ll
know Abbott is all right, just as I've
always known.”
“Get Miss Grace to come,” Bob said
sheepishly. “She doesn’t like Frau,
and she'll be glad to know Abbott is
doing his duty by her. Later. I'll drop
»n and have a bite with you."
This, then, was Bob's “idea,'' that
no stone might be left unturned to
hide the perfect innocence of the su
perintendent. He had known Abbott
Ashton as a .bare-legged urchin- run
ning on ferrauds for bis widowed moth
•‘i Ho bad watched him through stu
diouB years, had believed in bis fu
ture career—and no. no bold adventur- j
ess, though adopted into Hamilton i
Gregory's home, should be allowed to 1
spoil Abbott’s chances of success.
In his official character as chairman
of the board, Robert Clinton marched
with dignity into the superintendent’s
office, meaning to bear away the wilt- j
ed Fran before the eyes of woman, j
Abbott Ashton saw him ester with a
cense of relief. The young man could
not understand why be had held
"Did t Get—What?” He Returned With
a Puzzled Frown.
Pratt's hand, that night on the foot
bridge. Not only had the sentiment
of that hour passed away, but the in
terview Fran had forced upon him at
the close of a recent school-day. had
Inspired him with actual hostility It
seemed the irony of fate that a mere
child, a stranger, should, because of
senseless gossip, endanger his chances
of reappointment—a reappointment
which he felt certain was the nest
possible means of advancement. Why
had he held Fran’s little hand? He
had never dreamed of holding Grace’s
—ah. there was a hand, indeed!
“Has she been sent down?”. Boh
asked, in the hoarse undertone of a
fellow-conspirator.
‘'No." Abbott was eager to prove
his innocence. “I haven't seen a sign
of her, but I’m looking every minute—
glad you're here."
Confidences were impracticable, be
cause of a tousled-headed, ink-stained
pupil w ho gloomed in a corner.
"Why, hello, there, Jakey!” cried
Clinton, disconcerted; he had hoped
that Fran's subjugation might lake
place without witnesses. "What are
you doing here, hey?”
"Waitin' to be whipped," was the de
fiant rejoinder.”
"Tell the professor you're sorry for
what you've done, so you can run
along," said the chairman of the hoard
persuasively.
"N'aw. I ain't sorry.” returned Jukey,
hands In pockets. Then bethinking
himself—"But I ain't done nothin'.”
Abbott said regretfully, "He'll nave
to be whipped."
Clinton nodded, and sal down sol
emnly, breathing hard. Abbott was
restlessly pacing the Boor, and Bob
was staring at him uuwinkingly, when
the door opened and in came PraD.
Pran walked up to Abbott hesitat
ingly, and spoke with the indistinct
ness of awed humility. "You are to
punish me.” she explained, “by mak
ing me work out this original propo
sition'.'—showing the book—“and you
are to keep me here till 1 get it.”
Abbott asked sternly, "Did Miss
Bull send me this message?”
"She is named that,” Fran mur
mured. her eyes fastened on the open
page.
From the yard came the shouts of
children, breaking the bonds of learn
ing for a wider freedom. Abbott, gaz
ing severely on this slip of a girl,
found her decidedly commonplace in
appearance. How the moonlight must
have bewitched him! He rejoiced that
Robert Clinton was there to witness
his indifference.
“This is the problem.” Fran said,
with exceeding primness, pronouncing
the word as if it were too large for
her. and holding up the book with a
slender finger placed upon certain
italicized w'ords.
‘ Let me see it.” said Abbott, with
professional dryness. He grasped the
book to read the proposition. His
hand wa3 against hers, but she did not
draw away, for had she done so. how
could he have found the place?
Fraa, with uplifted eyes, spoke in
the plaintive accents of a five-year-old
child: “Right there, fir . . . it’s
awful hard."
Robert Clinton cleared his throat
and produced a sound bursting with
accumulated h’s and r’s—his warning
passed unheeded.
Never before had Abbott had so
much of Fran. The capillaries of his
skin, as her hand quivered warmly
against his. seemed drawing her in;
and as she escaped from her splendid
black orbs, she entered his brain by
the avenue of his own thirsty eyes.
What was the use to tell himself that
she was eoram#nplace, that his posi
tion was in danger because of her?
Suddenly her hair fell slantwise past
the corners of her eyes, making a
triangle of smooth white skin to the
roots of the hair, and it seemed good,
just because it was Fran's way and
not after a, machine-turned fashion;
Fran was done by hand, there was no
donbt of that.
‘‘Sit there,” Abbott said, gravely
pointing. She obeyed without a word,
leaving the geometry as hoBtage in the
teacher's hand. When seated at a dis
creet distance, she looked over at Bob
Clinton. He hastily drew on his spec
tacles, that lie might look old.
Abbott volunteered. “This is Mr.
Clinton, President of the Board."
“I know." said Fran, staring at her
pencil and paper, “he's at the head
of the show, and watches when the
wild animals are tamed.”
Clinton drew forth a newspaper, and
opened it deliberately.
Fran scribbled for some time, then
looked over at him again. ‘‘Did you
get it?" she asked, with mild interest.
“Did I get—what?" he returned, with
puzzled frown.
“Oh, I jon’t know what it is.” said
Fran with humility; “the name of it’s
‘Religion’.”
“If I were you,” Clinton returned,
flushiug. “I’d be ashamed to refer to
the night you disgraced yourself by
laughing in the tent."
"Fran," Abbott interposed severely,
"attend to your work.”
Fran bent her head over the desk,
but was not long silent. “I don’t like
a-b-c and d-e-f,” she observed with
more energy than she had hitherto dis
played. “They’re equal to each other,
but 1 don’t know why, and I doa t care,
because it doesn’t seem to matter.
Nothing interests me unless it has
something to .do with living. These i
angles and lines are nothing to me;, i
what I care for is this time I’m v/ast-1
ing. sitting in a stuffy old room, while ,
the good big world is enjoying itself
just outside the window.” She started
up impetuously.
“Sit down!” Abbott commanded.
“Fran!” exclaimed Robert Clinton,
stamping his foot, “sit down!”
Fran sank back upon the bench.
"I suspect,” said Abbott mildly,
"that they have put you in classes too
far advanced. We must try you in
another room—”
“But I don’t want to be tried in
rooms.” Fran explained. “1 want to be
tried in acts—deeds Vnul I tame
here, I'd never been to school a day
in my life.” she went on in a confiden
tial tone. ”1 agreed to attend because
I imagined school ought to have some
connection with life—something in it
mixed up with love and friendship and
justice and mercy. Wasn’t I siilv! I
even believed—just fancy!—that you
might really teach me something about
religiou. But, no! it's all books, noth
ing but books.”.
"Fran.” Abbott reasoned, “if we put
you in a room where you can under
stand the things we try to teach, if
we make you thorough—’*
"I don’t want to be thorough.” she
explained, “I want to be happy. I
guess all that schools were meant to
do is to teach folks what’s in books,
and how to stand in a straight line.
The children in Class A, or Class B
have their minds sheared and pruned
to look alike; but I don’t want my
brain after anybody’s pattern.”
•‘You’ll regret this. Miss,” declared
Clinton, in a threatening tone. “You
sit down. Do you want the name of
being expelled?”
“I don't care very much about the
names of things," said Fran coclly;
“there are lots of respectable names
that hide wickedness.” Her tone
changed: “But yonder’s another wild
animal for you to train; did you come
to see him beaten?" She darted ;o the
corner, and seated herself beside
Jakey.
“Say, now.” Bob remonstrated, pull
ing his mustache deprecatingiy. “e^-'
erybody knows I wouldn’t see a dog
hurt if It could be helped. I’m Jakey’s
friend, and I’d be yours, Fran—hon
estly—If I could. But how’s a school
to be run without authority? You
ain’t reasonable. All we want of you
is to be biddable."
“And you!" cried Fran to Abbott,
beginning to give way to high pres
sure, “I thought you .were a school
teacher, not just, but also—a some
thing very nice, also a teacher. But
not you. Teacher’s all you are, just
rules and regulations and authority
and chalk and a-b-c and d-e-f."
Abbott crimsoned. Was she right?
Was he not something very nice plus
his vocation? He found himself des
perately wishing that she might think
so.
Fran, after one long glowing look at
him, turned to the lad in disgrace, and
placed her hand upon his stubborn
arm. “Have you a mother?" she
asked wistfully.
“Yeh,” mumbled the lad, astonished
at finding himself addressed, not as
an ink-stained husk of humanity, but
as an understanding soul.
“I haven’t," said Fran softly, talk
ing to him as if unconscious of the
presence of two listening men, “but I
had one, a few years ago—and. oh. it
seems so long since she died, Jakey—
three years is a prptty long time to be
without a mother. And you can't think
what a fault-blindest, spoilingest, can
diest mother she was. I'm glad yours
is living, for you still have the chance
to make her proud and happy. . . .
No matter how fine I may turn out—
do you reckon I’ll ever be admired by
anybody, Jakey? Huh! I guess not.
But if I were, mother wouldn't be here
to enjoy it. Won’t you tell Professor
Ashton that you are sorry?"
“Fran—’’ Abbott began.
B’ran made a mouth at him. “1 don't
beloug to your school any more,” she
informed him “Mr. School Director
can tell you the na^ue of what he can
do to me; he’ll findNit classified under
the E’s.”
After this explosion, she turned
again to the lad: "1 saw you punch
that hoy, Jakey, and 1 heard you say
you didn't, and yet It was a good
punch. What made you deny It?
Punches aren't bad ideas. If I could
strike out like you did. I’d wait till I
saw a man bullying a weaker one. and
I'd stand up to him—” Fran leaped
impulsively to her feet, and doubled
her arm—“and I’0 let her land! Punch
tng's a good thing, and. oh, how it's
needed. . . . Except at school—you
mustn’t do anything human here, you
must be an oyster at school.”
"Aw-right,” said Jakey, with a glim
mering of comprehension. He seemed
coming to life, as if sap were trickling
from winter-congealment.
Boh Clinton, too, felt the fresh
breeze or early spring in his face. He
removed his spectacles.
"The first thing I knew." Fran said,
resuming her private conversation
with Jakey. “I had a mother, but no fa- j
ther—not that he was dead, oh, bless j
you, he was alive enough—but before I
my birth he deserted mother. Fncle j
turned us out of the house. Did we j
starve, that deserted mother and her j
little babv? I don't look starved, do I? j
Pshaw! If a woman without a cent to j
her name, and ten pounds in her arms
can make good, what about a big i
strong boy like you with a mother to
smile every time he hits the mark?
Tell these gentlemen you're sorry for
punching that boy ”
“Sorr'." muttered Jakey shame
facedly
“I am glad to hear it,” Abbott ex
claimed heartily. “You can take your 1
cap to go. Jakey.”
Lem me stay. Jakey pleaded, not
budging an inch.
Fran lifted her face above the
tousled head to look at Abbott; she
sucked in her cheeks and made a
triumphant oval of her mouth. Then
she seemed to forget the young nan's
presence. ,
■‘But when mother died, real trouble
began. It was always hard work, while
she lived, but hard work isn’t trouble,
la, no. trouble’s just an empty heart!
Well, sir, when I read about how good
Mr. Hamilton Gregory is, and how
much he gives away—to folks he nev
er sees—here I came. But I don't
seem to’belong to anybody, Jakey, I’m
outside of everything. But you have
a home and a mother. Jakey. und a
place in the world, so 1 say ‘Hurrah!*
bceause you belong to somebody, and,
best of all, you're not a girl, but a boy
to strike out straight from the shoul
der."
Jakey was \dissolved; tears burst
their confines.
One shout oneself hoarse at the
delivery of a speech which. If served
upon printed page, would never prompt
the reader to cast his hat to the ceil
ing. No mere- print under bold head
lines did Abbott read, but rather the
changing lights and shadows in great
black eyes. It was marvelous how
Fran could project past experiences
upon the screen of the listener’s per
ception. At her, “When mother died.”
Abbott saw the girl weeping beside j
the death-bed. When she sighed, “I
don't belong to anybody,” the school
director felt like crying: “Then be
long to me! ”
Fran now completed her work. She
rose from the immovable Jakey and
came over to Abbott Ashton, with
meekly folded hands.
He found the magic of the moon
light-hour returning. She had mel
lowed — glowed — softened—woman
ized—Abbott could vnot find the word
for it. She quivered with an exquisite
ness not to be defined—a something
in hair, or flesh, or glory of eye, or
softness of lips, altogether lacking in
his physical being, but eagerly desired.
’ Professor Ashton." 3he spoke seri
ously, “I have been horrid. I might
have known that school is merely a
place where young people crawl into
books to worm themselves from ltd to
lid. swallowing all that comes wvthe
way. But I’d never been to school, and
I imagined it a place where a child
was helped to develop itself. I thought
teachers were trying to show the pu
pils the best way to be wliat they were
going to be. I've been disappointed,
but that’s not your fault; you are just
a system. If a boy Is to be a black
smith after he’s grown, and If a girl I
in the same class is to be a music !
teacher, or a milliner, both musr Larn j
about a-b-c and d-e-f. So I’m going !
away for good, because, of course, I 1
couldn’t afford to waste my tim0 In
this house.”
“But, Fran,” Abbott exclaimed im
pulsively, "don't you see that you are
holding up ignorance as a virtue? Can
you afford to despise knowledge :u this
civilized age? You should warn to
know facts just because—well, jus', be
cause they are facts.”
“But I don’t seem to, at all.” Fran
responded mildly. "No, I'm not ma
king fun of education when I find fault
with your school, any more than I
show irreverence to my mother's God
when 1 question what some people call
‘religion.’ It's the connection to life
that makes facts of any value to me;
and it’s only in its connection to life
that I’d give a pin for all the religion
on earth.”
“I don’t understand,” Abbott faltered.
She unfolded her hands and held
them up in a quaint little gesture of
aspiration. “No, because it isn’t tn a
book. I feel lost—so out in space. I
only ask for a place in the universe—
to belong to somebody . .
“But,” said Abbott, “you already be
long to somebody, since Mr. Gregory
has taken you into his home and he is
one of the best men that ever—
“Oh, let's go home," cried Fran im
patiently. “Let’s ail of us skip out of
this chalky old basement-smelly place,
and breathe the pure air of life."
She darted toward the door, then
looked back. Sadness had vanished
from her face, to give place to a sud
den glow. The late afternoon sun
shone full upon her, and she held her
lashes apart, quite unblinded by its
intensity. She seemed suddenly il
lumined. not only from without, but
from within.
Abbott seized his hat. Robert Clin
ton had already snatched up his. .Takey
squeezed his cap in an agitated hand.
All four hurried out into the hail as if
moved by the same spring.
Unluckily, as they passed the hall
window, Fran looked out. Her eyes
“Don’t You See That You Are Holding
Up Ignorance as a Virtue?”
were caught by a group seated on the
veranda of the Clinton boarding house.
There were Miss Sapphira Clinton,
Miss Grace Noir. and several mothers,
sipping afternoon tea. In an instant.
Fran bad grasped the plot. That cloud
of witnesses was banked against the
green weather-boarding, to behold her
ignominy.
"Mr. Clinton." said Fran, all 'sweet
ness, all allurement. “1 am going to
ask of you a first favor. I left my har
up in Miss Bull’s room and—”
“1 will get it,” said Abbott promptly.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Following a Formula.
"People ought to choose their oppo
sites when they marry."
Well, did you do that?"
"Yep. She lived right across the
street from me."
YOUR MIND ON YOUR WORK
Man Who Makes Good Is One Who
Can Shut Out of Mind All but
One Thing.
The man who makes good is the
man who can shut out of his mind all
but one thing. An unsuccessful prin
cipal of a school once said that every
teacher ought to be able to dc three
things at once. Of course, he was
wrong. The teacher who do^ one
thing at a time and does it well is
giving the pupil the best possible ob
ject lesson in concentration. We
have to learn to think clearly amid
distracting noises, to go forward on a
strait and narrow way without diver
sions and excursions that waste our
time and our substance; and to keep
at work regardless of the “tired" feel
ing, the “spring" feeling, and whether
the fishing is good or not. When the
poft breese comes in at'the window
vie stiffen the moral fiber against its
allurement. We must pin our atten
tion firmly to the 'turgid and dry
geometry of a legal brief, or the ser
ried figures of the daybook, or the
busy system of a mercantile establish
ment. and let every other thought
await its turn at the end of office
hours. You may have heard a great
‘lawyer in action in a crowded court
room. What was the secret of his
power? It was that he would not let
the jury's attention or the witness'
tongue wander from the relevant
facts. He kept insistently to the
straight line that is the shortest dis
tance from point to point. He curt
ly dismissed all that was super
fluous, immaterial and calculated to
blur the salient outlines of the mat
ter in controversy.—Philadelphia
Ledger.
For the ideal School.
M. Augustin Rey, a Persian archi
tect, has described his ideal school in
a recent paper. He said that the ben
eficial effects of the violet rays were
so well known that it was criminal to
build in such a way that they ;ould
not penetrate to every part of a room;
it was doubly important that this
should be possible in. schoolrooms. If
there was a choice between heat, ven
tilation. and sunshine we should see
that he had the sunshine first His
building was so arranged that the
classes should meet in the east rooms
in the afternoon, after the morning
sun had thoroughly disinfected them,
and in the west in the morning, since
the afternoon sun would have disin
fected the western rooms on the previ
ous day. There should be plenty of
ground and plenty of sand about
school houses. It is better to econo
mize in decorations than in sunlight
and ventilation. He said that while
this was his ideal school he preferred
the open air school.
Enough to Make Him Sick.
He came creeping in at the usual
hour when a man finds it conven
ient to enter his house with as little
commotion as possible. He replied,
in response to the usual wifely query
put to the gentlemen who arrive
home at that hour of the night, that
he had been sitting up with a sick
friend.
"A sick friend. Indeed! And what
ailed him?”
"W-why, he lost twenty dollars.”—
Stray Stories.
dispensing with the drum
Other Countries Will Follow France in
Discarding It as Part of Military
Equipment.
ft was some time ago that, acting
upon the recommendations embodied
in a report by a military commission,
the French government reached the
conclusion that the drum was no long
er a necessary article of military
equipment.
The report set forth that the drum
was a serious encumbrance in march
ing; that rain impaired its usefulness;
that its callB could not be distinguished
in time of battle; that it consumed a
period of two years to turn out an effi
cient drummer; and that by abandon
ing the use of the drum many thou
sands of youths and men would be re
leased for active service.
Since the decision of the French
government other European powers
have followed its example In decreeing
that the “drum must go.”
The history of the drum Is both
ancient and honorable. The Egyptians
employed it, and the Greeks ascribed
its invention to Bacchus. The Spanish
conqueror Pizarro Is said to have found
drums In South American temples. The
snakes of Ireland, rte are told, fled
from the Emerald Isle before the drum
beats of St. Patrick.—Stray Stories.
Extravagance Rebuked.
Two bachelors live together in a
flat on East Nineteenth street. They
kid themselves into thinking that they
save rent and board and clothes and
gain freedom and a lot of, other
things by so doing. But the collector
comes to them the same as he does
to married folk.
The other morning one of the
bachelors awoke from a sound sleep
and called to the other:
"What was that noise I heard?"
“A shot.” replied the other, from
the hall.
“What did you do?”
"I killed a bill collector."
"You extravagant pup! When pow
der costs as much as it does now, it1'
1 does seem to me as if you might
choke those fellows, even If it does
take a little' muscle!"—Cleveland
Plain Dealer.
SENATORS FAVOR GOOD flOADS
Growing Belief That Government
Should Concern Itself With Con
struction of Highways.
National roads come tu for repeated
reference in the senate debate relat
ing to the post office appropriation
bill. It is evident that there is a
constantly growing belief that the
federal government before long
should concern itself with the con
struction of trunk line roads, thus en
couraging and making more con
veuient the great flood of interstate
travel.
During the- debate in the senate j
Senator Swanson of Virginia made |
this comment: ‘ We are now con- !
fronted with the proposition whether ;
the federal government shall or shall
not extend aid for the development,
improvement, and < instruction, of
highways. The time lias arrived, or
will very soon arrive, when the peo
ple of the I'nited States will demand
that the federal government shall ex
tend proper aid. Whatever may be
the views of some, it is a question that
must be inevitably met. and one that
cannot be shirked. When a govern
ment comes to extend aid for roads
there are two ways by which it can
be done: It can turuish the money
and construct the road itself, or it
can aid. stimulate and lend induce
ment to the local authorities to do
the work of road construction and
improvement."
Senator Hevburn of Idaho believes:
When the government enters upon
this class of work It should be for
the construction of roads up to the
standard of the highest use, not ail at
one time, but continuously and grad
ually; not roads one part of which
would be worn out before the other
was constructed, but a system of pro
gressive construction that would re
sult within a reasonable time in a
system of permanent good roads."
Senator Williams of Mississippi is
a contender for first class construc
tion. Said he, "You must make one
road good, then you must make an
other good, and then a third and then
a fourth. There must be some
scheme whereby they could be done
with fairness to the states and the
several sections of the country.”
Senator Lodge of Massachusetts
contends: “If we are to enter upon
the policy of federal aid in good roads
it will involve an expenditure of
more millions than the Panama canal
cost, and it ought to be done only
after most careful consideration and
on a broad, well understood, well ar
ranged plan, so that for the millions
expended we may get value in the
return we desire in good roads."
Senator Bourne, of Oregon, who it
chairman of the senate committee on
postoffices and postroads, said: "I am
heartily in favor of good roads. My
opinion is, however, that we have not
sufficient information to take intelli
gent action as to the best method of
procedure.”
POOR ROADS ARE EXPENSIVE
inefficiency Costs Southern States
$300,000,000 a Year to Cart Cot
ton to Railroads.
The cost of bad roads is strikingly
set forth by Wm. C. Redfleld, secre
tary of commerce in President Wil
son's cabinet, in this manner:
The inefficiency arising from bad
roads makes it cost something like
$300,000,000 a year to cart our cot
ton crop from the fields to the rail
way station. I think few people real
ize the immense tax put on us all by
bad roads and inefficient handling.
I have said that if our farmers
once realized the awful tax that bad
roads impose upon them public opin
ion would sternly demand the mak
ing and maintaining of good roads
everywhere. It now costs the farmer
twelve, yes, twenty or more, times
as much per ton mile to move bis
goods to the railway station as it
does to move them on the railway
after they leave the station. The
farmer, indeed, in bad cases and at
certain seasons may have to pay as
much as $1 a ton mile, while the
railroad carries the freight, when it
once gets it. at an average of three
quarters of a cent per ton mile.
Among the factors which bring up
(he cost of living there are few
which stand ahead of the useless cost
of transportation, due to poor and
often impassable roads. Poor roads
not only make the consumer pay
more for produce, but they rob the
producer of that which should be
added to the price paid him for his
produce. There are few subjects on
which the public is so unanimous as
this one of the cost of poor roads, and
yet at the same time few subjects on
which it is harder to tnake people
agree as to the remedy and where
the initiative should be taken.
Producing Pork.
At the Iowa station corn and soy
beans hogged down produced 15.7
pounds of pork per bushel of corn.
At eight cents per pound that is $1.23
per bushel for the corn.
Should Add Zest. ,
Sbeep-feeding is a business in which
the hope of profit and the certainty of
making the land more fertile should
add zest to the business.
Respond to Care.
We need more small flocks on well
tilled farqis. Such a flock and farm
rarely disappoint its owner.
More Small Flocks Needed.
Sheep respond to good care. The
better the care the better they re
spond.
HOW COCA COLA REFRESHES.
The remarkable success which hat
attended ihe sale of Coca-Cola has been
explained in many different ways. Soma
have attributed it to "good advertis
ing;" others to “efficient management.'
others, to Us “delicious flavor" and still
others to the fact that it was the first in
the field of “trade-marked” soft drinks.
In this connection, the opinion of a
manufacturing chemist who has analyz
ed Coca-Cola and studied its history for
many years, will prove interesting. He
attributes the popularity of the drink
in large part to its quality of refresh
ing both mind and body without pro
ducing any subsequent depression.
He points out the fact that the chemical
composition of Coca-Cola is practically
identical with that of coffee and tea
(with sugar added) the only material
difference being the absence of tannic
acid from Coca-Cola. He points to the
laboratorv experiments of Dr. Holling
worth of'Columbia University and of
Dr. H. C. Wood, Jr. of Philadelphia
which prove conclusively that the caf
feine-containing beverages (coffee, tea.
Coca-Cola, etc.) relieve mental and mus
cular fatigue by rendering the nerves
and muscles more responsive to the
will, thus diminishing the resistance
produced by fatigue. These experi
ments also demonstrate the fact that
the caffeine group of beverages differ
from the stimulants in that the use of
the latter is followed by a period of de
pression which calls for more atimula
tion thus resulting in the formation of
a habit.”—Adv.
Remembered Tnrifty Teachings.
A woman who was left to ihe task
of bringing up two small children b* -
gan early to train them to consider
necessities above all else. They
;ould always look back to a home
brimming with comfort, although the
furnishings were simple enough. They
had warm clothing in winter and thin
clothing in summer, end as they asso
ciated with the children o? wealth
they must have been thoroughly pre
sentable. Habits are strong, but
sometimes they can be broken. The
son was the first to go out into the
big world and he easily learned new
ways of spending. The daughter pre
served her sensible, thrifty w-ays to
the last and she is drilling them into
children of her own by teaching the
value of a bank book in addition to
what she learned in her own child
hood.
Even in the Child Mind.
This incident was related by Mark
Twain with great glee about a certain
little girl friend who “shone as an
authoress.” One day she handeif her
devoted sympathizer the sheets of a
story which read thus:
“A man was seated in a chair by
the fireside brooding over his trou
bles. He wa3 sad because his wife
was dead Suddenly a specter ap
peared before him, and it was his
wife. She said: ‘Dear, I could not
bear to see you so sad and discon
tented, so I have come to comfort
you. You must not be sad. You
must be bright and happy. It was
best that I should leave you when I
did. because I was going to get a di
vorce.’ "
Too Far in the Future.
Of a favorite child comrade Mr.
Clemens related that they once con
versed together gravely considering
the little girl’s plans for rearing her
future children, of whom there were
to be two—a boy and a girl. The
girl, naturally enough, was to be
named after her mother. Asked what
would be the boy’s name, the child
answered, “a reproachful look in her
brown eyes”:
“Why, Mr. Clemens, how can 1
know what I shall call him until I
know his father’s name?”
He Picked Them Out.
“Oh, Harold," cried the small boy's
mother, surveying the bedraggled fig
ure of her darling, “why do you al
ways manage to slip in the muddy
places?”
“Because, mamma, the dry places
aren't muddy.”
The pen is mightier than the sword
when it comes to getting a fool man
into real trouble.
Mrs.Winslow’s Soothing Syrup for Children
teething, softens the gums, reduces inflamma
tion,allays pain,cures wind colic,2&c a bottle4*
Smile and the world smiles with
you, unless yon are in a prohibition
district.
There are imitations, don’t be fooled. Ask
for LEWIS' Single Binder cigar, 5c. Adv.
A man plays the game of love for
pastime: a woman plays it to win. '
_ “It —
“ Can’t ”
be Done”
It is impossible to maintain
health and strength if you
allow the stomach to become
weak, the liver sluggish and
the bowels constipated, but
you can guard against such
troubles by the daily use of
HOSTETTER’S
STOMACH
- BITTERS «
DAISY FLY KILLER ££ STS?.- Si
UW.
namental. convenient
cheap. Lasts all
season. Made of
metal, can't spill or tip
over; will not soil or *
Injure anythin*.
Guaranteed effective.
All dealers or«see«
■ABOLD SOBERS. ISO DoKalk An.. Bmkljo. *. T.
PARKER'S
HAIR BALSAM
A *oilet preparation of merit.
Helps to eradicate dandruff.
FerRettermg Color ami
Jeauty to Gray or Faded Hair.
60s, and |L00 at Draggista
1 W. N. U., OMAHA, NO. 29-1913.