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n the club room had been >. and the available stock • ad given uut we were it for more. • i my friend, the director of noted ocean steamship had quite a few remarka happen to me in tny day, hen l was sailing one of tps belonging to the partner the other." With < smile, as be thought of number of vessels he now th most trying experi '.v took place even before is a youngster of twen oml of being trusted le still so young." i ~ 'i ray cigar lit," said t ere was a little delay • the filling of glasses of more comfortable Wilson nodded to the e I*- gan again. said. “I was a clergy d my family looked upon t> follow :ae s?a is >s. but after I had run or so. and been fol ttt U back .iust as many. :sih; hi might as well let ,, n way, so ho took down end apprenticed me prop ■ form to an old friend > w-m the head of a great • ,.;ii line running to the West ack. I was only fourteen 1 believe th- idea was that I of th labor and hardships •*- and be glad to beg for home V n th > hap! a* 1 was. of > let i. >. for fri' udship's ml would be sf due order, a or so behind qer time, but ■ 1 not irredeem <>( 1 captain smiled again and a t. i his eye. as though very mu n amused internally. >>ii c w as as dry as ever and not adow of a smile transgressed the tile which prohibited a member .ughitia at his own stories. Some listen* rs stirred a little lazily as i. ml Wilson, who was al !* nder, nodded to him to con " ! > complied. *'I disappointed her and enjoyed sea life so much , pU; n gave fine accounts of : ray father’s friend took a great > me and oft n hi 1 me to spend at his home when the ship was mi I. fearing to lx* late in join r again, had shortened my home nd was waiting for the day of "g. His wife was kind to me, and hr had a little daughter, who - it that’s anticipating. h< years of my apprenticeship 1 and tne proud moment when I >1 my papers as a ‘master mari ivod. Then I was given a ship. my youth made this a very 1 »' ing. and sent off to the West Of course I was supplied with ”d experienced chief mate, and tbly due as much to his care ■ Iness as to my own skill eyage passed off without an n!-chance of any kind, but rad a hen with her first •kens, and the head of the bn confidence in my abili ; aner which came very near 1 , my boy,* he said to me I before i sailed again, ‘I’m W. with you. I’m going to take v dougheter alone, too: we fancy the trip and it struck me that ! would go with you instead of on a . nger vessel. My wife has made trip on a merchantman many a w hen we wer younger, and ray >er i- very ?nx. -as to try it. You t tin* ladles have the wife’s cabin. ,-te days every merchant ship i Pi died with a little cabin for the captain's wife, although they the practice s on after and for ruen to rry their families si. Of com 1 wj - very will ] tve my friends as passengers, I was a little nervous at the of mv employer I ing in the 1: m and having his sharp old ,:ng notice of my every move I nted not have been anxious on ir. for the day before we sail i gentleman was disabled with . of gout and he decided that • stay at home. re is no need for the old my little girl to do so.’ he told I went to say goodby; ‘they long with you and 1 shall in i 'his. Another trip will make n too late and L think the voy 1 ! -11. fit them. 1 put them in and trust you with them.’ two ladies went out with me. women on board the ship, and rdlv got out of the channel mother was taken sick, or for such an old sailor as i. moral faintly, as I assisted n low, ‘but I suppose I'm out enough practice in the mis iekness that trip to last her per thing, and in the raean io a tighter, who while her r pi ii:' ariably came up on . renew 1 h ■ old friendship with l had not n much of her for she bad been at hool daring my brie visits at h r > ■ . • i ailing of 9ld “K\< ry ? even after her mother r* covered partially, we promenad c deck together, and our friend it w apace. One night, when the iy v.-’< below suffering with a t he. w« talk-'d until \ery late, told me queer tales of ghosts ;* w ok. nil the l'ke. She !:!!• d with these stories while >1. and iii? enjoyed them as only ; g lieople do enjoy listening lllng of horrors, tmong other he told me of an experience once had herself in the sleep i;ne. in which she hail climbed r placed at a second story ml reached the ground in still fast asleep, we talked we alternately pac - and leaned over the side. ■ phosphoresce nt flashes in - .1 talking as young idiots •* moonlight and the beauty s. aid she suddenly said: i lightful it would be to walk ; t pole (pointing to (he main id lean off into that silvery rke lighiy. hut l shivered explainable presentiment of he. catching the influence of d. shuddered suddenly and has he subject. We talked for ger, but the pleasure of our .t on had somehow been spoiled • ..reless remark and she soon ood night and went below, she had gone I made a tour of according to ray custom, and othing to need my presence I o b d myself. r »ho fashion of youth, my head ooner touched the pillow than I I was sou ml asleep, and it seemed to me that only a moment had passed before 1 was roused suddenly by a voice which called to me ‘Come:’ “I did not recognize the voice as that of any one on the ship, but it was so full of terror, so thrilled with a quivering fear, that 1 sat up hastily, trembling and listening for the slightest sound. The wind was rising and I could hear !t wailing softly, with the eerie sound which it always has at night and at sea. but I could hear nothing else and 1 wan about doziug when that call came again. ‘‘This time it sounded as though it were further off, but its appeal for help was just as clear to nfy brain, and I hesitated no longer. Hastily slipping into my clothing, I dashed up the com panion. and as I touched the deck 1 hoard it plainly once more. ‘Come!’ : pleaded, in a lingering cry. and as I stood straining my eyes to pierce the stormv darkness which had succeeded the brilliant moonlight it seemed to die i way in the direction of the main boom. At ’he same time I saw, or fancied l saw. a glimmer of something white creeping slowly along the boom, and upon coming nearer I saw that it was i woman's figure, slender and graceful and clothed in something long and white and tlowing. The form was quite root, ami it seemed to glide along the dangerous way without a falter or e\en -o much as a feeling for footing in the darkness; the arms were spread widely in a similar attitude" to that which a ope walker a.-sum* s when crossing a slack roi>\ and the head was thrown - at k. as though the gaze was directed to the threatening sky. ‘ My first thought was of the super : rural, and for a moment I stood still. . -j-’ick with The dumb terror which such a fancy cans -s. wh ‘' the form, which h id been near the mast when I first ile scrie 1 it. went steadily on toward the end of the boom; then, as l tried to rouse myself. 1 f It a touch upon my arm. and the mate, who was then on va eh. spok‘ o m . . * fac- white with lorror and his voice shak ng. ‘‘What do you think it is. sir. he asked, faltering!}'. "I saw come up the cabin stairs and go out there, and it climbed up on the boom without seem ing to need hands 3*. all. I think Mips Alice mus; !>•- deid, and th-ns her ghost, sir.' .. » . .l. ... nf Allcp'* name I shook off hi> and and made a leap for the boom my - if. for her talk of sleep walking and h r remark of how nice it would he to walk along the boom and jump into tV water had suddenly re ;:rr ■ I to me. and like a flash I realized! that she was walking in her sleep, go ing ou* to her death in the sea. which v is ; i-sing roughly, with now and then a wave breaking over the side. "I knew that my post was on deck; that I should have been called some tim ? since; I knew that the rising wind and so.\ needed my presence and all my skill; I knew that a captain’s first duty is :o h:s ship, but there, ahead of me. •• .(lily nearing ’he etui of the boom, -t lily progrt - -ing on the road which leads down o the dark valley, was this girl. an l no one but myself to save her: Had could I r- n-h her in time? “With all the advantages of my ship training, with all my haste. 1 only gain ed on her slightly, an l I was still some feet behind her when she stopped, pois* e l her arms with her fingers touched above her head and stood thus for a moment “I knew she was preparing for the lean: l knew I could not reach her in time to prevent her taking it; I knew that It was an exceedingly dangerous thing to wake a sleep walker suddenly, but no alternative was before me! “I tried to call her name aloud, to shout, to scream even, but the strong igony of the moment had deprived me of my voice, and no sound came from my straining throat. Perhaps it was jusr as well, for if I had succeeded in waking her she would inevitably have fallen in the terror of finding herself in such a position: she had not a steady head when awake. But I was desper ate and as she leaped far out above tho water, after a ghastly, awful second, in which her form was clearly shown against the dark sky by a flash of lightning so vivid that I saw even her long eyelashes lying back against 'her white cheek, and was so impressed with. *he pattern qf the lace ou her robe that f could draw its leaves and flowers now, I leaped, too. “I landed, thanks to Providence, which guards such foolhardy actions, on the very end of the boom, and as she fl.-w past me 1 caught hold of her gown. Th» impetus of htr fall upset my bal ance .and we both fell, but n falling I managed to grasp the boom and there we '.vung. I holding on to life with one hand, she clapped in my other arm. “The shock wakened her. and, beside herself with :--*rror at her unknown po si- on. -he struggled madly and strove to fr *e herself from my embrace, while scr am after scream scared the men on deck until all thought of duty was for guten and the ship was practically un manned. “Sailors arc Invariably superstittous, and not a few of them really thought that the whio form was a ghost and that the screams were mine, as I was carried off to the hell which is supposed to await those who meddle with the splits from another world. “All this I was dimly conscious of, together with a vague fear that in sav ing Alice thu* I was dooming us all to drown, but these thoughts were but an undercurrent to the horror of that s .niggle with the fear-maddened girl, wh - resisting, clinging, ice cold hands w. slowly loosen* ug my hold and pulling us both down to death in the now tempestuous sea. “At Ia-t, after perhaps a minute, which st "u- 1 to me an eternity, 1 grow desperate, and finding that I was still vo ■ ■ less and could not reassure her, 1 drew her closely to me, squeezed her trail form until she ceased co struggle, ’hen. pressing my chin to the hollow of her throat. I completed the work of sil encing her. She grew rigid, her arms f 11 limply down, one of them striking my face a gentle blow in its sudden de ment, and the next lignum? flash snowed me that she had fainted. “With a great sigh cf thankfulness, nrrgled wUh & curse that I had tun forced to hurt her in order to save her. I began to work niy way toward the -hip. Ood only knows how. with my on i free hand, stiff with fatigue and grow ing useless with the long strain, until just as I was giving up in despair and thinking bitterly that I should be com pelled to let go and drop back into the seething water. I felt a rope, seized it anil somehow, by the aid of that power which watches over us, and which we all neglect save in times of distress, drew myself up onto the boom and clung there breathless, exhausted, but saved “But I shall never forget the agony of that moment, when I thought I must let go. Thoughts of my disgraced memory as a man who had left the ship to sink while he followed a phantom, mingled with regrets that I had hurt Alice instead of letting her die more easily and a wild longing to bid my mother goodby, made me face death with a soul filled with bitterness and a heart strained with grief. “Once my breath had returned I was fully conscious of the disorder on the deck, and with a mighty effort I strug gled to my kness, made my way along the boom, bruised and beaten by its wild swaying, and finally faced the de moralized crew, with shaking limbs and a heart beating to suffocation, but with a stern face. “At sight of me appearing before them suddenly in the weird light of the storm they shrank back, and one dash ed down to his bunk, but here my voice came back to me. and I think the strong objurgation I yelled after him did more to reassure the rest than anything else which I could have done. “Turning to the mate, who stood by, speechless with mingled shame and fear, 1 delivered the fainting girl to him, telling him to carry her below, rouse her mother and return as quickly as possible, and then, barefooted and half clothed as I was, I forgot all else for the time being in thinking of the ship, which was running madly before the wind and taking in more water than she could carry safely for long. “The storm which was upon us was one of the worst I ever saw—and I have been in many a wild storm—and it was two days and a night later before I could find time to go below and ask af ter Alice, although through all my anx iety and the exhausting labor I never forgot her and the recollection of her white, still face, as it had lain against my breast after I had choked her into unconsciousness haunted me the whole time. “When at last the storm abated and I felt free to leave the ship to the care of the mate who had been completely upset by his scare and the remorse which followed it. 1 was almost light headed, and the fancy that her small, cold, clinging fingers were always pull ing at my arms, holding me back from my duty, nearly maddened me. “When 1 got below her mother told me that Alice was very ill. had been wildly delirious for twenty-four hours after that dreadful shock, but was, she hoped, beyond danger now, and she even allowed me to see her for a mo ment. as she lay in her birth, thrown from side to side by the tossing ship, but still as death herself. “ ‘I know all about it no\A. sne awiis perod faintly, ‘and you saved my life at the risk of your own.’ ” The captain was silent a moment, and more than one of us blew his nose vigorously; even the captain himself was pale and voice tremulous as he continued;— “Well. boys, that finished it. I was weak and tired and the strain had been hard on me. I cried like a baby, and I think I stooped and kissed her dear, pale face before I went away, and her mother didn’t object at all. Ten sec onds later I was as sound asleep as I had been when that voice wakened me two days— or, rather, nights—before, and when I woke up again it all seemed like a dream. But I had Alice’s illness (for she was sick for weeks) and this gray patch above my forehead to prove its reality, and then the cruel mark on Alice’s throat—the spot where I had bruised it with my chin—was to be seen for mouths. “Did it ever go away? Oh. yes: and she recovered fully after—all! rising and preparing to depart, “that reminds me I told her I'd bo home early. You see. I married her when we got home again* “No. I never found out where the voice that called me came from; can't explain it at all. Some of you clever fellows must do that. Good night.' Xml buttoning his mackintosh the old Captain went out into the rain, while the rest of us drew our chairs closer to the fire.—Chicago News. WHEN HE HAD 1IIS TURN. A well-known barrister relates the following story with great gusto. Some t'me ago he had under cross-examina tion a youth from the country, who re joici l in the name of Sampson, and whose replies were provocat.ve of much laughter in the court: “And so.” questioned the barrister, “you wish the court to believe that you are peacefully disposed and inoffensive kind of person?” “Yes.” “And that you have no desire to fol low in the steps of your illustrious namesake and smite the Plr.listines? ’ “No. I've not," answered the witness. “And if l had the desire Iain't got the power a>t present.” "Then you think van would he una ble to cope successfully with a thou sand enemies and utterly rout them with the jawbone of an ass?” “Well,” answered the ruffled Samp son. T might have a try when you have done with 'the weapon.”—Green Bag. ___ HER SIZE. Freddie—Will you have anything on your oysters. Kitty Footlights—Yes. I will take some game, lobster salad, ice cream and coffee.—Judge. Dragging itself westward across the the dreary plains of Utah, the over land train, from a vantage point in the sky. looked like a small horse hair snake crawling over the earth’s surface. The earth—almost the air—was white with the heat of the summer sun. All this was vastnes3, intensity, silence, lonliness; above, the flawless blue; be low, those seemingly illimitable plains of reddish yellow, streaked with alkali white, that swam back and forth before the eyes in parallel lines until far off they melted into a long, low stretch of shivering light, the mocking water mi rage at the base of the mountain range, hundred of miles away. Encompassed within that horizen there was nothing o? life except within that desultory moving train. Stocked in the immigrant or third class car of the train was a crowd of tired, meserable and dirty people. They looked out listlessly at the passing landscape, or stupidity at each other, or twisted themselves into all sorts of uncomfortable positions on the hard, wooden seats in vain efforts to secure a little sleep. Perhaps the most un prepossessing of them all was a dark featured, roughly dressed man. Be side him was a very little girl in a blua dress. His lowering, repellant face had a soown upon it which suggested the convict or the desperado, but he was neither. The scowl and the un conscious sneer about his ugly mouth were born simply of a long and thor oughly fruitless struggle with misfor tune. Although pretty, it was easily to oe seen that the little girl was his child. She was the solitary ray of sunshine in that railway steerage. She was a momentous factor in a mighty problem to the man whose arm was about her. and whose knit brows and troubled face showed how hard it was he studied it. A crazy letter had ccme to hint across the continent, and he had left the tenements of New York to try and reach the golden land of Cal ! ifortiia. He had started with 'hardly sufficient money to take himself* and I child more than half the distance, but he had a confused sort of an idea that he would in some way reach 'his desti nation. Better it was, at all events, than to remain in the noisome Hester street den. where without work or the prospects of any his little sunt of money would soon be gone. The station to which his scanty purse had enabled him to buy a ticket for himself and child had been passed hours before, and he was wondering how soon the conductor of the train would discover the shameless imposi tion he was practising upon the rail way company. He had not much lon ger to wait, for presently the autocrat of the train, in a hurried passage through the car stopped suddenly be ( fore him and glanced at the check in i his hat. “Hello! Where are you going?” The man looked up in what was in tended ns a humble, respectful and piteous appeal but his lip curled up over his teeth, like that of a harried dog. He could not help it. His voice j was mild enough, as he said: “I am going .to California sir, with ; my little girl.” The man’s looks seemed to irritate I the not-too-even temper of the railway officer. “You are. eh? Well, where’s your | ticket for the rest of the way?” “If you would please let me go through the train with my little girl.” replied the unfortunate one. faltering, "I think I could raise the money.” “Go through the train? Not much. Third class passengers stay in this car. You get off at the next station.” said the conductor in a voice of fierce warn ing. as he passed on. In about an hour the conductor came into the car again and gave the bell rope a vicious pull. The engine re sponded with two short whistles, and gradually the train slackened its speed and stopped. “Come. now. you get off here,” said the conductor, roughly; “we’re behind time already, and you want to hurry up about it.” Again the man’s lip curled in an ugly wav. but he made no answer, except to gather up the few paper bundles of bread and meat on the seat before him. Then, taking his child in his arms, he . followed the conductor to the platform and stepped off the train. Bo'ore it was under way again, however, a hu mane brakeman on the last step called out to him: “Say, partner, ther’ ain’t nothin’ here. This is only a flag station. The east hound ’ll be along in a few hours. Stop her and board her. The conductor on that train ’ll let you on. It’s a shame to put that kid off in such a place.” In truth, little about the place indi cated a railway station. There was a little closed sentry-box looking affair beside the track, and fifty yards behind it the remains of an old dugouL Not "I say, Jack, ?hese paragraphs about us are perfectly scandalous. They've got the facts exactly.” ‘ —Pick :ie Up, even a trail showed w.here it wa3 that any human being had visited the spot. And round was the dreary waste of billowy plains and the burning sun overhead. In the rear of the sentry box Its pro jecting roof had cast a little shade, and here the man sat down upon the ground with his child in his arms. Strange things, for him, came to his eyes— tears. The little one looked at him in a puzzled way. and he hastily brushed his hand across his face and left a broad smudge of railway soot upon his cheek. She clapped her hands and laughed with glee at his funny face. Then thirst came to them—that aw ful, torturing, unreasoning thirst which the desert alone can give. The child cried for water, and the father left her in the scanty shade and stepped out into the glaring sun. Neither in the sky nor. in the parched ground was there a drop of moisture, and he knew it.He returned and tried to comfort her and then sat down again, buried his face in his hands and tried to think. The evening was coming on when he arose to his feet with a new resolve. Away far off in the West a thin, al most Imperceptible streak of smoke told him that the east bound train was approaching. Near the track he found a dirty shred of a flag hanging to a stick, and he placed in the socko.t of the upright post standing in front of the house. Nervously his fingers fumbled in his pockets until he produced the stump of a lead pencil. Picking up a piece of pasteboard, he wrote upon it, in great rough letters: SOME ONE TAKE THIS CHILD SHE HAS NO PARENTS. With a string he placed the placard around the neck of the little girl. This done he took her in his arms, and kiss ed her again and again, pointed to the smoke that was becoming blacker and longer, and told her that water was coming. When the rails began to sing of the approach of the coming train, he placed her near the track and then ran and hid himself behind the dugout. From his hiding place he looked out ' and eagerly watched the child, while the rattle and clamor and thunder of the train grew louder in his ears. On it came with a rush and a roar, and flew past the station in a gale of wind and dust. The man’s heart died with in him, and then it beat wildly again. The train had stopped several hundred yards past the station and was coming back to the sentry box. The engineer iiuu Been me ictttereu nag. As the long train rolled slowly back ward, curious and Inquiring heads pro truded from the car windows. The gold emblazoned conductor stepped off and looked about him in wonder. Not for several moments did bo discover the child. Immediately there was a crowd about, and the placard was pass ed from hand to hand. A white jack eted porter came out of a Pullman ear and placed a wooden step on the ground before it. He was followed by a lady in black, who descended from the car and joined the throng. A pair of yearnig, eager, beseeching eyes watched it all from the dugout. To the man in hiding it seemed that the determination cf the child’s fate never would he reached. Finally he saw the lady in black take the child in her arms, kiss it, and re-enter the car with it. The passengers scrambled back into the cars, the conductor waved his hand and the train moved on. Then the father came forth and gazed longingly at the departing train —gazed at it until it became smaller and smaller—until it became a dot in the plains— until it vanished—and he knew he was alone. He stretched himself on the baked ground that night to sleep, but could not. Two little stars very near to gether—reminded him of the eyes of iiis child, and he tried to fix his thoughts on them and of her. but it was vain—he could not forget his thirst. The terr' 1 sun rose the next day and looked <«own upon him as its vic tim. He endeavored to oat some of the bread he had saved, but the dry crumbs were torture to his throat. One thing only was there to do—to follow the track' until an inhabited station was reached. It might be fifty miles— i it might be more—but there \%as no salvation away from the railroad. At noon, while resting for awhile, he heard the rattle of an approaching freight train. Hope swelled up within him as he stood on the track and made frantic motions to stop the train. I he trainmen merely laughed at him. He did not know he had employed the fa vorite ruse for tramps. After this his progress was very slow. On the third day he came to the end of his journey. He may have been deleri ous or he may have been quite sane. A train stopped for him and vook him on board. This they always do when they kill a man—San Francisco Aigo naut. _ _ TOO MANY CHANGES. This is the Objection a Woman Had to Traveling oa the Cars. a few days ago an old village dame, who had never made a railway journey before, suddenly resolved to vis,t her well-to-do son at Bournemouth, says Tid-Bits. So she started on her jour ney wearing her old clothes and ear ning a bundle of smarter toggery to put on before she got there, so as to look “clane and dacent. Arriving at Newbury, she was greatly flustered with the orders. “\11 change here!” “Change where?" she asked. “Why, here,” said the porter, point ing to the platform. •iVess my heart! and who d a though, it?” murmured the old woman, as she got on to the platform. “Change here?” she repeated, as she unpacked her bundle; and with sol emn decorum, changed her bonnet, shawl, dress, boots, etc., to the im mense amusement of all the spectators. Then the train came in, and the por ter having put her in a comfortable seat, she felt supremely grand and happy until she came to Southampton, when she again heard the command: “All change here!” Everybody got out of the train ex cept herself. “Where yer for?” asked the ticket colector. “Bournemouth,” said the old lady. “Then you must change here—” “But I changed all my things at Newbury!” "Suppose you did, you’ve got ‘o charge here, too!” “But I’d sooner not, thanks. You see, my son is well off in the pork line, and I wants to go respectable like, and—” “If you don’t jump out you’ll be shunted back on the siding, thait's all. You've got to change here if you want to go to Bournemouth, and you've only five minutes to do it in, too, for your train is signalled.” The old dame jumped out, and went through the same performance as at Newbury,, only this time it was to change her best clothes for her old ones. Then she pushed into a carriage and off again. “Well,” she said to her fellow-pas --’ iW Now Teacher CDoadgulch kindergarten): "Robert Emmet, what uid I jnst see Rufus Choate pass to you?” R. Emmet: “Ob, pleaso, mum, ’twa’n’fc nothin. ” Now Teacher: “Show :ae immediately, or I shall chastise you.” R. Emmet (sobbing violently): “Please, mum, he onlt ast me ter load deso for him, ’causo he's all out uv catridgei '* —Truth. scngers. "my J;m always said as (he worst of the journey was the changes, and I guess he’s about right.” Arrived at Bournemouth, her son was on the platform to meet her. and ho asked her how she liked the journey. “Ah, Jim, my boy,” “it's all very ilacent ’cept the changing! I’ve had to do it twice, and there 1 am in my old clothes, just as I started, after ail.” THE AVERAGE MAN’S LUNCH. Observation^ of an Observant Lunch Counter Girl Who Denies That Men Don’t Care for F8e Cream. “There!” exclaimed a protiy waitress in a lunch room near the postoflice. "That’s the third man to-day who has eaten lobster salad, peaches and cream and ice cre^m. "Talk about what women eat, why the women who come in here have more sense about their lunches than nine out of ten men. It’s a wonder to me the men don’t all die from indigestion. “There is one man who has ordered every day for the last week a cheese sandwich, a glass of milk, Ice cream and lemon meringue pie. How old do you suppose that man will live to be? I’robably 100, just to prove all theories false. “Not one out of five women orders ice cream. About one-fourth of the men do. “As for pastry, there wouldn t be much call for it if it wasn’t for the men. It does my heart good to see a man eat a pieco of peach pie, drink a glass of milk and eat some grapes! Sometimes they add watermelon and a tart. “Another mixture young men appear fond of is a glass of milk, watermelon and ice cream. The handsomest man who comes hoTe, at least he has a beautiful complexion, clear and clean looking with the healthy red blood ting ing it, eats a roast beef sandwich and lettuce for lunch every day, when he doesn’t have lamb or mutton in some form. “I wonder sometimes what the wives of those men give them to eat at home. Here they eat cakes and tarts and pie and at home I suppose they scorn pie and class it with other indigcstihle3. “Yes, it’s my opinion that men haven’t and more judgment than goats about lunches. They are like a pack of school girls eating forbidden sweets when they go to lunch. “And you should watch the pickles go. “The next time that any one declares that women eat Indigestible lunches and that is the reason that men are much stronger, just refer them to me. That’s a fable about men’s lunches. “ ‘Grapes, glass of milk and custard pie,” did you say? All right. That gentleman there, Joe, wants cocoanut pie and watermelon,’ ” Then the lunch-counter girl went in search of a chicken salad, a plum tart and a piece of watermelon for the next man.—New York World. BIG PROFITS ON PENNIES. Government Makes Money on Them. Hard Work to Supply Demand. Gold is coined in Philadelphia and San Francisco. Not enough of it comes into the mint at New Orleans to make the coinage of it there worth while. All three mints make every de nomination of silver pieces. The minor ■ coins of base metal, cents and nickels, are all minted in Philadelphia, where nearly 100,000,000 pennies are turned out annually. Cents, being of small value, are care lessly handled and are lost in such great numbers that the treasury has to work hard to maintain the supply. The profit to the government on their manu facture is large, however, inasmuch as the blank3 for them are. purchased for $1 per 1.000 for a firm in Connecticut that produces them by contract. Blanks for nickels are obtained in the same way. costing Uncle Sam only a cent and a half apiece. Gold pieces are the only coins of the. United States which are worth their face value intrinsically. A double eagle contains $20 worth of gold, with out counting the one-tenth part of cop per.—New York World. HOW MR. PULLMAN CAN SAVE MONEY. Mrs. Cawker—“It is said that Mr. Pullman pays his daughter tea thou sand dollars a year for naming the com pany’s cars." Mr. Cawker—“Well. I’ll engage to supply worse names than she doe3 at half the salary."—Life. , THAT ELUSIVE TRUNK. It Almost Broke Her Up to Watch Oven R; Precious Safety. From the Now York Herald. Madge assures me that she neven wishes to travel alone again. “The last thing mother told mo," she said, in an aggrieved tone, “was, ‘Don's lose sight of your trunk.’ In justlo® to myself and tho many irato baggage men I loft strewn in my wako nothing; but the French hat In, the right handr division would have made me follow niother’s directions as carefully as [ did. But the recollection of that hats screwed my strength up at every station and it was not until 1 got on tho boat, at Boston that I allowed myself to b<k bodily separated from that trunk. Mr, mind* never left it. All night while tho^ baggage men were playing football* with the freight, directly under my> head, I saw (in my imagin r on) my* precious hat balancing first on one mer cury wing and then on tlift other. “That was at night. The next morn ing I started for tho baggage room be fore breakfast. After getting into vari ous places where I was politely In! >rmc<t I wasn’t wanted I attached myself to a. small official, bristling with brass but tons, and begged his assistance. Thai, man Is tho one shining spot tor consid ering his buttons, the shining spots) in my.erratic Journey. He cheerfully led me, through parts unknown, to the, haven of my d< Ire. It W 1" ' the ihaven—so wo started to find tho'| key or its owner. ' “The boat meanwhile was rapidly ap proaching tho wharf whero 1 was to change boats. After some bustling about a sleepy looking Individual was; unearthed from tho freight room andj my buttony friend besought him toi open the door. “ ‘There ain’t any hurry as I knowj on. Nobody g< ts off here.’ “ ‘But I must get off here. I change boats here.’ I expostulated. “‘Do tell,’ he exclaimed, and sat down to scratch his head and think, separately. He couldn't have been do ing both at once, it took so long. My, friend answered for me: “ ‘Get up, there, you fool. The lauy wants to get off. Where’s the key?’ “We were now at the wharf. ^ j “ ‘I dunno. You might ask Tom.' 1 fairly danced with excitement. Tho I boat had waited accommodatingly so I far, but ill*- pna of wen I boat will give "in and the trunk wm J still beyond my reach. ^k "Tom was found, but. m‘ th- r.ey^* Hv this time th" <• tpta:n. tho < aii'H :i 11 the pa-s. hit* • iv ”■ *' Rivit.tf . tions. Th.-ii d was that my buuonjH ■ •• *Bn tk in th blam<d d r,’ 1 > co n*. ■ • 1 Into the room to find it empty! I.waa ready to cry. “ ‘Oh,’ commented Tom, ‘mebbe you II find it in the freight room. I ain't say ing you will, but meblK* "We didn’t stop for tho rest In a body we rushed to the other * nd of tho boat, where comfortably on end was thd wretched trunk. “After that no argument >uld move me from the top of that trunk. I a o mv dinner on it, and I arc my supp r on it And when at last we reached m l destination I was firmly re olv< ! not to: como home ill all my clothes wero worn! out, so that I shouldn't have to tako the trunk back. “That’s why I don't ever intend ta travel aloao again.” And who can blame her?—New York Herald. WENT TO THE HOGS FOR PERMIS SION. . Ople Read was a tramp printer in hit l younger years, though now his turn*' .» known in both hem -ph< r •?. Ho found himself one wild, port n tlous night half wa ' kansaw cross-roads and now he.---, w:ta only ono visible shanty in Fight “Can I stay hero to-n ght : I the coming master of American wit. “Nope,” was the crusty answer. “Can't I? Can - ! 1 ■ ' ! ithe barn, under kiver wi:h y< r hogs. Tho madamo eyed him ch .- ly d t.m * ly mumbled: . ‘‘Ast the b&wgs. theirselves Th y hain't no sense. I’d say no, Im • may say yes;” and while • dashed, the thunder tnrobbed, andI hj lightning spilt the sky. °h-e 'rar ®®“ into the barn. , And no name Is more honored that* his to-day.—Newspaper Maker.