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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 9, 1917)
THE TILLMAN By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM CHAPTER III. —2— awoke the next morning titled with a curious sense of buoyant e<|«ertau<-y. The sunshine was pouring :nt<> the room. brightening up its most •anther corners. !t lay across the quilt •f her bed. a’nl seemed to briug out the ;e-rfnuie of lavender from the pillow on who'h her bead reposed. Aline. (caring her mistress stir. b. sieiosl at once to her bedside. "It is half past nine, madam, and y <r breakfast is here. The old im *nsii,* from the kitchen has just brought it up." Louise looked approvingly at the breakfast tray, with the home-made ‘•rend ard deejejrellow liutter, the irown eggs aud clear honey. The sio.-ll ..r he coffee was aromatic. She breathed n little sigh of content. "How leiiciutis everything looks!” she etdiimnl. The homemade tilings are well •nough iu their way, madam," Aiiue •greed. ' but I have never known a household s,i strange and disagreeable. Thai M Jennings, who calls himself the butler—he is u IHTson unspeak able a savage!" Louise s eyes twinkled. "I don ' think they are fond of wotn in ft.- household. Aline." she re- i marked. "Tell me. have you seen l "buries T’ "STiar *— has gone to the nearest •iaeksoi *h « forge To get something atade fo the <tir. madam," Aline re plied. "Me u*ked me to say that he Was afrml he would not be ready to Mart l*ef re midday.” Ilia: :•*«•» not matter. Louise de clared. . tug eagerly out of the ease ment wit low. Immediately below was a era— g-owu orchard w hich stretched Upward. *' a pr.sipitous angle, toward a shly |*h»weil field; beyond, a , little . .hi of rocky hills, sheer over head. Tie trees were pink and white with t.l i s.mi; the petals lay al»>ut upon ft-- ground like drifted snow dr kes. l.-re and there yellow jon >|i its we.-.- crowing among the long CfTss. A «aft of perfume Stole into :b- room through the window which -Ir had CJwtied. 1 ill my bath quickly. Aline," Louise •r l.-r-sl. - I . i- _• . out. I w ant to see w*< her i l- really as beautiful as it to *k*." { Aline 1 her iiiistre-s in si-, leaee. Th Hi. suddenly, a little excla ■i au<-o e-t ![ cd her. She sw ung round ; toward I. * -ires., mal for ouce there was auiias* iu her face. ■ 1. "i ' have r. i temVr.-.i The name StmiiRe wey. Yeste.ilay luorniug you read it ' • •tit while ; • u t<Nik your coffee. You i s|M>ke <»f th- good fortune of some fanner iu it-e north of Lugiaud to ■ whom route “tdativc in Australia had left a great fortune—hundreds and thousand- of ->>itnds. The name was Wrung* • u Hut I re UP-tuber It now * Sip- pointed cue more to the family tree. Louis.- ^ f*»r a moment with parted lips. "Y.*u are quit - right. Aliue. I re member It all l*effeet|y now. I wonder whether i < *uid possibly lie either of these tao men?” till*** 'll *»k her head doubtfully. ‘It would l»- m. leib-vablc. madam." ! »l*e deriikd, "Court any sane human creature* live here, with no company t-ui the sheep and the cuws. if they had money—wooer to live in the M ’o |„. happy? Un eiievatde. tumP-m t” 1 ut.se rctwiined standing liefore the window She »j* watching the lilos usu Mi-u Imuithr of one of the apple trees bending au<* swaying in the fresh morning breeze—-watching the restless Mhadous which came and went upon Che grass bene*, h. "Thi.; s juc* your jmint of view. Aline " she murmured: “but happiness —well you would not understand. They are strange men. these two." Louis*- found her way without diffi culty acr es « eobhlcd yard, through a postern gate set in a red-brick wall, into the e- hard. At the farther end »he *-aaie to a gate, against which she r»cte«t for M.-i ent. leaning her arms ii|«iu tii- t i -t l*ar. Before her was he little Ii t of plowed earth, the fresh, pungent odor of which was n hew thing to I r: a little way to the eight, tie* rolb’ig moorland, starn*<J • itb Humps of g-.r»e; in front, across •In field i-li the other side of the gray -tone wall, tile r. . ■ strewn hills. The sky—uuusu idy'li! ■ n se. tncil to her. md doited all over with little masses >f WiUte «•;«. i-seetnisi smup „,w lower s' 1 in ar : or was she. per uitie. higher up? She linger s! ther*- absolutely bevvil • h in Imr brain n*l sell''— wlmt surely must be -.•me newly kindled faculty of appre ,j,i,,iu. Th *rc "-is a 1 auty in the ,, <rri,j w hich <tic had not felt liefore. She turtle her head almost lazily at W u. iii'l of < man's voice. A tea'u of ...r-u-s, stra • 't-2 at a plow, were coni ng round lit* !•* «'* ut ,!l*' BHd. and by to ir «i.le. talking to the ialmrer who „„t d tl • ‘ ,oliM Strangewey. she vi atHieC him as he came Into -Igtit up the deep rise. He walked In step with the plowman by h!s side, but without any of the laborer’s mechani cal plod—with a spring in his foot steps, indeed, pointing with ills stick along the furrow, so absorbed in the instructions he was giving that he was almost opposite the gate before he was aware of her presence. He promptly abandoned his task and approached her. “Good morning! You have slept well?" he called out. “Better. I think, than ever before in my life," she answered. “Differently, at any rate. And such an awakening!’’ He lisiked at her. a little puzzled. The glow upon her face and the sunlight upon her brown hair kept him silent. He was content to look at her and won der. “Tell me." she demanded impetu ously, “is this a little corner of fairy land that you have found? Does the sun always shine iike this? Does the earth always smell as sweetly, and are your trees always in blossom? Does your wind always taste as if God had breathed the elixir of life into it?” He turned around to follow the sweep of her eyes. Something of the same glow seemed to rest for a mo ment upon his face. "It is good.” he said, “to find what you love so much appreciated by some- ! one else.” iiu \ i4>t:»*iner in a silence ai- ; most curiously protracted. Then the ' plowman i : '>c,i again with tiis team j "f hors, s and John called out some in- i smii tiuris to him. She followed him down to earth. "Tell m*-. Mr. Strangevvey,” she in quired. "where are your farm build ings?” “feme and I will show you,” he an swered. opening the gate to let her through. “Keep close to the hedge un til we come to the end of the plow; and then—hut no, I won’t anticipate. This way 1” They reached the end of the plowed field and, passing through a gate, turned abruptly to the left and began to climb a narrow path which bordered the boundary wall, and which became sleeper every moment. As they as cended. the orchard and the long, low house on the other side seemed to lie almost at their feet. The road and the open uioorland beyond, stretching to the encircling hills, came more clearly into sight with every backward glance. Louise paused at hist, breathless. "Is it the home of the fairies you tire taking me to?” she asked. “If you have discovered that, no wonder you find ii"% ordinary women outside your lives:” He laughed. "There are no fairies where vve are going." he assured her. They were on a roughly made road now. which turned abruptly to the right a few yards ahead, skirting the side of a deep gorge. They took a few steps further, and Louise stopped short with a cry of wonder. Around the abrupt corner an entirely new perspective was revealed—-a little hamlet built on a shoulder of the mountain; and on the right, below n steep descent. :i wide and sunny valley. It was like a tiny world of its own, hidden in the bosom of the hills. There was a long line of farm buildings, built of gray stone and roofed with red tiles; there were fifteen or twenty stacks; a quaint, whitewashed house of consid erable size, almost covered on the They Stood Together in a Silence Al most Curiously Protracted. - • ithward Milo with creepers; a row of cottages, mid a gray-walled inclo sure—stretching with its white tomb stones to tile very brink of the descent —in the midst of which was an aneletit church, in ruins at the farther end, partly rebuilt with the stones of the hillside. Louise looked around her, silent with wonder. “It isn't real, is it?” she asked, clinging for a moment to John Strangewey's arm. “Why not? You asked where tiie land was that we tilled. Now look down. Hold my arm if you feel giddy.” She followed the wave of his ash stick. The valley sheer below them, : ami ilie lower hills on both sides, were parceled out into fields, inclosed within stone walls, reminding her from the height at which they stood, of nothing so much us the quilt upon her bed. Her eyes swept this strange tract of country backward and forward. She saw the men like specks in the fields, the cows grazing in the pasture like toy animals. Then she turned and looked at the neat row of stacks and the square of farm buildings. “I am trying hard to realize that you are n farmer and that this is your life.” she said. He swung open the wooden gate of the churchyard, by which they were standing. There was a row of graves on either side of the prim path. “Suppose,” he suggested, “you tell me about yourself now—about your own life.” “My life, and the world in which I live, seem far away just now,” she said quietly. “I think that it is doing me good to have a rest from them. Talk to me about yourself, please." He smiled. He was just a little dis appointed. “We shall very soon reach the end of all that I have to tell you," he re marked. “Still, if there is anything you would like to know—” “Who were these men and women who have lived and died here?” she interrupted, with a little wave of her hand toward the graves. “All our own people,” he told her. She studied the names upon the tombstones, spelling them out slowly. "The married people,” he went on. “are burled on the south side; the single ones and children are nearer the wall. Tell me," he asked, after a moment’s hesitation, “are you married or single?” She gave a little start. The abrupt ness of the question, the keen, stead fast gaze of his compelling eyes, seemed for a moment to paralyze both her nerves and her voice. It was as if someone had suddenly drawn away one of the stones from the foundation of her life. She found herself repeating the words on the tombstone facing her: “And of Elizabeth, for sixty-one years the faithful wife and helpmate of Ezra Cummings, mother of his chil dren, and his partner in the life ever lasting." Her knees began to shake. There was a momentary darkness before her eyes. She felt for the tombstone and sat down. CHAPTER IV. The churchyard gate was opened and closed noisily. They both glanced tip. Stephen Strangewey was coming slowly towurd them along the flinty path. Louise, suddenly herself again, rose briskly to her feet. Stephen had apparently lost none of his dourness of the previous night. As he looked toward Louise, there was no mistaking the slow dislike in his steely eyes. “Your chauffeur, madam, has just returned,” he announced. “He sent word that he will he ready to start at one o’clock.” Louise, inspired to battle by the al most provocative hostility of her elder host, smiled sweetly upon him. “You can’t imagine how sorry I am to hear it.” she said. “I don’t know when, in the whole course of my life. I have met with such a delightful ad venture or spent such a perfect morn ing !” Stephen looked at her with level, dis approving eyes—at her slender form in its perfectly fitting tailored gown: at her patent shoes, so obviously unsuit able for her surroundings, and at the faint vision of silk stockings. “If I might say so without appear ing inhospitable,” he remarked, with faint sarcasm, “this would seem to be the fitting moment for your departure. A closer examination of our rough life up here might alter your views. If I do not have the pleasure of seeing you again, permit me to wish you fare well." He turned and walked away. Louise watched him with very real interest. “Do you know,” she said to John, “there is something about your brother a little like the prophets in the Old Testament, in the way he sees only one issue and clings to it. Are you, too, of his way of thinking?” “Up to a certain point, I believe I am,” he confessed. “Do you never feel cramped—in your mind. I mean?—feci that you want to push your way through the clouds into some other life?” “I feel nearer the clouds here,” he answered simply. They were leaving the churchyard now. She paused abruptly, pointing to a single grave in a part of the churchyard which seemed detached from the rest. “Whose grave is that?” he inquired. He hesitated. “It is tlie grave of a young girl,” ho told her quietly. “She was the daugh ter of one of our shepherds. She went into service at Carlisle, and returned here with • a child. They are both buried here.” “Because of that her grave is apart from the others?” “Yes,” lie answered. “It is very sel dom, I am glad to say. that anything of the sort happens among us." For the second time that morning Louise was conscious of an unexpected upheaval of emotion. She felt that the sunshine had gone, that tlie whole sweetness of tlie place had suddenly passed away. The charm of its simple austerity had perished. “And I thought I had found para dise !” she cried. She moved quickly from John Strangewey’s side. Before he could realize her intention she had stopped over the low dividing wall and was on her knees by the side of the plain, neg , lected grave. She tore out the spray | of apple blossom which she had thrust into the bosom of her gown, and placed i it reverently at the head of the little i mound. For a moment her eyes ' drooped and her lips moved—she her self scarcely knew whether it was in j prayer. Then she turned and came j slowly nack to her companion. Something had gone, too, front his | e.inrnl. She saw In him now nothing i but the coming dottrness of his broth j er. Her heart was still heavy. She I shivered a little. It was he at last who spoke. “Will you tell me, please, what is the matter with you, and why you placed i that sprig of api/le blossom where you j did?" His tone woke her from her lethargy, j She was a little surprised at its j poignant, almost challenging note. “Certainly,” she replied. “I placed j it there as a woman’s protest against the injustice of that isolation." “I deny that it is unjust.” She turned arodnd and waved her hand toward the little gray building. “The Savior to whom your church is dedicated thought otherwise,” she re I minded him. “I>o you play at being j lords paramount here over the souls and bodies of your serfs?" “You judge without knowledge of the facts." he assured her calmly. Louise’s footsteps slackened. “You men.” she sighed, “are all alike.' Y'ou judge only by what hap pens. You never look inside. That is why your justice is so different from a woman’s. I do not wish to argue with you; but what I so passionately | object to is the sweeping judgment you make—the sheep on one side and the goats on the other. That is how man j judges; God looks further. Every case j is different. The law by which one j should be judged may be poor justice i for another.” Mie glanced at hint almost appeal ! ingly, but there was no .sign of yield ing in his face. “Laws." he reminded her, “are made for the benefit of the whole human race. Sometimes an individual may suffer for the benefit of others. That is inevitable.” “And so let the subject pass,” she concluded; “but it saddens me to think that one of the great sorrows of the j world should be there like a monument j to spoil the wonder of this morning. Now I am going to ask you a question, i Are you the John Strangewey who has recently had a fortune left to him?” He nodded. “You read about it in the newspa pers. I suppose.” he said, “Part of the story isn’t true. It was stated that I had never seen my Australian uncle, but as a matter of fact, he has been over here three or four times. It was he who paid for my education at Har row and Oxford.” “What did your brother say to that?” “He opposed it.” John confessed, “and he hated my uncle. He detests the thought of any one of us going out of sight of our own hills. My uncle had the wander fever." “And you?" she asked suddenly. “I have none of it.” lie asserted. A very faint smile played about her lips. “Perhaps not before,” she mur mured; “hut now?" “Do you mean because I have in herited the money? Why should l go out like a Don Quixote and search for vague adventures?” “Because you are a man!” she an swered swiftly. “You have a brain and a soul too big for your life here. You eat and drink, and physically you flour ish, but part of you sleeps because it is shut away from the world of real things. Don’t you sometimes feel it in your very heart that life, as we were meant to live it. can only be lived among your fellow men?” He looked over his shoulder, at the little cluster of farm buildings and cot tages, and the gray stone church. “It seems to me,” he declared simply, “that the man who tries to live more than one life fails In both. There is n little cycle of life here, among our thirty or forty souls, which revolves around my brother and myself. A passer-by may glance upward from the road at our little hamlet, and wonder what can ever happen In such an out of-the-way corner. I think the answer Is Just what I have told you. Love and marriage, birth and death happen. These things make life.” Her curiosity now had become merged in an immense interest. She laid her fingers lightly upon his arm. “You speak for your people," she said. “That is well. But you your self?" “I am one of them,” he answered— “a necessary part of them.” “How you deceive yourself! The time will come, before very long, when you will come out into the world; and the sooner the better. I think. Mr. John Strangewey, or you will grow like your brother here among your granite hills.” He moved a little uneasily. A!! the time she was watching him. It seemed to her that she could read the thoughts which were stirring in his brain. “You would like to say, wouldn’t you.” she went on. “that this is a use ful and an upright life? So it may be, but it is not wide enough or great enough. Some day you will feel the desire to climb. Promise me, will you, that when you feel the impulse you won’t use all that obstinate will power of yours to crush it? You will destroy the best part of yourself, if you do. You will give it a chance? Promise!” She held out her hand with a little impulsive gesture. 11c took it in his own, and held it steadfastly. "I will remember,” he promised. Along the narrow streak of road, from the southward, they both watched | the rapid approach of a large motor ■ car. There were two servants upon I the front seat and one passenger—a ■ man—inside. It swung into the level stretch beneath them, a fantasy of gray and silver in the reflected sun shine. Louise had been leaning forward, her head supported upon her hands. As the car slackened speed, she rose very slowly to her feet. “The chariot of deliverance!” she murmured. “It is the prince of Seyre.” John re marked, gazing down with a slight frown upon his forehead. She nodded. They had started the descent and she was walking in very leisurely fashion. “The prince is a great friend of mine,” she said. “I had promised to spend last night, or, at any rate, some portion of the evening, at Raynham castle on my way to London.” He summoned up courage to nsk her the question which had been on his lips more than once. “As your stay with us is so nenrly over, won’t you abandon your incog nito?” “In the absence of your brother,” she answered. “I will risk it. My name is Louise Mnurel.” “Louise Maurel, the actress?” he re peated wonderingly. “I am she." Louise confessed. “Would your brother," she added, with a little “I Placed It There as a Woman's Pro test Against the Injustice of That Isolation.” grimace, “feel that he hail given me a night’s lodging tinder false pretenses.” John made no immediate reply. The world had turned topsyturvy with him. Louise Maurel. and a great friend of the prince of Seyre! lie walked on mechanically until she turned and looked at him. “Well?" “I am sorry.” he declared bluntly. “Why?” she asked, a little startled at his candor. “I ant sorry, first of all, that you are a friend of the prince of Seyre." “And again, why?" “Because of his reputation in these parts.” “What does that mean?” she asked. “I am not a scandalmonger.” John replied dryly. “I speak only of what I know. His estates near here are sys tematically neglected. He is the worst landlord in the country, and the most unscrupulous. His tenants, both here and in Westmoreland, have to work themselves to death to provide him with the means of living a disreputable life.” “Are you not forgetting that the prince of Seyre is a friend of mine?” she asked stiffly. “I forget nothing.” he answered. “You see. up here we have not learned the art of evading the truth.” She shrugged her shoulders. “So much for the prince of Seyre. then. And now, why your dislike of my profession?” ’“That is another matter.” he con fessed. “You come from a world of which I know nothing. All I can say is that I would rnther think of you— as something different.” She laugnea nr ms soinuer race aim patted his arm lightly. “Big man of the hills,” she said, “when you come down from your fro zen heights to look for the flowers. I shall try to make you see things differ ently." CHAPTER V. Once more ti'isit Tong, winding stretch of mountain road lay empty under the moonlight. Vp the long slope, where three months before he had ridden to find himself confronted with the ad venture of his life, John Strangewey jogged homeward in his high dogcart. The mare, scenting her stable, broke into a quick tret as they topped the long rise. Suddenly she felt a hand tighten upon her reins. She looked inquiringly around, and then stood pa tiently awaiting her master’s bidding. It seemed to John as if he had passed from the partial abstraction of the last few hours into absolute and entire for getfulness of the present. He could s,.0 the motorcar drawn up by the side of the road, could hear the fretful voice of the maid, and the soft, pleas ant words of greeting from the woman who had seemed from the first as if she were very far removed indeed from any of the small annoyances of their accident. “I have broken down. Can you help?" lie set ills teeth. The poignancy of the recollection was a torture to him. Word by word he lived again through that brief interview. He saw her de seend from the car. felt the touch of her hand on his arm. saw the flash of her brown eyes us she drew close to him with thnt pleasant I H' air of fs mtliarity, shared by no otlftT woman he had ever known. Then the little scene faded away, and he remembered the tedious present. He had spent two dull days at the house of a neighboring land owner, playing cricket in the daytime, dancing nr night with women in whom he was unable to feel the slightest interest, always with thnt faraway feeling in his heart, struggling hour by hour with thnt curious restlessness which seemed to have taken a permanent place in his disposition. lie was on his way home to Peak Hall. He knew exactly the welcome which was awaiting him. He knew exactly the news he would receive. He raised his whip and cracked it viciously in the air. Stephen was waiting for him, he had expected, in the dining room The elder Strangewey was seated in h!s ac customed chair, smoking his pipe and reading the paper. The table was laid for a meal, which Jennings was pre paring to serve. “Back again, John?” his brother re marked, looking at him fixedly over his newspaper. John picked up one or two letters, glanced them over, and flung them down upon the table. He had exam ined every envelope for the last few months with the same expectancy, and thrown each one down with the same throb of disappointment. “As you see.” “Had a good time?” “Not very. Have they finished the barley fields, Stephen?” “A1I in at eight o’clock.” There was a bripf silence. Then Stephen knocked the ashes from his pipe and rose to his feet. “John.” he asked, “why did you pull up on the road there?” There was no immediate answer. The slightest of frowns formed itself upon the younger man’s face. “How did you know that I pulled up?” “I was sitting with the window open, ! listening for you. I came outside to i see what had happened, ard I saw your lights standing still." “I had a fancy to stop for a mo ment.” John said : "nothing >uore.” John Strangewey i* able to stand this kind of dissatisfac tion with life for just so long. Then he takes the bit in his teeth and goes tearing away (TO BE CONTENT EU.) LAST OF THE CARIB INDIANS Not More Than One Hundred of Race Which Columbus Found in West Indies Are Still Alive. The Carib Indian was the first repre sentative of Lo, the poor red man, to meet the tide of European travel. He 1 was the one found by Columbus and the later Spanish explorers in the West Indies, and he has given the Caribbean sea ids name. Thus be is assured a i monument as long as geography shall last, and he needs it, because as a liv ing race he has practically disap peared. . How many thousands of Caribs dwelt in the West Indies in 1492 is largely a matter of conjecture. They quickly began to die out under the hand of the conqueror, who worked them as slaves and shot them when they made war. Today it is doubtful whether there are 100 pure-blooded Caribs alive. Practically all of them live on the British isle of Dominica, on a reservation set apart for them called Salybia. The reservation 's very difficult of access, for tiiere is no sheltered har bor nr landing place. The only method of approach is by one of ttte coasting steamers which circle -^ie island. Whoa the steamer gets opposite Sa lybiu with anyone who wants to land aboard, she stops and whistles. If the weather is good and the water smooth enough, a cauoe puts out and takes the passenger ashore. If the weather is too rough the passenger must needs content himself to go on around the island and try aguin on the next round. A Model Man. Adam, the first, was a man of lov able disposition and u model husband, i so I am informed by the recorders of I early events. Never once in the reco leetiou of his biographers did he speak ill of his beloved soulmate in the pres ence of human company, and according to those who were able to know all his private affairs he never kicked on her cooking nor growled at her house work. Whether she wore her gowns high cut or low in the neck was a matter of little or no concern to him so long as she was respectably attired in the fashion of the period. And when she got fired from the Palm Garden for nibbling apples without someone's con sent Adam did not sneak off to Reno, as husbands do today, to apply for a divorce. No. He cast aside his over alls, threw up his job and went out with the little lady like a little man. That’s the kind of a sparerib he was! —Zim, In Cartoons Magazine. The Essential8 of Gardening. The essentials for successful gar dening on a small or large scale are soil, water and cultivation. Much de pends also on the grower, the season and the crops selected. The soil is the storehouse of plant food. The garden, therefore, should contain humus or rotted material in large quantities. The gardener should remember that about 50 per cent of ordinary earth is not soil at all, but consists of air and water. Water makes plantfood that is pres ent freely soluble. Rain and snow water are soft and contain ammonia. The magic of soft water on the plant world is one of the miracles of good gardening, as everyone who has con trasted the effect of rain with that produced by sprinkling with a hose realizes. Plants are succulent and contain large amounts of water which they have to draw from the soil. Beware. When a fellow doesn’t come through for the grocer eVery so often, his food is likely to cause an unsettled condi tion of the stomach.—Indianapolis Star. I . Money b;«ek without que-tiou It HUNT’S CUB I treatment of ITCH. ECZEMA u IN G WO RM.TETT EH or ot I-. r Itching «kin diseases. rrice 50c at druggists, or direct from IB R ihirjj Med sine Co.,Sherman.Tex daisy fly killer placed -nyw' attract* and k * all fiies. s,, .. QffiMiei.u. i ch*ap Iuti . .... Mof Bict. or tip u»»r. w or injure *r. • nutated eft* i . dealert or * * ,, prew prep } HAROLD SOMERS. ISO ot KALd AVE.. BROOK. . < FOR PERSONAL HI uim£. Dissolved in water for dooc pelvic catarrh, ulceration etui n .i-,. mation. _ Recommended by L . , Pir.kham Med. Co. for, ten • -r, A healing wonder for ttmtri W. N. U., OMAHA NO TIMES CHANGED IN KOREA Government Which Twenty Years Ago Was Afraid of New Method Now Welcome American Ideas Twenty years ago the rean government was »> afraid ■ .. that a Korean student in tin '.! .dist Episcopal School fur Boy. >ul was arrested and put into pi • ..t was the henious charge? Si: mt he had formed a literary s.. . mt discussed matters of general -t! But times have changed anil a now appreciates American id. . the World Outlook. The iin; hoy, named Cyan, came to An . , study and later became the principal of his old boys' s.-i, , Seoul. And how the boys dis rent events nowadays! Mr. <V since then distinguished hints* general conference by a ... .; *• for its thought and Its English He - just one of the many Korean \ who have tested Uncle Sam's tr>-e ■ t knowledge and found it good. HAVE SOFT, WHITE HANDS Ciear Skin and Good Hair by Using Cuticura—Trial Free. The Soap to cleanse and purify ■ e Ointment to soothe and heal. I:. - s these fragrant, super-creamy • 1 lients prevent little skin trouhi, - I coming serious by keeping the i s free from obstruction. Nothing I • ;-r at any price for all toiiet purp<>>, - Free sample each by mail with Ii Address postcard, Cuticura. Pi pr. L, Boston. Sold everywhere.—Adv. King Edward’s Little Needs. Many interesting reminiscent • s of famous people are given by Mr. F. Townsend Martin in ‘Things I lie member.” Referring to the lute King Edv rd I the author says: “Lady Burton once told me an at i~ 1 ing incident which occurred when j late King Edward stayed at (in-si i quoich. ‘“I hope, sir, that you have :.mi, 1 everything to your liking?’ sin I to the royal visitor. “‘Yes,’ answered the king; ■ur. if I may make a suggestion, one thing would add greatly to tin- -a fort of your guests.’ “‘Oh. sir, what can that be?’ “‘Well, Lady Burton,’ said his rnaj | esty, ‘the one thing needful is a bonk i on tlie bathroom door.' ” Promise Easily Kept. “Your honor, let me off this time and I’ll never appear before you ! again," pleaded the culprit. “Am I to take this as a promise to reform I” “Yes, your honor. And I might add that I am on nty way to Australia. If I should happen to backslide, s.o other court would attend to my ease.’' Natural Result. “Banks looks ull gone to pieces.” “No wonder. He’s broke."—Batti more American. A doctor may give a patient hope. ! but he charges for the time it rakes to give it. ( ; > Preparing for Tomorrow Many people seem able to drink coffee for a time without apparent harm, but | when health disturbance, even though slight, follows coffee’s use, it is wise *o investigate. Thousands of homes, where coffee was found to disagree, have changed the family table drink to j Instant Postum With improved health, j and it usually follows, the change made becomes a permanent one. It pays to prepare for the health of tomorrow. “There's a Reason