CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY and CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY, Jr.
Author and Clergyman Civil Engineer
Copyright by Fleming H. Rev ell Co.
THE FAMOUS ENGINEER LEARNS THAT HE MADE THE BIG
MISTAKE OF HIS LIFE AND MANY LIVES MUST
PAY THE PENALTY.
'1!: Manl- ! <’• - rii' i"ii company is putting up a groat interna
ti-u.. ; !.i|>luimnl l*> Bertram Meade, Sr., famous engineer. His
Ir .. n Milent ' ineer at the bridge, loves Helen
III » .rtii. ■ i . tighter of Colonel Illingworth, head of the construction
. ; .. ! •!.. v uill :: :;rr> a* -O" i ns the bridge is completed. Tile
young i r «jm •■ti.'n.s! his father's judgment on the strength of
certs* * ju.jM>rt:int girders but was laughed at. His doubts are veri
fied alien tie- bridge suddenly collapses, with heavy loss of life.
CHAPTER VI.
The Failure.
In spite of buu>e!f ami hi* «»nM«ire
la ih«- bridge Al Urtt felt n llule un
teqr tbr ihai moniiug. Al Ixittom bo
K»ii itji»rr re*|*ect for Mridr'i tech
nical ktum Inljo than he ha*! displayed
or nm admitted to hlmm'lf. The
foviiCH' rtisiiioor'* torritinl alarm, his
Ittrf forgetfulm—s <>f tin* amenities be
t«tvo theta, hi« frantic hut futile ef
forts to telephone, of which the op
erator told Abbott In the morning. his
harried dei«arture to New York, were,
to aajr the least, somewhat disquieting,
much more so than he was fain to ad
mit to himself.
Although it iuvolved n hard and
•usrsbit dangifou* cittnh downward
and took upward* of a half hour of his
valuable time, the first thing the erecp
* n.f mpnwr did iu the mornitig was to
fo down to the |der head ami make a
thorough and careful examination of
the huekU-d nietuleT. was. of
Course, a |*art of the great lower chord
Of the huge dlamoud-Khu{>ed truss,
which, with it* parallel sixty feet away
Mi the other *-i*!e of the bridge and its
two opl•**s-bt• ,-s aero** the river, stipport
Od the whole structure. If anything
were wrong, seriously. irr«-parahly
wrong with the member and It gave
way. the whole truss would go. The
other truss would inevitably follow
cult, ami ibe cantilever would immedi
ately oaUapse. Ai.lM.rt realized that.
9f course as he ciiml*ed carefully
down to the pier head and stood on tlie
Aw
AM-' ', as he by the member
sad aprveyed it throughout its length
could *41 y see that It had buckled. ai
tbou-!t :h> deviation vvn*> slight, about
two Inches at its maximum in sixty
feet- lie brought with him a line and.
with infinite care and pains. he drew
It taut wcraaa the slight concavity like
a bow-«triug. He had estimated the
Camber. or the distance between the
Center of the bow and the string, at
one and a half Indies. As he made
careful neaanrementa. he discov
that It was slightly over one and
three-quarter inches. In seven hun
dred and twenty that was scarcely no
ticeable. am! It did not seem very
me'-h to Abbott. As he strswl there
feeling himself a.i Insignificant figure
amid this great Interwoven mass of
■tael again the sense of Its strength
and stability came to him overpowering
|y, ao ruu< h so that he laughed aloud
In a rather grim fashion at the un
■rooted nervousness which had been
tado>ed in hts mind by Meade's words
•nd action*.
Bet be was a conscientious man. so
he pursued his Inve-tigations further.
He Hlmlted up on top of the mem tier,
which was easy enough by means of
the crian-crossed lacing, and carefully
Inspected the lacings at the center of
the eoocarlty. or sidewise spring from
the right line.
He noticed, by getting down on his
face and surveying the lu<-lng burs
Closely, a numtier of fine hair-line
crack* m the paint, surface traceries
apparently, running here and there
from the rivet holes. The rivets them
arives had rather a strained look. Some
of the outer rivets seemed slightly
loose, where before they must have
been tight, for the members, like all
other parts of the bridge, had been
carefully inspected at the shop and
at looseness of the rivets would cer
tali bare been noticed there. Hut
Abl» , nhses-iou as to the strength
of ! • bridge had grown stronger. Llu
Ing i? twt. erav. iing over it. feeling its
rigS'iity. he i!'.that these evident
■train- were to be eX)-ecte<L Of course
the 1 .icing- ihat held the webs together
w*Atld have to take up a terrific stress.
They hud ie-en designed for tluit pur
ptiM- Lar-'.-iy because be did not find
anything very glaring, and because he
Wanted to brlievp what he believed, the
Chief of construction left the pier head
and clambered up to the floor with
more satisfaction in Ids heart than his
•otnewhat surprising anticipation
which had «o unwillingly grown under
the stimulus of Meade's |H'rsistence.
bad led him to exnect.
Tt»* whl»;!e v\ a» Just blowing for the
ui* !it «f work when he trot
bark in the bridge floor. He could not
but reflect, tlie men dime swarming
■iomr the tracks to ttegta their day's
work, that the n-aponsthUtty for their
tlire» lay with him. Well. Abbott was
• big m m In his way. he had assumed
responsibilities tiefore and was per
fectly willing to do so again, both for
nett and bridge. The workmen at
least bad no suspicious or premonitions
of disaster.
WTlchings. the chief erecting fore
stall. knew about the camt»er. It had
sot bothered him. As he approached
the two exchanged greetings.
“You're out early, Mr. Abbott,” said
TT11rMi~
“Yea. Fra been down to examine
C-10-E.”
W1 Ichings laughed.
“That little spring U nothing." He
lookod over the track and through the
Stage of bracing at the member. “If
to* had a pier somewhere we could
' In*1(1 up the earth with that strut. You
didn't find out anything, iliil you?”
"Not a thing except some hair-line
cracks in tin* paint around the rivets.”
“You'll often find those where there’s
a heavy load to take up. This bridge
will stand long after you and I and
every man on it has quit work for
good."
Now Wilehings was a man of experi
ence and ability, and if Abbott had
needed any confirmation of his opinion
. lids careless expression would have
' served. lie did send him across the
river to examine the half-completed
cantilever on the other hunk, upon
1 which work had been suspended, awalt
; log shipments of steel. Wilehings later
: re|>orted that it was all right, which
1 was what he expected, of course, and
'his also added to Abbott’s confidence.
The day was an unusually hard one.
A great quantity of structural steel
that had been delayed and which had
threatened to hold up the work, arrived
that day and the chief of construction
' was liusi. r than he had ever been. He
was driving the men with furious
energy. Even under the best conditions
i it would he well-nigh impossible to
| complete the bridge on time. Abbott
! had pride in carrying out the contract
and the financial question was a con
| sblerable one. Had it not been for
i that, perhaps, he would liave paid more
attention to Meade's appeal. So he
' hurried on the work at top speed.
l.nte in the afternoon, without say
ing anythin*; to Wllehings, who had re
~utned Ids regular w ork, or to anybody
in fact. Abbott went down to look at
the member again. He climbed down
a hundred feet or more to make an
other examination at the expense of
1 much vnluatile time, for he had not
passed so busy a day as that one since
the bridge begun. Everything was ex
actly as it had been. Those hair-line
cracks had troubled him a little despite
Wib hing's remark. He studied them a
second time. They were just as they
had fieen, so far as he could tell, no
larger, no more numerous. The lacings
rang exactly the same under his ham
mer.
He climbed hack to the floor of the
bridge and sjient the next half hour in
specting the progress of the work. The
suspended span had nlreudy been
pushed out far beyond the end of the
cantilever. The work on the other
side of the river had been stopped. As
soon as they got the suspended span
halfway over they would transfer the
workmen and finish tin- opposite canti
lever. Abbott calculated that perhaps
in another week they could get it out
if he drove the men. He looked at his
watch, grudgingly observing that it
was almost five o'clock. The men were
nothing to Abbott. The bridge was
everything. That is not to say he was
heartless, hut the bridge and its erec
tion were supreme in his mind.
Tlie material was arriving and every
thing was going on with such a swing
and vigor that he would fain have kept
them at work an hour or two longer.
The men themselves did not feel that
way. Some of the employees of the
higher grades had got the obsession of
the bridge, hut to most of them it was
the thing they worked at, by which
they gnt their daily bread—nothing
more.
Those who worked by tire day were
already laying aside their tools, and
preparing for their departure. They
He Made Another Careful Examina
tion.
always would get ready so that at the
signal all that was left to do was to
stop. The riveters, who were paid by
the piece, kept at it always to the very
last minute.
Abbott had been standing near the
outer end of the cantilever and he
turned and walked toward the bank.
The pneumatic riveters were rat-tat
tatting on the rivet heads with a per
fectly damnable iteration of insistent
sound. A confused babel of voices, the
clatter of hummers, ringing sounds of
I swinging steel grating against steel,
1 clanking of trucks, grinding of wheels,
ihe deep breathing of locomotives,
I mingled in an unliarmonious diapason
I of horrid sound.
Abbott was right above the pier head
now. He looked down at it through
! the struts and floor beams and braces,
fastening his gaze on the questioned
member. There it stood satisfactorily,
of course. Vet, something impelled him
to walk out on the nearest floor beam
1 to the extreme edge of the truss and
look down at it once more, leaning far
out to see it better. He could get a
better view of it with nothing between
it and him. It still stood bravely. It
was all right, of course. He wished
that he had never said a word about it
to anyone. He did not see why he could
not regard it with the indifference that
it merited. As he stared down at it
over the edge of the truss the whistle
lor quitting blew.
Every sound of work ceased after
the briefest of intervals, except here
and there a few riveters driving home
a final rivet kept at it for a few sec
ond. but only for a few seconds. Then,
| for a moment a silence like death it
I self intervened. It seemed ns if the
ever blowing wind had been momen
| tarily stilled. That shrill whistle and
the consequent cessation of the work
j always affected everybody the same
| way. There was inevitably and in
variably a pause. The contrast be
tween the noise and Its sudden stop
page was so great that the men in
! stinetively waited a few seconds and
! drew a breath before they began to
| light their pipes, close their tool boxes,
i pick up their coats and dinner pails,
and resume their conversation ns they
strolled along the roadway to the
shore.
It seemed to Abbott that it had never
been so silent oi\ the bridge before.
There was almost always a breeze,
sometimes a gale, blowing down or up
the gorge through which the river
flowed, but that afternoon not a breath
was stirring.
Abbott found himself waiting in
strained and unwonted suspense for
the next second or two, his eyes fixed
on the member. The long warm rays
of the afternoon sun illuminated it
clearly. In that second immediately
below him. far down toward the pier
head he saw a sudden flash as of break
ing steel. Low, but clear enough in the
intense silence, he heard a popping
sound like the snap of a great finger.
Then the bright gleam of freshly
broken metal caught his excited glance.
The lacing was giving way. Meade was
right. Tlie member would go with it—
The first pop or two was succeeded by
a little rattle as of revolver shots
heard from a distance, as the lacings
gave way in quick succession. Abbott
was a man with a powerful voice and
he raised it to its limit.
The idle workmen, just beginning to
laugh nnd jest, heard a great cry:
“Off the bridge, for God's sake!”
Two or three, among them Wileh
ings, who happened to be within a few
feet of the landward end, without un
derstanding why, but impelled by the
agony, the appeal, the horror in the
great shout of the master builder,
leaped for the shore. On the bridge
itself some stepped forward, some
stood still staring, others peered down
ward. The great sixty-foot webs of
steel wavered like ribbons in the wind.
The bridge shook as if in an earth
quake. Tltere was a heavy, shuddering,
swaying movement nnd then the (300
foot cantilever arm plunged down
ward. as a great ship falls into the
trough of a mighty sen. Simrp-keyed
sounds cracked out overhead ns the
truss parted at the apex, the outward
half inclining to the water, the inward
half sinking straight down.
Shouts, oaths, screams rose, heard
faintly above the mighty bell-like re
quiem of great girders, struts and ties
smiting other members and ringing in
the ears of the helpless men like doom.
Then, with a fearful crash, with a
mighty shiver, the landward hiftf col
lapsed on the low shore, like a house of
cards upon which has been laid the
weight of a massive hand. The river
section, carrying the greater load at
tlie top and torn from its base, plunged,
like an avalanche of steel, 200 feet
down into the river, throwing far
ahead of it, ns from a giant catapult,
the traveler on the outward end of the
suspended span and a locomotive on
tlie floor beneath.
\Y ilchings. and the few men safe on
the shore, stood trembling, looking at
the hare pier head, at the awful tan
gled mass of wreckage on the shore
between the pier and the bank; floor
beam and stringer, girder and strut,
bent, twisted, broken in ragged and
horrible ruin, while the water, deeper
than the chasm it had cut, rolled its
waves smoothly over the agitations of
the great plunge beyond the pier. They
stared sick and faint at the tangled,
interwoven mass of steel, ribboning in
every direction—for in the main the
rivets held so it was not nny defect
of Joints, but structural weakness In
'he body of the members that had
brought tt down—and inclosing as In
a net many bodies that a few seconds
>efore had been living men.
They had seen body after body hurled
‘‘ou? 1 V e air fro,u the outward end
and. as hey gazed foarfo„ , ,
here and there dark . ‘ ,
the surface of the water ^h®oated *°
glimpses of white, dead faces
mighty current rolled them under
swept them on. And no sound eam«
from the hundred and fifty who had
gone down with the bridge. The 200
foot fall would have killed them with
out the smashing and battering and
crashing of the great girders that had
fallen upon them or driven them from
the floor and hurled them, crushed and
broken, into the river.
Meade hn<l been right. Abbott bad
one swift flash of acknowledgment, one
swift moment packed with such re
grets as might fill a lifetime—an eter
nity in a hell of remorse—before he.
like the rest, had gone down with the
bridge!
CHAPTER VII.
For the Son.
The message was received in ghast
ly silence. No one spoke for a moment,
None moved. Colonel Illingworth's
face was fiery red. Bertram Meade
was whiter than any other man in the
room. He was thinking of his father.
The girl moved first. Her father
and the young engineer were the two
most deeply touched. They were both
in agony, both in need of her. Unhesi
tatingly she stepped to the side of the
younger. And the father saw and un
derstood even in the midst of his suf
fering. She hail chosen.
“We are ruined,” gasped the colo
nel, tugging at his collar. “We could
stand the financial loss, but our reputa
tiou! We’ll never get another con
tract. I might as well close the works.
And it is your father’s fault. It's up to
him. The blood of those men is upon
his head. Well, sir. I'll let the whole
world know how grossly incompetent
he is, how—”
“Sir," said young Meade, standing
very erect and whiter than ever, “the
fault is mine. I made the calculations.
I checked and rechecked them. No
body could know with absolute certain
ty the ability of the lower chord mem
bers to resist compression. But what
ever the fault, it is mine. My father
had absolutely nothing to do with it.
He is—”
“He’s got to bear the responsibility,”
cried the colonel passionately. “It has
his name—"
“No, I tell you,” thundered the
younger man. "For I’ll proclaim my
own responsibility. The fault is all
mine and I’ll publish the fact from one
end of the world to the other.”
“It’s a load I wouldn’t wunt to have
on my conscience,” said Colonel Illing
worth.
“The ruin of a great establishment
like the Martlet,” added Doctor Sev
erence.
“The dishonor to American engineer
ing,” said Curtiss.
“And the awful loss of life,” con
tinued the colonel.
“I assume them all,” protested the
young man, forcing his lips to speak,
although the cumulative burdens set
forth so clearly and so mercilessly bade
fair to crush him.
“It was only a mistake.” protested
Helen Illingworth, drawing closer to
her lover’s side, and with difficulty re
sisting a temptation to clasp him in
her arms.
i “A mistake!” exclaimed her father
bitterly.
“You said yourself,” urged the wom
an, turning to the chief engineer, “that
j you didn't know whether the designs
would work out, that nobody could
know, but you were convinced that
they would.”
“Wait,” interrupted the father.
"Meade, there is one consequence you
have got to bear that you haven’t
thought of.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think I’d let my daughter
marry a man who had ruined me, an
incompetent engineer by his own con
fession. a—”
“It is just.” said Meade. “I have
nothing further to d(*llere. gentlemen.
I must go t(5 my father.”
“Just or not,” cried Helen Illing
worth, “I can't allow you to dispose of
me in that way, father. If he is as
blamable ns he says he is. and as you
say he is, now is the time above all
others for the woman who loves him to
stand by him.”
“Miss Illingworth, you don’t know
what you are saying,” said Meade,
forcing himself into a cold formality
he did not feel. “I am disgraced,
shamed. There is nothing in life for
me. My chosen profession—my repu
tation—everything is gone.”
“The more need you have for me,
then."
“It is noble of you. I shall love you
forever, but—”
He turned resolutely away 'and
walked doggedly out of the room. Hel
en Illingworth made a step to follow
him.
“Helen, interposed her father, I
catching her almost roughly by the
arm in his anger and resentment, “if
you go out of this door after that man.
I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Father, I love you. I’m sorry for
you. I would do anything for you hut
this. You have your friends. That
man yonder has nothing, nothing hut
me. I must go to him.”
She turned and went out of the
room without a backward look or an- ;
other word, no one detaining her. Now
it happened that by hurrying down the
hill in the station wagon, Meade had
just caught a local train, which made
connections with the Heading express
some twenty miles away, and Helen
Illingworth In her car reached the sta
tion platform just in time to see It de
part. She remembered that ten miles
across the country another railroad
rnn and if she drove hard she could
possibly catch a train which would
land her in Jersey City a few minutes j
before the train her lover caught. She
told the chauffeur, who scented a ro
mance and drove as he had never
driven before.
The girl caught the express and rode
to the Hudson terminal in the city.
The newsboys on the street were al
ready crying the loss of the bridge.
She saw the story displayed in lurid
red headlines as she sprang into the
taxi and bade the chauffeur hurry her
to the Uplift building downtown. The
bill she handed him in advance made
him recklessly break the speed limit.
• * * * * •
Bertram Meade, Sr., had not left the
office during the whole long afternoon.
He sat alone, quietly waiting for the
end. As to the drowning life unrolls
in rapid review, so pictures of the past
took form and shape In his mind. He
recalled many failures. No success is
uninterrupted and unbroken. It is
through constant blundering that we
urrtve. He had learned to achieve by
ailing, as everybody else learns. But
ilonable thT‘g** wUch were par
could not b* b^“uxng of his career,
should have taught “°W; those
8 t him. reaUzed
too late that his later achievement had
begot In him a kind of conviction of
omniscience, a belief in his own infalli
bility, bad for a man. His pride had
gone before, hard upon approached the
fall. He had been so sure of himself
that even when the possibility that he
might be mistaken hnd been pointed
out and even argued, he had laughed it
to scorn. His son’s arguments he had
held lightly on account of his youth
and comparative inexperience—to hts
sorrow he realized it, too late.
Again came that strange feeling of
pride, the only thing which could in
any way alleviate his misery or lighten
his despair. It was his own son who
had pointed out the possible defect.
Youth more often than not disregards
the counsel of age. In this case age
had made light of the warnings of
youth. It was a strange reversal, he
i thought, grimly recognizing a touch of
| sardonic and terrible humor in the sit*
uation.
“Whom the gods destroy they first
: make mad.” Well, he had been mad
enough. If he had only listened to the
I boy. And now there was nothing he
| could do but wait. Yes, as the long
' hours passed and the sun declined, and
1 the evening nppronched, there sudden
ly flashed upon him that there was still
something he could do. He had ex
perienced some strange physical sen
sations during that afternoon, unease
in his breast, some sharp pains about
j his heart. He forgot them for the mo
! ment in the idea that had come to him.
When the bridge fell he would avow
the whole responsibility, take all the
blame. Fortunately for his plans, his
son had reduced to writing his views
I on the compression members, which
| had almost taken the form of protest.
“Mr. Meade, What Is the Matter?"
and this letter had been handed to
his father. His first mind had been to
tear it up after he had read it and
had overborne the objections contained
therein, but on second thought he had
carefully filed it away with the origi
nal drawings. It was. of course, in the
younger Meade’s own handwriting.
He went to his private safe, opened
the drawings and found the letter at
tached to the sheet of drawings. He
put back the other drawings and
closed the safe without locking it.
Then he went back to the desk and
considered the document. He had been
blind, mad. He laid the paper down
ou his desk and put his hand to his
heart.
Of course he would submit those pa
pers to the public at once. Was there
anything else he could do? Yes. He
sat down at the desk and drew a sheet
of paper before him and began to
write. Slowly,_ tremblingly, he perse
vered. carefully weighing his words be
fore he traced them on paper. He had
not written very long before the door
of the outer office opened and he heard
the sound of soft footsteps entering
the room. He recognized the new
comer. It was old Sliurtliff, a man
who had been his private secretary
and confidential clerk lor many years.
He stopped writing and called to him.
Shurtliff was an old bachelor, gray,
thin, tall, reticent. He had but one
passion—Meade, Sr.; but one glory—
the reputation of the great engineer.
Yes, and as there is no great passion
without jealousy, Shurtliff was filled
with womanly jealousy of Bertram
Meade because his father loved him
and was proud of him. Shurtliff knew
all about the private affairs of the two
engineers, father and son. He knew
all about the protest of the younger
Mende.** The father had told him just
what he intended to do with it.
Shurtliff might have been a great
man if left to himself or forced to act
for himself. But pursuing a great pas
sion so long as he had, he had merged
himself in the more aggressive person
ality of his employer and friend. He
had received a good engineering edu
cation, but had got into trouble over
a failure, a rather bad mistake in his
early career, too big to be rectified, to j
be forgiven, or condoned. The older j
Meade had taken him up, had been '
kind to him. had offered to try to put ■
him on his feet again, but his big fall- i
ure had increased his natural timidity, j
so he stayed on. He had become a j
part of the old man’s life.
\oung Meade had never been able
to get very far is to the personality of
Shurtliff, but he liked him and respect
ed him. He realized the man's devo
tion to his father, and he understood
and admired him. Aside from that
jealousy the old man could not but like
the young one. He was too like his
father for Shurtliff to dislike him. The
secretary wished him well; he wanted
to see him a great engineer. Of course
he could never be the engineer that
his father was. That would not be In
the power of man. But still, even If
he never attained that height, he could
yet rise very high. Shurtliff would not
admit that there was anything on earth
to equal Meade, Sr.
The secretary was greatly surprised
ns he stopped beside his own desk to
hear his name called from the inner
office. He recognized his employer’s
voice, of course, yet there was a
strange note In It which somehow gave
him a sense of uneasiness. He went
into the room at once and stonned
aghast.
“Good God, Mr. Meade!” he ex
claimed.
Ordinarily he wns the quietest and
most undemonstrative of men. There
was something soft and subtle about
his movements. An exclamation of
that kind had hardly escaped him in
the thirty years of their association.
He checked himself instantly, hut
Meade, Sr., understood. The day be
fore Shurtlitf had left him a hale,
hearty, vigorous somewhat ruddy man.
Now he found him old, white, trem
bling, stricken. Meade looked at Shurt
liflf with a lack-luster eye and with a
face that was dead while it was yet
alive.
“Mr. Meade,” began the secretary a
j second time, “what is the matter?”
“The International bridge,” an
j swered the other, and the secretary no
ticed the strangeness of his voice more
and more. “It’s about to collapse. Per
haps it-has failed already.”
Meade passed his hand over his
brow and then brought it down heavily
on the desk.
“As we sit here, maybe, it is falling,”
he added somberly in a sort of dull,
impersonal way.
Into the mind of the secretary came
a foolish old line: “London bridge is
falling down, falling down!” lie must
; be mad or Meade must be mad.
“I can't believe it, sir. Why?”
“There’s a deflection in one of the
lower chord members of one and three
quarters inches. It’s bound to col
lapse. The boy was right, Shurtlitf,”
explained Meade. “I was wrong. I
am ruined.”
“Don’t say that, sir. You have never
failed in anything. There must be
some means.”
“Shurtiilf, you ought to know there
is no power on earth could save that
member. It’s only a question of time
when it will fall.”
The secretary leaned back against
the doorjamb, put his hand over his
face, and shook like a leaf. The old
man eyed him.
“Don’t take it so hard,” he said. “It’s
not your fault, you know.”
“Mr. Meade,” burst out the other
• man, “you don't know what it means
to me. A failure myself, I have glo
ried in you. I—you have been every
thing to me, sir. I can’t stand it.”
“I know,” said Meade kindly. He
rose and walked over to the man, laid
his hand on his shoulder, took his
other hand in his own. “It hurts more,
perhaps, to lose your confidence in me
than it would to lose the confidence of
the world.”
How the gods conspire to
make complete the wreckage of
reputations and how young
Meade is cast into outer dark
ness is told in the next install
ment.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
IS PATRON SAINT OF BIRDS
Squirrels Depend on Asylum Inmate
for Their Supply of Butternuts
in Winter.
“The patron saint of birds and squir
rels’’ is happy. And though he is sixty
years old and has been a patient of
the state hospital for the feeble-mind
ed for 36 years, his hair is brown and
wavy, his eyes are bright and spark
ling and his health is good. He has
been in the institution more than half
of his life, but his life seems to be
more sane than "the lives of the thou
sands who have outstripped him in
the life race—and have become
wrinkle-cheeked, blear-eyed and hard
fisted.
Albert Gentle has forgotten the
world, says the Milwaukee Sentinel.
He was entered in the hospital in 18SG
because he loved the small animals
and food of the forests. He has been
there since, spending most of his time
gathering nuts or communing with na
ture, never expressing the slightest de
sire to get back to the outside world
“Last year I picked 27,500 butter
nuts for my squirrels,” he said. “J
need just that many to feed them all
They get so hungry in the winter time,
I make so many of them happy. 1
must be here always to care for them."
He said It quietly, with dignity. Im
aginatively he somehow emerged from
the character of an old simpleton,
clothed in an absurd, rusty frock coat,
trousers of another d5y and general
appearance of Washington Irving's
schoolmaster and became the sancti
fied keeper of a great trust. Whal
was more important than caring for
those little animals?
“Most people do not know how im
portant it is that we should always
think of the tiny bits of life that God
has put on this earth,” he said slowly
“Often they do not think of each
other.”
Europe’s Largest Dam.
The lnrgest dam in Europe has just
been completed near Barcelona, Spain
It is built across the chasm through
which the Noguera Pallaresa rivet
flowed. Abutting on almost perpendic
ular cliffs, the dam is constructed ot
concrete, and measures 330 feet in
hi lght and 700 feet in length. The
thickness is 230 feet at the base, grad
ually decreasing to 14 feet at the top.
The valley above the dam was bought
front the various landholders at a cost
of near $1,000,000, and now filled with
water forms an artificial lake 15*4
miles long and 8% miles wide. The
water that now passes through the
power house yields an electric current
of 20,000 horse power. Later it will b«
increased to 40,000 horse power. The
wnter is carried by a system of canals
into an arid district, where it Irrigates
a surface of nearly 100 square miles.
Greatest Coal Production.
Coal production records were
smashed in 1916, when the output was
around 597,600,000 tons, compared with
570,000,000 tons, the previous high rec
ord established in 1913. The quantity 1
of bituminous coal mined was 509,000,- i
000 tons, an increase compared with
1915 of 66,500,000 tons, or 15 per cent,
according to estimates by C. E. Lesher
of the United States geological survey,
department of the interior. The quan- !
tlty of Pennsylvania anthracite was
about 88,812,000 net tons, a decrease of
000,000 tons.
Approval.
The nod of an honest man is enough.
•‘•Proverb.
WOMAN SICK
TWO YEARS
Could Do No Work.
Now Strong as a
Mam.
Chicago, 111. —“For about two years
I suffered from a female trouble so I
was unable to walk
or do any of my own
work. I read about
Lydia E. Pinkham’s
Vegetable Com
pound in the news
papers and deter
mined to try it. It
brought ai; im
mediate re . ‘ My
weakness h
tirely disar
and I never ha
ter health. I v.
166 pounds and am as strong as a rr.
I think money is weil spent which p
chases Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegeta.
Compound.”—Mrs. Jos. O’Bryan, 1756
Newport Ave., Chicago, 111.
The success of Lydia E. Pinkham's
Vegetable Compound, made from roots
ana herbs, is unparalleled. It may be
used with perfect confidence by women
who suffer from displacements, inflam
mation, ulceration, irregularities, j • ri
odic pains, backache, bearing-do» • f-el
ing, flatulency, indigestion, dizzm-as,
and nervous prostration. Lydia E. Pink
ham's Vegetable Compound is the stan
dard remedy for female ills.
BEST BUYERS-’SELLERS - cattle
hogs«»sheep STOCK YAROS OMAHA
NEBRASKA NATIONAL
INSURANCE COMPANY
LINCOLN, NEBRASKA
Fire, tornado and hail Insurance, farm ,1
town property, automobile and threat ;
chinery. Policyholders and agents parti ; ,v
in the profits of this company. Agents wa
in open territory. 18th yew. Incorp rtted J«n. 4. U99
THE PAXTON
HOTEL
Omaha. Nebraska
EUROPEAN PLAN
Rooms from $1.00 up single, 75 a
CAFE. PRICES REASONABLE
Kussia is to create a men li;i: : . A
rine.
RED FACES AND RED HANDS
Soothed and Healed by Cuticura—Sam
pie Each Free by Mail.
Treatment for the face: On rising
and retiring smear affected part' \\ \
Cuticura Ointment. Then wash off with
Cuticura Soap and hot water. For rh
hands: Soak them in a hot lather
of Cuticura Soap. Dry. and n. m
Cuticura Ointment.
Free sample eacli by mail with !'• .
Address postcard. Cuticura. It I
Boston. Sold everywhere.—Adv.
WOULD MAKE PREACHER FARM
Each Should Be Given Small Tract to
Till to Increase His Income, a
Minister Declares.
That every minister throughout
country, particularly in rural distri ~
should be made to become a till*-r f
the soil in addition to his spiritual !
ties, is the belief of the Kev. John .!
Neighbor, rector of St. James' Epi
pal church at Bradley Beach N. J. H
emphatically advocated the project in
a recent sermon, the Brooklyn Eagle
states.
The Rev. Mr. Neighbor expressed the
opinion that every student for the min
istry should be required to take a
course in an agricultural college a< a
part of his training for the pulpit. The:
each parish should set apart a cer
tain amount of land for the minster t
till, the proceeds of which would -
help pay his salary and incidentally
increase his income. The preach,
said:
“Such a plan would he beneficial t
both the parish and i>s reefer. It
would give him the means of >■ lvti..
a large part of the financial difficulty
that often hampers him in his work
and make him more independent and
efficient. Certain hours in the daj
or so many hours a week, should be
set apart and prescribed as a time f.>r
his agricultural duties. This would
benefit him physicaily-as well as aid g
him to make both ends meet."
You cannot fan away a fog.
Scientific facts prove
the drug, caffeine, in
coffee is harmful to
many, while the pure
food-drink—
POSTUM
is not only free from
drugs, but is economical,
delicious and nourishing.
Made of wheat and a
bit of wholesome mo
lasses, Postum is highly
recommended by phy
sicians for those with
whom coffee disagrees.
Postum is especially
suitable for children.
“There’s a Reason”
Sc Id by Grocer*.
