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THE CELINA DEMOCRAT, CELINA, OHIO
The HILLM AN A Story About an Ex periment With Life By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEI JOHN STRANGEWEY FEELS THE LIRE OF LOVELY WOM AN AND 13 UNABLE TO BREAK THE SPELL LOUISE HAS WOVEN Synopsis. On n trip through tlie English Cumberland country the breakdown of her automobile forces Louise Muurvl, a famous London actress, to spend the night at the farm home of John and Stephen Strangewey. At dinner Louise discovers thnt tin- brothers ore woiimn hiiting recluses. Next morning she discovers Hint John, the younger brother, hns recently come Into a large fortune. In company with him hhe explores the furm nnd Is disturbed by evidence of Ills rigid moral principles. He leurns she Is u friend of the prince of Snyre. a rich and disreputable neighbor. Three months litter, unable to shuke off the girl's memory, Johti goes to London. CHAPTER V (Continued.) thoughts "You nren't letting your dwell upon that woman?" "I have thought about her Rome times." John answered, almost defiant ly. "What's the harm? I'm still here, am I not?" Stephen crossed the room. From the drawer of the old mahogany sideboard he produced an Illustrated paper. He turned back the frontispiece fiercely and held It up. "fo you see that, John?' "I've seen It already." f tepheii threw the paper upon the table. "She's coiner to act In another of those confounded French plays," he aald; "translation with all the wit taken out and all the vulgarity left lu." "We know nothing of her art," John declared coldly. "We shouldn't under stand It, even if we saw her act. There fore It Isn't right for us to Judge her. The world has found her a greut ac tress. She Is not responsible for the plays she acts In." Stephen turned nwny nnd lit his pipe anew. He smoked for n minute or two furiously. His thick eyebrows came closer nnd closer together, lie seemed to be turning some thought over in his mind. "John," he asked, "Is It this cursed money that Is making you restless?" "I never think of It except when someone comes begging. I promised a thousand pounds to the Infirmary to day." "Then what's wrong with you?" .Thn stretched himself out, a splen did figure of healthy manhood. His cheeks were sun-tanned, his eyes clear and bright. "The matter? There's nothing on earth the matter with me," he de clared. "It Isn't your health I mean. There are other things, as you well know, Tou do your day's work nnd you take your pleasure, and you go through both as If your feet were on a treadmill." "Tour fancy, Stephen !" "God grant It! I've had an unwel come visitor In your absence." John turned swiftly around. "A visitor?" he repeated. "Who was It?" Stephen glowered at him for a mo ment. "It was the prince," he snld; "the prince of Seyre, as he calls himself, though he has the right to style him self Master of Raynl'"-n. It's only his foreign blood whlc! makes him choose what I regard as th ' f.,er title. Yes, n i . i "You Aren't Letting Your Thoughts Dwell Upon That Woman?" he cnlled to nsk you to shoot nud stay at the castle. If you' would, from the sixteen ill to the twentieth of next month." " hut answer did you give him?" . "I told him that you were your own muster, You must send word tomor row." v "lie did not mention the names of uy of his other guests, I suppose?" , "He mentioned no names 'nt all." John was silent for a moment. A bewildering thought had taken hold of Mm. Supposing she were to be there? Stephen, watching him, read his thoughts, and for u moment lost con trol of himself. "Were you thinking about that wom an?" he asked sternly. "What woman?" f "The woman whom we sheltered bere, the woman whose shaifteless pic ture is n the' cover of that book." John swung round on his heel. "Step that, Stephen !" he said men acingly. "Why should I?" the older man re torted. "Take up that paper, if you vent to read a sketch of the life of Lonl.se Mnurcl. See the play she made ker ruiiiie In 'La Oloconda'l" , "What about It?" Stephen held the paper out to his brother. John read a few lines nnd dashed It Into a corner of the room. 'There's this much about It, John," Stephen continued. "The woman played that part night nfter night played It to the life, mind you. She made her reputation In It. That's the woman we unknowingly let sleep beneath this roof! The barn Is the place for her and her sort ! John's clenched fists were held firm ly to his sides. Ills eyes were blazing. "That's enough, Stephen !" he cried. "No, It's not enough !" was the fierce reply." "The truth's been burning In my heart long enough. It's better out. You want to find her a guest at Itnyn ham castle, do yon? IEaynhnm castle, where never a decent woman crosses the threshold ! If she goes there, she goes Well?" An nnger that was almost paralyz ing, a sense of the utter Impotence of words, drove John in silence from the room. He left the house by the back door, pHswcd quickly through the or chard, where the tangled moonlight lay upon the ground in strange, fantastic shadows; across the narrow strip of Held, a field now of golden stubble ; up the hill which looked down upon the farm buildings nnd the churchyard. lie sat grimly down upon a great bowlder, filled with a hateful sense of unwrenked passion, yet with a sheer thankfulness in his heart that he hud escaped the miasma of evil thoughts which Stephen's words seemed to have created. The fancy seized hlni to face these half-veiled suggestions of his brother, so far as they concerned himself and his life during the lust few months. Stephen was right. This woman who had dropped from the clouds for those few brief hours had played strange havoc with John's thoughts and his whole outlook upon life. The coming of harvest, the care of his people, his sports, his cricket, the early days upon the grouse moors, had all suddenly lost their Interest for him. Life had become a task. The echo of her half nioeklng, half-challenging words was always In his ears. He sat with his head resting upon his hands, looting steadfastly across the vnlley below. Almost at his feet lay the little church with Its grave yard, the long line of stacks and bnrns, the laborers' cottages, the bnilifrs house, the whole little colony around which his life seemed centered. The summer moonlight lay upon the ground nlmost like snow. He could see the sheaves of wheat standing up In the most distant of the cornfields. Beyond was the dark gorge toward which he had looked so many nights nt this hour. Across the viaduct there came blaze of streaming light, a serpentlike trail, a faintly heard whistle the Scot tish express on Its way southwnrd toward London. His eyes followed It out of sight. He found himself think lng of the passengers who would wake the next morning In London. He felt himself suddenly acutely conscious of his Isolation. Was there not something almost monastic In the seclusion which had become a passion with Stephen, and which had its grip, too, upon him a waste of life, a burying of talents? He rose to his feet. The half-formed purpose of weeks held him now, defi nite and secure. He knew that this pil grimage of his to the hilltop, his rapt contemplation of tile little panorama which had become so dear to him, was In a sense valedictory. about to engage. And uow another world had hlni in lis grip. He lllcked the liniru Willi his whip, turned away from the inn, and galloped up to the station, keeping pace with the train whose whistle he had heard. Standing outside was u local horse dealer of his acquaintance. "Take the mare back for me to peak Hall, will you, Jenkins, or send one of your lads?" he begged. "I wuut to catch this train." The mini assented with pleasure It paid to do a kindness for a Strnnge- wey. John passed through the ticket ofllce to the platform, where the truln was waiting, threw open the door of a carriage, and Hung himself Into a corner seat. The whistle sounded. The adventure of his life had begun at lust. CHAPTER VI. The great French dramatist, dark ptiie-fnced and corpulent, stood upon the extreme edge of the stage, bran dishing his manuscript In his hund. He banged the palm of his left hand with the rolled-up manuscript and looked at them all furiously. "The only success I care for," he thundered, "Is an artistic success !" "With JIIss Muurel playing your leading part, M. Oralllot," the actor manager declared, "not to speak of a After all, two more months passed before the end came, nnd It came then without a moment's warning. It was a little past midday when John drove slowly through the streets of Market Ketton In his high dogcart, exchanging salutations right and left with the tradespeople, with farmers brought into town by the market, with ac quaintances of all sorts and condi tions. More than one young woman from the shop windows or the pave ments ventured to smile at him, and the few greetings he received from the wives nnd daughters of his neighbors were ns gracious as they could possibly be made. John almost smiled once, in the uct of raising his hat, as he real ized how completely the whole charm of the world, for him, seemed to lie in one woman's eyes. At the crossways, w here he should have turned to the inn, he paused while a motorcar passed. It contained a woman, who was talking to her host. She was not In the least like Lou ise, and yet Instinctively lie knew that she was of the same world. The per fection of her white-serge costume, her hat so smartly worn, the half-Insolent smile, the little gesture with, which she raised her hand something about her unlocked the floodgates. Market Ketton had seemed well enough a few minutes ago. John had felt a healthy appetite for his midday meal, and a certain interest concerning deal In barley upon which he was The Whistle Sounded. The Adventure of His Life Had Begun at Last. company carefully selected to the best of my judgment, I think you may ven ture to anticipate even that." The dramatist bowed hurriedly to Louise. "You recall to me a fact," he said gallantly, "which almost reconciles ine to this diabolical travesty of some of my lines. Proceed, then proceed I will be as patient as possible." The stage manager shouted out some directions from his box. A gentleman in faultless morning clothes, who seemed to have been thoroughly enjoy. ing the Interlude, suddenly adopted the puppetlike walk of a footman. Other nctors, who had been whispering to- gethrr In the wings, came back to their places. Louise advanced alone, a little languidly, to the front of the stage. At the first sound of her voice M. Grail lot, nodding his head vigorously, was soothed. Her speech was a long one. It appenred that shehnd been arraigned before a company of her relatives, as sembled to comment upon her mis deeds. She wound up with a passion ate appeal to her husband, Mr. Miles Faraday, who had made ud unexpected appearance. M. Graillot's face, as she concluded, was wreathed in smiles. "Ah I" he cried. "You have lifted us all up ! Now I feel once more the In spiration. Mudcmoiselle, I kiss your hand," he went on. "It is you who still redeem my play. You bring bnck the spirit of it to me. In you I see the em bodiment of my Therese." Louise made no movement. Her eyes were fixed upon a certuin shadowy corner of the wings. Over wrought as she had seemed, with the emotional excitement of her long speech, there was now a new and curl ous expression upon her face. She was looking at a tall, hesitating figure that stood just off the stage. She forgot the existence of the famous dramatist who hung upon her words. Her feet no longer trod the dusty boards of the theater. She was almost painfully conscious of the perfume of apple bios som. "You !" she exclaimed, stretching out her hands. "Why do you not come and spon k to me? I am here!" John came out upon the stage. The French dramatist, with his hands be hind his back, made swift mental notes of an Interesting situution. He saw the coming of a man who stood like a giant among them, sunburnt, buoyant with health, his eyes bright with the wonder of his unexpected surround ings; a man in whose presence every one else seemed to represent nn effete and pallid type of humanity. : Those first few sentences, spoken in the midst of a curious little crowd of strangers, seemed to John, when he thought of his long waiting, almost plt eously Inadequate. Louise, recogniz ing the difficulty of the situation, swift ly recovered her composure. She was both tactful and gracious. "Mr. Faraday," she said appealingly, "Mr. Strangewey comes from the coun tryhe is, In fact, the most complete countryman I have ever met ' in my life. He conies from Cumberland, and he once well, very nearly saved my life. He knows nothing about the aters, and he basut the least idea of the Importance of a rehearsal. You won't mind if we i 1 1 1 111 J t somewhere out of the wuy till wo Imve finished, will you?" "After such an Introduction," Fara day said In a tone of resignation, "Mr. Strangewey would he welcome at any time." "There's a dear man!" Louise ex claimed. "Let me Introduce him quick ly. Mr. John Strangewey Mr. Miles Faraday, M. Oralllot, Miss Sophy Ge rard, my particular little friend. The prince of Seyre you already know, al though you may not recognize him try ing to balance himself on that absurd stool." John bowed In various directions, and Faraday, taking him good-naturedly by the arm, led him to a garden sent at the back of the stage. "There!" ho said. "You are one of the most privileged persons In London. You shall hear the finish of our re hearsal. There Isn't a press man In London I'd have near the place." Twenty-four hours away from his silent hills, John looked out with puz zled eyes from his dusty seut among ropes nnd pulleys and leaning frag ments of scenery. What he saw and heard seemed to hlni, for the most part, a meaningless tangle of gestures and phrases. The men and women lu fashionable clothes, moving about be fore that gloomy space of empty audi torium, looked more like marionettes than creatures of flesh and blood, drawn this way nnd that nt the bidding of the stout, masterful Frenchman, who was continually muttering excla mations nnd banging the manuscript upon his hand. It seemed like n dream picture, with unreal men and women moving about aimlessly, saying strange words. Then there came a moment which brought a tingle Into his blood, which plunged his senses Into hot confusion. He rose to his feet. It was a play which they were rehearsing, of course ! It was a damnable thing to see Louise taken Into that cold nnd obviously unreul embrace, but it was only a play. It was part of her work. John resumed his seat nnd folded his arms. With the embrace had fallen nn lmaglnnry curtnin, and the relienr sal was over. They were all crowded together, talking, in the center of the stage. The prince, who had stepped across the footlights, made his way to where John wns sitting. "So you have deserted Cumberland for n time?" he courteously Inquired. "I enme up last night," John replied. "London, at tills season of the year," the prince observed, "is scarcely at Its best." John smiled. "I am afraid," he said, "that I nm not critical. It is eight years since I was here last. I have not been out of Cumberland during the whole of that time." The prince, after a moment's Incred ulous stare, laughed softly to him self. "You are a very wonderful person, Mr. Strangewey," he declared. "I hnve heard of your good fortune. If I can be of any service to you during your stay In town," he added politely, "please command me." "You are very kind," John replied gratefully. Louise broke away from fhe little group and came across toward them. "Free at Inst !" she exclaimed. "Now let us go out and hnve some tea." They made their way down the little passage and out Into the sudden blaze of the sunlit streets. Louise led John to a small car which was waiting in the rear. "The Carlton," she told the man, ns he arranged the rugs. "And now," she ndded, turning to John, "why have you come to London? How long are you going to stay? What are you going to do? And most Important of all in what spirit have you come?" John breathed a little sigh of con tentment. "I came to see you," he con- fessed bluntly. "Dear me!" she exclaimed, looking at him with a little smile. "How down right you are !" "The truth" he began. "Has to be handled very carefully," she said, interrupting him. "The truth is either beautiful or crude, and the people who meddle with such a won derful thing need a great deal of tact. You have come to see me, you say. Very well, then, I will be just as frank I have been hoping that you would come !" "You can t Imagine how good It Is to hear you say that," he declared. "Mind," she went on, "I hnve been hoping It for more reasons than one. You have come to realize, I hope, that it Is your duty to try to see a little more of life than you possibly can, lending a patriarchal existence among your flocks nnd herds." xney were snent lor several mo ments. "I thought you would come," Louise said at last; "and I am glad, but even In these first few minutes I wunt to say something to you. If you wish to really understand the people you meet here and the life they lead, don't be like your brother too quick to judge. Do not hug your prejudices too tightly. You will come across many problems, mnny situations which will seem strange to you. Po not make up your mind about anything In a hurry." "I will remember that," he promised. "You must remember, though, thnt I don't expect ever to become a convert. believe I am a countryman, bred ana born. Still, there are some things that I want to understand, If I can, and, more than anything else I want to see you !" She faced his direct speech this time with more deliberation. "Tell me exactly why." "If I could tell you that," he replied simply, "I should be able to answer for myself the riddle which has kpt me uwuke nt night for week and months, which bus puzzled me more than anything else In life hint ever done." "You really have thought of me, then?" "Didn't you always know that I should?" ''Perhaps," she admitted . "Anyhow, I always felt thnt wo should meet again, that you would come to London. The problem Is," she added, smiling, "what to do with you now you ure here." "I haven't come to bo a nuisance," he assured her. "I Just want a little help from you. I want to understand because It Is your world. I want to feel myself nearer to you. I want" She gripped his arms suddenly. She knew well enough that she had delib erately provoked his words, but there was a look In her fuce almost of fear. "Don't let us be too serious nil at once," she begged quickly, "it you have one fault, my dear big friend from the country," she went on, with a swiftly assumed gayety, "It Is that you are too serious for your yeurs. Sophy and I between us must try to cure you of that ! You see, we have arrived." He handed her out, followed her across the pavement, and found him self plunged Into what seemed to hlin to be an absolute vortex of human be ings, all dressed In very much the same fashion, all laughing and talking together very much in the same note, all criticizing every fresh group of ar rivals with very much the same eyes nnd manner. The palm court was crowded with little parties seated at the various round tables, partaking languidly of the most Indolent meal of the day. Even the, broad passageway was full of men and women, standing about und talking or looking for tables. One could scarcely hear the music of the orchestra for the babel of voices. The prince of Seyre beckoned to them from the steps. He seemed to have been awaiting their arrival there a cold, immaculate, and, considering his lack of height, a curiously distinguished-looking figure. "I have a table Inside," he told them ns they approached. "It Is better for conversation. The rest of the place Is like a bear garden. I am not sure If they will dance here today, but if they do, they will come also into the restaurant." "Wise man !" Louise declared. "I, too, hate the babel outside." "We are faced," said. the prince, ns he took up the menu, "with our daily problem. What can I order for you?" "A cup of chocolate," Louise replied. "And Miss Sophy?" "Tea, please." John, too, preferred tea ; the prince ordered absinthe. "A polyglot meal, Isn't It, Mr. Strangewey?" said Louise, as the order was executed ; "not In the least what that wonderful old butler of yours would understand by tea. Sophy, put your hat on straight If you want to make a good Impression on Mr. Strangewey. I nm hoping that you two will be great friends." Sophy turned toward John with a little grimace. "Louise Is so tactless !" she said. "I am sure any Idea you might have had of liking me will have gone already. Has it, Mr. Strangewey?" "On the contrary," he replied, a little stiffly, but without hesitation, "I was thinking that Miss Maurel could scarcely hnve set me a more pleasant task." The girl looked reproachfully across at her friend. "You told me he came from the wilds and was quite unsophisticated!" she exclaimed. "The truth," John assured them, looking with dismay at his little china cup, "comes very easily to us. We are brought up on It In Cumberland." "Don't chatter too much, child," Lou ise said benignly. "I want to hear some more of Mr. Strnngewey's im pressions. This Is well, if not quite a fashionable crowd, yet very nearly so. What do you think of It the wom en, for Instance?" "Well, to me," John confessed can didly, "they all look like dolls or man- your value as a companion In the days. You are the only person wK. run see the truth. Lye und taste blurred with custom perceive so little. You are quite right when you say that these women are like manikins; that their bodies and faces are lost; hut one does not notice it until It In point ed out." "We will revert," Louise decided, "to n more primitive life. You and I will Inaugurate a missionary enterprise, Mr, Strungewey. We will Judge the world afresh. We will reclothe and re habilitate It." The prince flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette. "Morally as well as surtorlully?" he asked. There wns a moment's rather queer silence. The music rose above the hubbub of voices nnd died away again. Louise rose to her feet. The prince, with a skillful maneuver, made his way to her side as they left the res taurant. "Tomorrow afternoon, I think you snld?" he repeated quietly. "You will bu In town then?" "Yes, I think so," "You have changed your mind, then, about" "M. Ornlllot will not listen to my leaving London," she Interrupted rap idly. "He declares that It Is too near the production of the play. My own part muy be perfect, but he needs me for the sake of the others. He puts it like a Frenchman, of course." They had reached the outer door, which was being held open for them by a bowing commlssloiinnire. John and Sophy were waiting upon the pave ment. The prince drew a little buck "I understand," he murmured. ft Author ofYLkYL tnd SIRCAn GAME FI5HM FLY-CASTING FOR BASS. John find himself in the midst of new city adventure, and he succeed In captivating more than one handsome woman of the stage world. (TO iiii CUNTINUKU.) VALUE OF PETROLEUM SHOWN War Develops Multitude of Uses for What Were Formerly Regarded a Merely It By-Product. "It has required this war to awaken England to the lmiortance of the pe troleum industry to any and every civ ilized country," declared Prof. Charles (ireenwny, president of the Institution of Petroleum Technologists lu Lon don. "The Importance of the petroleum Industry to the civilized world develops with the course of years, but In this country It Is so far only in its Infancy. It Is only now, ns a lesson of this terri ble war, that we are awakening to the fact that petroleum, and the securing of our own sources of supply of this valuable commodity, are a national ne cessity, not only for the great econom ic struggle which will certainly take place between the chief commercial nations nfter the conclusion of this war, but ns a safeguard against tills country ever again being drawn into such a barbarous and destructive con flict as that in which we are now en gaged. "Until within the last few years pe troleum was only regarded as being of value for the production of artificial light, lubricating oils nnd wnx, but later developments hnve shown that its greater value lies in what were for merly regarded as merely Its by-prod ucts benzine and fuel for motive pow er, solvents for a host of chemical and allied processes, dyestuffs In various manufactures, unguents In pharmacy, Jellies and aromatic hydrocarbons for high explosives. It is, I think no ex aggeration to say that the demand for these so-called by-products, and the uses to which they will be put ns time goes on, are practically Illimitable." Kitchen Car Built for Troop Trains. Kitchen cars that are Individually of sufficient capacity to meet the needs of a fair-sized hotel are being carried with the long troop trains operated on one of the Canadian railways between military training camps and the sea board. They have been constructed to facilitate the di'iing service so that meals can be prepared for several hun dred men and served, without confu sion or delay, says the Popular Me chanics Magazine. Each of these mo bile kitchens occupies nn entire car, Is equipped with a 10-foot range, steam-cooking apparatus, a spacious refrigerator and other necessary par aphernalia. This is all Installed on one side and inclosed by a long table extending the full length of the car. A passageway is provided between this counter and unobstructed wall, so that waiters can enter nnd leave the kitch en without disorganizing the work of the eight cooks and helpers. "I Want to Feel Myself Nearer to You. I Want" lklns. Their dresses nnd their hats overshadow their faces. They seem all the time to be wanting to show, not themselves, but what they have ou." They all laughed. Even the prince's lips were parted by the flicker of a smile. Sophy leaned across the tubi with a sigh. "Louise," she pleaded, "you will lend him to me sometimes, won't you? You won't keep him altogether to yourself? There are such a lot of places to take him to !" "I was never greedy," Louise re marked, with an air of self-satisfac tion. "If you succeed In making a favorable Impression upon him, I promise you your share." "Tell us some more of your Impres sions, Mr. Strangewey," Sophy begged. "You want to laugh nt me," John protested good-humoredly. Ou the contrary," the prince as sured hlni, ns he fitted a cigarette into long amber tube, "they want to laugh with you. You ought to reullze Syllables Are Clipped. ' But the American does love to save his words! It was In the elevator of n skyscraper the other dny that the newest device for dipping syllables was noticed. The lift had just passed the tenth floor when a morose looking man spoke to Its conductor. "Three," said he, meaning, of course, the thir teenth. When he had been left at the floor the benrded man grunted out "five," and the chap next him said hurriedly "seven." So they were de posited at the fifteenth nud seven teenth floors, respectively, and then the elevator boy spoke to the remain ing passenger. "What's yours?" he asked. "Nineteen," returned that gentleman. "Great smoke, -it has been so long since I've heard a 'tecu' that I hardly understand what you mean," said the elevator boy, but he stopped ut uiueteen all right. Exchange. The Squirrel Dog. There Is no accounting for that un canny faculty that enables a homely, long-legged, sad-eyed pup to go un erringly to a lofty onk tree in whoso higher brunches a bit of animated brown fur Is secreted. Another dog of the same or more prepossessing ap pearance and of a better breed might trot unconcernedly past that same oak tree without so much as a casual sniff. But not so with the real "squirrel dog." He'd pick out the right tree In the densest grove a hunter ever penetrat ed. And If that squirrel started leap ing from tree to tree, that dog would follow it over a squaro mile of tin ber. My Dear Buck: Going after, the husky bass with the light tly rod Is sure the right system of fishing, if you have a desire to culti vate the tingling nerves and the thumping pulse. Nothing In the game will give you more thrills than to have a two or three pound bass take the feathers nnd then try to shake 'em loose that Is, of course, if you are bundling the working end of the rod. And If this old buss is a stream-raised youngster, he will give you more fight than any other fish, weight for weight. Wading a stream and whipping the water In a semicircle as you go along Is fur more enjoyuble than lake fly casting, and at the same time a stream tliut cun be waded makes about the best kind of buss water for the use of the fly. The shallow pools above and below riffles or rapids Is a likely spot for the hungry buss as well as the ed dies along the sides of rapids. Cast into the swirl of water as it passes urouud a bowlder und off the edge of the windfalls, logs and brush heaps, all of which locations are generally the loafing place of a fine old buss. In Inke fishing with the fly the bright, sunny day is not for you. The bass rise to the fly particularly on a day when the surfuce Is broken by a slight breeze, and the best time for casting Is In the early morning und lute In the evening. From sunset to durk Is the best time when the day has been blight in fact, most any day. On the lake cast your fly inshore on the bars and shallows or ledges und off the edges of lily pads, rushes and weed beds, as well as alongside the half submerged logs and windfalls along shore. The fly should be allowed to sink considerably and a slightly Jerky cruwl given to it when working In the line. This is done to fool the bass into believing the object ,of the fly maker's art is a struggling Insect try ing to get out of the wet. Better to Fish Downstream. On the stream it is preferuble to fish downstream, as the bass lie with the head upstream and with the current currying your fly on its natural course, the bass have more chance to see it nud thus become a possible candidate for the creeL Then again, it is far easier to wade downstream than it Is going up. : For dark days nnd early evening use" light-colored flies, nnd for the bright days the darker flies. Smaller flies of a subdued color tied on a No. 6 or 7 hook is right for low, clear water on a bright day, while for after-sunset and moonlight custlng the gray, white und brown flies tied on a larger hook, a No. 2 or 4 size, are more likely to attract the fish than the smaller ones. For rough and turbid water the bright ly colored feathers are best. In select ing your flies don't overlook the black, brown, gray and hackles; you will often find that the old reliable hackles will bring a rise after you have tried every other combination In your fly book. Nearly every fellow who whips the light fly rod has his own particular selection of flies, and . by these he swears like a pagan ; however, for the beginner, besides the hackles the fol lowing solection will give a fairly va ried assortment that will puss muster until he creels the, first fish and the fly used at that time will no doubt be given the pluce of honor In his pet UstT I have found these flies creel fillers: Queen of the Waters, Lord Baltimore, Montreal, Grizzly King, Coachman, Professor, Red Ibis, Setli Green, White Miller, King of the Water, Ferguson, McGinty, Emerson Hough, Silver Doc tor and Farinanchee Belle. One of the essentials in bussing with the fly is to keep out of sight of the fish as much as possible. The bass Is every bit as scary as the trout, al though once he sees you he will not dart away and disappear like the trout, but he will dnsh off a little distance and stop, facing you. However, don't waste time trying to make him take your fly, because he hus a case of "nerves" and you can cast it right over his nose nnd he merely gives it a dis interested glunce. On the small bass streams keep entirely out of sight and on the wider waters nuike a long cast, the finer the water the more caution nnd the longer the cast. On casting from the shore It Is well to be screened by bushes or any natural formation. Wading is the best method, however, as the nearer you are to the water the 'ess chance the fish have of seeing you, and even at that you should be as quiet as possible and make it a point to avoid quick or sudden moves. Cast your files as lightly ns possible and avoid letting them land with a splash by slightly raising the tip of the rod right before they touch the wa ter and let the current help you by allowing the flies to run with it. DIXIE. Reliability Auto Tour. Buffalo will witness the start and finish of the Intercity reliability auto mobile tour. A run extending over two nights will bring together well-known amateur drivers representing various cities. Each contestant will be per' uiltted to enter five to ten cars. New Gymnasium Wanted. The University of Minnesota wanta n new gymnasium and additional ground for a intercollegiate and Intra mural sports.