\PJCTO/ZE.i5
jr
hTf'fo/JSz
COPYRIGHT 1907 —
|THt BOPB-S-rtERHIU. C.O.
SYNOPSIS.
"Mad" Dan Maitland, on reaching his
New York bachelor club, met an attrac
tive young woman at the door. Janitor
• •'Hagan assured him no one lmd been
within that day. Dan discovered a wom
an's linger prints in dust on his desk,
along with a letter from his attorney.
Maitland dined with ltunnerman. his at
torney. Dan set out for Oreentields, to
get his family jewels. During his walk
to tlie country seat, he met the young
woman in gray, whom lie had seen leav
ing liis bachelors’ club. Her auto had
broken down.
CHAPTER II.—Continued.
Her superb composure claimed his
admiration. Absolutely ignorant
though she had been of his proximity,
the voice from out of the skies evi
dently alarmed her not at all. Still
bending over the lifted foot, she .turned
her head slowly and looked up; and
"Oh!” said a small voice, tinged with
relief. Anil coolly knotting the laces
again, she sat up. "I didn't hear you,
you knew."
"Nor I see you," Maitland supple
mented, unblushingly, “until a moment
ago. I—er—can 1 be of assistance?"
"Can’t you?”
"Idiot!" said Maitland, severely,
both to and of himself. Aloud: "1 think
! can."
i nape so —aouDiiiiiiy. 11 s very
unfortunate. I . . . was running
rather fast, I suppose, anil didn't see
the slope until too late. Now," open
ing her hands in a gesture ingenuously
charming with its suggestion of help
lessness and dependence, “I don't
know what can be the matter with the
machine.”
“I’m coming down.” announced
Maitland briefly. “Wait.”
“Thauk you. I shall.”
She laughed, and Maitland could
have blushed for his inanity; happily
he had action to cloak his embarrass
ment. In a twinkling he was at the
water's edge, pausing there to listen,
with admirable docility, to her plain
tive objection: “But you'll get wet
and—and ruin vottr things. I can't
ask that of you."
He chuckled, by way of reply, slap
ping gallantly into the shallows and
courageously wading out to the side of
the car. Whereupon he was advised in
tones of fluttered indignation:
“You simply wouldn't listen to me!
And I warned you! Xow you’re soak
ing wet and will certainly catch your
death of cold, and—and what can I do?
Truly, I am sorry.”
Here the young man lost track of
her remark. He was looking up into
the shadow of the motoring cap, dis
covering things; for the shadow was
set at naught by the moon luster that,
reflected from the surface of the
stream, invested with a gentle and
glamorous radiance the face that bent
above him. And he caught at his
breath sharply, direst fears confirmed:
She was pretty indeed—perilously
pretty. The firm, resolute chin, the
sensitive, sweet line of scarlet lips,
the straight little nose, the brows del
icately arched, the large, alert, tawny
eyes with the dangerous sweet shad
ows beneath, the glint as of raw cop
per where her hair caught the light—
Maitland appreciated them all far too
well; and clutched nervously the rail
of the seat, trying to steady himself,
to re-collect his routed wits and con
sider sensibly that it all was due to
the magic of the moon, belike; the
witchery of this apparition that looked
down into his eyes so gravely.
"Of course," he mumbled, “it's too
beautiful to endure. Of course it will
all fade, vanish utterly in the cold
light of day.”
Above him, perplexed brows gath
ered ominously. “I beg pardon?"
“I--er—yes,” he stammered at ran
dom.
“You—er—what ?”
Positively, she was laughing at him!
He, Maitland the exquisite. Mad Mait
land the imperturbable, was being
laughed at by a mere child, a girl
scarcely out of her teens. He glanced
upward, caught her eye a-gleam with
merriment, and looked away with
much vain dignity.
• I was saying," he manufactured,
‘‘that I did not mind the wetting in
the least. I'm happy to be of service.”
“You weren't saying anything of the
sort,” she contradicted, calmly. "How
ever—” She paused significantly.
Maitland experienced an instan
taneous sensation as of furtive guilt,
decidedly the reverse of comfortable,
lie shuffled uneasily. There was a
brief silence, on her part expectant,
on his, blank. His menial attitude re
mained hopeless; for some mysterious
reason bis nonchalance had deserted
him in the hour of his supermest
need: not in all his experience did he
remember anything like this—as awk
ward.
The river purled indifferently about
his calves; a vagrant breeze disturbed
the tree tops and died of sheer lassi
tude; Time plodded on with measured
stride. Then, abruptly, full-winged
inspiration was born out of the chaos
of his mind. Listening intently, he
gianced with covert suspicion at the
bridge: it proved untenanted, inoffen
sive of mien; nor arose there any
sound of hoof or wheel upon the high
way. Again he looked up at the girl;
and found her in thoughtful mood,
frowning, regarding him steadily be
neath level brows.
He assumed a disarming levity ol
demeanor, smiling winningly. "There's
only one way," he suggested—not toe
archly—and extended his arms.
“Indeed?" She considered him with
pardonable dubiety.
Instantly his purpose became as
adamant.
“I must carry you. It's the only
way." '
"Oh. indeed no! I—couldn’t impose
upon you. I'm—very heavy, you
know—”
"Never mind.” firmly insistent. “You
can't stay here all night, of course.”
He Began to Wade Cautiously Shoreward.
“Hut are you sure?" (She was yield
ing! ) "I don’t like to—"
He shook his head, careful to re
strain the twitching corners of his
lips.
"It will take but a moment," he
urged, gravely. "And I’ll be quite
careful.”
"Weil—" She perceived that, if not
right, he was stubborn: and with a fi
nal small gesture of deprecation,
weakly surrendered. "I'm sorry to be
such a nuisance.1’ she murmured, ris
ing and gathering skirts about her.
Maitland stoutly denied the hideous
insinuation. "I ant only too glad—"
She balanced herself lightly upon
the step. He moved nearer and as
sured himself of a firm foothold on the
pebbly liver bed. She sank gracefully
into his arms, proving a considerable
burden—weightier, in fact, than he
had anticipated. He was somewhat
staggered: it seemed that he embraced
countless yards of ruffles and things
ballasted with (at a shrewd guess)
lead He swayed.
Then, recovering his equilibrium, he
incautiously glanced into her eyes. And
lost it again, completely.
"1 was mistaken," he told himself;
"daylight will but enhance—”
She held herself considerately still,
perhaps wondering why he made no
move. Perhaps otherwise; there is
reason to believe that she may have
suspected—being a woman.
At length: “Is there anything I
can do.” she inquired, meekly, "to
make it easier for you?"
“I’m afraid,” he replied, attitude
apologetic, "that I must ask: you to put
your arm around my ne—my shoul
ders. It would be more natural."
“Oh.”
The monosyllable was heavy with
meaning—with any one of a dozen
meanings, in truth. Maitland debated
the most obvious. Did she conceive
he had insinuated that it was his habit
to ferry armfuls of attractive feminini
ty over rocky fords by the light of a
midnight moon?
No matter. While he thought it
out, she was consenting. Presently a
slender arm was passed round his
neck. Having awaited only that, he
began to wade cautiously shorewards.
the distance lessened perceptibly, but
he contemplated the decreasing inter
val without, joy, for all that she was
of an appreciable weight. For all bur
dens there are compensations.
Unconsciously, inevitably,' her head
sank toward his shoulder: he was
aware of her breath, fragrant and
warm, upon his cheek. ... He
stopped abruptly, cold chills running
up and down his back; he gritted his
teeth; he shuddered perceptibly.
“What is the matter?" she de
manded. deeply concerned, but at
pains not to stir.
Maitland made a strange noise with
his tongue behind clenched teeth.
"Urrrrgh," he said distinctly.
She lifted her head, startled; relief
followed, intense and instantaneous.
“I'm sorry," he muttered, humbly,
face aflame, "but you . . . tickled.”
“Um—so—sorry!” she gasped, vio
lently agitated. And laughed a low,
almost a silent, little laugh, as with
deft fingers she tucked away the er
rant rock of hair.
“Ass!" Maitland told himself, fierce
ly, striding forward.
In another moment they were on dry
land. The girl slipped from his arms
and faced him. eyes dancing, cheeks
crimson, lips a tense, quivering, scar
let line. He met this with a rueful
smile.
“Sht—thank you—but." she gasped,
explosively, “it was so funny!”
Wounded dignity melted before her
laughter. For a time, there in the
moonlight, under the scornful regard
of the disabled motor car!s twin head
lights, these two rocked and shrieked.
while the silent night flung back dis
dainful echoes of their mad laughter.
Perhaps the insane incongruity of
their performance first became ap
parent to the girl: she. at all events,
was the first to control herself. Mait
land subsided, rumbling, while she
dabbed at her eyes with a wisp of lace
and linen.
"Forgive me." she said, faintly, at
length; "1 didn’t mean to—”
“How could you help it? Who'd ex
pect a hulking brute like myself to be
ticklish?”
"You are awfully good," she coun
tered more calmly.
"Don't say that. I’m a clumsy lout.
Hut—" He held her gaze inquiringly.
"But may 1 ask—”
"Oh, of course—certainly: I am—
was—bound for Greenpoint on-the
Sound—"
“Ten miles!" he interrupted.
The corners of her red lips drooped:
her brows puckered with dismay, in
stinctively she glanced toward the
water-bound car.
“What am 1 to do?" she cried. “Ten
miles! ... 1 could never walk it.
never in ihe world! You see, I went
to town to-day to do a little shopping.
As we were coming home Ihe chauf
feur was arrested for careless driving.
He had bumped a delivery wagon over
—it wasn't really his fault. 1 telephoned
home for somebody to bail him out,
and my father said he would come in.
Then I dined, returned to the police
station and waited. Xobody came 1
couldn't stay there all night. I
'phoned to everybody I knew, until my
money gave out; no one was in town.
At last, in desperation, I started home
aione."
Maitland nodded his comprehension.
“Your father—?” he hinted delicately.
“Judge Wentworth,” she explained,
hastily. “We’ve taken the Grover place
at Greenpoint for the season."
“1 see”—thoughtfully. And this was
the girl who he had believed had been
in his rooms that evening, in his ab
sence! Oh, clearly, that was impos
sible. Her lone rang with truth.
She interrupted his train of thought
with a cry of despair. “What will
they think!"
“I dare say," he ventured hopefully,
"1 could hire a team at some farm
house—"
“But the delay! It’s so late al
ready!”
Undeniably late; one o'clock at the
earliest. A thought longer Muitland
hung In lack of purpose, then without
a word of explanation turned and again
began to wade out.
“What do you mean to do?” she
cried, surprised.
"See vt hat’s the trouble,” he called
back. “L know a bit about motors.
Perhaps—”
“Then—but why—”
She stopped; and Maitland forbore
to encourage her to round out her
question. If was no difficult matter to
supply the missing words. Why had
he not thought of investigating the
motor before insisting that he must
carry her ashore?
The humiliating conviction forced
itself upon him that he was not figur
ing to great: advantage in this adven
ture. Distinctly a humiliating sensa
tion to one who ordinarily was by way
of having a fine conceit of himself,
it requires a certain amount of ego
tism to enable one to play the ex
quisite to one's personal satisfaction;
Maitland had enjoyed the possession
of that certain amount; theretofore his
approval of self had been passably en
tire. Now—ho could not deny—the
boor had shown up through tlie polish
of the beau.
Intolerable - thought! “Cad!” ex
claimed Maitland, bitterly. This all
was due to hasty jumping at conclu
sions; if he had not chosen to believe
a young and charming girl identical
with an—an adventuress, this thing
had not happened and lie had still re
tained his own good will. For one lit
tle moment he despised himself hearti
ly—one little moment of clear insight
into self was his. And forthwith he
began to meditate apologies, formu
lating phrases designed to prove ade
quate without sounding exaggerated
arid insincere.
By this time he had reached the
car. and—through sheer blundering
luck—at once stumbled upon t lie seat
of trouble—a clogged valve in the car
bureter. N'o serious matter; with the
assistance of a repair kit more than
commonly complete, he had the valve
clear in a jiffy.
News of this triumph he shouted to
tlie girl, receiving in reply an "Oh.
thank you!" so fervently grateful that
he felt more guilty than ever.
Ruminating unhappily on the end of
contemplated abasement, he waded
round the car. satisfying himself that
there was nothing else out of gear;
and apprehensively cranked up.
Whereupon the motor began to hum
contentedly; all was well. Flushed
with this success, Maitland climbed
aboard and opened the throttle a trifle.
The car moved. And then, with a
swish, a gurgle, and a watery whoosh!
it surged forward, tip. out of the river,
gallantly up the slope.
At the top the amateur chauffeur
shut down the throttle and jumped
out, turning Jo face the girl. She was
by the step almost before he could
offer a hand to help her in, and as she
paused to render hint his due meed of
thanks, it became evident that she har
bored little if any resentment; eyes
shining, face aglow with gratitude,
she dropped hint a droll but graceful
courtesy.
“You are too good!" she declared
with spirit. "How can 1 thank you?”
"You might," he suggested, looking
down into her face from his superior
height, “give me a hit of a lift—just a
couple of miles up the road. Though."
he supplemented eagerly, "if you’d
really prefer, I should be only too
happy to drive the car home for you?"
"Two miles, did you say?”
He fancied something odd in her
tone; besides, the question was super
fluous. His eyes informed with puz
zlement, he replied: “Why, yes—that
much, more or less. I live—"
"Of course," she put in quickly, “I'll
give you the lift—only too glad. Hut
as for your taking me home at this
hour, I can't hear of that.”
“But—”
"Besides, what would people say?”
she countered, obstinately. "Oh. no»"
she decided; and he felt that from thfs
decision there would be no appeal:
"1 couldn't think of interfering with
your . . . arrangements."
Her eyes held his for a single in
stant, instinct with mischief, gleaming
with bewildering light front out a face
schooled to gravity. -Maitland expe
rienced a sensation of havirtg grasped
after and missed a subtlety of al
lusion: his wits, keen as they were, re
coiled. baffled by her finesse. And the.
more he divined that she was playing
with him, as an experienced swords
man might play with an impertinent
novice, the denser his confusion grew.
"Hut I have no arrangements—" he
stammered.
(TO HR CONTINt’ED.)
USE LEAL AS A STIMULANT
_ •*£-—
in« in mines that contain much water.
Indians who masticate the leaves of
this plant can work 24 hours without
eating or sleeping.
Coca leaves are used by the natives
when engaged in long and fatiguing
journeys and by soldiers when subject
to hardships and privations. They
may be used with all kinds of food and
are said to cure dyspepsia, either
taken as an infusion in the shape of
tea or by masticating the leaves. The
life of the plant when perfect is 80
years.
Let Others Live Also.
We have seen that the highest form
of protection for some may he the
worst form ot suppression for the ma
jority. And, if we would have the
right to live ours-ilves. we must first
perform the great eternal duty to let
others live also.—Strindberg.
How Coca la Cultivated—Preventive
of Sleep and Fatigue.
Coca is the South American invlg
orant. The shrub from which the coca
leaves are obtained grows under fa
vorable conditions to a height of about
four meters, it is cultivated In Peru
and Bolivia.
At the time the crop is gathered
the seeds are sown In beds, when they
germinate and grow, and In two
months the growing plants reach a
height of-about a foot. The leaves,
grown in the proper sunlight and
shade, are yellowish, small and thick.
This is the kind of leaf that Is pre
ferred for chewing by persons using
the leaf as a stimulant, fortifier and
preventive of sleep and fatigue in the
performance of arduous work, Inas
much as they prevent rheumatism,
from which miners suffer when work
Sim PsisMcm
HE first coat is in bine serge; it fastens over in a point to one side; the
fronts then slope away. White faced cloth is used for the collar, cuffs
and pockets,.trimmed at the edge by black satin-covered buttons and but
ton-holes, made with black silk cord. Hat of straw, trimmed with masses of
small roses and a feather mount.
Materials required: 2 yards serge 46 inches wide, % yard white face
cloth. 3 dozen buttons, 2 yards cord.
Here is a coat Tor fawn face-cloth; it has a semi-fitting front ar.d a tight
hack: tabs are cut on the front, hack and sleeves, trimmed with buttons and
cords: ali the seams are wrapped and the collar is of velvet. Hat of stretched
satin, trimmed with roses and a feature mount.
Materials required: 1% yard cloth 46 inches wide, XVi dozen buttons, Vs
yard velvet, 3 yards lining.
The third is of tweed, bound with satin. The coat fastens invisibly down
center of front, and is trimmed with buttons and cords in sets of threes the
sleeve is trimmed in the same way. and is bound with satin. Hat of straw,
trimmed with silk and a feather mount.
Materials required: 1 Va yard 48 inches wide, 1 yard satin, 15 buttons, 3
yards lining.
REALLY SMART LINEN DRESS.
Designed to Be Made Up in Rouge
Pink and in Semi-Princess
Style.
Rouge pink linen is selected for this
smart semi-princess style. A plain
panel continues from shoulders to hem
of skirt, and has a wrapped seam at
each side, giving the effect of a tuck:
one tuck is made on either side to fit
on the bodice, and other tucks con
tinue to the end ot' sleeve; three more
tucks of different widths trim the foot
of skirt, commencing on each side of
panel. Tucked lawn is used for the
yoke, which is edged wfth braid, a gal
loon-waist-band is taken as far as pan
el, and on the right side of it a ribbon
is attached, finished at the end by a
tassel.
Hat of coarse straw to match, trim
med with chiffon, roses and a feather.
Materials required; Nine yards linen
36 inches wide, lour yards braid, one
hall yard galloon for waist-belt, three
quarters yard ribbon, one tassel, one
half yard tucked lawn.
Mouth Wash.
An excellent mouth-wash may be
made by mixing one ounce of carbon
ate of soda with one pint of water.
Bottle for use. After cleaning the
teeth as usual, rinse with a little of
this liquid. It has a fine preservative
effect on the teeth, and cleanses the
tongue and gums.
Return to Quaint Curls.
Among the folk fashions borrowed
from Poland is that curious one of the
dangling curls at the sides of the
face. Some of the daring women in
Paris are trying the little curls which
fall over the temples and account for
the stray locks about the ear.
To Save Stockings.
Girls will not be half so apt to
dance holes in their delicate silk stock
ings if only they will have slippers
powdered inside. This simple opera
tion permits the silk and shoe to rub
together with decidedly less friction,
and the wear Is thus not so great.
There is no more satisfactory ar
rangement for a yoke than the separ
ate guimpe tied down with ribbons at
the waist line.
BRAINS NEEDED IN THE HOME.
Without Intelligent Application,
Housework Means Drudgery and
General Unhappiness.
As a recipe for a happy home then !
is none better than brains and good
housekeeping. The more a woman
knows the more easily she achieves
Housework undirected by brains spells
drudgery.
The housewife with brains knows
the value of system, of diregarding
traditions if they mean a waste ot
higher powers, of making life more i
simple if following the fashion means I
cramped nerves and strained purse.
The brain shows the futility of j
scrubbing, stitching and dusting as
home making qualities: while the j
other half will never let culture run
rampant while stockings are un
darned aud meals are belter skelter.
A woman was once asked to define
her ideal housekeeping. "It is that."
she said, "where the woman keeps
the house and not the house the worn- j
an." Houses having a way of not onlj |
“keeping" the woman, but binding her j
with chains impossible to break un- !
less brains form more than half the j
mixture used in that house's running.
A New Trimming.
Many of the imported gowns are be
ing trimmed with silk-covered cord. It
is very effective, and is necessarily
somewhat exclusive, since it cannot
be bought in the shops. It is not dif
ficult to make at home, however.
Kse soft cotton cord, as thick as
heavy twine. Messaiine. satin or
taffeta may he used in the desired
color. Cut the material in bias strips,
turn in the edges, bind the cord, sew
ing carefully along these edges. The
trimming is then braided on to the
gown in a large pattern. If it is un
practical to have the gown stamped,
trace the pattern on tissue paper,
haste it on and braid through it. After
the design is finished the paper may
he pulled out. This kind of cord also
j makes suitable loops for silk-covered
| buttons when they are used for trim
j miug.
Hints on Hemming.
Hemming on light-weight wool goods
should he done by hand.
Use a short needleful of split silk.
It makes a prettier hem.
And does away with the tight twist
ing of the fine single silk.
Another good plan is to use the
ravellings of the material.
It is a perfect match.
It has the same sheen as the mate
rial.
It does not show, therefore, If a
chance stitch goes through.
K_-4
IN fOQUE
Almost every gown has a different
colored shoulder scarf.
Tt is now quite the fad to have
lingerie embroidered tn pink and blue,
according to fancy.
A waist that closes in the back is
always pretty with tucks extending
to yolk depth in front.
| Passementerie drop trimmings are
now to be found in all the modish
colors, and in pearl, jet, crystal and
metallic effects.
A long chain, intended to be twist
ed around the neck a second and third
time, is ornamented with rose coral
oblongs effectively matched.
Net girdles of wide soft mesh are
embroidered in ribbousine (a lustrious
fabric), and fringed with it. They '
come in all of the fashionable colors.
New cloak gowns, which may be
worn as an outdoor garment or as a
princess robe, come in broadcloth, in
black, navy blue, violet and smoks 1
color. 1
Yearning.
I want to trail back to the field and tin
wood
Wlnre zephyrs are kissing the tre»«.
Where rivers sing softly their rhythms if
peace
And melody rides on the breeze.
I want to go back to the old bay t
bridge
And angle for fish with a pin.
To feel once again all the thrills I have
known
At hooking and landing a fin!
I want to return where the gooseberries
grow.
Where choke-cherries pucker yo r
throat—
I want to go pond-Iilv hunting .
more
In Stewart's old, fiat-bottomed boat
I want to be lost in the heart of
Hun,”
Where squirrels and owls have t
nests:
I want to (lop down on my look 'm
the elms
And worship the blue throng' t r
crests!
I want to go barefoot along the old tr.
That leads to the clover-decked lint
By ways that are winding, where b.,>
hang low
And whisper their loves to the rills'
I want to go back and just splash in tl ■
creek
And let the cool Cedar run fast—
Hun over and under, and scold as it lave-.
The hands it has known in the pa.-: '
I want to wade out where the sand-bar
is heaped
In diamonds that sparkle witli lig! :
Just wade and get sopping clear up to
my waist
And holler—and yell—In my might!
I want to run down to “The yuarry."
"The Hill,"
"The Bend.” "The High bank" and
“The Strand"—
Let me stand all enthroned where my
Itovhood was spent.
Take me back to my own Fairyland'
Take me back where the rests are sweet
with perfume.
Where the bees sing a song that ii
glad—
Take me hack, let me feel in my heart
once again.
Just the God-given joy of a lad!
L
And now the good citizen docs nc •
wait for the Macedonian cry Iron th
village paper to bum those leaves' H
takes time and the rake by the fore
lock and gets busy early.
☆ w ☆
If some men were as particular about
getting up when they are called as
they are about winding their alarm
clocks, wives would be saved a heap
of nagging.
•£■ e.
A lady disciple of Rooseve’.tian
spelling has married a Chicago proof
reader. She desires to reform him. I
presume.
I Come to Thee.
I come to thee. O my darling!
Faint with the longing of years.
Weak with unsntiate passion.
And burnt with its scalding tears.
I have come from the Town of Ambit; \n.
Through the Wood of the Heart-Sick
To dream in the Temple of Beauty.
And feed on the lilies of love.
—Alfred Hitch.
® ® (!)
Non Appreciative.
Having announced his tpxt. an oh!
colored preacher down in Georgia, as
related by the Atlanta Constitution
went on to say: "My attention has
been drawed ter de fact dat some
scoundttl has gone 'n put a alligator in
de pulpit, right under my two foots;
but, long as ez dar, I gwine let him
stay 'twel after de benediction; fer I
notice dat, des lak de res' er you
triflin', no 'count sinners, he done
made up his mind ter take it easy on
sleep through de sermon!”
® ® ®
Woman.
Oh, woman, you are charming.
And poets long have sung
Their sweetest verses to you
In every written tongue:
But noire of them has ever
Told why it is that you
Will always leave a street ear
.ot dne gnorW
-W. J. l.amplon. in Success Magazine.
® ® ®
Song of an Editor.
This is the season for plantin' seed.
*nd 'tis also the printer's time of n ••■>d.
Sow radish seed anil lettuce, too, and pay
ilie printer whatever is due. Go huild
yourself an onion bed and remember the
printer must be fed. Sow several rows
>f early peas, and pay for last year's
paper, please. Dig up the earth 'round
»ach strawberry vine and if you want
Mir paper drop 11s a line. F’lant some
potatoes to put in hash and remember
lie printer is short of cash. Fix up a
iiH or so of beans, and with the editor
livide your means. Of water-melons
,-ou'll need a patch—the editor's pants
leeds one to match. Bay up your sul
icription. plant your corn, and you'll
•aise a big crop as sure as you’re born.—
ilenry (Oula.) Kagle.
-BYRON WILLIAMS.
Girt In.
It Is not to die, nor even to die of
lunger, that makes a man wretched.
Vlany men have died; all men must
lie. But it is to live miserable, we
enow not why; to work sore, and yet
;ain nothing; to be heart worn,
veary, yet isolated, unrelated, girt
n with a cold, universal laissey faire.
—Thomas Carlyle.
But Is He?
When a man pawns his watch he
irobably believes that he is making
;ood use of his time.