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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 4, 1917)
Cfie^ed Mb«ri— Circle Ofc AUTHOR OF “THE FIGHTER” “CALEB CON OVER” “SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE” ETC. NOVELIZED FROM PATHE PHOTO PLAY OF THE SAME NAME BY WILL M. RITCHEY. ■COWUCHT 1*13. »V AlURT fAYKJN ItHMlNkJ VYNOPSIS. ■’nn* J.-3" Borden, who derives his guo'.od t'hr.e from an angry led birth mark «n the back of bis right hand, is about to be released from prison after •rr. mg hi* third term It is a matter of haatury t!*l one member of every ge.nera tkn of ft*e Burden family has been brand ed eilli tie lied Circle birthmark and that member lias always been a criminal. Jim and hi* wayward son. Ted Herd. a. are the oetiy known living representatives of the Borden kin. Max laaar. a deteitite. la dna.Usd to keep aa eye on "Cirri.- Jim " June Travis and her mother, n.errtiers of the wealthy sot who are interested in the refer n. of r a-convicts, meet Borden as he is released "Circle Jim'- catch- s ids sort ta The act of Mealing. Realising that his bmllr ts a menace to society, he inters the bedro.tr*. where Ted is sl.ep.ng and twm* oa the ris. Meanwhile. Umar chances span an underground passage ■hcoi “Cirri* Jim" has tuk refuge at in a fight. Jim is killed "The last of tb* Borden* sad the enl of the R-d Circle." s*y» Lamar But the next day he is as tounded by the sight of a woman's hand nuta te a curtained automobile, showing the Red Cirri* on the white fl 'sh ! inar ■rrfbbtws down tb* number on the license SECOND INSTALLMENT ‘•PITY THE POORr A fox. living in a forest full of rab bits. is likely to grow fat George Grant dwelt in a community of human rabbits, men who needed money and ■added it so badly that they were ready to pay any price to get it. Grant did sot grow fat cm their needs. But his hack account did. He was the city's most prosperous loan broker, which meant he was al so the city's most heartless loan shark His offices were forever crowd ed with needy clients His big desk was full of tabulated pigeonholes. And every pigeonhole was stacked with a pit«ows array of promissory notes, of mortgages of sight drafts, and similar sorry documents. One day —it was the same that Max 14M ri..- m i Bl B!l> Bvruaf glBJilT Ui the R'd Circle on a woman'* white hand, aa a closed automobile whizzed past him—George Grant got up from this famous desk in his private office, stretched his lean arms lazily, and went into the adjoining room where stood his capacious steel vault. Entering the vault and switching on the electric light, he began to search throsgh the tier* of compartments along the rear wall. The paper he wanted was not easy to lied, and his search continued tor several minutes. At last, he discovered what he •ought, consulting the document, he made one or two notes from it on the hack of an envelope then switched off the light and turned to leave the vault. But. instead of the sunshine from the od.ee beyond, he faced black dark ness. The vault door had been shut. So silentiy had it closed that, en grossed in his search, he had not ob served it was no longer open. Grant pushed against the steel door. It did not yield to the pressure It had keen shut tight. Grant drew in a deep breath and Shouted at the top of his lungs. The vault resounded deafeningly to his bel low Bat the thick walls absorbed the Turc.ng back into the vault and •witching on the light once more, be pulled out a steel casbbox from its compartment and. using it as a bludg eon. began to hammer with desperate force on the unyielding door, punctu sting his blows with shouts for help. After an interminable time, a clerk —John Baals by name—who chanced to pass through the adjoining room. -i The Vriled Woman. :ione to the vault, beard a muffled tep ping aad paused to Investigate. He called the cashier, who alone of the employees, knew the vault's combi nation. The whole office force gath ered inquisitively around the cashier ss he unlocked and threw open the Soar Oat reeled Grant. "Wh# did that?" he sputtered. Uourseiy. "What fool shut that door on hm? Speak up. or I’ll Are the whole worth leas bunch. Abo did it?" There was a confused mumbling Iroa the scared employees. Grant's mtilke eyes searched every face He mad there nothing but biank bewilder ment dtli! *bs>v t» the knees from bis scare, he slumped into his desk chair. Hut, suddenly, as if the chair were up holstered with hornet-stings, he leaped to his feet again, with a yell that brought his employees in the outer offices crowding wonderingly to the door. Papers were scattered in every di rection; and drawers and pigeonholes w “re open—and emptyFeverishly, Grant looked from pigeonhole to pig eonhole. Every last one of them had been ransacked; and every document had been stolen from them! “Cleaned out!" croaked Grant, daz edly. "Robbed! I've—I’ve been robbed!” "Which of you has been in this room In the last half hour?” he asked, as unconcernedly as he could force his dry throat to voice the query. For a moment no one answered. Then Saals timidly volunteered: "I was in here. sir. about twenty minutes ago. Maybe twenty-five min utes or—” What in blazes were you doing in here?" "I just stepped inside the door, sir." quavered Saals. to show in the lady." The lady?" snapped Grant, “What lady?” Why, why, the lady who had the appointment with you, sir. She said she'd met you in the hall and you'd told her to wait in your own office. She—" "I haven't met any woman in the hall.' denied Grant, "and 1 didn’t tell anyone to wait here for me. What was her name?” She—she didn't say. sir. I sup posed—" “Young or old?" demanded Grant. “1—I don't know, sir. She—" "You wall-eyed idiot!" roared Grant, d' ye mean to tell me you haven't sense enough to know whether a wom an is young or old?” "Not when she's all swathed up in a heavy black veil, like that lady, sir,” answered Saals. "and with a big, loose, black coat that hides her fig ure." “I seen her. Mr. Gran*." shrilled the office boy. "1 didn't see her come in. Hut I seen her go out. 'Bout five min utes ago. it was. She had a bunch of papers she was carryin'.” Grant waited to hear no more. Snatching his hat, he sprinted for the street. He had left his automobile at the curb in front of his office. Half way across the pavement Grant halted, mouth ajar. The car was not there. Neither was the chauffeur. George Grant turned in rage upon the building s special policeman who was standing in front of the entrance. ' Blake!" he demanded, “where in blazes is my car? I told Garvice to stay here till I came out-. Did you move him on?" "Me?" said the policeman. “No, indeed. Someone else did, though. Bout five minutes back. A woman—” “A woman?” "In a long black coat and a black veil.'* He summoned a passing taxi and tumbled aboard. "Police headquarters!” he com manded. Chief of Police Allen was always glad to Bee his former subordinate. Max Umar. For a decade the two had been close friends. So it was with a nod of real welcome and a jolly word of greeting that he hailed Max. as the latter came excitedly into his office at about the time George Grant was boarding the taxicab. “What's up. Max?" asked the chief, noting his friend's unwonted haste and perturbation. "Everything's up." put in Lamar. ' The Red Circle, among other things.” "The Red Circle?" echoed Allen. "Why, man. the Red Circle's wiped off the books, for keeps.” “Not ‘is.’ It ‘was.' It's back again.” “What are you talking about? ‘Cir cle’ Jim Borden’s dead. So is his son. Who else is left?’’ i “A woman.” ’A woman? What woman?” *‘I don't know.” “Jim left no daughter. His wife died, years ago. You're dreaming. You’ve worked on this ‘l|ed Circle’ game so long, you’re daffy over it.” "Am I?’’ retorted Lamar. Ten min utes ago 1 saw the Red Circle. Saw it as plain as I see you. A woman was sitting in a limousine. Her right hand was rest.ug on the window ledge. And she'd taken off her glove. There, on the back of her hand was the Red Circle. Before I could look any closer the car had speeded up and chugged out of sight. I took its number, just as it disappeared in a little hurricane of gasoline smoke and yellow dust. Let me look over your state auto license numbers.” “Here you are,” said Allen, produc ing the book. Unceremoniously a man pushed his way past the doorkeeper and into the hallowed room of the chief pf police. "Chief!” burst out Grant, without so much as returning the other's salu tation. “Vva been robbed! While I was in my vault just now, the door was shut on me and a lot of notes of people who owe me money were stolen out of my desk. “My clerk says he saw a veiled wom an go into my office. She was seen coming out again with a handful of documents bound up in a rubber band. And when I went down to my car,” he continued in mounting excitement, ‘‘she'd stolen that, too. And my chauf feur.” "What, was the number?” asked the chief, taking out a pencil and draw ing a scratch-pad toward him. "The number of my car? It was 126.69-4.” "The deuce it was!” cried Lamar, dropping the licence book and strid ing forward. Lamar produced a card and handed it to Chief Allen. "That's the number I jotted down,” he said. “The number of the car with the Red Circle woman in it.” “126,694!” read the chief. "What’s that? What’s that?” de manded Grant eagerly. Brusquely he snatched the card from the chief. It slipped from his awk ward fingers as he grasped it, and fell j to the floor beneath the window sill. Grant stooped to pick it up. As he ' rose, his gaze fell on the busy street Just outside, with its hurrying traf fic on sidewalk and asphalt. At the same moment a big automobile wrig gled out of a vehicle-jam and flashed past the window. Grant gave one in credulous look, then bawled: "There's my car! There it is, now! See?” "Come on!" exclaimed the chief as he bolted from the room with I-amar ! and Grant at his heels. At the outer entrance of police head quarters a motor-cycle policeman was dismounting. "Follow that car'" ordered the chief. ! "That limousine there. The number's 126.694. Get i;' ” In the alley at the side of police Leadquarters a depart mental automobile was awaiting. The chief gave a swift command to its drowsing chauffeur, then jumped into the tonneau. Lamar and Grant piling in after him. Some time later, they had come to a jarring standstill alongside the au tomobile they sought. It was stand she slipped out of the shapelessly en veloping black coat. The coat was lined with white satin. The woman's dress also was snow white. With quick skill, she proceeded to fold the coat inside out, in such way that no portion of the black was visible. Then she draped it carelessly over her white-sleeved arm. Raising both hands to her head, she undid the thick black veil, took it off, rolled it into a ball and tossed it into the bushes. A black-clad woman, shrouded in an impenetrable veil, had entered the thicket Less than a minute later, a girl in white dress and white toque and carrying on her arm a white wrap, emerged upon the farther path, and sauntered in leisurely fashion toward the park's opposite entrance. Once, she glanced nervously at the back of her right hand. But at once her frown of apprehension cleared away. The Red Circle had again be come invisible. Lamar, hastening along the path, with Grant and the chief, saw a beau tiful girl, all in white, coming toward him around a bend in the walk. At a glance he recognized her. ‘ Miss Travis!" he exclaimed; clasp ing the white hand she held out to him. "This is good luck! I didn't know this park was a favorite walk of yours.” "Oh. but it is!” laughed June, “I love it It's so quiet and pretty. But I didn't expect to find a busy detective wandering dreamily about in it. 1 thought detectives were always—” "Crime specialist, please. Miss Tra vis." interrupted Lamar. "That is. if you don't mind. If yon knew how I hate that word, ‘detective— She become aware of his compan ions. who stood a pace or two distant, fuming at the delay. "1 won’t detain you. Mr. Crime Spe cialist." she said, gayly; adding, as she moved away: "But. don't forget, you promised to call and tell me about your work." "Did you suppose I could forget it?" he made answer. "And—may I call tomorrow afternoon? Are you going to be at home?" "Why. yes. Please come then. Good-by.” The Office Force Crowded Around While the Cashier Unlocked the Vault. ing near the entrance of a small park. The chauffeur was in his seat, uncon cerned. as though in front of his own employer's door. Lamar and the chief tumbled out of their car before it had fairly stopped; and they ran at top speed toward the captured limousine. The tonneau of the limousine was empty! Grant was dancing in fury and shak ing his fist at his mildly surprised chauffeur. “What d’ye mean by it?" he shrieked. “What'n blazes d'ye mean by it, Garvice?” The chauffeur had been fumbling in his pocket. Now he produced a card, and sullenly handed it to his employ er. “There's your own orders,” he growled. Lamar, glancing over Grant's shoul der, saw the card was George Grant's own; and that on it, above the name, was scrawled in pencil; O. K. Take bearer where she wishes. “Well I'll be—I’ll be—” sputtered the bewildered Grant. ‘‘Where is she? What became of her?” demanded Lamar. "Which way did she go?” persisted Lamar. ‘Down that path to the left. Funny business. I call it, to—” Lamar bad already started in the direction the chauffeur pointed out; and the chief and Grant ranged along side of him as he strode along. “We'll look down this path to the end,” suggested the chief, “And then w'e'll separate and quarter the whole park for her. She may have left the park at the far side.” But the veiled woman in black had not left the park. She had merely left the park path and had crept into the shrubbery. She sped along like a black wraith; noiseless, furtive, uncanny. Once she raised her right hand to part some bushes that barred her way. The hand was small, white, infinitely grace ful in contour. But on its back throbbed an angry crimson scar; out lined like an irregular ring. Through the high bushes she crept; and into a tiny glade hemmed in by shrubbery. There she halted. Daftly When June reached her own home, her mother and Mary (her old nurse) were on the veranda. She hurried past them with scarce a word and went straight to her own room. There, from the front of her dress, she drew out a sheaf of papers fastened with a rubber band. The uppermost paper of the package was an official form, filled in with ink. It read: June 12, 1915. Seven days from date, or June 19, I promise to pay George Grant ten dollars ($10), as first installment on my loan of one hundred dollars ($100). plus interest at the rate of 10 per cent a week. Total payment dpe, $20. (Signed) John L. Peterson. June Travis' fingers rifled the sheaf. Most of the papers were of muc-h the same nature as was the first, and for varying sums, at exorbitant interest. Each document was mute witness to a tale of poverty and of the greedy advantage Grant had taken of such poverty. Gathering up the papers, June went into her sitting rcom, placed a chair in front of a typewriter and began' to tap away at the keys. For a fttll hour she wrote—a bare half-dozen lines on each sheet—addressing an envelope for each. Without waiting to put on her hat she ran downstairs and out ot the bouse by a rear door, to a nearby mail-box. In this she posted her stack of letters, and made her way back to her sitting room, unnoticed. After which, she once more picked up the documents stolen from George Grant’s desk; crumpled them into a ball; set a match to them; held them until they were ablaze; and tossed them into the fire place. ‘‘There goes a sheaf of heartaches!” she sighed. "Oh. if only all poverty could be destroyed as easily!" • •••••• Mary, June’s nurse, was more a member of the Travis family than a servant. She had lived with Mrs. Travis since long before June was born; she had comforted the stricken wife when her husband died; she had loved June from the day of the win some girl’s birth. Early next morning, while she was putting the sitting room to rights. Mary chanced to see half a charred [ piece of paper lying on the hearth She picked it up. On the unburne<i half of the paper, she read: Seven days from date, or—to pay George Grant ten—third installment or my loan of fifty—plus interest at th« rate—per week. Total payment due $15—Signed Jos. Bro— Mary puzzled over the fragment is stark perplexity. To her, it meanl nothing. And she could not under stand how her darling should have happened to possess such a thing oi why she had tried to burn it. But as she placed the morning newspaper on the table, for June, a few minutes later, the old woman’s gaze fell on these staring headlines: VEILED WOMAN IN BLACK ROBS LOAN BROKER GRANT Notes of Clients, Owing Money. Are Missing—Thief “Borrows" Vic tim’s Auto and Escapes. Mary let the newspaper fall to the floor from her inert hand. Again she examined the charred note. And now she knew what it was. • * * * • * • Mr. George Grant had come late tc his office that morning. He was in ths sort of humor that makes a poisonous snake bite itself and die. There was hut one gleam of comfort in Grant’s sour heart this bright morn ing. And that was his belief that the men whose names were signed to the missing documents would not know ol the theft. The task of bluffing these poor delin quents promised to be absurdly easy. And presently, as he sat morbidly gloating over such scenes, Grant’s first opportunity came. A name was brought in to him. Joseph Brown had called, begging for a word alone with him. Grant smiled happily. “Tell him to come in,” said Grant. t gleefully, as the caller was announced. Brown came into the inner office, clad | in his working clothes. Generally on such visits, he paused at the threshold and meekly waited his master's leave to advance toward the desk. But today he walked confidently up to Grant, his tanned face one broad grin. Without troubling to say "Good morning,” he handed Grant a folded letter. Then: i hat s all. he remarked. Bye-bye. you slimy old money-spider. I m out of your dirty net—for keeps." He turned and swaggered out of the room before the astounded Grant could so much as swear at him. The letter was typewritten and very brief. It ran: Mr. Joseph Brown: The notes which you gave George Grant for a loan at outrageous interest rates have been destroyed. Therefore, your debt is cancelled. One Who Pities the Poor. Grant was still raging, wordlessly. When Saals came in to announce one John Peterson: an elderly, stoop shoul dered mac. who entered on the heels I of his announcer. "Mr. Grant." said the old man, offer ing the loan broker a letter. "This came by the morning mail. I thought it was only fair to show it to you." Grant, his eyes blurred with fury, was barely able to note that this let ter was a typewriter duplicate of Brown's. “It's—it's a lie!” he stormed. “A trick! I have your notes safe in my desk here." "I will take that chance, Mr. Grant," replied the old man. turning to go. The loan broker lurched dizzily to his feet. Just then Saals intruded again. "Mr. Grant." said the clerk, “there's seven or eight more people in the out er office; all of them with type j written letters from—” “Kick them out!” howled Grant. In five minutes, he was bustling into a downtown office whose outer door glass bore the legend: “Max Lamar, crime specialist." “Mr. Lamar." began Grant as soon as he could get his breath. “That veiled woman has cinched her theft by this—and this—" slamming the 3rown and Peterson letters on the desk in front of Max. “and by a lot more of the same kind. Get her for me. Get her. To blazes with the ex j pensei Get her!" June Travis emerged from her bed room. heavy-eyed from sleeplessness, and. in pretty negligee, entered her sitting room. Mary was standing there, awaiting her. June, as she had done since babyhood, went over to kiss the old woman good morning. Then, and only then, did she notice that Mary made no move to meet her as she came forward; that she did not speak, and that her face was blank with grief. “Why, Mary!" cried the girl, “what is it? What’s the matter? Is moth er—?" Mary cut short the queries by thrusting forward the charred promis sory note. “This is the matter,” she said grim ly. “Dearie, you must tell me what it means.” June stifled a little cry of fear; then impulsively snatched the burnt paper from the nurse's hand and made as though to hide it. “Tell me, dearie," murmured the old woman. “Tell me all about it. You are unhappy and you've gotten into mischief. Tell Mary, little girl." “I think I've gone mad,” said June. “I can't understand it any other way. I can't account, any other way, for the fearful power that has taken hold of me. from time to time, this past day or two. “It began just the other day,” she whispered. “All in a flash. You re member, I told you about my going to the prison with mother, the day ‘Cir cle’ Jim Borden was released—and the way he repulsed me when I spoke to him?” “Yes' Yes!” assented Mary, her lined face paling and an unaccount able shudder convulsing her slender old body. “Well,” resumed June, “just a few hours after I left the prison, all at once I had the strangest sensation. It seemed to start in nay brain and go all over me. It was as if something had snapped, in my soul. I can't explain it. And the strangest impulses came surging through my mind. I—I felt like a criminal!” “Dearie!” “I did. I felt as a criminal must feel. I felt a craving to commit crime; a love for its perils, a hideous Mary Was Standing There, Awaitinp , Her. crafty wit at escaping the law's pun ishtnent. It was—it was—" “Little girl! Little girl!” soothed Mary, as a sob choked June’s hushed voice. “It's true." persisted June, miser ably. “I am a criminal. Listen: I had heard from so many poor people about George Grant and the way he bled them, that I had always hated the man. I had longed to rescue some of his miserable victims—the people he kept poor by wringing outrageous interest money from them. But I nev er had thought it would be in my pow er to do it. "Then, in a moment, when this queer criminal impulse attacked me. I saw how I could punish George Grant and free some of his slaves. It came to me as an inspiration. I pat on my black motor coat—the white-lined one there in the closet— and a black veil. I went to his office and managed to get in. He was in the vault. I shut the vault door. Then I rummaged through his desk: got all the notes I could lay my hands on and came away." “Oh!" gasped Mary. "Then.” pursued June, "the same strange impulse made me scribble on one of his cards on the desk an order to his chauffeur. I made him take me awiy in Mr. Grant’s car. I knew if I went on foot I might be traced.” ‘‘Oh. my dear!” My dear!" moaned the horrified old woman, “And you did all this? You. the sweet, honest little girl I—” “Yes.” sobbed June. “Isn't it hor- j rible? I can’t understand it any more j than you can, now that the mania has left me. It is as though some stranger ; had done it. I can’t realize it was I. : Why. I stole—I lied—I forged—I, June j Travis who have always been 60 in- i tolerant when I heard of other people | being tempted to do such things, j Mary! Tell me; what am I to do?” I Her .voice broke in a wail. She j sobbed uncontrollably on her nurse’s 1 breast. The old woman, dumfounded, ! grief-stricken, sought nevertheless to calm her as best she could. "We must never tell anyone,” de creed Mary at last. “Not a soul on earth. We must keep it a secret, just between us two. I'd give my life, dearie. sooner than let any harm come to you. And it shan't. Mary’ll pro tect her little girl. But if other folks should suspect—” “And,” broke in June, “I haven’t told you the worst part of it, yet.” “Is—is there more?” quivered Mary. “Oh, don’t say there's worse yet!” “There is,” June returned. “That day—that day when I felt something snap in my soul, I felt a burning sen sation on the back of my right hand. I looked and—oh, it has come and gone, there, off and on, ever since! It is like some hideous birthmark. It isn't there this morning, but—” She looked at the back of her hand, s she spoke; and cried aloud in sud den despair. "It’s there again!” she wept. “See? And I had hoped it had gone away for ever.” She held up her right hand. On its snowy surface glowed a crimson ring, like an evil star. At sight of it, Mary sprang to her feet in mortal fright “The Red Circle!” babbled the old woman, her voice hoarse and indis tinct with horror. “The Red Circle! After all these years! The Red Cir cle! Oh, God, help us! God, help ua t.U! The curse! The Red Circle!” (END OP SECOND INSTALLMENT.) FEEL AWE AT CRATER LAKE MarvatotM Sheet of Water Inspires Alt toy No Charm—Attraction fllmsst a Fascination. Crater lake has been known to In ^tN ivrtwoet In visitors who claimed to tael little or none at sight of the Oraad canyon. It Is difficult to Imagine anybody who would remain untouched by the canyon, which Is probably the moat magnificent natural spectacle In ibe world: but If auch s person exists. be might still feel the spell of Crater lake. For Crater lake has the charm of simplicity, of a direct beauty that grows kfter the shock of the first view. The canyon, if anything, is too grand; It seems to have been fcullt and colored for the amusement of the gods and is likely to oppress tco impressionable hu mans after a time with an uncomfort able sense of their own unimportance and insignificance. There is something very different in the placid brooding beauty of Crater lake. Crater lake can be described In a few words. It is a cliff-walled body of sparkling water, held high in the air In the cnp of a volcano that has retired from active business for lo these many years. Also, it is blue—exceedingly blue, blue beyond the habit of earthly water. At times it looks like a patch of tropic sky seen in the early morn ing. The only item in the character istics of Crater lake a bare Inventory falls to include is its peculiar attrac tion that is almost a fascination. The i Indians peopled it with all manner of gods and spirits, and it is easy to see why they did so. It takes more than a chemical combination of hydrogen and oxygen to give out the peculiar atmos phere of mystery and unreality that hangs over title sunlit turquoise waters. Really Little Known of Poland. Poland’s history, with its tights for freedom, justice and equality, its strug gles in defense of Christianity and Eu ropean civilization and its unselllsh ness in aiding the weak, made it fa mous among the world's nations, both in success and adversity. The achieve ments of the Polish nation In art, music, literature, science and religion are known, as are the lifedeeds of its great men. But the industries, mines, trade and natural wealth of that unhappy coun try have since its partition been to a great extent a sealed book to most of the people outside of the nations at tempting to assimilate the Poles. This was principally due to the inability of people from the outside to break through the network of foreign govern ,,vwvwwvvvv'W>MVVVWvvWVVVVM> mental systems In which Poland la enmeshed. One Trial Enough. In a vaudeville boarding house the breakfast table gossip was buzzing. One drug store blonde was bemoaning the stem realities of this life. “What you should have, done,” said a juggler, “was to marry and become interested in a domestic existence.” “Rats," she replied. “I did get mar ried one Sunday and It spoiled my pleasure for the day.—New York 8un. MORE WHEAT, MORE CATTLE, MORE HOGS Land Values Sure to Advance Because of Increasing De mand for Farm Products. The cry from countries abroad for more of the necessaries of life is acute today; tomorrow it will be still more insistent, and there will lie no letup after the war. This is the day for the farmer, the day that lie is com ing into his own. He is gradually becoming the dictator as it becomes more apparent that upon his indus try depends the great problem of feeding a great world. The farmer of Canada and the United States has it within himself to hold the position that stress of circumstances has lifted him into today. The conditions abroad are such that the utmost dependence will rest upon the farmers of this continent for some time after the war, and for this reason there is no hesitation in making the statement that war's de mands are. and for a long time will tie, inexhaustible, and the claims that will be made upon the soil will with diffi culty be met. There are today 25.000. OOO men in the fighting ranks in the old world. The best of authority gives 75 per cent and over as having been drawn from the farms. There is there fore nearly 75 per cent of the iund for merly tilled now being un worked. Much of this land is today in a devas tated condition and if the war should end tomorrow it will take years to bring it back to its former producing capacity. Instead of the farmer producer pro ducing. he has become a consumer, making the strain upon those who have been left to do the farming a very dif ficult one. There may be agitation as to the high cost of living, and doubtless there Is reason for it in many cases. The middleman may boost the prices, combines may organize to elevate the cost, but one cannot get away from the fact that the demand regulates the supply, and the supply regulates the price. The price of wheat—In fact, all grains—as well as cattle, will remain high for some time, and the low prices that have prevailed will not come again for some time. After the war the demand for cattle, not alone for beef, but for stock pur poses, to replenish the exhausted herds of Europe, will be keen. Farm educa tors and advisers are telling you to prepare for this emergency. How mu h better it can be done on the low-pric l lands of today, ou lands that cost from ten to twenty dollars per acre, than it can on two and three liundred-dollar an-acre land. The lands of Western Canada meet all the requirements. They are productive in every sense of the word. The best of grasses can be grown with abundant yields and the grain can be produced from these soils that beats the world, and the same may be said of cattle and horses. The cli mate is all that is required. Those who are competent to judge claim that lat d prices will rise In value from twenty .o fifty per cent. This is looked for in Western Canada, where lands are decidedly cheap today, and those who are fortunate enough to se cure now will realize wonderfully by means of such an investment. The land that the Dominion Government is giving away as free homesteads in the provinces of Manitoba. Saskatchewan and Alberta are of a high class; they are abundant in every constituent that goes to make the most productive soils. The yields of wheat, oats and barley that have been grown on these lands gives the best evidence of their productiveness, and when backed up by the experience of the thousands of settlers from the United States who have worked them and become wealthy upon them, little more should be re quired to convince those who are seek ing a home, even with limited means, thai nowhere can they secure anything that will better equip them to become one of the army of industry to assist in taking care of the problem of feed ing the world. These lauds are free; but to those who desire larger holdings than 160 acres there are the railroad companies and land corporations from whom purchase can be made at rea sonable prices, and information enn be secured from the Canadian government agent, whose advertisement appears elsewhere in this paper.—Advertise ment. The Psychology of It. “I would rather nave a sensitive horse for hunting than any other kind.” “Why a sensitive horse?” “Because he would be quicker to take offence.” The Quinine That Doe* Not Affect The Head Because of Its tonic and laxative effect. Laxative Bromo Quinine can be taken by anyone with na causing nervousness or ringing in the bead Th**r# is only one “Bromo Quinine.” B W. tiBOTBl signature is on each box. 26c. Fortune’s Knocks. “Birthstones are supposed to control our destiny. What is yours?” “Judging from my experience in life, it must be a brickbat.” Gen. W. A. Hardy of Oklahoma City Is one hundred and two years old. !1_ ------