Evening star. [volume], December 27, 1902, Page 26, Image 26

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
CHAPTER XVI
Discusses Several Matters.
Reader, I know that what I have nar
rated Is astounding. It astounded me just
as it astounds you. There are moments
when one's brain becomes dulled by a sud
den bewilderment at sight of the absolutely
Impossible.
It certainly seemed beyond credence that
the man whose fatal and mysterious wound
I had myself examined should be there,
walking with his wife in a lover-like atti
tude. And yet there was no question that
the pair were there. A small bush separated
us, so that they passed arm-in-arm within
three - feet of me. As I have already ex
plained the moon was so bright that I
could see to read; therefore shining full
upon their faces it was impossible to mis
take the features of two persons whom I
knew so well.
Fortunately they had not overheard my
involuntary exclamation of astonishment, or
If they had, both evidently believed it to be
one of the many distorted sounds- of the
night. Upon Mary's face there was reveal
ed a calm expression of perfect content, dif
ferent indeed from the tearful countenance
of a few hours before, while her husband,
grey-faced and serious, just as he had been
before his last illness, had her arm linked
in his, and walked with her, whispering
some low, indistinct words which brought
to her lips a smile of perfect felicity.
Now had I been a superstitious man I
should have promptly declared the whole
thing to have been an apparition. But as I
do not believe in borderland theories, any
more than I believe that a man whose heart
1 nearly cut in twain can again breathe
(ri~ //
"THEY
and live, I could only stand aghast, bewil
dered and utterily dumbfounded.
Hidden from them by a low thornbush
I stood there in silent stupefaction as they
passed by. That it was no chimera of the
imagination was proved by the fact that
their footsteps sounded upon the path, and
just as they had passed I heard Courtenay
address his wife by name. The transfor
mation of her countenance from the in
effable picture of grief and sorrow to the
calm, sweet expression of content had been
marvelous to say the least-an event
stranger indeed than any I had ever before
witnessed. In the wild writings of the old
romancers the dead have sometimes been
resuscitated, but never in this work-a-day
world of ours. There is a finality in death
that is decisive.
Yet, as I here write these lines, I stake
my professional reputation that the man
I saw was the same whom I had seen dead
in that upper room in Kew. I knew his
galt, his cough and his countenance too
well to mistake his identity.
That night's adventure was certainly the
ircat startling, and at the same time the
most curious, that ever befell a man. Thus
I became seized with curiosity, and at risk
of detection crept forth from my hiding
place and looked out after them. To be
tray my presence would be to bar fro:n
myself -any chance of learning the secret
of it all; therefore, I was compelled to ex
ercise the greatest caution. Mary mourned
the loss of her husband toward the world,
and yet met him in secret at night-wan
di ring with him by that solitary by-path
along which no villager ever passed after
dark, and lovers avoided because of the
popular tradition that a certain unfortu
nate Lady of the Manor of a century ago
"walked" there. In the fact of the mourni
ing so well feigned I detected the conceal
nment of some remarkable secret.
The situation was without doubt an ex
traordinary one. The man upon whose
body I had made a post-mortem examina
tion was alive and well, walking with his
wife, although for months before his assas
sination he had been a bed-ridden invalid.
Such a thing was startling, incredible! Lit
tIe wonder was it that at first I could scarce
believe my own eyes. Only when I looked
full into his face and recognized his fea
tures, with all their senile peculiarities, did
the amazing truth become impressed upon
me.
Around the bend in the river I stole
stealthily after them, in order to watch
their movements, trying to catch their
conversation, although, unfortunately, it
was in too low an undertone. He never
released her arm or changed his affection
ate attitude toward her, but appeared to
be relating to her some long and interest
ing chain of events, to which she listened
with rapt attention.
Along the river's edge, out in the open
moonlight, it was difficult to follow them
without risk of observation. Now and then
the elder bushes and drooping willows af
forded cover beneath their deep shadow,
but in places where the river wound
through the open water meadows my pres
e'nce might at any moment be detected.
Therefore the utmost ingenuity and cau
tion were necessary.
Having made the staggering discovery. I
was determined to thoroug;hly probe the
mystery. The tragedy of old Mr. Courte
nay's death had resolved itself into a ro
mance of the most mysterious and startling
character. As I crept forward over the
grass, often on tiptoe, so as to avoid the
sound of my footfalls, I tried to form some
theory to account for the bewildering cir
cumstances, but could discern absolutely
none.,
Mary was still wearing her mourning,
but about her head was wrapped a white
Pilk shawl and on her shoulders a small
fur cape, for the spring night was chilly.
Her husband had on a dark overcoat and
soft felt hat of the type he always wore
and carried in his hand a light walking
stick. Once or twice he halted when he
seemed to be impressing bis words the more
forcibly upon her, and then I was compelled
to stop also and to conceal myself.1
would have given much to overhear .the
trend of their conversation, but strive ho',
I would I was unable. They seemed to
fear eavesdroppers, and only spoke in lou
half whispers
I noticed how old Mr. Courtenay kept
from time to time glaneing around him, as
though in fear of detection; hence I was
in constant dread lest he should look be
hind him and discover me slinking along
their path. I am by no means an adepi
at following persons, but in this caseth
stake was so great-the revelation of seme
uartIf ad unparalleied mystery--that
st eery erveandevery muscle tc
eeueeal my presence whbfe pushiag forward
afte tem
Hetae to yearself for a moment mi
by T C.1tLl
position. The whole of my future bappi
ness, and consequently my prosperity In
life, was at stake at that moment. To
clear up the mystery successfully might be
to clear my love of the awful stigma upon
her. To watch and to listen was the only
way, but the difficulties In the dead silence
of the night were well-nigh insurmountable,
for I dare not approach sufficiently near to
catch a single word. I had crept on after
them for about a mile, until we were ap
proaching the tumbling waters of the weir.
The dull roar swallowed up the sound of
their voices, but it assisted me, for I had
no further need to tread noiselessly.
On nearing the lockkeeper's cottage, a
little whitewashed house, wherein the in
mates were sleeping soundly, they made a
wide detour around the meadow in order
to avoid the chance of being seen. Mary
was well known to the old lockkeeper, who
had controlled those great sluices for thirty
years or more, and she knew that at night
he was often compelled to be on duty, and
might at that very moment be sitting on
the bench outside his house, smoking his
short clay.
I, however, had no such fear. Stepping
lightly upon the grass beside t,he path I
went past the house and continued onward
by the riverside, passing at once into the
deep shadow of the alders, which effectual
ly concealed me.
The pair were walking at the same slow
deliberate pace beneath the high hedge on
the further side of the meadow, evidently
Intending to rejoin the river path some dis
tance further up. This gave me an oppor
tunity to get on in front of them and I
seized it without delay; for I was anxious
to obtain another view of the face of the
man whom I had believed for months to be
in his grave.
Keeping in the shadow of the trees and
bushes that overhung the stream, I sped
onward for ten minutes or more, until I
HAD HALTED CLOSE TO WHERE
came to the boundary of the great pasture,
passing through the swing gate by which
I felt confident that they must also pass. I
turned to look before leaving the meadow,
and could just distinguish their figures.
They had turned at right angles, and, as I
had expected, were walking in my direc
tion.
I went forward again, and after some
hurried search discovered a spot close to
the path, where concealment behind a great
old willow seemed possible; so at that
coign of vantage I waited breathlessly for
their approach. The roaring lof the waters
behind would, I feared, prevent any of their
words from reaching me; nevertheless, I
waited anxiously.
A great barn owl flapped lazily past,
hooting weirdly as it went, then all nature
became still again, save the dull sound of
the tumbling flood. Ambler Jevons, had he
been with me, would no doubt have acted
differently. But it must be remembered
that I was the merest tyro in the unravel
ing of a mystery, whereas with him it was
a kind of natural occtipation. And yet
would he believe me when I told him that
I had actually seen the dead man walking
there with his wife?
I was compelled to admit within myself
that such a statement from the lips of any
man would be received with ineredulity.
Indeed, had such a thing been related to
nte I should have put the narrator down as
either a liar or a lunatic.
At last they came. I remained motionless,
standing in the shadow and not daring to
breathe. My eyes were fixed upon him, my
ears strained to catch every sound.
He said something to her. What It was I
could not gather. Then he pushed open the
creaking gate to allow her to pass. Across
the moon's face had drifted a white, fleecy
cloud; therefore the light was not so brIl
liant as -half an hour before. Still, I could
see his features almost as plainly as I see
this paper upon which I am penning my
strange adventure, and could recognize
every lineament .and peculiarity of his
countenance.
Having passed through thue gate he took
her ungloved hand with an air of old-fash
ioned gallantry and raised it to his lips.
She laughed merrily In rapturous content
and then slowly, very slowly, they strolled
along the path that ran within three feet
Iof where I stood.
My heart leaped with excitement. Their
voices sounded above the rushing of the
waters, and they were lingering as though
unwilling to walk further.
"EDthelwynn has told me," he was saying.
"I can't make out the reason of his cold
ness toward her, Poor girl! she seems ut
terly heart-broken."
"He sospects," his wife replied.
"But what ground has he for supicion?'
I stood there transfixed. They were talk
ing of myself!
They had halted quite close to where I
was, and in that low roar hati raised their
voices so that I could distinguish every
word.
"Well," remarked his wife, "the whole
affair was mysterious, that you must ad
mit. With his friend, a man named Jevons,
he has been endeavoring to solve the prob
1em."
"A curse on Ambler Jevons!" he blurted
forth in anger, as though he were well
acquainted with my friend.
"If between them they managed to get
at the truth it would be very *wkward,"
shre maid.
"No fear of that," he laughed In full
ecnfldence. "A man once dead and buried,
with a coroner's verdict upon him. Is not
easily believed to be alive and well. No.
my dear; rest assured that these men will
never get at our secret-never."*
I smiled within myself. How little did
he dream that the man of whom he had
been speaking was actually overhearing
his words!
"But IDthelwynn, in -order to regain her
place in the doctor's heart, may betray
us," his wife remarked dubiously.
"She dare not." was the reply. "From
her we have nothing whatever to fear. As
long as you keep up the appearance of deep
mourning. are discreet in all your actions
and exercise proper caution on the occa
mIens when we meet, our secret must re
main bidden from all."
"But I am doubtful of Etheiwynn. A
woman as fondly In love with a man as
she is with Ralph is apt to throw disce
tion to the winds," the woman observed.
"Recollect that the breach between them
is on our account and that a word from
her could expose the whole thing and al
the same tine bring back to ber the mas
for whose lest kiv. she is bining.' It Is be
cause of that I am In eemstaat feet,"
"yh aebesegge,tny-ri
ourselves, but to betray vi w6oim ;OSi
n sy consider that she has made
suffcient: slf-sacriaee?"
'"ien all the greater reason why she
should remain silent. She has her reputa
tie to lose by divulging."
By this argument die appeared only 1alf
convinced.. for I saw upon her -'brow a
heavy thoughtful expression, similar to
that I had noticed when sitting opposite her
at dinner. The reason of her.cop tat pre
occupation was that she feared that her
sister might give me the clue to her secret.
That a remarkable conspiracy had been
In progress was now made quite plalin and
further-one very valuable fact I had as
certained was that Ethelwynn was the only
other person who knew the truth, and yet
dared not reveal it.
This man who stood before me was old
Mr. Courtenay without a doubt. That be
ing so, who could have been the unfortunate
'man who had been struck to the heart so
mysteriously? N
So strange and complicated were all the
circumstances, and so cleverly had the chief
acenre in the drama arranged Its details
tL... Courtenay himself was convinced that
for others to learn the truth was utterly
Impossible. Yet it was more than remark
able that be sought not to disguise his per
sonal appearance if he wished to remain
dead to the world. Perhaps, however, being
unknown In that rural district-for he once
had told me that he had never visited his
wife's home since before his marriage-he
considered himself perfectly safe from
recognition. Besides, from their conversa
tion, I gathered that they only met on rare
occasions, and certainly Mary kept up the
fiction of mourning with the greatest assi
duity.
I recollected what old Mrs. Mivart had
told me of her daughter's erratic move
ments, of her short mysterious absences
with her dressing bag and without a maid.
It was evident that she made flying visits
in various directions in order to meet her
"dead" husband.
Courtenay spoke again, after a brief
silence, saying:
"I had no idea that the doctor was down
here, or I should have kept away. To be
seen by him would expose the whole
affair."
"I was quite ignorant of his visit until I
went In to dinner, and found him already
seated at table," she answered. "But he
will leave tomorrow. He said tonight that
to remain away from his patients for a
single day was very difficult."
"Is he down here in pursuance of his in
I WAS."
quiries, do you.think?" suggested her hus
band.
'He may be. Mother evidently knew of
his impending arrival, but told me nothing.
I was annoyed, for he was the very last
person I wished to meet."
"Well, he'll go in the morning, so we
have nothing to fear. He's safe enough in
bed and sleeping soundly-confound him!"
The temptation was great to respond
aloud to the complaint; but I refrained,.
laughing within myself at the valuable in
formation I was obtaining.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Words of the Dead.
Justice is always vigilant-it stops not to
weigh causes, or motives, but overtakes the
criminal, no matter whether his deeds be
the suggestion of malice or the consequence
of provoked revenge. I was all eagerness
to face the pair in the full light and de
mand an explanation, yet I hesitated, fear
ing lest precipitation might prevent me
gaining knowledge of the truth.
That they had no Inclination to walk fur
ther was evident, for they still stood trhere
in conversation, facing each other and
speaking earnestly. I listened attentively
to every word, my heart thumping so loud
ly that I wondered they did not hear Its ex
cited pulsations.
"You've seen nothing of Sir Bernard?"
she was saying.
"Sir Bernard!" he echoed. "Why, of
course not. To him I am dead and bu,ried,
just as I am to the rest of the world. My
executors have proved my will at Somer
set House, I've learnt, and very soon you
will receive its benefits. To meet the old
doctor would be to reveal the whole thing."
"It is all so strange," she said with a
low sigh, "that sometimes, when I am
alone, I can't believe It to be true. We
have deceived the world so completely."
"Of course. That was my intention."
"But could it not have been done without
the saerifice of that man's life?" she
queried. "Remember, the crime of murder
was committed."
"It was imperative," he replied, in a hard
voice. "A mystery was necessary for our
success."
"And it Is a mystery which has entirely
baffled the police in every particular."
"As I intended it shiould. I laid my plans
with care, so that dhere should be no hitch
or point by which Scotland Yard could ob
tain a clue."
"But our future life?" she murmured.
"When may I return again to you? At
present I am compelled to feign mourning
and present a perfect picture of interesting
widowhood; but-but I hate this playing at
death."
"Have patience, dear," he urged in a sym
pathetic tone. "For the moment wo must
remain entirely apart, holding no commu
nication with each otber save in secret, on
the first and fifteenth day of every month,
as we arranged. As soon as I find myself
In a position of safety we will disapb,ear to
gether, and you will leave the w'orld won
dering at the second mystery following
upon the first."
"In. how long a time do you anticipate?"
she asked, looking earnestly into his eyes.
"A few months at most," was his answer.
"If it were possible you should return to
me at once; but you know how strange and
romantic Is my life, compelled to disguise
my personality and forever moving from!
place to,place like tihe Wandering Jew. To
return to me at present is quite impossible.
Besides-you are in the hands of the execu
tors; and before long must be in evidence
In order to receive my money."
"Money is useless to me without happi
ness," she declared, in si voice of com
plaint. "My position at present is one of
constant dread."
"Whom and what do you fear?"
"I believe that Dr. Boyd has some vague
suspicion of the truth," she responded, aif
ter a pause.
"What?" he cried In quick surprise. "Tell
me why. Explain it all to me-."
"There is nlothing to explain-save that
tonight he seemed to regard my every
movement with suspicion."
"Ah' my dear, your fears are utterly
groundless," he laughed. "What can the
fellow posSibly know? He is 'assured that
I am dead, for he signed mi' certincate, and
followed me to my grave at Wela. -A
man wrho attends his friend's .uea has
no suspicion that the dead is still living,
depend upo It. If there is any object in
this widthat Is eenvincint It Ia a.corpse."
"I merely tell you the result of say ser
esune beretosa wh~at he gan." ~ m
- ?Ne ORiblears UOh 'M,asweredte
dea" aa. t t,Weas his cdue
Mend Jevens nowe might hv.
apprehension; fa er ingeuuisif tsf
of the mre alMt..it
"I ten you plai tiltt 8thslnyn*
may expoe us," his wKfe w t an slowly
a distinctly ansaious look upof ber coup Y
detor- alt say- 'mkea ea
breamst"o( the
."No ;no, tassured that sbe
will ne'vet s Courteniy.
with a lght~ -asau atigh "True, you
are not- very friendly. yet?you must recol
lect that she and I are friends. Her inter
eats are identical with our own; therefore
to expose us would be to expose herself at
the same time."
"A woman somatis acts without fore
thought." .
"Quite true. But Etheiwynn is not one of
those. She's careful to preserve her own
position in the eyes of her lover, knowing
quite well that to tell the truth would be
to expose her own baseness. A man may
overlook many offepses in the woman he
loves, but the partiua one of *hich she
is guilty a man nev +forgives."
His words went deep Into my heart. Was
not this further proof that the crime, for.
undoubtedly a crime had been accomplish
ed in that house at. Kew, had been com
mitted by the hand of the woman I so
fondly loved? All was so amasing, so ut
terly bewildering, that I stood there con
cealed by the old tree, motionless as
though turned to stone.
There was a motAve wanting in it all.
Yet I ask you who read thti narrative Of
mine if, like myself, you would. not have
been staggered into dumbness at seeing and
hearing a man whom you had yourself
certified to be dead moving and speaking,
and, moreover, in his usual health.
"He loves her!" his wife explained, speak
ing of me. ."He would forgive' her any
thing. My own opinion is that if we would
be absolutely secure it is for us to heal
the breach between them."
He remained thoughtful for a few mo
ments, apparently In doubt as to the wis
dom of acting upon her suggestion. Surely
in the situlation was an element of humor,
for happily I was being forearmed.
"It might possibly be good policy," he re
marked at last. "If we could only bring
them together again he would cease hig
constant striving- to solve the enigma. We
know well that he can never do that, never
theless his constant efforts are as annoying
as they are dangerous."
"That's just my opinion. There is dan
ger to us in his constant inquiries, which
are much more Ingenious and careful than
we imagine."
"Well, my child," he said, "you've stuck
to me In this In a manner that few women
would have dared. If you really think it
necessary to bring Boyd and Ethelwynn
together again you" must do it entirely
alone, for I could not possibly appear on
the scene. He must never meet me, or
the whole thing would be revealed."
"For your sake I am prepared to make
the attempt," she said. "The fact of being
Ethel-wynn's sister gives me license to speak
mny mind to him."
'And to tell him some pretty little fiction
about her?" he added, laughing.
"Yes, it will certainly be necessary to put
an entirely innocent~face on recent events
in order to smooth matters oyer," she ad
mitted, joining in his laughter.
"Rather a difficult task to make the tragic
Dccugrence at Kew appear innocent," he
3bserved. "But you're a really wonderful
woman, Mary. The way you've acted you
part in this affair is simply marvelous.
You've deceived everyone-even that old
potterer, Sir Bernard himself."
"I've done it for your sake," was her re
sponse. "I made a promise and I've kept it.
Up to the present we are safe, but we can
not take too many precautions. We have
memies and scandal-seekers on every side."
"I admit, that,f. h@ replied, rather Im
patiently, I tho ht. "If you think It a
wise course you d better lose no time in
placing Ethelwy 's Innocence before her
Lover. You will him In the morning, I
suppose?"
"Probably not. 'eaves by the 8 o'clock
train," she said. 'When my plans are ma
tured I will call on 1iim in London."
"And if any w anfpan deceive him you
can, Mary," he 1 gh . "In those widow's
weeds of yours u ,could deceive the very
devil himself!"
Mrs. Courtena airy talk of deception
threw an entirel re light upon her char
acter. Hitherto I dld her in considera
ble esteem as a me who. bejgebored to
death by the e tripities of -hpr invalia
husband, had a ht %istractifn with her
friends in town, t nevertheless honest and'
devoted to thq nLa.n she had wedded. But
these words Of hers cause -considerabld
dQubt to arise' withfn mx. That she
halfeen devoted to her h 's interest
was proved by the clever I sture she was
practicing; Indeed, it ase d to me very
much as if those frequerit ;;jsits to town
had been at the "dead" man's suggestions
and with his entir consent. But the more
I reflected upon t*- f2traordIWury details of
the tragedyans.atoundln'denouement,
the more Wpeiess and maddening became
the problem.
"I shall probably go to town tomorrow,"'
she exclaimed, after smiling at his declara
tion, "where are you in hiding just now!"
"In Birmingham. A large town is safer
than a village. I return by the 5 o'clock
train, and go again into close concealment,"
"But you know people in Birmingham,
don't you? We stayed there once with some
people called Tremlett, I recollect."
"Ah, yes," he laughed. "But I'm careful
to avoid them. The district in which 1
live is far removed from them. Besides, I
never, by any chance, go out by day. I'm
essentially a nocturnal roamer."
"And when shall we meet again?"
"By appointment, in the usual way."
"At the usual place?" she asked.
"There can be no better, I think. It does
not take you from home, and I am quite
unknown down here."
"If any of the villagers ever met us they
might talk, and declare that I met a secret
lover," she laughed.
"If you are ever recognized, which I don't
anticipate is probable, we can at once
change our place of. meeting. At present
there is no necessity for changing it."
"Then in the meantime I will exercise my
woman's diplomacy to effect peace between
EDthelwynn and the doctor," she said. "It
is the only way by which we can obtain
security." - .
"For the life of me I can't discern the
reason of huis coolness toward her," re
marked my "dead" patient.
"He suspects her."
"Of what?"
"Suspects the truth. She has told me
so."
Old Henry Courtenay grunted in dissatis
faction.
"Hasn't she tried to convince him to the
contrary?" he asked. "I was always imnder
the impression that she could twist him
round her finger-so hopelessly was he* In
love with her."
"So she could before this unfortunate af
fair."
"And now that he suspects the truth he's
disinclined to have any more to do with
her-oh? WeUl," he added, "after all, it's
only natural. She's not so devilish clever
as you, Mary, otherwise she would never
have allowed herself to fall beneath sus
picion. She muust have somehow blun
dered."
"Tomorrow I shall go to town," she said
in a reflective voice. "No time should he
lost in effecting the reconciliation between
thiem."
"You are righ4,"7j)ie decla~red. "You
should commenc Apnce. Call and talk
with him. He l a~e~ so entirely in you.
But promise mg4ogn, thing, namely, that
you will not go t I elwynn," he urged.
"Why not?"
"Because it ia we unnecessary," he
answered. "Y are * not good friends,
therefore your ce upon -the doctor
should be -a hid e. She will believe
that he has re her of his own free
wilt, and hence osfition will, be ren
dered the strong . mt diplomatically. If
she believes tha e 5Interesting your
self In her affal y anger her."
"Then you au ttat I should uall upon
th otri ee .dtyand inlenc
hii e avo t u.t her being aware
your, isist our hand. By
yorvstto the yumay be able to
obanfrom him w much he knows and
"Who would?'"b asked, with g smile.
"If the story ree'ldnobody would be
lieve, It."
"That's just it. heincredibility o the
whole affak'ir wht places uj *ia
position of security; for as logsilie
low and you .outi*&ne t stSernto
"I rikIve.eaoe my5 part psi -p to
the ltDq" i boe.anem
> eees the'lagenuft Of Ite *King
Sti.ear," abe laughed os mfantly.
Lave It to mw-e al to m."
-And then a that it. was time they
went back theytned, retradei& their steps,
paeong, throug the smal-; *ate Into - the
meadew :weresA.on.afterwada4lost to ;aiht.
Tihy am r nt's adventure had bsias
strags and startlin as any that bas- hap
pened to living nany fea' wtat I had.seen
Mnd beae opened up a hundred theories.
each more remarkable and 'tragic than the
other, unti I stood utterly dumfounded
and adast
(To be continued.)
FOR CONYALCITS.
Physical Culture That Will
Help the Return of Strength.
HEALTH STIMULATED
EXERCISES DEVISED TO INSURE
THE BEST OF RESULTS.
Course May Be Regulated or Varied
to Suit the Condition of
the Person.
Written for The Evening Star by Prof. Anthony
Barkar.
Have you been sick and are you conva
lescing? Do you speedily want to regain
your wonted health? Then practice physi
cal culture for the sick.
Physical exercise for a man not yet out of
bed, even though recovery from a prolonged
illness has set in? Certainly; why not? Do
not persons who are not sick abed take
physical culture in order to secure better
health, which is another way of saying
more strength? And as comparatively wpil
men are made healthier by proper exer
cises, doesn't it stand to reason that ex
ercises, devised especially for convalescents,
will materiallr aid you in getting on your
feet once more and the more quickly land
you in your office?
What made you sick? Bad blood. Your
doctor has been giving you various med
icines until now your blood has been ra
lieved of much of the impurities that caused
k 0
RESTORES APPETITE AND3
your illness. But during all the weeks or
days that you have been lying between
sheets, your blood has moved, sluggishly
through veins and arteries, for your body
has been at rest, and it' takes action tj
make the blood have even a normal flow.
Sluggish blood, in medicine and physiology,
is synonymous with the term impure blood,
and when a physician says of a man that
his blood pulsates vigorously, it is another
way of stating that the man's blood is pure
and healthy and its possessor in prime
physical condition.
Of necessity, your blood has become slug
gish While you languished in your illness;
but now that the fever, or what not, has
left you and the doctor declares that you
are on the high road to recovery it is in
cumbent upon you to stir the blood in order
that it may gradually bound through your
body as was its wont, and, thus purified by
its. own rapid flow, furnish strengthening
food to the tissues that have been' wasted
by disease and disuse. And you can do
this expeditiously and without any danger
of overexertion if you'll take the physical
culture exercises herein described.
Of course, you must remember that you
EUILD UP MSCLESOF TH
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throg exeis and areris oregn you find
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ctmhat ponr aboe to stroh blooderine order
that It mayc bfradal retirng. throug yuh
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cturabe execopishentdscofribeeers
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erse, estopr a paiea own aai.Lies.
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ltled exetio allts, osien as yountfiud
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DEVELOPS THE 3Am
of many medicine bottles Is worse than no
exercise.
The proper time to exercise? Either an
hour before or an hour after each meal.
An hepr before will give the blood plenty of
time to quiet down and be ready to rush to
the stomach to take up the task of diges
tien. An hour after will not Interfere with
the process of digestion by distributing the
blood to the various parts of the body be
ing exercised. This rule should be rigidly
observed, for, above all things, a convales
cent needs to, assimilate food properly so
that he will get all possible strength there
from.
Also, In order to reap the best possible re
suits, you should approach the exercises In
a spirit of pleasure and not with the Idea
that they are drudgery. Recall your for
mer healthy state. Say to yourself: "I won
der If I can do this or that as I used to;"
and then take a curious delight in trying to
do It. If you can't execute the thing off
hand, don't let that give you the "blues."
Be cheerful In the thought that, maybe.
you can do it all right next time. Perhaps
you can't, but If you'll keep on cheerfully
striving you'll be able to do It pretty soon.
In short, if you want to derive all the good
that there Is in exercising, be happily Inter
ested while Indulging in It.
And now to the exercises, constantly bear
ing in mind that you must stop the second
you feel tired, even though you have scarce
ly begun one exercise.
Exercise I. It is a well-known physio
logical fact that when a healthy man lies
down his lungs do not take in as much air
as when he stands. Another axiom In phy
siology is that a sick person uses only about
one-half of his lungs, often only one-third.
Therefore, when you find, yourself con
valescing, the first thing you should do is to
develop your power of lung expansion,
which illness has lessened. You should send
fresh air to all the different parts of the
lungs, and you can do it in this way.
Lie flat on your back in bed, with your'
body relaxed and at entire ease. Inhale all
that you can, bold your breath as long as
you can without becoming dizzy, and all the
MM- -,NN
PROMOTES DIGESTION.
while tap gently over your chest with light
ly clenched hands. The tapping will loosen
and make more pliable the lung tissues and
thereby cause air to creep more easily
throughout the lungs.
Exercise II.-This exercise is splendid for
stomach and abdomen. If your sickness
has left you without relish for food It will
give you a good appetite. If your appetite
Is well-nigh voracious, as Is frequently the
case with convalescents, It will aid your
sorrowfully overloaded stomach to digest
Its burden and will prevent all the incon
veniences that indigestion Invariably brings
in its train.
Get your wife, nurse, sweetheart, mother
or daughter to place two pillows back of
your head and shoulders. With legs
straightened out, lie perfectly comfortable.
With thumbs Interlocked and the fingers of
the right liand resting on those of the left,
stretch your arms behind your head. Then
draw the arms forward, and, as you do so,
sit up straight. At first bring the hands
only to the knees, but as you gain strength
try to reach the toes with the fingr tips.
At first, also, hold on to the kneecaps as
you gradually lie down. When stronger
LEGS, A RMS AND CHEST.
you can try sitting up with the arms folded
on your chest, and descend while In the
same position, and you can also discard the
pillows, If you are-'very weak, you can do
this exercise by drawing up the knees and,
clasping the hands under them, pull your
self up to a sitting posture.
For a variation of this exercise, and for
strengthening the side muscles of the ab
domen, instead of the front and back mus
cles, as In the original exercise, hold your
outstretched arms straight in front of your
body on a level with the shoulders and
have the palms touching. Gradually de
scribe the biggest possible arc that you can
,Z AND HIP YUACLIS.
with your arms, always keping them es w
level with the shoulders. As you do so the
body will be twisted sidewise at the abdo
men. As you become stronger twist the
body of your own accord and keep the arms
folded over the chest. If you find that It
is too hard work to do the exercise with
the arms outstretched, turn the body side
wise while holding to the sides of the bed
with the hands.
Exercise III. Lie flat on your back, body
comfortable and relaxed. Draw up the
knees, keeping them together, to the point
where they can be reached without undue
exertion by the hands. Also see that the
feet are flat on the bed. Then gradually
let the knees fall apart as far as they will.
Place the flat of the hands on the outside
of the knees, and, with the legs entirely re
laxed and offering no resistance, except
their own weight, push them together. As
your accustomed vigor returns, resist with
the knees while the hands are pushing
them together. Exhale as the knees are
brought together, and inhale as the legs fall
apart. This exercise is good for all the
muscles along the inside of the arm, for
many of the chest muscles, and for the out
side of the legs between the knees and
hips.
In order to bring into play the muscles of
the inside of the leg, the outside of the arm
p nd the shoulders, place the palms of the
hands on the inside of each drawn-up knee.
Pressing only with the palms and resisting
with the legs, press the legs apart. Inhale
as the legs fall apart and exhale as they
are coming together in spite of res'stance
by the hands.
Exercise IV. Lie flat in bed on your
back, with the body at perfect ease. Raise
the arms strgight up from the shoulders, at
the same time raising the shoulders as
much as you can. Imagine that you are
stretching arms and shoulders in order to
grasp a $1,000 gold certificate just suspend
ed above your normal reach. This exercise
is splendid for the shoulders and the side
walls of the chest.
Exercise V. Lie flat on your back, hands
under the hips and legs together all the
way to the toes. Then raise the legs ofe
the bed as high as you possibly can. Do
not bend the legs. Perhaps at first you
will be able to raise the legs scarcely a
foot, but even that will be of benefit, and
after a while you will find that you can
make a right angle with your body. This
is excellent exercise for the abdominal
muscles, from the groin up, and it strength
ens weakened stomach and abdominal lin
ings. It also prevents constipation, which
often causes a convalescent to relapse.
Exercise VI. While lying flat on your
back, draw up the feet close to the hips.
Place the hands, palms downward, firmly
by the sides of the body at the hips. First.
try to raise the hips from the bed, and
later on, on the same supports, raise up all
of the body except shoulders and head. As
more strength returns, execute these two
exercises with the arms folded over the
chest. And when you are well and strong,
you can raise the entire body on the feet
and the back of the head.
When just the hips are raised the mus
cles in the back of the hips and the small
of the back are brought into play. When
all of the body, except the head and
shoulders, is clear of the bed, the back Is
exercised up to the shoulders, and when
the body 'rests on the back of the head
and feet only, every back muscle all the
way to the neck is actively engaged.
Exercise VII. This, the last exercise to
be described, is for the upbuilding of the
various front, back and side muscles of the
neck. Lie on the back of your head and
the flat of your back, with legs touching
and arms at your sides. Move the head
first to one side and then to the other as far
as possible, every time seeing to it that
one ear is completely buried In the pillow.
Raise the head from the pillow as far as
possible and look at the ceiling. Hold for
a moment, then let the head fall back.
Next, press the head back hard into the
pillow and hold for a moment; and, lastly,
with the head on its back, look behind as
far as you can.
All of these exercises are as efficacious for
convalescent women and children as for
men.
ISTHHUS OF TELUANTEPE.
A Short Route for Shipments to the
Par East.
From Modern Mexico.
The completion of the extensive port
works at Coatsacoalcos, on the gulf, and
Salina Crus on the Pacific side, connected
by a well-equipped railroad across the nar
row Isthmus of Tehuantepec, promises to
provide a short route for shipments to Pa
cific coast ports and the far east that will
be an Important factor long before the
question of an isthmus canal Is settled. The
co-operation of the Mexican government
in the building of this transcontinental line
is a satisfactory guarantee that the exten
sive undertaking will be carried to a suc
cessful end. The location of a connection
between the great oceans is a question that
does not affect to any great degree shipping
between North Atlantic and Southern Pa
cific ports, but when the saving in time
between Atlantic and gulf points and Cen
tral and North American coast cities and
in shipments to Asia are considered the ad.
vantages of the northern route are strik
lng.
From Panama to Salina Crus the distance
is 1,103 miles, which Is a clear saving for
freight to northern ports shipped via Te
huantepec. The saving will be made upon
all shipments to Central American ports.
varying In importance from dM4 miles to
Junta Arenas, Costa Rica, to 1,002 miles to
San Jose de Guatemala. From Salina Crus
to San Francisco the distance is only 2,170
miles, and shipments to the orient will save
over 1,000 miles by the use of the Mexican
rail transfer to the Pacfic in preference to
going through a Panama canal. It is a fact
not generally known that from New Or
leans to San Francisco by the Mexican isth
mus it is 100 miles shorter than by the line
of the Southern Pacific railway. With such
shipping facilities as it is intended to es
tablish the Mexican short cut across the
backbone of the continent will doubtless
divert much commerce from all-rail lines.
It will from the start furnish an attractive
route for the growing export cotton trade
of the southern American states to the
orient, and it will at once become a power
ful factor in the development of Mexicos
rich west coast.
The Quiet Nan In the Corner.,
S. W. Giflilan In the Los Angeles Herald.
I lingered-o'er a cherber ganme a might or two ago;
The neho ged against mie seenmed to bare no
I bad a bunch of lusty king~s that stretted aD about
And, bunied my oppoment's men, who dared met
venture out.
'Way over is a corner shrunk a timaid little ama.
Who stayed right ia his station ever imee the
game bagan.
He watched my crowrned heads amarching by with
banner and with sog.
And seemsed to he disoneraged over sta.nn still
so lemg.
But pretty e an opieaisg secursed two bnrs
And not smother moment did that little fellow star.
He b.d..dsd o'er the beard and task three kings l
one fel sweep,
Thus laded is se king rowr with a wild eestatle
whep
Yo.*ve known these quiet fellm' that just st
seeod and thogt
And never made a seime while thmeother raged ad
The ~ ......Ie had -so to thimk et them
Or else so vesy sear it that their bepe otfaEme had
The oeswih rspg.stsgr their -ate wese
dadm.e sman the mess whe hees bin
- - b t.
i 'otbeer