Newspaper Page Text
His Heart's Desire
By SIR WALTER BESANT
riI.VITKU XXI.
"Quick. David, quick!" cried the old
man, eagerly. "Let us pet to work. Oh,
you waste half the morning; let us get
on. At this rate." he sighed, "we shall
take months before I get back the prop
erty."
"There will be no trade this morning,
uncle," David replied, standing In the
doorway. It was a week after I bad told
him the truth. He had been turning it
OTer in hi» mind ia the interval.
"Why ii.ii? David, if you were near
ly seventy yon would be anxious to get
on; you would not shilly-shally over «
single bit of paper. Let as get on, Da
vid. Oh, you've got all the power now,
and law in your hauil*. I won't grum
ble, David. No, take your own tiaie.
my boy; take your own ticue.**
The poor old man was streng+ly al
tered in four or fire *•***. that he
should tb'i* htitub!» blmseif before hi*
nephew. Bat I>«vid b.t4 all tb* s>
long as b- haJ tay oi t!sc«e c«up«s» l#ft.
"You tittle thou<f!j: wh*a I caax« fcerf
that I was gvlag tt> utr* yoa w mocb
trouble, did yuu. t*tic;» D»ai«I? Yea
thought you haJ cit w!j;; b>i:tl o»*r ej<>
always, dida'i jrvaT Bat ywi *?♦, *r»;
th« fa!J from your p-m». :h*a :i# !?*» *^f
yoar paper*, thua ta» s:rvk*. :b*a a&y
co«iiag horn« *aj 3a-! 2£ tit^tn* yjk^r*—
all part <*:' tk« Jtt«itn»«at* —A2>£ ss^'w
there* am to follow."*
"What more? Oi. DttTii, wit: aw**?"!
the helpless aid an oa'y |rru*t^.
"To-day, anc>. I &*Te .-?** :? talk
about air aunt* wilL VTill N*:i*«\-o;e
told me, Yoa did not. You tkejejejkl that
as »o«B as our little bosiae** wt« tal»a
ed I should go away »r.i never com*
back any more. You thought you weu'd
keep the money, did you? Not so, uncle,
not so!"
"I thought you would never find it
out, DaTid," Mr. Leighan confessed, with
somewhat surprising candor. "I soon
found that you knew nothing about it,
and that you never go about and talk;
and I was pretty certain that you would
never find out. Well, now you know.
what difference does It make? You art
no nearer the money."
"We shall see. My aunt might just
ns well have left It to me as to you.
To be sure, I never thought she had half
so much. She began with a thousand.
She must hare pinched and saved. She
left it to Mary, on the condition of her
marrying with your consent; and, if not,
the money was to go to me. And if i
was dead, the will said nothing. So you
thought you could stick to the money.
Uncle, you're a foxy one! You ought to
be in the States, and thirty years young
er. There you would find yourself at
home, with plenty of opportunity. Well.
I am wiser now than I was. And see
now, uncle, I don't mean to go away
nntil this question is settled. What are
you going to do?"
"Why should I tell yo"\T'
"Keop it to yourself, then. T will tell
you what you thought you were going to
do.: I've worked it all out. First, if you
let George and Mary get married before
the law lets you take Sidcote you will
lose Sidcote." He began, in his slow
way, to tick off his points upon his fin
gers. "That's the Brat thing. After
you have got Sidcote, you will be still
loath to let the money go. and you will
keep Mary waiting on. You think that I
shall soon go. Then you will keep the
money as long as you live. But suppose
they were to marry without your consent,
all the money pomes to me—comes to me.
That sticks, doesn't it? You can let
them marry now —and you will lose Sid
cote; you can let them marry after you
have got Sidcote, and you will have to
pay up; if you keep on refusing your con
sent, you can keep the money as long as
you like—unless they marry without.
Then yeu're got to give it to me. You've
had a taste of me already."
He waited a little. His uncle s»id
nothing, but watched him from under
his long, white eyebrows— not contempt
uously, as on the first interview ufter his
return, but with the respect due to the
strength of the situation.
"Very well, then; you would rather
give that money to Mary than to me.
But you would like to get Sidcote; you
hate the thought of giving it to me. you
intended to keep it yourself. Yet there
is no way out of it If you want Bidcete.
Perhaps you think you would give it to
Mary, after you have got Sidcnte. But
suppose she marries before? Then you
would be obliged to give it all to me."
"Go on, David; perhaps you are going
to propose something."
"I have been thinking things over, un
cle. You are getting old, you may die
any day; then Mary would be free. It
is true that she might marry to-morrow,
in which case 1 should be entitled to ev
erything. But I don't think she would
be such a fool. If I were Mary, I should
wait. You are seventy now, and yo«*T«
lost the use of your legs. You can't last
very long. I should wait, if 1 wer ,.
Mary. Yes; it might be a year or two;
it couldn't be longer."
His uncle heard without any emotion
this argument is favor of his approach-
Ing demise—country people use plainness
of speech about such matters—but he
felt himself very far from dying, as mas
terful men always do up to the very end.
"Well, David, supposing that what you
•ay is common sense, what next? " If
Mary marries at once she is a fool, an i
then I have you to reckon with. There
is a g»od bit outstanding on the old ac
count, and I don't suppose there would
be much coming to you when compound
interest and all come* to be reckoned
up." ;.:.x
"A» for your outtsanding accounts, we
*hall see when the time come*. And as
for compound Interest, it ws. be for
you to pay that on my aunt's six thou
sand poandi."
"The interest went for the keep of
Mary."
"I haven't heard that there's a word
about that la the will. You've had her
• ervice* t &s housekeeper for five years
,ndy,tt t. pocketed the Interest. Wny'.
In **1 th l m mdt SP« cent
Vhaf. u«e. h.«dred a year. Ther. wili
bt a benutiful dny of reckoning, uncle.
The sale of jour coupons is nothing to
it."
"You were going to make a proposal,
Da rid?"
"Buy me off, old man."
"Always buy—always buy"'
"To be sure. You've got to buy your
own property hnck because I've com* 1
home. You've pot to buy me out on the
chance of the money coming to me.
I'leasc yourself. What do you say to
buying me out at a thousand?"
"O theuMnd pounds?"
"Yet. Dncle Daniel, "a thousand
pounds. Ami a very moderate figure,
Consider, if they wore to get mar
-1 you'll make five thousand by the
not to speak of the Interest.
If tliejr don't you'll have the satisfaction
I your nephew a few thousand
'.« back out of the property you're
f."
"A thousand pounds! I'll think It
re*. M
rHAPTER XXII.
Mary wont to plead with David for
! hfr nacie. He was m the deserted farm-
I yar.l of Rerry. with its tumble-down
| tniii.iinp<s. He leaned against the gate,
j Thinking a)ir%y» of the fields he had lost,
; and ike w»j .-. which they had been
ttafeea irc*m him. Of course hist first
| ticu^ht was to pet out of her way.
"iKsri't raa iwit, David." she laid;
j "1 mh» :* talk with you."
""We (4BM through the gate then,
I Mary. WiU yon talk in th» cottage, or
will yea t*lk here?"
"Let U stay ontside—here In the
ahade, David. Whei will you cease to
worry your uncle?"
"Did he tell you that I worry him?
Has he been complaining?"
"No. He even denies that you have
any share in the new trouble that mmi
to hava fallen upon him. But I know
that it Is caused by you. After every
oue of your morning visits he> Is miser
able. Every day he (trows more nervous
find more irritable. He shads tears when
he is alone. lam quite sure that you are
the cause of his trouble."
"Well, Mary, perhaps you are rijrht.
I may be the cause of it. Perhaps I
may be the cause, of a good deal more
trouble than I have done"
"Oh! David, think—he is an old man;
he is afflicted with paralysis; you ore
hastening his end. What good will it
do to you if you worry him into his
grave? Will that restore the past? Will
that make you what you used to bo?"
"Nay, that it will not do. But when
I see him at nay mercy, crying for pity,
I tiiink of the day when I en me to ask
him to lend me a poor fifty pounds, with
which to try my luck in Canada, aud he
laughed me in the face."
"Well, then. David, does it do you
any good to remember that day? Let
the past be dead, David, aud live for the
future."
"You ilon't know what you are saying,
Mary. What should you know about it?
You are only a girl"—he spoke roughly
and rudely, but not unkindly— "what do
you know? Let the past he dead. Why.
all the world is crying because the past
won't die. I only wish the put would
die." Here, it leemj to me, David hit
upon a profound truth; for very nearly
Rll the world— not quite—it would be.
unhappily, far better if the past would
die. "If the past should die, Mary, 1
ibould forget that I was once n substan
lial man, who sat respected nt the mar
ket ordinary, rude my own horse, ani
farmed my own land. I should forget
that I had to go away from tiiy native
place nud take ship with the loweal emi
grant*. I should forget —Mary," he
whispered, "I can trust you —l have told
no one else—l should forget that I had
been in prison—yes, iv prison, "
"David!" She shrank from him, but
recovered, and laid her hand loftly upon
his.
"Yes; in prison. And now I am no
longer fit to sit and talk with George
and you. But I am lit to talk with my
uncl»>, because, bad as 1 am, he is worse."
"But if he is, David, forgive him."
"1 wiil worry him." said David, "as
long as 1 can. I will never spare him.
I've got another—— But never mind.
Oh: when you are Rune, Mary, he shall
have a life that he little dreams of bow!"
"David! It is terrible. Can nothing
move you?"
"Nothing, Mary; not even you. Ami
mind you, don't try to put yourself be
tween him and me, because he won't
stand It. It isn't me that won't stand it,
because I don't greatly cars who knows;
but it's him. He likes me to come; be
watches for me aod waits for me,
though he knows that when I am gone
he will turn and wriggle in his chair,
«nd cry and curse. Yet he wants Die
back. Say no more about it, Mary."
It was indeed useless to try further
persuasions. Mary whs silent. Her
cousin, worked up by his wrath, stood
before her with purple cheeks and flam
ing eyes.
"1 must go awny soon," klic Mid. "I
cannot U-r George go out Into t!n> world
without any on*. An.l then 1 must leave
him—aU>ni>."
"Ye»; hut he win have me." said Da
rid, grimly.
"\Wi. i hnve sain what I <:inie to Bay.
Darid, a nil I ha»e done uo good. If you
only forget."
"I cannot forget Stay, Mary; one
thing I roust »ay. Remember afterward
that I said it in time, Then, perhaps,
you'll think that if it hadn't been fur
him I might have been a different man."
"What in it, vi.iv"
"I; is this." His face softened the
moment he ceased to think upon hi*
wrong*. It was but the wreck of a face
which had en'-.- been fraadsome and full
•if hnpe; but it was better and healthier
to look upon than the face black with
revenge. "Will tells me that you are
fin,' l'> marry (.Jeor^e without your un
cle's consent?!
•4Yi
"You know that b« must then jjive me
the whole of my aunt's money '■"
"Ye*."
"Very well, Mary. I am ft-olltvg him.
N«rer mind how. But you shall not be
wronged You shall have all your for
tune. Mnrrjr Qfjorge without any f». ilr .
Ketnetnber—you shall not be wronged!
1 am as bad as you like, but I will not
rob you, Mary; I will not rob you;"
CHAPTER XXIII.
It was heard in the oince of the paper
which hnd secured my services th.it there
was to be held a special meeting, on an
evening early in October, of the Royal
Geographical Society, in order to hear a
paper read by a German traveler recent
ly arrived in Europe, after n lengthened
stay in the South Sea Islands.
At the hour of eight the chairman en
tered with his captive traveler. Th<i
latter, certainly one of the tallest and
finest men I have ever beheld, took hi*
place in front of liis maps, and began,
after the usuul introduction, to read hia
paper.
After this paper wns rend, the nsual
irrepressible persons got Dp and began
to discuss. At this point I retired to add
n few thing! to my article and hand it
in. I then repaired to the Barage Club,
which at 11 o'clock Legini to lie a cheer
ful place. Here I found, in fact, nn ani
mated circle, and among them my friend
of the R, (J. S., the Baron Berglua yon
Holsteln, who had been brought by one
of the members.
It is always interesting to meet with
men who have been on desert inlands, or;
lived among cannibals. It is enough for
tome people only to naze upon such a :
man. For our part, at the Savage, we
found the baron not only an interesting
person, but also a singularly amusing
companion, and brimful of anecdotes and
stories of all kinds.
We talked till late. At about three In
the morning, when we had gone half
round the world with him, he told us a
very singular and surprising story.
He had not been the only European
on a certain island all the time, he said.
For six months or so he had a companion
in the shape of a poor fellow —-an Eng
lishman—who had been washed ashore
upon a piece of timber. The natives
were going to spear this human jetsam.!
when he interfered and saved him, and ■
continued to protect him until he was
able to get him off the island in a vessel
wkich came a blackbirding. "This fel
low," said the baron, "was the most in
tolerable creature in existence. Earlier
in his existence he had committed a
murder, and during the whole of his stay
on the island he was suffering agonies
of remorse; all day long he wept and
groaned, and was afraid to leave me for
fear of being speared. At night he would
not sleep at a distance of more than a
foot or so from me for fear. And he
was always visited every night by the
ghost of the respectable uncle whom he
had slain."
"Did you sec the ghost?"
"No, nor did I hear its voice. Yet
it spent the best part of the night in
abusing the poor man, and Be in an
swering it with prayers and protesta- J
tions. As for revenge, I suppose no oth- 1
er murdered man ever took so much out
of his murderer. Well, it was tedious.
At length my Englishman declared that \
he desired nothing so much as to get
away from the island, and give himself
up to justice. If he could only make his
way to Australia and then get a passage
to England, he would give hhnself up
and confess the whole truth." I
"A lively companion."
"Yes. But to look at him you would
think him a dull, heavy fellow, who 1
seemed to have no spirit for such a dcs- ■
perate dead. Well, I got him away at
length, and was left happy at last and
alone. Before he went, however, I wrote
down, at his request, a statement of the
murder; n confession, in fact, which ho 1
and I witnessed. I warned him that I
should make any use of it that 1 thought
fit. As yet I nave done nothing with it;
and as I dare say he is dead by this time,
I do not see why I should not tear it up.
Here it is, however, written in my old
note book."
(To be continued.
This I>ok Surely Keasnncd.
"I Bee," Raid the St. Louis man, "that
the question of whether animals think
or not Is now being much discussed In
the papers."
"And which side do you take?" was
asked,
"1 know they think. When I was a
boy I went after harvest apples once
and the fanner's dog drove me up a
tree and kept me there for live hours."
"Bui that doesn't prove that be bad
thoughts?"
"Hold on. The farmer was away
from home and didn't return until sun
down, and then he took me down out
of the tree and gave me the walloping
of my life. In the first place, the dog
knew that his master was gone; in th«
second, be knew that he wouldn't be
back until sundown; thirdly, he know
that If he came back and found me
I'd get a hiding; lastly, if it wasn't all
reasoned out, why didn't he leave me
at the end of four hours to bite a
j tramp who was stealing turnips farther
down the road? 1 still have one more
reason."
"And that is?"
"That three months later, when I
met that dog on the steps of the meet-
Ing house of a Sunday, he bolted for
home like a streak of greased light
ning. Would he have done that If he
hadn't thought I had a brickbat under
my jacket?"
A (lay Deceiver.
"George," said the bride of a week,
didn't you promise me that you would
give up cinoking the day I married
you?"
"That's what I did," replied George.
"And now," she continued, "1 Hud
you puffing a cigar, just as though I
were not In existence, What explana
tion have you to offer?"
"Well, I kept my promise all right."
answered the husband.. "I didn't
smoke a single cigar on our wedding
day."
Wireless Mr>.-,:iiv«,,
They were Hat dwellers.
"Why." asked the alleged boss vf
tho domestic ranch, "do yon alway*
*>lt by the window In tho air «'uft
when sowing? You can't !i!iil *cc
there."
"True," replied bla better half, 'hiit
1 eva he*r beautifully-?
*
. ■ - ■ ■
».6 . .
"If Jlnnnie'g one of de crowd you
pan count me out," said the youth with
the orange-tinted finger tips. "I'm a
good feller, but I draw de line at Jitn
mie."
"What's de matter wit' Jlmmie?"
demanded the young man with the
rhlnestone pin. "Ain't he all right?"
"Oh, sure he's n'.l right. He's all
right if you think he's all right. Only
you can count me out."
"What you got ngin him?"
"Me? 1 ain't got nuthin' agin him.
If 1 had anyt'ing agin him he'd have
found it afore dls. I don't leave a guy
In doubt. If I fink he's a lobster he'll
know it. an' if I get any back talk
I'll paste him in de Jaw jest as soon
ns look at him, an' sooner. If Jlmmie
wants anyt'ing from me he knows
how to get it."
"You 'n' him had trouble?" asked
the young man of the rhlnestone pin.
"Me 'n' Jlmmie? Well, I guess not.
What would 1 want to have any trou
ble wit' dat skate for? He don't bother
me none. It wouldn't be healthy for
him. if he wants trouble wit 1 me he
can have It so quick it 'd make his
head swim. Whatcher want him along
for? He's no good. He's stuck on
himself, dats what's de trouble wit'
him. Say, he's a hot tamale. he is, wit'
dem b'loon pants an' dat silver-mount
ed pane. Got to sport in' a flower in hU
coat, too."
"That don't hurt nuthin'."
"Sure it don't hurt nuthin'. He can
wear 'em in his hat for all o' me. If
he wants to decorate himself I ain't
got nuthin' ngin It. He needs b'loun
pants wid dem bow legs of his. I'd
git some girl to loan me a skirt if I
One of Jhe fads of ITTu was the
wearing of two watches.
The drum is said to have been the
first musical instrument of the human
race.
A. E. Eccles of Chorley, England,
has distributed 40,000,000 publications
relating to temperance, hygiene, poli
tics nnd religion.
The late Adolf Hedln was known as
"the father of the Riksdag," having
represented Stockholm as a Liberal
during thirty-six sessions.
Although Emperor Francis Joseph
is seventy-two years old, he still clings
to the old-fashioned rifle of his youth
to hunt chamois In the Austrian Alps.
The Oerman crown prince plays the
violin, and he Is so fond of the Instru
ment that it Is difficult to get him to
pay proper attention to his Other
studies.
The Hindoo priests in India have n>
niarkable memories, and It is said to
be easy to find one who can repeat the
800,000 lines of the Mabbharata with
out a mistake.
Quite Edenesque is the business
street of St. Helier, in the Isle of Jer
sey, where "Adam," "Kve," "Cn'ii"
and "Abel" are all prosperously estab
lished In business.
Mr. Allison, who is seventy years
old, and who graduated at Missouri
University in 1552, has re-entered the
university In order to take a special
course In surveying.
Bishop Mora of Hldnlgo, Mexico,
recently celebrated mass 1,500 feet
below the earth's surface, at the bot
tom of a silver mine which has been
worked for centuries.
Four finger rings and seventeen
brooches -were used in the construc
tion of a marten's nest which has been
dislodged from beneath the eaves of a
house in Frogmore, England.
For the purposes of closer settle
ment, the government of South Aus
tralia has introduced a bill for the
compulsory repurchase by the State
of estates valued at more than £20,000.
London boasts a genuine tonsorial
palace. The old York palace in White
hall, once the residence of Cardinal
Wolsey, and later of Henry VIII, is
now occupied by a barber anil wig
maker named Carter.
It is an easy matter to pick out sis
ters in a group of children on the con
tinent, for girls of the same family
are dressed just alike. In the Breton
provinces, where the gala dress is
quaint, the effect is fantastic on fete
days.
i'apt. Adrian .lones, who remodeled
the colossal equestrian statin- of Gen
eral Buller, recently unveiled at
Exeter, England, spent years in the
British army, and throughout his
term of s.ir\ ii-c practiced us sculptor
and painter.
English inhabitants of the Trans
vaal are much worried over the In
-19 in the population. Already in
Natal the Asiatics outnumber toe
Europeans. In Natal, too. the white
; trade has been almost •limlnat
- a result of Asiatic competition,
Justin McCarthy was showing
H married woman
through the library of the House of
i • nted "ii the fact
that it nit thi rules for a
was .Tinimie. I guess de.v'd do it if he
wanted 'em to. Dey make me tired. !
"If you wantcr make a hit wit' de
dolls all you've (Otter to do is to blow
yourself for fancy shirts an' b'loon
pants an' socks wit' roses and mornln'
glories worked,on 'em in silk an'
you've got 'em all goln'. It don't make
no difference whit wages you're
makin' so long as you put on style.
I bet .Tlminie don't pull out more 'n
twelve a week, If he does dat. I don't
touch a tool under >< a day when I'm
workln', but den mine's wages an' his
Is tarry. Come down to dat, I got
better elo'es dan he's got, an' I spend
my money, too."
"Jlmmie's a spender, all right."
"Sure he's a spender. He'll blow
himself on Maggie Davis as long as
he's got de price. An' she's dead will-
In' to have him do It. It don't make
no difference to me."
"I seen Maggie de udder night," said
the young man with the rhlnestone
pin. "She told me to say hello to you
if 1 seen you an' tell you to come
around. Say, Jimiuie ain't rushin'
her. She wouldn't have nuthin' to do
wit' him. Dats straight. Ho took
her home night uf de dance when you
was In Kansas City, but Pearl made
him. Jlmmie's dead gone on Pearl." I
"Is dat so?" said the youth with the 1
orange-tinted finger tips. "Well, it
don't cut no ice wit' me who he goes'
wit. Understand, I ain't got nuthin'
agin Jiinmie. He's a good feller all
right, I guess. He wouldn't keep me
away from de doin's if 1 cd get a day
off. An' maybe I can. I'll let you
know dls evenin'. No, all de trouble
wit" Jiinmie Is dem b'loon pants. If
he'd quit wearin' dem he'd be all light.
Did Maggie say anyt'ing else?" — Ch
icago Dally News.
j
woman to sit down in the place. She I
Immediately drew a chair up to a ta
ble and sat down.
London's average death roll by ac
cident among males is between four
and live a day. London's male popu
lation numbers 2,101,897, so that the
risks of death by accident are more In
London than in the rest of the coun- j
try. Every two days throughout the
year nine Londoners are killed by un
premeditated violence. |
The mountains of the moon are im
mense in proportion to those of the
earth. The moon is but one-forty
ninth the size of the earth, but its
mountain peaks are nearly as high.
Twenty-two are higher than Mont
Blanc, which is within a few feet of
three miles high. The highest is little
more than four miles and a half.
SIZE OF HER SHOES A SECRET.
Dealers Now Use Cipher System to
Murk Women's Footwear.
What number does she wear? asks
the Kansas City Star. It should be
a surprise to a few men, at least, to'
know that she no longer wears shoes
of numbered sizes. The old I, 2, '.I
way of numbering women's shoes has
seen Its day; now sizes arc no longer
designated by numbers, at least not
ill the places where she buys shoes
that cost as If they were made of gold
and a precious stone or two. There
are marks and numbers that tell tin*
Story of length and breadth to the
clerk, but they mean nothing to the
customer. Who would guess that
K17368** means i ■"•, D? Only the
shoe clerk and he tells no one. j
Therein la the purpose of the ab
sence of numbers on women's shoos. !
"I always wear a 8 11," she would say
and the clerk would see the numbel
4% D foot resting in a little fitting
stand. Without comment, he would
bring shoes to fit snugly and not with
too great discomfort.
"That's very pretty. I think I'll
take those," and he would begin to
hope a sale had been made. Now,
If he Did only get thorn into a box
without
"I want to look at them again. Just
.i moment, please. Why, you said
these were 3s and they are 6s 1 Why,
I never in all my days wore anything
bigger than ."si No, indeed! I shan't
be Imposed upon, I assure you, I
care to see no other shoes. I shall. go
somewhere where I can be given pro
per treatment.*' And the sale lost
because the clerk could not hide the
true facts about the proper size of
shoes for her to wear.
So a few years ago the manufactur
ers and the merchants resorted to
cipher in designating shoes, and a
"number" nowadays reads like a foot
ball signal. Some women have even
penetrated the cipher, and, consequent
ly, some shops request that nothing
be said about numbers — the salesman
will measure the fool and bring a
shoe to correspond. That is he'll bring
the first too large, In order to let the
fair buyer have the satisfaction of
asking for something smaller.
Meanwhile the men's shoes still nave
sizes marked In plain numbers and
in plain sight.
_!
Not Ho Funny.
"He made a funny break yester
day."
"HOW was that?"
"He fell and broke his funny bone."
- Cleveland Plain Dealer.
Little drops of water, little grains
of sand, increase the grocer's proliW
to beat the village baud.
— ■■»■.«.,
WHIN LOVE 18 ANTISEPTIC
W.jr. of Making It 80 M Not to Bc«tW
Injurious Microbes.
According '*0 a French physician,
the hand contains over 80,000 microbes
ito the square Inch, and in shaklna
; hands these microbes P re conveyed
■ from one person to another. He at i V() .
cates the substitution of one of tbe
more dignified and distant oriental
modes of salutation.— Daily Paper
Her mother had significantly left
them together In the conservatory
The moment had come to mnke her un
derstand how much Le loved her u 9
had boon in a similar situation once or
| twice before, under the ancient regime
, but then it was comparatively easy'
; Now, under a code of etiquette found*.
Ed chiefly on the latest fashion in bac
teria, he felt his position embarrass-
Ing. A kiss had long been considered'
a criminal proceeding on purely hy
gienic grounds. Impassioned speech
was but the setting free of millions of
microscopic prisoners desirous of a
change of lung. He must not even
press h her little hand, welt knowing
1 what malignant host science ha,l
placed within Its few rounded square
Inches— not to mention those that lurk
ed in his own extensive palm.
Standing at a safe hygienic distance
I therefore, he stretched out his arms to-'
j ward her, longingly, like an amor
ous tenor at the opera. He did not
sing of course. That had long since'
been forbidden, us putting more mi
crobes in circulation than even Im
passioned speech. lie did not speak
feeling that the level, more or less'
sterilized conversation, which alone
science still permitted to be sparingly
I used, -would be out of place on this
occasion. Rut he gazed upon her so
j ardently that the few thousand bacilli
.temporarily resident among her eye
lashes were seriously Inconvenienced
by the rising temperature.
I She smiled and shook her head
gently. Everything was done gently
now by persons with the slightest pre
tense of civilization, in order to avoid
disturbing the circumambient legions
of the enemy. But while he admired
her discretion he doubted her mean
ing. Was It "No?" Or that she did
not understand? On that he was go-
Ing the wrong way to work? Or that
she deemed herself unworthy? He
carefully sat down at his end of then
; conservatory and thought it out.
j Then she frowned—frowned so un
] mistakably that he shuddered to think
how many hundred thousand germs,
happy tenants of the arches of her
I brows, would be discharged by so
alarming a dislocation of their dwell
, ing. As, however, he still remained
I motionless, her behavior became oven
more foolhardy and unscientific. With
a primitive impulsiveness calculated
to dispatch every microbe In the con
servatory upon a new predatory er
rand, she rushed to the antiseptic
fountain that played among the palms
and filled a watering can from its cool
disinfectant. The last thing to be civ
ilized, he reflected, will be woman,
but he had barely time to finish the
quotation. For with the nose of the
! watering can she was tracing in pink
ish spray upon the tiled floor the three
letters YES.— London Punch.
Itreakine the Voice.
! The peculiar physiological causes of
what is called the breaking of the
voice are not quite understood, but it
Is known to depend immediately upon
an organic change In the larynx, the
organ of the voice which occurs in the
male sex between the ages of 14 and
10. Before that the larynx of boys re
sembles that of girls, but when th»
voice begins to break the vocal chorda
become lengthened at least one-third,
the angle of the thyroid cartilage be
comes enlarged, and the muscles
which connect the organs of the voice
I with the hypold bone and the base of
the tongue become elongated.
. While the change of form is taking
place the voice is unfitted for singing
and should be used only with great
care. In other words, the breaking of
the voice is due to the rapid devel
opment of the larynx, which takes
place at certain ages and which leads
to a change in the range of the voice.
The peculiar harshness of tho voice
when It is thus breaking seems to be
due to a temporary congestion and
swollen condition of the mucous mem
brane of tho vocal chords accompany
ing the active growth of the whole
larynx.
An Actor's Economy.
John S. Flaherty, manager of the
. Majestic theater, in New York, wa»
; walking along Broadway with a the
atrical friend, when the letter's atten
tion was attracted by a fine meer
schaum pipe in a show window. After
admiring it for a time the actor sug
gested that they go inside and ask
the price.
| "How much for that carved pipe In
the window?" he asked.
i "Only, fifty dollars," said the clerk.
, "It's a beauty, and is the genuine ar
ticle. Shall I show It to you?"
' "But he did not show the pipe,"
said Flaherty, In relating the mcii
i dent, "for the actor was out of the
door and strolling down the street.
When I overtook him I heard him say
to himself: 'Two weeks' alimony for ft
| pipe? Well, I guess not!"'
Not Good
"Has be a good profession?"
"lie sings."
"That sounds bad." —pieveland
:, Plain Dealer.
j Don't waste words when talking to
1 a woman; cut your story short and let
her talk.
t
! Most men >lo what they do becaßM
they think at th« tiiuu it is the propel
thins to do.
