170) CMC
Albert Par^nTerhmie)
I AUTHOR OF THE “THE FIGHTER," "CALEB CONOVER,"
“SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE," ETC
NOVELIZED FROM THE PATHE PHOTO PLAY OF THE
SAME NAME BY WILL M RITCHEY.
I iCOnmOKT, i«i 5. IY »LM#T PAYTON TWflJN* » i
SYNOPSIS.
*'C"ir !•- Jim" Borden, named from a red
Mrthr »r«. . : ■ is served his
IMrt prison term, tine in wli Borden
••oenu.cn. almay* a criminal, has tairne
the Red Circle mark. Jim and his son
To-1 are the only known living of the
Bordens. Max Lamar, a detective, is de
tailed to keep an eye on Jim. June Travis
an ' t r mother meet Jim as he Is re
leased Jim and Ted are killed. Next
day Lamar see* the Red Circle on a wom
en's hand outside a curtained automobile.
June, marked w.th the Red Circle, robs
Grach a loan shark. Mary. June's nurse,
discovers her theft and tells her she la
"Circle Jim's daughter, though Mrs.
Train does not know Mary tricks La
mar June, dressed as a boy. recovers
Mary 's coat from the police Lamar visits
•■Smiling Ham." JiraV ohl crime partner.
At the seaside June steals war invention
plans from Tc-dd Drew and sinks them in
tiie sea with herhov's clothes. Sent to
Bu'fwn by Sn ling Ham Alma l.a Sail,
paint* the Red Circle on her hand and
rob* the guests at a tail Mary s-es her
•a. aS tlie mark and po n’s her out
to Lamar who follows her back to town.
SEVENTH INSTALLMENT
THE THIRD DEGREE
Far out on the horizon a sloop
veered to the wind and bent its grace
ful vails as if to scoop the crest of
a frothy littie wg.ve.
Mary and Jun wire sitting on the
observation *orch of the Travis home,
looking out over the beach
' It s almost deserted.” June said
with some amusement. "Ai this hour,
any other morning, tho beach would
he crowded- The dance must have
played havoc.”
I think you should have slept
tohger too " Mary smoothed back the
girl s hair. "A young person like you
ne-ds all the sleep she can get.”
"Why. I'm as fresh as a daisy.” re
belled June. "If 1 stay in bed too
long 1 get all stupid and loggy. And.
Just think how terrible it would be if
I had been lazy this morning! That
Woman in Black would have gotten
awry safely As long as I'm a real
Sleuth now. 1 iunt afford to sleep,
overhours, you know.”
Mary lo iked up at the mis* hievous,
smiling face A sUiclov. of fear crept
into her eyes.
I wish you wouldn't have anything
mere lo do with this.” she begged
gently. "You are so young, so im
pel*:-.» Don t you know if you play
with Are you must be burned?'
But I'm not playing with fire," ob
jected .'line "And besides, don't you
vee that I've taken out the safest
sort o? sn insurance policy by joining
tor e* * th Mr Lamar in tracking the
Red Circle* '
' I don t like it—1 don't like any-1
thing a.*out it.” Mary clasped and
unclasp- i her hand* nervously. "You
have t». tern* so headstrong, dear.
M*- r so'e this mark came on your
hand, you're so different.”
"Oh. look!" June exclaimed, glad
of as excuse to change the subject,
'took at the monkey. Mary. Isn t he
(urfertiT adorable? Oh. you're not
joking in the right place, lie s doing
1 *11 sorts of tricks. Isn t he wonder
ful***
*1 think he's an awful looking thing,
i I'm going into the house. I dont
I want to look at him any more.”
i ‘AH right; you go in. I'll stay out
■ here"
I Jane leaned out over the porch rail. '
l keeping her eye* fastened on the
l organ grinder. Mary watched the girl
i hite her lips and frown. The signs
I were alarming The old w oman looked
i down at the hand on the rail, with
I
w
y Started to Cut the Monkey's Rope.
11 frar and trembling. Her worst sus
*lputons were realized. A faint red
J<rmg appeared. Mary put out her
l*h*nd as If to stop its growing more
® »i*td Slowly the color came Into it
It blazed forth in all its strength just
*ss June exclaimed angrily:
; 1 Oh. why does be mistreat that
*Jpoor. captive animal? A defenseless
"nute like that! Its outrageous the
**way he pulls that rope—Just look, he's
^ewr. kicking him! I'm going down
Tit err to stop him "
S ■'You're going to do no sucn thing!
fjrfee idem of gwtftag so worked up over
% monkey!"
“It isn t because it’s a monkey. It's
because it's heartless cruelty to a
dumb animal.’’
"Anyhow, you’re coming right in
the house with me.”
“No, I'm not.”
“Look at your hand,” said Mary
tersely.
Startled. June obeyed. The Red
Circle glared back at her with malevo
lent intensity. Just for a second her
face clouded. Then the same, queer,
mischievous smile returned.
“Well, what of it?” she challenged.
“You know,” Mary answered, sim
ply. ’’Come into the house with me
before you get into any trouble, dear.”
' I don't want to.”
“Please. I'm so worried, pet.”
“Oh. all right. Only don't look so
distressed.”
Upstairs, June entered her room and
ran to the window. The organ grind
er had moved out of sight. A strange,
sickening sensation came over her
as she thought of him and his treat
ment of the monkey.
On a little table near the w'indow
a small pair of scissors caught the
sun and reflected the light, bo that
it dazzled the eyes. June caught sight
of them. She picked them up quickly
and slipped them, almost involuntarily
into the pocket of her dress. Then
she reached for a small sport hat that
was lying on a chair and ran out of
the room, closing the door behind her.
On the sand, leaning against a pile,
under th • pier, sat the Italian organ
grinder sound asleep—his old, bat
tered organ propped up beside him.
The monkey, sitting on his lap, pulled
restlessly at his coat.
The man wTaked stupidly for the
fraction of a second, cuffed the mon
key over the head, forced him down
on his lap again and went back to
sleep.
June crept around, under the pier,
keeping well behind him until she
cu.de sure that he was really asleep
—not shamming. Very cautiously
she dropped to her knees and crawled
toward the organ.
With remarkable rapidity she un
1’ h ; d the broad, tough strap that
was attached to it and got on her
feet. Then she listened to the Ital
ian's loud breathing, before she
moved forward quietly until she
stood directly behind the pile against
which he was leaning.
There was no fear on her face.
Only caution and a certaiu cunning
boldness. Stealthily, she slipped the
strap around the sleeping man’s body,
drawing it back behind the pile. She
pot the eyelet end through the buckle,
but did not fasten it. Then she put
the scissors on the sand beside her.
Having proceeded so far success
fully. she thought for an instant, try
ing to determine what her next move
would be. Picking up the scissors
she slipped her right hand around the
piie and started to cut the monkey's
rope, close to the Italian's hand. The
monkey, sensing that a deliverer had
come, laid his littie face against her
hand, softly.
June pushed him back gently. The
seisc-ors were dull. The rope was
tough. The effort to cut it brought
the blood to her hand. Slowly, the
'*a;;an blinked his eyu3 and opened
them.
Immediately under his nose was a
strong young hand wielding a glitter
ing weapon. Half-conscious, he
shuddered inwardly. In his night
mare, someone was working out a
vendetta—successfully. iiis eyes
closed. The vividness of the dream
was too much for him, however. He
opened them again. This time all he
could see was a ring of scarlet—an
omen of eternal bloodshed. »
Stupid with sleep, he made a half
attempt to sit erect. On the instant
June pulled the strap tight with her
left hand, buckled it. seized the mon
key with the right and sped off down
the beach, the cut rope trailing be
hind her.
On the edge of the sand, an old
woman in black, ghastly pale and pet
rified with fear, watched her go.
Strapped to the pile, the Italian
was kicking up an awful row.
In the distance, June ran into the
entrance to Surfton park and found a
spot girdled by shrubbery. In the
mid3t of U stood a giant tree with
an absurdly thick trunk.
The monkey sniffed affectionately
at her chin and raised his little paw.
June hugged him up to her, cut the
rope close to his collar, and started to
take off his ludicrous little hat and
coat. All undressed, as he was meant
to be, the monkey reverted to type
and gazed longingly at an overhang
ing branch. June looked up at the
low-swaying foliage.
“Of course you want to get up there,
you poor, ill-treated little beastie,”
she whispered to him. “That’s what
1 stole you for. To set you free. Say
thank you' to the lady and shake
hands.”
She reached up and pulled the
branch down to her. Then she wait
ed to see what be would do. With
just one regretful look, as though to
say, “I’m not ungrateful—but oh, you
I tree!” he leaped from her arms and
scampered up the tree. On a high
branch he sat down and looked at her.
June waved her hand.
Back on the beach. Mary watched
the struggling Pietro, and tried des
perately to decide what the wisest
move would be. His awful cries
would attract a larger crowd in a few
minutes.
It flashed upon her, suddenly, that
there was a way of protecting June,
even now. With the wrap still on her
arm she ran toward the screaming
Italian. Indicating that she was go
ing to release him, Ma^>' unbuckled
the strap, just as a polJeman came
running up.
Pietro scrambled to his feet, chok
ing with rage. A torrent of sound
poured from his thick oily lips.
“My monk gone—stole—girl—wom
an—gotta round on hand! Stole! Cut-a
rop$! Swipe-a monk! Beat it!”
Mary stepped forward and spoke to
the officer.
“It seems that someone stole his
monkey. He’s showing you the cut
rope in his hand.”
The patrolman raised his cap.
“I didn’t see you at first. Miss
Mary," he said pleasantly. “Yes, I
understood that someone had copped
the monkey; but what’s he getting at,
drawing things on the back of his
hand and moving his fingers like he
was cutting paper?”
“As near as I can make out,” Mary
answered slowly, “the person who
stole the animal cut the rope with
scissors and had a mark of some kind
on the back of her hand.”
“A mark!” the policeman jumped
eagerly at the word. "Say, was it a
red mark—a Red Circle?" he asked
Pietro excitedly.
Seeing that at last someone was
beginning to understand, Pietro went
back into Italian hysteria. The
policeman turned again to Mary.
“You've been on the beach some
time. haven’t you? Do you remember
seeing anyone go past with a mon
key?”
“Certainly,” the old woman replied
promptly. “I remember distinctly
seeing a young woman on the beach
with a monkey.”
“Do you remember which way she
went?” he asked.
Mary, apparently thought deeply for
a moment.
“Yes,” she said at last, very delib
erately, “she went down the beach in
that direction.”
Her finger pointed directly opposite
to the way June had gone.
“Thank you,” said the policeman.
Motioning to Pietro, he started on
“You Don’t Know Anything About Red Circles?’’
a run down the sand, the other spec
tators following closely.
Leaning up against the pillar of the
house where “the Woman in Black"
lived, Lamar, blowing rings of ciga
rette smoke skyward, mused:
“I wonder what June is doing. 1
wonder if she is thinking of me."
His dreams were pleasant. Know
ing that his quarry was safe in the
house and that she seemed unsuspi
cious of being trailed, Lamar did not
see the use for any extra trick work.
“When in doubt, pump the elevator
boy,” had always been Lamar's motto.
He turned to enter the house. A
thick rubber mat, bound in metal,
tripped him. He stumbled through
the doorway and collided with a wom
an. Bent over as he was, he couldn't
see her face. His gaze fell upon a
black leather handbag and a paper
parcel that could have contained any
thing from a picnic lunch to a pair of
shoes. Bracing himself against the
sides of the entrance he tried to get
his balance.
“Perhaps you'll allow me to pass,"
a cold, sarcastic voice broke in upon
his distress.
"Why certainly, madam, certainly,"
gasped poor Lamar, again threatened
with a fall as he tried to be courtly.
Then he raised his face. One look
at the dark, slightly aquiline features
and he was very erect and very cool.
“On second thoughts," he said calm
ly, “I don’t think I will. You're under
arrest.”
“Under arrest? Me?” she tossed
her head, boldly. “I’d like to see you
try to arrest me!"
“You’re seeing It now," said Lamar
simply.
“Oh, so you think you can bully me
into submitting to arrest, do you?”
Just for an Instant he flashed a pair
of handcuffs by a chain. They clanked
ominously as he dropped them back
into his pocket.
“Do you come—or don’t you?” he
Inquired politely.
“Oh, I’ll go.” she answered after a
minute's thought.
Ten miuutes later, when she re
belled, outside the entrance to the
police station, he seized her arm and
hustled her in, bringing her up before
the sergeant's desk.
"Well, Mr. Lamar,” satd the desk
man, leaning over the edge to shake
hands, "what can I do for you?”
“I have just arrested this—er—this
lady on suspicion, sergeant.”
“Indeed!” The round-faced, gray
haired officer looked over his glasses,
sharply. “Name, please.”
The woman raised her eyebrows.
“Name, I said!” thundered the ser
geant.
"Oh, I don't know that I have to
give it,” she said contemptuously.
“Oh, yes you do,” Lamar broke in,
“a word to the wise, you know. I ad
vise you to make as little trouble as
possible. And let me relieve you of
your parcel and hand bag.”
"La Salle. Alma I^a Salle,” she al
most spat the name at the sergeant.
Lamar opened the paper parcel, dis
closing a pair of old shoes evidently
on their way to the cobbler's to be
soled and heeled. He threw them to
one side, disappointed. Then with a
caustic "May I?” he opened the hand
bag and dumped its contents on the
sergeant's desk.
Lamar rapidly searched the mass
and found nothing of importance.
“Well, what’re you going to do about
it?” she inquired with a emile.
“I'm going to have you searched,”
said Lamar quietly. “Sergeant, will
you have someone search Miss La
Salle, please?”
The sergeant pressed the buzzer at i
his right hand. A door in the back
of the room opened almost instantly.
A portly woman in a blue-and-white
striped dress, partly covered with a
white apron, stood at the threshold
for a second, then came swiftly into
the room.
“Mrs. Murphy,” said the sergeant,
briefly, "will you please search this
woman and make your report, on what
you find?”
“Oh, Mrs. Murphy, would you mind
making your report to me in the
chief'8 office? I'm going in there
now,” Lamar called after her.
Lamar entered Chief Allen’s office,
shook hands and dropped wearily into
a chair beside the desk.
“What's up? You look beat out,”
was the chief’s greeting.
“Oh, I’m not beat out,” the Crime
Specialist squared his shoulders sig
nificantly. “I’m not beat out by a j
long shot, but I'm up a tree. I phoned j
you some of the preliminaries of the i
Red Circle chase—in fact, I told you
about them pretty fully over long-dis
tance today. Well, there's a new phase
on deck and it's got me going. I have
the woman here in the matron's room
being searched. I arrested her on
suspicion after trailing her from Surf
ton. I have, every reason on God's
earth to suspect her; and yet there’s
a sneaking thought at the back of
my brain that I'm not going to get
anything on her. I want your help.” j
"Count on that, all right,” said Al-i
len quickly. "What happened down :
at Surfton, after you phoned me about
the—?”
“Theft of jewels at the hotel ball?
An old woman in hiding, in a big chair,
saw this woman rub a red circle off
the back of her hand with a wet
sponge."
“Here’s Mrs. Murphy, now.” Lamar
got up and went toward the matron
eagerly. “Well, what did you find?"
The matron shook her head.
“I didn't find a trace of the jewelry
i’ou are looking for, Mr Lamar. The
woman had on a cheap gold-plated
bangle and an imitation pearl bar pin.
There was nothing suspicious about
her clothing.”
“Didn't I tell you?” Lamar rushed
back to the chief’s desk under the
greatest excitement. “Didn't I tell
you that I had a hunch that I wouldn’t
get anything on this woman? And I
know she’s guilty. I haven't tha
slightest doubt about it now.”
“Just a minute.”
Allen pressed an electric buzzer.
His secretary came in from the outer
office.
“Please bring me a warrant-to
search blank, Mr. Holt,” said the chief.
“I want to fill it out. Where did you
leave the woman, Mrs. Murphy?”
“I locked her in the detention room,
sir.”
"That’s right. Now will you go
back and bring her into this office
in five minutes? I’ll be ready for her
then. What’s her name?” he asked
Lamar as the matron left the room.
“And her address. I’ll send two men
over to her home."
He took the blank from his secre
tary and tried the point of his foun
tain pen.
“ ‘Alma La Salle,’ ’’ he repeated after
Lamar, “ ‘301 Quincy street.’ Holt,
send Quinn and Mulligan over. Tell
them to do a good job—rush it—and
beat it back here as quickly as they
can.”
There was a knock on the door, a
few minutes later. It was opened in
obedience to the chief’s “Come in.”
Alma stood framed in the doorway,
her face still as insolently haughty
as when Lamar had first spoken to
her.
The chief eyed her steadily. It was
a type he knew well. Very difficult to
shake in giving testimony, very sharp
tongued. The only salvation lay in
getting this woman furiously angry.
He had found that rage loosens the
tongues of most women.
“Name?” he said before she had a
chance to collect herself.
“Oh. you know my name,” she an
swered viciously. “What do you sup
pose I think you two have been doing
in here all this tjine—having a kaffee
klatsch?”
Lamar moved forward to intervene,
but Allen w’aved him back.
“I think I can handle this young
woman,” he said easily. “If I can
make her understand, in the first
place, that I’ll jail her immediately
unless she answers my questions
straight and as soon as I put them.
Name?” he repeated, significantly.
“Alma La Salle.”
“I’ve seen you here before, haven’t
I?”
“You have not,” this very emphat
ically.
“No? I may be mistaken. I
thought I had. What were you doing
at Surfton?”
“Wasn’t at Surfton. Never heard of
the place.”
“Well, of course the transfer that
you have in your bag, punched ‘Surf
ton,’ may be part of a collection. I
hardly thought so,” drawled Lamar.
“I tell you I've never been there,”
she maintained with angry persist
ence.
“Well, we’ll let that go as it is,”
said the chief suavely. “You’re an
attractive woman. Miss La Salle. How
is it that you are not married?”
“Who says I’m not?”
“Oh, so you are. Then why are you
living alone in an apartment where
you’re known as ‘Miss’ La Salle?”
“Is that anyone's business?”
“I choose to make it mine. How do
you get your living, Miss La Salle?”
“I have an income.”
“From what sort of investments?
Bonds—stocks—mortgages ?”
“Er—mortgages.”
“Ah, the safest sort of an invest
ment—providing they are first mort
gages. So that’s where your income
comes from?”
"You two think you're putting me
through the third degree, don't you?
Why you're a bunch of amateurs.
Make me break down? Lord! You
haven’t even got my goat!’’
“Oh. I think we have that, all right,”
Lamar remarked with aggravating
calm. “Now, I’m going to tell you a
few things. We’ve had you trailed for
forty-eight hours. Yes, that gets un
der the skin, eh? And all we want to
know is why you take the trouble to
paint red circles on your hand when
you operate so cleverly without them.
What’s the use of doing things that'll
help spot you—eh?”
Alma looked at him with an amused
smile.
"You may be talking sense,” she re
marked contemptuously. “But to me
it sounds like they'd just let you out
of a bat factory.”
"You don't know anything about
Red Circles?”
“I do not.”
The door opened suddenly. Two
men, one in uniform, entered and
placed a suitcase on the chief’s desk.
Alma started forward in her chair.
“Yes, it's yours.” soothed Lamar.
”We won't injure any of your things.
We just want to take a look. "They've
just brought it from your rooms.”
Lamar opened the suitcase. He
pulled out soft piles of silk lingerie
and tossed them on the desk.
“Say. have a heart the way you
handle those things.” Alma said sharp
ly. “They cost money.”
"You bet they do,” Lamar answered
the Command. “Those first mortgages |
are certainly good to you.”
His hand closed on something
smooth and cold. He dragged it out
from between the folds of an embroid
ered kimono. It was a paint box! He
fumbled as he opened it, because he
did not want to take his eyes off Al
ma’s face. He was surprised to find
that there was not a quiver of an eye
lash.
Once open, he held up the box so
the light hit the surface of the little
tabs of paint.
“Just as I thought,” he exclaimed,
gleefully. "Oh, you're not such a
clever little Raffles after all, Alma!
You see, chief, only the red paint has
been used. Wait a minute. I’ll find
the sponge.”
He plunged his hand into the suit
case again and held up the tiny
sponge, then bent over Alma solicit
ously.
“You see, if you'd been really
smart,” he told her, “you’d have
smeared up the other paints too.
Then you could say that you were
just an amateur artist who went to
Surfton to do seascapes.”
“Say, you think you’re a wonder,
don't you?” she scoffed.
Suddenly the door hurst open and
slammed back against the wall so that
the whole room shook. The sergeant,
two old shoes swinging from his left
hand, rushed in, his face scarlet with
excitement.
"Look at the swag! Look at the
swag!” he shouted.
Unclosing his right hand, he dropped
a palmful of jeweled ornaments on the
chiefs desk. Alma jumped to her feet.
Terror blanched her cheeks. Her eyes
were wild. With sudden cunning she
“It's Almost Deserted,” Said June.
bent, ducked under Lamar’s arm and
made for the window. The chief
swung around and grabbed the sleeve
of her waist. It cracked at the shoul
der seam. He put her, struggling,
back in the chair, and stood in front
of her.
“Where'd you get it, sergeant?” La
mar asked, holding lip a string ol
pearls and a diamond lavalliere.
“In the heel of the shoe. X was
ticketing the articles taken from the
different prisoners today, before I sent
them into the other room, and all of
a sudden I catch sight of this split
heel. It looks queer. So I take my
! penknife out, just for fun, and start
picking at it. And the thing comes
off and there lays the swag!”
“Give me the other one,” sard La
mar.
He struck it against the palm of his
hand. It rattled. Suddenly a similar
incident came to his mind. He dropped
the shoe and seized the chief’s arm.
“Yesterday when I was in ‘Smiling
Sam’s’ shop,” he exclaimed suddenly
“I—"
Alma uttered a short, sharp sound
then pressed her hand over her mouth.
“Ah—that’s the one—eh? ‘Smiling
Sam?’ Good girl—good girl! You
screamed at Just the right time. You
couldn’t have done better if you’d
been rehearsed. Chief, will you give
me a raiding squad? I’m coming dowD
on that old smiler today—now! You
hold the woman.”
Lamar darted from the office.
"Lock her up,” Allen told the ser
geant.
Out in the street Lamar was coach
ing his men:
“There’s an alleyway back of this
joint. I don’t know how you get tc
it through the shop, but take my word
it’s a very important means of exit
to ‘Smiling Sam.’ I want you two offi
cers to get into that alleyway and wail
there for whatever happens. Vaughan
here, will go into the store with me."
The two men started off down a side
street. Lamar and Vaughan walked
quickly until they got to the cornel
of “Smiling Sam's” street. There they
stopped deliberately and lighted cig
arettes. They saw a man, who was
hanging around outside, dive Inside
the shop.
“A lookout!” muttered Lamar
“Come on. Vaughan! We’ll get in
there double quick, before they have a
chance to make a getaway. Anyhow, i
the boys in the alley will get them.” j
Lamar and Vaughan dashed across
the street and through the ramshackle
entrance to the store. At the back
wall they saw a stout man trying to
hurl himself through an opening that
seemed less like a door than an earth
quake gap. A sudden jerk from the
other side of the wall yanked him
through. A row of shelves slid into
view. The opening was closed.
“Open it! Open it!” howled Lamai
to Vaughan. “Wait; I'll find the j
spring! It's a secret door.”
He passed his finger tips over the
entire wall surface. He swept shelf
fuls of shoe boxes to the floor. He got
on his knees and tested the floor. His
rapid, excited search was unsuccess
ful.
“Get a bench!” Max told Vaughan.
“Get that heavy bench over there and
batter it down. Hammer it, man!
Give me one end of it. Now! To
gether!"
A long, crackling sound tore out
through the heavy banging. A crack
that showed yellowish white appeared.
One leg of the bench crashed through
the wood and stuck. The door began
to give.
From the yard, somewhere to the
rear of thedl, arose the din of fierce
battle.
END OF SEVENTH INSTALLMENT.
•WISTORY WRITTEN IN BLOOD
Mn the Pest, as Now, Assyria Has
0 eeen the Theater of Conquest
and Slaughter.
V A new power. Assyria, had begun
rtoe above the horizon, and from
Vow onward, with occasional intervals
’Ey weakness and decline, this power
VtrMaa like a colossus over the whole
&f the ancient world, terrifying the
aSattoas by its remorseless cruelty,
■ltd crashing down all opposition and
all national aspirations by the ruth
less force of one of the most tre
mendous implements of-warfare ever
forged by the hand of man.
In the case of Assyria you have a
highly organized and civilized people,
skilled to an astounding degree in the
arts, with all the power to do great
things for humanity, but absolutely
deficient in the will, the National Geo
graphic Magazine observes.
If you can imagine a man with no
small amount of learning, with all the
externals of civilization, with a fine
taste in certain aspects of art, and a
tremendous aptitude for organization
and discipline, and then imagine such
a man imbued with the ruthless spirit
of a red Indian brave and an absolute
delight in witnessing the most ghast
ly forms of human suffering, you will
have a fairly accurate conception of
the ordinary Assyrian, king or com
moner: the outside, a splendid speci
men of highly developed humanity—
the inside a mere ravening tiger.
There is no need to wade through
the dreary story of Assyrian con
quest. King after king repeats, with
monotonous reiteration, the story of
endless campaigns, all marked by the
same ruthless slaughter, the same
ghastly cruelty and the same lack of
permanent results. Apparently it was
quite impossible for an Assyrian king
to be a peaceful sovereign. His state
lived by and for the army alone and
if he did not give the army success
ful employment he was quickly mur
dered to make way for someone who
would lead the troops to conquest
1 and plunder.
Value of Old Violins.
Genuine old violins when in a good
state of preservation always command
good prices. But the country is flood
ed with cheap factory-made violins
labeled *Stradivarius," etc., which
ai^ of no particular value. In 999
cases out of a thousand a violin which
is labeled as an “old master," is one
of these modern productions, made in
Germany or France, and worth only a
few dollars. The only way to tell
v. bother a violin has any special value
or not is to submit it to some good
/
violinist—and even then the value la
largely a matter of opinion. Such
things have no standard market value,
and everything depends on finding a
purchaser who wants the article and
will pay for it. Albert Spalding, the
American violinist, has a Guamerlus
violin for which he paid over $20,000,
but there are other violins of the
same make which would probably not
bring a quarter of that, and there are
thousands of fiddles with fake "Guar
nerius" labels in them which are
, worth very little.—Pathfinder.
r AGIO
Washing Stick
not a soap, nor a bluinjr, x
FOR WORK,
cents at fToeers or fi
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Not an Occasion for Praise.
In doing what wo ought we deserve
no praise, because it is our duty.—St.
Augustine.
ACTRESS TELLS SECRET.
A well known actress gives the follow
ing recipe for gray hair: . ilf pint of
water add 1 oz. Bay Rum. a m i i.,,v of
Barbo Compound, and ',4 oz. of gp < r;nc
Any druggist can put this up o- . in
mix it at home at very little o • m
directions for making and us<- ..
each box of Barbo Compound
gradually darken streaked, fade
hair, and make It soft and glossy,
not color the scalp. Is not sticky . r
greasy, and does not rub off. Adv.
Its Lead.
“I see that your woman r< p.
has a decided tendency for milii.irj
happenings.”
“1 guess that is because >!o puts
too much powder on her no>o for
news.”
HIGH COST OF LIVING
This is a serious matter with 1
keepers as .food prices are e-out
going up. 'To overcome this, cir
! the high priced meat dishes and -.-n. *
your family more Skinner's Macaco
and Spaghetti, the cheapest, in-.f
licious and most nutritious of all i • -
Write the Skinner Mfg. <’o.. (k •
Xebr.. for beautiful cook liook. tel!:ug
how to prepare it in a hundred different
ways. It’s free to every woman.—Adv.
Foolish Striving After Happiness
i We all seek happiness so
that in the pursuit we often !<■'•
joyous sense of existence, and
quiet daily pleasures, the vain
: which our pride alone prevents u>
acknowledging.—Sir Arthur Helps.
1 ANY CORN LIFTS OUT,
DOESN'T HURT A BIT! *
i *
f No foolishness! Lift your corns ’
. and calluses off with fingers—
? It’s like magic!
7--,-., . , ,
Sore corns, hard corns, soft cor: -
any kind of a corn, can harmh -
lifted right out with the fingers if y> .
apply upon the corn a few drop'
freezone, says a Cincinnati authori:; .
For little cost one can get a small
bottle of freezone at any drug stor**.
which will positively rid one's feet
every corn or callus without pain.
This simple drug dries the mom* m
it is applied and does not even irn
tate the surrounding skin while ap
plying it or afterwards.
This announcement will interest
many of our readers. If your druggi
hasn’t any freezone tell him to surely
get a small bottle for you from his
wholesale drug house.—adv.
Japanese Trade in Manchuria.
Sir. Yosiiida, who was selected l>>
the Japanese government to inve-t
gate commercial conditions in Man
churia, has made a report giving <!*■
tails of the trade. About one month i
required to transport goods from
Osaka to Harbin, even by passenger
train. The principal Japanese pro*:
ucts that are sent from Harbin ro Eu
ropean Russia iire hosiery, underwear,
shoe soles, cotton textiles, medicines,
isinglass and insulated electric wire.
Since the middle of August an import
tax has been assessed upon hosiery
and underwear by the Russian Man
churian customs. The trade of North
Manchuria is on the road to prosper
ity, on account of the increased pop
ulation and the development of agri
culture. Harbin is regarded as the cen
ter of business.
Too Suggestive.
First Tramp—I wish I could git off
dese fast freights for a ride in a first
class coach.
Second Tramp—Every cloud has its
silver lining. In de passenger coach
dere Is an ax and saw to remind you
of a wood pile.
His Occupation.
“What is that man doing?” asked
the customer, as he saw the clockinak
er’s assistant painting the hours on a
clock face.
“Oh,” replied the master, “he Is sim
ply marking time.”
Aviators attached to the Signal
corps station at San Diego obtain
weather reports.
Before starting the youngsters
to school give them a piping
hot cup of
Instant Postum
School teachers, doctors and
food experts agree on two
points —that the child needs
a hot drink, and that the
drink shouldn’t be coffee.
Postum fills the need admir
ably and its very extensive use
among thoughtful parents,
coupled with the child’s fond
ness for this flavory, nourish
ing food-drink, show how
completely it meets the re
quirement
"There’s a Reason”
No change in price, quality,
or size of package.
