Newspaper Page Text
HOPKINS ADAMS The MILLION DOLLAR DOG To this day. Average Jones main tains that he felt a distinct thrill at first sight of the advertisement. Yet fate might well have chosen a more appropriate ambush in anyone of a hundred of the strange clippings which were grist to the Ad-Visor's mill. Out of a bulky pile of the day’s paragraphs, however, it was this one that leaped, significant,.to his eye: WANTED-TEN THOUSAND LOATHLY black beetles, by a leaseholder who con tracted to leave a house in the same con dition as he found it. Ackroyd, 100 W. Sixteenth St., New York. "Black beetles, eh?” observed Aver age Jones. “This Ackroyd person seems to be a merry little jester. Well, I’m feeling rather Jocular, myself, this morning. How does one collect black beetles, I wonder? When in doubt, inquire of the resourceful Simpson.” He pressed a button and his con fidential clerk entered. “Good morning, Simpson," said Av erage Jones. "Are you acquainted with that shy but pervasive animal, the domestic black beetle?" "Yes, sir; 1 board," Simpson simply. “I suppose there aren’t ten thousand black beetles in your boarding house, though?" inquired Average Jones. Simpson took it under advisement. “Hardly,” he decided. "I’ve got to have ’em to fill an or der. At least, I’ve got to have an in stallment of ’em, and tomorrow.” "Ramson, down on Fulton street, will have them, if anyone has,” Simp son said presently. “He does busi ness under the title of the Insect Nemesis, you know. I'll go there at once.” Returning to his routine work, Av erage Jones found himself unable to dislodge the advertisement from his mind. So presently he gave way to temptation, called up Bertram at the Cosmic club, and asked him to come to the Astor Court temple offices at bis convenience. Scenting more ad venture, Bertram found it convenient to come promptly. Average Jones handed him the clipping. Bertram read it with ascending eyebrows. “What’s at One Hundred West Six teenth street?" demanded Jones. "One Hundred West Sixteenth; let me see. Why, of course; it's the old Feltner mansion. You must know it. It has a walled garden at the side; the only one left in the city, south of Central Park.” "Anyone named Ackroyd there?” “That must be Hawley Ackroyd. I remember, now, hearing that he had rented it. Judge Ackroyd, you know, better known as ‘Oily’ Ackroyd. He’s a smooth old rascal.” "Indeed? What particular sort?” “Oh, most sorts, in private. Pro fessionally, he’s a legislative crook; head lobbyist of the Consolidated.” “Ever hear of his collecting in sects?” “Never heard of his collecting any thing but graft. In fact, he’d have been in jail years ago, but for bis fam ily connections. He married a Van Haltern. You remember the famous Van Haltern will case, surely; the milliou-doilar dog. The papers fairly reeked of it a year ago. Sylvia Gra ham Lad to take the dog, and leave the country to escape the notoriety. She’s back now, I believe.” T’ve heard of Miss Graham,” re marked Average Jones. “Well, if you’ve only heard of her and not seen her,” returned Bertram, with something as nearly resembling enthusiasm as his habitual languor permitted, “you’ve got something to look forward to. Sylvia Graham is a distinct asset to the Scheme of Crea tion.” “An asset with assets of her own, I believe.” said Average Jones. “The million dollars left by her grandmoth er, old Mrs. Van Haltern, goes to her eventually, doesn’t it?" “Provided she carries out the terms of the will, keeps the dog in proper luxury and buries him in the grave on the family estate at Schuylkill des ignated by the testator. If these terms are not rigidly carried out, the for tune la to be divided, most of it go ing to Mrs. Hawley Ackroyd, which would mean the judge himself.” “H’m. What about Mrs. Ackroyd?” “Poor, sickly, frightened lady! She's very fond of vSylvia Graham, who is her niece. Rut she’s completely domi nated by her husband.” “Information is your long suit, Bert. Now, if you only had intelligence to correspond—” Average Jones broke off and grinned mildly, first at his friend, then at the advertisement. Bertram caught up the paper and studied iL “Well, what does it mean?” he demanded. “It means that Ackroyd. being about to give up his rented house, intends to saddle it with a bad name.” “It would be just like Oily Ack royd,” remarked Bertram. "He’s a vindictive scoundrel. Only a few days ago, he nearly killed a poor devil of a drug clerk, over some trifling dispute. He managed to keep it out of the newspapers but he had to pay a stiff line.” “That might be worth looking up, too,” ruminated Average Jones thoughtfully. He turned to his telephone in an swer to a ring. “All right, come in, filmpson,’ r he said. The confidential clerk appeared. “Ramson says that regular black bee tles are out of season, sir," be re ported. “But be can send to the country and dig up plenty of red-and black ones." “That will do," returned the Ad- Visor. “Tell him to hare two or three hundred here tomorrow morning.” Bertram bent a severe gaze on his friend. “Meaning that you’re going to follow up this freak affair?" he in quired. “Just that. I can’t explain why, but —well, Bert, it’r a hunch. At the worst, Ackroyd’s face when he sees the beetles should be worth the money." Thus is was that, on the morning after this dialogue, a clean-built young fellow walked along West Six teenth street. He was rather shabby looking. On the evidence of the band box which he carried, his mission should have been menial; but he bore himself wholly unlike one subdued to petty employments. His steady, gray eyes showed a glint of anticipation as he turned in at the gate of the high, broad, brown house standing back, aloof and indignant, from the roaring encroachments of trade. He set his burden down and pulled the bell. The door opened promptly to the deep, far-away clangor. A flashing impression of girlish freshness, vigor, and grace was disclosed to the caller against a background of interior gloom. The girl glanced not at him, but at the box, and spoke a trifle im patiently. “If it’s my hat, it’s very late." “It isn’t, miss. It’s the insects." “The what?" “The bugs, miss." He extracted from his pocket a slip of paper, looked from it to the num bered door, as one verifying an ad dress, snd handed it to her. “From yesterday’s copy of the Ban ner, miss. You’re not going back on that, surely,” he said somewhat re proachfully. She read, and as she read her eyes widened to lakes of limpid brown. Then they crinkled at the corners, and her laugh arose from the mid tone contralto, to a high, blrdllke trill of joyousness. "It must have been uncle,” she gasped finally. “He said he’d be quits with the real estate agent before he left. How perfectly absurd! And are those the creatures in that box?” “The first couple of hundred of ’em, Miss Ackroyd." The girl looked at him with suspi cion, but his face was blankly inno cent. “I'm not Miss Ackroyd,” she began with emphasis, when a querulous voice from an inner room called out: “Whom are you talking to, Sylvia?” “A young man with a boxful of beetles,” returned the girl. Average Jones mutely held up the box in one hand and the advertise ment in the other. “Very well,” said the girl, in demure tones, though lambent mirth still flick ered, golden, in the depths of the brown eyes. “If you persist, I can only suggest that you come back when Judge Ackroyd is here. You won‘t find him particularly amenable to hu mor, particularly when perpetrated by a practical joker in masquerade." “Discovered,” murmured Average Jones. “I don’t ask any real reason for your extraordinary call," pursued the girl with a glint of mischief in her eyes, “but auntie thinks you’ve come to steal my dog. She thinks that of everyone lately." "Auntie? Your dog? Then you’re Sylvia Graham. I might have known it." “I don’t know how you might have known it. But I am Sylvia Graham — if you Insist on introducing me to yourself." “Miss Graham,” said the visitor promptly and gravely, “let me present A. V. R. E, Jones, a friend —’’ “Not the famous Average Jones!” cried the girl. “That is why your face seemed so familiar. I’ve seen your picture at Edna Hale’s. You got her ‘blue fires’ back for her. But really, that hardly explains your be ing here, in this way, you know.” “Frankly, Miss Graham, it was just as a lark that I answered the adver tisement. But now that I’m here and find you here, it looks —er —as if it might —er —be more serious," A tinge of pink came into the girl’s cheeks, but she answered lightly enough: “Indeed, it may, for you, if uncle finds you here with those beetles.” "Never mind me or the beetles. I’d like to know about the dog that your aunt is worrying over. Is he here with you?" The soft curve of Miss Graham’s lips straightened a little. “I really think,” she said with decision, “that you had better explain further before questioning." “Nothing simpler. Once upon a time there lived a crack-brained young Don Quixote who wandered through an age of buried romance piously searching for trouble. And, twice upon a time, there dwelt in an enchanted stone castle in West Sixteenth street an en chanting young damsel in distress —" “I’m not a damsel in distress.” in terrupted Miss Graham, passing over the adjective. The young man leaned to her. The half smile had passed from his lips, and his eyes were very grave. “Not —er —if your dog were to —er— disappear?” he drawled quietly. The swift unexpectedness of the counter broke down the girl’s guard. “You mean Uncle Hawley,” she said. “And your suspicions jump with mine." “They don’t!” she denied hotly. “You’re very unjust and impertinent." “I don’t mean to he impertinent,” he said evenly. “And I have no mo nopoly of injustice.” “What do you know about Uncle Hawley?" “Your aunt —” “I won’t hear a word against my aunt." “Not from me, be assured. Your aunt, so you have just told me, be lieves that your dog is in danger of being stolen. Why? Because she knows that the person most Interested has been scheming against the ani mal. and yet she is afraid to warn you openly. Doesn’t that indicate who it Is?" -Mr. Jones, Fve no right even to let you talk like this to me. Have you anything definite against Judge Ack royd?” "In this case, only suspicion.” Her head went up. "Then I think there is nothing more to be said." The young man flushed, but his voice was steady as he returned: “I disagree with you. And I beg you to cut short your visit here, and re turn to your home at once." In spite of herself the girl was sha ken by his persistence. "I can’t do that," she said uneasily. And added, with a flash of anger, "I think you had better leave this house.” “If I leave this house now I may never have a chance to see you again.” The girl regarded him with level, noncommittal eyes. “And I have every Intention of see ing you again—and again—and again. Give me a chance; a moment,” Average Jones’ mind was of the em ergency type. It summoned to its aid, without effort of cerebration on the part of its owner, whatever was most needed at the moment. Now it came to his rescue with the memory of Judge Ackroyd’s encounter with the drug clerk, as mentioned by Bertram. There was a strangely hopeful sug gestion of some link between a drug store quarrel and the arrival of a mil lion-dollar dog, “better dead” In the hopes of his host. “Miss Graham, I’ve gone rather far. I’ll admit,” said Jones; “but, if you’ll give me the benefit of the doubt, I think I can show you some basis to work on. If I can produce something tangible, may I come back this after noon? I’ll promise not to come unless I have good reason.” “Very well,” conceded Miss Graham reluctantly, “it’s a most unusual thing. But I’ll agree to that.” “Au revoir, then,” he said, and was gone. Somewhat to her surprise and un easiness, Sylvia Graham experienced a distinct satisfaction when, late that afternoon, she beheld her unconven tional acquaintance mounting the steps with a buoyant and assured step. Upon being admitted, he went prompt ly to the point. “I’ve got it,” “Your justification for coming back?” she asked, “Exactly. Have you heard anything of some trouble in which Judge Ack royd was involved last week?” “Uncle has a very violent temper,” admitted the girl evasively. “But I don’t see what —” “Pardon me. You will see. That row with a drug clerk.” “Well?” “The drug clerk insisted —as the law requires—on Judge Ackroyd register ing for a certain purchase.” “Perhaps he was impertinent about it.” "Possibly. The point is that the prospective purchase was cyanide of potassium, a deadly and Instantaneous poison.” “Are you sure?” asked the girl, in a low voice. “Fve just come from the store. How long have you been here at your un cle’s?” “A week.” “Then just about the time of your coming with the dog, your uncle un dertook to obtain a swift and sure poison. Have 1 gone far enough?” “I —I don’t know.” “What is your uncle’s attitude tow ard the dog?” “Almost what you might call ingra tiating. But Peter Paul —that’s my dog’s name, you know—doesn’t take to uncle.” “He's a wise old doggie,” amended the other with emphasis. “When does your uncle give up this house?” “At the end of the week. Uncle and aunt leave for Europe.” “Then let me suggest again that you and Peter Paul go at once.” Miss Graham pondered. “No, I can’t do that.” “Do you realize that every day Pe ter Paul remains here is an added opportunity for Judge Ackroyd to make a million dollars, or a big share of it, by some very simple stratagem?” “I haven’t admitted yet that I be lieve my uncle to be a —a murderer," Miss Graham quietly reminded him. “Now, Miss Graham, would it grieve you very much if Peter Paul were to die?” “I won’t have him put to death,” said she quickly, "That would be cheating my grandmother’s inten tions.” “Miss Graham,” he said slowly, “won’t you try to forget, for the mo ment, the circumstances of our meet ing, and think of me only as a friend of your friends who is very honestly eager to be a friend to you, when you most need one?” The girl’s gaze met the man’s level, and was held in a long, silent regard. “Yes,” she said simply. - “Listen, then. I think I see a clear way. Judge Ackroyd will kill the dog if he can, aud so effectually conceal the body that no funeral can be held over it, thereby rendering your grand mother’s bequest to you void. He has only a few days to do it in, but I don’t think that all your watchfulness can restrain him. Now, on the other hand, if the dog should die a natural death and be buried, he can still con test the will. But if he should kill Peter Paul and hide the body where we could discover it, the game would be up for him, as he then wouldn’t even dare to come into court with a contest. Do you follow me?” “Yes. But you wouldn’t ask me to be a party to any such thing." "You’re a party, involuntarily, by remaining here. But do your best to save Peter Paul, if you will. And please call me up immediately at the Cosmic club, if anything turns up. And, by the way, my beetles. I forgot and lett them’ here. Oh, there’s the box. I may have a very specific use for them later, Au revoir—and may it be soon!” The two days succeeding seemed to Average Jones, haunted as he was by an importunate craving to look again into Miss Graham’s limpid and change ful eyes, a dull and sodden period of probation. The messenger boy who finally brought her expected note, looked to him like a Greek godllng. The note inclosed this clipping: LOST— PUG DOG ANSWERING TO the name of Peter P&uL Very old fHS SEA COAST ECHO, BAY ST. LOUIS. MISSISSIPPI asthmatm. Last seen on Wert Sixteenth street, liberal reward for Information to Ap-rioim- Care of Banner oflce. "Dear Mr. Jones (she had written): "Are you a prophet? (Average Jones chuckled at this point.) The in closed seems to be distinctly in our line. Could you come some time this afternoon? I’m puzzled and a little anxious. Sincerely yours, SYLVIA GRAHAM.” Average Jones could, and did. He found Miss Graham’s piquant face un der the stress of excitement, distinctly more alluring than before. "Isn't It strange?” she said, holding out a hand in welcome. "W’hy should anyone advertise for my Peter Paul? &e isn’t lost.” “I am glad to hear that,” said the caller gravely, "Do you know what that advertise ment means?” "Perfectly. I wrote it” “Wrote it! You? W r ell—really! W’hy in the world did you write it?” "Because of an unconquerable long ing to see” —Average Jones paused, and his quick glance caught the storm signal In her eyes—“your uncle,” he concluded calmly. She rang the bell, dispatched a serv ant, and presently Judge Ackroyd stalked Into the room. Judge “Oily” Ackroyd’s greeting of the guest within his gates did not bear out the sobriquet of his public life. It was curt to the verge of harshness. “W’hat is the market quotation on beetles, judge?” asked the young man, tapping the rug with his stick. “What are you talking about?” de manded the other, drawing down his heavy brows. "The black beetle; the humble but brisk haunter of household crevices,” explained Average Jones. “You adver tised for ten thousand specimens. I’ve got a few thousand I’d like to dispose of, if the inducements are sufficient.” “I’m in no mood for joking, young man,” retorted the other, rising. ' j ' Mt*s ina^ ‘ You seldom are, I understand.” r®- plied Averog family. “Weil, if you won’t talk Ohmt bugs, let’s talk about dogs. ‘ “The topic does not interest me, sir,” retorted the other, and the glance of his eye was baleful, but uneasy. The tapping of the young man’s cane ceased. He looked up into his host’s glowering face with a seraphic and innocent smile. "Not even if it —er —touched upon a device for guarding the street corners in case—er —Peter Paul went walking —er —once too often?’’ Judge Ackroyd took one step for ward. Average Jones was on his feet Instantly, and, even in her alarm, Sylvia Graham noticed how swiftly and naturally his whole form “set.” But the big man turned away, and abruptly left the room. “Were you wise to anger him?” asked the girl, as the heavy tread died away on the stairs. “Sometimes open declaration of war is the soundest strategy.” “You spoke of having someone guard the corners of the block,” re marked the girl, after a thoughtful si lence. “Do you think I’d better ar range for that?” “No indeed. There’ll be a hundred people on watch.” “Have you called out the militia?” she asked, twinkling. “Better than that. I’ve employed the tools of my trade.” He handed her a galley proof marked with many corrections. She ran through it with growing amaze ment. HAVE YOU SEEN THE DOG? % sloo—One Hundred Dollars—sloo For the Best Answer in 500 I! Words v | Open to All High School Boys & . between now and next Saturday an j* . old Pug Dog will come out of a j big House on West Sixteenth jr - Street, between Fifth and Sixth c SX Avenue. It may be by day. It may C Sf be any hour of the Night. Now, w- you Boys, get to work. Remember: SIOO In Cash £ Open to All High School Boys £ I—Description of Dog. J* 5? 2—Description of Person with him. •£ 5f 3—Description of House he Comes rC from. v* rv Account of Where they Go. Account of What they Do. v* r. Manuscripts must be written v plainly and mailed within twenty- £ r> four hours of the discovery of the A. JONES: AD-VISOR, | Astor Court Temple, New York “That will appear in every New York paper tomorrow morning,” ex plained its deviser. “I see,” said the girl. “Anyone who attempts to take Peter Paul away will be tracked by a band of boy detec tives. A stroke of genius, Mr. Aver age Jones.” She curtsied low to him. But Av erage Jones was in no mood for play fulness now. “That restricts the judge’s endeav ors to the house and garden,” said he, “since, of coarse hell see the adver tisement.” “ITI see that he does,” said Miss Graham maliciously. “Good! I’ll also ask you to watch the garden for any suspicions excavat ing.” "What am I to do next?” she asked. "Do as you would do; only don’t take Peter Paul Into the street, or you’ll have a score of high school boys trailing you.” She clung in his mind like a remem bered fragrance, after he had gone back to Astor Court temple to wait. Nor had he banished them, when, two days later, the telephone brought him her clear accents, a little tremulous now. "Peter Paul is gone.” • “Since when?” “Since ten this morning. The house is hi an uproar.” "I’ll be up In half an hour at the latest. Let me in at the basement door at half-past one. Judge Ackroyd mustn’t see me,” It was a strangely misshapen pres entation of the normally spick-and span Average Jones that gently rang the basement bell of the old house at the specified hour. All his pockets bulged with lumpy angles. Immediate ly, upon being admitted by Miss Gra ham herself, ne proceeded to disem burden himself of box after box. such as elastic bands come In, all exhibit ing a homogeneous peculiarity, a hole at one end thfnly covered with a gelat inous substance. “Be very careful not to let that get broken,” he instructed the mystified girl.' “In the course of an liour or so it will melt away itself. Did you see anything suspicious in the garden?” “No!” replied the girl. She picked up one of the boxes. “How odd!” she cried. “Why, there’s something in it that’s alive!” “Very much so. Your friends, the beetles, in fact. Where is your uncle?” “Upstairs in his study.” “Do you think you could take me all through the house sometime this after noon without his seeing me?” “No, I’m sure I couldn’t. He’s been wandering like an uneasy spirit since Peter Paul disappeared. And he won’t go out, because he is packing.” “So much the worse, either for him or me. Where are your rooms?” “On the second floor.” "Very well. Now, I want one of these little boxes left in every room in the house, if possible, except on your floor, which is probably out of the reckoning. Do you think you could manage it soon?” “I think so. I'll try.” “Do most of the rooms open into one another?” “Y'es, ail through the house.” “Please see that they’re all un locked, and as far as possible, open. I’ll be here at four o’clock, and will call for Judge Ackroyd. You must be sure that he receives me. Tell him it Is a matter of great importance. It is.” With even more than his usual nice ty was Average Jones attired, when, at four o’clock, he sent his card to Judge Ackroyd. Small favor, however, did his appearance find, in the scowling eyes of the Judge. “What do you want?” he growled. “I’ll take a cigar, thank you very much,” said Average Jones innocently. “You’ll take your leave, or state your business.” “It has to do with your niece.” “Then what do you take my time for, damn your impudence?” “Don’t swear.” Average Jones was deliberately provoking the older man to an outbreak. “Let’s —er —sit down and —er —be chatty.” The drawl, actually an evidence of excitement, had all the effect of stud ied insolence. Judge Ackroyd’s big frame shook. “I’m going to k-k-kick you out into the street, you young p-p-p-pup,” he stuttered in his rage. His knotted fingers writhed out for a hold on the other’s collar. With a sinuous movement, the visitor swerved aside and struck the other man, flat handed, across the face. There was an answering howl of demoniac fury. Then a strange thing happened. The assailant turned and fled, not to the ready egress of the front door, but down the dark stairway to the base ment. The judge thundered after, in maddened, unthinking pursuit. Aver age Jones ran fleetly and easily. And his running was not for the purpose of flight alone, for as he sped through the basement rooms, he kept casting swift glances from side to side, up and down the walls. Judge Ackroyd trailed his quarry like a bloodhound through every room of the third floor, and upward to the fourth. The fourth floor of die old house was almost bare. In a hall-embrasure hung a full-length mirror. All along the borders of this, Average Jones’ quick-ranging vision had discerned small red-banded objects which moved and shifted. As the glass reflected his extended figure, it showed, almost at the same instant, the outstretched, bony hand of "Oily” Ackroyd. With a snarl, half rage, half satisfaction, the pursuer burled himself forward —and fell, with a plunge that rattled the house’s old bones. Before the fallen man could gather his shaken wits, he wa pinned with the most disabling' grip known In the science ol combat, a strangle hold with the assailant’s wrist clamped below and behind the ear. Average Jones lifted his voice and the name that came to his Ups was the name that had lurked sub consciously. in his heart, for days. “Sylvia!” he cried. “The fourth floor! Come!” There was a stir and a cry from two floors below. Sylvia Graham had broken from the grasp of her terrified aunt, and now came up the sharp ascent like a deer. “The mirror.” said Average Jones. “Push It aside. Pull it down. Get be hind it somehow. Lie quiet, Ackroyd or I'll have to choke your worthless head off!” With an effort of nervous strength, the girl lifted aside the big glass. Be hind It a hundred scarlet-banded In sects swarmed and scampered. “It’s a panel. Open it.” She tugged at the woodwork with quick, clever fingers. A section loos ened and fell outward with a bang “Unless my little detectives have de ceived me.” Jones said, “you’ll find thd body in there.” She groped, and drew forth a large box. In it was packed the body of Peter Paul. There was a cord about the fat neck. “Strangled,” whispered the girl. “Poor old doggie!” Then she whirled upon the prostrate man. “You mur derer!” she said very low. “It’s not murder to put a dying brute out of the way,” said the shaken man sullenly. "But it’s fraud, in this case,” retort ed Average Jones. “A fraud of which you’re self-convicted. Get up." There was no more fight in Judge “Oily” Ackroyd. He slunk to the stairs and limped heavily down to his fright ened and sobbing wife. Miss Graham leaned against the wall, white and spent. Average Jones, his heart in his eyes, took a step forward. “No!” she said peremptorily. “Don t touch me. I shall be all right.” “Do you mind my saying.” said Jones, “that you are the bravest and finest human being I’ve met in a-a-somewhat varied career?” The girl shuddered. “I could have stood it all,” she said, “but for those awful, crawling, red creatures.” “Those?" said Average Jones. “Why, they were my bloodhounds, my little detectives.” “And what are they?” "Carrion beetles,” said Average Jones. “Where the vultures of the in sect kingdom are gathered together, there the quarry lies.” Sylvia Graham drew a long breath. “I’m all right now.” she pronounced. “There’s nothing left, I suppose, but to leave this house. And to thank you. How am I ever to thank you?” She lifted her eyes to his. “Never mind the thanks,” said Av erage Jones unevenly, “It was noth ing.” “It was—everything! It was won derful f” cried the girl, and held out her slend&r hands to him. As clasped warmly upon his. Average 'Jones’ reason lost its balance. Bending lover the little, clinging hands, he pressed his lips to them. Only for a momenV The hands slipped from There was a quick, frightened gasp, and the girl’s face, all aflush with a new, sweet fearfulness and wondering confusion, vanished behind a ponder ous swinging door. The young mans knees shook a lit tle as he walked forward and put his lips close to the lintel. “Sylvia.” There was a faint rustle from with in. ‘T’m sorry. I mean, I’m glad. Glad der than of anything I’ve ever done in my Hie.” Silence from within. “Listen, there mustn’t be any misun derstanding about this, dear. If you send for me, it must be because you want me; knowing that, when I come, I shall come for you. Good-by, dear.” “Good-by.” It was the merest whis per from behind the door. Two days later he sat at his desk, in a murk of woe. No ward nor sign had come to him from Miss Sylvia Gra ham. He frowned heavily as Simpson entered the inner sanctum with the usual packet of clippings. “Leave them,” he ordered. “Y’es, sir.” The confidential clerk lingered, looking uncomfortable. “Any thing from yesterday’s lot, sir?” “Haven’t looked them over yet.” “Or day before’s?” “Haven’t taken those up either.” “If I might suggest, there’s a very interesting advertisement in yester day’s paper repeated this morn —” “I don’t want to see it.” “No, sir. But —but still —it it seems to have a strange reference to the burial of the million-dollar dog, and an invitation that I thought—” “Where is it? Give it to me!” For once in his life, high pressure of ex citement had blotted out Average Jones’ drawl. His employee thrust into his hand this announcement from the Banner of that morning: DIED—AT 100 WEST SIXTEENTH street, September 14, Peter Paul, a dog, for many years the faithful and fond companioc of the late Amelia Van Hai tern. Burial in accordance with the wish and will of Wrs. Van Haltern. at the fam ily estate Schuylkill, September 17, at three c'-l'jck. His friend. Don Quixote, Is etpeorally bidden to come, if he will. Average Jones leaped to his feet. “Where’s my hat? Where’s the time table? Get a cab! Simpson, you idiot, why didn’t you make me read this be fore. confound you! I mean God bless you. Y’our jAa ry’s doubled from to day. I’m uMBj “Yes, sir/nsaid the bewildered Simp son. Miss Sylvia Graham looked down upon a slentfer finger ornamented with the oddest and the most appropriate of engagement rings, a scarab beetle red-banded with three deep-hued rubies. “But, Average,” she said, and the golden laughter flickered again in the brown depths of her eyes, “not even you could expect a girl to accept a man through a keyhole.” “I suppose not,” said Average Jones with a sigh of profoundest content. “Some are for privacy in these mat ters; others for publicity. But I sup pose I’m the first man in history who ever got his heart’s answer In an ad vertisement” (Copyright. The Bobba-Merrlll Company.) LIQUID MANURE IS VALUABLt Marked Increase of Hay Crop Ob tained by Teete Conducted by Scot land Experiment Station. la four years* field fertilizer ex periments with liquid manure on quarter-acre plats of hay land, con ducted by an experiment station In Scotland, the liquid manure was ap plied at different times during the winter, the standard dressing being 2,000 gallons per acre applied In two portions of 1,000 gallons each with an interval of a few days between. It was found that a marked increase of hay crop was obtained from the application of liquid manure in win ter or early spring. Treatment with liquid manure had no bad effect on clover, but was on the contrary distinctly beneficial in several of the experiments. The after effect of treatment with liquid ma nure was also good. No correspond ingly greater return was obtained when 4,000 gallons per acre were sup plied. In several cases the crop was too heavy and was inclined to lodge. It is concluded that about 2.000 gal lons of liquid manure per abre for bay land is sufficient and that the profit realized by such an application is sufficient to justify the trouble and expense of applying the liquid manure instead of letting it go to waste. SPRAY OUTFIT FOR GARDENS It Is the Kind of Preparedness That Insures Fruit and Vegetables for the Farmer. Every garaener and grower of small fruits should have a spraying outfit and be ready for war in time of peace. This is the kind of pre paredness that pays; it is tlie pre paredness that insures fruits and vegetables. No one enjoys producing fruits and vegetables for huge, worms and plant diseases. There is nothing more ex asperating than to see the "swarm of bugs" ruin a bed of plants and de stroy one’s hope for reward. The spraying outfit will give you a chanfce to defend your trees, plants and vines. After insects get a start it is too late to spray. Spraying should bo done when the first insects are seen and before they reproduce their young. When the sprayer is handy this may be done, but if one must wait several days till one may be or dered It may be too five. Arm your self and be prepared. Should there be no need of spraying you will have your outfit for future use. USEFUL SHEEP FODDER RACK Long, Narrow, Portable Feeding Pen That May Be Taken From Place to Place Is Handy. Sheep do not relish fodder after It has been trampled on by themselves or other live stock, or if it has been thrown down where It can get soiled or muddy. Sometimes it is difficult to have feeding racks of a permanent Sheep Fodder Pen. kind where the sheep are being fed. When this is the case, a long, narrow, portable fodder pen, that may bo ta ken from place to place, will make an excellent feeding rack. It can be made of the pieces of lumber found around the premises. FAVOR WOODEN WATER PIPES Better Than Iron for Carrying Water Supply, According to United States Forestry Bureau. Wood pipes are better than iron pipes for carrying water supply, ac cording to a report issued by the United States forestry bureau. It says that timber, saturated with water and protected from outside influences is practically everlasting. There is a lino of two miles of wood pipe at Fayetteville, N. C., laid in 1829, which is sound and in con stant use at the present time. Wood pipes cost only one-quarter as much as cast iron and one-half as much as steel, they have greater dis charging capacity, they are not affect ed by electrolysis and they are poor conductors of heat, thus keeping the water cooler in summer and warmer in winter. Kind Treatment of Cows. When the cow gets uneasy and kicks do not get mad and rush for a club. Better see whether or not you have been squeezing a sore teat or if your finger nails dig into the teat. Trim your nails and milk gently. Rough handling will never break a cow of kicking. Become a Business Farmer. Take an inventory and keep a rec ord of all transactions during the year. Determine to become a busi ness farmer and to use your head as well as your hands. Value of Broom Sedge. If broom sedge is made into hay be fore It gets tough and woody it is about equal in feeding value to corn fodder. It can be safely fed with shorts and meal. Use for Coal Ashes. If you are using coal for fuel, try sifted ashes as material for covering floors and making dust baths in your chicken houses. It has valuable quali ties. Give Chicks Sour Milk. Don’t be afraid to give the chicks all the sour milk they will eat. It is good for them. We have never found anything better. Sow Some Clover. No harrow can he made to accom plish what clover roots will do for you. Sow clover next spring.