Dance at Hotel Burnt.
Nero's fiddling while Rome burned
has a modern parallel in the action of
a crowd that kept •■turkey-trotting”
and "tangoing" by the light of a
burning hotel at Horseshoe Lake. HI.,
until the dancing pavilion also
caught fire, relates the St. l.ouis Re
public.
Not until the heat and smoke be
came unendurable did the strains of
the “trot” and the "tango" cease.
Always Popular Car.
“Well. Bildad,” said Jimsonberry.
"I suppose now that you are living
out in the country, you have a car.”
"Yes,” said Bildad. "That is, my
neighbors and 1 have one together."
•Really?'' said Jimsonberry.
"Co-operative arrangement, eh? Not
a bad idea. What make is it?"
"Oh, just plain Trolley.”—Judge.
Not Near-Wit.
"What do you think of that Joke
about the end of the world?”
"It is too far-fetched."
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Electrical machinery to keep tar
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-1
Be thrifty on littie things like bluing. Don't
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GIRLS! GIRLS! TRY IT,
REAUTIFYYOUR HAIR
Make It Thick, Glossy, Wavy, Luxur
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Surprise for You.
Your hair becomes light, wavy, fluf
fy, abundant and appears aB soft, lus
trous and beautiful as a young girl’s
after a “Danderine hair cleanse.” Just
try this—moisten a cloth with a little
Danderine and carefully draw It
through your hair, taking one small
strand at a time. This will cleanse
the hair of dust, dirt and excessive oil
and in just a few moments you have
doubled the beauty of your hair.
Besides beautifying the hair at once,
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Way to Woo Sleep.
The following method is described
as one which is almost certain to woo
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bed you assume a comfortable atti
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but not the attitude in which you are
accustomed to go to sleep, though
something resembling it. Every move
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over.
As a rule, by the end of 15 or 20
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and then, just as the desire to turn
over becomes absolutely uncontroll
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and natural sleep follows at once.
This method, it is claimed, seldom
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trial, at least before resorting to a
drug to bring sleep.
—
Willie Collier’s Jest.
It is beginning to look as though the
funniest lines in the theater are saved j
out of the plays and used between the ;
acts. A few nights ago De Wolf Hop
per got his best laugh by a remark I
made during an entre ’acte speech.
And last night this growing fashion
was again illustrated at the Criterion,
when William Collier, thanking the
audience, said:
"George Cohan is out of danger.”
The audience applauded vigorously,
whereupon Mr. Collier added:
“And has been for a week.”
Then the audience laughed.—New
York Times.
Would Maintain Its Status.
Sentimental Young Lady—Ah, pro
fesEor, what would this old oak say if
it could talk?
Professor—It would say, “I am an
elm!”—Fliegende Glaetter.
Modern Conditions. ,
“There’s an idea for a dress.”
“Too daring,” said the actress. “It |
may be all right for the street, but it j
wouldn’t be allowed on the stage.” j
“Arouse
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*H»>- T
20
SYNOPSIS.
Fran arrives at Hamilton Gregory's
home In Littleburg, but finds him absent
conducting the choir at a camp meeting.
She repairs thither in search of him,
laughs during the service and is asked to
leave. Abbott Ashton, superintendent 'of
schools, escorts Fran from the tent. . He
tells her Gregory is a wealthy man.
deeply interested in charity worn, and a
pillar of the church. Ashton becomes
greatly interested in Fran and whi.e tak
ing leave of her, holds her hand and Is
seen by Sapphira Clinton, sister of Rob
ert Clinton, chairman of the school board.
Fran tells Gregory she wants a home
with him. Grace Noir. Gregory’s private
secretary, takes a violent dislike to Fran
and advises her to go away at once.
Fran hints at a twentv-year-old secret,
and Gregory in agitation asks Grace to
leave the room. Fran relates the story
of how' Gregory married a young girl at
Springfield while attending college and
then deserted her. Fran is the child of
that marriage. Gregory had married his
present wife three years before the death
of Fran's mother. Fran takes a liking to
Mrs. Gregory. Gregory explains that
Fran is the daughter of a very dear friend
who is dead. Fran agrees to the story,
j Mrs. Gregory insists on her making her
home with them and takes her to her
arms. Fran declares the secretary must
go. Grace begins nagging tactics in an
effort to drive Fran from the Gregory
homo. Abbott, while taking a walk alone
at midnight, finds Fran on a bridge tell
ing her fortune by cards. She tells Ab
bott that she is the famous lion tamer, j
Fran Nonpareil. She tired of circus life
»ml sought a home. Grace tells of see
ing Fran come home after midnight with
a maj>. She guesses part of the story
and surprises the rest from Abbott. She
decides to ask Bob Clinton to go to
Springfield to investigate Fran’s story.
Fran enlists Abbott in her battle against
Grace. Fran offers her services to Greg
ory as secretary during the temporary
absence of Grace. The latter, hearing of
Fran’s purpose, returns and interrupts a
touching scene between father and
laughter. Grace tells Gregory she in
tends to marry Clinton and quit his serv
ice. He declares that he cannot continue
his work without her. Carried away bv
passion, he take? her in his .arms. Fran
walks in on them, and declares that
Grace must leave the house at once. To
I Gregory’s consternation he learns of
| Clinton’s mission to Springfield. Clinton
j returns from Springfield and, at Fran’s re
| quest. Ashton urgest him not to disclose
what he has learned. On Abbott’s assur
ance that Grace will leave Gregorv at once.
! Clinton agrees to keep silent. Driven in
i to a corner by the threat of exposure.
! Gregory is forced to dismiss Grace. Grace
j offered the .1ob of bookke*»p^r in Clin
I ton's grocery store. Gregory declares he
! "rill kill himself if she marries Clinton.
I Gregory’s infatuation leads him to seek
Grace at the grocery. He fir.ds/her alone
and tells her the story of his past. Grace
point** out that as he married the pres
ent Mrs. Gregory before the death of
Fran’s mother, he is not now legally mar
ried. They decide to flee at once.
CHAPTER XXI.—Continued.
“We’d better separate.” Gregory
hoarsely whispered. "We'll meet at
the station.”
“No. If he sees tis, what would be
the use? Anywray. he'll have to know
tomorrow . . everybody will know
tomorrow! No.” said Grace, overcom
ing a slight indecision, “the important
thing is not to ba stopped, whoever
*ees. Come this way.”
"But there’s no chance out, that
wy,” Gregory returned, with the ob
stinacy of the weak. "And if he does
see us, it w'on’t do to be seeming to
try tr hide.”
"Bu; we are hiding,” Grace said defl
i nitely. “Possibly we can keep moving
>bout, and he will go away.”
“Why should we hide, anyhow?” de
manded Gregory, with sudden show of
spirit.
To that, she made no reply. If he
didn’t know', what was the use to tell
him?
Gregory moved on, but glanced back
over his shoulder. “Now, he’s getting
down,” he said in agitation “He’s
making his way right toward us. . . .
All right, let him come!”
"In here—quick!” cried Grace, drag
ging him to one side. Quick!”
A voice stopped them with. "Your
tickets, please.”
"Oh, no," wailed Gregory, "not Into
a show, Grace. We can’t go into a
show. It’s—it’s impossible.”
She spoke rapidly: "We must. We'll
be safe in there, because no one would
ever suppose we’d go into such a
place.”
“But Grace,” said Gregory firmly,
"I cannot—I will not go into a show.”
The voice addressed him again:
“It’s first-class in every particular,
lady. There is nothing here to bring
the blush of shame to the cheek of the
most fastidious. See those fierce man
eating lions that have been captured
in the remotest jungles of Africa—”
Gregory looked back.
Robert Clinton was drawing nearer.
As yet he had not discovered them,
but his eyes, grown fiercer and more
impatient, were never at rest.
With a groan, Gregory thrust some
money into the showman’s hand, and
he and Grace mingled with the noisy
sight-seers flocking under the black
tent. ' '
CHAPTER XXII.
The Street Fair.
Littleburg was trembling under the
fearful din of a carnival too big for it,
when Abbott Ashton, after his weeks
of absence returned to find himself at
Hamilton Gregory’s door. He discov
ered old Mrs. Jefferson in the front
room—this July night—because old
age is on no friendly terms with fall
ing dew; but every window was open.
“Come in,” she cried, delighted at
sight of his handsome, smiling face—
he had been smiling most of the time
during his drive from Simmtown with
Robert Clinton. “Here I sit by the
window, where sometimes I imagine I
hear a faint, far-away sound. I judge
it's from some carnival band. Take
this chair and listen attentively;
vour ears are younger—now!”
Abbott did not get all of this be
cause of the Gargantuan roar that
swept through the window, but he
gravely tilted his head, then took the
proffered ear trumpet: "You are
right,” he said, “I hear something.”
“It's the street fair,” she announced
triumphantly. “But sometimes it’s
louder. How fine you look. Abbott—
just as if your conscience doesn’t
hurt you for disappearing witnout
leaving a clue to the mystery. You
needn’t be looking around, sir—Fran
isn’t here.”
“I wonder where she is?” Abbott
smiled. "I’m dreadfully impatient to
‘.ell her the good news. Mrs. Jeffer
son, I'm to teach in a college—it’s a
much bigger thing than the position I
lost here. And I have a chance to
work out some ideas that I know Fran
will like. I used to think that every
thing ought to be left precisely as it
is, because it’s been that way so long
—I mean the church; and schools;
and—and society. But I’ve made up
my mind that nothing is right, unless
it works right.”
Mrs. Jefferson listened in desperate
eagerness. “A watch?” she hazarded.
“Exactly,” he responded hastily. "If
a watch doesn’t run, what's the use of
its being pretty? And if churches de
velop a gift of tongue instead of char
acter, what's the value of their pray
ers and songs? And I’ve concluded
that if schools don’t teach us now to
live, they have the wrong kind of
springs and wheels. Where is Fran.
Mrs. Jefferson?"
“Still,” she temporized, “we can’t
get along without watches, Abbott.”
“No, nor schools, nor churches. But
they must have good works. Is Fran
down at the fair, do you think?”
The other bent toward him stealth
ily. “Ask where Mrs. Gregory is." she
said, wonderfully significant.
“Well?”
Auoott, listen: bhe s gone a-visit
ing!”
"Visiting!” Abbott was surprised.
"Yes, visiting, she that hasn’t been
off this place to visit a soul for ages.
I tell you, boy, times have changed,
here. Maybe you think nobody’d be
left at home to visit; but Fran has
found that there is a woman in town
that she used to know, and the woman
has a mighty sick child, and Lucy
has gone to sit by it, so the mother
can rest Think of that, Abbott, tnink
of Lucy going anywhere. My! Have
you heard that we’ve lost a secretary
at this place? I mean the future Mrs.
Bob. Yes, she's gone. I’d as soon
have thought of the courthouse being
picked up and set in the parlor.”
Mrs. Jefferson drew back and said
succinctly: “Fran did it!”
Her cap quivered as she leaned for
ward again. “Get her to tell you all
about It. We darsen't speak about it
much because of the neighbors. We
conspired, Fran and I. Yes, shb’s
down at the carnival, you boy!”
Abbott hastily departed. Later he
found himself in a cloud-burst of con
fetti, on the “city square” and when
he had cleared his eyes of the red and
white snow, he saw Fran disappear
ing like a bit of crimson glass at the
bottom of a human kaleidoscope. Fran
had thrown the confetti, then fled—
how much brighter she was than all
the other shifting units of humanity.
He fought his way toward her de
terminedly, finding she was about to
be submerged. Was she actually try
ing to elude him?
“Fran!" he cried reproachfully as
he reached her side. “How have you
the heart to run away from me after
I’ve been lost for weeks? Nobody
knew I’d ever be found.”
Frau gave up flight, and stopped to
look at him. A smile slipped from the
corner of one eye, to get caught at the
corner of her demure mouth. “WTien
you disappeared, you left me yourself.
A friend always does. I've had you all
the time.”
Abbott glowed. “Still, it isn’t exact
ly the same as if I had been able to
touch your hand. Suppose we shake
hands, little friend; what do you
say?”
“I don’t say anything,” Fran retort
ed; “I just shake.”
Her handclasp was so hearty chat
he was slightly disconcerted. Was her
friendship so great that it left no room
in her heart for something greater.
“I want to talk to you, Fran, talk
and talk, oh, just about all the long
night through! Come, .let me take
you back home—”
“Home? Me? Ridiculous! But I’ll
tell you the best place that ever was,
for the kind of talking you and I
want to do to each other. Abbott, it
won’t matter to you—will it?—at what
place I say to meet me, at about half
past nine?”
"Why, Fran! It’s not eight o’clock,”
Abbott remonstrated, glancing toward
the courthouse clock to find it stopped,
and then consulting his watch. “Do
you think I am going to wait till—”
"Till half-past nine,” said Fran, non
chalantly. "Very well, then.”
“Hut what will we do in the mean
time. if we're not to talk till—”
“We?" she mocked him. "Listen,
Abbott, don’t look so cross. I've a
friend in town with a sick daughter,
and she's a real friend so I must go
to help her, a while.”
He was both mystified and disap
pointed. "I didn't know you had any
such friends in Littleburg,” he remon
strated, remembering how unkind
tongues had set the village against
her.
Fran threw back her head, and her
gesture was full of pride and confi
dence. "Oh!” she cried, "the town is
full of my friends.”
He could only stare at her in dumb
amazement.
"All right, then,” she said with the
greatest cheerfulness, "at half-past
nine. You understand the date—nine
thirty. Of course you wouldn’t have
me desert a friend in trouble. Where
shall we meet, Abbott—at nine-thirty?
Shall we say, at the Snake-Eater’s?”
“Go, Fran,” he exclaimed. "I’ll wait
for you as long as I must, even if it’s
Her Handclasp Was So Hearty That
He Was Slightly Disconcerted.
the eternity of nine-thirty; and I'd go
anywhere in the world to meet you.
even to the den of the Snake-Eater.”
“That's the way for a friend to
talk!” she declared, suddenly radiant
—a full Fran-sun, now. instead of the
slender penetrating Fran-beam.
Seeing a leg-lined lane opening be
fore her, she darted forward.
Abbott called—“But I can’t promise
to talk to you as a friend, when we
meet—I mean, just as a friend.”
Fran looked back at him, still daz
zling. “I only ask you to treat me as
well," she said with assumed humility.
(COPy&lGHT 1912
B0BB5-MEPPILLC0.)
"as we are told we ought to treat our
—enemies.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
The Conqueror.
After the extinguishment of the
Fran-beam, Abbott wanted to be alone,
to meditate on stellar and solar bright
ness, but in this vociferous wilderness,
reflection was impossible. One could
not even escape recognition, one could
not even detach oneself from a Simon
Jefferson.
"Got back to town again, hey?” said
Simon. That was enough about Ab
bott; Simon passed at once to a more
interesting theme; "Taken in the
Lion Show, yet?”
“I'm just waiting for nine-thirty.
... I have an engagement." Fu
tile Words, indeed, since it was now
only eight o’clock.
“You come with me, then, I know
all the ropes. Hey? Oh, yes, I know
mother thinks me in bed—for good
ness' sake don’t tell on me, she'd be
scared to death. But actually, old
man. this carnival is good for my
heart. 'Tisn’t like going to ciyurch, one
bit. Preaching makes me feel op
pressed, and that's what scares me—
feeling oppressed.” He rubbed his griz
zled hair nervously. "Just for fear
somebody'd go tell. I’ve had to sneak
into all these show's like I’d been a
thief in the night.”
Simon urged Abbott along in the di
rection taken, but a few minutes be
fore, by Hamilton Gregory and Grace
Xoir. "You see,” Simon panted,
"when the girl fell off the trapeze—
heard about that, hey? Mother was
overjoyed, thinking I’d missed the
sickening sight. But bless your soul!
—I was right at the front, hanging on
to the railing, and I saw it all. Why,
she pretty near fell on me. Her foot
slipped just so—” Simon extended
his leg with some agility.
"Was she killed?” Abbott asked,
concealing his astonishment over Si
mon’s evident acquaintance with the
black tent before which they had
paused.
“Well,” Simon reluctantly conceded,
"n-n-no, she wasn't to say killed—but
dreadfully bruised up, Abbott, very
painful. I saw It all; this carnival has
put new life into me—here! Get your
ticket in a jiffy, or all the seats’ll be
taken. You can’t stand there like that
—give me your quarter, I know how
to jump in and get first place. That
ticket agent knows me; I’ve been in
five times.”
From a high platform before the
black tent, a voice came through a
megaphone; "The Big Show. The
Big Show. See those enormous lions
riding in baby carriages while La Gon
lzetti makes other lions dance the
fandango to her violin. See those—”
"Here, Abbott, follow!” called the
breathless Simon Jefferson. "Of course
well see what's there—no use listen
ing to him, like an Introduction in a
novel of Scott’s telling it all first. You
follow me.”
Abbott laughed aloud at Simon’s
ability as they pushed their way un
der the tent.
“Uh-huh, now see that!” groaned
Simon reproachfully, as he looked
about. "Every seat taken. I tell you,
you’ve got to lift your feet to get into
this show. Well, hang on to the rope
—don’t let anybody gouge you out of
standing room.”
At least two-thirds of the space un
der the tent was taken up by tiers of
seats formed of thin, and apparently
fragile, blue planks, springy to th6
foot and deafening to the ear. From
hardened ground to fringed tent-ceil
ing, these overlapping rows of narrow
boards were brimming with men. wom
en and children who, tenacious of
their holdings, seemed each to con
tain in his pockets the feet of him who
sat immediately behind.
The seats faced an immense cage
which rose almost to the roof. As yet,
it was empty, but smaller adjoining
cages promised an animated arena
when the Bignal should be given.
Gregory and Grace Noir had sought
refuge on the highest seat, where they
might overlook the crowd; here, with
heads bent forward as if to avoid the
canvas, they hoped to escape observa
tion. Thanks to the influx of country
folk, Littleburg citizens were rare!/
to be seen at such shows until a later
and more fashionable hour. Gregory
was relieved to find his topmost plank
filled with strangers.
“All goes well,” he said, pressing
Grace’s hand. “Nobody will find out
that we have been in here.”
"Watch for Mr. Clinton.” Grace
counseled cautiously. “If he comes
in, stoop lower.”
“They’re all strangers, Grace. Provi
dence is with us—there’s Simon Jeffer
son!” He was too amazed to think of
concealment.
“Hush! Yes—and Abbott Ashton.”
Gregory pulled his hat over his
eyes.
Into the tent streamed a fresh body
of sight-seers. Simon, swinging to the
rope that was stretched in front of the
big cage, grumbled at being elbowed
by weary mothers and broad-chested
farmers.
The band entered and squatted upon
blue boxes In one corner. Showy red
coats were removed in deference to
sweltering heat, and melody presided
in undress. Three bears, two clowns
and a bicycle sharpened interest in
what was to come, whetting the mind
upon jokes blunter than the intelli
gence of the audience. Even the band
ceased playing though that had not
seemed possible; its depressing an
dantinos had not only subdued the
bears, rendering them as “harmless as
kittens, but had mournfully depressed
the audience.
Into this atmosphere of tamed inert
ness, suddenly flashed a little figure
whose quivering vitality communi
cated electric thrills. Even the clowns
moved less like treadmill horses, as
they took their stations at the smaiiet
cages, waiting to lift the gates that
would admit the restless lions into the
central cage. •
The form that had appeared—one
knew not whence—was that of a slight
woman, dressed in a short skirt of
blue, and bodice of white satin. The
trimmings w'hich ran in all directions,
were rich in pendants of gold and
rubies. Above all, there was the al
luring mystery of a crimson mask
which effectually hid the woman’s
face.
Simon whispered into Abbott’s al
ways unready ear: ‘‘That isn’t La
Gonizetti. Wonder what this means'
La Gonizetti is much more of a worn
an than this one, and she doesn’t >veai
a mask, or much of anything el3e. Lc
Gonizetti doesn’t care who sees her
Why, this is nothing but a more—;
tell you now, if she ain’t on to her job,
I mean to have my money back ” Si
mon glowered.
Abbott stared in great perplexity
“Then who is she?" he exclaimed “Si
mon—doesn’t she remind you ol—o:
some one we know?”
“Naw. She’s got on La Gonizetti’i
dress, and her voice has the show
girl’s clangy-tin-panny-whangdoodle
but that’s all I recognize.”
Abbott wondered that Simon failed
to notice the similarity between the
show-girl’s movements and those o!
Fran. This woman had Fran’s form.
To be sure the voice was entirely dif
ferent, but the rapidity and decisive
ness of action, and the air of authority
were Fran's very own. However, thi
show-girl’s hands were as dark as an
Italian's, while Fran’s were—well, no'
so dark, at any rate.
Abbott’s brow did not relax Hi
stood motionless, staring at every
thing before him with painful intent
ness.
Up near the roof, Gregory anf
Grace scarcely observed the entranci
of the lion-tamer. Secured fro a
espial, absorbed in each other, they
were able, thanks to the surroundinf
clamor of voices, to discuss their fu
ture plans with some degree of eonfi
dence.
Simon told Abbott—"Anyway, nc
amateur would rub up against thosi
beasts, so I guess it’s all right. They
ain’t but two lions; bill says ten,
man that wrote the bill was the othei
eight, I reckon ”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Work for Men and Women.
After all, you know, there is room
for both men and women in this
world. , Men have their work to dc
and women have theirs. It is the
woman’s work to provide for the innej
man and it is the man’s to provide for
die outer woman.
SHREWD SCHEME IS WASTED
Man Who “Beat” the Customs In
spectors Might Be Excused for
Feeling a Little Annoyed.
The exacting regulations of the cus
toms service bear heavily on the Amer
ican returning from a trip abroad. The
man or woman who cannot find more
than the legal limit of $100 to invest in
trinkets, presents, and various person
al articles of apparel is rare. To be
held up like a criminal and be forced
to discuss with inquisitive custom in
spectors the value of every little ar
ticle in one’s baggage is vexatious. So
people frequently resort to subter
fuge.
A man who had been In Siberia on
business had an opportunity to buy
there at very reasonable rates some
beautiful sable skins. He decided that
it was too good a chance to make his
wife a desirable gift to be overlook
ed; so out of hundreds of skins he se
lected a dozen of great beauty. On
reaching New York he sought the co
operation of several men friends, and
each of them slipped a akin or two
-'•* ■
down the legs of his trousers, tying
them with twine to his suspenders to
prevent them from dropping too far.
It was a very hot day, and as they
stood about on the pier waiting to be
passed by the customs men the skins
got warm and smelled villainously.
Finally, passed by the inspectors with
their baggage, they hastened to a place
where in seclusion they > ould remove
the sable skins and turn them over
to the owner.
Later the latter told the honse that
was to make them up of his ruse, and
was considerably startled when the
manager said: "That was a good deal
of trouble to take with an article that
is not dutiable.”—The Sunday Maga
zine.
Truth and Error.
Verily, there is nothing so true that
the damps of error have not warped it.
Verily, there is nothing so false that
a sparkle of truth is not in it For
the enemy, the father of lies, the gi
ant Upaa of creation, can but per
vert the good, but may not create the
evil. He destroyeth, but cannot build;
for he is not an antagonistic deity.
Mighty in his stole? power, yet he
is a creature and a subject; not a
maker of abstract wrong, but a spoiler
of concrete right. The fiend hath
not a royal crown; he is but a prowl
ing robber, suffered for some myste
rious end to haunt the king’s highway.
And the keen sword he beareth once
was a simple plowshare. His pano
ply of error is but a distortion of the
truth. The sickle that once reaped
righteousness, beaten from ita useful
surve, with ax, and spike, and bar,
headeth the marauder’s halibert Seek
not further, O man, to solve the dark
riddle of sin; suffice it that thine own
bad heart is to thee thine origin of
eviL—Martin Farquar Tupper.
Paris Dress Expert
In Paris the authors have a woman
who sets them right as to the dress of
the women they write about She
tells them whether they have used the
right words to describe the dress and
whether the colors that are fashion
able are named. The woman who does
this is always anonymous, and no one
but herself and the author Is aware
pt her existence.
TRULY A VALUABLE HOUND
Visitor From Costa Rica Tells Story
Which Some People Might Find
It Hard to Believe.
At last the existence of the banana
hound has been shown to be a fact!
A man who just arrived in this
country from Port Limon. Costa Rica,
not only knows all about the banana
hound, but has a drove of them him
self. The gentleman is Hezekiah
Spottiswood. and for many years the
owner of a banana plantation in Costa
Rica.
Is the banana hound a new discov
ery up here?" he asked in surprise.
"My word, how singular! Why. we al
ways have them. They are a very es
sential adjunct to a banana planta
tion; indispensable almost, I should
say. What is the breed? They are
a cross between a pointer and a South
American tapir.
"It’s a very necessary thing to know
when to pick the bananas from the
trees, you know. When they have at
tained a certain shade of green, then
U the time. Now it’s very difficult to
have a man so thoroughly up in color
that he can determine this matter
That is where the banana hound
comes in. He trots the groves witb
a man behind him, and scents the
bunches which should be picked. He
stands in front of the tree and gives
a long moan, which sounds familiar to
the siren at Sandy Hook. Then he
points to a particular bunch with his
tail.
The scent of the hound is unerring.
It has never been known to fail.
"And you never heard of them?”
No Joy Visit.
A Glasgow journalist who was care
less of his personal appearance was
assigned to write something about a
show at a leading Glasgow theater.
He presented his card at a box-office.
The maanger came out and looked
at the disheveled visitor dubiously.
Did you come here to write some
thing about the play—to work?” he
asked.
Do you think I’d come to your
theater for amusement?" asked the
Journalist as he stalked out.—Satur
day Evening Post.
