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Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, February 17, 1908, Image 5

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Republican NationalConvention
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.
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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."
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