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The Celina Democrat. (Celina, O. [Ohio]) 1895-1921, September 07, 1917, Image 7

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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.

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