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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 2, 1917)
i r^ • '' 1|||JJAsh UmiSMal Love Story I ‘~‘ By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHESM a I • . ■ - 1-iM-r. anil all the world chortles with de > 1 * git. fascinates an avowed woman-hater . :r. 1111..-; I \ out of her hand. In the story which ■ . • .niiing heroine does nothing so eotniuon : »!ie fascinates dozens. And in the end sic l,j' •• •! eating out of her hand, but three of the - i ~ saw following her around like faithful : •. - l llt.it. - a!- .gettier delightful, and we feel sure our - li eujo> the s.-tml thoroughly. THE EDITOR. CHAPTER I. , l>**. - * - leaning back among the naluiHii • he m .• .miens ir. The UH-n. ha 1 n..t yet risen, but a taiut and ‘usumou- * 'Vi -;.r. ! :ig like a halo about th • fat.oot |~-uk of the ragged hue of bill*, heralded its approach. Her ejr.-* >uept the hillsides, vainly f*4 with-.tr . ire city, for an) -:gu of a human i >e: .ng il-r chauffeur and her te ;J -••• • ! talking heatedly to gether near the radiator. leuinu* forward and ailed to the ■ haufleur “V Tiarl. - she a-ked. "what lias hap I —-n--.: Ar v.-rt i.lly -minded here?" The man's h* lid etnergeil fr.Mn the b-uiuei lie eauie round Ui the side of the nr “I atu very sorry uuidatu." he re potted * - ■ ■ tiling has g 'lie wrong with ih. -to I -lead have to take it to pi lo-fore I .-an tell exactly what is wroi.g. It will lake several h.oit - in . ,t ought to Oe l.itie by day light I*, i.aps 1 had lo-t’er go and see vii.-d. r Le-e i-u t a lanu somewhere near " An i i m u- her.- alone?" Aline n . Iitnusl indignantly. Her m r< .» smiled at h.*r reassur ingly. "What I.aie Mr to fear, you foolish girt"' K . !..y»etf. | would like l>etter then in>• g • • remain h.-re until the , "You Art trceed a Gcod Sarraritan." r.«»«i . . t-r the i« |« that round bill. Kut -*efi * There is no Ut*tVS- : mlf for •'!. . . » t < lea V e os.” i They turned their head-. From •joule dist; t. e I.ehiUd there mine. faintly 4' nr-t. hut more distinctly O IT) U* he -ound of llorsc'S leads L*.: ! r : ad louder oamr the aoutel. I— - . ve a little . ry as n 11-41. - r. , • . - at lie- ere-; of the h !. Tli ■ narrow ‘ *tri|. of r j,; ... a.ed sud :. aly dwarfed. ; mu «nre„-.i.al.ie |a>rti.-a of th.- horizon 1 blotted • •. In the iiaif light tliere • as ■Mt.iethirg at moat awesome iu the ni.UMu.ij - o . f tlie horse and of the ■null •> ie • ts«le it. ■|t is 4 rid of goblins th.- Aline!" her ■ yl< igiuioi softly. "Whitt la .1 that « • lues?" It hunaan bring. Dieu merel!” He • ■ . - I. with a matter-of-fact little -l-h of content. A -.is later horse and rider Mere ocside the ear. H ' ' ; • ned‘ ' 'll- new rom. i . - ...•uhth'iK and raising his : .*i|> |o hi- cti|». “• -:.efi do -a. " I.ouise said. “I*lv..-e le.i us what you would advise Us to do. 1* there a village near, or au mu. or . v u a barn? < *r shall we bare to -i*ej the flight i:i the car?" “The nearest village.' he repi.ed. “is twelve i . . - away. Fortunate;}-, my own home s i . -e by. 1 -hull he very pleased — 1 . my brother—if you will honor us. 1 am afraid I cannot offer you very much in the way of eu.ertuin toeot—" >Ih- r -se briskly to her feet anil beamed ui*>n him. "You arc inileed a good Samaritan!” »tie «-» .». »-•!. “A ri«>f is more than we had dared to hope for. although when uae !< -» up at this wonderful ski and lire; i , - this air one wonders, pertmi- whether a roof, after all. Is Midi a blessing.” "It gets very cold toward morning." the man said practically. t1 o.urv she as>*-i;ted. “Aline, you will tiriiia tay dressing-bag and fol low us Tlii' a •ulleiuau is kind enough to '3er ;s - - ter for the night. l*car u*e. you f.-jll; are almost as tali as >ou 'pi- -re-! she ad i* <!. as -he stood hy hi» side. “For the first t.;,.. In my life you ;uakc me feel undersized." lie P-ifced down at her. n little more at hi* C M* now hy reason of the lrieud liness of her mauner. although he had still the air of one embarked upon ail ad« * ature. tlu* outcome of which was to I*** regarded with sum* qualms. She <».' little more than tm-dium height, m.* l*i- Brat impressions of her were tl| was thin, and too pale to be ..,,-d .s'klog: tluit eyes were large ',,,1 of with e><-*»' jws more deur'y ,p, a. d than u usual among English women; nn<l that site moved without seeming to walk. "I suppose I am tall,” lie admitted, as they started off along the road. "One doesn’t notice it around here. My name is John Strangewey, and our house Is just behind that clump of trees there, ou the top of tile hill. We will do our best to make you comfort aide. he added u little doubtfully; "hut there are only my brother and myself, and we have uo women serv ants in the house.” “A roof of any sort will he a luxury.” assured him. “1 only hope that we shull not be a trouble to you in any way.” "And your name, please?" lie asked. She was a little amazed at his direct u*-ss. hut she answered him without hesitation. "My name,” she told him, “is Lou ise." He leaned down toward her, a little puzzled. "Louise. Rut your surname?" She laughed softly. It occurred to him that nothing like her luugh had ever been heard on that gray-walled stretch of mountain road. "Never mind! I am traveling incog nito. \\ ho I am, or where 1 um going —well, what does that matter to any body? Perhaps I do not know myself. You eau imagine, if you like, that we came from the heart of your hills, and that tomorrow they will open again and welcome us back.” “I don’t think there are any motor cars in fairyland.” he objected. "We represent a new edition of fairy h>re," she told him. "Modern romance, you know, includes motor-cars and even French maids.” "All the same,” he protested, with masculine bluntness, “I really don’t see how I can introduce you to my brother us ’Louise from fairyland.’ ” She evaded the point. "Tell me uhout your brother. Is he as tall as you, and is he younger or older?” "He is nearly twenty years older,” her companion replied. "He is about my height, hut he stoops more than I do. and his hair is gray. I am afraid that you may find him a little pecu liar.” lier escort paused and swung open a white gate on their left-hand side. Be fore them was an ascent which seemed to her, in the dim light, to be abso lutely precipitous. “It isn’t so bad as it looks." lie as sured her, "and I am afraid it’s the only way up. The house is at the bend barely fifty yards away. You can see a light through the trees.” "You must help me. then, please,” slle begged. Hr stoojted down toward lier. She linked her fingers together through his left arm and, leaning a little heavily upon him. begun the aseent. He was conscious of some subtle fragrance from her clothes, a perfume strangely different from the odor of the ghost like flowers that bordered the steep path up which they were climbing. Her arms, slight, warm things though they were, and great though his own str^igth. felt suddenly like a yoke. At every step he seemed to feel their weight more insistent—a weight not physical, solely due to this rush of un expected emotions. She looked around her almost in wonder as her companion paused with his hand ui>ou a little iron gate. From behind that Jagged stretch of hills in the distance the moon had now ap peared. He'ore her was a garden, austere-looking with its prim flower beds. the trees all bent in the same direction, fashioner after one pattern by the winds. Beyond was the house —a long, low building, part of it cov ered with some kind of creeper. As they stepped across the last few yards of lawn, the black, oak door which they were approaching suddenly opened. A tall, elderly man stood look ing inquiringly out. He shaded his eyes’with ltis hands. “Is that you. brother?" he asked doubtfully. John Strangewey ushered his com panion Into the square, oak-paneled j hall, hung with many trophies of the chase, a few oil-paintings, here and 1 here some sporting prints. It was i lighted only with a single lamp which stood upon a round, polished tuhle in the center of the white-flagged floor. ‘This lady’s motor-car has broken I down. Stephen,” John explained, turn ing a little nervously toward his broth er. "I found them in the road, just at tlie bottom of the hill, sue and her i servants will spend the night here. I have explained that there is no village ] or inn for a good many miles.” Louise turned graciously toward the ' elder man. who was standing grimly apart. Even in those few seconds, her quick sensibilities warned her of the hostility which lurked behind the tight ly closed lips and steel-gray eyes. His j bow was stiff and uncordial, and he made no movement to offer his hand. “We are not used to welcoming la ! dies at Beak Hall, madam.” he said, i T am afraid that you will find us ' somewhat unprepared for guests.” “I ask for nothing more than a roof," Louise assured him. John threw his hat and whip upon the round table and stood in Uie centei lot the sione tloor. She caught a glance which hashed between the two : men—of appeal from the one, of Icy resentment from the other. “We can at least add to the roof a bed and some supper—and a welcome,” John declared. “Is that not so. Ste phen?” The older man turned deliberately j away. It was as if he hud not heard Mis brother's words. “I will go and find Jennings.” he said. "He must be told about the serv ants.” Louise watched the disappearing fig ure until it was out of sight. Then she looked up into the face of the younger man, who was standing by her side. “I am sorry." she murmured apolo getically. "I am afraid that your brother is not pleused at this sudden i intrusion. Ueuliy. we shall give you ; very little trouble.” He answered her with a sudden j eager enthusiasm. He seemed far more natural then than at any time since he had ridden up from out of the shad j ows to take his place in her life. “1 won't apologize for Stephen,” he said. “He is a little crotchety. You must please be kind and not notice. You must let me. if I can, offer you ; welcome enough for us both." — CHAPTER II. Louise, with a heavy, silver-plated candlestick in her hand, stood upon the uneven floor of the bedroom to which -he had been conducted, looking up at the oak-framed family tree which hung above the broad chimney-piece. She examined the coat of arms emblazoned in the corner, and peered curiously at the hist neatly printed addition, which indicated Stephen and John Strange wey as the sole survivors of a dimin ishing line. When at last she turned away, she found the name upon her lips. “Strangewey!" site murmured. "John iStrangewey: It Is really curious how that name brings with It a sense of familiarity. It is so unusual, too. And what an unusual-looking person! Do you think. Aline, thar you ever saw anyone so superbly handsome?” The maid's little grimace was ex pressive. "Never, madam,” she replied. “Aud yet to think of it—a gentleman, a per son of intelligence, who lives here al ways, outside the world, with just a terrible old man servant, the only do mestic in the house i Nearly all the cooking is done at the bailiff’s, a quar ter of a mile away.” Louise nodded thoughtfully. “It Is very strange.” she admitted. “I should like to understand it. Per haps.” she added, half to herself, “some day I shall.” She passed across the room, and on her way paused before an old cheval glass, before which were suspended two silver candlesticks containing lighted wax candles. She looked stead fastly at her own reflection. A little smile parted her lips. In the bedroom of this quaint farmhouse she was look ing upon a face and a tigure which the illustrated papers and the enterprise of the modern photographer had com ; liined to make familiar to the world— [lie figure of a girl, it seemed, notwith standing her twenty-seven years. Her soft, white blouse was open at the neck, displaying a beautifully rounded throat. Her eyes dwelt upon the oval ■ face, with its strong, yet mobile fea tures; its lips a little full, perhaps, but soft and sensitive; at the masses of brown hair drawn low over her ears. This was herself, then. How would she seem to these two men downstairs, she asked herself—the dour, grim mas ter of the house, and her more youthful rescuer, whose coming had somehow touched her fancy? They saw so little of her sex. They seemed, in a sense, to lie in league against it. Would they find out that they were entertaining an angel unawares? She thought with a gratified smile of her incognito. It was a real trial His Bow Was Stiff and Uncordial. of her strength, this ! When she turned away from the mirror the smile still lingered upon her lips, a soft light of anticipation was shining in her eyes. John met her at the foot of the stairs. She noticed with some sur prise that he was wearing the dinner jacket and black tie of civilization. “Will you come this way, please?’ he begged. “Supper is quite ready.” He held open the door of one of the rooms on the other side of the hall, and she passed into a low dining room, dim ly lit with shaded lamps. The elder brother rose from his chair as they en tered, although his salutation was I '■veu grimmer than his first welcome He was wearing a (lress-coat of old fashioned cut, and a black stock, am he remained standing, without ant smile or word of greeting, until sin had taken her seat. Behind his chaii stood a very ancient manservant in * gray pepper-and-salt suit, with a whit* tie. whose expression, at the entranc* of this unexpected guest, seemed cu riously to reflect the inhospitable in stincts of his master. The table was luid with all inannet of cold dishes, supplemented by others upon the sideboard. There were pots of jam and honey, a silver teapot am; silver spoons and forks of quaint de sign, strangely cut glass, and a great Dresden bowl filled with flowers. “I am afraid." John remarked, “that you are not used to dining at this hour My brother and I are pld-fashioned in our customs, if we had had a little I longer notice—” “I never in my life saw anything that looked so delicious ns your colt) chicken,” Louise declared. "May 1 have some—and sonic ham? 1 believe that you must farm some land your selves. Everything looks as if it were : homemade or homegrown.” “We are certainly farmers,” John ad mitted. with a smile, “and I don't think there is much here that isn't of out own production. The farm buildings are at some distance away from the house. There is quite a little colony i ut the back, uud the woman who super I intends the dairy lives there. In the house we are entirely independent of your sex. We niuuuge, somehow or other, with Jeuniugs here and two boys.” “You are not both woman-haters, I hope?” Her younger host flashed a warning glance at Louise, but it was too late. Stephen had laid down his knife and fork and was leaning in her direction. “Madam,” he intervened, “since you have asked the questiou. I will confess that I have never known any good come to a man of our family from the friendship or service of women. Our family history, if ever you should come to know it, would uwply justify iuy brother and myself for our attitude to ward your sex." “Stephen!” John remonstrated, a slight frown upon his face. “Need you weary our guest with your peculiar views? It is scarcely i*>lite, to say the least of it." The older man sat. for a moment, grim and silent. “Perhai»s you are right, brother," he admitted. “This lady did not seek our company, hut it may interest her to know that she is the first woman who has crossed the threshold of Peak Hall for a matter of six years.” Louise looked from one to the other, half incredulously. I “Do you really mean it? Is that lit erally true?” she asked John. “Absolutely,” the young man as sured her; "hut please remember that you are none the less heartily welcome here. We have few women neighbors, and intercourse with them seems to have slipped out of our lives. Tell me. how far have you couie today, anti where ditl you hoj>e to sleep tonight?" Louise hesitated for a moment. For some reason or other, the question seemed to bring with it some disturb ing thought. "I was motoring from Edinburgh. As regards tonight, I had not made up i my mind. 1 rather hoped to reach Kendal. My journey is not at all an in teresting matter to talk about.” she i went on. "Tell me abont your life j here. It sounds most delightfully pas toral. Do you live here all the year round?” "My brother,” John told her. “has not been farther away than the near est market town for nearly twenty years.” Her eyes grew round with astonish ment. 1>UL JWU Ji'J 111 l.OilUUI! »UIUriUUt*N.' “1 was there eight years ago. Since then 1 have not been further away than Carlisle or Kendal. I go into camp near Kendal for three weeks every year—territorial training, you know." “But how do you pass your time' What do you do with yourself?” she asked. “Farm." he answered. “Farming is our daily occupation. Then for amuse ment we hunt, shoot and fish. The sea sons pass before we know it." She looked appraisingly at John | Strangewey. Notwithstanding his sun tanned cheeks and the splendid vigor of his form, there was nothing in the least agricultural about his manner oi his appearance. There was humor as well as intelligence in his clear, gray eyes. She opined that the books whicli lined one side of the room were at once his property and his hobby. “It is a very healthy life, no doubt,’ she said; “but somehow it seems in comprehensible to think of a man like yourself living always in such an out of-the-way corner.” John's lips were open to reply, but Stephen once more intervened. “Life means a different thing to end of us. madam,” he said sternly. "There are many born with the lust for cities and the crowded places in their hearts horn with the desire to mingle witl: their fellows, to absorb the convention al vices aud virtues, to become one oi the multitude. It has been different with us Strangeweys.” Jennings, nt a sign from his master removed the tea equipage, evidently produced in honor of their visitor Three tall-stemmed glasses were placed upon the table, and a decantei of port reverently produced. Louise had fallen for a moment oi two into a fit of abstraction. Her eyes were fixed upon. the opposite wall from which, out of their faded frames a row of grltn-looking men and women -i startlingly like her two hosts, seemed to frown down upon her. "Is that your father?’’ she asked, moving her head toward one of the portraits. “My grandfather. John Strangewey," Stephen told her. "Was he one of the wanderers?” "He left Cumberland only twice during his life. He was master of hounds, magistrate, colonel in the yeo manry' of that period, nnd three times refused to stand for parliament." "John Strangewey!” Louise relat ed softly to herself. “I was looking at your family tree upstairs.” she went ou. "It is curious how both my maid and myself were struck with a sense of familiarity about the name, as if we had heard or read something about it quite lately.” Her words were almost carelessly spoken, hut she was conscious of the somewhat ominous silence which en sued. She glanced up wonderingly and Intercepted a rapid look passing between the two men. More puzzled than ever, she turned toward John as if for an explanation. He had risen somewhat abruptly to his feet, and his hand was upon the hack of her chair. “Will it he disagreeable to you if tny brother smokes a pipe?" he asked. “I ! tried to have our little drawing room j prepared for you, but the fire has not ! been lit for so long that the room, I am j afraid, is quite impossible.” “Do let me stay here with you.” she begged, "and I hope that both of you will smoke. I am quite used to it.” John wheeled up an easy chair for | her. Stephen, stiff and upright, sat on the other side of the hearth. He took ! the tobacco jar and pipe that his broth er hud brought him. and slowly filled the bowl. “With your permission, then, nin I dam.” he said, as lie struck a match. : Louise smiled graciously. Some In stinct prompted her to stifle her own | craving for a cigarette and keep her ; little gold case hidden in her pocket. ; All the time her eyes were wandering ; round the room. Suddenly she rose and. moving round the table, stood once more facing the row of gloomy looking portraits. "So that is your grandfather?” she remarked to John, who had followed j her. "Is your father not here?” He shook his head. “My father's portrait was never | painted." "Tell the truth, John,” Stephen en [ joined, rising in his place and setting down his pipe. “We Strangeweys were hillfolk and farmers, by descent and destiny, for more than four hun- ' dred years. Our place is here upon ! the land, almost among the clouds, and those of us who have realized it have led the lives God meant us to lead. There have been some of our race who ! have been tempted into the lowlands I and the cities. Not one of them brought honor uj>on our name. Their pictures are not here. They are not ; worthy to be here." Stephen set down the candlesticks and returued to his place. Louise, with her hands clasped behind her hack, glanced toward John, who still stood j by her side. “Tell me.” she asked him. “have none of your people who went out into the world done well fi>r themselves?” “Scarcely one," he admitted. “Not oar." Stephen interrupted. “Madam,” he went on, turning toward Louise, “lest my welcome to you this ••veiling should have seemed inhospita ble. let me tell you this: livery Strangewey who has left our county and trodden the downward jiath of j LAST RECRUITS OF SLAVERY Remnants of Cargo Brought to Amer ica in 1859 Make Up Interesting Colony Near Mobile. I’erhaps the most interesting colony of negroes in America toiluv is to be found in Alabama, about three miles from the heart of Mobile. Here in a little town called Plateau lives a group of nine weather-beaten, grizzled old ] men and women, the remnant of the ] last cargo of slaves brought to Ameri can soil from the coast of Africa, says the Southern Workman. The youngest | is entering on his sixty-sixth year; the I oldest is not less than one hundred and ! ten; while just a few years ago one of I their number died who had seen more I than one hundred and forty years. They were brought to America in the 1 summer of 1859. In I860 their emanci J nation came. For the next few years I they were bufTeted about by changing | fortunes without any settled home. One among them, wiser than the 1 rest, saw the dangers of their unset tled condition. Not owning their homes ; they could be turned out at any time, and, hiring themselves to strange mas ters in search of laborers, they might some day be carried off again into slavery, perhaps to Cuba or Porto Rico, for they learned that slavery still ex isted there. With such incentive be hind them they selected a tract of | land just outside Mobile, on Three, Mile creek, and began the purchase of homes. As one goes over arid about Pla teau, he is struck with the appropri ateness of the setting in which this African colony is to be found. About one-half the town Is owned by negroes, and of the property occupied by them at least 7o per cent is owned by their own people. The lnrgest single hold ing of land among them is between 50 and 60 acres. Another negro land lord owns and rents about 20 houses. There are nine stores, of which seven are owned and operated by colored men. The largest of them all is one of these seven and represents a vol ume of business amounting to more than $11,000 annually. j failure, lias done so at the instance of 1 one of your sex. That is why those of us who inherit the family spirit look askance upon all strange women. That is why no woman is ever welcome with in this house.” Louise resumed her seat in the easy chair. “I am so sorry." she murmured, looking down at her slipper. "I could not help breaking down here, could I?” “Nor could my brother fail to offer you the hospitality of this roof,” Ste phen admitted. “The incident was un fortunate but inevitable. It is a mat ter for regret that we have so little to offer you in the way of entertainment.” j He rose to his feet. The door had opened. Jennings was standing there with a candlestick upon a massive sil ver salver. Behind him was Aline. “Yon are doubtless fatigued by your journey, madam," Stephen concluded. Louise made a little grimace, but she rose at once to her feet. She under stood quite well that she was being --- “Those of Us Who Inherit the Family Spirit Look Askance Upon All Strange Women.” sent to bed. and she shivered a little i when she looked at the hour—barely ten o’clock. Yet it was all in keeping. From the doorway she looked back in to the room, in which nothing seemed to have been touched for centuries Site stood upon the threshold to bid liei final good-night, fully conscious of the complete anachronism of her presence there. Her smile for Stephen was respectful and full of dignity. As she glanced to ward John, however, something Hashed in her eyes and quivered at the corners of her lips, something which escaped her control, something which made him grip for a moment the bad of the chair against which lie stood Then, between the old manservant who insisted upon carrying her candle to her room, and her maid, who walked behind, she crossed the white stone hall and stepped slowly up the broad fiight of stairs. Louise has quite an interesting little chat with John before she resumes her journey, and in his mind is awakened something that hasn’t been stirred for a very long time. (TO HE CONTINUED.) FOODS THAT CAUSE RICKETS Disease ts Due to Too Little Animal Fat Protein and Lime Salts ii» Dietary* Says Doctor. “Beware of giving young children too much pasteurized inilk. proprietary food, or even eereais. to the exelu sion of brow n bread and butter, stewed fruit or roasted apple, and a little meat once a day,” writes Dr. Beverley ltohinson of New York in giving a warning note about rickets in the New YTork Medical Journal. He adds that he Is “considering especially children two or three years "Id. who are healthy and vigorous un less rickets develops unawares by reason of faulty dietary.” And lie quotes the following from Osier: “Like scurvy, rickets may lie found in the families of the wealthy under perfect hygienic conditions. It is most common in children fed on condensed milk, the various proprietary foods, cow's milk and food rich in starches.” Bickets is the cause of knock-knees and bow legs. It is due to toe little animal fat and protein in the dietary, together with too little lime salts. Her Memory Faulty. She was middle-aged, stylishly gowned and apparently sane. And she was looking at the pointings in the Corcoran Gallery of Art through a gold-framed lorgnette, that dangled from a jeweled gold chain. Another woman was standing before a canvas, and, in a desire for informa tion, or. perhaps, for the sake of social interchange, the lady of the lorgnette inquired, affably: "Is that a picture of the death oi j the Lord?" “No, madam; it represents the mar tyrdom of St. Sebastian.” “Ah, I see. I have the poorest mem ory. I knew that they killed the Lord, of course, but I disromembered just how.”—Washington Star. Dealers throughout Australasia note an increasing demand for woman’s hats and sports coats of American make. I Don t take chances this year! Use GO BK C= .=» RED RUBBER^ - They Fit All Standard Jan Experts teaching “coW pack” canning use GOOD LUCK rubbers because they won't ”biov. out” during sterilization nor harden, shrink or crack m.n~t the jar is sealed. Send 2c stamp for new b- ■ t - a preserving or 10c in sumpa for l doz. rings if y r dealer cannot supply you. Address Dept. 54 BOSTON WOVEN HOSE A RUBBER 4.0 j Cambridge. Mass. USES FOR FAMILY UMBRELLA Mind of Woman Devises Twc Ways if Which Rainstick May Be Pressed Into Service. Two novel uses for an umbrella r rold of fn a recent issue of Popular M chanics Magazine. The mind of «> ■ an devised them both. Picnickers desiring to go in bntl. . are often handicapped by the lack ‘ convenient places to change clothe- A umbrella and some paper muslin ( r vides a light portable tent that is pr tical and inexpensive for such us. - f'ut the dark paper muslin into ... many nine-foot lengths as there u> sections of the umbrella. Sew th> strips together. At eaeh seam tie . string about a yard long ami a ■ . cord 15 feet long to the handle to b up the tent. For use open the <::■ brella, invert it and to each rib lie . end of the cord to the handle of the umbrella and suspend it from a rr or other support, weighting or tyi g down the other end. A clothes dryer that can he i-a-i! carried will appeal to travelers ar. i persons living in small quarters. Ar umbrella. four yards of strong wraj ping twine and several small bra rings are required. Knot the rings into the twine at intervals, measuring the distance between the rib points <f the umbrella, and hook the twine ti the points by the rings, providing . siderable drying space for small arti cles. Hook the umbrella handle <c ■ r a suitable support or tie it careful to the supporting pii»e of a light tlx ture in the middle of the room, read/ for the articles to be dried. That Was Different. "I want,” said the grim-faced > ’•m mander, “a dozen men who will give their lives to their country.” The en tire regiment stepped forward. The commander selected twelve. “Now,” said he, “you are to hold this position until you are wiped out." “But we shall lie killed!" quavered one. “Did ycu not volunteer to give your life to your country?" asked the c. mander sternly. “Oh, ‘life!’ I thought you » ‘wife!’ ” Had Short Memory. Landlord (to I'at. who lias just ; his rent)—I hear you are a good j; of whisky, Pat. Now, here are two different bottles and 1 want you t" me which is the best. Pat takes a glass of each, smacks his lips and looks wise. Landlord—Well, Pat. which is the best? Pat—Begorra. yer honor, they are both good, but would you mind tilling tne another glass of the first. I have forgotten the taste of it. Apology. “I hear. Mr. Catts, that you said I was a wallflower at the hall." “My dear Mist; Pussy, I remarked that you were among the conspi -q ous mural ornaments of the occa sion.” “Oh. Mr. Caus, now that’s some thing different, but yon flatter me." Accounts for It. “Money is trouble.” “I guess that is why people are al ways borrowing it.” Boston may soon have women street ear conductors. Whole Wheat and MahedBariey skillfully blended and processed make Giape-Nuts a most delicious food in flavor as well as a great body, brain and nerve builder. "TtaobaBaason
