. : ' : r -
APAGHES OF PARIS
Night Prowlers Whose Trade Is
Murder and Robbery.
THE TERROR OF THE POLICE.
These Desperadoes Rarely Use a Gun,
but Work With the Knife, the Blud
geon or by "Tolling" They Have a
Short and Bloody Career.
There are very few nights In the
year when Paris policemen on their
rounds do not stumble upon a body ly
ing In a gory pool. Sometimes the
handle of a long, slender knife pro
trudes between the shoulder blades;
sometimes an ugly gash bleeds from
ear to ear; not seldom blood oozes
from mouth, nose and ears, as though
the dead had not sustained any ap
parent wound, or three little starlike
bruises may dot the temple, or a bluish
line an inch wide may mar the back
of the neck, just above the collar line.
"Les Apaches," the "cops" whisper
to each, other (for Parisian police of
ficers always go two by two)L and they
call for an ambulance, much relieved
not to have witnessed the incident.
The steel blade, the blackjack, the
brass knuckles, will serve the purpose
of the Apache, according to his vic
tim's size and presumable strength.
For a prey of small stature, however,
the Apache reserves what in his slang
he calls "tolling." A sharp blow dazes
the victim and throws him dowu; the
Apache's knees bore themselves Into
the chest, while his hands seize the
ears, lift the head and slam it a couple
of times on the pavement until a" dull
er thud tells of a fractured skull.
Until an Apache is an adept at
"sticking" his man in very much the
same way in which a Spanish torero
dispatches a bull, with a single thrust
between the shoulders, or at cracking
a skull bone at one slam, he is held in
little esteem and never allowed to
tackle "big jobs" in a dangerous neigh
borhood, for Paris is a well policed
city. The nigbt hawk must strike like
lightning, empty the dead mau's pock
ets in a wink and slink away into the
dark. Therefore Apaches very seldom
carry guns; the knife Is silent. Toll
ing, too. Is safe so many people are
known to have slipped and fractured
their skulls! Unless the victim is es
pecially well dressed there is not much
of an inquiry.
When it is all over the gang, which
scatters like a flock of frightened spar
rows, meets again at some wineshop
where no one is welcome who Is not
"in the business."
Apaches never try to conceal their
social status. Their very clothes are
a sort of warning to the public. They
even affect a peculiar walk, the body
bent from the loins, shoulders bunched
and hands . plunging deep into the
trousers pockets. But who would dare
to molest them?
The Apache is a marked man. He
joins a gang at three or four and twen
ty, and by thirty or thirty-five he has
gone. The maws of a jail hold him
for the balance of his earthly exist
ence. He knows that. He expects it.
Therefore while his freedom lasts there
is no desperate chance he will not take
to get at the gold that alone could
save. him.
Apaches are not born; they are
made made by the peculiar laws of
France. Every citizen of the repub
lic, without distinction of rank or class,
must serve under his country's flag
for two years. Only the physically un
fit escape that servitude. At the end
of his term in the rauks every French
man seeking employment must pre
sept,, as means of identification his cer
tificate of honorable discharge.
Then it is that tragedy looms up for
some unfortunates. Woe to the one
whose certificate mentions the "Afri
can battalions!"
The African battalions, garrisoned at
the edge of the Sahara desert, are
made up of all the boys who had the
misfortune of being arrested before
they reached the age of twenty-one.
Trivial as their offenses may have
been, whether they were due or not
to the indiscreet exuberance of youth
or to some absurd entanglement, they
are sent to the desert outposts, kept
on convict fare, sleeping mostly in
trenches which they dig, watched over
by sentries that shoot to kill.
Under the broiling sun that lays
them dowu fast with fever and chol
era they build roads, crept over the
next day by the sand. They are "the
front" whenever Arabs or Moroccans
threaten to shake off the French yoke.
When they fall by the wayside they
are tied to a horse's tail. When they
protest spurs cause the horse to , rear.
And when the creepy water of sand
wells, bullets from the sentries or from
the nomads and the hoofs of vicious
horses have spared them they return
to their native city with hatred in
their hearts, with the loathsome mem
ories left by association with the de
praved and the morally diseased.
They return to their native city to
find doors and hearts locked to them.
Their military book, which they must
produce, proclaims them jailbirds.
Who wants to employ an ex-convict?
During their two years in the African
lnferuo they have atoned for their er
rors of the eighteenth or nineteenth
year. For the second time they have
settled their account with society.
And now society refuses them a
chance to show that they have (for
some of them have) shed the old hide,
to prove that a new heart is beating
in their breasts.
Hard is the plight of an ex-convict
in Fruuce. Andre Fridon in New York
Tribune. '
How to Boost Union Goods.
The Women's Union Label league of
Denison, Tex.i prints every week a
half column list of stores in that city
that handle union made goods. The
list carries the names of five dry
goods stores, twenty grocers, eleven
meat markets and about thirty miscel
laneous dealers. This suggests an
idea for union men and women in all
cities. If they would publish a simi
lar list It would be but a short while
until all the merchants would be
clamoring for the names of manufac
turers making union goods.
Funny Stories.
"Ha, ha!" said the jovial man as be
, slapped an acquaintance on the back.
"I'm glad to see you. I have one of
the funniest stories on record, and you
are just in time."
"I don't care for it," was the candid
reply. "You see, there is often a pa
thetic side even to humor. I have just
been out with my architect, and he
showed me three of the funniest sto
ries I ever saw. If I hadn't been pay
ing for them I'd have laughed myself
silly."
Publio Ownership of Coal Fields.
One of the first results of the recent
labor victory in Australia is the de
cision of the Victorian government to
retain in its ownership the coal fields
of the province and operate them for
use Instead of profit. An eight hour
day is established for the miners, no
person being permitted to work more
than forty-eight hours in one week be
low the ground. The state will use the
coal for its own railroad system and
will sell the surplus for manufactur
ing and domestic purposes.
It Ended Well
By M. QUAD
Copyright, 1910, by Associated Lit
erary Press.
One summer's day the lightning rod
man came driving along on the lied
Bridge road to halt at the comforta
ble farmhouse of the Widow Glenden
ing and say to her that as business in
his line was a little slack owing to the
scarcity of thunder and lightning he
would make her a special rate if she
wanted her barn protected. The wid
ow was a pleasant faced, good natured
woman, and she pleasantly replied
that when she felt her barn needed
protection she would hoist a clothes
pole to the roof.
All in a good natured way, you
know, and no one's feelings were
hurt. The lightning rod man laughed
and drove on. Ten miles away he
stopped at the house of Deacon Shaw,
widower. He offered- the deacon a
very low figure on rods, and the dea
con intimated that the whole business
of stopping thunderbolts was a swin
dle and a fraud. Nothing personal
and nothing to hurt. Just a sort of a
joke, you know a joke to be return
ed. Two weeks later the lightning
man was back at the widow's house.
He had nothing to say about rods this
time. What he did say was:
"Widow, I'm a man with a heart. I
not only have a heart for myself, but
for others. I have a heart for you.
You are a lonesome, delicate woman.
All widows are. Where there's no
man around the house there is deso
lation. I can't marry you, but I can
find you a second husband and war
rant him true blue."
"Then bring him on," replied the
widow, with a laugh.
"He's a deacon and a widower. He
has one child. He's worth $G,000 or
$7,000. There is only one drawback,
and that I don't call a drawback1 at
all. It's an advantage. He's deaf and
dumb. No dumb husband can scold
and find fault. He can't swear at his
oxen. He can't yell at his wife from
upstairs or down cellar."
"How did a dumb man ever get
married?" asked the widow, with a
show of interest.
"By sign. I can't tell you the signs,
but that must have been the way.
That's the way he talks to me."
"But I don't want no deaf and dumb
critter around me."
"But let him come along and call."
' "Oh, I can't keep him away, but how
am I going to talk to him?"
"Same as he will to you by signs."
"I'm not going to make any wind
mill, of myself, and he needn't come.
I do some scolding myself now and
then, and if I had a husband I wouldn't
want to be swinging my arms around
to let him know that I was mad. You
go and marry him to some old maid."
That same day the lightning rod
man drove up to the deacon's again.
The deacon was ready-for him, but he
didn't mention rods. Instead he said
"Deacon, you are a suffering and
lonesome man. All widowers are. The
world would look different to you if
you were married again. I am a man
with a heart, and I'm going to tell you
of a widow who weeps for you that
is. she waits for you, which is about
the same thing. She's fairly hand
some, not over forty and has as good
a farm as yours. And to crown it all,
deacon, she's deaf and dumb."
"Who'd want to marry a deaf and
dumb woman?" demanded the deacon
"Best wives in the world best na
tured, hardest working and the most
economical. Don't make no mistake,
deacon. Marrying this woman means
another good farm for you. Only one
child and that a girl big enough to help
do the housework. Make a call at the
house anyway."
Three days later he decided to call.
He had been told that if he ever did
call he must talk to the widow in the
sign language or her 'feelings would be
hurt.
"Now, then, who in the lands is
that?" asked the widow of herself.
Two minutes later there was a rap
on the front door. As she opened it
the man stood there with an anxious
looji on his face and pointed into the
room. He wanted to enter. She nod
ded. He must be the deaf and dumb
widower. She took a chair and be
took one. Then they looked at each
other. She smiled and he smiled.
They were doing famously well, .and
it was with a bland smile on his phiz
that the deacon asked her in the sign
language how her corn and potatoes
were coming on. The sign was too
much for her. She thought he asked
if she ever had earache, and she shook
her head. The deacon tried again.
This time she thought be was asking
if she had any children, and she nod
ded her head and held up one finger.
"What in Josh . does the woman
mean?" exclaimed the caller to him"
self, without knowing that he was
going to speak.
"Sir, who are you, to come here and
make a feol of me!" shouted the wo
man as she sprang up with angry
eyo3. , -' .'"
"And you've made a fool of me,"
was the reply.
It was some little time before mat-,,
ters were made clear and the blame
placed where it belonged. Then-they
begged each other's pardon and fell
into sensible conversation. Yes, It re
sulted in matrimony after a year or
so. and when the lightning rod man
heard of it he heaved a long sigh and
said to himself:'
"Yes. I'm a man with a heart for
others, but I'm no humorist.. My
jokes turn out the other way."
His Little Comeback.
Miss Neverstop, seating herself be
tween two much engrossed senators',
exclaims. "A rose between two thorns!"
"Nay. madam." retorts one irate old.
gentleman;. "say, rather, a tongue sand-
wieh."-Llfe.
Discouraging.
He I told your father that I Just
dote on you. She And what did be
say? He That I, bad better find an
antidote. Illustrated Bits. .......
Helping Him Along.
"What is all this straw doing In the
roadway? Somebody sick?" asked the
man passing. : " r
"Easy!" said the man at the gate,
holding up a warning finger. "There's
a young man calling on my daughter
tonight who has been coming to' see
her for six years. He's very easily
frightened. We hope he's" going to
propose tonight, and we are taking
every precaution against his being star
tled!" Yonkers Statesman. '
The Barefoot Burglar. .
"Have you seen the barefoot bur
glar?" asks the Florida Times-Union.
We have. We caught her. in the act
yesterday, morning, the three-year-old
miscreant as she stole up to pur bed,
stole a kiss, shook her tousled head,
and said, "If you don't get up, dad, you
won't get any . bre'fes'." AHentown
(Pa.) Democrat. . ..
Unselfish. V
Mrs. Backbay Why are you leav
ing us. Bridget? Boston Cook Me
reasons are philanthropic. I want to
give some wan else a cbancet at the
joys of living with yes. Harper's Ba
zar. " - T- -L