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_ ------