Evening star. [volume], August 20, 1910, Image 20

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

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BOOK REVIEWS.
THE POMtlK %>D THK GLORY. Bv
Gr?(* MmGowan Cooke. author of!
"Huldah." etc. Illustrated bv |
Arthur 1 Keller New York:
f>oubleday. Page A- Co. Washing
ton: Woodward & Lothrop.
THK love story of Johnm> I'on
sadine and Cray Stoddard calls
agair, to mind the fact that
Grace MacGowan Cooke is a
i apital story-teller. fasting
about, one involuntarily d' es, for the
?ourct-s of this skill in a supreme art. |
'?no is met at the threshold of the quest
bv two outstanding traits of this en
tertaining writer. The first is a familiar,
day-by-day intimacy with her places and
people. The other is the moral power
to resist temptation. One makes for
living pi? lures of these south-mountain
folks, the other digs a straight channel
of event undiverted by the enticements
of any shore. Johnnie Consadine, beauti
ful mountain girl, stung by an ambition
alien to her Idle race, and Gray Stoddard,
substantial factory owner and all around
tine fellow, these, employed and em
ployer. make the tenter of this delight
ful story. Knvironed as these two are
by the sordid activities of a cotton-mill
town where women and children, as well
as men, work long and hard, where rich
women on the hill dabble in uplifts, j
where the medieval spirit of the moun- J
tain breeds bitter feuds, what tempta- i
lions in these reforming days to make
sermons about child labor and rescues,
? r to follow the rich lead of the
mountains in exciting melodrama. The
author does none of these things. What
she does do is to distil each of these,
very shrewdly, often humorously, in its
essence of aim and effect, deftly subor
dinating it meanwhile to the larger uses
of her single purpose. In the heroine.
Mrs. Cooke has created so line and beau
tiful a girl that the reader will take up
this story again and again, just to see
Johnnie Consadine smile, to hear what
she is saying and to find out what
simple or difficult thing she is doing in
her own buoyant way.
THREK Rl VKRS| THK JAMKS THE
POTWNU , THK Hl."DSO*| a retr?
npeet of peace and war. By Joseph
Pearson Farley, t*. S. A. Washing
ton The Neale Publishing Com
pany.
An author achieves a thing of note
w hen he succeeds in combining, yet hold
ing clean and disentangled, both mat
ters of large collective import and those
of but neighborhood range and interest.
And this is what Gen. Farley has done
in the present volumne of recollections,
covering here both the national crisis of
civil war and the less rigorous affairs
of local incident. With picturesque ef
fect the author chooses as the Impulse
of these reminiscences three historic riv
ers. each of which, at one time or an
other. was an influential part of his en
vironment. Around these are gathered
the rich local colors of beautiful scenery,
poetic tradition, stirring history and im
portant current event. The James cen
ters about the childhood of this author.
The Hudson and West Point contribute
to his years of training and preparation.
The Potomac becomes the scene of an
active, patriotic manhood, with war time i
I a? its directive influence Personal rec
' ollef tions of the civil war are becoming
| each year more rare, more valuable
Every such view of this event has weight.
A special significance attaches to one s?>
I spirited. so personal, so vivid as the
present one. A triple extract of local
ism will move this retrospect from south
to north, following the three centers of
Its growth. Washington loaders will find
genuine and abundant pleasure in rub
bing hlurred pictures bright through the
interesting chapter on "The Potomac.'
Additional Interest is given to the vol
ume by the fact that the artistic color
plates are reproductions of water color
sketches by Gen. Farley himself.
A LABRADOR srRlXi. By Charles TC.
Townsend. M.D.. author of "Along
the Labrador Coast," etc. illustra
tions from photographs. Boston:
Dana Estes & Co.
It turns out. contrary to common im
pression, that spring in the far north is a
coy and elusive creature, caught only by
subtle methods of pursuit and. more often
than otherwise when found, proving to be
not spring at aM but. instead, a quickly
blossomed summer hasting to fulfillment.
Mr. Townsend's delightful volume Is the
story of his quest for this fugitive season
over the mainland and among the coast
islands of I^abrador. Quite in touch with
the joy of his errand, the author misses
no view, however fleeting, of the object
of his search. He spreads the land out
before the reader In most del! ntful may.
introducing its plants and animals, its
men and women in their activities and in
terests. Not overtraveled is the road
through I.abrador. so fresh information
al?out the place and its people adds extra
worth to an otherwise valuable record.
AROt \n THK WORI.D WITH A BISI
YKSS MAX. By Leander A. Bigger.
Illustrated. Philadelphia: The
John C. Winston Company.
There have been so many around-thc
worlds that, in these hurrying days, four
volumes of another one Induce timidity
of approach, despite the lure of an ex
tremely rich livery of ?carlet and gold
and an almost unlimited number of truly
beautiful and excellent pictures. The
Teal inducement to perusal, however,
lies in the hops that this business man,
as author, out of his experience and
training will see the world from a new
angle, with a spirited manner, no doubt,
of presenting It to his readers- It soon
becomes Obvious that this business ma*
is on a real vacation, having left at
home his entire equipment, save energy,
which he expends in rapid movements
and kaleidoscopic, unrelated views.
THK STORY OP THK COXSTITITTIOK
OP THK I'MTKD STATICS. By
Rossiter Johnson. New York:
Wessels & Blssell Co. Washing
ton: Wm. Ballantyne & Sons.
The convention of 1787 takes up more
than a third of Mr. Johnson's study of
the Constitution. This special emphasis
points the author's purpose to examine
this document in the process of its mak
ing. in order to uncover more fully the
roots of its spirit and intent. The various
measures of the convention, the disagree
ments, the arguments and compromises,
gathered up with name and place and cir
cumstance from Mr. Madison's notes on
the proceedings, bulk in a national design,
foreshortened temporarily here and there
perhaps by local outlook and sectional
distrust, but settling anally to the large
intent of true nationalism. Rectnt criti
cism. in certain quarters, of the Constitu
tion as an Instrument unfit, and unfit by
design, for free democratic development,
makes this study of composite motive val
| uable and timely. Many of the discus
| sions might have been mad* yesterday, so
' cotemporaneous are they in thought and
treatment. The author approaches the
convention through a running description J
of measures for some effective coalition
and leaves it through ratification and
amendment proceedings. An interesting
l chapter traces the sour ?-es of the Consti
tution. making clear Its evolutionary
character of growth and adaptability. In
conclusion the author sums both the
greatness and the weakness of this docu-1
ment, the latter tenc'ing toward elimina-1
tion and modification a* the instrument
seeks to fit Itself more and more perfectly
to the uses of government.
GOVER\XR\TAL ACTIOX FOR SO
CIAL WRLFUIF.. By Jeremiah
W. Jenks. P.HJX. L.L.D., professor
of economics and politics. Cornell
University. .American Social
Progress Series. Edited by Prof.
Samuel McCune Lindsay, P.H.D..
LL.D.. Columbia University. New
York: The Macmiilan Company.
As a part of the social progress series,
the present volume turns to" a study of
governmental actioA In relation to social
betterment. The author bases the body
of this discourse upon an analysis of so
cial welfare, an elaborated analysis, using
description, application and definition as
its instruments. Following this is a scru
tiny of the three departments of govern
ment. not only in their powers toward the
sociat whole, but also in th^lr accom
plishment of ameliorative measures. If
there be a flaw in this painstaking sur
vey it is that of overcaxe in the interest
of clearness, expressing itself in frequent
restatements and somewhat elementary
views, out of which issues a faint flavor
of platitude. One interested in th!? sub
ject and at all inclined to read a treatise
upon it has passed out from the one-syl
lable period and reacts with impatience
toward a lean method where he expects a
rich one.
[Hi: WINDOW AT THK W HITE CAT.
By Mary Roberts Rinehart, author
of "The Circular Staircase," etc.
Illustrated by Arthur I. Keller.
Indianapolis: The Bobba-Merrill
Company.
If municipal and state government
through the United. States Is as corrupt
as is suggested by Mrs. Rinehart's
latest story, thingft are at a bad pass In
this country. This tale, which reeks of
mystery from the fifth page, relates to
the peculations of a state treasurer
and the manner in which the political
gang in control of affairs contrives to
suppress the news of his disappearance
and ultimate murder. Just who killed
him remains unknown u> the reader to
the very end of the story, and In the pur
suit of the criminal and the solution of
several subordinate problems the author
leads her followers a meri^y chase indeed.
She perhaps overindulges in the clumsi
ness of her narrator hero, whose propen
sity for stumbling over things in the
dark Is largely conducive to the unfold
ing of the plot. If John Knox had gone
about his amateur detective* work more
carefully when the lights wrre low he
might have wound up the jnystery so
quickly that it would not have been
necessary to expend 378 pages In the un
folding. In the course of this intricate
and at all times interesting story there
is evidence that the author has been
studying the records of some of our worst
managed communities.
THE MOTOR MAID. By C. X. and A.
M. Williamson. New York:
1
Doubleday. Page & Co. Washing
ton: Woodward & Lothrop.
Here the Williamsons get back to their
familiar formula, an automobile, a pretty
girl, a handsome man and a guide book.
"The Motor Maid" carries the fascinated
reader through Provence, transmuting
into delightful fiction the romance of that
ancient and historic land. There is some
thing strikingly familiar about the
mechanism which the authors employ as
I a vehicle of story telling. The girl.
I daughter of * Frenchman of long lineage,
Is by circumstances impressed into serv
ice as maid to an impossible new-rich
Englishwoman. In the evolution from
a Bayswater boarding house into a lady
of title, Mrs. "Tumour"?new-rich for
Turner?develops Into a screamine ab
surdity. Sir Samuel, her liver pill-mak
ing husband, is more human, but the
contrast between tfiese two and their
lady-maid and gentleman-chauffeur gives
the Williamsons their best opportunity
of some years to produce delightful ef
fects. There is just enough of the guide
book about "The Motor Maid" to be sug
gestively instructive and diverting with
out slackening the flow of the love story,
which works to its usual happy conclu
sion, arriving there by a swift and un
expected climax. "The Motor Maid"
will revive the interest of those who first
enjoyed "The lightning Conductor," but
who have not found in all the subsequent
Williamson stories the particular quality
which marked that exceptional tale.
MARK TWAIN'S SPKKCHRSj wit ft mm
latrodoetlm by Wtlllaia Deaa
Howell*. New York: Harper &
Brothers.
Mr. Howells in his brief, eltfquent Intro
duction to these reproduced speeches of
the man who will be known doubtless for
ever more by his nom de plume notes the
fact that Mr. Clemens was a great actor
as well as a great author. That is to say,
he knew how to give the spoken word a
peculiar vitality and significance, how to
Invest It with the color of life. Mark
Twain's nearest approaches to failure as
a speaker were the result of his occa
sional trusting to spontaneity. "He
studied every word and syllable and mem
orized them by a system of mnemonics
peculiar to himself, consisting of an arbi
trary arrangement of things on a table?
knives, forks, salt-cellars, inkstands, pens,
boxes, or whatever was at hand?which
stood for points and clauses and climaxes
and .were at once indelible diction and
constant suggestion." Here are assem
oied over one hundred of Mark Twain's
addresses and speeches, delivered on all
sorts o{ occasions, at banquets, at meet
ings. at dedications, some long, some
short, some characteristic of the inlml^t
ble Clemens humor, others In more seri
ous vein, on all conceivable subjects from
the weather to the moral righteousness of
the American union. Among them are the
speech delivered at Oxford vhen he re
ceived the doctor's degree from that uni
versity; the address at the Aldrich me
morial meeting; an argument before the
congressional committee on patents,
pleading for an amendment of the copy
right law; an eloquent plea for the bene
fit of the Russian sufferers at the Casino
Theater In 1905; a talk on accident insur
ance at a London dinner; an address o#t
Joan of Arc before the Society of Illus
trators; and so on through a long, de
lightful range of personal reminders of
the man. the thinker, the humorous com
mentator 011 current affairs, the homely
philosopher, the vigorous champion of
causes and defender of rights, appro
priately concluding with a speech deliv
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A RAINY DAY AT THE SEASHORE
NOW we arc going to expend a
little rambling loquacity on the
subject of a rainy day, or rainy
day?, at the seashore. We
have an acutc distaate for fried
eel p. for trailing effluvium of hair oil,
for he-gossips and for several other
things.
But we confess that for general onnery
ness. meaaliness and bedingedness, we
award the entire delicatessen and the
whole layout of zinc medals to a rainy
day at the seaside.
There is something adhesively, cling
fully. demon!tionly-moistily mean, grisly,
?tlcky, goozly and common about a rainy
day at the seaside that is utterly beyond
the puissance of any pen or typewriter
to portray.
A rainy day at the seaside does not
even serve to bring you to a state qf
m< -Ilowed repentance. On the contrary,
it arouses within you a mental condition
made up of equal parts of gloomy pro
test and flaming resentment.
An autumnal day, with the brow.i and
led leaves swirling in the ditches and ed
dying garrulously along tlie street, and
the wan. yellowish sun peering sort o"
sadlv and good-bye-lst?!y through the
thinning verdure? such a day lias a tend
in-v to betake you to a consideration of
youi '.itt!c .-ins (we hope they are little)
and to stake you to agreeably melan
choly reflection* a* to the briefness of
existence and the mutability of human
affairs and the now -w e're-hcre-a nd-now
wc-ain't-nesa of the game of life as we
know it.
* ?
Hut a rainy, seepy. sulkily dowufallish
<Ja\ at the seaside only succeeds iu las
soing your Angora and in arousing within
your otherwise placid and uneomplain- |
ful bosom an Intense, pervasive and all
embracing dislike for everything on earth,
the dome above the earth, the waters
beneath the same and all human critters
pifllishly mooching around on top of the
earth, including yourself.
'Tis gluey stickiness plus, humid dis
comfort in the form of a concentrate.
Kumminess that makes for mania, at
mospheric doggont ness that takes all of
the glnj and uplift out of the human
spirit; and two or three other and worse
tilings that we can't Just remember at
tlds moment; that's what a rainy day at
the seaside is.
On such a day everything goes wrong,
everything grisly and ghoulsome and
go?h-tired happens. The salt sticks in
the cruet. You can't coax, cajole, bunk
or bully it out without unscrewing the lid
of the cruet. You can bang the salt cruet
on the tablecloth, thereby causing those
two young lydies from Muscatine. Ioway.
at your table, to view you as a hijussiy
ill-mannere?l and vicious-tempered per
son; you can rap the cruet on the bottom
thereof with your slapful palm; you can
twist the cruet sideways and every
wntchways, and get down on your knees
to it and beg and imploie and beseech it
and ask it. I'lease, Mister Salt, won't
you cyme out and lend a little savor to
this punkerino food, and bawl at it and
seek to stampede it and disgrace your
self forever and evermore at the table;
at the end of all of which?nix! There's
oitly one thing to do. and that is to un
screw the top of the screw and pick up
the gummy, gluey and messy stuff and
toss it onto your fodder in adhesive
chunks and gobs and let it go at that.
*
* *
The rain seeps leadenly. surlily, gloom
ily. drippily. everlastingly out of the low
?excessively low* hanging clouds, and
the porch is wet and slippery and soggy,
and the mosquitoes are flattened pre
daciously against the scrcens, wolflshly
aw ailing their chance to bore their
way in.
Your clothes hang to you like cold,
clammy compresses, though the tempera
ture is as mcaslly warm as the fetid
breath of a captured .iaguar
Even the outer clothes of the women
folks seem to stick to them. .
And the erstwhile skillfully. ..powdered
noses of the women folks now are shin
In* llk? dim. oily beacons.
And all of their freckles, which are just
plain cute on a sunshiny day, now are
magnifledly yaller and haw'ble. just haw
'ble.
And their hair lungs in disagreeable
little dampish wisps, particularly around
their sunburned necks. \tnd you say to
yourself as vou prowl hatingly around
the place tha\ you must ha" been insane
to *ve loved them all so intensely as you
certainly did only yesterday when the
sun was shining.
The gray, gray sea rolls in greasily,
dun-huetshly. somberly, catafalqucly. and
rumbles with a gloatful, hoarse rumble
on the beach, through which you can
catch Its basso cachlnnation, as If It were
saying. "Ye-es. b'jee-blast-ye. it Is rain
ing. and it's a-goin' to keep on raining,
and I'm glad of it, and whatcha g?in' to
do about it, huh??boom, ka-booin!" and
the greasy combers curl over on the
soggy beach, and you hate yourself and
the rest of the folks about 1?> or 13
cents' worth more, and you meditate
whether a death by strangulation or even
by the frowned-upon delirium-tremens
route wouldn't he just about the ticket,
considering everything or nothing, and
the state of the case, and the circum
stances and environment.
? ?
I The very clouds give you the long, low,
I rakish hoot out of their drippy investi
ture In the grisly firmament, and they
seem to be saying unto you, "So you
don't like this wet stuff, hey? Kicking
about it. are you? Going around with a
grump on because we're tossing a little
moisture your way, eh? All right?watch
us now! Ker-drip-drip-drlp?whlshy!" and
I then the roof of the hotel dump at which
you're stopping begins to make a noise
like the inside of a shot tower under the
horrendous Impact of the Panama down
pour. and the gooey fly lights on your
nose and inserts a hydraulic drill therein
and won't be brushed off for more than
one-nineteenth of a second; when he re
turns to the identical spot and proceeds
to drill yoti some more; and the words
"Night's Plutonian shore"' pop into your
obsessed mind, and you say to yourself
that it's no wonder poor Poe took to
the sosh thing so enthusiastically if he'd
ever spent a rainy day at the seaside,
and
Oh. yes. And all of the young 'una
around the place are moved to a strange,
weird, pounil-poundy, a slate of thumpful
unrest 011 a rainy day at the seaside.
You've got to stick around the hotel,
you know, unless you want to creep up
and down the slidey, slippery Boardwalk
in th** drip-drip, and so you get the full
and complete benefit of the rainy-day un
resifulness of the young 'uns.
*
* *
They run-run toh, how they do run
luni around the wet. slickery-slidey
porches, making boomfully maddening,
hoilowlike noises on the planks with their
?ute little sandal-shod footems; and all
the ti>ne they run there (or in the hall
ways above, it's all one to them) they
txude and emit tympanum-wrenching
squeaks and shrieks like unto the noises
emitted by a tlcck of l>elated birds gor
mandizing on a long-deceased okapi
somewhere in the regions of T. R's
Mountains of the Moon. And. if you
scowl involuntarily at the uproar, why,
their mothers instantly Krasp the signif
icance of your scowl as they see it, and
they say. even in audible terms, that
you're one o' them nasty mean, horrid
brutes o' men that hate and loathe and
despise pore li'l innuhcent children, and
they i?ass the word around among all
the mothers that If they don't watch out
you'll be easing a little powdered glass
into the pap or milk bottles of their ofl
>pring the vairy first change you get,
and you become as unpopular as a
would-be purchaser of maltous products
at a X Yawk maybe-French bill.
And oh. chaff! The kin-nocking bees
that hold their sessions around the ex
change* and parlors and dry spots of the
porches of the hotel dumps on a rainy
day at the seaside!
The an\il-ness of it!
The liit-'lm-w ith-a-pickax-nats (or her.
as the case may be) of it!
The idee being, y see. that there's noth
ing whatever else to do on a rainy day
at the EC&zide, but kneck. Bo the/ do
it. They mooch off into detached groups,
the lie-knor-kers as well as the lydv
hammersmiths, and they pes the bunch
coming and going.
?
* *
All you've got to do Is to pass disheart
enedly through the exchange of a seaside
hotel on a rainy day to fetch the clink
clank-clangor of the anvils upon you; how
you didn't get home till after 3 o'clock
this morning because the couple that has
the room next to yours heard you when
you came In and you certainly seemed to
that couple to be in a peculiar condition
because the way you bumped against the
furniture in your room was something
awful and it wok* up nearly everybody
on your floor and then too you tossed
your shoes on the floor as if you were try
ing to wake up the dead and then you
snored and groaned in your sleep some
thing tur'ble and it's no wonder consid
ering how you jftend all your time o*
nights at the Old Berlin and it's a miracle
ho*- your wife manages to stand you at
all and deed they'd train you if they had
you and they'd jes' like to see themselves
letting a man belonging to them carry
on so and did they notice your dissipated
face anyhow and isn't it a wonder a man
can make a living doing the way you do,
and
Oh there's that horrM made-up girl that
pretends that the elderly woman with her
is her aunt and chaperon but she can tell
that to the marines or Sweeney because
they don't look one bit alike and that bold
creature has all of the married men of the
place on her staff and it's a wonder she
doesn't see what folks think of her and
the funny part of it is the men folks the
poor crazy sillies think she's perfectly
beautiful and go around raving about her
even to their wives whereas her skin is
Just as muddy as it can be when you get
close to her and it's no wonder she wears
veils all the time and she's got the mak
ings of a pretty good squint too when
you get right close to her and oh yes her
figure Is all right but isn't it scandalous
how short the skirt of her bathing suit is
and how in the wide wide world men can
see anything in such a creature is just
the queerest thing that ever
Well, anyhow, our Idea of nothing what
ever to live for is a rainy day at the sea
side. and this, all in all. will be about all.
CLARENCE I,. CTLLEN.
Why the "Skipper" Stays
With a Ship as It Sinks
THE other day a Spanish ship
went on the ro<ks about Gib
raltar and sank. The skipper
of the steamer, although he
had a chance to save himself,
chose to go down with her.
Why?
This is a question that often is asked
by folks ashore. Why does the captain
of a vessel so often elect to go down with
his vessel when she gets into that tinal
stage of sea trouble?
The answer is that it is an old. old tra
dition among skippers that they shall
Stick by their ships to the finish: thatj
they shall go down with their ships if
and when It comes to that.
There isn't any tincture of bravado
about the tradition. The skippers look
upon it as quite a part of their game.
They regard the business of standing by
their vessels till the finish, and after
ward, as quite as much a part of their
duty as being on the bridge in a fog or
rough weather.
The skippers who feel themselves di
rectly or even indirectly responsible for
the loss of their ships actually want to
go down with their vessels, and they
make this business a sort of suicide. Not
so with the skippers who feel that they
are In no wise responsible for the loss of
their vessels. They have no idea of com
mitting suicide by sticking to their ships.
Their one idea is to stick, that's all.
*
* *
Now, there may be a pretty fine shade
of difference here, but it's a difference
all the same. To put It in another way,
the skipper who has lost his ship through
what he knows to be his neglect wants
the waters of/he sea to cover his head;
whereas the other captain ia actuated
solely by the tradition which, whether
it seems senaible to the common or
landsman view or not, ahsolutely
requlres the Commanding officer of a
sinking vessel" to remain by her until the
very end.
Naming no names, a few years ago a
big Pacific liner running between S?n
Francisco and Yokohama hit a sub
merged rock while groping her way
toward the Golden Gate In a fog. Now,
the skipper of this steamer had -no right
to try to get through the gate in that
heavy fog. He had passed the .Farallone
Islands and he knew pretty well *here
he was?thai Is to say, that he was with
in only a few miles of the gate, and
that it was his business to drop his
mudbook and wait for the foe to iitt
before proceeding any further.
But ho had made an unusually swift
voyage from Yokohama and he wanted to
break a line record by getting into San
Francisco bay at once, and so he tried
to feel his way through the fog past the
gate. It was a bad bit of fumbling, and
he hit the sunken rock several miles
above the gate. Nearly the whole keel
was torn from lils ship and a lot of
lives were lost. Including the life of a
consul general at a Chinese city and his
family.
Most of the passengers were tucked
into boats and carried to safety before
the steamer went down in such deep
water that they've never been able to
find so much as a hatch cover of .her
since. Just as the last boatload of pas
sengers was pulling away from th?
steamer the skipper, a man who had
sailed all of the seven sras nearly all of
his life without ever making a mistake
before, was seen to place a revolver to
his temple and put a bullet in his brain,
and he was dead when the steamer car
ried him to the bottom with her.
There, of course, was a case of a
per knowing that the end of the world
had come for him; so far as his ever be
ing anything again in his profession was
concerned; and he did about the only
thing that was left for him to do?not
wanting to become a commission less cap
tain, which is, to a skipper, about equiv
alent to betng a beach-comber. Had he
permitted himself to survive he never
could have explained his mistake. He
never would have got another command.
As a man born to the sea who had been
a skipper for a quarter of a century,
there was simply nothing else for Mm to
do. according to the master mariner s
point of view, except to make his finish
coincident with that of his ship.
*
* *
It must be said, however, that even
the skippers who know themselves to be
In no way to blame for the loss of their
ships have a certain tangible incentive
not to mind very much whether the ship
that they stick to manages to stand up
under them after the disaster or not.
A skipper who has lost his ship, it
should be understood, is forever a marked
skipper. Tliere isn't any way to get away
from that or to dodge or duck It. He's
marked. He's pointed out as the man
who lost his Mhlp. It doesn't make much
difference, either, whether he was to
blame or not.
In employing skippers, of coufse, the
preference is ever given to the men
who've never been known to li?ve an ac
cident to the ships under their command,
and the skipper who has lost hl? vessel,
even when he hasn't fceen ia the least to
ered at a dinner given December o, 1W?6.
in NVw York to celebrate the seventieth
anniversary of his birth. None of the
Twain book? so clearly presents the man.
for here is the real Clemens, here are his
ideas and his ideals, and here his con
cepts of this complex existence of which
he was in his peculiar way a most elo
quent exponent.
THE POOLS OP SILEXCK. By H. Pe
Vere Stacpbole, author of "The
Blue lagoon." etc. New York:
Duffield & Co.
The horrors of the Kongo have so
strongly moved Dr. Stacpoole that he has
devoted this, his latest work of fiction, to
their exposure and denunciation in per
haps the most effective form that the plea
for international intervention has yet
been couched. While preserving the out
lines of the novel, the author lias none
the It?s effectively made of this book a
campaign document. He sends into the
heart of the dark country a. young Amer
ican physician, just from his post-gradu
ate course of study In Paris. He accom
panies a great game hunter, a man of
immense wealth, of limitless courage, of
unquestioning cruelty. In the Jungle of
the Kongo disaster overtakes the expedi
tion. and. In consequence, the two white
men return to civilisation, the 3'oung phy
sician aflame with indignation at the hor
rors he has witnessed, the other peculiarly
changed as a result of a blow on the
head. Apart from the interesting psy
chological study afforded by the change In
Capt. Berselius, the story discloses a re
markable state of public indifference to
the atrocities practiced upon human
beings in the pursuit of profit. Dr. Stac
poole's eloquence is burning In its in
tensity. Here In brief Is the Kongo story
as related by the young phsiclan to his
employerb daughter: "He told of the
hostage house at Yandjali. and thewretch
ed creatures penned like animals eating
their miserable food: he told of M'Bassa
and the hostage house there, with its iron
rings and chain*; he told how all over
that vast country these places are dotted,
not by the hundred, but by the thousand;
he told of the misery of the men who
were driven into the dismal forests, slaves
of masters worse than tigers, and of a
task that would never end as long as rub
ber grew and Christ was a name in Eu
rope and not a power; he told the awful
fact that murder there was used every
day as an agricultural implement, that
people were operated upon and suffered
amputation of limbs, not because of dis
ease, and that their sex and age?those
two last appeals of nature to brutalitv?
had no voice: he told the whole bitter tale
of tears and blood, but he could not tell
her all, for she was a girl, and it would
be hard to speak even before a man of
the crimes against nature, the crimes
against, men. against women and against
children, that, even if the Kongo state
were swept away tomorrow, will leave
Belgium's name in the world's historv
more detestable than the names of the
unspeakable cities sunk in the Dead sea."
THE WIJTXIXG FIGHT. By Herbert
Kaufman. Chicago: Owen W
Brewer.
For some time The Sunday Star has
contained a weekly contribution of help
ful optimism from the pen of Herbert
Kaufman under the heid of "Sign Posts
to Success." In "The Winning Fight" he
has assembled a number of these brief,
vigorous suggestions, some of them hav
ing appeared already in this paper, but
the majority of them being new to its
blame, must await his turn; and it's
often a long, lot.g wak. too.
On the docks of Liverpool, for instance,
you'll see, often enough, this or that wist
ful chap, who Is pointed out to you as
skipper So-and-So. who lost his ship in
the Indian ocean, or wherever It might
have been, and who's "waiting for an
other ship." And most of them keep right
on waiting, forever waiting, for another
ship.
The simple fact that these men are on
the waiting list shows that they were
guilty of no negligence In losing their
ships, for, had that been the case, of
course they wouldn't have been on the
waiting list at all. but would have had
their masters' papers revoked.
The custom of the sea In this respect is.
in truth, no different from that of the
land. The locomotive engineer who sur
vives a bad accident which has l>een
caused through no fault or oversight of
his own nevertheless finds that he has re
ceived a black eye. professionally speak
ing. that will last him pretty nigh as
long as he lives. The goodies, the dain
ties. so to speak, are dished out to the
men who have had no accidents. It's the
old human story that the world was made
for winners, not losers.
*
? ?
Then the skipper's relationship toward
his employers is another thing that must
be taken into consideration in scanning
this matter of why they stick to their
ships when there appears to be no vestige
of hope left for their vessels. Most mas
ters are men who have passed through all
of the grades from apprentice up, and
from the time a ship's boy first puts on
the jacket of an apprentice the sacred
ness of his obligation to his employers Is
dinned and dinned and forever redinned
into his ears. Ships' boys associate only
with the officers, and the officers are eter
nally instilling it into the lads that their
first duty as sailormen must be to their
employers.
By the time a boy has passed through
all the grades and finally attained a
master's papers, the idea of his respon
sibility and his loyalty to his employer
has become a sort of a first tenet of re
ligion to him. Well, this being the case,
the skipper whose ship is slipping away
from beneath his feet cannot but feci,
no matter how utterly blameless he may
be, that he hasn't made good for the
trust his employers have reposed in him;
that fate, or the hand of God. or destiny.'
or something of that sort has been against
him. and caused him to become derelict
in his duty to the people employing him.
Positively it Is a sort of worthy madness
this sense of duty which skippers feei
toward their employers, and if all hands
ashore possessed the same feeilng it Is a
dead sure thing that land employers never
would have occasion to complain of their
employes. Thus, the weight of tradition
the ever-present- fear of being blamed!
whether blameworthy or not. the keen if
unreasonable self-deprecation for having
failed to make good-tliese are the things
that cause a deep sea captain, when the
big bitter hour of his It* arrives and
his ship Is on the edge of dissolution to
stick along with her with little or no'de
alre to be saved. C. L. C
Good Farms on Bering Sea.
From (Jollier's.
The gardens In southern Alaska will do
everything expected of a garden in Michi
gan or Massachusetts. Cranberries, rasp
berries, strawberries, salmonberrles and
blueberries grow wild a n<f abundantly in
the Yukon valley and the valleys south
of it.
The gardens in the vicinity of Nome
on the coast of Bering sea raise onions,
radishes, cabbages, cauliflower, lettuce
beets, etc. The foliage is large and strong
and the roots flrm and tender. The green
of the leaves is more vivid and tender
than plants raised in the states. The I
red of the roots and radishes is a deeper
red, the flavor is delightful and mild
?K0V?ument ex*>erl"i^ntal stations report
that there are no heads of lettuce raised
heads rLlserf t1^atthca" comPare with those
ncflds r&iscd in the fsr north
?e?tda>' *;tn come, and that not far
distant, when Alaska will offer to the
\ast rar>ges such as he once
h*statM- and which
???, ?r?i?n th * li rap,d Increase of
population?the old ranges having been
?!h,,iUPit P , ?rmJng lands, a condition
ix nicn it Is claimed accounts to a cons id
the great increase In
The Question of stock
aising in Alaska can not be doubted, for
the experimental stage passed away over
a century ago, when the Russians, by no
means a thrifty class in land cultivation,
successfully reared stock of all kinds.
There are many successful dairy and
?lock farms in Alaska ? today.
readers. Mr. Kaufman has. one mi*ht at- j
! most say, invented a new philosophy. It
, is in truth o!d in spirit, but new ir its
' manner of presentation. It i? the doc
trine of work. success. confidence, honesty
, and faith. It is a "preachment" that all
1 sorts and condition? of men may under
| stand. There is no tine writing, no at
! tempt to turn a literary phrase or pro
j duce a rhetorical effect. Hard, heavy
' hammer blows are these, blows aimed a:
slothfulness and discouragement sad
doubt, blows calculated to stimulate tne
real man and to urgo him or to action
for his own roo?1. The truth of each of
these short talks with his reader Mr
Kaufman drives home with sharp, crisp
sentences, whic h have an aphoristic qual
ity. often homely in the figures employed,
always illuminating In their significance.
No man can read this work without feel
ing stronger and better equipped for the
tight in which optimism always wins.
KXCHAXTED G?Ol'XD| ? e?iaede of
tfee life of ? you* m*i. By Har
ry James Smith, author of "Ame
dee's Son." Boston: Houghton
Mifflin Company.
Prudish persons should softly tread
past this "Enchanted Ground." Here
is no tale for those who dread to see
life In its ugly realities. Yet whoever
reads it sympathetically may derive
from it a broader sense of charity for
those who err than they felt before,
and may acquire a more judicial atti
tude toward those of whose tempta
tions they are in ignorance. This is
the story of a young man newly come
to New York from the somewhat rigid
atmosphere of New England, to be
gripped by temptation in the great
city, to fall morally, to lose heavily,
then in final revolt against his weak
ness to shake off the shackles of In
dulgence and finally to regain all that
he has lost. Mr. Smith presents only
a few characters for the purpose of his
story telling, a fascinating little cos
mopolitan woman, who. with all her
frivolity and immorality, is neverthe
less capable of a great overmastering
affection: a self-sacrificing young
French woman, who in her Greenwich
village boarding house tyrannises
over her olp father and mother, yet
with the kindest heart in the world; a
highly accomplished scientist grap
pling with his thirst demon, that has
wrecked him in the past and now men
aces him once more; a beautiful, vain,
unstable young chorus girl, for whose
sake her hard-working sister enlists
the services of Philip Wetherell. There
is no denying the force of Mr. Smith's
style in dealing with so complex and
difficult, a theme. He takes his place
among the strongest of our present
day story writers.
BOOKS RECEIVED.
THE "HOW DOES IT WORK" SERIES
?MODEM* EXGIXES. By Thomas
W. Corbin. author of "The How
Does It Work of Electricity."
New York: ft. F. Fenno A Co..
THE CLOSED BOOK j Other Pee?a.
By Leolyn Louise Everett. New
York: Wessels & Bissell Co.
Washington: Ballantyne Sc. Sons.
?
THE PUBLIC IM
RECENTLY ADDED BOOKS ON
HISTORY.
| Scmf very important ?t the same
j time very readable work* 011 American
i history have been published this season.
I One of the most scholarly of these i*
< Bruce's Institutional History of Virsinja
I in the Seventeenth Century. The volume
' on Quantril' and the Border Wars
one of breathless interest. In Which the
author fortifies his statements with a
mass of evidences.
Ancient History.
Dati*. W. s. An Outline Historr the no
man Empire 144 n r. to ;tT* A D.|. FMS-lttto.
Driver. K. R. Modern R?-sear< h as Illustrating
the Bible. FK61 l>?".
Fried Uender. l.udwlc. Roman Life and Man
ners t'lHlrr the Farlv Empire, r. I-J. WW
mx
Helbi*. W'olfmnc Guide to the Pabtyr Cut
lection* of < Ia*-i.?l Antiquities in Book. IWo
6. FFKH3U.
United States History.
Brute. I*. A. Institutional II lnyrr of Vir
ginia in the 17th Centurv. 2r. KW: HKMi.
CnanninK. Edward. K lenient* Of United State*
Historv. m-fSd.
Conneller. W. K. Quantrill and the B"rder
Wars. F*.tt-c7?i?o.
Farley. J. I?. Three Rivers, the James, the
Potomac, the Hudson. EtW41-r.ilSt.
Hamilton. P. Colonial Mobile. FR73-H183.
Parker. Jante?. Rear Admirals Staler. Samp
son and Cervers. F*.T7 l*2jF?.
Russell. H. R. Illustrated Historr of Our
War With Soaln. 189*. FKI7-RWi:ta.
Smith. P. II. Aeadla: A Lost Chapter Id
American Historr. 1*8*. F829-8m6o.
British History.
Asbdown. C. H. Rritlsh and Foreign Arms
and Armor. FVA-As-Tl.
Benlaniin. L. S. The First George la Hanover
and Ens land. 2*. K4.V?l-M4fl6.
Compton- Rlekett. Arthur. The London Life of
Yestenlav. F44L-C737.
Ilnssall. Arthur. Modern England (1832 190?).
F4.-?tWU277.
Melville. LAWla. pseud. Brighton. Ita Historr.
Follies and Fashions. K4.'>Br-M49.
O'Connell, J. c. Irish in the Bevolutloa and
the CiTlI War. 1903. +F839SI-Oc8?.
Tovnbee. William. Gltmuses of the Twenties.
F456I-T68.
European History.
Hollinas. M. A. Europe in Benaiaaaace and
Reformation. 1 453-1*59. F306-H72B.
Johnson. A. H. The Age of the Enlightened
Desoot. 1M0 1789. F307-J6J6.
Lees. R. A. The Central Period of the Middle
Axe. 918 1273. F304 L517.
- Lodse. E. C. The End of the Middle Age.
127.11453. F304-IJ123.
Mastermsn. J. H. R. The Dawn of Mediaeval
Europe. 476-918. F3M-M3N.
French History.
Harxard. A. C. P Louia 3fVI and Marie An
toinette. F3927 H124.
Hall. J. B. The Bourbon Restoration. F3943
H14.
I.enotre. G.. naeud. Romances of the French
Revolution. 2r. F.W3-I/.tO.
Mark 1mm. Mrs., pseud. History of France.
1903. F39M144.
African History.
Boulger. D. C. de K. The Congo State; Or.
THE SNARE
OF CIRCUMSTANCE
-BY?
Edith E. Buckley*
(ftmlilt br Uttte. Mm * B?mi'. U?1M)
CHAPTER IV.
Who Horsford Was.
' The village of Wlnton lies on a neck of
land that curve* around like a bent fore
finger pointing oceanward. On one side
the surf pounds upon a stony beach at
the foot of a stretch of marsh; on the
other side, across the tiny bay. lies the
county seat of Beverly. The main street
follows the curve of the land from the
lighthouse on the point well back on the
neck; and there, in neighborly proxim
ity. one finds church and post office,
shops and homes.
Where the buildings begin to straggle
away from one another at the north end
of the street, the road makes a sudden
turn to the left to within a hundred yards
of the bay. then northward again for half
a mile, until it appears to be stopped by
the grilled iron gates at the main en
trance to Overlook. As a matter of fact,
the last two hundred feet of this road is
simply an approach to the main drive to
the villa, which stands upon a bluff look
ing toward Beverly, while the high road
continues with a flourish to the right, on
the other side of a small triangle 'of
woods.
The sun. red and uncompromisingly hot.
was sinking into a line of sullen gray
clouds at the horizon when t stepped
from the train that August evening and
looked about me.
An uncommonly attractive girl, who
had attracted and held my covert in
terest during the trip and who left the
car while I was struggling with a strap
on my suit case, had vanished, and she
and I appeared to have been the only
passengers deposited at the little station.
On the farther side of the tracks the
marsh stretched In uninterrupted desola
tion to the very sun itself It seemed. The
rails glistened in a long, curving line to
the left, and the train that had brought
me became a diminishing object soon lost
to sight. From the marsh came the
monotonous croak of frogs and the cry
of a wild bird.
A chill of loneliness swept over me.
and I turned with an involuntary shud
der to find myself face to face with an
odd-looking old man, who stood in the
doorway of the one-room station. His
face was as innocent of hair as a new
born babe's, but brown and seamed with
countless lines. He wore a wig of pale
brown hair a score of years too young
for him. and his eyes, small and shrewd
and blue, met mine with an amused
twinkle.
"Purty scen'ry." he volunteered, cheer
fully. with a wave of his hand toward
the desolate marshland.
??To be sure. Can you tell me how far
Overlook is from here?"
The old man looked me over curiously.
??Overlook?" he repeated. "W-all", I
guess I can. but p'raps you don't know
there ain't nobody Ilvln* at Overlook now
but the farmer."
"Yes; I do know. It is the farmer I
want to see."
"Ho! W-all, it's a consid'able ways
out there.".
"Is there any one about here who will
drive me out?"
"W-all, my boy Hank'll have to take
ye If I ?av so. an' If ye don* mind waitin'
'round till we can hitch up."
"Thank you. I will wait. I dare say
it will not take long?"
" Bout fifteen min'ets. Say. I'm sta
tion agent here, an' I'm going to shet up
fer the night. That waa the last train
till 0 tomorrer momin'. Don' mind com
in' 'cross the road to mv house, d' ye,
while we fix ye out with a rig?"
"No; I will go."
We took a few steps in silence. Then
the old man looked up at me, curiosity
overrunning every feature.
"My name's John Hutton." he said.
"Mine is Bliss," I responded.
"Oood! Ye're from N' Yo'k, I s ppose?"
"Tes."
"iiuml- AV-all, tiiei c s my house." Ha
spoke with pride as he pointed to a cot
tage opposite the rear of the station. "An'
that's my wife on the p'aszie. Here,
Eliza Ann. this stranger Is a-goin' to
wait while Hank hitches up to take him
to Overlook."
I declined the proffered chair and seated
myself on a step. Hutton disappeared
immediately, and Mrs. Hutton continued
to sway placidly to and fro in her big
chair, her plump hands crossed upon her
ample stomach. Presently she spoke.
"Overlook ain't so much of a place now
the old man's gone," she said.
?'I dare say it has run down."
"An* they do say over village way It's
for rent, after all that happened there,
too. Who'd want to live there, I'd like
to know?"
I laughed.
"I think I shall rot mind. I've taken
it for a time." I answered.
The old lady looked interested.
"For .the land's sake!" she exclaimeu.
"You don't say!" and she continued to
regard me in amused meditation. "You've
got good nerves, I s ppose?" she volun
teered presently.
"L. have always believed so."
"XT-all. that's a good thing. I sh'd say.
I don' wan', to scare you since you've got
the place on your han's. but over village
way they do say that Mr. Somhers comes
back to Overlook sometimes. You'd bet
ter not tell your wife that when she
comes. I'na just a-tellin' you so you can
be lookin' out. Any children, have you?"
"I'm a bachelor."
"You don't say!" A long pause. "An"
you takin' the Place of SUence? That s
most as bad as Mr. Somhers himself. I
never could see what a man wants to
live alone for."
At that moment Mr. Hutton appeared
to announce that the "hoss an' bufcsY"
were ready, and I paid my adieux to Mrs.
Hutton. who suddenly wondered whether
I would like "a bite o' somethin' to eat."
I assured her with thanks that doubt
less I should be able to get supper at tne
farm, and left her smiling placidly.
It was quite apparent that the raw
boned lad of fifteen or thereabouts, whom
the station master informally introduced
as "my gran'boy. Hank," was not over
delighted with the idea of conveying me
to Overlook.
"I ain't got no use fer that place." he
declared, unexpectedly, when we were
well on the way. "This's the third time
Kran-dad's sent me out at dark witlr
some city feller like you. Wish that ?
o'clock train got in at noon. I do." and
Hank kicked the dashboard vindictively.
"Say." he continued, presently, looktax
at me with new Interest, "air you a de
tective?"
"What gave you an idea that I might
be a detective?"
"Over village way here they nay Harry
Milbrath, who killed his uncle, is trvfhg
to make folks think he didn't do It by
sendin' detective men up from N' Yo'k
to look 's If they was try in' to fin'
out somebody else that did it. The other
two fellers was detectives, I guess."
I had a fancy that the boy was right
on that point.
'Pretty nice place. Overlook, isn't it?"
I asked after a minute.
The boy hunched his shoulders, but did
not answer; nor could I induce him to
further conversation.
We were passing through the village
by this time, and I observed, first with
amusement, then with something akin to
discomfort, that we were the center of
attraction. There appeared to be some
thing unusual about us, for though it was
dusk, men paused and looked back at us.
At first I supposed my companion to oe
the source of this attention, but I over
heard a word spoken by one of a group
of men standing upon the steps of tne
post office that enlightened me.
"Is It because we are going to Overlook
that people stare at us?" I asked Henry.
"Yep."
"Good heavens! Does no one in town
ever go up to the placer*
"Nope."
"Whyr
THf ?i-owth of CWtl- r ? Antral Afii>|
iwv FT* iww*. I
J *. T. W. *ndan
rn mn.
Coirin. 1. i{. Sonth Africa. Fit C72S.
FARM BOOKS
Tree* and Ormrndt.
tft5! W'Vr&k"'" 10 N"kr TH
iwrB?fT> A*** *tht Ummr vt ,OT-'
IVrnow 15 K Care <?# Th~* 1? U?l Tl
aud l*ark. lull's**. a..
Btca.
Rmlr. Jai-oh Bv Hook RK\
I.tor. P. K llo* t? Ki-'j Rc.? for I*
RKV UN.
??leaning* in B< e ^"ultare. ? b: na*?i?*ii' * maj
fine. i? cnrrentl*
Poultry.
Biggie. Jacob. Poultrr B-?ok. Ski Btv
Borer. M. K. I'miltrT Mecreta. It k \
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i Mlllff Syatem t<>. Book of Poultry (
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N^'irw. II. *. Chieka. llC'htnt and ll'arid
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\ot*?c. II. V. F.rg Mo? ? i: lloar t.? In rfi
It 1W?N RK% NS.".7r,
Xmw. II. TiltifT?. Pucka ?n?l t?H
RKV NYSTt.
Phllo. I". IV. Phil" Srafm of Progreaal
Poultrr Kecplnc. I coniem. RKV PM.
PitrTia. Miller. Poultrr Breeding BKl
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The library a Wo receives regularly \mer:J
Poultry Advocate. t.'?>miu? n lal Poultry and
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Farm Stocks.
Alexander. A. f. Horae Secret? RKl *121
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Rirrle. Jacob. Horse Book. 1907. RKV P
Biggie. Jacob. Mwp Book. m<2 KKQ It
Biggie. Jacoti. Swine Rook. 190*. RK It It
Brown. Thomaa. t'omt>let.' Modern Farri
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foburn. F. P. Ssine Husbandry. I KM
RKR-?'?Us.
I'oorb. L II. Five Hundred Questions
swercd About Swine. IMW. RKR-tTTf.
Dietrich. William. Swine Breeding. Feed!
and Maupa^nt. RKR IMii.
Pulton. A. W. Home Pork Making. 1?
URPW.
Mnnifortl. H. W. Reef Prod not lor. 1?
KKC M?l?.
Shaw. Thomaa. Animal Breed Lag. 190.1. I
placed. RKAB *h2?
Sbav . I noma! Management and Feed.ag
Cattle. KK.B HkStai
Smith. H. R. Profitable Stock Feeding. Ifli
RKAI'UmjD. I
Wing. J. K. Sheep Farming in AnKill
1W*. RKV W724a. ?
Dairying.
Renkendorf and Hatch. Profltable Da!r*1
19o*. RN-B43&D.
Krf. ??a<ar. Fundamental Dairying and Da
Arithmetic. 1908. RVF.rM.
? Jurler. H. B. Farm Dairr. i#n?. R\ Gfl
Lane. C. R. Rualneaa of Dairying. RN 1.2
Stewart. Henry. Dalrymau'a Manual.
St47.
No answer.
'"Do you think me a detective?"
"Yep."
By this tlm# ire had turned off 1
main street, and it wu a country rm
over which we Jogged. The soft eu
mer dusk had eettled all around us. a
the only sound* that broke upon the t
besides the pounding of the horse's ft
upon the earth and the rattle of 1
"huggy" were the croak of frogs and 1
gentle "swish" of water lapping I
beach belom-. It was a silence which,
my present state of mind, seemed v
canny. I sighed with relief when Ken
drove into a private roadway and aloil
immediatelv pulled up before a small rJ
roofed house. We had taken the Mr
road to the left of the wooded trianJ
and readied the cottage of the farmerf
Overlook. I
"There," said Henry, in a tone of relil
"here you be. an* I hope you d<>n' ?s
me to stayT' *
"No: liere'o your money. I'm mi
obliged to you." And I could not re
adding: "Now go quick before the
of the Place of Rllence catches you.'
then I stepped back and lsugh*d hear
at the rapidity with which the lad whir
around and was off.
I turned to the door of the roUaj
find it open and myself face to face
a youngish man. broad and athletic
appearance, beardleax and sunhurne
scarcely the man I expected to see the
for my conception of Mr. Arms was ~
lean man and elderly.
"I wish to see Mr. Arms,'* I said.
" 'K Is yonder." answered the
pointing northeastward. "There ia a
ouse with green blinds ten minutea
yond. 'E. lives there."
"Is this not Overlook?"
"Aye. sir."
"And is not Mr. Arms the fai
here?"
" 'H was, air." corrected the man.
conicmlly. "but I ham the farmer now
"Indeed:" It seemed curious that '
MHbrath should have given me an it
ductlon to a man no lonaer on the pla^
It looked as if he did not know of ?'
change. I could not ?ee. however, '
It made much difference to me.
"Well, then." I answered, "you, not
Arms, are the man I want. I am
new tenant for Overlook. My man
be on tomorrow. In the meantime
you give me shelter and food? This n<
from Mr. Mi'brath will explain the p?t i
tion," and I handed him the Introd'i
tion.
Instantly the same expression of cur
ity that t' had observed on the faca
nearly every one who tiad louked at 1
since I arrived in Winton came Into t<
man's faee.
"Aye. sir.** he responded, conrteoui
"hut." he hesitated, "if yon will exr
me, sir, I think you will be more o
fortable with my cousin, who is
Arms. I can drive you liover. The rt
'ere are small and "
"That will not bother me In the ]<
I interrupted, "and I do not wish t<
you or your wife to any trouble A
or a cot anywhere will do for the nl_
I dare say I shall be able to get into
villa tomorrow."
The man's heavy brows lowered a
but hia voice remained even and cot
eous.
"I should be glad to accommodate
?tr, but my wife Is?far from well."
A young woman whom I had obser
through the open door of an asfjoinll
room now came slowly forward, a tc
dling child clutching at her skirt*.
"Harsk the gentleman in. Joe." she
terrupted. sharply, "and I will lay out
bite for 'lm before 1 'ash the babe
sleep."
The man. whose large form had bloc)
the doorway, made room for me to ?
within, and as I did so I heard
woman mutter beneath her breath
him: " 'Ave you no sense, you?"
(To be continued tomorrow.)
Useful Information.
From the Buffai Expreaa.
"May I sec ny father's record?" aakl
the new stv. - nt. "He was in the ela*a|
'77." ?
"Certainly, my boy. What for?'*
"He told me when I left home not
disgrace him, sir. and I wish to see Jl
liow far I can go."
ITEW FUBLICATIOHB.
THK PILOR1M PI RITAX AM E#TOR.M
Name* of all who came Ui the Majflew
1?20. or Pl'RlTANH who arrived with Wl
THKOP at Malrni. 1CI0. whoaa their chtuj
marrie.1 where act tied. name*, of Pl'RITAJ
resident* of Salem W24 to IR50. are given
THK STORY OF NEK KNGf.AXD." a ^
interesting historical narrative juat ia?i
Sixt* full pa*<- lllnauattoca. with ~
letail STORV OF THK PILORIM. KTOR
THK Pt'glTAN. STORV OF ROsT??\. *
r>n rei-cipt of M rent*, cota or ?iamp>
E. O. tKF.LTON. Publiahee,
au?aa,w,2t,li 2 r?rk