The courier. (Lincoln, Neb.) 1894-1903, July 07, 1900, Page 8, Image 8

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The Great Semi-Annual Event that all the people of Lincoln look forward
to the great Bargain Sale that all the people of Lincoln attend.
Here are a few sample prices. See Yellow Circulars for full particulars.
X All summer wash goods; 50c and
over values, yard ZUc
All summer wash goods, 25c and
doc values, yard 10c
All summer wash goods, 15c, 18c
and 22c values, yard 5c
" All summer lawn, yard 2c
X 6c Light Dress and Shirting
I - prints, yard 2jic
6c Dark Dress and Shirting
Prints, yard 3c
6c German Blue, yard 4&c
8c Apron and Cheviot Ging
hams, yard 4&c
9c Bed Ticking, yard 5&c
6c LL Nublea Muslin, yard 4$c
J Can field Dress Shield (seconds)
nrsts worth 25c and 35c, pair. 8c
Pulley Stock Collars, slightly
soiled, worth to 75c, choice.. 10c
I 5c Silk Hair Nets 2 for 3c
Our Usual Semi-Annual Silk
1,500 yards of Corded Kai Kai Silks,
'etc., value regularly 50c.
500 yards on sale Monday, 8
A. M., yard 1 pc
500 yards on sale Tuesday, 8 I L
A. Myard..' IH
500 .yards on sale Wednesday, 11
8 A. M. yard
Summer Dress and Fancy Waist
silks, values to $1.00, yard. . . 50c
Summer Dress and Fancy Waist
Silks, values to $2.00, yard. . . 75c
Fancy Parasol Slaughter.
All Fancy Parasols in the House,
regular price $6 to $10 '.$3.00
All Fancy Parasols worth $4.50
to $6.00 $2.00
All Fancy Parasols worth $3.00
to $4.00 $1.50
All Fancy Parasols worth ,$1.50
to $2.50 : $1.00
All Summer Colored Shirt Waists,
worth to 75c 49c
All 98c Colored Shirt Waists. . ..75c
All $1.50 Colored Shirt Waists. $1.00
All $1.98, $2.25, $3.00, $3.50..$1.50
Denim Homespun and Linen Dress
Skirts, worth $2.00 98c
12, 18, 22 in. stamped Linen -Doylies,
worth to 25c 5c
Wash Emb'y Rope Silks, odd shades,
skein lc
25c Tapestry Cushion Tops and
backs 10c
25c Fancy Taffeta Ribbons . .15c
50c Fancy Taffeta Ribbons . . 25c
75c Fancy Taffeta Ribbons . . 35c
Embroideries, widths to 7 inches,
mostly short lengths, values to
25c 7c
JHfifflP I
(Continued from Page 5.)
bead of a plaster cast of Parnell, Larry's
hero. -His dress suit was missing, u
there was no doubt he had dressed for
the party. His overcoat fry on his
trunk and his dancing shoes were oh
the floor, at the foot of his bed by his
everyday ones. I knew that his pumps
were a little tight, he had joked about
them when I was down the Sunday be
fore the dance, but he had only one
pair, and b couldn't have got another
in Grower H he had tried himself, That
set me to thinking. He was a dainty
fellow about his shoes and 1 knew hie
collection pretty well. I west to bis
closet and found them all there. Even
granting him a prejudice against over
coats, .1 couldn't conceive of his going;
out in that stinging weather without
shoes. I noticed that a surgeons case,
such as are carried on passenger trains,
and one which Larry had once appro
priated in Cheyenne, was open, and that
the roll of medicated cotton had been
pulled out and recently used. Each,
discover; I made served only to add to
ny perplexity. Granted that Freyniarlc
had been there, and granted that he
bad played the boy an ugly -trick, he
could not have spirited him away with
, out the knowledge of the train crew. .
u 'Duke, old doggy,' I said to the poor
spaniel who was sniffing and whining
about the bed, 'you haven't done your
duty. You must have seen what went
na between your master and that dam
blooded Asiatic, and you ought to be
able to give me a,tip.of some sort.'
"J decided to go to bed and make a.
fresh start on the ugly business in the
morning. The bed looked as though
eome one had been lying on it, so I
started to beat it up a little before I
got in. I took off the pillow and aa I
pulled up the mattress, on the edge of
the ticking at the head of the bed, I saw
a dark red stain about the size of my
hand. I felt the cold sweat come out
on me, and my hands were dangerous
ly unsteady, as I carried the lamp over
and set it down on the chair by the bed.
But Duke was too'quick for me, he had
seen that stain and, leaping on the bed,
legan sniffing it, and whining likn a dog
that is being whipped to death. I bent
down and felt it with my fingers. It
was dry, but the color and stiffness were
unmistakably those of coagulated blood.
1 caught my coat and vest and ran down
stairs with Duke yelping at my heels.
My first impulse wan to go and call
someone, but from the platform not a
single light was visible, and I knew the
section men had been in bed for hours.
J remembered then, that Larry was
often troubled by hemorrhages at the
nose in that high altitude, but even that
-did not altogether quiet my nerves, and
J realized that sleeping in that bed was
altogether out of the question.
Larry always kept a supply of brandy
-and soda on hand, so I made myself a
'stiff drink and filled the stove and
locked the door, turned down the lamp
and lay down on the operator s table. I
had often slept there when I was night
operator. At first it was impossible to
-sleep, for Duke kept starting up and
limping to the door and scratching at it,
yelping nervously. He kept this up
until I was thorougly unstrung, and
though I'm ordinarily cool enough,
there wasn't money enough in Wyoming
to have bribed me to open that door.
I felt cold all over every time I went
near it, and I even drew the big rusty
bolt that is never used, and it seemed to
me that it groaned heavily as I drew it,
or perhaps it was the wind outside that
groaned. As for Duke, 1 threatened to
put him out, and boxed his ears until I
hurt his feelings, and he lay down in
front of the door with his muzzle be
tween his front paws and his eyes shin
ing like live coals and riveted on the
crack under the door. The situation
was gruesome enough, but the liquor
had made me drowsy and pt last I fell
"It muBt have been about three o'clock
in the morning that I was awakened by
the crying of the dog, a whimper low,
continuous and pitiful, and indescrib
ably human. While I was blinking my
eyes in an effort to get thoroughly
awake, I heard another sound, the grat
ing Eound of chalk on a wooden black
board, or of a soft pencil on a slate. I
turned my head to the right, and saw a
man standing with his back to me,
chalking something on the bulletin
board. At a glance I recognized the
broad, high shoulders and handsome
head of my friend. Yet there was that
about the figure which kept me from
calling his name or from moving a mus
cle from where 1 lay. He finished his
writing and dropped the chalk, and I
distinctly heard it click as it fell. He
made a gesture as though he were dust
ing his fingers, and then turned facing
me, holding his left band in front of his
mouth. I Eaw him clearly in the soft
light of the station lamp. He wore his
dress clothes, and began moving toward
the door silently as a shadow in his
black stocking feet. There whs about
his movements an indescribable stiffness,
as though bis limbs had been frozen.
His face was chalky white, his hair
seemed damp and plastered down close
about his temples. His eyes were color
less jellies, dull as lead, and stariLg
straight before him. When he reached
the door, he lowered the hand ho held
before his mouth to lift the latch. His
face was turned squarely toward me,
and the lower jaw had fallen and was
set rigidly upon his collar, the mouth
wide open and was stuffed full of ichite
cotton! Then I knew it was a dead
man's face I looked upon.
"The door opened, and that stiff black
figure in stockings walked as noiselessly
as a cat out into the night. I think 1
went quite mad then, I dimly remem
ber that I rushed out upon the siding
.and ran up and down screaming, 'Larry,
Larry,' until the wind seemed to echo
my call. The stars were out in myriad?,
and the enow glistened in their light,
but I could Bee nothing but the wide,
white plains, not even a dark shadow
anywhere. When at last I found my
self back in the station, I saw Duke
lying before the door and dropped on
my knees beside him, calling his name.
But Duke was. past calling back. Mas
ter and dog had gone together, and I
dragged him into the corner and cov
ered his face, for his eyes were colorless
and soft, like the eyes of that horrible
face, once so beloved.
The black board? O, I didn't for
get that. I had chalked the time of
the accommodation on it the night be
fore, from sheer force of habit, for it
isn't customary to mark the time of
A. ;