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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 19, 1916)
i TIPPECANOE By SAMUEL McCOY (Copyright, 1916, by Bobbs-Merrill Co.) An absorbing chronicle of stir ring events that grew out of the battle of Tippecanoe in the In diana wilderness a century ago THIS is a tale about a young man who came from Eng land to the wilderness of America to kill an enemy. At tha beginning of his residence among the simple people of the frontier his heart is full of bit terness and sorrow. In the end the whole course of his life is al tered. You will enjoy reading this story of brave, strong, faith ful men and women. mMHMStw women. , > SHMMtMSMSMttM CHAPTER I. j The Wilderness. April—1811! Up the valleys of the South spring stole tremblingly from the farther South, along the river low lands of Kentucky and up the sides •f the steep, pebbly hills on the Indi ana shore. ITrst to come, like the white guidons of an army of peace, the blos soms of the wild plum flung out diaph anous draperies against the mono chromes of the soils and the dark ness of the pine woods. Then, the open spaces and around the gray cabins on the heights, the peach flushed pink in the warm kisses •*f the sun. The new grass w»s “A Fine Mamin’, Young Ma-an.’1 starred in patches by multitudes of ♦duets, the blue-eyed grass, each tiny flower as simple and as wonderful as a little child. Deep in a crevice of the limestone strata that sank to foriu the bed of tLtttle Indian creek, hidden from the warmth and light of the April morn ing. there lay a coll of what might have btjen mistaken for a rope—a coil whose every fold was thick as a man's wrist, tawny, mottled with spots of dull black, yellow-ringed. . . . I Alpng the path through the forest there came striding a tall youth, in Tagged garments, a little bundle slang at the end of a staff over his shoul der His fair skin was deeply burned by the sun and his blue eyes were veiled in anxious thought. He had pursued another man over sea and -through forest wilderness with the in dention of killing that mnn if he should overtake hlin. I Now. the young mail’s intention was blunted. Months before it hnd seemed the oue right and just thing that this other mnn should die at his hands. 'Phis other man had caused the legal murder of the youth’s father. But to take' justice into one’s own hands, even on such provocation as this, is an act unspeakably dreadful; and weeks of -meditation had succeeded only in painting it as a thing more despicable. (n the fragrant breath of the vir ginal earth he cried out In an agony of mind. A bourgeoning universe shouted aloud for joy of victory over death. Life rose by pressing her tri umphant feet on the prone shoulders of her weaker brother. Death. For the struggle between Life and Death Is actual, and Life lives by killing. Clod himself ordained the killing and pro nounced It part of his eternal Justice. But the agonizing mnn who thought of the life he hud sworn to take with his own hand—what could justify his act? His act would be accomplished not that he might live, but in that passion of the brute—revenge. The sense of blood-guiltiness to come bore down on Dnvid Larrenee witli its mnd denlng weight. Che young man reached the point where the path forded the stream and ! paused In surprise. On the farther hank were two figures—a slender young girl whose beauty made him draw In his breath sharply, and the figure of an old gentleman in black coat and knee breeches, bent over a pile of brush which he was endeavor ing to coax into fire. At the girl's exclamation the old gen tleman rose to his feet stiffly, brushing the twigs from his knees. “A’ fine marnin’, young rnn-an!" he greeted cheerily, with an ethereal fla vor of brogtse. But It was not so much the friendli ness In the old gentleman's voice that made the young man smile, as it was the smile that lighted up the eyes of the girl. Her dark hair made a silken frame about her pink cheeks and smiling lips; her eyes—sapphire blue and clear as the sky—danced witfc a smile of divine friendliness. And then, too, she crinkled her eyelids all around them. An iron image would have responded to that laughing chal VV*e vv«*) vi* "Bound for Corydon?” inquired the old gentleman affably. His undoubted years were somehow discounted by an almost elfin quickness of glance, and his hobbling gait, his whole ap pearance suggested a Solomon among cock-sparrows hopping along a-pump handle. "Bound for Corydon?” "Yes. Am I on the right trace?” “Folly the path an’ the town’s a bit of a mile ahead of ye—but if ye will pity the sorrow of a foolish old blath erskite who can’t build a bit of a fire to save his sowl, ye’ll not push on till we've got the tinder going.” And he thrust his flint and steel into the young man's" hands with an air of comical dismay. "Oh, do," said the girl. “Father’s so stupid.” The young man took the flint and steel with a laugh and knelt down to obey. He rearranged the twigs with a i careful hand, struck a spark into the tinder and nursed it for a breathless mdineiit; then a tiny flume crept up the pile of brush and the three looked at one another in triumph. “Not that we’re needin’ fire at all, at all,” said the little old gentleman, “on a day like this; but ’tis always a comfort in the woods.” "You build a fire like a woodsman,” observed the girl admiringly, "though of course you aren’t one.” He flushed, for he knew that his rags were an unusual dress for the buckskin-clad men of the forest; and the girl added quickly, “Because you aren't carrying a rifle.” "No, I’m no woodsman,” he admit ted, grateful for her tact, "but I’ve come a long distance through the woods and have had to learn a little of their ways.” "Ye've come a long way?" asked the old gentleman. “Thin ye'd best be siftin' down with us for a bit. Sure, the town will wait.” > "Oh. do!” added the girl impulsively. "Tell us about the woods. Have you seen any Indians? Father didn't want ! to come out here today for fear one would itounce on us.” She laughed a ! ripple more musical than that of the 'brook., and. tucking the skirts of her I Amazon habit beneath her. settled lier ! self on the ledge of limestone rock. "Tell us about Indians," she went on comfortably. “We came here from New (trleans and haven’t seen a single, real paint-and-feathers one yet. Ooh!” she laughed in mock terror. The fire crackled merrily up the face of the rock and a draft of its warmth swept into the crevice of the stone. The dusky thing lying within stirred pleasantly. "I've seen only peaceful Indians ori the road so far,” smiled the young mau. "I can't tell you any exciting tales.” "Don't be pestering the lad, Tol nette,” chided the old man. “I'll be bound lie’s too tired to tnlk.” The mottled rope within the crevice felt the warmth of the fire, stirred, un coiled and glided noiselessly toward the aperture, paused again. "You live in Corydou, sir?” asked the young man. “I’d like to find work there—I’m a weaver by trade.” The old gentleman put Ids head on one side in dubious reflection. "Small chance for a weaver, my lad,” he an swered. “for every cabin has a loom of its own. But ye’ll find something for—” His words froze on his lips as a tawny mottled length flowed out from the crevice, huilt itself up With a quick, sinuous twist into a coil of liv ing death. But, with a lightning quick ness. the young man had seized his oaken staff from the ground. “Don’t move, Toinette!” lie cried: and on the words the cudgel whirled above his shoulders and struck the venomous head like a thunderbolt. A long left arm swept down and plucked the girl from the spot where tin* ugly folds curled and flattened among the rocks. "Merciful -heaven!” cried the little old man weakly, and buried his face in ids hands. The girl drew a deep breath: and the young man suddenly realized that he was still straining her to his side, lie released her as though she burned his fingers; and his face crimsoned with shame. "I beg your pardon,” he said awk wardly; “I’m sorry I was so rough.” But the girl’s eyes shone like stars. “I'm not thinking of roughness,” she said tremulously. “I’m Just—thank ful.” She went over to her father and kissed him. “My boy—” began the old man, one arm around his daughter’s waist; and ended: “Oh, if we were in Ireland, where there ar-r-e no hastes like that!” The young man laughed. "They stop to rattle here, thank God!” But the little old mau waved his modesty aside. “My nume is Patrice O’Bnnnon,” he said, “and proud I’ll be to know yours, sir.” “David Larrence,” was the atMiwer. “You’ve already called ine by mine,” said the girl, “I’m Toinette.” David blushed fierily. “I—there wasn’t time—I had heard your father call you by name—” “Never mind,” laughed the girl. “I owe you my life—names don't matter now.” “You’ll honor me by being my guest, sir," went on Mr. O’Bannon. “Sure, the fairies sent ye here at this min ute.” David became conscious of his rag ged clothes. “Thank you. no,” he said, “but If you can help me to And work—” “Ho, hum !” said the little old gentle man relevantly. “Ye must find worruk!—but first tell me, have ye eaten a Hoosier midday meal yet? I thought not. We’ll go up to Con rod’s tavern and see what he can give us. before ye begin to talk about And with a last grimace at the tan gled thing that lay in the grass, he linked his arm in David’s, and bob bing ridiculously along, led him through the woods. Toinette walked on the other side. David moved in a happy dream. They reached the door of Conrod’s tavern, east of the village—a square, low house of stone, two feet thick in the walls and with the most picturesque of small-paned windows, vine-cur .tained—-Mr. O'Bannon accompanying his jerky progress with a flow of elo 'qttence on the advantages of Corydon, where, it seemed, he und his daughter had recently arrived from New Or leans. “Hurrah,” he exclaimed as they en tered the low doorway. Here's Colonel Posey; he'll find something for you to do, be sure." A gentleman with hand outstretched to David's companion came forward. “A good morning to you, Mr. O'Bau non,” he cried heartily. A fine, compelling figure of a man was Colonel Thomas Posey, as he tow ered over little Mr. OTtannon, who stood looking up at him with a side wise cock of the head. Splendidly he filled his buff-trimmed, light blue army coat, with its huge collar reach ing up to his ears. His big shoulder cape and his cocked hat, with its black und white eocknde, lay on a bench where he had tossed them. He looked the Virginia gentleman he was by birth. The little old gentleman chirped a greeting and thrust forward his rag ged charge. “This is Mr. Lurrence," he said, “la-ate of England and now come to try his fortunes in the American sta-ates. I am no herald to inquire of men's pedigrees; it suffices me if I know their virtues. Colonel Posey; and if this young man's face he no false witness, his virtues better ap parel his mind than England has ap pareled iiis body.” Colonel Posey laughed good-hu moredly. “Still quoting Sir Philip, Mr. O'Bun non? No doubt you’re right. What can we do for you, Mr. Larrence?” "Mr. O’Banuon tells me that you can perhaps give me some work to do, Colonel Posey. Is It true?” Colonel Posey smiled again at the young man’s eagerness. “Whatever Mr. O’Bannon tells you is truer than the Constitution. We'll find a place for you somewhere.” “About that store of yours. Colonel,” O'Bannon said. “Ye’re closing It up while you make your trip to Louisiana, aren't ye? Well, suppose you put this young mun in ehar-r-ge of it and let it earn a dollar or two while ye’re gone?” lie leaned forward and whis pered something in the colonel's ear. Tlie soldier nodded approvingly and threw away the secret: “Mr. O’Bannon promises to be re sponsible for you. Mr. Lurrence. Do you think you can take care of the business? It asks nothing more than ordinary shrewdness iu trading.” “But.” David cried, overwhelmed, “you know nothing about ine. Major Posey! Why—why—how can you trust a stranger with such a respon sibility?” “Oh, as for that,” the major an swered, “you will be watched like a hawk by Mr. O'Bannon. For the mat ter of that, Mr. Larronce, I think I’m a fair judge of mpn, myself; and I'll echo Mr. O'Bannon's opinion of you. at first glauce. No need to blush—we say wlmt we think, hereabouts.” David could only stammer his grati tude. “Very well, then. I'll give Mr. O'Ban non the key at once.” He drew our an enormous affair of iron and handed it smilingly to David’s'“sponsor. “And now for a Hoosier dinner,” said O'Bannon, and lie produced a Spanish dollar, which the tavern keeper took with a nod. He waved Davld^ to the long table. The rude I “Don't Move, Toinette," He Cried. dishes were heaped with roast chicken and wild duck. There were baked buffalo fish and cornbread, and there were pitchers of milk. At O’Bannon's word a bottle of Madeira was added. When David had finished he rose to tnke his departure with O’Bannon. Colonel Poeey walked with them to the door and laid his hand upon Mr. O'Bannon’s shoulder. “And now, Mr. O’Bnnnon,” he said affectionately, “I must tell you goodby, must I not?” “Yes,” said the little old gentleman. ye 7 Goodby and God bless you, my friend.” “Goodby, and good fortune!” As the departing guests went out they turned and looked back. The tall, soldierly man—one day to become gov ernor of the young Indiana territory— was still framed in the cool shadow of the doorway. He waved a courtly hand—they waved gayly in return. Little old Mr. O’Bannon hopped smil ingly to where the horses were teth ered, not seeming to notice that Toi nette had fallen a step behind and was walking at David's side. O'Bannon' and Toiuette mounted their horses, David lending a rather clumsy hand to the girl’s assistance. He had always been afraid of girls, even ordinary ones, and Toiuette O’Bannon, as a glance told, was not ordinary. David knew that there were men who would do small services for ladies with gallant grace, but, he reiiected bitterly, they were not men who had been humble weavers, who had hungered for bread, been ar raigned for rioting and seen their fa thers hanged. And so they three went along the mile of trace that led to Corydon, Da vid striding by the side of the horse that bore Toinette, full of a thousand speculations as to the mysterious wil derness into which this new turn of fortune had plunged him. Seemingly Toinette thought him a squire not to be disdained, for several times she beumed on him with liking unmistak able—but always at a time when she was quite sure he was not looking. CHAPTER II. Corydon. A short day’s march north of the broad current of the Ohio, at the point where two rapid creeks—Big Indian and Little Indian—unite, stood a clus ter of thirty or forty cabins. The logs that made the walls of the oldest of them had been growing in the virgin forest three years before. In the center of the village was a grassy square. In it a new stone house, forty feet square, its walls two and one-half feet thick, its roof still incomplete, stood in the shadow of the forest trees which had been ■Jeft standing around it. From the little settlement the prime val forest stretched away to the sajid dunes of the Great Lakes, to the hills of the Ohio, to the prairies of the Illi nois country, a vast tract of a hundred thousand square miles in extent; si lent, inhabited only by savage beast and more savage redskinned hunter; pathless, dreadful, fascinating. The settlement was Corydon: the stone house the building which was ro be the first capitol of the territory and the state hewn from the virgin woods. Louisville, with 1,600 inhabitants, 20 miles to the east; Vincennes, the Old Boat, with less than a thousand, SO miles to the northwest; other than these, no settlement of any size in all that savage empire, large as England herself. Hither came all the picturesque fig ures of the new West. First to come was the patriarch. Squire Boone, brother of I>aniel Boone, the mighty hunter of Kentucky; then Lane, the Penningtons, the Spencers. George and Spier, the popularity of the latter giving rise to the old couplet: ’Mongst all the Boones thnr's jest one Squire; Mongst all tli£_ Spencers jest one Spier. Spier Spencer' it was who opened the tavern by the half-finished court house. and enlisted the men of the country in that heroic company known as "Spencer’s Yellow Jackets.’’ Wil liam Henry Harrison, the young gover nor of the territory, had laid out his farm of S00 acres on the edge of the village, and there planted his orchard of green pippins and romanites; and hither, to Corydon, came his friend, Colonel ThomasVl’osey, proud of the title won in the war with England thirty years before, but willing to serve again as a private should a second war arise. As the O’Banuons and their new FARMER AS MODERN ATLAS Summer Fields Show an Astonishing Small Number of Toilers Doing Necessary Work. Midsummer fields on separate farms hold the material which later is to feed and clothe all the people. One sees farmers cultivating long rows of corn, sees them putting countless bun dles of grain in shock, sees them draw ing interminable loads of hay from the swath or windrow to barn and shuck; and when one looks at this very particular and painstaking labor in its separate units there is uninze ment in nefing how few men and teams are enga;»?d in accomplishing the huge work, obse?*-^ a writer in the Breeder's Gazette. ?.^ey are so few tliut in a ten-mile stretch t-i farms, viewed from the car window or the highway, they will count up an aston ishingly small total. These men and teams work early and late, under stress of weather and the drive of simultaneous ripening. These men and teams look lonely in their wide apartness, and yet they are actually accomplishing stupendous things for the comfort, for the gratifi cation, for the very existence of the human family. They produce the food that “strengthens the arms that work tlie purposes of the world.” They grow the cotton and wool which, after giv ing employment in its manufacture to incredible numbers, clothes becoming ly and in comfort school children, busy men and women and all the idle ones. They are so few in the fields in the hot days, and so huge is their burden of responsibility that the story of At las bearing the world on his shoulders aonears not a myth bat A true pic : friend entered Corydon, David caught sight of a young man, fall as himself, striding away down one of the narrow village lanes. He stiffened 'ike a dog that sees its foe. “Who is that7” he asked sharply. “That?" Toinette smiled at the back of the retreating figure. “That’s young Doctor Elliott of Louisville. He comes hero once a week on his sorrel mare.” “Oh!” exclaimed David, relieved How absurd of him to suppose that in this remote spot he should meet the one huniuc. oeing he counted an en emy! Toinette added no further word ol comment on the young doctor; for al though Elliott had been paying her court for weeks, she had not yet de elded just what she thought of him. Mr. O’Baiition drew David into Spen cer's tavern and spoke a word to the proprietor. “They will take care of you here tonight.” lie said, “and tomorrow I’ll come over and help you open up Colonel Posey’s shop. And now, young man, I wish you tt good day and good luck. Toinette and I live at the other end of the village.” From the door of the inn David watched his quaint figure and that of his daughter till they disappeared “Is This Silk Very Dear?” from view. A negro boy carrying paili of water came up to the tavern door David could not resist asking hlui the meaning of a word he had heard for the first time that day: ‘‘Boy, what is a ‘Hoosier?’ ” The dnrky set down his pails and j scratched his head in an attempt to answer with exactness. “Cap’n,” he said finully, “I’se a Vlr ginny nigger an’ I'se seen all sorts o' I white quality in ruy day; but firs’ an las' these yere cerumen wut live yere’ in Indlanny an’ goes by the name o: Hoosiers is de beatenes’ lot o' dem all; dey’s got mo' quality ldood in ’em ’n de no’th’n gemrnen, an’ dey’s got mo boss sense ’u they is in all o’ Virginny; an’ des as soon as de good Lawd git* tiahed o’ runnin’ de yarth, dey’s some one o’ dese Hoosiers des na.'helly gwine tek he job.” He was silent a moment and then added: “Mebbo ’lectioneerin’ fo’ de Throne raiglit now.” *»»*•** Colonel. Posey's little one-room store nas tlie first to be opened in the little tillage;, and over it now presided, like a tall priest of trade, the weaver, Da vid Lnrrenee. “Is this silk very dear?” Do you believe that David will meet his enemy in Corydon? Or will a little time spent among these kindly people take the murder out of his heart? (TO BE CONTINUED.) I ture of the farmer with his burdfn— ! the farmer carrying the food and clothing of the world. , To Get Rid of Marks on Wood. When wood is badly dented oi scratched it is often a problem to know how to get rid of the marks. This is quite easy. Firlt of all fold a piece of blotting paper at least four tiines; then saturate with water, final ly allowing the superfluous moisture to drip away. Now heat a flat iron until it is about the warmth required for laundry work. Place the damp blotting paper over the dept and press firmly with the iron. As soon as the paper dries examine the mark. It will then be found that the cavity lias tilled up to a surprising extent. Where the dent is a very deep a sec ond, or even a third application on tlie lines indicated might be tried. Sooner or later even serious depres sions can be drawn up. Repolishing will clear away even the slight marks that might finally remain. Making Matter* Worse. “Miss Julia is very angry with me because I kissed her last night.” “Nonsense, man; she's only pretend ing to be angry.” “No; she’s mad clear through. And yet I apologized immediately; told her I had mistaken her for her pretty young sister in the dark.” Consistency. “Gimme the megaphone.” “What for?” 1 ve joined an anti-noise movement. I'm going to get a soap box and make a speech about it.” The United States last year produced 3,868,152 short tons of sulphuric add* __im_ USING LEFT OVERS THEY CAN BE UTILIZED TO AD VANTAGE AtfD MEAN ECONOMY. How to Keep Them If They Are Not to Be Used the Same Day—Some Recipes for Use of Left-Over Bread. Of all the left-over remnants of foot! from tlie kitchen bread is the uiosl common, perhaps, anti many pieces are daily thrown away which a little thought would turn to excellent use. If the left-over pieces are not utilized the same day, nn excellent plan is to wrap them in pieces of waxed paper and store them in a stone jar. They will keep well for a week in this way. Dried Crumbs for Stuffing and Meat Frying.—Put the crusts and small pieces in a baking pan and dry iu the oven \yithout burning. They may then be put through the food chopper and stored in clean mason jars until want ed. They may be used as a basis for meat croquettes, poultry stuffing and other things. French toast may be made from the whole slices of left-over bread. It is an excellent luncheon pick-up dish ltea^ an egg and add a little milk. Di{ the slices of bread in this and fry a nice brown in hot drippings. Servt with butter, jelly or marmalade. Bread Custard Pudding.—Cut the bread in dainty shapes and butter lib erally. Make a plain custard of eggs milk and sugar. Put in baking disli ' and float the buttered bread on top Sprinkle with grated nutmeg and bake in a quick oven until brown. This is excellent. To make croutons for the various soups so much relished in summer, cut tlie bread in cubes and fry in buttei or dripping just before serving with tlie soup. Add five or six to each plate of soup. These are delicious with al most any soup. Bread Jelly for Invalids.—Scald the stale bread freed from crusts. Mash to a paste until of mushlike consistency. Add a little sugar and flavoring, mold, chill and serve with cream. Sterilized bread crumbs are especial ly valuable for the young children in the household. A jar should be kept filled with these. They may be heated when wanted and sprinkled in soft eggs, soups, milk, fruit juices and, in deed, anything eaten by very young children where fresh bread is oftet positively dangerous. Dried bread is also valuable for mix ing with various other foods for feed ing the household pets. MANY WAYS OF USING CIDEF There Is No Need of Consigning It to the Vinegar Barrel Just Because It Is Getting “Hard." When your sweet cider begins to get “hard'’ don't consign it to the vinegar barrel, but try using it in the follow ing ways: To bake apples or pears, use cider instead of water to cover half the fruit. Sweeten with brown sugar in stead of white, add a few cloves, a stick of cinnamon, a pinch of ground ginger, and the result will be a dish of deliciously flavored fruit covered with a rich, spicy lot of juice. Or use cider us the foundation of a gelatin or minute tapioca dessert in place of water. Sweeten to taste, add a hit of lemon juice, and when begin ning to set add some chopped dates : and English walnuts. Or it can be served perfectly plain and rather tart with the meat course. It seems to fit right in with a tur- j key or chicken dinner, just as much so as cranberry jelly, and is a de lightful change. English Pudding. One-half cupful chopped salt pork. : Fill cup with boiling water, let stand a few minutes to dissolve, two-thirds cupful molasses, finish filling cup with sour milk, one teaspoonful each of soda, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg, one cupful chopped raisins, three and j one-half or four cupfuls flour. Steam two hours. Sauce for Pudding.—One cupful sugar, two cupfuls boiling water, one half teaspoonful each of salt and nut meg. Thicken with two teaspoonfuls flour. Remove from stove, add a ta blespoonful of good sharp vinegar and piece of butter. Homemade Soap. Homemade hard soap that you know is sweet and clean is easily made, costs but a few cents and saves several dollars’ worth of the purchased article. Put into a crock one can of lye, pour on it a quart of water. Let cool. Add a half cupful of borax in water to dis solve, mix together a half cupful each of ammonia and kenpsene. Have five pounds of clean grease warmed in a granite pan, pour in the cold lye, then the ammonia and oil and the borax, stirring with a clean stick until all is well blended. Pour into a strong box am! in 24 hours cut in bars. Cherry Core. Half dozen apples, half pint water, one cupful canned cherries, one cupful sugar, six candied cherries. l*are the apples and remove the cores; put into a deep pan with sugar and water, co\er tightly and boil until the apples are tender. Turn often, ns the sirup will not cover the fruit. Put each ap ple into an individual serving dish, about the edges place the jelly formed l>y the sirup, and let cool. Fill the center of each apple with cherries and serve with whipped cream topped with a candied cherry. Sour Milk Spice Cake. This calls for a cupful of .sugar and a half a cupful of butte? creamed to gether. To this should be added a beaten egg, one teaspoonful of each of the following: Cinnamon, salt, nut meg, ground cloves and vanilla. Add the cup of sour milk or cream and a teaspoonful of soda dissolved in a lit tle cold water. Finally add two cup fuls of flour and a cupful of raisins tossed in a little of the flour. A little citron may be added If desired, though this is not necessary.—New York Sun. __ immimmi A New Delight With real Bayou beans, or plain. Made after the real and famous Mexi can formula. The seasoning is most piquant—a zestful tasty dish anywhere —any time. Libby, McNeilI &. Libby^ Chicago Look fot the triangle JAPAN WILL HELP CHIN\ Will Float Big Loan Chinese Finan. ciers Failed to Get in This Country. Japan Is preparing to lend $30,000, 000 to China. This is tiie result of the future of China to lloat a loan iu New York. Like ourselves, the Jap anese have made money out of the^var and are able to extend credit to other countries. This loan will strengthen Japan’s influence in Chinn, but we have no right to object. We would not help China. Those who say Japan will dominate China anil that trade will follow money are probably right. We can learn something from Japan. Just as China is within Japan’s sphere of influence so is all Latin America within our sphere of in fluence. We have no designs on our neighbors other than our desire to trade with them and to have peace in this hemisphere. Most of the Lutin American republics need money quite us much as China does. We have more available capital than any other coun try, perhaps more than all other na tions combined. The United States is the only place where sufficient money can he found at present to meet the requirements of Latin America. If we invest money we will secure trade just as we expect Japan to do in China. In stead of weeping about lost opportuni ties in the Orient let us improve our own in the Americas. No complica tions with other Great Powers about open doors and spheres of influence need be feared in this hemisphere and our exporters will find fewer difficul ties in tiie languages and trade cus toms. Losing a chance in China is a good reason for not losing others in the Americas.—New York Commercial. Meudon in Wartime. Meudon, tlie gay Meudon of trysts and moonlight promenades, has been transformed into a military camp. The station platform is crowded with uni formed soldiers of all branches; men on furlough in their suits of faded blue like dirty water, showing with pride holes torn in their coats by rifle balls, convalescents wearing the old red pantaloons, used only by those be hind the lighting line, often with one leg folded up; Zouaves, whose baggy trousers, formerly blood-red, have now changed to an earthly color; Belgians in long hrown coats, who never smile, and British Tommies spick and span as if they had just stepped from a bandbox. The women, in passing, glance at the war crosses and smile.—Mme. Ber nardini-Sjoestedt in Cartoons Maga zine. A Broad Hint. There was a pretty girl at Brighton to whom a young man was saying good-by. “Good-by,” he said. “Good-by. To morrow we shall be miles and miles apart.” The girl looked at the blue sea, and her lip curled. “Miles arid miles, eh?” she said. “Well, we’re not very close now.”— London Opinion. What Might Happen. “What would happen,” said a sum mer boarder who is always trying to entertain the company, “if an irresist ible force were to meet with an im movable body?” “I reckon, maybe,” replied Farmer Corntossel, “there won’t be nigh so many of us left to ask fool ques tions.” Adds to the Joy of Living— It isn’t alone the deliciously sweet nut-like taste of Gr&ps-Nuts that has made the food famous, though taste makes first appeal, and goes a long way. But with the zestful flavor there is in Grape-Nuts the entire nu triment of finest wheat and barley. And this includes the rich mineral elements of the grain, necessary for vigorous health—the greatest joy of life. Every table should have its daily ration of k GrapeNuts “There’s a Reason”