.
r I 1 ~Y TV TV TT' /t TV T f \ T7* An absorbinS Chronicle of stir
M f r* r* Ml . § . r-1 / V/ (f M ri ring events that grew out of the
“ ■" ^ ^ battle of Tippecanoe in the Irt- I
By SAMUEL McCOY diana wilderness a century ago 11
___ (Copyright, 1916, by Bobbs-Merrill Co.)
j Suppose that a man who hated you went to the girl you loved }
» and told her you were a thief. If she believed the unwarranted ac- 2
2 cusation enough to ask you for an explanation, would you give it? 7
J Or would you think that a girl whose faith in her lover was so weak 2
ias that didn’t deserve an explanation? How David Larrence handled $
a problem of that sort is told in this installment of “Tippecanoe.” 2
David, you’ll remember, had come all the way from England to 2
the frontier settlement of Corydon, Indiana territory, to kill an ene- 2
my. He makes friends with the Americans and falls in love with 2
2 charming ’Toinette O’Bannon. Incidentally, he discovers that Job 2
2 Cranmer is a British spy plotting with hostile Indians against the 2
2 whites. The last installment closed with Larrence at the Cranmer 2
2 home, calling on Lydia Cranmer. Her father teases them coarsely 2
2 about love-making. 2
CHAPTER VIII—Continued.
David flushed with resentment at
the man's coarseness, but he gave hin
a civil good night. He planned tc
watch the house and confront Cran
mer when Lydia was not present.
“You won’t sta- a bit longer? 1’vc
been kept overlong with the younp
aien across the river—they're a set oi
jolly dogs. You won’t stay? Good
night, my boy!”
The man was evidently laboring un
der an excitement not wholly due tc
wine; David had not taken a dozen
steps when he heard Cranmer burst
out in an exultant whisper that was
louder than he realized:
“Well, daughter, my work is done!"
“Hush!” said Lydia sharply, and
drew him within doors.
David stopped short in his tracks.
There was not a moment to lose.
Without doubt, Cranmer had finished
his work as a spy and was ready to
leave, laden with information that
would be of value to the British,
should war actually be declared.
What a iolly, ingenuous guest the
Kentuckians must have found him!
He set his jaws firmly together and
took a quick step toward the cabin.
It might not be too late. A thread of
light shone from the crack of the
heavy door.
“Mr. Cranmer!” he called.
There was the sound of a chair
moved hastily back from a table, and
the figure of Cranmer was outlined
in the candlelight.
“Well?” he asked suspiciously.
“I have forgotten a matter that
I iTished to speak to you about, sir,”
said David. His voice was without a
trace of agitation.
There was a moment's pause.
vM timer peered into the darkness.
“Well, if it’s no great matter I’ll
tist step outside again.”
He closed the door behind him and
Varne forward with hearty friendli
ness in his voice :
“What can I do for you. my lad?”
David breathed a sigh of relief. It
was time to come to action.
“I’ll trouble you for those plans,
Cranmer,” he said quietly.
The man recoiled a step and David
heard him draw in his breath sharply.
But the night hid his expression and
. he summoned a blustering;
“Plans? What plans? Young man.
»ou choose a strange hour to joke in.”
“You are well aware this is no joke,
Cranmer. I want those plans of Fort
Steuben.”
“Fort Steuben! Well, damme, if
this isn't impudence! If you've some
what to say, say it, and be done with
this foolishness.”
David took a step forward.
;. “You know well enough what I
mean. I know that you are here as
one of England's spies. You have
made notes concerning Fort Steuben.
T wnnl thorn ”
An inarticulate roar of rage burst
from Cranmer. His voice shook with
suppressed fury.
“So that’s what you've been doing,
you dirty whelp! Spying on rue while
you pretended to court my daughter!
I'll break you with my two hands, you
dog! I’ll—”
He choked with rage and hurled his
bulk at David. But, with a litheness
newborn in the wilderness. David
stepped quickly to one side and drove
his long right arm full at the Eng
lishman’s distorted face. The blow
went straight to the jaw, with the mo
mentum of a sinewy body behind it,
and the spy went down with a grunt.
In a flash David had leaped upon him,
pinioning his arms with his knees,
while he tore open the man's waist
coat and thrust his hand quickly into
his pockets. .A fat bundle of papers
rewarded his search and he rose to
his feet with an ejaculation of thank
fulness. Cranmer groaned weakly
and strove in vain to rise.
“Get up!” said David grimly. “Your
game is done for. Oca word from me,
and you hang at sunrise. But, for
your daughter’s sake, I’ll give you a
chance for your life*. Get out of
Clarksburg tonight and I’ll hold these
papers. You know where to go—your
Indian friends will find a hole for you
In the wilderness, doubtless. Go!
And may God forgive you!”
He was conscious of no feeling of
elation, but only of an unbearable re
gret that life should be so sordid; and
of a sickening sorrow for the poor girl
whose father had forced her with him
atong this shameful road. When he
had gained the tavern, he examined
the bundle of papers with a heavy
heart—damning evidence, sketches of
a dozen forts 'along the frontier, de
tailed descriptions of the garrison of
each. He folded them up carefully
and replaced them in his coat with a
sigh. At dawn he set off again for
Corydon.
But Cranmer tottered back into his
daughter’s room with the face of a
cead man. “It’s all up!” he cried
ia a ghastly whisper. “I must get
away from here tonight. There’s only
one chance to win yet—you’ll have
to stay here, my girl; IU see Scull
tonight and set him upon this Ear*
rence; and if he succeeds in getting
the plans back, you are to bring them
on to me at Detroit. God, how came he
to suspect! You—did you—no, you re
true! Goodby! Do as I bid you.
Goodby! Scull will be over soon—
he’ll take care of you. I’m glad you
are soon to be married.”
He strained the weeping girl to his
breast and hurried away. A boat
across the foaming river and a
stumble through the dark brought him
to Scull’s door. A cautious tattoo
summoned the man from his bed and
the story was told, while terror
seemed to fix its icy hands more and
more deeply in Cranmer’s throat with
every hurrying moment. Scull looked
at his white face and exulted secretly
at his collapse. A seeming contempt
for the man before whom he had so
often cringed filled his heart. “And
what do you expect me to do?" he
asked coldly.
A flash of his old truculence re
turned to Cranmer. “Do?” he whis
pered hoarsely. “There’s but one thing
for you to do. my pretty man. You
Pt/HJtfc) . |
VA LCA^Nt '
“I’ll Trouble You for Those Plans,
Cranmer."
will have to get those plans back from
that skulking rackabones. It’s your
own business how. Then give them to
I Lydia. You may think you’ve done a
j tine thing in giving up the work that
you came here to do, but I promise
you that England has a long arm.
You’ll not escape if you fail us.”
Scull shrank again from his menac
ing gesture. His abject protestations
| of faithfulness fell hastily from his
trembling lips, and the spy, with a
| growl of satisfaction, stole out again
[ into tlie dark and silent nigtit.
At Vincennes, two days later, old
“Horsehead” Gibson, the lieutenant
governor, sat writing a letter to Capt.
Billy Hargrove, who was riding miles
away in the wilderness at the heud of
a dozen forest rangers. The old man
wrote slowly, with a hand more used
to a rifle than a pen. The letter, when
he had finished it, ran:
Vincennes, Indiana Territory,
July 29, 18U. ”
For about ten days a man bas been
around Fort Steuben who had such good
papers of recommendation that be was
permitted to go where he pleased and was
all through the fort and barracks. He
has disappeared and took with him a
very fine saddle horse which belonged to
Col. Luke Decker, together with a fine
saddle and a pair of heavy pistols in the
holsters. It was thought he went toward
the Maumee river and may come near
some of your stations. There is no doubt
he Is a British spy and it is very desir
able to capture him. A description of
him given by those with whom he was is:
A heavy man, five feet ten Indies in
neight: would weigh about one hundred
and eighty pounds: dark hair, black eyes,
and he wore a fine velvet vest and a dark
blue long-tailed coat, both ornamented
with silver buttons. A pair of fine white
dressed buckskin knee breeches with sil
ver buckles at his knee; a pair of fine
leather shoes with silver buckles; a swiv
eled hat. made out of beaver skin. Have
your men keep a good lookout for him.
JOHN GIBSON.
Acting Governor.
By the hand of a friendly Delaware In
dian. Return him in two days with any
thing that you wish to say.
CHAPTER IX.
Sacrifice.
The tall young physician from Louis
ville rode his sorrel mare into Corydon
next day and drew rein at Patrice
O’Bannon’s door.
l'oinette, In the early morning sun
shine, was rapturous bird-song made
into woman, a flower dew-bright, a
carol, an embodiment of earth’s re
joicing. She welcomed Elliott with a
smile that made him wonder, with a
ready vanity, if he had not been mis
taken in the rebuff she had once ad
ministered. If he had pressed her
more hardily—did she really love Lar
rence? Ah, if he could only drive the
man out of Corydon 1 The black beast
of his jealous hatred rode on his back
and he went straight to his purpose:
“I have sad news for you, Toinette.”
The smile faded from-her face and
she looked at him with a slow alarm
growing in her eyes.
‘‘It is very hard for me to tell you
It is about Larreace.”
“David 1” The uarne was wrnuf
from her like a gasp.
“I cannot believe the truth myself
You remember that I told you once
that I suspected Larreace of being it
league with the Englishman, Cranmer'
! I have learned the certain truth since
then—Cranmer has tied and Larrencc
is left to finish his work—the work ol
a spy 1”
“Who says this?”
“Captain Bullitt at Louisville told
me. It will be common talk in auothei
day. I do not know what to do. 1
have not slept all night. Only one
thing has been clear to me—my love
for you.”
“What part has that in this?” she
asked proudly. '
“Everything. It is because I love
you that I have come to you now. I—
you—told me once that I could uol
hope ever to win you. I tried to turn
you against the man I feared. But
I know notv that my love for you is
stronger than mere desire. I want
you to be happy, even though I suffer,
And so I have come to tell you first of
all. No one here knows that Larrencc
is in England’s service.- Let it be
known, and his life is forfeited, i
have come to give you the greatest
gift that Is in my power. I give you
the life of this man. Warn him, and
there is yet time for him to escape.
I shall be happy if you are happy.
Only remember that I loved you, Toi
nette!’’
The halting sentences seemed to
come from the depths of his soul. He
finished and stood before her humbly,
his head bowed.
“God bless you,” she said very
softly.
I .-'lie spiueu me precious ointment ot
her innocent faith in his words upon
the dross of his heart. He raised his
head and thanked her mutely, while
his pulses leaped with exultation. She
had believed him! But would she
warn Larrence? He scarcely dared to
hope as he whispered:
“If you will warn him ... at
midnight my mare will be at his door,
ready to ride.”
But the girl answered in a voice that
seemed to come from beyond the
grave, so full of a soul’s agony it was:
“There will be 110 need ... I
shall give him up. . . . ob. David,
David, David !”
He turned to hide tli# mocking
smile that lighted up his face.
I lie girl’s face had grown pale as
the white rose she held in her hand.
But she forced herself to go on—un
hesitatingly, but in a voice from which
all life had fled, so weighted with un
utterable anguish it was:
“You had better inform Judge
Boone at once.”
“You don’t understand, Toinette. I
shall not raise a finger against Lar
rence. He shall never say I am re
sponsible for his exposure. You alone
in Corydon know his secret. It is for
you to decide.”
“Go.” she said quietly, “I will do my
duty.”
"Have I done mine, Toinette? Do
you forgive me?”
“Y’es, you have done well,” she an
swered mechanically.
“I may see you again? Oh, Toi
nette, let me still hope!”
“I cannot answer now. But—” her
throat seemed to choke her and she
was unable to finish. But through the
young doctor’s mind there flashed the
belief that he would yet make her his.
She would fifrget Larrence—only let
time heal the wound! He raised her
hand to his lips, flung himself upon
the red mare and was gone.
*******
To Toinette the next minutes were
an unreal procession in which a girl
named Antoinette O'Bannon moved
strangely upon her task, dry-eyed,
steady-voiced. She saw this girl go
down the lane to the tavern, where
Ike Blackford sat deep in a book of
law; heard her ask him to go with her
to David’s store; saw him bow with
unquestioning courtesy; saw them
cross the courthouse square and enter
the little storeroom, just then empty
of customers; saw David advance
toward them gravely, with the proud
dignity he had worn since the day she
had refused his love. She heard a
voice speaking—was it her own?
“I have brought Mr. Blackford to
be a witness between us.”
The two young men looked at the
girl in silent wonder. She swept on
in the cold torrent of her resolution,
checking their unspoken question
with uplifted hand:
“We have known you but a little
while, Mr. Larrenee. You have made
your home among us; we have taken
you Into our friendship. You have pre
tended to become an American; we
have trusted you. befriended you, be
lieved in you. And you have repaid
us! The coiled snake from which you
saved me was less vile! Oh, I do not
forget what you did! It is that which
makes what you have done all the
more terrible. I owe you my life. You
might have had it, if you had chosen.
But you have chosen instead the lives
of all these people in the wilderness—
these settlers, these men who have
never harmed you. these women, these
little children. To betray them, who
have only loved you, who have been
your friends! To give them into the
hands of England and to the knives
of the Indians!”
Her voice broke. At her first words
Blackford’s face had taken on an ex
pression of amazement, which grew
deeper and deeper as he listened and
glanced from one to the other of his
two friends. Now, as her voice fal
tered, his astonishment broke out:
“Toinette, in heaven’s name, what Is
the matter?”
She answered wearily, listlessly, her
voice sinking to a whisper, so that
she seemed like an exhausted bird
that is, scarcely able to skim above
the waves of the sea:
“He has been here as a British spy I”
Blackford started, then laughed in
credulously.
“Toinette. you're joking!”
But she buried her face in her hands
and spoke through sobs that shook
her from head to foot.
“Oh, if it were not true!
Ask him. . .
Blackford turned to David. His
friend had taken a step backward at
Toinette’s first rush of reproach and
now leaned against the low counter,
treacling, pale as one who has re
ceived a mortal wound. The shock
of her accusation coming on the heels
of tilt1 very moment when he hud
•isked his life to confront Cranmer,
stunned him.
Only his high, indignant pride rose
against the sorry riddle—a stubborn
pride which hade hint listen to her
wild charge in silence, holding himself
in his angry conceit above the violence
of contradicting her, above stooping
to drag their love in the dust of quar
rel. Blackford, striving to pierce be
neath the mask of that white, tense
face and the inscrutable eyes, cried
out in alarm at David’s silent accept
ance of her words.
“It's not true, is it, David? My
God, it can't be true!”
David was silent.
Blackford tried to laugh off his own
alarm:
"You twd are playing some silly joke
on me, of course. All right—I’ll own
you gulled me. Satisfied, Toinette?”
Toinette threw buck her head proud
ly. The blue eyes that had so often
danced with merriment were blazing
sapphires.
“Search him, Mr. Blackford.” her
voice rang out. "I do not doubt hut
you will find evidence enough to sat
isfy you!”
Ike's eyes looked into those of his
friend with a passion of pleading for
denial. But David’s voice answered
evenly, coldly:
“There is no need to search. I pre
sume that these papers are the ones
which Miss O’Bannon wishes.”
And with steady fingers he unfas
tened his coat and waistcoat, and,
while Blackford gazed in horror, slow
ly drew out the packet of papers he
had wrested from Cranmer. He put
them in Ike’s hands and bowed to Toi
nette with a touch of ironic courtesy.
“You will find them all there,” he
said.
A single glance made Blackford real
ize their meaning.
“Oh, David. David!” he cried.
A thousand voices, the confusei
murmur of a mighty throng, seemei
ringing in Toinette’s brain, and sli<
fought against a sickening giddiness
that made the walls whirl around her
“That is enough. Mr. Blackford?’
she asked weakly; and on totterin;
knees she turned and left tlie twi
men alone.
“Surely you can explain this, Davy!’
cried Ike; his faith in his friend clung
to him in stubborn defiance of the doc
uments’ mute accusation.
“Do you think it necessary to ex
plain?” said David harshly. The anget
which lie had withheld from Toinetti
had mounted slowly until now his iron
will had reached a white heat of furi
ous resentment. “By God. I explain
to no man!”
Ike looked l.im straight in the eyes
“No man on earth can use that tom
to me,” he said quietly, “—except
you. David, old man.”
He laid his hand gently on his
friend's shoulder and the angry light
in David's eyes was suddenly quenched.
“It isn’t true,” he said, and was si
lent once again.
“That's tile only explanation you
and I need. David.” Ike answered with
a grave smile; and David crushed his
hand in a mighty grip.
“Ike, you understand! You believe
in me!” he cried in a voice that
showed how cruel the strain upon his
nervous pride had been; and the two
young men smiled straight into each
other's eyes.
David had meant to keep his own
counsel, but now the burden of his
heart tloodeil over at Ike’s trust in
him. He told of what he had learned
concerning Cranmer; told how lie had
come into possession of the secret
agent’s maps and documents. “I had
already sent word to Vincennes to
> m
j>«ALT0^ JK
V7M.C-WT'«Yfc~ r
Slowly He Drew Out the Packet of
Papers He Had Wrested From
Cranmer.
search for Cramuer,” he said, “and I
meant to take these papers there at
the first opportunity. How Toinette
guessed that I had them, I cannot un
derstand. But, by heaven, Blackford,
I can’t explain to her! Don’t you un
derstand? I wanted her love. I
thought she had given it to me. But
If she doubts me, then—”
His voice faltered again.
“She has worried herself over some
rumor—poor Toinette, she’s strung to
the breaking-point,” said Bte gently.
“I uaii! you to do something for sue,
Ike. replied David, unheeding the ex
cuse. “I cannot stay In Oorydou after
this. 1 cannot be indebted to Mr.
O’Bn niton any longer. I must go.”
‘W ou know best. Davy. It’s not my
business. Jiut where?”
“Vincennes, I suppose. I may as
well stay on there, ,after I have de
livered this evidence to General Gib
son. It doesn’t make any difference.
But I want you to see Mr. O'Bannon
and turn my accounts over to him.
Will yon do this for me, Ike?”
“Willingly. Davy. But, oh. I’ll hate
to give you tip!"
"V oti’re tlie best friend I ever had.
So* I shall have to lose you. as I have
lost everyone 1 ever loved.” David
smiled bitterly.
“Davy, don't go! You'll win yet*
She can’t hold to this silly mistake.
Why, I'll explain things to her! Go
back, you sore-headed old bear, and—”
But David checked him.
“I shall never enter that house. And
I forbid your speaking to her on this
subject. Do not speak of tier again.”
His tone was unyielding, final; and
grieving in silent sympathy for his
friend's shuttered hopes, Ike helped
him close up the meager affairs of the
little store and hade him good by. . . .
To Ike remained no question of Da
vid's honor; bur tin- poison of Elliott’s
words had found an abiding hold in
the girl’s heart. Toinette had reached
her father's house she knew not how.
Site gained the harbor of her own
chamber, closed the door, and sank
upon her bed in a paroxysm of grief.
Site had saved the frontier from the
traitor, she thought; but she had
broken her own heart.
*••*«**
David’s back was toward Corydon
and itll his hopes. His face was toward
tlie north. The trace through the for
est stretched away toward Vincennes
and lie marched along resolutely.
There he handed over to the territo
rial officers the plans that he had
taken from Cranmer; had from them
their blunt thanks, and found employ
ment in the ancient trading house of
the Spaniard, Vigo.
; How soon do you think David »
j j will forget 'Toinette and become ?
i J smitten with some pretty French $
J lass in Vincennes? J
}___l
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
HIDE THEIR REAL FAVORITES
Claim Made That Few Literary Men
Tell the Truth When Asked a
Leading Question.
Now and again men of letters and
other persons more or less in the pub
lic eye are requested to put them
selves to the question and to write
out a list of their favorite characters
in fiction. Sometimes they are bidden
to stand and deliver the names ol
; stalwart heroes, and sometimes they
| are desired to lisp lovingly a list oi
j love’s heroines.
And as these men of letters and ofh
j or persons more or less in the publi<
| eye are human, after all. and therefore
! hypocrites, they are likely to go on the
j stand with no intention of telling fhe
! whole truth, says Scribner’s Magazine
; Their secret delight may be in the
j mysterious vengeances of Nick of the
Woods; yet this is what they would
never dare confess, so they get out ?
i search warrant and they take up f
j collection of their thoughts in ordei
to produce us their first choice Achil
les or Ulysses, Gargnntua or Marius
the Epicurean.
They are equally lacking in frank
ness where they volunteer to uarue i
bevy of heroines. They may make s
bluff of indifference to beauty by put
ting in Jane Eyre; but no one of then
would be bold enough to acknowiedgi
his sneaking fondness for Becky Sharp
that most fascinating villaiaess.
Thackeray tried to make us disllkt
Mrs. I(awilon Crawley, thereby incur
ing the reproach of Taine—to the ef
feet that her creator did not lov<
Becky as Balzac loved Mine. Marneffe
Tet, try as hard as he could, Thaek
eray failed to arouse in the nveragf
sensual man any detestation for tlx
impersonator of Clytemnestrn at tlx
Gaunt House theatricals. In fact, i!
the average sensual man had his
choice, he would rather take in to din
ner Becky than the blameless Amelia
beloved by the long-suffering Majoi
Dobbin.
Rich Indian Chief Street Cleaner.
Officials of the Trenton street d
partmeut today discovered that they
had among their employees a full
blooded Indian chief, Justin Wheel
Head, who is the owner of a large res
ervatlou and a copper mine in Arizona
His case is made especially extraor
dinary by reason of the fact that Head
although wealthy, is satisfied with his
position as a street cleaner.
Head was born in Near, Cal. Ht
came east when a child to attend tht
Indian Industrial school at Carlisle
Pa., and upon completing his educa
tion returned to the West. He bought
a claim near Gerome, Ariz., and
worked at copper smelting for a time
About five years ago he came east
and has since been employed in indus
trial plants and on farms.—Trenton
(N. .1.) correspondence Philadelphia
Record.
Yes, Indeed.
“Is your son fond of academic pur
suits?”
“I guess so. He’s a pretty regulai
attendant at the billiard and bowling
academy.”
Certainly Not.
Bill—According to a court ruling the
National Guardsmen In the field need
not pay alimony.
Jill—Of course. Why should he be
obliged to fight in two places at oncel
1 m°st P^Ple, and which follow one on the 8
LOUGHS pther, in the order named, until the last one 1
° is spread through the system, leading to t
Patafvk many evils. But their course can be checked. I
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World's largest manufacturers of Hoofing and Building Papers
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Carpenter Paper Company, Omaha, Neb.
——IIIIIIH Bill. I WIMMM . .w
KNEW WHAT HE WOULD DO
Pretty Schoolteacher Evidently Had
Inspired Affection in Heart
of Boy Pupil.
A charming schoolteacher whose
smile brings happiness to everyone and
who, moreover, has that greatest
blessing, a sense of humor, tells this
on herself.
She teaches what is known by
so nib as a “subnormal” school (which
very often is more normal than “sub")
and the other morning several of her
pupils were gathered around her read
ing a very interesting (?) story, such
as is printed in school readers, and
one sentence ran, “The little Jap
anese girl greeted them warmly, etc.”
“What is meant by ‘greet?’ ” asked
the teacher, who by the way was
showing off her pupils and the method
of teaching them to an interested
young man who had been brought in
by the principal to watch her labors.
There was a great deal of brow
puckering and the word “greet” failed
to register on any brain. Finally she
said, “If I were to come into the room
where you were, what would you do?”
There was a second silence and puz
zled looks and then (from a tall boy
of sixteen) : “I’d hug you.”
The visitor, with his handkerchief
to his mouth, sped from the room, and
his shouts of laughter could he heard
a block, while the teacher, with cheeks
covered with blushes, carefully ex
plained “greet” as it was meant in the
school reader.—Columbus Dispatch.
Not the Simple Life.
Little Dorothy had acquired a fixed
habit of eating Sunday dinner with her
two old and beloved friends, the
Browns, who lived just across the
street. Coming home she found her
own family seated at their table en
joying a substantial but plain dinner.
A slight wave of contempt crossed her
face.
“Why, what did you have for din
ner?” her mother asked.
“Baked chicken, rice, hot biscuits,
mashed potatoes, candied sweet pota
toes, cranberries, plum jelly and other
delinquencies,” loftily asserted the lit
tle maid.—The Christian Herald.
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Do its Duty
I Nine times in ten when the liver i!
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CARTER’S LITTLE
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FLORISTS
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1415 FABSAM 8T„ OMAHA.SKHBASKA
\XJ A TWTT1TTX *™T reader to
ww sals JL Ml* send ns the names
_. . . w of persons who are
using drink or drugs to excess, so that we can mall
them our free booklet. All name lists will be paid
for In proportion to the business they draw. -What
greater achievement can there be than the sav
mg of a m* n who cannot save himself? All
correspondeT.ee strictly confidential. Address
>KAL 1NS1ITUTK, 21 Benton St., Connell
Blnffs, la., or address JL A. UAI, Manager.
ANY INDUSTRIOUS NAN
devote his time to good advantage selling low
priced tires. The Cut-Rate Tire business is a mone*
maker. 30x3 non-skid casings, 16.25. Other sixes In
proportion. Small capital required. For full partic
olars write B. r. liia, ism Mnn*«y, suw tuhk utt
QMVCMT© Wataon E.CoIeroan.Wasb
Pfl I til I A Books free liich
■ ■ W est references. Best results.
“ROUSH on RAn^u^Jo^M^
GalfcU».R.»^TC..J>^tW-l.;»S.Dwb.i»St.ak««.
Y. M. C. A. EXTENDS ITS WORK
War Has Enabled Organization to
Gain a Foothold in Both Austria
and Russia.
The Y. M. C. A. is one of the big
gest and most efficient religious under
takings in the world. So practical is
the nature of its work, and so care
fully are its finances administered by
competent business men that it is eas
ier to raise money for Y. M. C. A.
than for any other religious work.
Plans for its world-wide activities next
year call for the expenditure of $4,500,
000. The war has enlarged its Euro
IH'an field, and ,?2,000,000 of the budget
will be spent there. From Switzerland
to central Russia the association Is
now maintaining 250 graded schools
and colleges which the instructors as
well as students are prisoners of war.
The total enrollment approximates
3.2,.<1,000 men. For the first time in
its history the Y. M. C. A. has gained
a foothold in Austria and Russia.
There is no other religious organiza
tion that could have so promptly and
so efficiently taken up the opportuni
ties for service offered by the Euro
pean war, ministering to Jews, Catho
lics and Protestants, all on equal foot
ing. Along the Texas border where
American troops have been stationed,
the Y. M. C. A. has founded stations,
and nearly 40 schools in which Span
ish is the most popular course. Half
a million dollars has been laid out for
the work in Texas, and a million for
the industrial department in various
railroad centers throughout the coun
try.—Leslie’s.