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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (April 29, 1915)
15 WHITE &C GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON C nL LUSTRATIONS JcFAY WALTERS coPYMG/yr. /?/+. \ OY DO00,P?£AD jKpBtL \ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ AffO COP1PAPY _ SYNOPSIS. —8— In the New York home of James Brood, his son. Frederic, receives a wireless from him. Frederic tells Lydia Des mond. his fiancee, that the message an nounces his father’s marriage, and orders Mrs. Desmond, the housekeeper and Lydia's mother, to prepare the house for • in Immediate home-coming Brood and his bride arrive. She wins Frederic's lik ing at first meeting. Brood shows dislike and veiled hostility to his son. Lydia and Mrs. Brood met in the Jade-room, where Lydia works as Brood's secretary. Mrs. Brood is startled by the appearance of Punjab. Brood's Hindu servant. She makes changes in the household and gains her husband’s consent to send Mrs. Des mond and Lydia away. She fascinates Frederic. She begins to fear Ranjab in his uncanny appearances and disappear ances. and Frederic, remembering his father's East Indian stories and firm be lief in magic, fears unknown evil. Ran jab performs feats of magic for Dawes and Riggs. Frederic's father. Jealous, un justly orders his son from the dinner table as drunk. Brood tells the story of Ran jab’s life to his guests. "He killed a wom an" who was unfaithful to him. Yvonne blays with Frederic’s infatuation for her. Her husband warns her that the thing must not go on. She tells him that he atlil loves his dead wife, whom he drove from his home, through her. Yvonne. Yvonne plays with Brood. Frederic and Lydia as with figures on a chess board. Brood, madly jealous, tells Lydia tluK Frederic Is not his son. and that he has brought him up to kill his happiness at the proper time with this knowledge. Frederic takes Lydia home through a heavy storm and spends the night at her mother's house. CHAPTER XII—Continued. “She was jealous. She admitted it, dear. If I don't mind, why should you Incur—” “Do you really believe she—she loves the governor enough to be as jealous at all that?” he exclaimed, a Curious gleam in his eyes—an expres sion she did not like. “Of course I think so.” she cried emphatically. “What a question! Have you any reason to suspect that she does not love your father?” “No—certainly not,” he said in some confusion. Then, after a moment: "Are you quite sure this headache of yours is real, Lyddy? Isn't it an ex cuse to stay away from—from Yvonne, after what happened last night? Be honest, dear.” She was silent for a long time, weighing her answer. Was it best to be honest with him? “1 confess that it has something to do with it,” she admitted. Lydia could not be anything but truthful. “I thought so. It’s—it's a rotten shame, Lyddy. That’s why I want to talk to her. I want to reason with her. It’s all so perfectly silly, this misun derstanding. You’ve just got to go on as you were before, Lyddy—just as if It hadn’t happened. It—” “I shall complete the work for your father. Freddy,” she said quietly. “Two or three days more will see the end. After that, neither my services nor my presence will be required over there.” “You don’t mean to say—” he began, unbelievingly. "I can think of them just as well here as anywhere else. No; I sha’n’t annoy Mrs. Brood, Freddy.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say more, but she thought better of it. “They’re going abroad soon,” he ventured. “At least, that's father’s plan. Yvonne isn’t so keen about it. She calls this being abroad, you know. Besides,” he hurried on in his eager ness to excuse Yvonne, "she's tremen dously fond of you. No end of times she’s said you were the finest—” Her smile—an odd one, such as he had never seen on her lips before—checked his eager speech. He bridled. “Of course, if you don’t choose to believe me, there’s nothing more to be said. Bhe meant it, however.” i am sure sne said 11, i<ready, she hastened to declare. “Will she be pleased with our—our marriage?” It required a great deal of courage on her part to utter these words, but she was determined to bring the true situ ation home to hitn. He did not even hesitate, and there was conviction in his voice as he re plied. "It doesn’t matter whether she’s pleased or displeased. We're pleasing ourselves, are we not? There’s no one else to consider, dear.” Her eyes were full upon his, and there was wonder in them. "Thank you—thank you, Freddy.” she cried. “I—I knew you’d—” -The sentence remained unfinished. "Has there ever been a doubt in your mind?” he asked, uneasily, after a moment. He knew there had been misgivings and he was ready, in his self-abasement, to resent them if given the slightest opening. Guilt made him arrogant. “No,” she answered simply. The answer was not what he ex pected. He flushed painfully. “I—I thought perhaps you'd—you’d got a notion in your head that—” He, too, stopped for want of the right words to express himself without com mitting the egregious error of letting her see that it had been in his thoughts to accuse her of jealousy. She waited for a moment. "That 1 \ might have got the notion in my head you did not love me any longer? Is that what you started to say?" “Yes,” he confessed, averting his eyes. ‘T've been unhappy at times, Freddy, but that is all,” she said, steadily, "You see, I know how honest you really are. I know it far better than you know it yourself.” He stared. "I wonder just how hon est I am,” he muttered. ”1 wonder what would happen if— But nothing can happen. Nothing ever will hap pen. Thank you, old girl, for saying what you said just now. It’s—it’s bully of you.” He got up and began pacing the floor. She leaned back in her chair, deliberately giving him time to straighten out his thoughts for him self. Wiser than she knew herself to be, she held back the warm, loving words of encouragement, of gratitude, of belief. But she was not prepared for the im petuous appeal that followed. He threw himself down beside her and grasped her hands in his. His face seemed suddenly old and haggard, his eyes burned like coals of Are. Then, for the first time, she had an inkling of the great struggle that had been going on inside of him for weeks and weeks. “Listen, Lyddy,” he began, nervous ly, "will you marry me tomorrow? Are you willing to take the chance that I’ll be able to support you, to earn enough—” "Why, Freddy!” she cried, half start ing up from the couch. She was dum founded. win you: win you: l mean u, he went on, almost arrogantly. He was very much in earnest, but alas, the fire, the passion of the im portunate lover was missing. She shrank back into the corner of the couch, staring at him with puzzled eyes. Comprehension was slow in ar riving. As he hurried on with his plea she began to see clearly; her sound, level brain grasped the insig nificance of this sudden decision on his part. "There's no use waiting, dear. I’ll i never be more capable of earning a living than I am right now. I can go into the office with Brooks any day j and I—I think I can make good. God i knows I can try hard enough. Brooks , says he’s got a place there for me in the bond department. It won’t be I much at first, but I can work into a pretty good—what’s the matter? Don’t you think I can do it? Have you no | faith in me? Are you afraid to take j a chance?” She had smiled sadly—it seemed to j him reprovingly. His cheek flushed. “What has put all this into your ! head, Freddy, dear?” she asked j shrewdly. ?lis eyes wavered. “I can't go on living as I have been for the past few j months. I’ve just got to end it, Lyddy. ; You don't understand—you can’t, and “Will You Marry Me Tomorrow?” there isn't any use in trying to explain the—” “I think I do understand, dear,” she said, quietly, laying her hand on his. "I understand so completely that there isn't any use in your trying to explain. But don’t you think you are a bit cow ardly?” “Cowardly?” he gasped, and then the blood rushed to his face. Is it quite fair to me—or to your self?” He was silent. She waited for a moment and then went on reso lutely. "I know just what it is that you are afraid of, Freddy. I shall marry you, of course. I love you more than anything else in all the world. But are you quite fair in asking me to marry you while you are still afraid, dear?” Before God, I love no one else but you,” he cried, earnestly. “I know what it is you are thinking and I—l don t blame you. But I want you now— good God, you don’t know how much I need you now. 1 want to begin a new life with you. I want to feel that you are with me—just you— strong and brave and enduring. I am adrift. I need you.” "If you insist, I will marry you to morrow, but you cannot—you will not ask it of me, will you?" “But you know I love you," he cried. “There isn’t any doubt in your mind, Lyddy. There is no one else, I tell you.” “1 think I am just beginning to un derstand men,” she remarked enig matically. He looked up sharply. "And to won der why they call women the weaker sex, eh?” % “Yes,” she said so seriously that the wry smile died on his lips. “I don’t believe there are many women who would ask a man to be sorry for them. That’s really what all this amounts to, isn’t it, Freddy?” “By jove!” he exclaimed, wonder ingly. “You are a strong, self-willed, chiv alrous man, and yet you think nothing of asking a woman to protect you against yourself. You are afraid to stand alone. Wait. Five minutes— yes. one minute before you asked it of me, Freddy dear, you were floun dering in the darkness, uncertain which way to turn. You were afraid of the things you could not see. You looked for some place in which to hide. The flash of light revealed a haven of refuge. So you asked me to—to marry you tomorrow.” All through this in dictment she had held his hand clasped tightly in both of hers. He was looking at her with a frank ac knowledgement growing in his eyes. “Are you ashamed of me, Lyddy?” he asked. It was confession. “No,” she said, meeting his gaze steadily. “I am a little disappointed, that's all. It is you who are ashamed." “I am.” said he, simply. “It wasn’t fair.” ivove win enaure. i am content to wait,” she said, with a wistful smile. "You will be my wife no matter what happens? You won’t let this make any difference?” “You are not angry with me?” "Angry? Why should I be angry with you, Lyddy? For shaking some sense into me? For seeing through me with that wonderful, far-sighted brain of yours? Why, I could go down on my knees to you. I could—” He clasped her In his arms and held her close. "You dear, dear Lyddy!” Neither spoke for many minutes. It was she who broke the silence. I “You must promise one thing. Fred eric. For my sake, avoid a quarrel with your father. I could not bear that. You will promise, dear? You must.” His jaw was set. “I don't intend to quarrel wijh him, but if I am to re main in his house there has got to be—” “Promise me you will wait. He is going away in a couple of weeks. When he returns—later on—next fall—” “Oh, if it really distresses you, Lyddy, I’ll—-’ "It does distress me. I want your promise.” “I'll do my part,” he said, resigned ly. “And next fall will see us mar ried. so—” The telephone bell in the hall was ringing. Frederic released Lydia’s hand and sat up rather stiffly, as one who suddenly suspects that he is be ing spied upon. The significance of 1 the movement did not escape Lydia. She laughed mirthlessly. “I will see who it is,” she said, and arose. Two red spots appeared in his cheeks. Then it was that she realized he had been waiting all along for the bell to ring; he had been Expecting a summons. “If it’s for me, please say—er—say I'll—” he began, somewhat disjoint edly, but she interrupted him. “Will you stay here for luncheon, Frederic? And this afternoon we will go to— Oh, is there a concert or a recital—” “Yes, I'll stay if you’ll let me.” he said, wistfully. “We’ll find some thing to do.” She went to the telephone. He heard the polite greetings, the polite assurances that she had not taken cold, two or three laughing rejoinders to what must have been aihuslng com ments on the storm and its efTect on timid creatures, and then: “Yes, Mrs. Brood, I will call him to the ’phone.” CHAPTER XIII. Two Women. Frederic had the feeling that he slunk to the telephone. The girl handed the receiver to him and he met her confident, untroubled gaze for a second. Instead of returning to the sitting-room where she could have heard everything that he said, she went into her own room down the hall and closed the door. He was not con scious of any intention to temporize, but it was significant that he did not speak until the door closed behind her. Afterwards he realized and was ashamed. Almost the first words that Yvonne uttered were of a nature to puzzle and irritate him, although they bore directly upon his own previously formed resolution. Her voice, husky and low, seemed strangely plaintive and lifeless tb him. "Have you and Lydia made any plans for the afternoon?” she inquired. He made haste to declare their inten tion to attend a concert. “I am glad you are going to do that," she went on. “You will stay for luncheon with Lydia?” “Yes. She’s trying to pick up that thing of Feverelli’s—the one we heard last night.” There was silence at the other end of the wire. “Are you there?” "Yes.” “I will be home for dinner, of course. Y"ou—you don’t need me for anything, do you?” “No," she said. Then, with a low laugh: "You may be excused for the day, my son. Your father and I have been discussing the trip abroad.” "I thought you—you were opposed to going.” “I’ve changed my mind. As a mat ter of fact, I’ve changed my heart.” "You speak in riddles.” She was silent for a long time. ‘ Frederic, I want you to do something for me. Will you try to convince Lydia that I meant no offense last night when I—” “She understands all that perfectly, Yvonne.” “No, she doesn't. A woman wouldn’t understand.” “In what way?”* There was a pause. “No woman likes to be regarded as a fool,” she said at last, apparently after careful reflection. “Oh, yes; there is some l MW ' "You and I?” He Asked, After a Mo ment. thing else. We are dining out this evening.” "You and I?” he asked after a mo ment. "Certainly not. Your father and I. I was about to suggest that you dine with Lydia—or better still, ask her over here to share your dinner with you.” He was scowling. “W'here are you going?" "Going? Oh, dining. I see. Well,” slowly, deliberately, "we thought it would be great fun to dine alone at Delmonico’s 'and see a play after ward.” “What play are you going to see?” he cut in. She mentioned a Belasco production. "Well, I hope you enjoy it, Yvonne. By the way, how is the governor today? In a good humor?” There was no response. He waited for a moment and then called out: "Are you there?” "Good-by,” came back over the wire. He started as if she had given him a slap in the face. Her voice was cold and forbidding. When Lydia rejoined him in the sit ting-room he was standing at the win dow, staring across the courtyard far below. Are you going?” she asked, steadily. He turned toward her, conscious of the telltale scowl that was passing from his brow. It did not occur to him to resent her abrupt, uncompro mising question. As a matter of fact, it seemed quite natural that she should put the question in just that way, flatly, incisively. He considered him self, in a way, to be on trial. "No, I’m not,” he replied. "You did not expect me to forget, did you?” He was uncomfortable under her honest, inquiring gaze. A sullen anger against himself took possession of him. He despised himself for the feeling of loneliness and homesickness that sud denly came over him. “I thought—” she began, and then her brow cleared. “I have been look ing up the recitals in the morning paper. The same orchestra you heard last night is to appear again today at—” we win go there, Lydia, he inter rupted, and at once began to hum the gay little air that had so completely charmed him. "Try it again, Lyddy. You’ll get it in no time." After luncheon, like two happy chil dren they rushed off to the concert, and it was not until they were on their way home at five o’clock that his en thusiasm began to wane. She was quick to detect the change. He be came moody, preoccupied; his part of the conversation was kept up with an efTort that lacked all the spontaneity of his earlier and more engaging flights. Lydia went far back in her calcula tions and attributed his mood to the promise she had exacted in regard to his attitude toward his father. It oc curred to her that he was smarting under the restraint that his promise involved. She realized now, rqore than ever before, that there could be no delay, no’ faltering on her part. She would have to see James Brood at once. She would have to go down on her knees to him. "I feel rather guilty, Freddy." she said, as they approached the house. “Mr. Brood will think it strange that I should plead a headache and yet run oft to a concert and enjoy myself when he is so eager to finish the journal— especially as he is to sail so soon. I ought to see him, don’t you think so? Perhaps there is something I can do tonight that will make up for the lost time.” She was plainly nerv ous. "He’d work you to death if he thought it would serve his purpose.” said Frederic, gloomily, and back of that .sentence lay the thought that I made it. absolutely imperative for her to act without delay. "I will go in for a few minutes,” she said, at the foot of the steps. "Are you not coming, too?” He had stopped. “Not just now, Lyddy. I think I’ll run up to Tom’s flat and smoke a pipe with him. Thanks, old girl, for the happy day we’ve had. You don’t mind if I leave you here?” Her heart gave a great throb of relief. It was best to have him out of the way for the time being. “Well—so long,” he said, diffidently. "So long, Lyddy.” "So long,” she repeated, dropping Into his manner of speech without thinking. There was a smothering sensation in his breast. He looked back as he strode off in the direction from which they had come. She was at the top of the steps, her fingers on the electric button. He wondered why her face was so white. He had always thought of it as being full of color, rich, soft and warm. Inside the door, Lydia experienced a strange sinking of the heart. “Is Mr. Brood at—” she began, nervously. A voice at the top of the stairway in terrupted the question she was putting to the footman. "Is it you, Lydia? Come up to my room.” The girl looked up and saw Mrs. Brood leaning over the banister rail. She was holding her pink dressing gown closely about her throat, as if it had been hastily thrown about her shoulders. One bare arm was visible— completely so. “I came to see Mr. Brood. Is he—” “He is busy. Come up to my room,” repeated Yvonne, somewhat imperi ously As Lydia mounted the stairs she had a fair glimpse of the other’s face. Always pallid—but of a healthy pal lor—It was now almost ghastly. Per haps Is was the light from the window that caused it, Lydia was not sure, but a queer, greenish hue overspread the lovely, smiling face. The lips were red, very red—redder than she had ever seen them. The girl suddenly re called the face she had once seen of a woman who was addicted to the drug habit. Mrs. Brood met her at the top of the stairs. She was but half-dressed. Her lovely neck and shoulders were now almost bare. Her hands were extended toward the visitor; the filmy lace gown hung loose and disre garded about her slim figure. “Come in, dear. Shall we have tea? I have been so lonely. One cannot read the books they print nowadays. Such stupid things, ai—e?” She threw an arm about the tall girl and Lydia was surprised to find that It was warm and full of a gentle strength. She felt her flesh tingle with the thrill of contact. Yes, it must have been the light from the window, for Yvonne's face was now aglow with the iridescence that was so peculiarly her own. A door closed softly on the floor above them. Mrs. Brood glanced over her shoulder and upward. Her arm tightened perceptibly about Lydia's waist. “It was Ran jab,” said the girl, and instantly was filled with amazement. She had not seen the Hindu, had not even been thinking of him, and yet she was impelled by some mysterious intelligence to give utterance to a statement in which there was convic tion, not conjecture. “Did you see him?" asked the other, looking at her sharply. “No,” admitted Lydia, still amazed. “I don’t know why I said that.” Mrs. Brood closed her boudoir door behind them. For an instant she stood staring at the knob as if expecting to see it turn— I know’, she said, “I know why you said it. Because it was Ranjab.” She shivered slightly. “I am afraid of that man, Lydia. He seems to be watching me all of the time. Day and night his eyes seem to be upon me.” “Why should he be watching you?” asked Lydia, bluntly. Yvonne did not notice the question. “Even when I am asleep in my bed, in the dead hour of night, he is look ing at me. I can feel it, though asleep. Oh, it is not a dream, for my dreams are of something or someone else— never of him. And yet he is there, looking at me. It—it is uncanny.” “An obsession,” remarked Lydia, quietly. “He never struck me as es pecially omnipresent.” "Didn’t you feel him a moment ago?” demanded Yvonne, irritably. The other hesitated, reflecting. “I suppose it must have been something like that.” They were still facing the door, standing close together. “Why do you feel that he is watching you?” “I don’t know. I just feel it, that’s all. Day and night. He can read my thoughts, Lydia, as he would read a book. Isn’t—isn’t it disgusting?” Her laugh was spiritless, obviously arti ficial. “I shouldn't object td his reading my thoughts,” said Lydia. "Ah, but you are Lydia. It’s differ ent. I have thoughts sometimes, my dear, that would not—but there! Let U3 speak of more agreeable things. Sit down here beside me. No tea? A cigarette, then. No? Do you for give me for what I said to you last night?” she asked, sitting down beside the girl on the chaise longue. “It was so absurd, Mrs. Brood, that I have scarcely given it a moment’s thought. Of course I was hurt at the time. It was so unjust to Mr. Brood. It was—” “It is like you to say that,” cried Yvonne. “You are splendid, Lydia. Will you believe me when I tell you that I love you? That I love you very dearly, very tenderly?” Lydia looked at her in some doubt and not without misgivings, "1 shoulo like to believe it,” she said, noncoin mittally. "Ah, but you doubt it. I see. Well, I do not blame you. I have given you much pain, much distress. When 1 am far away you will be glad—you will be happy. Is not that so?” "But you are coming back," said Lydia, with a frank smile, not meant to be unfriendly. Yvonne's face clouded. “Oh, yes, 1 shall come back. Why not? Is this not my home?” “You may call it your home, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia, "but are you quite sure your thoughts always abide here' I mean in the United States, o) course.” Yvonne had looked up at her quick ly. "Oh, I see. No, I shall never be an American.” . Then she abruptly changed the subject. "You have had a nice day with Frederic? You have been happy, both of you?” “Yes—very happy, Mrs. Brood," said the girl, simply. “I am glad. You must always be happy, you two. It is my greatest wish.” Lydia hesitated for a moment "Frederic asked me to be his wife— tomorrow,” she said, and her heart be gan to thump queerly. She felt that she was approaching a crisis of some sort. “Tomorrow?” fell from Yvonne’s lips. The word was drawn out as il in one long breath. Then, to Lydia’s astonishment, an extraordinary change came over the speaker. "Yes, yes, it should be—it must be tomorrow. Pool boy—poor, poor boy! You will marry yes, and go away at once, ai—e?” Het voice was almost shrill in its intensity her eyes were wide and eager and— anxious. “I— Oh, Mrs. Brood, is it for the best?” cried Lydia. “Is it the best thing for Frederic to do? I—I feared you might object. I am sure his fathei will refuse permission—” “But you love each other—that if enough. Why ask the consent of any i one? Yes, yes, it is for the best. I know—oh, you cannot realize how well I know. You must not hesitate.” The woman was trembling in her eager ness. Lydia’s astonishment gave way to perplexity. "What do you mean? Why are you so serious—so intent on this—” “Frederic has no money,” pursued Yvonne, as if she had not heard Lydia’s words. "But that must not deter you. It must not stand in the way. I shall find a way, yes, I shall find a way. I—” “Do you mean that you would pro vide for him—for us?" exclaimed j Lydia. •'There is a way, there is a way,’ said the other, fixing her eyes appeal ingly on the girl’s face, to which the flush of anger was slowly mounting "His father will not help him—il that is what you are counting upon Mrs. Brood," said the girl coldly. “I know. He will not help him no.” Lydia started. “What do you know about—what has Mr. Brood said to you?” Her heart was cold with ap : | >r i “No. I Shall Never Be an American." prehension. “Why are you going awaj next week? What has happened?” Brood’s wife was regarding hei with narrowing eyes. ’’Oh, I see now You think that my husband suspect! that Frederic is too deeply interested in his beautiful stepmother, is that not so? Poof! It has nothing to dc with it." Her eyes were sullen, ful of resentment now. She was collect ing herself. The girl’s eyes expressed the disdain that suddenly took the place of appre hension in her thoughts. A sharp re tort leaped to her lips, but she sup pressed it. “Mr. Brood does not like Frederic.’ she said instead, and could have cui tfut her tongue the instant the word! were uttered. Yvonnes eyes were glit tering with a light that she had nevet seen in them before. Afterwards she described it to herself as baleful. “So! He has spoken ill—evil—ol his son to you?” she said, almost in a monotone. "He has hated him foi years—is not that so? I am not the original cause, ai—e? It began long ago—long, long ago?” "Oh, I beg of you, Mrs. Brood—’ began Lydia, shrinking back in dis may. "You are free to speak your thoughts to me. I shall not be offended. What has he said to you about Frederic— and me?” (TO EE CONTINUED.) EARLY RIVAL OF NEW YORK Eastern Metropolis of the United States Might Have Been in Staten Island. We are reminded that New York came mighty near being on Staten Is land by the announcement that the famous Cubberly cottage, with all its furnishings, has been donated to the public by its owner. Dr. Nathaniel Britton. The structure is one of the flcest examples of the so-called '‘colonial" architecture extant, and it is in an excellent state of preserva tion. It has been satisfactorily de termined that it was built not later than 1680, and most of its furnishings antedate that year. It was in all probability a finer rural residence at the time of its completion than any on Manhattan island. Now it stands at the intersection of New Dorp lane and Cedar Grove avenue. At the time when the builders put on the lust coat of paint and told the Cubber lys to move in it was surrounded by tributary acres constituting .a splen did estate, and the Dutch arlstrocats of New Amsterdam, across the upper bay, followed ;he example of the orig inal Cubberly promptly in establish ing themselves upon the salubrious and picturesque hills of Staten Island. The Cubberly cottage was but the pioneer among many. In fact, as his torical records show, the new settle ment on Staten island grew so rap idly at that time that some people thought It might outgrow New Am sterdam. The Cubberly cottage came into the possession of the Brittons in the year 1695, when it was deeded to Nathaniel Britton, an ancestor of the owner who has given it to the public as a historical relic. The cottage, with all its contents, will be kept open to the public under the charge of the Staten Island association of Arts .and Science. % Run Away From "Nerves." No one can help feeling nervous at times in this age of rush and racket, but it is quite possible to put on the 1 brake, as it were, and not let the nerves run away with us. If people fret you, it is not neces sary to be rude to them. Try. instead, to avoid them. Don't read books that irritate you Books are plentiful, therefore put away the offending volume and choose another. If a noise at night worries you. don’t et it continue to do so. Get uj> and see to the matter and put it right. Don’t let yourself get into the habit of being bored. It is not worth while. When you feel it coming on plunge at once into some task that will take all your time and energy. It is better to run away from certain things than to let theip irritate you. Such martyr dom is usually unnecessary and bad for you all round. Handed Him One. Bill—Did you say the father of the girl he wanted to marry handed him one? Jill—He certainly did. He gave the daughter away at the altar, you know. BELOW THIS STATE APPROPRIATIONS FOR COLORADO LESS THAN NEBRASKA. GOVERNOR GATHERS FIGURES i Money Set Apart By Four Adjoining States Shows Nebraska Fared Well. Lincoln--Governor Morehead, who has been gathering a few figures on the appropriations of the five states adjoining Nebraska, deems the com parison not wholly unfavorable. So far as he has heard from four out of the five states, and in but one state, Colorado, has the total of ap propriations been less than that of Nebraska. The total Nebraska appro priations, including those for schools, was a little less than $8,000,000. Appropriations in Missouri amount ed to $11,112,000, exclusive of schools, for which that state is to spend the additional sum of $5,556,000. Iowa ap propriated $12,750,000, Kansas $0, 530,044. The Colorado legislature ap propriated $.'’,374,000, and the govern or of that state cut this figure down to $3,150,000. A per capita rating might change the comparative stand ing somewhat, however. As yet South Dakota has not been heard from by the governor. Governor Must Select Men. Creation of new offices by the last legislature has set candidates for them afire over the state, and as a result Governor Morehead has tele phone calls, letters and personal vis its, which he must sandwich in be tween attention to other business. A new district judge must be nan ed in the Ninth district, a public de fender in Douglas county and a list of candidates for supreme court com missioner must be prepared from which the high bench may make its selections. One provision of the bill sets out that 100 cases now pending in the state court shall be given to the com mission for hearing. Another pro vision allows the court to list cases with it from time to time as it dis poses of litigation. There are to be three commission ers. with a salary of $3,000 apiece. The list of possible candidates is to be prepared by Governor Morehead. It is understood that one already fa vored by the latter is former Attor ney General G. G. Martin. Nebraska Lassie Wins Honor. According to an official announce ment just made. Myrtle Mann, age 12, of Dawes county, won fourth place last season in the national competi tion of the Boys’ and Girls’ Gardening club, conducted co-operatively by the United States Department of AgrieuI ture and the extension departments of the different state colleges of ag riculture. Myrtle’s reports, filed with the state leader of boys’ and girls' clubs, at the University Farm, show ed that she made a net profit of $71.40 on a patch slightly larger than half the size of the average city lot. School Act Faulty. The bill passed by the last legis lature for state aid for consolidated rural schools teaching home eco nomics, agriculture, vocational and industrial training is rendered defec tive by a bit of legislative careless ness, it has been discovered. The measure. introduced • by Repre sentative Elmerlund, fails to provide for the appropriation in the title, al though the body of the bill provides for the appropriation out of the gen eral fund. The appropriation must be In the title. " • j Will Remember Billie Burke. Blessed ever hereafter will be the name and memory of Billie Burke the actress, among the little crippled children at the state orthopedic hos pital at Lincoln. In addition to all the attentions showered upon the children during her stay in the city, came, recently, to the institution a beautiful, shiny-new phonograph, of an expensive make, with a big as Bortment of records. Moreover. Miss Burke left a standing order with a local music house for three new rec ords each month. Lincoln School Debaters Win. Lincoln won In the Lincoln-Omaha High school debate last week, and also gained permanent possession of the Amherst alumni cup, which had been won by each school twice. The subject of the debate was. “Govern ment Ownership and Operation of Railroads.” the Lincoln team taking the affirmative. The debate was held in the high school auditorium and a targe crowd was in attendance. Will Readvertise for Bridge. At a conference between a North Platte delegation and the State Board of Irrigation, it was decided to read vertise for bids for the state aid bridge to be built across the Platte river near North Platte. The contract was originally awarded several weeks ago to the Canton Bridge Co. of Can ton, O., for a concrete bridge. The company refused to sign unless the attorney general should guarantee protection on the concrete patents This he refused to do. New Motorcycle Numbers. Secretary of State Pool has receiv ed new numbers for motorcycles and expects soon to receive number of au tomobiles. The motorcycle numbers run from 1 to 700. The owners of mo torcycle numbers may retain their old numbers, but if they do they will be obliged to use a plate as large as those used on automobiles and tt is thought no one will care to do this. The motorcycle numbers are half the size of the plates, used on automo biles. The holders of automobile num- f bers have the right to their old ones