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\ Mary Dudley's \ 3 Answer. t ■wwrfTr;rr>-;<'jcs v wrw PICK JERK All presented him self nt tlie otlice of Carrlngton Brothers In 110 very sanguine frame of mind. He still felt that Boer bullet In his right leg, and his complexion, as well as his nerves reminded him of the enteric, which had brought him near to death's door. Worst of all was the news from Nel lerton. Mary Dudley—his Mary—had inher ited £'JO,OOO from her Uncle Harold, and—and, if that letter of the rattle tongue gossip, Miss Brayshaw, to his mother was to be believed, Mary was on the highroad to a title. Sir Tarver Brown was very little other than a baronet, but the attraction of a "lady ship" could hardly help tempting even such a. girl as sweet Mary Dudley. The younger member of the firm received Dick with sympathy, but no enthusiasm. "You don't look fit for an office desk, Mr. Jerram—oh ,1 beg your pardon, Lienteunaut .Terrain, isn't it, now?" he . said with a slight laugh. "I was offered a commission, but I did not feel that I could accept it, sir," said Dick. "I want to take up my work again—for various reasons." Ernest Carrington's eyebrows rose and subsided. "I am very sorry, Mr. Jerram," he' said, "but just nt present there is no vacancy. We will, of course, give you the first chance—the very first chance that occurs." "Do you really mean It?" he asked, faintly. "My dear fellow, you eally are not fit for office work just yet. Take a holiday after your trying labors—your noble and—er—patriotic self-sacrifice. I dare say, in a few months, at the most, we can squeeze you in some where, though I fear even then we cannot offer you the same salary you received in 1809." With an effort Dick pulled himself together, and stooij up, like the diseip- , lined if damaged soldier he had be come. "Your words are final, sir?" he asked. "Provisional, Jerram—only provi sional. But we can't afford to cheer you with hopes that may not come to fruition. Anything we can do in the way of recommendations, it will give ts the utmost pleasure to do. Of tourse, you understand that? Good heavens! it is the least we could do!" Dick bowed his head. The smile on his lips was just a little bitter. "Quite so," he said. "It is some thing to bo grateful for that you are willing to do the least possible. Good morning." And then Dick found him self in St. Paul's Churchyard, and conscious that the last straw had been piled upon his head. Mary as good as lost to him—more certainly now than before, anyway— his situation filled up, his health broken, and no one to whom he could honorably look for help in his time of trouble. 1-Ie found comfort in the recollection lhat his mother's own poor little in come of a hundred a year was suffi cient for her well measured require ments. "As for mc " He shrugged his shoulders and tot tered down Ludgate Hill. On his way he noticed a jeweler's window, with watches and chains and pins and rings of price beneath his eyes—espe cially rings. And the rings reminded him of what it hurt him most to re member. He looked at his left hand, with (lie plain but solid gold circlet, set Jrith a tiny diamond, and the words, invisible to his eye, but pressing his finger, "Forever and forever!" That was Mary's voucher to him for her life-long love. His fingernails closed on his palms tightly, his jaws locked as if they meant never again to part, and ho drew two or three terrible breaths of the kind that mark crises in the life of a man. At length he moved again. "Yes, that's what I'll do," he murmSred. "Poor girl! one can't blame her. She shall marry him with a free conscience at all events." Then once again ho whispered: "As for me " But he did not ever shrug his shoul ders this time. His despair was too profound. It needed 110 emohasis. At the King's Arm Inn, of Nollerton, that evening. Dick took pen and paper, tnT wrote the letter to Mary which was to accompany the returned ring. It was short and to the point: "Dear Mary—Somehow, though I would like to keep this, I can't do it, and so I bring it back to you; and you must think I mean to be nasty by making it come to you on your birth day. 1 quite understand that things are changed between us. Wishing you all the happiness life can give you, believe me, sincerely yours al ways, RICHARD JERRAM." "No drivel In that, I think," he said, with a pang of pride when' he had read it and folded it up. The ring was in a 111 tie box, and the letter was now wrapped round the box. The whole was addressed to Miss Mary Dudley, 2 Devonshire Road. In tlie darkness he tottered out Dev onshire Itoad way. He gazed at the] bouse and the lighted window of] Mary's bedroom—gazed and gazed till he felt silly. He lay restlessly, now wishing wildly, now dumbly resigned to all things. Once it occurred to him to wonder what tlie maid of the Inn meant by smiling like that when she gave film his uandlc- and said a gay "Good-night." But he had far intenser stimulants to thought than that, and the damsel goon drifted away from him. His, most strenuous moments fol lowed the realization that he had been casual enough to leave Mary's packet' downstairs on the mantelpiece in the little parlor. "Shows what I am!" 110 said fiercely, as he made an attempt to get up, light a candle and go down for It. But he found the effort quite appal lingly severe, and gave it up. He dozed deliriously, played with Mary in boy-and-girl fashion, danced with her, had her a'.l to himself in the Braekshaw Woods, wooed and won her all over again. Off and on he woke, to gasp and groan and utter exclama tions. The Pretoria nurses would have interpreted those exclamations aright, but ho was alone now, and had worse tomes after each bout of them. For the second time the girl knocked at his door. "Your hot water, sir!" she cried, and set her ear to listen. She did not listen long, but hurried downstairs, with word for the master that the gentleman in No. 3 was shout ing In the queerest way. "I think he's ifi, sir," she said. "He looked bad last night." The landlord made no bones about entering Dick's room when he, too, had rapped to 110 purpose. Ho gazed at Dick for a few moments, and felt ' his blood chill a little at Dick's furious j cry: "I tell you you are dead, Mary, | so don't deny It!" touched Dick's burn- | ing forehead, and left him. "He's In n fever —that's what's the ] matter with him," he said. "You just I go for Mr. Barker, Jane, right away." ; "Poor young fellow!" said Jane ! eagerly. "That I will, sir." Moreover, being in love herself, she determined to kill two birds with one stone. "It's maybe a present for Miss Dud ley," she snld to herself. And, putting on her hat, carried off Dick's little packet for No. 2 Devonshire Road. * • "Nurse!" The darkness had passed from Dick's brain, and, having opened his eyes and seen things as they were, though with an imperfect grasp of the facts, he whispered the monosyllable. The quick rustle of a dress answered bim and the words: "Yes, my dear boy!" "You, mother?" said Dick, looking up at the face that was the best and ! truest object in life for him. She clasped ids hand—a bony shape, ' loosely lacecl with skin. Suddenly the cloud fell upon him. It all came back—wound, fever, tlie : long weeks in hospital, the voyage ! home in weakness and anxiety as well 1 as hope, the news of Mary's fortune | and Sir Tarver Brown, his rebuff in j St. Paul's Church yard and his journey to Nellerton. He groaned, in spite of himself, and | turned his face to the wall. "Now, then, dear, let me raise your head." "What's the use?" he murmured. It was his one and only flash of peev ishness. The next instant he obeyed orders, with n smile. It was a druary smile, yet a smile. "How I must have worried you, mother!" he said quietly, as he settled ! after the tonic. "I suppose this is Nel- I lerton?" She kissed him as mothers do kiss ! their grown sons of whom they are I very proud. "Try and sleep again, dear," she said, j rather tremulously. But Mary Dudley and her infidelity— ! her excusable infidelity—were vivid In ] ills mind. llow could he sleep umid such realizations? "All right," ho said, shutting his eyes. Then a sunny gray mist settled upon his brain, and his surroundings were to him as if they were not. It was not so much sleep as translation of spirit. "Oh, Mary, Mary, what shall I do without you?" his lips cried aloud, oven while his miiul was active in some remoter atmosphere. "Nothing, dear Dick, you shall not do without mc as long as we live, for we will he always together." A hand was laid on his forehead—a little satiny hand, with love warm in all its pores. And instantly Dick opened his eyes. "Mary!" he gasped. This time Mary Dudley laid her face by ids 011 the pillow, smiling, and whispered, with her mouth close to his mouth: "Of course, Dick, who else should it ' he?" * * * But it was not until the evening that she was allowed to give him in full measure the only tonic that could lie warranted alile to make Idm him self again in spirit and In truth. Then slip did not spare him. "1 plight to feel ashamed of you, Dick," she explained, "for supposing, if only for a second, that I could care anything for my money apart from you? Sir Tarver Brown, indeed! Why, I was just waiting for a sign from you. And I got it—my own ring! Oh, Dick!"— Chicago Record-Herald. Salisbury an Editor. A letter of Lord Salisbury's, written wjieu lie was Lord Robert Cecil, to Abraham Hayward, was sold the other day in London. In it the future Prime Minister wrote that "a new review has , been projected, of which I am one of the editors; and, knowing how valua ble your co-operation lias been to the . other reviews, I venture to ask you , whether you have the leisure, or, if the • leisure, the inclination occasionally to I; contribute to this new one. Its ninin • i object is to supply the liveliness which I; has been so painfully lacking lately in 1; the elderly quarterlies without the 11 startling peculiarities on the subject of , | religion which have stood so much In 1 i the way of the new ones." r 'ifAtuts&i i 1 '* w-~ Miff"! 1<!& ID ] Civil War Incident. IN connection with the article in the Sim relating an Incident of the Bat tle of Kenuesaw Mountain, Geor gia, in 1804, when Colonel W. H. Martin, of the First Arkansas Regi ment, gave the order to his men to stop tiring, and hoisted a white handker chief on a stick that the Federals in his front might remove some of their wounded men from a burning woods, Mrs. Susan B. Hull, of No. 10:10 Ca thedral street, recounts an interesting bit of history. The First Arkansas Regiment was composed largely of students of St. John's College, at Little Rock, and was officered by the professors and instuc tors of the college. The First Colonel of the regiment was Mrs. Hull's broth er, Colonel John Baker Thompson, who had been President of the college, and who afterwards fell at the battle of Sliiloh. The First Arkansas was en camped near Fredericksburg when the first battle of Manassas, or Bull Run, opened. The command was ordered to the field, and it made the march in remarkably good time, winning words of praise from General Magruder. The men were not allowed to halt on the march, the roads were dusty and the weather warm, and they suffered ter ribly from thirst. When the battle field was reached the command was thrown into the forefront of the fight ing. Almost directly In front of the regiment was a spring of cool water, completely covered, however, by the guns of a Federal battery. This tempt ing spring, so near and yet so far, was exceedingly tantalizing to the thirsty men, and finally, when human nature could stand it no longer, two young boys, botli under sixteen, whose names, unfortunately, have been lost in the Hight of time, volunteered to get some water from the spring. With a lot of canteens strung over their shoulders the two young heroes started on i lieir perilous journey. As soon as they came in range of the Federal battery it opened on them, and a perfect hail of canigter and grape swept the field. The two lads reached the spring unin jured, and quickly filled the canteens, while their comrades watched with breathless Interest, expecting every mo ment to see them struck down. Sud denly, as if by magic, the fire of the battery ceased. Then, us the boys started on their return to the regi ment an officer on horseback rode out from between the guns of the battery, and, lifting his hat, waved it to the boys, while a hearty cheer broke from the throats of the cannoneers. The of- Ucer had discerned the mission of the lads and given orders to stop firing. The cheer was responded to by the thirsty Confederates, and a few min utes later they were pouring the re freshing water down their dusty throats. Possibly at Kennesaw, when the men and boys of the First Arkansas Regi ment saw the unfortunate wounded boys in blue in danger of a horrible death in the burning woods, they re membered the incident of the first great battle of the war.—Baltimore Sun. "A Mild Fall." Waterfalls are plentiful, but a "mud fall" is less common. In "Mount Oral and Beyond, a Record of Travel on the Thibetan Border," Mr. Archibald Lit tle describes such a fall, upon which he came, and under which he had to pass in his travels. , A sort of recess in the mountainside, apparently scooped out by the river, was filled by a buge whirlpool, into which from above came a steady fall of rocks. For at the back of the recess a mud fall tumbled over the cliff, here, perhaps, a thousand feet high, bringing down with it a constant stream of rocks, which bounded over the narrow footway and then down the lower slope with a splash into the boiling river. We sat down on the rock at the bottom and watched the spectacle. Wo had been told beforehand of all sorts of impossible dangers, especially since the heavy rains, but we were not pre pared for running the gauntlet of such a cannonade as this. Never having seen anything of the kind in our pre vious experience of mountain countries, we should much have liked to climb up the mountain side, had that been possible, and investigate the source of this extraordinary stream, which flowed on with a steady persistency that fascinated our gaze. But unfor tunately rve could not afford to loiter by the way and miss our daily stages. Presently some coolies Came along, nnil we watched with intense interest how they would pass the fail. The path was not a foot wide, and in fact was only retained as a path at all by the traffic over it, by which a way ivas trodden in the shaly slope as fast as it dribbled away. A big rock lined the inside of the track on one side of the fall, and under the lee of this the men crouched. They Avatched for an exceptionally heavy shoi\*er nnil when this Avas over made a bolt for it. This manoeuver was repeated by each individual, anil he Avas greeted by the laughter of bis companions as he successfully ran the gauntlet.' The stones were all angular, and varied in size from that of a Avalnut to that of a pumpkin, tvblle the great height from which they fell rendered them doubly dangerous. We sat for nearly an hour watching before we made up our minds to A-en ture, and I should certainly not then have had the courage to do so had we not seen the natives pass with impun ity. We Avent on at last and stood under the sheltering rock at the very edge of this novel cascade. The mud dy, stone-laden stream made a loud, rattling, grating noise as it carried the smaller stones along with it; the larger fragments came bounding down in huge heaps as they crashed by. Wait ing for a bigger mass than usual to go by, we made the run and all got safely over. It was literally a rock cascade, for there was very little water in the stream, and that quite shallOAV. Our pony jumped across AVitliout any difficulty, but an invaluable, watchdog got panic-stricken Avhen he felt the ground moving beneath his feet and crouched down. I was behind, and was able (o catch him up and save him from death. IkCHCuIn? a Cal. At the risk of his life, William Clynes, of St. Louis, climbed a flagpole seven tj'-five feet high to rescue a helpless cat. This piece of heroism, reported among the lesser events in the daily news column, had no motive but sym pathy with a dumb animal in distress. Three days before, the cat had run up the tall flagstaff in Carr Park in her pursuit of a sparrow. When she was within three feet of him, the sparrow flew away. Then the cat, instead of turning back, continued to climb until she reached the golden ball at the top of the pole, and this, too, she sur mounted. After a brief rest she tried to descend. Then her feet Plipped, and she made the discovery that her claws, although ex cellent for climbing, head up, were useless when she put her weight on them head down. The rotundity of the ball or fright at the elevation seemed to deprive her of the power to descend backward; so she sat clutching the ball at the top of the swaying pole, and cried plteously. Through all of one night of misery, through the following day, and then through another night she clung, cold and hungry, to her narrow perch. On tlie third day a park keeper and a po liceman tried to reach her. The police man climbed forty feet and was then obliged to give up.. "Can't some one save the poor creature?" he asked sym pathetically, as he slid down. Then William Clynes, a tinner in a stove factory, pulled off his coat and started up the pole. Foot by foot he went, until lie reached the point, forty feet above the ground, where the light topmast was spliced on. Up this thin, swaying stem, which to the people be low looked like a. reed, and which bent and trembled under Clynes's weight, he slowly worked his way. Once, when near the top, lie slipped back a few feet. The crowd gathered below shivered, and many of the spec tators called to him to come down. But ho only gripped the pole the harder with his shins and slowly worked his way up, until lie was only ten feet from the cat, live feet, two feet. A moment later he had gained the top, and wrapping his legs a,ud one hand firmly about the slender staff, he readied the other hand over the gilt ball, and gently picked the eat from her place of danger. Then he slid down the pole to the ground, where he stood a moment for the crowd to inspect the cat before lie took her off to get her some milk. Ilail a Haglng Hear For a Pagscnger. Samuel Aftergut, a butcher of the Potrero, had an experience witli a young cinnamon bear yesterday after noon which, he says, has forever cured liim of iiis taste for bear meat. He spent tlie most uncomfortable two hours of liis life hauling a raging, de mented bear around tlie streets in his wagon, and begging somebody to kill it before it killed him or scared him senseless. Aftergut has, or rather had, until yes terday, a friend named "Billy" Maul, who conducts a resort known as "The Arbor," out near the Chutes. A long time ago a hunter gave Billy a bear cub, and for the amusement of his patrons Billy raised the cub till it de veloped a good size and a bad temper. Finding it had become a pest to him Billy made his friend, the butcher, a present of tlie troublesome animal and Aftergut hauled him away in his wagon with a stout rope tied around tlie brute's neck. Deprived of its freedom and appar ently frightened at the jarring ride in the wagon, poor Bruin suddenly be came violently demented. He raged and tugged at the rope, screamed in frenzy in his effort to get at his captor, and turned tlie wagon bed into a pile of debris. The butcher soon became heartily sick of his bargain, as crowds of curious people, attracted by the howls of the bear, followed him through the streets. Findiug at last that he could neither cure his bear nor rid himself of his un welcome presence,Aftergut drove to the Hall of Justice and besought Captain Birdsall to shoot the brute and end its misery. Bruin wailed and raged with foaming mouth at the mob of police men and court officials who came to view his dementia from a respectful distance, till finally Sergeant Atkinson stood close to the bear und fired a shot into his brain. Great was the butcher's relief when the death struggles of his "pet" ceased. The carcass, which he had Intended originally to sell to a Chinese delicat essen store, he carried off to the bone yard. But he vows vengeance on hit erstwhile friend Billy Maul.—Sun Fxau cisco Chronicle. Self- Confidence. The man who thinks that he is great And thinks it, too, with all his heart, May claim to have one man convinced, And that is something of a start. —Washington Star. Heredity. "Do you believe in heredity?" "Certainly; I know n barber who has three little shavers."—New York Times. "booking With Favor on Ills Suit." Always a Signal For Trouble. "What started the awful row in that group of politicians?" "I (lon't know. But I should sur mise that one of them had gotten up and suggested a scheme for harmony." —Washington Star. A Far-Siglited Man. Edith—"Shall we go over to the Biffs to play ping-pong, or shall we have them come over here?" Edgar—"Oh! Let's go over there! Then, if we get tired, we can quit and come home."—Puck. An Inquiry. "They used to go rowing very often before they were married. They 6eemed very happy then." "They don't get along at all now." "Indeed? Who is rocking the matri monial boat?"— Puck. A Waste of Ureiitti. Miss Kulcher—"You can always tell n woman who lias enjoyed the benefits of higher education." Mr. Crabhe—"Not much! You can't tell her anything; sht. rninks she knows It all."—Catholic Standard and Times. Devotion. "Are you sure you love me for my self alone?" said the heiress. "Yes," answered the blunt but sincere young man. "I love you in spite of your superior fortune. I am willing to marry you and take chances on being bullied by reminders of it."—Washing ton Star. Every Han l'or Hi. Fad. "Don't you care for ping-pong?" in quired the devotee of that fascinating sport. "No," said the automobile crank, as he moved the lever; "I prefer chug chug." And he chug-chuggcd away.—Cleve land Plain Dealer. A Foolish Question. Dora—"Oh! I'm In such distress of mind and I want your advice. I am loved by three men, and I don't know which one to accept." Clara—"Which one has the most money?" Dora—"lf I knew that, do you sup pose I'd waste precious time ruiftilng around for advice?"— New York Week ly A Fit Subject. Mrs. De Jarr—"ls there au idiot asy lum near here?" Sir. De Jarr—"l believe so." "Do they take people on their own recommendation ?" "My stars! llow should I know? Why?" "Oh, nothing! Only to-day 1 got hold of a package of my old love-letters."— New York Weekly. No Designs on Iler. r Stout Lady—"Sir, I beg you will de sist from following me, or I shall call an oflicer." Perspiring Male—"Pray don't say so. You're the oniy bit of sitade on the avenue!"— New York Journal. An Unlucky IteKtoratlon. "You know thnt real pearl necklace af mine, the cne that I call the ten thousaud-dollar one?" "Yes." "Well, I've had awful bad luck with it. I lost It in au elevator the other day and the elevator boy found it and told some reporters, and of course I had to give the boy a reward that wouldn't seem too small and mean, and so I made it two hundred dollars." "Well?" "And two hundred dollars is more than the necklace Is actually worth!"— Cleveland Plain Dealer. 1 WHAT IS A MODERN NEWSPAPER'? ! file Public Think. It 1. the Community'. All-Kouiul llandy Man. j A guessing contest to answer the | question, "What is a modern news | paper?" might not seom to he a diffi cult one at first blush, but investigation j would change thnt conclusion. ; The newspaper shows the effect of ! expansion more than any other branch j of trade or business, and with the, , cheering feature that the public Is al-"" ways the beneficiary. I From the Adrian (Mich.) Telegram comes the following attempt to de i scribe what a newspaper now is: | "The public is Insistent in its de i mands. It expects the newspaper to ! be a pack horse, a dray team, a ditch digger, a gas Inspector, a water tester, a special policeman, a detective bu reau, n dog chaser, a sidewalk fixer, a cow Under, a thief catcher, a busi ness maker, a city pusher, a house i seller, a paving inspector, a sewer direc ' tor, a pocketbook finder, a lost article ; hunter, council regulator, fraud dis | coverer, panic preventer, obituary 1 preacher, chief taffy pourer at wed dings and social functions, sporting ! mascot, fish liar, big egg prevaricator, snake story expander, judge on earliest '■ gardens, business boomer, husband tinder, sweetheart securer, school ! Inspector and general all-round | handy man for the community, jln fact, if there is a single | tiling of importance to human life and | human happiness that doesn't go 1 through the newspaper it has never yet been discovered. It touches every fen | ture of human endeavor from the cradle ! to the grave. It smiles with those who smile and weeps with those who I mourn. It is everywhere all the time j the most busy, the most useful of nil j the public agencies. It makes mis- , takes. All human agencies do. Some times It is dishonest. But it stands Dut so in the glare of the arc light of publicity that it can but half succeed If dishonest—and then only for a brief time." A (same of Chance. ] Mackeral fishing has always been a * ;ame of chance, more so than any other branch of the fisheries. for tunes have been made In good years and large sums lost in unsuccessful seasons, for it takes considerable money to fit out a fleet of seiners. Some of the high line vessels have divided among the crews as much as fIOOO a man for six months' work. Mackerel fishing is now done in three ways: with a big purse seine, which is the method of the larger ves sels; with a drag or gill net, and in pounds and traps which are built out from the shore of brush or twine. The old way of catching mackerel was by hook and lino. Large quanti ties of wash halt, herring and clams .'hopped line, were used, ami sometimes as many as four or five barrels of this bait were thrown over from a single V vessel In a clay. It was used to attract the fish, and the old timers think if a return to the old methods were made tlie mackerel would come to these shores In as largo numbers as they did years ago. In those days there were more ves sels employed than at present. At one time, just before a heavy northeaster, 800 fishermen were counted passing in by Portland Head at the entraneo of Portland harbor to escape the storm. The vessels fished in fleets, and It often happened that several hundred sail of fishermen would be seen in a very small area. Collisions were fre quent .and whenever two vessels came together there was sure to he a fight between the crews.—New York Sun. Singapore a Thriving Colony. On the little island of Singapore, which only eighty years ago was a jungle, England now has a colony "00,000 inhabitants. It has hotels ac- * commodatlng hundreds of guests, man sions and millionaires by the score, yachts and fine clubhouses, and it <s one of the most Important financial centres of the British Empire in the East. Fifty steamship lines connect the colony with the rest of the world. Its postofflcc handles 8,000,000 pieces of mail every year. It has miles of docks visited by a thousand vessels every month. There are no customs duties what ever, yet it lias a revenue of $2, ."00,000 a yenr and a credit balance at the end of every year. And in the midst of a population which Is one of the most cosmopolitan In the world, n small gar rison of little more than three battal ions and a police- force of less than 2000 men keep life and property ns secure as in the city of New York ** itself. i Though there are no customs in Singapore, the Government always comes out of the year with a credit balance. Its 82,500,000 income Is de rived from land taxes, stamps, licenses, port and harbor dues and postage. One-third of It goes In salaries, and throughout the East there are no abler nor better paid officials than the British In the Colony of Singapore.—New York Sun. Marconi's Sense of Humor. Mr. Marconi, unlike many of his scientific brethren, has a sense of hu ; uior, says the London Express. He | said that wireless telegraphy was as ' old as the world. When first an nbor ! lginal Indian lit a fire on an aboriginal , hill to signal to some other aboriglna)/ Indian some miles away, then the prin-~l i t'iple of wireless telegraphy was in- • 1 tinted. I In a recent lecture Mr. Marconi, re -1 ferring to the fact that he can send i messages so much more easily by night ; than by day, snld that he hoped that no one hut those Interested In cable | companies would class his labors ' imong the works of darkness.