THE COURIER.
V
V '
THE DR. BENJ. F. BAILEY SANATORIUM.
LINCOLN, NEBRASKA.
ThiB Institution is thoroughly equipped for the treatment of ixojci
oontaelotta ohronio diHeasea. A number of
Epecial methods are in use in the treatment of rheumatism, selected cases of
cancer and in nervous diseases. Excellent results are being obtained by the
Sanatorium methods of treatment in kidney, heart, hepatic and catarrhal af
fections. The aim is not only to cure, but to teach the art of livinn.
This institution is fitted with every electric current used in medicine- the
most perfect system of Turkish, Russian and electric baths, besides medicated
baths peculiar to itself.
The Emersonian system of physical culture is taught under a Bkilted in
structor. The aim of this Institution is to carry on its work in a skilled manner
amid pleasant and cheerful surroundings, and to make its building at all
times not a hotel, not a hospital, but a home.
a -?z."3BBy
ac&iSTUtco.
CHOCOLATE
BON BONS
For Sale By
THE FIRST COOL DAY
Bring your Fur Garments and
have them repaired or remod
eled, because it will be cold
again this year. By the way,
you can order a Fur Garment
made in the latest stvle at
0. STEELE.
n en mm OT imnniu utDD O
4 no ou. hid 01. unburn, neon
ft r. i. TJt-i t.
Athletic Photographs
Photographs of Babies
Photographs of Groups
Exterior Views
THE PHOTOGRAPHER
; 129 South Eleventh Street. J
ft ySyyf
tl
1
tJ
And Dairy Go.
Manufacturers of the finest aual
ity of nlain and fancv Ice Cream
ices, Frozen iruadings, trappe
and ShorhAtn Prnmnt Hnlivprv m
and satisfaction guaranteed. y
133 SO. 1 2th St. PHONE 205.
CtJCXHyKXKyMX0
Ridiculous.
"He imagines he can get into really
good society by merely building a fast
yacht!"'
"The idea! When a yacht costs only
half a million dollars!" Town Topics.
THE CYCLIST GUEST.
II Y HARRY PAIN.
Madge I don't know a thing about
yachting. Now, what is it they anchor?
Dolly The Cup, you little goose.
Haven't you heard how hard it is to
lift it? Town Topics.
The inn stands in a Yorkshire valley,
seven miles from any town. The inn
itself occupies one side of a courtyard.
Right and left of it are farm buildings.
The fourth side is open to the road and
the moorland beyond it, and the blue
hills further still. No house is in sight.
The road stretches far and white,
without hedge or fence, and this hot
Saturday afternoon it had for long
hours been empty no one bad come or
gone by it; it gave a note of quiet ex
pectation to the scene. Then a flock of
geese came cackling angrily across it.
A moment later a cyclist came in view,
his head down, riding fast. Mrs. Mace,
who had been looking out, went back
to her kitchen. The cyclist would be
sure to stop awhile
He was a nice looking cyclist, though
his appearance was not improved by
heat, dust and exhaustion. He was a
fair-haired young man, somewhat shy,
and just a little too fat; he did not give
one the impression of a hard athlete.
His machine was new and brilliant, and
looked expensive. AH this Mrs. Mace
took in as he sat en the bench in the
courtyard, drinking from a blue mug
the pint of shandygaff she had brought
him.
"Come far. sir?" she asked.
He might have answered with truth
that he had come just us far and as fast
as he possibly could.
"Not well, not particularly. I'm be
ginning a tour not quite in training
yet." He put down his mug, stood up,
and surveyed the old stone buildings.
'I suppose," he said, "you couldn't put
any one up here for a night or so."
"We could and have done," said Mrs.
Mace. "It would depend on what a
gentleman expectid. We haven't all
the advantages here, but we do our best.
Perhaps you would step inside and see
for yourself, sir."
The cyclist professed himself quite
satisfied with the accommodation offered
him. He unstrapped a rather heavy
and cumbersome wallet from his ma
chine, and had it taken up to his room.
The sleepy inn became suddenly alive
and active. A clumsy boy panted up
stairs with pails of water for the bath.
From the kitchen came the sound of
crackling sticks.
In an hour the stranger, refreshed by
his bath and a change of clothes, came
back to the bench in the courtyard.
He had still an hour or more to wait for
dinner. He began to smoke a cigarette,
let itgoout,stared at the ground intently
and suddenly started up and looked
down the road in the direction from
which he had come; there was no one
on the road; he gave a sigh of relief,
relit a cigarette, and sat down again.
With a burst of laughter three little
girls came out from the inn into the
courtyard. They were the landlord's
children, clad in blue serge, brown and
healthy, and they had come out to
catch the stranger's dinner. A handful
of grain and a clucking sound: fowls
hurried up avidly from all quarters; the
victim was marked out and the chase
began. As the stranger watched it,
the tired and anxious expression van
ished from bis face, and he smiled.
Once or twice he called out a word or
two of advice to the chief huntress.
But the chief huntress, at the ago of
thirteen, had experience and needed no
advice; the chase was brief, and the
huntress marched off with tho spoils.
The youngest child had been entrusted
with the task of hanging on to the col
lar of tho young collie, and persuading
"Lady Jane" that she was not to take
part in the bunt. Now she released the
collie, and with conscious audacity
turned to tho stranger. "Would you
like to see the chicken killed?" she said.
He shivered. "No, no," he said.
Then he thanked her warmly. He was
fond of children. It was queer, but he
did not like to see things killed, and he
wanted information about the collie.
The child gave it gravely: "Lady" was
good-tempered but disobedient.
After dinner he crossed the courtyard
and again looked eagerly down the long
white road. There was no one in sight.
The light was waning rapidly. lie
came back to the sitting room. It
boasted an old cottage piano. On it
were a copy of Moody and Sankey's
hymns and some sheets of easy mus'c.
given away as an advertisement by the
proprietors of a patent medicine. He
went to the other end of the room, and
sat by the open window, listening in
tently. He looked now like a man wor
ried almost to the point of madness.
He started when the door opened, and
Mrs. Mace brought in tho lighted lamp.
He wanted to ask her to seno her hus
band to smoke a pipe with him, but he
could not find the right phrases. He
sat alone for half an hour, and then
went up to bed. ne was careful to
leave his candle still burning when he
vent to sleep. He woke with the day
light, put out the candle, and looked
from his window down the empty road.
Then he crept back to bed and slept
again.
His spirits seemed better after break
fast next morning. He went out for a
stroll across the moor. The mists were
clearing from the hill-tops. The sun
shone out bright and hot, the air was
still, and on every side he heard the
chirping of the grasshoppers. He lay
down and rested, flat on his back, with
one arm over his eyes. In this scene
of quiet and lonely peace it seemed al
most impossible to believe that the fact
of yesterday was really a fact, that the
thing was done which could not be un
done, and that the consequences muBt
inevitably follow.
When he got back to the inn he heard
the sounds of music. Tho piano was
being played laboriously and inefficient
ly; the music was a hymn tune, and
abominable. When he entered the sit
ting room he saw that the performer
was the chief huntress of the afternoon
before; the other children listened open
eyed. They would have run away when
ha came in.
"Don't go," he said, 'Til play you
something if you like." He sat down
to the piano and ran his fingerB over the
keys; it was a poor instrument but fairly
in tune. He played the piano very
much better than he rode the bicycle.
Mrs. Mace came in, and her husband,
and the clumsy boy. The hired girl
stood outside in the passage and said
that it was heaven. "Have some more,"
said the chief huntress when he stop
ped. He laughed.
After the mid-day meal he blew up
the tires of his bicycle and went up
Btairs to pack his wallet. Looking out
from his window he saw that it was all
over. The mounted policeman clatter
ed into the courtyard, and Mrs. Mace
came out to speak to him.
"Yes, that's the man. I must go up
and take him. Tell your husband to
get his cart out. wo shall want it." He
Bwung himself from bis hors.
"What's he done?" asked Mrs. Mace,
breathless and aghast.
"Killed his girl, outside Birnsloy, yes
terday morning."
From the upper room of tho inn there
rang out the sound of a revolver-shot,
clear and fatal. Blue smoke stole
through tho open window. Without
another word the officer dashed into
th inn and up tho stairs. Tho chil
dren ran out and clung to their moth
er's skirts, crying and frightenod.
Black Si White.
LINCOLN LETTER.
Lincoln, Nebr.,
September 30, IDOL
Dear Penelope:
Yours of the 24th at hand. You re
mind me of my remote childhood days
when my "nintimate friend" used to
induce mo to perform my part in friend
ship's duet, by vowing that if I refused,
she would never speak to me again.
Your last letter was good enough for a
s'van song. The minor strain of faro
well worries me. I do not like requiems
especially if tho pilgrim announces that
he is singing his own farewell to the
world. I would not blame you if you
stopped writing because you object to
being misquoted over your own signa
ture. Really the typographical mis
translations in your letter of last week
were more than usually crass. It is
this, more than an occasional taciturn
ity on my part you will find it hard to
forgive. The printer set up your Idvely
quotation: "The vanishing encounter
and endeavor of things that are, and are
not in the room," as 'The vanishing en
counter and endeavor of things what
are, and are not in the room." Between
that and what there is the dilTerenco
between tragedy and bathos. These
mutilations you have Buffered before
and you will again so long as printers
retain their inexplicable geniua for mak
ing the straight crooked and the clear
opaque, and proof-readers still nod and
are blind till the paper is printed and it
is forever too late.
Penelope dear, do you ever reflect
upon the telativity of things? If you
go from a small tovn to St. Liuis, for
instance, it seems a large, bustling place,
but if you go to Chicago first and then
to St. Louis, the latter seems country
fied, and what was magnificence to the
countryman is pretentiousness to the
citizens of Chicago. But it you arrive
frura New York in Chicago, it is Chi
cago s size, importance and dignity that
suffer. I have the same experience and
make the same reflections about peo
ple. A comparatively amiable person
is tolerable until the company of a very
amiable person creates a taste for pos
itive amiability. See?
The rushing season is nearly over and
the freshmen class has been carefully
sorted. An inspection of the young
men over whom seniors and those who
have been here long enough to look
down upon yearlings have been dis
puting reveals only a few fresh faced
and very young boys. "Very young" in
a Copperfielcian sense meaning crude,
too sweet and self conscious.
Yet it is the custom in the University
of Nebraska to select new fraternity
members entirely from the freshman
class. If a youngster is not chosen in
the first few days of his attendance at
the university he is not likely to be
chosen at all in the three years and
seven months that he must spend at
the institution before his education is
completed and the faculty present him
with a document to that effect. And it
does not matter in the least how well he
dresses or recites afterward. If he does