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Will Be Disturbed By Pro gram of "Allies" ANTI-ROOSEVELT FORCE STRONG Fwr Expressed That They Already Control National Committee— Both Claim Balance of Power—Taft Evi dently Has Upper Hold—Will South erners Stick? Washington, Feb. 17.—If the oppon ents of the Roosevelt doctrines carry to conclusion their program of trying to defeat, the nomination of Secretary Taft by filling the republican national convention with contesting delegations from the southern states, it will be the biggest undertaking of the kind ever attempted. Indeed, as a. bid for the control ot a government, it will be but one step from open revolt with force and arms. The Bfune scheme has been tried be fore, but never upon a scale of such magnitude. Yet its operation Is com paratively simple. A national conven tion certainly can be oontrolled by this means, provided there bo a sufficient number of contestants, and a majority of the national committee be favorable to their cause. The national committee makes up the temporary roll of the convention and •the men named In the temporary roll are the ones whose votes decide the va rious contests. The particular state or district in (Jispute does not vote, but all the other contestants on the tem porary roll do vote. Hence, if the na tional committee will place enough contestants upon the temporary roll to give the anti-Roosevelt people a ma jority of that roll, they can control the convention. First, by making the seats of their contestants permanent, and then, with this acquired majority, do ing as they please in making the nom ination. Fear Reactionaries Control. It ,will thus Hie perceived that it Is solely a question of who has the na tional committee. If Taft has it, the scheme will not work. If the reaction aries-have it, then it will. Both sides claim it, but from the boldness with Which the anti-Taft people have com bined in the selection of un instructed contestants in Florida, and from their known purpose to continue the same tactics In the other southern states, It Is to be feared that the reactionaries have captured the majority of the com mittee. But the control of the national com mittee will not avail if there be not efiough contestants to give the opposi tion a clear majority of the temporary roll. The Grant third-termers in the famous convention of 1880 had more than fifty contestants and they had the national committee. But it was not suf ficient,' and Grant was defeated after •the most bitter struggle, next to the present one, ever occurring in the re publican party. The very first test vote In the convention 'of 1880 showed the Grant adherents that they had not brought enough contestants to the con vention by just seventy-two. The result was that the Blaine fol lowers and the other opponents of the •third-term were able to take the con tests away from the national commit tee and unseat as many on the tem porary roll as they pleased. Which they did, and generously, in their strength, permitting John A. Logan and some of ,the other more prominent supporters of General Grant to retain their seats. Not Enough Votes in Sight. But in the convention of 1908. the opponents of the administration ticket and policies will have to bring forward considerably more contestants than Grant needed to win. Conceding that the reactionaries can hold together all the delegates from all the favorite-son states, and can perfect a fighting com bination of all the favorite sons, they will still be 189 votes' short of a bare majority of one. There are about 345 votes in the southern states, and it will really be necessary to have contests lii most of them to stand any show of making up a temporary roll large enough to swing the convention. And besides, there is a large ques tion of whether they can hold their men together as Grant did his fam ous "Sparatan-Band" of 306, to go thru very many ballots. The information here Is that many of the delegates from Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania and New York will be likely to have a lively desire to line up on the Taft side unless the reaction aries can show a vast preponderance of strength early in the 'battle. If it comes to a matter of sticking it out for thir ty-six ballots, as did the Grant "stal warts" in 1880, the reactionaries will fade away into thin mist. For there is ho personality in either Fairbanks, Cannon, Knox or any of the others ap proaching that of General Grant, and no leader in their whole camp to hold a candle to Roscoe Conkling. Will Southerners "Stick?" Again, the means that must be used to pick up contestants iu the south are not of the kind to bring stay-to the-death material out of the south. John Sherman's reference in his book to Russell A. Alger regarding the con vention of 188S shows that at least some of the southern republicans will not "stay put." Even the friends of Alger afterward told tales to prove this. One was that on one occasion in the convention of 18S8 several negro delegates from the south came to the Alger headquarters and offered to sell their seats in the convention. The per son in charge politely declined to buy, saying Alger had all the seats he wanted. The spokesman of the colored delegation shuffled uneasily for a moment and then essayed to close the deal at one, stroke. "Boss," lie said, "de votes go wii dese seats." Another thing not to be lost sight of Is the grave possibility of the conven tion of 1908 coming to the breaking point If the reactionaries persist in a campaign of this kind and of such magnitude. Death has not yet by any means taken all the republicans who can re member liow near the republican con vention of 1S80 came to a crisis. In no other national convention has it ever been necessary to offer and adopt a resolution like this: "Resolved, as the sense of this con vention, that every member of it is bound in honor to support its nomi nee. whoever that nominee may be: and that no man should hold a seat here who is not ready to so agree." Yet this resolution was offered in the convention of 1880 by Roscoe Conk ling. and that distinguished but un scrupulous field marshall, fearing the effect of his high-handed course in try ing to nominate Grant might have, forced a rollcali upon it and tried to drive from the convention three dele gates who had dared to vote against it on the ground that It was an insult to their life-long loyalty. •I I Oddity in ihe Neivs ®®sXsXSXsXsXsX^ Twice Saved in Half Minute. Wilkesbarre, Pa.—Terreneo Bradigan Lehigh Valley railway brakeman. yesterday saved the life of an Italian woman on the tracks near Pittston twice in half a minute. The first time he pulled her from ill front of a coal train barely in time. She was picking coal and did not hear the train approach. She was so confused and excited by her narrow escape t'hat she stepped oil the adjoining track, directly in front of a fast running train. As Bradigan pulled her from the track the second time .the locomotive's pilot struck and bruised her. Living on Skunk Skins. Pennsburg, Pa.—In spite of unpleas ant features connected with skunk hunting, a considerable number of men follow that employment during the winter months in the rural districts north and west of Pennsburg. One of those who makes a regular business of trapping this odoriferous animal is Alfred Bortz, who has established his headquarters on the property in Low er Macungle toiwnsliip that was for merly known as the Kelnert peach or chard. Near by are abandoned Iron ore mines, and the shafts of these mines are a favorite haunt of tthe skunks. Bortz has set twenty traps about the shafts and every morning he makes the rounds of the traps, collecting the animals that have been caught during the nlglit. In ten days he caught seventeen skunks, and he considers this profitable. For the pelt of a black skunk he gets $1, while t'he striped variety brings 60 to 75 cents. He also sells the oil obtained from the ani mals. C. R. Shaffer of Limeport and his brother, made a notable capture of skunks a few days ago, trapping six of the "cats" in one hole. As four of them were black, the catch added materially to their spending money. Many furs sold under various high sounding names are made of t'he pelts of the 'h*-*nble skunk or the muskrat. Of both /v^ese large quantities are shipped fix. this region to furriers of PhiladeTrwfcA and New York. Many of these hides eventually reach Eu rope, where they are sold as monkey skins. Of course, if they were offered as plain skunk furs there would be little sale for them among fashionable women. Hog Lives in Straw Stack. Richmond, Ind. That a hog can live six months without food or water was proved today on the farm of Charles Eglu, near here, when an old straw sta,ck which was overturned six months ago was torn to pieces. A hog which had become buried by the straw was found alive and sprightly, altho much thinner in flesh than it was when imprisoned. Mistakes Pop for Water Wagon. •Chicago.—It was simply a case of mistaken identity. Robert Wilson, 42 years old, was looking for the water wagon. When he saw a pop wagon belonging to the Manhattan Brewery company at Tliirty-lifth street and Cottage Grove avenue lie concluded it was what he was looking for and climbed aboard. Presently Mr. Wilson heard some thing pop behind him.' He turned to look. One of the bottles had blown open and something was fuzzing out of it. Wilson passed his hot, dry tongue over his lips and stared. Then despair seized him and he seized the bottle. He threw it into the air. It came down with a sudsy crash. He wondered if he could throw one without breaking it. He tried it. It broke. He wondered if he could throw one so high that it would not come down at all. He found he could not. Then he 'wondered if he could throw one by a mental process. •He will never know. Policemen Kel ley and Lodge of the Cottage Grove avenue station saw him and took him to the station. Phonograph Aids Dramatic Art. Ann Arbor, Mich.—The phonograph as "first aid" to dramatic art has been introduced by Professor Beziat de Bordes of the French department of the University of Michigan in train ing student actors for the presentation pf Moliere's "L'Avare" by this meth od. Professor Beziat hopes to add feel ing and delicacy to the lines. Thirty six records have been carefully pre pared which will give the play exactly as the cast is to produce it. At any time any member of th« cast may rehearse the entire play in the solitude of his room. Professor Beziat declares that the phonograph will prove an invaluable agency for the introduction of foreign drama into this country, Gives Lives for Coin to Purchase Rum. Philadelphia, Pa. According to thN police. Martin Brady and John Barto lett were asphyxiated here yesterday, in order to obtain money for liquor. The two men wore found lying dead in the cellar of Brady's home by a gas meter inspector. The condition of the mon, acc^rdinff tn fhf* physicians, in dicated that they had been drinking heavilv. Bradv was found with a "quarter in-thf-slot" gas meter in his arms. It had been wrenched from .ts fasten ings. The police believe that the two men tried to extract money with which to buy liquor, and sacrificed tlu-ir live#. The Fighting Chance. Copyright, ISO#, by the Onrtla Publishing Company. Copyright, 1004. by Robart W. Cnombera. CHAPTER ELEVEN An hour inter, fresh from her bath, luxurious iu loose and filmy lace, her small white feet short ^ith silk, she lunched alone, cradled among the cush ions of her couch. Twice she strolled through the rooms leisurely, summoned by her maid to the telephone, the first time to chut with Grace Forrall. who, it appeared was a victim of dissipation, leiug: still abed, and out of humor with the raluy world: the second time to answer iu the negative Marion's suggestion that she motor to Lakewood with her for the week's end before they closed their house. Sauntering back again, she sipped her milk and vlchy, tasted the straw berries, tasted a big black grape, dis carded both and lay back among the cushions, her nr'ced arms clasped be hind her head, and, dropping one knee over the other, stared at the celling. The room was very still and dim, but the clamor in her brain unnerved her, and she sat up among the cushions, looking vacantly about her with the blue, confused eyes, ihe direct,1 unsee ing gaze of a child roused by a half heard call. The call—low, imperative, sustained —continued softly persistent against her windows, Ihe summons of the young year's rain. She went to the window and stood among the filmy curtaius, looking out into the mist. A springlike aroma pen etrated the room. She opened the window a little way, and the sweet, virile odor enveloped her. A thousand longings rose within her. Unnumbered wistful questions stirred her, sighing, unauswered. Every breath was drawing her backward, nearer, nearer to the source of memory. Ah, the cliff chapel in the rain! The words of a text mumbled deafly—the yearly service for those who died at sea. And she, seated there in the chapel dusk thinking of him who sat beside her and how he feared a heavier, stes.lth ier, more secret tide crawling, purring about his feet! Always, always at the end of every thing, he! Always, reckoning step by step, backward through time, he, the source, the inception, the meaning of all! Unmoored at last, her spirit swaying, enveloped in memories of him, 6he gave herself to the flood, overwhelmed as tide on tide rose, rushing over her, body, mind and soul. She closed her eyes, leaning there heavily amid the cloudy curtains. She moved back into the room and stood staring at space through wet lashes. The hard, dry pulse in her throat hurt her till her under lip, freed from the tyranny of her small teeth, slipped free, quivering rebellion. She had been walking her room to and fro, to and fro, for a long time before she realized that she had moved at all. And now impulse held the helm. A blind, unreasoning desire for relief hur ried into action on the wings of im pulse. There was a telephone at her elbow. No need to hunt through lists to find a number she had known so long by heart, the three figures which had re iterated themselves so ofteu. monoto nously insistent, slyly persuasive, re peating themselves even In her dreams, so that she awoke at times shivering with tlje vision in which she had listen ed to temptation and had called to him across the wilderness of streets and men. "Is he at home?" "Would you ask him to come to the tele phone V" "Please say to him that it is a —a rieud. Thank you." In the throb bing quiet of her "Is he at home?" room sLe heard the fingers of the prying rain busy at her windows, the ticking of tae small French clock, very dull, very far away —or was it her heart? "Who is it?" Her voice left her for an instant. Her dry lips made no answer, "Who is it?" he repeated iu his steady, pleasant voice. "It is I." There was absolute silence, so long that it frightened her, but before she could speak agaiu his voice was sound ing in her ears, patient, unconvinced: "I don't recognize your voice. Who am I speaking to?" "Sylvia." There was no response, and she spoke again: "I only wanted to say good morning. It is afternoon now. Is it too iate to say good morning?" "No. I'm badly rattled. Is it you, Sylvia?" "Indeed it is. I am in my own room. ]—I thought"— "Yes I am listening." "I don't know what I did think. Is it necess-'iry for me to telephone you a minute account of the mental proc esses which ended by my calling you up out of the vasty deep?" The old ring In her voice, hinting of the laughing undertone, the same trail ing sweetness of in flection —could he doubt his senses 9/ longer? "I know you now," he said. ... By ... ROBERT W. CHAMBERS. "I should think you might. I should very much like to know how you are— if you don't mind saying?" "Thnnk you. I seem to be all right. Are you all right, Sylvia?" "Shamefully arul outrageously well. What a season too! Everybody else is in rags—makeup rags! Isn't that a dis agreeable remark? But I'll come to the paint brush, too. of course. Wo all do. Doesn't anybody ever see you any more?" She heard him laugh to himself un pleasantly—then, "I«es anybody want to?" "Everybody, of course! You know it. You always were spoiled to death." "Yes—to death." "Stephen!" "Yes?" "Are you becoming cynical?" "I? Why should 1?" I "You are! Stop it! Mercy 011 us! If that is what is going on in a certain house on lower Fifth avenue, facing the corner of certain streets, It's time somebody dropped in to"— "To—what?" •'To the rescue! I've a mind to do it myself. They sny you are not well, either." "Who says that?" "Oh, the usual little ornithological cockatrice—or. rather, cantatrice. Don't ask me, because I won't tell you. I always tell you too much anyway. Don't I?" "Do you?" "Of course I do. Everybody spoils you, and so do I." "Yes—I am rather in that way, I suppose." "What way?" "Oh—s|oiled." "Stephen!" "Yes?" And in a lower voice, "Please don't say such things—will you?" "No." "Especially to me." "Especially to you. No, I won't, Sylvia." And, after a hesitation, she continu ed sweetly: "I wonder what you were doing, all alone in that old house of yours, when I called you up?" "I? Let me see. Oh, I was superin tending some, packing." "Are you going off somewhere?" "I think so." "Where?" "I don't know, Sylvia." "I decline to be snubbed. I'm shame less, and I wish to be informed. Please tell me." "I'd rather not tell you." "Very well. Goodby! But don't ring off just yet. Stephen. Do you think that some time you would care to see any people—I mean when you begin to go out agaiu?" "Who, for example?" "Why, anybody!" "No I don't think I should care to. I'm rather too busy to go about, even if I were inclined to." "Are you really busy, Stephen?" "Yes—waiting That is the very hardest sort of occupation, and I'm obliged to be on hand every minute." "But. you said that you were going out of town." "Did I? Well, I did not say it exact ly, but I am going to leave town." "For very long?" she asked. "Perhaps. I can't tell yet." "Stephen, before you go, if you are going for a very, very long while—per haps you will—you might care to say goodby." "Do you care to have me?" "Yes, I do." There was a silence, and when his voice sounded again it had altered. "I do not think you would care to see me, Sylvia. I—they say I am—I have changed—since my—since a slight illness. I am not over it yet, not cured —not very well yet, and a little tired, you see—a little shaken. I am leaving New York to—to try once more to be cured. I expect to be well—one way or another"— "Stephen, where are you going? An swer me!" "I can't answer you." "Is your illness serious?" "A—it is—it requires some—some care." Her fingers tightened around the re ceiver whitened to the delicate nails under the pressure. Mute, struggling with the mounting impulse, voice and lip unsteady, she still spoke with re straint: "You say you require care? And What care have you? Who is there With you? Answer me!" "Why, everybody—the servants.' 1 have care enough." "Oh, the servants! Have you a phy sician to advise you?" "Certainly—the best in the world. Sylvia, dea—Sylvia, I didn't mean to give you an impression"— "Stephen, I will have you truthful with me! I know perfectly well you are ill. I—if I could only-if there was something, some way— Listen: I am —I am going to do something about it, and I don't care very much what I do!" "What sweet nonsense!" he laughed, but his voice was 110 steadier than hers. 1 "Will you drive with me?" she asked Impulsively, "some afternoon?" "Sylvia, dear, you don't really want me to do it. Wait, listeu: I—1 ve got to tell you that—that I'm not fit for it. I've got to be honest with you. I am not fit, not in physical condition to go out Just yet. I've really been ill for weeks. Plank has been very nice to me. I want to get well. I mean to try very hard. But the man you knew —isT-cJiangts.l." "Changed?" "Not in that way!" he said in a slow voice. "I[-how, then?" she stammered, all ft-thrili. "Nerve gone almost. Going to get it back agaiu, of course. Feel mil lion times better already for talking with you." "Do—does it really help?" "It's the only panacea for me," he said, too quickly to consider his words. "The only one?" she faltered. "Do you mean to say that your trouble illness—has anything to do with"— "No. no! I only"— "Has it, Stephen?" "No!" "Because If I thought"— "Sylvia, I'm not that sort! You mustn't talk to 1110 that way. There's nothing to be sorry for about me. Any man may lose his nerve and, if he is a man. go after It and get It back again. Every man has a fighting chance. You said it yourself once— that a man mustn't ask for a fighting chance he must take it. And I'm go ing to take it and win out one way or another." "What do you mean by 'another,' Stephen?" "I Nothing. It's a phrase." "What do you mean? Answer me?" "It's a phrase." he said again: "no meaning, you know." "Stephen, Mr. Tlank says that you are lame." "What did he say that for?" demand ed Siward wrathfully. "I asked him. Kemp saw you on crutches at your window, so I asked Mr. Plank, and he said you had dis carded your crutches too soon and had fallen and lamed yourself again. Are you able to walk yet?" "Yes, of course." "Outdoors?" "A—no, not just yet." "In other words, you are practically bedridden." "No, no! I can get about the room very well." "You couldn't go downstairs for an hour's drive, could you?" "Can't manage that for awhile." he said hastily. "Oh. the vanity of you, Stephen Si ward! The vanity! Ashamed to let me see you when you are not your complete and magnificently attractive self! Silly, I shall see you! I shall drive down on the fU*st sunny morn ing and sit outside in my victoria un til you can't stand the tempxation an other instant. I'm going to do It. You cannot stop me. Nobody car. stop me. I desire to do it, and that is sufficient, I think, for everybody concerned. If the sun Is out tomorrow I shall be out too! I am so tired of not string you! Let central listen! I don't care. I don't care what I am saying. I've endured it so long-1— There's no use! I am too tired of it, and I want to see you. Can't we see each other without—with out—thinking about things that are Bettled once and for all?" "I can't," he said. "Then you'd better learn to! The Idea of you telling me you had lost your nerve! You've got to get it back -and help me find mine! Yes, it's gone, gone, gone! I lost it In the rain somewhere today. Does the scent of the rain come in at your window? Do you remember— There, I can't say it! Goodby, goodby! You must get well, and I must too. Goodby!" The fruit of her Imprudence was happiness—an excited happ iness, which lasted for a day. The rain lasted, too, for another day, then turned to snow, choking the city with such a fall as had not been seen since the great bliz zard. Sylvia, at her escritoire, chin cradled iu her hollowed hand, sat listlessly in specting her mail. She turned her head, looking wearily across the room at the brightly burn ing fire beside which Mrs. Ferrall sat, nibbling mint paste, very serious over one of those books that "everybody was reading." "What is the matter?" demanded Mrs. Ferrall, withdrawing her finger from the pages and plumping the closed book down on her knee. "I have been imprudent," said Syl via in a low voice. "You uittin"—Mrs. Ferrall looked at her keenly—"that he has been here?" "No. 1 telephoned him, and I asked him to drive with me." "Oh, Sylvia, what nonsense! Why on earth do you stir yourself up by that sort of silliness at this late date? What use is it? Can't you let him alone? Are you Stephen Siward's keeper?" "I felt as though I were for awhile. He Is ill." "With an illness that, thank God, you aro not going to nurse through life. Don't look at me that way, dear. I'm obliged to speak harshly I'm obliged to harden my heart to such a monstrous idea." "Grace, I cannot endure"— "You must! Are you trying to drug your silly self with romance so you won't recognize truth when you see it? There was no earthly reason for on to talk to Stephen. No disinterest ed impulse moved you. It was a sheer perverse, sentimental restlessness, the delicate, meddlesome deviltry of your race. And if that poison is in you it's well for you to know it." "It is in me," said Sylvia, staring at the fire. "Then you know what to do for it." "No, I don't." "Well, I do," said Grace de cisively, "and the sooner you marry Howard and intrench yourself behind your pride the better off you'll be. 'J?hat's where, a enough, you dif from your "It is 1n vie," said Sylvia. fer ancestors. You are unable to understand marital treachery. Otherwise you'd make it lively for »s. 4U." .. .. "It is true," said Sylvia deliberately, "that I could not be treacherous to anybody. But I am wondering—1 ain asking myself just what constitutes treachery to myself. I was In .ove with him. You knew it." "You liked him," insisted Grace pa tiently. "No loved him. I know. Dear, your theories are sound iu a general way. but what is a girl going to do about it when she loves a man? Could yon tell nie?" "If you uiurry him." said4 Mrs. Fer rall quietly, "your life will become a hell." "Yes. But would it make life any easier for him?" asked Sylvia. "How—to know that you had been dragged down?" "No I mean could 1 do anything for him." "No woman ever did. That is a sen timental falsehood of the emotional. No woman ever did help a man in that way. Sylvia, if love were the only question und if you do truly love him, I—well, 1 suppose I'd be fool enough to advise you to be a fool. Even then you'd be sorry. You know what your future may be. You know what you are fitted for. What can you do with out Howard? In this town your role would be a very minor one without Howard's money, and you know it." "Yes, I know it." "And your sacrifice could no. help that doomed boy." Sylvia nodded assent. "Then is there any choice? Is there any question of what to do?" Sylvia looked out into the. winter sky, through the tops of snowy trees. Everywhere the stark, deathly rigidity of winter! Under it, frozen, lay the rain that had scented the air. Under her ambition lay the ghosts of yester day. "No," she said, "there is no question of choice. I know what must be." (To Be Continued.) PHONES TO PROTECT CROPS. California Fruit Growers to Be Warned of Sudden Temperature Changes. The United States weather bureau recently put into operation a plan by which it is thought fruit growers throughout the orange belt of San Ber nardino. Riverside and Los Angeles counties will be given ample protec tion from damage to crops by frost, says a Los Angeles dispatch. In this district sudden changes in temperature are not unusual during winter months, and it has been found that the printed charts issued by the weather bureau do not insure suffi cient protection, especially in the re mote portions of the great orange belt. Arrangements have been completed by which it is possible to send warnings by telephone at any hour of the day or night. Substations have been estab lished, to which warnings will be sent, and from these substations the warn ings will be sent to growers, nearly all of whom have telephones a:id can be reached quickly. Whenever a sudden drop in temperature is expected it will be known at Los Angeles In ample time for the growers to protect their crops by smudging or in other ways. A clerk will be on duty at the Los Angeles office of the weather bureau at all hours to seud out such warnings. FUTURE OF AEROPLANES. Farman Expects Five Hour Aerial Line Between Paris and London. Henry Farman, the French aeronaut who recently won the Deatsch-Arch deacon prize, in an interview at Paris on the future of aerial navigation said that the best results iu aeroplane trav el would be had from a combination of the principles of the Blerfot machine and- the cubic cellular aeroplane used by Santos-Dumont and himself. For the present he regards aeroplanes as purely sporting machines, but expects their development to be rapid and foresees the time when in aeroplane omnibus will cover the distance be tween Paris and London in five hours. M. Farman feels certain that within twelve mouths aeroplanes will be able to travel seventy-five to a hundred miles at an insignificant cost compared with the expense of running an auto mobile for the same distance. !#!8f3 iS9£S&gBe.> The Ruling Passion. (Washington star.) Don Marino Torlonia, of the ductal family of Torlonia of Home, said at.a dinner party in New York that a cer tain American millionaire reminded hhn of the famous Roman miser, Ar pagnio. "Let me," said the tall young man, smiling, "show you what a tremend ous miser Arpagnio was. As he lay I dying- in his cold, dark, bare palace of stone on the Corso his one thought was that, since he was too 111 to eat, a full lire a day was being saved on the food bill. The doctor was announced. The doctor, after feeling Arpagnio's pulse, looked grave. 'Well,' said the miser, 'how much longer have I to live?' 'Only half an hour,' was the re ply. "Arpagnio's eyes flashed fire. "'You scoundrel!' he cried, 'Why do you let things run on to the last min ute like this? Do you want to ruin me? Send for the barber at once.' "The barber arrived post haste. 'You charge,' said Arpagnio, "20 centes-iml for shaving?' 'yes, signor.' '"And for shaving a corpse 5 lire?' 'Yes.' "Arpagnio glanced at the clock. Sev- .. :.y_ ......i.jull still. tllJdilltU. "x'utu'jsuavjt nit iiuiciay, lie gasped. ".IS Ule uytra-uou uiiici.au ^.x^at,uii aim. j_,ut vviai ms 14.01 uiuaUi, aiUiuug ut: iiiurniuicu, vvimo uie Dar jjui uiicd liis com, pale outsells: 'now splendiu! uur ure and boi ceiitea-mii saved!'" 4 Historical Evidence. (Harper's Weekly) The late Riehard Mansfield was a patient sufferer in his last Illness, and lie retained his good cheer to a marked degree. One day he told his physician that be believed he would not live many weeks longer. "Bosh," said the physician. "You are good for a long time yet. Why, man alive, did you e'er hear of any body near death iwlth legs and feet as warm as yours?" "Yes," replied Mr. Mansfield, "lots of 'them. For instance, there was Joan of Arc and the Salem witches.' These meals are always ready ahcl what do you know that's so good? You will never bake beans at home again when you once learn the difference between yours and Van Camp's. Note how nutty our beans are—how mealy. None are browned, none are broken all are baked alike. And note what a delicious blend we get. It comes from baking the beans, the tomato sauce and the pork all together. It isn't your fault, but you cannot be gin to bake beans as we bake them You lack the facilities. Beans must be baked in a very fierce heat, else they are not digestible. t, We bake ours 90 minutes at 245 degrees. Then we bake in live steam. That's why our beans don't brown, don't burst. That is why they are all baked: alike, and baked well. That's why they are mealy, yet nutty. Van Camp's pork and beans baked with tomato sauce Then you can't get the beans that we get, for ours ar* selected by hand from the choicest beans grown. We pay for them seven times what some beans would cost. Then our tomatoes are ripened on the vines—not in shipment. They are picked when the juice fairly sparkles. That gives to our sauce the zest which you don't get in other sauce. v- The millions of people who know Van Camp's never want home-baked beans We have spent 47 years in learning how to best prepare this dish. Is it any wonder we know Don't judge Van Camp's by some other brands that are 1 cheapened at every point. It pays to get the best in beans, because your people will eat them more frequently eat, them in place of meat. y\ 1 And beans are Nature's choicest food—84 per cent nutriment. 10,15 and 20? per can. Van Camp Packing Company, Indianapolis, ind. *1 ,,5 S«sSf k.. .. Was Accommodating. (Weekly Telegraph) ill A rector's wife has placed on record that she wrote to the village butcher, he replied with a note to this effect: "Dear Madam! I have not killed my self this week, but can get you a leg off my brother if that will do." 5 W 1 $ 3 *'1 S'i .Vr Xvt -Mir l-ir* •a-vs 1 mm®?. mv.