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ADVICE NOT QUITE ORTHODOX
Marine Chaplain's Christianity Ten*
pered by Natural Aversion Felt by
All Fair-Fighting Men.
The task of ministering to spir
itual needs of our men on the other
Aide is not easy, and those who un
dertake it must be especially well
equipped mentally. Most of them ap
parently are, and much praise has
been accorded them by their unusual
congregations. Many orthodox
Christian's would hold up their
hands in horror upon the scriptural
elaborations presented by these chap
lains, and this can be appreciated
from perusal of the following ex
cerpt of a marine chaplain's sermon,
delivered during a halt in the march
to the front trenches, the Wall
Street Journal remarks.
"Boys," -he said, "I know the
Bible says if your enemy smites you
on one cheek turn unto him the
other, but it doesn't say that if he is
about to try to stick a bayonet into
you you should turn your back on
him. It also says love your enemies.
I agree. I have seen many dead
Huns and, believe me, men, there is
nothing easier to do than to love a
dead Hun. But never forget to
pray. It eases the mind and gives
you confidence. But between pray
ers, fight like h—1"
MISS PINPACK'S CLEVER IDEA
New Schein® fr» Army Formation la
Called to the Attention of Experts
The great Victory ball was a blaze
of lights, uniforms and beautiful
women with beautiful faces.
f 'Mis8 Pinpack, I want you to
fneet Gejtfral Floop. General Floop,
Jliss Pinpack, and vice versa."
"Oh, general, the very man Î"
cried the gorgeous Miss Pinpack. "I
have an idea that I want to submit
to the secretary of war, and I'd like
your opinion on it first."
"Charmed, I'm sure," said the
"Well, it's like this. There are
eight men in a squad."
"Your intimate grasp of army life
surprises me," the general bowed.
"And the army is made up of just
squads and squads and squads and
"Your military phraseology
amazes me," said the general.
"Well, my idea is—why not make
ftquacis out of six pien instead of
eight, and then the army would have
just as many squads and not nearly
SO many men to pay."
"Squffx !" choked the general, and
Staggered off to lean his fevered
brow against the grateful coolness of
a low-necked widow's marble neck.
HAVE A WING, COLONEL?
The colored one had come to
Camp Custer from West Virginia,
and had been issued his uniform. Aa
he passed down Harmonia road, he
admired himself muchly, glancing
down at his bright new tan shoes
and pulling up his "peg-tops" every
«0 often. An officer came along, but
the latest arrival was so engrossed
with his personal appearance that he
failed to notice him.
"Here, my man," said the colonel,
"why don't you salute? Don't you
fee the eagle on my shoulder?"
"Boss," said the black one, "when
(Âh sees that chicken on your shoul
dah, Ah sure thought you-all was a
JU8T THE MAN.
"You say you understand this
business, but have not been in it for
"What was your last job?"
"Helping to lick the kfiser."
"You're hired."—Louisville Courr
"No judge who advocates this in
determinate idea can be a good
"Because he doesn't believe in fin
ROOM TO DANCE.
A sailor acquaintance was com
of the misfit of the issued
, . "I can beat time in the
they gave me and my feet
> leave the ground," he said.
BOG COAL, MAYBE.
Sfy iop/' said pa, severely, "why
rou nut our old blade hen in the
Colorado's "Johnny Appleseed" Kin of Oil Kinc
C ANON CITY, COLO.—Capt. B. F. Rockafellow, "the Johnny Appleseed" o 1
the Arkansas valley, has a splendid cottonwood tree, the largest specimen
of its kind standing in Canon City, which he lias seen grow from a tiny sprout
planted in his garden in 1S72 to its
present proportions of more than 15
feet in circumference. Not long ago
government agents took photos and
measurements of this tree for the
records of the agricultural depart
ment, for it is rare that the exact
age and conditions of growth of a
tree are so accurately known as in
Although Captain Rockafellow
has lived to see many shade trees
planted by himself grow into mag
nificent specimens, he is better known ns the "father of the apple industry'
in the Canon City district.
Since planting the first apple orchard in Canon City in 1K70, he has pu
out thousands of apple and other fruit trees in tills section, and now, in spiti
of his four score and four years, he still gives his personal attention to hii
60-acre apple orchard, which bears some 25,000 or 30,000 boxes annually.
It is an interesting fact that many trees in this orchard, although fort:
to fifty years old, are still as healthy and vigorous as at five years of age, an<
are apparently good for another half century.
Unlike "Johnny Appleseed," that famous but eccentric character of the
old Western Reserve of Ohio, who scattered promiscuously along the high
ways and water courses, Captain Rockafellow has planted scientifically with
order and system, selecting and developing those varieties best suited to the
Reared in the beautiful Genesee valley in New York, a region famous for
Its fine apples, he acquired a knowledge of horticulture that has been most
useful to him in later years.
Although spelling his name slightly different from that of the oil king,
their relationship is fairly close. A few years ago Captain Rockafellow was
elected president of the Rockefeller association of the United States.
Policeman Is Nursemaid to Mayor's Pet Spaniel
C HICAGO.—A member of the fourth estate, trekking northward in the
gloaming, encountered at Belmont avenue and Broadway a minion of the
City law, arrayed in the customary habiliments of his calling—blue uniform,
star, revolver, night stick, etc. Police
men, of course, are not unusual at
night, but this one was possessed of
an adjunct not generally included in
their equipment. His right hand was
attached to a leather leash at the
nether end of which was a dog.
"lia," soliloquized the fourth es
tater, "a mystery. There has been
skullduggery afoot up here—maybe a
bank robbery, maybe a murder—and
this conscientious copper is earning
his pay by using a bloodhound."
With which he engaged the policeman in conversation and learned that
his name was Jens Hansen of the Town Hall station. He also learned that
as a dog expert he was a zero. The canine which was lending Mr. Hansen
about was a cocker spaniel. And while it was true that Mr. Hansen w-as on
duty he was positively not on the trail of murderer, robber or other evil
doer. He was acting in the capacity of nursemaid to the dog.
Mayor William Hale Thompson is the owner of the dog, and Mr. Hansen,
detailed from Town Hall to guard the mayor's home in the Chase apartments,
3200 Sheridan road, performs as part of his duties those of wet nurse to
"Well," queried the reporter, "how do you like the job?"
"Oh, all right," said Mr. Hansen. "Cocker's not a bad sort. A bit tem
peramental at times, but we get along. I'm taking him out for his nightly
Cocker now manifested a desire to continue his evening stroll and the
two departed. The fourth estater resumed his trek, cogitating the happy lot
of at least one Chicago dog—a full-grown policeman at $115 a month for a
The Police Will Not Catch This Murderer Asleep
L AKE FOREST, H.L.—About midnight Mrs. Cyrus H. Adams, Jr., fancied
she heard burglars and called out the department, which responded iu
the person of Chief of Police James Gordon, ably assisted by Policeman
William Hensell. Mr. Adams, by the
way, is a chicken fancier, and on the
night in question had 17 Rhode Island
Reds of aristocratic lineage domiciled
in the back-yard chicken coop. They
were resting peacefully, so far as
known, when suddenly their squawks
rang out and completely rent the night
air. It was then that Mrs. Adams
sounded the alarm.
Now when Chief Gordon received
the summons he Immediately notified
Policeman Hensel for the reason that
Mr. Hensel Is peculiarly embittered against all members of the ehicken-co p
thief fraternity. Mr. Hensel, himself a chicken fancier, was recently guarding
the residence and chicken coop of Mrs. Capt. William A. Moffett when some
marauder invaded his own coop and cleaned it. Mr. Hensel has vowed ven
Well, the two officers sped to Mr. Adams' home in an automobile and
rushed out to the coop with revolvers drawn and electric flashlight gleaming.
They entered the coop. The squawks by now had ceased. The reason was
apparent. Each of the 17 Rhode Island Reds was dead. They had squawked
^ Investigating the surrounding terrain and coop Interior for finger prints
or footmarks they discovered evidence that the assassin belonged to the un
gulata and not the hominidae class of mammal. That is to say, the murder
was committed by a weasel. The police are se arching for him.
One of the Unusual Tragedies of the Great War
A LLENTOWN, PA.—When the wife Of Private Miles C. Booth of
Hundred and Eighth machine gun battalion heard last summer that he
had been killed in action during the fighting on the Marne, she mourned for
■ him for a time and then married \\ U
lam George Smith.
Private Booth has now turned up
at hi's home here alive and almost
vieil. It appears that the'shell which
killed four of his comrades on July 22
only wounded him.
The situation is complicated by
the fact that Smith, the second hus
band, was also a soldier in France.
He entered the service after his mar
riage to Mrs. Smith and reached the
.... front shortly before the armistice was
aigned. Both Booth and his wife view the mixup with a philosophical air of
"mistakes will happen." Booth says he is going back to the hospital in New
York, where army surgeons are still treating his wounds
' "Why should I make trouble for her?" he says. She is a mighty fine
girl, and, with me 'dead' as reported, I don't wonder that some other man wat
The wife, who is now living with Booth's two children as "Mrs. Smith,
at Fullerton, is just as philosophical.
"I heard Miles had been killed and went in mourning for him, she said,
•«Bid auythini .tyhen I later began to keep company with my second
who U also -a good man.'*
By HERBERT H, GOOD Will
There '■'•as vituperation loud and
deep on Turkey Creek. The owner of
the ranch, himself temporarily brought
low by a refractory cayuse, was ex
pecting a visitor from the East—his
niece—and Brad Merrell had been told
off to act ns her guide, if not philoso
pher and friend.
Brad was the steadiest man on the
ranch. This fact was enough for his
employer. He was also Iht worst
woman-hater. This fact made it too
much for Brad.
"Why couldn't it hev btv-n Paper
Collar Joe?" he deuMnded collectively
and fiercely Jt the men, as they
loitered outside the bunkhouse. "He'd
hev been like a high-stepper with a
new harness on. He'd sooner talk soft
to a woman than rope the liveliest
steer that ever beliered. But me! I
won't hev nothin' to do with her. I'll
take my time in the momin'. I'll light
out overnight—I'll burn down the
whole ranch !"
"Now, Brad," wheedled Tom Mason,
affectionately known as Old Soft Soap,
by reason of his peacemaking procliv
ities—"now. Brad, jest stop an' think.
Ye've yer own nice little place up on
Turkey creek, where ye kin look after
It iiandy, an' all plans made fer tlie
summer. Whut would ye do with the
rest of the season ef ye take yer time
now? Yer place Is rented, it's too late
to get taken on anywhere else, an'
ye'd only lope eround an' spend yer
wad. This tenderfoot gal 'll only stay
a few weeks, an' It'll he a rest fer
"Rest!" bellowed Brad. "Rest! It'll
wreck every nerve in iny carcass.
She'll be one of two kinds; she'll
either squeal every time she sees a liz
ard, an' he afraid of her own shadow,
or she'll carry a blamed tin box fer
bugs nn' things. She'll either gush
eround about me bein' 'so picturesque,'
or she'll he shocked at my language
an' my pipe, an' try to reform ine.
Rest! A woman'll let a man rest only
when she's been buried an' has a gran
ite monument over her !"
Old Soft Soap prevailed, however.
In the end. Next morning Brad start
ed for the railroad, as a Iamb begins
its Journey to the shambles, yet with
a most unlamblike mien and accouter
ment, for his pistol-belt and dirk, his
leathern "chaps" and rakish sombrero,
proclaimed him a "bad man," indeed.
The Overland Limited was late, and
the engine seemed to puff und whistle
Its disgust at being stopped at the lit
tle station that raised itself above the
surrounding sea of grass. With much
complaining and creaking it halted for
a moment, and then its rattling links
climbed slowly up the rise.
Brad looked for a mass of furbelows
and a Saratoga trunk, but the platform
was vacant except for an ample fe
male, standing beside a bulging carpet
bag, a heap of boxes and bundles, and
a shrouded bird cage.
"She ain't come," muttered Brad,
his skies brightening.
The ample figure bore down upon
him like a ship under sail. It was sur
mounted by a pleasant face of florid
complexion, beneath a broad hat and a
veil of grass green.
"Can you tell me if Turkey Creek
ranch is anywhere near here?" she
"Yes, ma'am," answered Brad, awk
wardly pulling at his hatbriui ; "It's
only about twenty-five miles over east.
Was ye wantin' to go there?"
"That's what I came for," she re
plied promptly. "I'm Orphelia Gordon,
an' I've come to visit my uncle, John
"Ye're Orph—Miss Gordon!" ex
claimed Brad. "Why, I thought—" he
checked himself suddenly.
"Yes, I s'pose you did think I was a
young girl," she retorted. "No harm
done. I was once, an' if I ain't so
good-looking as I was then, I know a
heap more. If you've come for me,
don't let's lose any time, but help me
get my baggage loaded, an' we'll be
The cage cover fell apart, and a
brilliant red and green head appeared.
It cocked itself impertinently on one
side, one bendy eye looked Brad over
from head to foot, and a high-pitched,
energetic voice ejaculated :
"You be blamed !"
For the first time the bewildered
look on the man's face relaxed, and a
grin spread over his bronzed features.
The woman's floridity deepened, and
finally she, too, laughed.
"I'm ashamed of Polly's language.
Old Doctor Henderson told me once
that it was as bad for me, a professor,
to keep a profane paTrot as if I was
profane myself ; but I might've had a
husband that swore, and the minister
wouldn't have wanted me to get a di
vorce for that. Besides, this bird is
more knowin' and less troublesome
than any man I ever saw."
"I don't mind him swenrin' at me,"
said Brad, recollecting his ferocious
armament. "I reckon I ain't much of
She turned, and for the first time
scrutinized her companion.
"Land !" she said reassuringly.
"You're all right for a cowboy, away
out on the frontier this way. You
look like a man, any way, and not like
some af them perfumed little counter
jumpers back in Harmon Center."
Brad straightened his slouching
shoulders end walked across after the
piece ef luggage with a swagger
thfii set his spurs Jingling.
stooped to pick It up Miss Gordon
checked him sharply.
-Leave that basket alone! ' , ;' t *
Jeremy Taylor, ami lie's the
Maltese that ever spit. It hurts his
feel In's enough to he shut »I» ,hat
wav. und if a stranger ham...... him
l„.V have a tit. I'll hold him "• ■»*
Inn » we drive. No. you ......dn't h*' 1 !»
IU e. I've been get tin* in ami out over
wi»zc!3 alone all my life, ami this buck
board is low. I'm glad that you dont
use overhead check-reins on
horses. I belong to the Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals, und I'm sorry to
see you wear spurs."
They were trotting swiftly over the
prairie, and Brad had recovered liis
faculties sufficiently to give brief an
swers to Miss Gordon's running tire of
questions and observations. Suddenly
t)ie man involuntarily checked the
mustangs that lie drove, and gave vent
to a smothered exclamation. He
looked in perplexed alarm at Miss Gor
"What's the matter? Sick?" she
He pointed to a horseman some dis
tance iu front of them.
"Bill Jukes." he answered briefly.
"He's promised to shoot me at sight,
and he's likely drunk enough not to
know whether you're a man or woman.
You drive an' I'll get out an' meet him
on foot. I'll come back after ye soon,
or else—Sykes, a mile north of the
station, will bring ye over to Turkey
As he proffered the reins. Brad al
ready had his revolver out of his belt.
She gave an indignant sniff.
"It's likely I'll drive off and leave
you to be shot ! Give me them reins,
and you look to your guns. We'll drive
by Mr. Jukes at a pretty good pace,
and if you should happen to hurt him
—may the Lord have mercy on him!"
Shaking off Brad's restraining touch,
and deaf to his expostulations, she put
the whip to the ponies, and the buck
board lurched forward on the deeply
cut trail. Jukes was bearing down
upon them, his face inflamed with
drunken rage. Two or three shots
whistled past them. Miss Gordon held
the reins tightly and ducked her head.
Brad fired repeatedly as they passed,
ami just beyond them Jukes reeled
heavily from the saddle. With an ef
fort the woman brought the team to a
"I'm glad I fastened Polly's cage on
good and tight!" was the first excla
mation. Then, noticing a broken cheek
rein : "I'll get a piece of twine out of
my pocket to tie up that strap. Why,
your sleeve's ail bloody. I do believe
that nasty wretch hit you!"
"Jest my arm, 1 guess, Miss Gor
don," replied the man, a little uncer
tainly ; "but I hope—that Is, I'm
afeerd I've done for Jukes!"
They locked hack. The outlnw lay
motionless by the trail, his bridle rein
still over his nerveless arm.
As the rays of the setting sun slant
ed level across the prairie, a strange
procession stopped at Turkey Creek
ranch. Miss Gordon still drove, super
intended by Jeremy Taylor, who
thrust his head through a hole In the
lid of his basket and glared balefully
at the universe in general. Beside her
sat Brad, pale under his tan, with his
right arm swung from his neck. At
the tail of their chariot, so to speak,
was tied the horse of Bill Jukes, and
fastened in the saddle, plentifully
bandaged and besmeared with blood,
was the man himself. His manner
was dn,oping in the extreme, while
from an opening in the cage cover
Polly bestowed an unbroken succes
sion of choice epithets upon the cap
Miss Gordon, of them all, was un
ruffled. and she explained with a
cheerfulness that was almost airy :
"Jukes rode down on us, shootin'
and swearin' dreadful, and Mr. Merrell
had to defend us, of course, so I took
tlie lines. Then -ve couldn't go off and
leave the man iayin' there, maybe to
die, so we went hack, and I bandaged
him up, and we brought him along.
You can do what you want to with
him. I don't reckon he feels very
spruce, seein' that he was shot through
the lung, an' that Polly's been swear
in' at him every step of the way. Mr.
Merrell. here, got a bullet in his arm,
and has hied consid'able, though it's
only a flesh wound."
The gods on Olympus may have
been surprised to see Minerva spring
full-panoplied from the brain of Jove,
hut that was the merest ghost of an
emotion compared with what the men
of Turkey Creek ranch felt when this
splendid apparition in dusty black
cashmere dawned upon them, with her
nonchalant tale of duelry, leading as
captive one of the deadliest outlaw"? of
the country. For a minute there were
murmurs of exclamations and glances
of amazement ; and then, as Miss Gor
don. hearing Jeremy Taylor, clambered
to the ground. Paper Collar Joe, the
Chesterfield of the ranch, gracefully
"Ellow me to ersist ye, madam!"
he began sweetly, but the visitor
waved him hack.
* Don't you touch Jeremy Taylor, my
good young man!" she warned. "I
reckon tie's had all his nerves will
stand for one while."
And Brad, being tenderly helped
over the wheel, drawled shakily, with
a flourish of his hand :
"No use, Joe. It was too good a
chance to lose, so I jest improved It.
Miss Gordon's going to come up Tur
key creek, to my place, an' live with
me—the future Mrs. Merrell, gents!"
Polly craned his head around the
hack of the seat and ejaculated fierce
ly; "You be blamed!" while Misa
Gordon's face flushed a deeper red aa
she bridled and exclaimed:
"Oh, pshaw! Ain't you ashamed of
War Secretary Baker said at t
luncheon In Washington:
"Ours will be the most democratic
army in the world, for ours is the
most democratic country.
"A millionaire, as he climbed int«
his limousine, snarled at a newsboy;
"'No, I don't want any paper! Get
" 'Well, keep yer shirt on, boss,' thi
newsboy answered. 'The only differ
ence between you and me is that
you're rankin' your second million
while I'm still workln' on my first.'"—
IN THE NICK OF TIME.
The Preacher's Wife (after the de
parture of the newly wedded pair)—
Do you think that was a fortunate
The Preacher—Very ; I certainly did
need the money.
We are made of dust, they tell us.
And maybe that is why
A girl oft causes trouble
When she gets In a fallow's eye.
What Was Wrong.
Woman Engineer—There's some
thing wrong with this engine.
Foreman of Car Shops—Impossible.
It was all right when it left the shop
Woman Engineer—Well there la. I
haven't caught a cow with the cow
catcher yet. Maybe the thing Dn't
They Swear It Happened.
Little Jimmie—Say, pa, do those 4
pages In the legislature have to take
an oath of office?
Jimmie's Pa—No, my son ; why do
Little Jimmie—Well, one of 'em did ;
ytw ought to heard him when he
stubbed his toe the other day.
"What were you doing in the U*
brary?" asked Mrs. Cuinrox.
"Reading the old poets," replied her
"What's the matter? Aren't'we abie
to afford the brand-new ones?"
SHE KNEW HIM.
Clara—I hear that you are going tc
marry Tom Swiftpace. Congratula
Edith—But I'm not going to marrj
Clara—Then sincere congratula
Oh, travel has been changed, I vow;
You note it everywhere.
There's nothing In the suitcase now
Excepting things to wear.
Power of Will.
"Will power has kept many a man In
the straight and narrow path," re
marked the bcthersoiue bromidist.
"Indeed it has," answered the chap
with the sliding scalp as he swatted a
flu germ on the back of his hand, "par
ticularly if it is the will of a rich and
bious old uncle who hasn't checked In.*