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CHAPTER VI. Continued.
"Let me go," says his friend. "I'm
the younger, and besides my weeds
have run out, and I can't buy any this
side of that cigar store on the Champs
de Mars. I'll bring some down with
Tne also your truant watch, for you've
acted confoundedly queer all the af
ternoon just like a mariner without
his compass, by Jove!" with which
remark he runs off up the steps of
the house, while Dick leans against
a post and waits for him, smiling at
the allusion to his uneasiness, and
wondering whether it was the ab
sence of his watch of something else,
that has made him feel like a ship
minus a rudder.
He stands there for just five min
utes, and then hears sounds that cause
"him to turn. What meets his vision
amazes Dick a trim figure of a man
has recently left his side, and here
comes a demoralized specimen flying
lown the stairs, waving his hand
wildly above his head, and presenting
something of the appearance Dick has
seen when this same New Mexican
sheriff was charging the camp of a
dozen border desperadoes, whom he
had on his list as characters to arrest.
Something has evidently gone
wrong, or Colonel Bob would not be
making such a spectacle of himself.
Dick conceives a sudden show of in
terest in the short interval that re
mains to him ere his companion ar
rives he tries to realize what it may
mean, and gives several wild guesses
hefore Bob reaches his side.
The New Mexican sheriff arrives,
panting like a tired hound he can
only with an effort catch his breath,
and then blurts out his news in his
usual jerk' fashion.
"They're gone! the villain has won
at last! cooped up in a mad-house!
What d'ye think of that? and we
promenading and feasting all the
while! Only for the adorable Dora,
even now we would be ignorant of
their fate!"
"What." gasps Dick.
."Just what I say they're caught
and caged."
"Here, in Paris?" .-
"Yes."
"And in broad daylight?"
"It must be so some of the doings
of that devil of a Senor Lopez. I'll
be even with him yet," growls the
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sheriff, very much as a dog might
mumble over his bone when another
animal comes near.
"The paper let me have it." says
Dick, with extraordinary calmness,
considering the tact that his blood Is
leaping like mad through his veins,
while his heart thumps like a trip
hammer. Another instant and it Is thrust
into his hand.
The note has been hastily written
on a sheet from a diarv it is ad
dressed on one side to Colonel Robert
Harlan, with the number and street
of their lodgings, and is signed by
Dora. This is what Dick -eads:
"My Colonel: We have been de
coyed to this house believe it is a
private mad-house. For Heaven's
sake come to our rescue. I do not
know why this has been done, only
that he is at the bottom of it, the
man who is Miss Pauline's enemy.
We shall defend ourselves if need be.
Give the bearer ten francs. He will
tell you where this place is some
where near the Boulevarde de Cha
ronne. for I have had glimpses of a
cemetery on a hill, which I am sure
must be Pere la Chaise, and a great
prison towers in view, undoubtedly La
Roquette. Come, my brave colonel,
and save your own Dora."
When Dick finishes reading this re
markable epistle he utters something
that is not at all complimentary to
the Mexican hidalgo, and It is evident
that the young man's temper is such
that should he meet Senor Lopez
presently, there would possibly be a
scene.
"See here, colonel, where's the bear
er?" he suddenly demands.
"I told him to follow me," says
Bob, looking around, when, as though
this may be a signal, a rather dilap
idated street Arab bobs Into view.
Dick attacks him impetuously.
"You carried this note?"
The quaint chap nods gravely.
"Describe how it came into your
possession."
"Easily done, monsieur. Late this
afternoon I was near the hill Cha
ronne, when my attention was at
tracted by a white handkerchief flut
tering from the barred window of a
house, an upper window, too. I knew
the place it was the private mad
house of M. Girard, and many stories
have been told about it among my
fellows.
"My attention being directed, I saw
a white hand beckon me.
'1 do not know what influeaced me,
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monsieur, save some spirit of deviltry.
I saw there was an empty house next
door, and from the roof of this I could
just reach the window where that
hand beckoned.
"This I did, and discovered two
beautiful ladies looking out between
the wooden bars. One of the "ladles
spoke to me in French, and told me
where to take the note. They en
treated me not o linger I pitied
their distress, and making my best
bow, which I learned at the Elysees
Montmartre balls, I came away. I
need say no more, messieurs, as you
are already acquainted with the rest
of the story."
"What hour was this?" asks Dick.
"The bells were just tolling five
when I left the roof." responds the
strange half man, half boy.
Dick groans.
"Hours lost more than two of
them if we had only returned before
dining."
"No use crylnR Ter spilled milk.
The only thing that remains is to see
whether this story is true. How shall
we know until we prove it?"
"Through me, messieurs."
It is not the street Arab who speaks,
for he has flown down to the avenue,
a king, as it were, a bloated bond
nolder in his mind Dick whirls upon
his heel to face the speaker of those
cool words.
CHAPTER VII.
The Mad-House Near La Roquette.
A man stands near him where he
came from it would be impossible to
say. but his movements must be, like
those of another person made famous
by the novelist's pen, "devilish sly,"
for he certainly was not there a min
ute before.
"Ah! and who might you be, my
good sir?" demands Dick, accepting
the situation.
"Francois, better known as Num
ber Eleven, in conection with the
work of the prefect." returns the
quiet-looking individual.
"Ah! you are one of the secret
agents?"
"Oui, monsieur." bowing.
"You know this story of the street
Arab "
"It is true I have seen the ladies
myself, though not to communicate
with them. Then I made my report
at headquarters and was directed to
find M. Denver and his friend."
"Having found them, my good Fran
cois?" "To tell my story and offer my
services," promptly.
messieurs.1
"Good we accept. You will lead
us to this place, this private mad
house of Girard's, where they shut
up American ladies because Mexican
gold has entered the game. M. Fran
cois, we are impatient to be off lead
iio to the scene and we will show you
what manner or men they have out
on the plains of the South-west."
"One question, messieurs, before we
go are you armed. We may have a
little difficulty with the men of Dr.
Girard. They are a rough lot, and
may show fight."
"Nothing would please us better,"
says Dick.
"I've been spoiling for a little ac
tion these two months ever since we
had that affair in Ireland, where they
took us for constables and tried to
shillelah us. It's been an age since
so much time went by without some
sort of excitement to keep my hand
in." declares Bob.
"Lot me make a proposition, mes
sieurs." "Be quick, then, my good friend."
"I can go to the office of the pre
fect again and secure the services
of other secret agents."
"That will take time."
"Of course."
"How long, at a guess?"
"Parbleu! say one half-hour."
"We cannot spare it. At the corner
we will find a carriage by that time
ne ma.? s?:pect to be hammering at
the door of M. Girard's Retreat, and
demanding admittance. We will not
wait the time is too valuable."
They all hurry down the street
toward the corner of the Champs
Elysees, where, as Dick has declared,
they find a carriage. The Frenchman
has evidently been quite taken with
Dick's positive ways, for he can be
heard exclaiming, as he follows close
behind
"Mon Dieu! I love a man of ac
tion, who grapples with a difficulty by
the horns, as if it were a mad bull
that is Francdls, Number Eleven."
Now. having arrived at the corner,
Dick glances up and down the great
thoroughfare makes a peculiar signal
with his arm, and in five seconds, as
it were,, an empty carriage draws up
at the curb, in which they all proceed
to ensconce themselves, out not be
fore Francois has muttered some di
rections in the ear of the driver, who
nods and grins as if amused.
They are off.
Colonel Bob, as usual, has had his
eyes about him, and it is seldom this
man from Secora county gets left
-ji
"M. Francois," he says, "may I ask
what you told our driver that appear
ed to tickle him so tremendously?"
The secret agent chuckles.
"I amused him with a little fiction,'
messieurs."
"And I warrant it had some con
nection with me, for the fellow actu
ally looked sorry when he caught my
eye confess, Francois."
"I will have to I allayed suspicion
by telling the garcon that my friend
and I were conveying a wretched hus
band, who tried to chop his wife to
pieces in his madness, to the Retreat
of M. Girard," with a mock bow to
ward Colonel Bob, who roars aloud at
the intelligence, and takes it all so
good-naturedly that he quite wins tfce
other's heart.
"Gentlemen, you did not answer .my
cuestion about arms." says the secret
agent, whereupon they unload. Dick
carries a revolver, whenever he be
lieves the regulations of the country
he is in allow it, while Colonel Bob
would just as soon think of going
without his head as unarmed.
The latter individual lays a ferocious-looking
six-shooter on the seat
beside M. Francois, and then pro
ceeds to draw a regular bowie-knife
from the back of his coat.
"Mon Dieu!" exclaims the French
man, aghast, and when he sees the
bold sheriff from Secora county bring
a second knife into view from one of
his bootlegs, he drops back in his seat.
"What d'ye think now, my friend?"
demands Bob, with triumph in his
voice. "We may surprise M. Girard,
eh?"
"Ciel! we will paralyze him!"
The carriage is making good time
while they thus converse, and grad
ually drawing nearer the vicinity of
the famous cemetery Pere la Chaise,
and the gloomy prison that stands
near the foot of the bill Charonne, so
that those confined here can look out
upon the cheerful landscape of white
stones and crosses amid the green
sward. In front of La Roquette stood
the guillotine that was so busy dur
ing the reign of the Commune in '71,
when the Seine ran red with blood.
"We will soon be there," announces
Francois, as they whirl around a cor
ner, and he thrusts his head out to
discover their whereabouts.
(To be continued.)
HAD IMPROVED OVER NATURE.
Surgeon Had Glory Coming to Him,
Rather Than Censure.
A year or two after the late Presi
dent McKinley had begun the prac
tice of law he distinguished himself
in a humorous fashion in one of his
first successful cases.
As often happens in court, the hum
or was not merely for the sake of the
joke, but for serious purpose.
The case was brought against a sur
geon, whom the plaintiff charged with
having set bis leg so badly that it
was bowed. McKinley defended the
surgeon, and found himself pitted
against one of the most brilliant law
yers of the American bar.
The latter brought his client into
court and made him expose the in
jured limb to the jury. It was very
crooked, and the case looked bad for
the surgeon. But McKinley had botfc
his eyes open, as usual, and fixed them
keenly en the man's other leg. As
soon as the plaintiff was under cross
examination by him he asked that the
other leg should also be bared.
The plaintiff and his counsel object
ed vigorously, but unavailing. Then
it appeared that the plaintiff's sec
ond leg was still more crooked than
that which the surgeon had set.
"My client seems to have done bet
ter by this man than nature herself
did," said McKinley, "and I move that
the case be dismissed, with a recom
mendation to the plaintiff that he
have the other leg broken and then
set by the surgeon who set the first
one."
Bound to Make a Hit.
He entered timidly. He stood be
fore the editor twisting the brim of
his soft, black hat with long, white
poetic fingers.
"I am sorry," said the editor, "I
am very sorry. But we can not use
your poem. This is final."
Tears welled up in the young man's
eyes. He swallowed.
"Why?" he said
"Well, to be candid," the editor re
plied, "neither in prosody nor in con
struction is this poem meritorious.
The idea is old. The sentiment is
maudlin. The expression is atrocious.
The rhymes are vile."
But now a light as of great joy
illumined the poet's face and he cried
eagerly:
"Give mo back the manuscript.
Give it back to me."
"Very well," said the editor; "but
1 don't see what you can do with it."
"Set it to music," cried the poet.
"Make a popular song of it. With
the qualifications you ascribe it un
doubtedly will be the hit of the sea
son." On the Run.
Rev. Kong Yin Teb, of Honolulu,
was describing in Philadelphia the
horrors of leprosy.
"An American, a tourist, I suppose,
is almost afraid to look at a leper,
isn't he?" a Baptist minister asked.
"inde'' he is afraid," said Mr. Yin
Teb, smiling.
"Does he run away?"
"Well," Mr. Teb replied, "I would
n't quite like to say he runs away.
But he retreats pretty briskly. If
you saw him going for a doctor at
that speed you would be altogether
warranted in thinking that somebody
was dreadfully sick."
Merely Prolonging It.
"But," suggested the man who
thought he knew, "when your wife
gets started on an embarrassing sub
ject why don't you change the sub
ject?" "Huh!" snorted the man who did
know, "she'd simply exhaust the new
subject, and then take up the old one
where she'd left off."
Burning It Up.
"Jagley slept in the lockup, I be
lieve. Drunk and disorderly, eh?"
M,Sh! He says he was guilty of
arson."
"What?"
"He thinks that sounds better. He
was burning his money, you know."
i. - JL-S. Jkf. -A Hii ft -J&fj&s' JS..'..i
LINCOLN'S DEEP HUMILITY
Pride of Pl&cs or Power Never a Fault of the
Great President
They tell us that Lincoln's favor
ite poem was that familiar hymn, so
simple, so generally neglected by the
mass of mankind, "Oh, Why Should
the Spirit of Mortal Be Proud?" Do
you know there is something most
touchingly pcthetic in that? Think
of the position Lincoln occupied the
most exalted in the world. Surely it
is that
Then think of the time in which
Lincoln filled this place of so great
distinction. History was being made
every second of the time history so
momentous in its bearings on the fu
ture of the human race as to over
shadow all other events, in what we
usually call "profane history." The
tasks to be performed, the perplexities
to be met were stupendous. The fate
of armies, aye, the fate of nations, in
deed the fate of the race hung in the
balance and depended on whether this
man should perform the tasks, meet
the perplexities, solve the complex
problems of the hour aright, or blun
der and fail in his administration of
his high office. He must have been
keenly conscious all the time of his
name, the name he wrote so often, the
name so familiar to his eye and ear,
the name which had been his when a
child, when a boy as well as when
President, "Abraham Lincoln." was
to appear in the pages of the world's
history as long as men should read
history. That name was to stand out
like a beacon light on the top of a
mountain before all ages. This was
to be so whether he succeeded or fail
ed in the performance of his task.
Come what might, his was to be "one
of those immortal names that were
not born to die."
Think of this; and was it not pa
thetic that the great, patient, grim
figure should sit there with the great
events of civil war surging around
him, with hosts of men marching past
his windows, going "to do or die" for
their country. Great generals, dust
covered and begrimed with the mud
of the war, bloodstained with the lash
of battle, cast down by defeat, or
flushed with victory, bent before him.
The statesmen of the nation, the
greatest sons of all the soil, stood to
hear his commands, and every wish
LINCOLN IN
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he expressed was a command to the
greatest of theui; statesman or war
rior, whichever it might be.
And there that grim, gaunt figure
sat, and in all his weary, lonely hours
of all that prolonged struggle, the
uppermost thought in his mind, out
side of those of his office, wa embod
ied in the single lines of that old
hymn, "Oh, Why Should the Spirit of
Mortal Be Proud?" The great strain
which rested on the tired brain of the
great President, the awful flood of
sadness that surged through his heart
with every thought of the great war
and all its possibilities and uncertain
ties, found relief and solace in those
lines. They held him heart and soul
bound to a higher power than earth
could furnish, to a reliance on a higher
wisdom than statesmen have, to a
stronger arm than wielded anv earth
ly sword. The battle was not his.
and its results did not rest at last
with him. To do his best, to exer
cise all the wisdom he had, to be loyal
to his duty and leave results with
One whom he had learned to call the
"God of Battles," the "Lord of
Hosts." was all he could do. and, play
ing such a part as that, not able to
foresee the issue, often in doubt
.vh ether he was doing the right thing
at the right time, in the right wa3 "O,
why should the spirit of mortal be
proud?"
Why should it be, to be sure? And
if Lincoln sat all through so many
lonely hours of dismay, donbt and
anxiety, of great deeds, of events that
stirred the nations, of achievements
whose echoes ran around the world
WHAT MADE LINCOLN GREAT
The purchase by R. F. Collier of
New York of the birthplace of Abra
ham Lincoln was a gracious and pa
triotic act.
The soil that gave birth to that
majestic man and martyr is more sac
red than common clay.
The sale of the old Kentucky farm
has given rise to a new discussion of
the old debate as to the forces that
shaped Mr. Lincoln's life.
Discarding as rhetorical the state
ment of Henry Watterson, made in
his lecture on Lincoln, that the great
emancipator was inspired as Moses
was inspired, the question is pertin
ent: ,
What made Lincoln great? Hered
ity, environment or personal endeav-,-or?
And the answer is all of these
forces.
He had something from heredity.'
Like all great men he had a great
mother.
He had something from environ
ment. Lack of advantages stlmalated
his endeavor and" in this Invert way
... sr., --aM- ipf-.YpjfjBjfjijfffcV f ..a j,rr,
and must re-echo to the last syllable
of recorded time, why should the
spirit of little men be proud? The hu
man race bos done great things. But
the race did them, .not the Individual.
Our share in any of the great achieve
ments of the world is small. The part
of the greatest man is small in them.
The part of any generation is small.
We are not so great after all, that any
one of us should feel undue conceit
in anything accomplished by the race,
still less of our part in it. Man in his
higher stages of development, the
highly organized human being, civil
ized man, lived at least 6,000 years
on the earth before he discovered the
fact that a load will move more eas
ily if the vehicle which carries it is
placed on a steel rail and set above
the mud than If sunken in the soil.
The Baltic as she plows her great
bulk through the seas is certainly a
wonderful thing. But it required a
great many generations to get to it
The use of the electric current is
amazing, but it is the result of thou
sands of years of human thought and
effort. Tennyson is right "We men
are but a little race."
MADE PRESIDENT HIS DEBTOR.
Citizen's Interview Short, but He
, Twice Saved Lincoln.
During the civil war Noel P. Aldrich
of Croton, Iowa, visited the White
House for the purpose of presenting
his claim for an appointment in the
army. Although much younger than
the President, he resembled Mr. Lin
coln in height and breadth, as well as
facially.
Upon entering the reception room,
Mr. Aldrich observed that fifteen or
more individuals were ahead of him,
and, concluding that he would be
obliged to wait for some time, he
sought a chair, placed it at the other
end of the long table, facing the Pres
ident, and became a very much inter
ested looker-on. He noted the eagei
looks of hope or apprehension as the
Individuals had their turns, and he
noted the fact that, for some reason
or other, Mr. Lincoln said "No" to
them, but in a very engaging, pleas
ant and deprecating way.
EARLY YOUTH.
While this play was going on before
him. the Spanish minister entered, ac
companied by a couple of admirals or
' other high officers of the Spanish
navy, to pay their lespects to the Pres
ident, and they walked directly toward
Mr. Aldrich. The President saw what
was going on, and he nodded his head
earnestly, so that Mr. Aldrich under
stood his meaning, and he arose, greet
ed the visitors, said a few words ex
pressing appreciation for the call, and
they departed, under the impression
that they had spoken to President
Lincoln, the latter having carefully
screened himself (sitting down), be
hind the squad of office-seekers at his
end of the 'e.
When it jie his turn Mr. Aldrich
said: "I came here, Mr. President, to
ask you for an appointment in the
army, but, after seeing that you are
obliged to say no to everybody, I have
concluded that I will not trouble with
my request, but will bid you good-by,
and wish you lots of good-luck."
"I thank you very heartily," said
President Lincoln. "You have thus
done me two favors in a very brief
time. I thank you for entertaining
the Spanish visitors, and I thank you
for not asking for an office. Now run
home quick, or you may repent the
latter favor." Los Angeles Times.
Value of Diamonds.
The average value of diamonds In
the rough at New York is $37.50 a
karat The price to the public is over
$100 a karat, because loss in cutting,
labor in cleaving, cutting and polish
ing, and dealers' profits.
3
his environment, though unfavorable,
was a help.
But most of all the forces was per
sonal endeavor. This, combined with
a high ideal, made Lincoln what he
was.
When that wilderness mother, Nan
cy Hanks Lincoln, died in the log
cabin in Spencer county, Indiana,
whither the family moved from Ken
tucky she put her hands upon the
head of 8-year-old Abraham and said:
"I'm going away, my boy, but I
want you to remember that your moth
er wants you to be a good and a
useful man."
And always, we know, Abraham Lin
coln felt his mother's hand upon his
head and determined to make his
mother's dream of him come true.
Pluck, persistence, spirit of endur
ance plus a mother's love and long
ingmade Abraham Lincoln great.
The touch of a vanished hand and
the sound of a voice that was still
was not the least of the forces la
his great life.'
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Columbus Journal 60.
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WHEREVER WE HAVE NO AGENT. YOUR OWN DEALER WILL
TaET "KINLOOH" FOR YOU. IF SHOWN
KINL.OCH PAINT COMPANY. ST. LOUI3..JIO.
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TO
CHICAGO
EAST
Without Change of Cars
UNION PACIFIC R. R.
Chicago- Milwaukee & St. Paul
Railway.
For Time Tables rnd Special Rates see Union Pacific
Agent, or write
F. I. MSI, Im'I WastMi lrt, 1524 Fanaa St.
OMIWfl. NBBRflSUI.
Going East
Four fast daily trains via the Union Pacific R.R.
and The North-Western Line take you through
to Chicago without change of cars over
The Only DouMt Trick RaHwiy Brtwtn
Hit Missouri RKvsr and CMcafo
Pullman standard and tourist sleeping cars, free re
clining chair cars and day coaches.
Direct connection in Omaha Union
Depot with fast daily trains to Sioux
City, Mankato, St. Paul, Minneapolis
and Duluth.
For rates, tickets and full information apply to
Agents of the Union Pacific R.
I. a. rnjbl AssL ml Frt. S Pass. Asast
caisas v awnSwooMro ay.
1201 FARMASl ST.
i
Kansas Southern Railway
KANSAS CITY TO THE OULF
pnINQTHROUQH A OfltATER OIVERwITY OF
CLIMATE. SOIL AND RESOURCE THAN ANY OTHER
RAILWAY IN THE WORLD. FOR ITS LENGTH
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FREE GOVERNMENT HOMESTEADS
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THt MOST USX. TO
'THE LAND OP lUIUrMJJISIIT"
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Job Printing
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THIS AD.. BY WRITHM DMEOT TO
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