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The Birmingham age-herald. [volume] (Birmingham, Ala.) 1902-1950, August 24, 1913, FINANCIAL SECTION, Image 40

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85038485/1913-08-24/ed-1/seq-40/

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CHK ten miles of road which lay
between Nathan's own home
and that of his grandmother
was such a dreary stretch that
the boy's mother gave her consent
to his making the trip alone on his
pony, Rastus, with some misgiving.
"You needn’t feel uneasy,," Nathan
reassured her, "for I will take my
rifle, and then there is Spike,” the lat
ter half of which remark brought her
a deal of comfort for Spike was noted
ly faithful and devoted to his young
master, and the possessor of more
than the usual amount of Intelligence.
Spike watched the preparations for
the journey with gteat interest, boun
cing here and there with excitement
while Nathan tied the basket which
he was to carry to his grandmother, to
Rastus1 saddle. When all was ready
the dog stood close to his master
whilo the boy’s mother urged precau
tion on the road and reminded Nathan
of the swiftness of the waters of the
ford; the treachery of the holes In the
steep hill down which he must go
before he entered the long stretch of
deep woods that ran for several miles
of the way. Then she told him of the
things he was to tell grandmother;
reminded him that there was a crisp
new bill at the bottom of the basket,
and showed him in just which corner
she had tucked away a little lunch for
, him, which he might eat under some
shady tree on the way.
"There are also some very Impor
tant papers for grandmother In the
bottom of the basket with the money,
so please be very careful of it, Nathan,
j from his mouth, and the boy resumed
j his Journey to his grandmother's.
Again Spike bounded In front ol
I 1 he pony, Jumping high into the air
and snnpplng at his head. Nathan
' now became very much alarmed.
What could be the matter with the
dog, he wondered as he reached down
with his riding whip to punish him
for his persistent annoyance. All to
no effect, Spike barked furiously on,
and seeing that his frantic efforts in
this direction accomplished nothing
he crawled back along the road over
which they had come whining piteous
ly, only to come back again to bite
at the pony's legs, until Nathan's
alarm grew great Indeed. A mile or
two more and the boy detected bits of
foam at the dog’s mouth, when he
was he was assured that the poor little
| creature was mad. There seemed but
; one thing to do, Nathan’s heart sank
1 miserably, for it would seem like part
^ ing with a member of his family to
; kill Spike—his Spike who had been his
i companion on so many lovely tramps
through the woods, and so many rides
I through the country, but there seemed
no help for It. The dog was snapping
at the pony’s leg, and Rastua was get
ting unruly. Nathan leveled his rifle
i through blinding tears, pulled the trig
ger, and Spike, with a look of re
proach which the boy will never for
get, fell over on his side, apparently
It was with sad thoughts and a
heavy heart that Nathan resumed his
Journey, until a mile further along
the road he remembered what his
Again Spike Hounded In Front Of The Pony.
^nd see that it does not come untied
and fall from your saddle," she told
the lad when he had mounted his
pony and was ready to ride away.
Spike, Just to prove to her that he
understood every word she said and
could take good care of his little mas
ter, gave her hand an affectionate
farewell lick with his cold little
tongue, and followed close at Rastus’
heels while Nathan's mother watched,
the little party until they turned the,
bend in the road which took them out
of sight, when she wTent back to her
household duties, not quite satisfied
that she had done right to send a
fourteen-year-old boy on so long a
Journey alone. •
Leaving the village, Nathan took the
river road, whistling a little tune in
time to Rastus' even canter, while
Spike stuck close to the pony’s heels,
casting now and then a glance to
right or left as though he bore the
responsibility of the boy’s safety and
felt his guardianship mightily. Nor
would he allow even the frisking of a
young rabbit in a new mown hay
field to tempt him from his charge
despite the fact that Nathan bade him
"Sick-um!” and so the Journey was
made until the little party reached
the great oak which stands at the top
of the treacherous hill of which Na
than’s mother had bid him beware.
"Let’s have lunch. What do you
say old top?” Nathan addressed
Spike as he undid the basket from the
saddle, and carried it over to the
shade of the oak, where he spent a
happy half hour detouring the good
things which his mother had packed
in his lunch box, dividing his meal
with the grateful Spike.
As the boy made ready to renew his
Journey another little rabbit ran
across the road and this time Spike
could not resist the temptation to give
him a chase. Nathan, glad to stretch
his legs a bit after his hour and a
half in the saddle followed the pur
sued and the pursuer for a quarter of
a mile into the woods, where he called
Spike off from the chase and went
back to the road where he had left
Rastus standing, mounted him, and
rode away with his thoughts centered
on the hill and its many deep ruts.
He had made the hill in safety,
crossed the deep ford and was riding
merrily down the road which winds
like a ribbon through the woods, when
Spike ran In front of the pony bark
ing furiously. Nathan ordered him to
be still, but the dog paid no attention.
He Jumped up and down on his hind
legs excitedly, and tugged frantically
at the stirrup, then he ran back along
the road for so long a distance that
his master was In the act of turning
about and going in search of him, but I
Just as he turned Rastus’ head Spike
came bounding back all out of!
breath, his hut little tongue hanging I
mother had said about the basket.
He reached back to assure himself
that it was in place and was shocked
to find it not there at all. Turning
about he retraced the road until he
came to the spot where he had shot
Spike, and to his amazement the little
dog was not there. Neither had he
seen the basket. Then he suddenly
remembered the rabbit chase, and that
he had not tied the basket back in its
place when he had remounted Hastus
for the balance of his journey.
Lashing the little pony into a lope:
quite forgetting either the steepness
or the ruts in the long hill Nathan
went swiftly back to his lunching
ground, and there under the big oak
lay the basket, and beside it was the
faithful Spike in a pool of his own
blood. Back along the road In an
agony of pain the dog craw led so that
with his last breath he might guard
the basket for which his young master
was responsible.
Sobbing with grief and remorse,
Nathan ran to the litle animal who
was now in the throes of death, and
lifted him gently into his lap. Spike
opened his eyes and looked from his
■master to the basket which he had
tried so hard to tell him had been left
on the roadside, and then, with that
supreme forgiveness of wrongs done
them, for which some dogs are famous.
Spike put out his little tongue and
licked the hand that had taken his
Nathan Is now a man, but he can
not tell you the story of Spike’s faith
fulness without a catch in his voice,
for he can never forget that it was his
own carelessness and stupidity which
cost him the life of his loyal friend.
THE pig is lazy, big and fat,
He eats all he can eat.
And when he’s fat enough to kill
He's ground to sausage meat
\ *** A Busy Little Man )
ne comes, on eager reel.
His wagon at his heels;
He pauses at my window seat
And for my trade appeals.
“What will you have?" I hear him
In brisk, storekeeper voice;
| And I must lay aside my task
And gravely make my choice.
And he, as I each package name,
As gravely hands it out;
Then, with my note in pay for same,
He hurries on his route.
i For cash, it seems, he little cares—.
He knows my word is good;
And so I question not his wares
As good housekeepers should.
I fear the coffee that I buy
Is pebbles, picked with care;
I dare not in the sugar pry
For only sand is there.
My beefsteak is a sorry show—
I think it must be bone;
And for a loaf of bread I know
He’s wrapped me up a stone.
But bless his heart! I help him play
In every way I can;
And so he labors through the day
A busy little man.
Tales of the Red Lot Team
SOMEHOW, on juvenile teams, j
there seems to be a feeling that I
it is not as much of an honor to
play in the outfield as within
the diamond or to pitch or catch.
Now why this view should prevail is
entirely inexplicable to any boy
who really knows his baseball.
Granted that, as a rule, an out
fielder doesn't have as many chances
i to make a play in a game as an in
fielder, the fact still remains that he
has loads of opportunities to prevent
balls batted Into his territory from
! going as hits—by sharp, fast, on-his
toes fielding.
Indeed, a toajn may often possess
an infield that is the proverbial “stone
wall” and yet lose many games sim
ply because its outfielders are but in- !
different players who Imagine their
The game with the Blue Diamonds
had been nip and tuck all the way.
And it was all the harder, from the
Red Lot standpoint, because it was
played o^ the enemy’s grounds. First
one team would be in the lead, then
the other.
And now, In the ninth inning, the
score stood Red Lots, 11; Blue Dia
monds. 10, with the latter team up
for their Anal "raps.” If the Red
Lots could hold them in check th«
game would be won. If not—well,
one run would tie and two would win.
The Red Lot Team felt by no means
confident of being able to do it. With
"Smoke-ball” Thompson, their crack
pitcher, away with his parents on a
summer vacation, "Curley” Graves,
the second pitcher, had worked foi
seven innings when, under a fusillade
. at "Bud."" His lips tightened and a
I look came into his eyes that was any
thing but one of fear or confusion.
He was mad clean through.
Then, Fred Blggers—struck out!
And, you may well be sure, Fred
walked back from the plate to the
bench with a vastly different expres
sion upon his face. This made one
man out, with Tom Jenkins still u»nc
ing around off first base.
I Ed Cartwright, the next batter,
stepped up quickly. There was no
foolishness about Ed. He was the
heaviest hitter on the team and his
one idea was to lambast that old ball
until the cover came oft. Ed was
really i. remarkable batter, but he
was slow and heavy which fact often
kept his frequent hits down to singles
u-hen a faster runner could easily
-------—— - — ■ —
He Caught It and Threw—To “Fatty” Henry.
I only chanco of distinguishing them
i selves is when they come up to bat or
make a long, running catch.
Only the other day little Tom
Mosby, the right-fielder of the famous
Red Lot Team, proved not only that
a fielder is an important member of a
baseball team, but also that Just be
cause a fellow plays in right-field it
doesn’t necessarily mean that he is1
the weakest player on the nine.
Indeed, Tom's play in the ninth In
ning of the Red Lots' game with the
Blue Diamonds was so remarkable
that even a "big leaguer" might well
be proud to have made it.
Just as much quick-thinking, re
member, is required in the "outer
garden” as within the diamond and
Tom—well, read for yourself and see
if you don’t think he gave a remark
able exhibition of "head-work,” fleet
ness of foot and accurate throwing.
of hits, he was driven from the box,
the Blue Diamonds tying the score as
It then stood.
Of course, there was bjt one pitch
er left, Joe Parker, and to his credit
be it said that he had gotten away
with the remainder of the seventh
and all of the eighth inning very cred
But Capt. "Bud" Allison, the rangy
short-stop of the Red Lots, had grave
misgivings as to what would happen
to Joe if, in this final, nerve-wracking
ninth, he should happen to get "in a
Joe, you see, was decidedly inex
perienced and, in fact, this was only
the third time he had ever pitched
in a real game. But—since there was
no one else—it had to be left up to
Joe. Oh, how "Bud” and every mem- I
ber of the Red Lot Team did wish for j
good old “Smoke-ball” with his fast J
breaking curve and lightning speed! j
As though to prove that "Bud” had !
good grounds for his fears, Tom Jenk- I
ins, the first batter up for the Blue
Diamonds, laced as pretty a single as ■
you ever saw right over second base— ;
a clean hit! Then ho stood on first
base and laughed at Joe.
Capt. “Bud” came running In from
his position and slapped Joe on the
bac! .
“Don’t mind that, old fellow," he!
said. “It's a long way around to
home, remember. And don’t you let
Jenkins get your goat. Can't you see
lie’s trying his best to rattle you? I
Well, we aren’t In the rattling busi- |
ness today, are we, old scout? You
bet not! Stick It riyht over the plate,
Joey, we’re all behihd you!”
Fred Biggers, the next oatter, 1
walked slowly up to the plate, shak
ing his knees and trembling as though |
he were scared. All the while he was |
grinning and waving his,bat at poor!
Joe. The Blue Diamond rooters took ]
their cue from him and backed him
up with hoots and cat-calls and Jeers.
Joe turned a moment and looked
have made two bases on them.
Joe tightened his grip on the ball
and a do-or-die expression came into
his blazing blue eyes. '
"Strike one!” yelled the Umpire as .
the ball whizzed over the plate after |
a sharp break that fooled Ed. But— I
But there was Tom Jenkins streak- |
ing It for second base. “Rip” Dugan, j
the Red Dot catcher, taken momen
tarily off his guard, threw hurriedly—
and Tom was safe. Things looked
bad indeed.
"Ball one!" called the Umpire. And
then "Ball two!” Then "Strike two!"
And then—well, then Ed caught the i
ball on the end of his bat and It went ]
whizzing, on a line, Just beyond the
reach of "Fatty" Henry, the Red Dot
first baseman. It was a clean hit—
and going like the wind!
The crowd rose to its feet with a
roar. The hit meant one run sure—
tying the score—for Tom Jenkins had
been playing way off second base when
the hit was made and, though not a
particularly fast runner, he should
score almost with ease.
But—and have you ever stopped to
think how many "J>uts” there are In a
baseball game—they had reckoned
without taking Tom Mosby, the Red
Dot right fielder, Into consideration.
The minute the ball had left Ed’s
bat Tom had gauged It correctly and
came running In like a streak. If he
could only get that ball before It got
very far out of the diamond he might
be able to h°'d Tom on third base or, ;
maybe, catch him at the plate with a
good throw. So, he ran as he had
never run before.
And before he knew It he was on
the ball, it taking a lucky bound to- I
ward him, waist-high. Instantly—
and here’s where he displayed his
"head-work”—he caught It and threw
—not to the home-plate, to head oft
Jenkins, but to ’’Fatty’’ Henry on first
It was a desperate chance, for Tom
had rounded third and was well down
. i
Pickings from Babyland
€RNEST was seven years old and
was permitted to remain after
Sunday school to hear the ser
mon. Asked at the dinner table If he |
remembered the text, he exclaimed: j
"Remember it! Why, good gracious, I
the preacher didn’t remember it him- !
self. He had to get the book and
read it.”
Hlttle Ruthle w«j to stay all night
with her aunt. When she was ready
for bed, her aunt said, “Now, kneel
down and say your prayers, dear.”
Ruthle knelt down at her auntie’s
knee and bowed her little head. She
was silent for some moments; then
she looked up with a worried face and
said, "Auntie, I guess you will have to
start the tune!"
"Come here. Bessie,” said a visitor
to the daughter of her hostess, “and
tell me how old you are.”
"Do you mean when I'm at home
or when I’m riding on a street car?”
asked Bessie.
I am composed of IE lpti««».
My 8. 14, 1 Is to mane a.-, snrori.
My 6, 2, 8, 4 is ill good health.
My 7, 9, 13. 12 is a toilet article.
My 15, 10, 11, 2 is a joint of the leg.
My 5 is the fourth vowel.
My whole is the name of a national
Hrtesa htat eflo nda esye tath mesll
Rae hte drftase fistg hatt vehano
soap, knee, O. Yellowstone Park
feel and eyes that smile, are the dear
est gifts that Heaven supplies. Moore.
~ „ I
A fish and a bird are represented in this puzzle. Whin are they?
the base-line toward the plate. But. I
Btraight as a die flew the ball Into
"Fatty's" yawning mitt, beating out
the slow-running Ed by at least three
strides! This made two out.
Then, with equal quickness of both
mlnu ail arm, "Fatty" whirled round j
and shot the ball home to "Itip" Du
gan, waiting at the plate.
Tom Jenkins came sliding In, feet
first, but “Rip" was there with the1
ball and cleverly blocked him off from 1
touching the plate. There was no j
possible disputing the Empire's decls- |
Ion; Tom was out beyoi. question. !
Three out! The side retired! The
game won! A double-play on a clean
hit to right field.
It was some baseball, wasn't ttT
And Tom Mosby, playing tho de
spised right field, if you please, was
the lad who started It all—because he
was on-hls-toes and didn’t wait for
the ball to come bounding to him!
CAST Sunday Edwin made his
debut as a Sunday school schol- ‘
ar. Everybody about the house
was Interested In the event, and for 1
several days preceding the Sabbath
various members of the family had
taken points to coach him for the or- j
deal. They had taught him the golden j
text and the story of the lesson, and |
finally Edwin, arrayed in his best suit
uf clothes and with a new 1913 penny
in his pocket to bo dropped into the
contribution box, was directed into the
path which all good little boys are
supposed to tread.
When he came homo his relations
and friends were anxious to hear a
report of his experience.
"Well, Eddy,” said his mother, "did
you have a nice time?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
"Did you say the text?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And did you remember the les
son ?”
"Yes, Ma'am. 1 said It all by
“And did you put your penny Into
the basket?”
”Y"es, ma’am."
Edwin’s mother grabbed him up and
hugged hint ecstatically.
"Oh, you little precious!” she said.
"Your toucher must have boon proud
of you. 1 know she just loved you.
She said something to you, didn’t
"Yes, ma’am.”
"I know it,” said the fond parent,
"Come, Eddy, darling. Tell mother
what the teacher said to mother’s lit
tle man.”
“She said,” was the startling reply,
“for me to bring two pennies next
The Sand Pile
A SAND PILE is the finest thing to have for little chaps,
’Cause there ain’t nothin’ that’s as clean, exceptin' snow, perhaps;
An’ you could dig in it all day for tunnel of a pit
Without a-mussin up your clothes a tiny little bit.
’Sides that it has the nicest feel, so warm an’ soft an' dry.
An’ slippery too, like water, you can’t hold it if you try:
Why if you take a handful up an’ think to keep it tight.
It creeps out ’tween your fingers though you squeeze with all your might.
An’ it’s the bulliest fun to heap it up around your feet
Until your legs, clean to your knees, are covered up complete.
An’ if you pack it close enough, so fast in there you’ll be,
You’ll feel Like you have taken root as if you was a tree.

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