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RICHMOND DAILY. PALLADIUM, FRIDAY, MARCH 18, 1904.
i . BEVEL Effective Feb. 7th, 1904 EAST ASD SOUTH AM No. 2 Daily ... 8..tt . . . .35 ... .: AM 2N.- 1 l.'aily I'M No. 4 litUy ex. Sun. 5.05 t.s5 PM No. 3 Dally PM No. Sua only .35 7.-.0 .10 L.v Klcbmond Cottage throve Ar Cincinnati .... IjV Cincinnati Ar Richmond -i.00 N jIU'H AND WEST AM PM No.l 10.-20 No. 3 s.oo fjV Klch:nind Ar M u u-le : Ar Mrtiion Ar Peru Ar North Judson . . ...11.50 JS.5"'pm lt.!W . . 4.05pm AM AM No. -I Nc.4 liailv Dally PM No. San osly ex. Sun. 10. 10am " 5 15 12. 10pm 2 50 !! a'.M 4.ipm tf.35 lv North Judson LiV Peru Ar Richmond .... For rates or Information regarding con ections Inquire of , C. A 1jA1 tv. nectlons inqui Home Phone 44 TRAINS Every Day Hnncie, Marion, Pern and Northern Indiana cities via G. G. & L Leave Richmond Daily, 10:20 am 8:00 p m Through tickets sold to ali points. For particulars enquire o C. A. Blair. C. P. A, Home Tel. 4 $150,000. FOR. Athletic Events in the Great Arena at the Exposition FOR A ROUTX XookattheMa 3 OF THE SHORT LINES a fine On Street Car Line In Boulevard Addition s AT A BARGAIN W. H, Bradbury & Son Westcott XSlock. TIME TABLE. On Sundays Cars Leave One Trip Later. First car leaves Richmond for In dianapolis at 5 a. m. First car leaves Dublin for Rich mond at 5 a. m. Every car for Indianapolis leaves Richmond on the odd hour, from 6:00 a. m. to 7:00 p. m. First car leaves Indianapolis for Richmond at 7:00 a. m. and every other hour thereafter until 5:00 p. m. Hourly service from Richmond to Dublin and intermediate points, from 5:00 a, m. to 11:00 p. in. Subject to change without notice.. RATE OF FARE. Riehmond to Graves $0.05 to Centerville 10 to Jackson Park . . . .15 to "Washington Rd . .15 to Germantown . . . .20 to Cambridge City . .25 to Dublin 30 to Indianapolis . ... 1.05 Hotel Rates St. Lonia World's Pair. For copy of World's Fair official Mmphlet, naming Hotel accommoda ions and rates during Universal Ex position of 1904, address E. A. Ford, General Passenger Agrent Pennsylva-lia-Vandalia Lines, Pittsburg, Pa. A i V- 1904 - t i7 I s The Use of Arm. Heart Trouble. 'Could Not Eat, Sleep or WalK. Dr. Miles' Heart Cure Cured Entirely. "If it hadn't been for Dr. Miles Remedies I would not be here to write this letter. Two years ago last June I lose the use of my left arm, could not use it and could only move it with the help of my right hand. My heart was so weak I could not sleep nights for smothering spells. I was out of sorts all over and could eat nothing. I grew so weak that I could not walk without staggering like drunken man and my home doctor said he could do nothing for me. I was in so much pain I was almost wild. I could not take morphine nor opium as they made me worse. So I got to thinking about Dr. Miles Heart Cure and Nervine and the more I thought about it the more 1 wanted to try them. I wrote to the Dr. Miles Medical Co. for ad rice which I followed to the letter. I can say today that 1 am clad I did as 1 am a well woman now; can work and can wa.k two or three miles and not mind it 1 can also use my arm again as well as ever. You do not know how thankful I am for those grand medicines - Dr. Miles' New Heart Cure mJ Nervine. 1 think Dr. Miles Remedies re the best in the world, and if 1 should get iick again I should take the same course. The remedies also helped my daughter Vida o wonderfully that I should have written rou before to thank you, but I wanted to be ;ure that the cure was permanent, which 1 tow know to be the case. Mrs. Frank ooinis, Allen, Mich. All druggists sell and guarantee first bot ie Dr. Miles' Remedies. Send for free book n Nervous and Heart Diseases. Addres Dr. Miles Meaical Co., Elkhart, Ind LucasCold Water Paint For Interior Decorations has no equal. Can he annlied over rough finished wall or over oil paint. Costs little more than calcimine or white wash, but lasts indefinitely longer and does not rub off. wet or dry. Sanitary. Fireproof, Durable, Odor less. For Sale at HOENADATS Hardware Store, Phone199 861 Main- Pensylrania Lines TIME TABLE CINCINNATI AND CHICAGO DIV. In Eflect 2 p. m , Feb 1ft, 1901. Arrive westward Depart Rich and Logan Ac Ex t.4o am 11.10 am 12.30 pra 4.45 pm 7.2-" pm IO.jO pm 11.00 pm 4.0."i am . Chicago Mail and Ex ll.lam Cin and Mack Ev Cin and Loean Ex 5.00 pm Cin and Rich Ac Ex Cin and Mack Mail and Ex Cin and Chi Mail and Ex 11.15 pm EASTWARD Chi and Cin Mail and Ex Mack and Cin Mail and Ex Rich and Cin Ac Ex Logan and Cin Ac Ex Mack and Cin Ex Fast South Ex and Mail Logan and Rich Ac 4 15 am 5.15 am 7.0" am 10.10 am 3.45 pm 4.00 pm 9.48 am 3.55 pm 5.40 pm COLUMBUS AND INDIANAPOLIS In EfTect 9 a. m , Nov.JW. WESTWARD DIV. 4.15 am N Y and St L Mail St L Fast Ex St L Fast Mail and Ex Col and Ind Ac Ex N Y and St L Mail and Ex Col and Ind Ac Ex 4 50 am 4.45 am 10.15 am 10.30 am 1 25 pm 10 10 pm i. am am 2 57 pm 7 30 pm 10.25 am 1.2J pm 9.15 pm EASTWARD 5 ifam St L and N Y Mail ar' " 9 45 am Ind and Col Ac Mail i "t 9.50 am St L 8nd N Y Fast ' 3.45 pr.i Ind and Col Ai 4.5 pm Pen n a Special (W I) 7 '20 pm St L and N Y Mall ani x. 8.40 pm St L and N Y Limited Ex DAYTON AND XENIA DIV. In Effect 12.01 p. m., Jan. 21 WESTWARD St L Fast Ex Springfd and Rich Ac St L Fast Mail and Ex Sprin and Rich Mail and Ex EASTWARD Rich and Sprin Mail and Ex Rich and Xenia Ac Ex N Y Fast Mail 1'enna Special Mail and Ex St L and N Y Limited Ex 1:57 am 10.00 am 10 10 am 10.02 pm 5 . '50 am 8.15 am 9 55 am 4.55 pm 8.49 pm GRAND RAPIDS AND INDIANA RY. n Efiect 8 a. m., Feb. 1 SOUTHWARD Mack and Cin Mail and Ex Ft W and Rich Mail and Kx Mack and Cin Mall and Ex Sunday Ac NORTHWARD Rich and G R Mail and Ex 5.4 am Cin and Mack Mail and Ex 12.50 pm Cin and Mack Mail and Ex 10.55 pm 4.35 am 9.42 am 3.40 pm 9.45 pm Daily. jj Sunday only. All trains, unless otherwise indicated, depart and arrive daily, except Sunday. TIME TABLE Dayton and Western Traction Co. In eflect January 25, 1901. Cars leave union station, south 8th St., every hour 6:00, 7:45, and 45 minutes after every hour until 7:45 p. m., 9:00, 9:15 and 11 p. m., 'for New Westville. Eaton. West Alexandria, Dayton, Xenia; Tippecanoe, Troy, Piqua, Spring field. Urbana, London, Columbus. Last car to Dayton at 9 p. m stops only at New Westvill e.New Hope, h,atpu, wt Al xander'a and way point. ast. 9.15 and 11 D. m. to West Alexandria New Paris local car leaves at 4 50 fi:20, 8;20. 10;2O a. m., 12:20, 2:20 and :30 pm. For further information call phone 2(H). C. O. BAKKR, Agent. w I Tike h.j 4 Copyright. 1901. by Charles W. Hooke (Continued.) 1 h"a?l been told that a place" In one of the vehicles had been reserved for me, but I had received no proper warn ing about it. "You'll have a nice girl to talk to,' Cushing had said, but he had been even less lucid in describing her than my father In describing Sibyl. If my friend had shown me a rea sonably good portrait of Anna La rnoine, I think I should have found the strength to decline the invitation. It was not the proper time for me to run any risks. At the first glance the young lady affected me most singularly. She had remarkable eyes, rather long and under level, finely marked brows, the iris be ing of a warm brown, darkening very slightly toward the pupil, and thus giv ing an effect of intensity. When she looked at me, it seemed as if those eyes meant more than ordinary, but what they meant I could not guess. They embarrassed and at the same time enticed me. . She had unusual color in the lips, which were delicately molded, yet rather full. Upon the whole, the lower part ef the face was the more encour aging to the physiognomist, promising such qualities as are prized in women. The brow looked dangerously intelli gent, and the eyes were an unfathom able puzzle. I speak of these matters with par ticularity because her face impressed me thus in detail rather than in gen eral. For this reason I did not think of her as a beautiful woman; one does not pick beauty to pieces. Miss La moine's countenance was interesting and notable; she would surely be a girl to twist the necks of people as she walked along the street. As a rule, I am not attracted by a startling woman; I prefer the perfection of a type, the beauty that may pass unno ticed except by the discerning. How ever, upon this occasion I was not in a mood to be exacting. The fact is that I was happy, jolly, out for a good time. The previous day had left its mark on me, and the shadows of the night were gone. I was glad through and through that I had found my father so hale and strong, so prosperous and cheery. My affec tion for him brightened the world, it made the thought of my own fortunate condition an unmixed delight, for be tween us there could be no question of burdensome obligation. Moreover, I had my own ideas of useful and agreeable work in the future, and the present Avas a holiday. Mr. and Mrs. Gushing, who rode with us, were in high spirits. I had never met the lady before, but we were friends in three minutes. That couple were the sort of people who laugh, not vacantly, but from the sense of humor. They seemed to find a jest in every thing, and as a rule it was a good one. Miss Lamoiiie entered into the spirit of the occasion, yet with a different manner. She seemed to have her own view of matters, even the most trivial, and she gave this impression in a way that is wholly indefinable, She was not in the slightest degree rtlcent as that word is ordinarily un- reticent derstood, and yet often, when she had finished speaking, I caught myself waiting for her to proceed and after ward vaguely wondering what she would have said had she not chosen to withhold a part. Yet her manner was so perfectly unaffected that the elusive nature of her thought constituted a sin gular fascination. She produced upon me the effect of one who by virtue of some unique experience or natural gift beholds in all things more than is seen by the general. It is possible that 1 exaggerated her powers. It may be that I thought her a seeress because she could see through me no very great feat as I view it now. One will meet in this life now and then a person who, without en croachment or the faintest suggestion of an overproinpt familiarity, will dis play at the first meeting that compre hension which one expects only from a friend. When that person is a pretty girl, the effect is most deliciously flat tering to a man whose nature is not too gross for the perception of such matters. He longs to respond, and if he fails not blunderingly, but by a se ries of too small successes, why, the chances are that the poor fellow will not know when to stop trying. I didn't. The day at the golf links developed no important incident. I had a re markably good time enjoyed every thing, met strangers with an affability quite foreign to my nature, took a deep Interest in golf, though it was a wholly new game to me, and in flirtation, which was not a new game, yet differ ent this time. Two days later I awoke with a start, not from slumber, of course, nor from any form of coma, simply from fol ly. It was a letter from my father that woke me. Naturally there was not a word in it that remotely referred to Miss Lamoine, of whose existence I had no reason to suppose that he had ever heard. There was no mention of Sibyl. There was merely the common place phrase, "You'll be coming home in a day or two." Ye- I'd be com.ln& home. 4- idee "Tuif mmm im inTifa am fltettHliM Girl off. the Hy . . Hobejard Fielding kind or a prodigal, " 1 Tiad wastPu my heart. The thought went through my head, and grotesquely I was reminded of a misreading of the Scripture com mitted many years ago by a fellow scholar in the Sunday school, "And they killed him for a fatted calf." That was what I had been, just a calf, and killing would be too good for me. Knowing my father's wishes, I had kicked up my heels, jumped the fence and fallen in love with the first female of my species that had come in my way. I sat down In a quiet corner of my apartments to think the thing over. The situation was somewhat peculiar, and fortunately it seemed to involve no misery to any one except myself. Be yond a doubt I was hard hit. My head and heart were full of that girl. Yet I had not made love to her, not the least in the world. If I had cared less, I should have said more. I had often done so, liar that I am in common with other men. In the present instance there was not a word that needed to be recalled, and the realization of that fact came to me like a blessed miracle. However, the girl was not blind. She occupied the extreme opposite end of. the scale of visual power. I could fan cy her reading my secret in the small est of the flowers that I had sent to Cushing's house, where she lived. Theoretically I was not in love with her. Love, in my way of thinking, de pends upon intimate acquaintance. I am skeptical about the early blooming variety of this flower. It is usually a weed, and the thing to do is to pull it right up by the roots. I knew very little about Miss La moine. Cushing had told me that she was an orphan, without a penny of her own, and that she lived with relatives in some small city in Michigan. I did not catch the name of the place. I have an inquisitive disposition and , know it and therefore refrain from ' asking any questions except such as are absolutely necessary. However, I usually require considerable informa tion before taking important action, and falling in love is important. As to Miss Lamoine's share in the matter, I had no reason to suspect that she cared seriously for me. It lay on my mind that I had been making a fool of myself in a quiet, inoffensive, gen tlemanly way and that the lady had found the spectacle amusing. I was faintly suspicious that she liked to be amused in that fashion. Whether that notion were true or false, there was an easy way of setting all things right. I called upon Miss Lamoine that evening, and we had a very frank and friendly talk, as it seemed to me. I confided to her that there was a very nice girl whom I had not seen in some years, not since her childhood, in fact, and she was now 19. She had been a charming child, in every way lovable, and I had no doubt that the promise of her youth had been in every way fulfilled. In that statement it will be observed that I stuck close to my father's word, but it sounded cold. I needed something more to meet the exigencies of the situation and to sus tain my own spirits, which were get ting rather low, and so I dilated a ! "Pon Sibyl s merits using that gift of ea, imaginative discourse which some narsn persons nave eaiieu iyiu. Sibyl would not have recognized her self had she been present, but I felt at the moment that she could not have helped being pleased. My father's heart was strongly set upon the match, I said, and it was a great joy to me that my memories of Sibyl should be as they were, alto gether charming and alluring. It was, of course, too much to hope that she would care for me. I could not ven ture to predict sd fortunat an event. If Miss Lamoine would not take it as a bid for a compliment, I would say that I regarded myself as a mere joke. The best that I could hope for was that Sibyl would think she could enjoy laughing at me all her life. "Make her laugh all you can," said Miss Lamoine, eying me in her peculiar way. "Don't make her cry." "You think me fickle," said I stupid ly, and she floored me with the gentle question: "Why should 1?" Without waiting, for me to attempt an answer she proceeded to speak kind ly of my disclosure. She was glad that I had told her; she was flattered by my confidence; she wished me all suc cess and happiness. I had introduced this subject very well, considering that I am, as a rule, awkward and overprecise in beginning a new theme, though fluent enough when once fairly started. It had seem ed to grow naturally out of the conver sation, and Miss Lamoine's tact pre served the scene from the peril of being too relevant. I could not specify a word or a look of hers that gave the smallest hint that she guessed why I had given her this page of family his tory. And yet I bore away from this interview the suspicion that she un derstood me perfectly and held in re gard to my character and conduct an opinion which I would give much to know. It was my Intention to go to Chicago on the following day, but somehow 1 WMSwt 1 If z fl y -r I discovered that we were not to be alone. didn't go. Instead I spent the hours in a purposeless fashion, consulting time tables with needless frequency and al ways selecting a later train. In the afternoon I sent some roses to Cush ing's house, and in the evening I called. A servant ushered me in the direc tion of the billiard room, but Cushing met me half way, having heard my voice in the hall. His usually jovial countenance was clouded, and there was a trace of embarrassment in his manner. "Miss Lamoine has gone," he said. "She left us today. Itather unexpected. We hoped to keep her a few days lon ger." "Gone!" said I. "That's too bad." "Yes," he replied, caressing the back of a chair as if he were concerned about the condition of the varnish, "too bad; too bad. Mrs. Cushing isn't feel ing very well," he added, facing me again. "Hot weather; we ought to have been out of town before this. Come into the billiard room. We'll have a quiet smoke." 1 accepted the invitation readily, for I felt much Inclined to talk about Miss Lamoine; but upon entering the room I discovered that we were not to be alone. A squarely built, dark and som ber young man was wedged into one end of a window seat and a great cloud of smoke was eddying round his head. It appeared, when we were introduced, that his name was Derringer. I dislike names that mean anything; they should be all changed by act of the legislature into pleasant sounding syllables or combinations that can sug gest nothing until one has learned to associate them with the persons them selves. To him who has an instinctive appreciation of words it is disagreeable to have for his acquaiiitar.ee an assort ment of colors, occupations, birds, beasts and implements. Why, for in stance, should this handsome but some what tragic young man be ticketed for all his life as an old fashioned shooting iron ? Mr. Derringer greeted me agreeably, but he seemed not to be a loquacious man. Cushing was more silent than I had ever before known him to be. A "quiet smoke" was what I had been invited to enjoy, and of a certainty I had it. The stillness became oppres sive after an hour or more, and I took a somewhat hasty leave. At midnight I was lying in a berth of a sleeping car trying to shut my eyes in such a way that 1 should not see Anna Lamoine's face looking at me out of the dark. CHAPTER III. VIEWED FROM THE OTHER SIDE. A BO YE all the other virtues 1 admire self control. I would rather do a foolish thing calmly than make the wisest possible decision by accident in a state of mental confusion. This preference for rational conduct asserted itself strongly while I was eating breakfast on the train. Having finished the meal, I lit a cigar in the smoking compart ment and sat down to "think the thing out." It is possible to be mistaken about the functions of the brain. The brain possesses a nominal authority. It is the pilot, and the heart is the engineer. The pilot rings the bell, but he doesn't stop the machinery. As it usually stops at his command, he grows into the pleasing belief that he controls it. Then comes the sad and awful day when he rings one bell to slow down, another to stop and two to back, but the wheels go on turning full speed ahead. It is no use swearing down the speaking tube, my friend. If there's no response 1o the bell, talking won't mend matters. Keep cool and enjoy the smash lip. It is going to be a good one. And hang on to the wheel. Though the craft be running away, you may be able to pick out a soft spot in the rocks. This crude little allegory will serve as a description of my entire day on that train. I couldn't stop the emo tional part of my nature. It had nev er behaved so before. I had found out upon several occasions that I was. be coming too much interested, and some times I had rung the bell a little late, but there had been no disasters. This time there was one in plain sight, right ahead. For it was a perfect certainty that if I should meet Sibyl while my heart was in this condition I should wreck every mutual prospect of our lives. It would be grossly unfair to her. Beyond a doubt she must know of my father's wish, and no stretch of mod esty could blind me to the fact that she must be in some small degree fa vorably disposed toward me. Other wise she would have checked my fa ther's hopes. I could not think of Sibyl as humbly subservient in such a mat ter. So far as I could remember her at all, It seemed to me that as a child she had exhibited a remarkable strength and evenness of purpose. My father would be the last man in the world to break the will or eradicate the individ uality of. .any child lu lis care, lie was one who would read uutur'?'$ plan and accept it for the best, striving only to see that it should be perfectly car ried out. So Sibyl would to a girl with a mind of her own. r r She must remember me, of course, far better than I remembered her. ; I had changed somewhat to the eye. but the alteration was a vast improvement. She had been a keen child by ail that my father used to tell me about her. No doubt she knew me very well. It was fair to assume that I must In some way have impressed her favorably, so that she could think of me with no very great rebellion when my father talked of me to her. Keally it was hard for me to take that view, but there was no other. Perhaps the child remember ed how I used to sing to her one sum mer when I was at home for a week or two. She must have been 10 years old then, and she was vers fond of music must have been, indeed, to stand my singing for two or three hours at a stretch hi the dark drawing room of an evening. It was always dark, for the child said that a light spoiled mu sic for her. In reality she was bash ful and afraid that I would look at her, afraid that I would see the tears she shed at sentimental songs. I was singing heart breakers that summer, having suffered some slight damage In the matter of a young lady who mar ried another fellow. All of which is merely to say that Sibyl must have reconciled herself to me as a manifest destiny and that it would be utterly impossible for me to reconcile myself to her while my heart was raging for Anna Lamoine. I should Inevitably dislike her, especially as she could have no strong personal attrac tion, no charm to catch the eye. If she had possessed physical beauty, meeting her might well have set me right, for beauty counts at the start, and quali ties are so slow. I had no doubt that she was a splen did woman in all that makes a soul more luminous than the dull average. My father was sure of it, and really in all this internal struggle I was greatly influenced by his opinion. If he be lieved that Sibyl was the ideal woman for me, she probably was. That's the fact about it. and I never quite let go of that conviction. But that was in my head; my heart had a conviction of its own, which was that I stood upon the verge of an awful mistake; my heart was afraid. It said to me: "What are you doing here? (Jo find Anna La moine. You have a chance now. Why did she run away from New York as soon as you had told her, in effect, that 3ou were engaged to another girl? What was it that your friend Cushing thought was 'too bad?' Don't be so modest; the girl had begun to love you, but while you're spending all this sum mer trying to love somebody else what will she be doing?" The result "of it all was that I fell into a sort of panic. I lost my wits In the face of this problem for the solu tion of which I had no adequate data. Upon the one' hand I really kneAV noth ing about Sibyl; upon the other I knew next to nothing about Anna. I knew not mv own state. I was not in love; I was merely entranced by the mystery of a woman's eyes, by the sweet un ceasing echo of her voice, by the witchery of a beautiful puzzle, baffling as the words one hears in a dream and, waking, vainly struggles to remember. So far as I attained to any plan of action, it seemed best to be honest, to tell my father the exact facts and then, with his consent, start off upon a quest that should resolve my doubts. A re newal of my acquaintance with Miss Lamoine might free me from her spell. It would require some time to find her, for I doubted whether Cushing would give me her address if I should tele graph him for it, and I had no other clew. By the time I had found her she might be engaged to a multimillionaire with two steam yachts, and I could re turn to Sibyl with that ease of mind which the wise preserve in the midst of their desire for the unattainable. I rode upon a slow train, due at 9 o'clock in the morning. My father met me with a carriage. He was in a cheerful mood, such as I rarely attain at that hour in the day, and cheer fulness is a great advantage. More over, my courage is always weakest before breakfast. I dreaded our inter view. We shook hands, and I inquired re garding his health, which I knew to be perfect by the look of him. Then I said. "How is Sibyl?" because the ques tion would please him. He replied that she was very well at the last re port. "Last report!" I echoed, pausing, with one foot on the step of the carriage. "Do you mean that she hasn't come home yet?" "Sibyl is out of town," said he, ex tending a hand as if to help me up. Here was a chance for procrastina tion, which is my favorite amusement. With a feeling of relief I sank into the seat beside him, and we conversed up on unimportant topics until we reached the house. The old home looked much the same from the street, but I found consider able changes within. The furnishings were more luxurious, the arrangement of the rooms upon the ground floor was different, and at the rear a very ele gant library with a domed roof had been added. The stairs sweep round and bring on toward the front of the house. At the head of them my father opened a door. "Slbvl's sittbur room." said he. (To be continued.) r LOST A small fiat brown purse, with two clasps, containing three one dollar hills and forty cents in change, also ticket from Conncrs ville to Cambridge City and return. Leave at this office and get reward. 4 W V