The Springfield herald., February 14, 1913, Image 5

About The Springfield herald. (Springfield, Baca County, Colo.) 1887-1919

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THE WRONG COAT
By HAROLD MacGRATH
Authr v “The Man on the Box,*' “The Gooee Girl,” Etc.
(Copyright, bp Um Bobba M*irlU Oompsnj)
F It hadn't rained at Wa
terloo Napoleon hlght not
have sunk to the obscure
fame of a cigar label; if
Lot's wife (whose name,
at this particular moment,
I fall to recollect) hadn’t
I
looked around, many’s the rilmorlst
who would be shy sundry half dollars;
if Ulysses hadn’t met Calypso, Penel
ope’s knitting would have been accom
plished in a reasonably small compass
of time; thus, If, on the morning of
March tenth, a blizzard hadn’t romped
In from the Atlantic, there wouldn’t
have been any wrong coat. The day
before had been treacherously warm
and springlike, and I had gone about
my affairs without, any coat. It is al
ways the -seemingly Infinitesimal
things that count heaviest In the final
reckoning.
I hadn’t gone two blocks from Mou
quln’s that night, when I noted the
fact that I was wearing a coat that
did not belong to me. With a growl
I turned around and went back. 1 sim
ply wasted my time; my coat was no
where to be found. I stormed about,
sending the waiters Jumping all over
the restaurant, but to no avail. Final
ly I calmed down and admitted that It
was all my own fault. 1 should have
examined the coat when I shouldered
into It. So I left word at the cashier’s
desk and sought the street again.
Doubtless you have lost a coat or
hat, In your time, if you who read
happen to be a man. It Is curious,
but, no matter how much you are bet
tered In you raise a
howl—you mane the echoes ache with
your lamentations. There Is nothing
on earth you want save your own coat
and hat. To be sure, If, In the pockets
of the wrong coat, there happen to be
several thousand dollars, your howl Is
modified and Innocuous, and you go at
once to look for the other fellow —
perhaps. But, as In this Instance
there were only thirty-five cents, a
canceled railroad ticket, and a scatter
ing of cloves and tabloids for the
breath, my cries were heard afar.
Hang all absent-minded diifTers, my
self included, whose wits go wool
gathering at bad times! The coat was
Just like mine, a light gray winter pad
dock, lined with heavy satin. The only
difference lay In the sleeves: these
had small-change pockets, whereas
mine had none. It was even exchange
and no robbery, but I was none the
less angTy. The truth Is, it was Just
after the first of the month and there
were four or five unpaid bills In the
Inside pocket of my coat. (One was
the bill for the coat!) So I climbed the
stairs to the elevated station In no
amiable frame of mind. Well, well;
it really did not matter ir the gentle
man who had appropriated my coat
learned that I owed my tailor. owe
one’s tailor as long as the law per
mits is quite customary—uot only cus
tomary, but also proper and commend
able. The other bills were foY'Blgars,
gloves and hats; that is to say, of no
great importance.
I plumped Into a vacant seat and
glowered at the street below. It had
stopped snowing and the wind had
gone down. For once In my life I took
ho Interest In the advertising signs. I
wartted my coat, and for all 1 knew the
man who had it might 6tumble under
an automobile and ruin the garment;
and, even if he didn’t ruin It, it would
smell tolerably strong or gasoline. 1
conjured up all manner of catastrophes
regarding the ultimate end of my coat.
The other fellow might be burned up
in It; he might fall down a greasy ele
vator shaft in it; he might even be
lugged to Jail in It, which was not at
all unlikely, the cloveß and tabloids
speaking not very well for his habits.
Was there ever such luck?
Having no newspaper with which to
pass away the time, I fell once more
to rummaging the wrong coat. As i
searched the pockets my sense of guilt
was in nowise agitated. Doubtless
the owner was at that moment going
through the pockets of my coat. Thus,
honors were even. But I found noth
ing by which to identify my man.
One’s Identity cannot be established
by means of thirty-live cents, a worth
less ticket, and a few cloves. A.
Conatf Doyle might accomplish such
a feat, but I couldn’t. . . . Hello!
What was* this? From the handker
chief pocket I drew forth an envelope;
but; as I glanced at it, my hopes
slumped. The address side was miss
ing; only the sealing-flaps remained.
I was about to toss it contemptuously
into the aisle, When I discovered that
It was covered with pencil scrlbbllngs.
. . Merciful heavens! I held the
thing under my very nose and read,
with horrified eyes:
“Girl must die between twelve and
one o’clock.
"Chloroform, —
“Bow-window at side unlatched, —
enter there.
"Safe in library. Secure will.
Deave by front door.
"Servants' night out. —Girl alone.”
Mystery! I sat up straight and
breathed* quickly. I saw it all very
pl&iniy. Fate had thrust this coat
upon me; Fate had given me a mis
sion; I might be the means of saving
the girl’s life. I was an amateur de
tective, after a fashion, and more
than once, in the old newspaper days,
I had succeeded where the police had
failed.
In a far corner of the envelope was
a house address. Without doubt It
was the very house In which this mur
der was to be committed. I glanced
at my watch. It was eleven o'clock.
There was plenty of time. . . . Or,
had the crime already been perpe
trated? I shuddered. It was left for
me to find out. "Servants’ night out,”
I thought. This might or might not be
servants’ night out. In any event 1
should have the happiness of con
founding a great rascal. From the ad
dress I learned that the house was lo
cated in n particularly aristocratic
part of the West side. But why should ,
he kill the girl? Ha! I had it. There j
was a will. No doubt she stood be- !
tween! With the girl dead, the prop j
erty would fall to him. It sounded
like a play at the Fourteenth Street
theater; but, In real life, the melo
drama Is closest to our every-day af
fairs.
I at once determined not to notify
the police; they would only bungle
the matter with the red tape of delay.
1 could calf (hem InPwhen the work
was over. , . .. ~
And to think that this ruffian's taste
in overcoats was one and Identical
with mine! 1 had half a notion to tear
off the coat, only It would have at
tracted attention—and, besides, It was
cold. ' 1-1 '
Some men .would have shrugged
their shoulders and permitted the
thing to go on. In a great city the
good Samaritan is usually looked upon
as a meddler; and, besides, every one
has trouble enough of his own. The
girl was nothing to me; even her
name was unknown. I hoped, how
ever, that she was beautiful and
young. My duty lay clear enough. It
was possible to save a human being,
and that was all there was to the mat
ter. Any right-minded man would
have done exactly as 1 did, though
hardly with the same result. (This Is
not to say that I’m not right-minded,
however!) If I should save the girl
from her persecutor, I should always
have something to fall back on if by
any chance I myself left the straight
and narrow way. To save a life Is to
do penance for many sins.
Putting aslderall flippant moralizing,
It was an adventure such as Invaria
bly appeals to me, and It is a habit
of mine to pursue things to the end.
It Is a fine and noble pursuit, that of
research. But sometimes, as In cases
like this adventure of mine, persons
lacking my sense of the romantic, are
called busybodies.
I do nbt recollect what street it
was In the eighties that the guard
bawled out, but It was near enough
for my purpose. I hurried out of the
car and down the steps of the ele
vated. Everybody gets in the way or
a man In a hurry; so, for a block or
more, the time was spent In making
apologies to grufT-tempered persons.
They would get In my way, and they
would demand what I meant by not
looking where I was going. Finally I
succeeded In ridding myself of the
crowds, and turned into a quiet and
sober street. The sign on the lamp
post told me that I had arrived on
the scene. It was twenty minutes past
eleven. Two things were possible:
either the girl had been killed the
night before or 1 had half an hour or
so. In which to render her the great
est possible service.i
The house proved to be a fine struc
ture, one of those few dw-elllngs In
the metropolis that boasts of anything
like a court or yard. This yard was
at the right of the building, and was
more a roadway to the stables in the
rear than anything else. Still, I may
stretch It a point and call it a yard.
I cast a hasty g'.ance about. Not a
soul was In sight. I tried one of the
gates. It was unlatched! This cer
tainly must be the night. I stole up
the roadway cautiously. The fact
that I left some fine tracks in the
snow did not disturb me. I was not
guilty of anything wrong. Yes, there
was the bow-window through which
the rascal was to enter. There would
be a surprise In store for him. A sub
dued 'light shone through the half
closed blinds. Some one was awake;
doubtless the girl herself, reading.
Everything was working out* nicely.
I would even save her any real annoy
ance.
I tiptoed hack to the gate, and was
about to make my exit, when I paused,
horrified, my heart in my mouth.
Coming airily along the walk was a
policeman. He was whistling popular
Irish melodies and swinging his night
stick. The deuce! Suppose he took it
into his head to examine the gate! I
hid behind the great stone gate-post,
breathing with difficulty, if there was
anything in the world 1 did not want
to happen. It was to be arrested in
this other fellow’s coat! Besides the
policeman wouldn’t believe a word 1
said. He would hale me to the near
est police station, and all my efforts
to save the girl would come to noth
ing.
The policeman did start Tor the
gate, but a cat fight across the street
distracted him and he crossed over to
break up the conflict. 1 was saved.
After a reasonable length of time, 1
stole forth. It was a close shave.
I dare say that I have omitted the
fact that I am young, still under thirty,
and am a struggling dramatist, after
having been a struggling poet, into
which craft I had drifted after having
been a struggling humorist. The main
fault of my want of success I lay to
the fact that I do not look the various
parts. As a dramatist, I lack the
requisite irritability of temper; as a
poet, I have not that distinct disre
gard for personal appearance usually
considered characteristic; as a humor
ist, I am totally deficient of the long,
cadaverous and dyspeptic countenance
and lusterless eye of the typical
writer of funny fancies. When my
uncle died and left me a comfortable
Income, Art received a staggering
blow, from which it Is doubtful she
will ever recover. A spinster aunt in
sists that I am more than ordinarily
agreeable to the eye; but, of course,
blood Is partial to blood. That Is
enough for the present or what the
amiable Thackeray called “first per
son, singular, perpendicular.”
When once more In the street, i
boldly approached the steps, mounted
slowly, and pushed the button. If a
maid or a footman should open the
door, I should know Instantly that it
was not servants’ night off. it re
mained only for the girl herseir to an
swer my summons.
This she did.
I remarked, elsewhere, that I hoped
.she would be young and beaiitirnl. She :
was. I wasn't exactly expecting such
a vision of loveliness. Her hair was
like golden cobwebs, her eyes like
sapphires, and her complexion fßad
the shadowy bfoom of a young peach.
I stared, standing first on one foot,
then on the other.
"What is It?” she asked, rather lm
, patiently.
r»,? It was quite evident that she had
Ijkeen deeply absorbed In the book she
held In her hand. I wondered how 1
should begin!
“Well, sir?”
"Are you the young lady of the
house?" I finally summoned up the
courage to ask.
"Yes.” The door moved perceptibly
—toward me.
”1 have, then, something of vital Im
portance to tell you.”
“Call tomorrow morning,” she re
plied briefly. The door continued to
move in my direction.
I saw that I must act quickly, or
turn the matter over to the police,
which I was exceedingly loath to do.
"It Is a matter of life and death,” 1
said determinedly.
"Life and death? Whose?” she
asked, with discouraging brevity.
Then she cried suddenly: "Has any
thing happened to my brother?”
“Brother? Not that I know. It Is
you! ”
"What?" She Inclined toward me,
and for a moment the door ceased to
gravitate outward.
"You possess a terrible enemy,
known or unknown."
"An enemy? ... 1 haven’t the least
idea, sir, what the meaning or this
hoax can—”
"Hoax!” I Interrupted. "It Isn’t a
hoax; It is frightfully serious, as you
will soon learn. If you will only be bo
kind as to give me a few moments of
your attention.”
There spread over her beautiful face
various shades of amazement, Indigna
tion and fear. Hoax! It was, Indeed,
a very ungraterul world. * Decidedly,
this time, the girl meant to close the
door in my face. Resolutely, I shoul
dered past her Into the hall!
"How dare you?” she cried, her
wonderful eyes blazing and wrath
dyeing her cheeks. "If yqu do not In
stantly go I shall call for help. How
dare you?”
"This is servants’ night out, and
your aunt Is away,” I said, Intending
to tell her all at once.
But she suddenly drew back against
the wall and gazed at me as If for all
the world I resembled the uprising of
Jason’s dragon teeth.
"What do you want?” she asked. In
a panting whisper. "There Isn’t a
penny in the house!”
Goodness! If the girl didn't take me
for a burglar!
"Do you think I’m a burglar?" I
gasped.
"But,” —piteously. .
"J am-simply here to do you a serv
ice; and It is a service.”
“There are no Jewels save these
rings. Take them and go.” * She
strfpped her fingers and held the rings
toward me.
1 flushed hotly. "Will you do ine the
honor to listen to. me?" i asked, as
calmly as I could. “Put back those
rings; otherwise I shall regret that 1
took it upon myself to befriend you. I
am not a burglar."
She complied, but the terror In her
eyes subsided none. <1 learned after
ward that several robberies had re
cently been committed in the neigh
borhood.)
"At a restaurant, tonight,” I began,
“I got another man's coat by mistake.
In a pocket or this coat I found evi
dence that a terrible crime was about
to be perpetrated. I came here to aid
you.”
She stared at me wildly and tumbled
her rings.
"You have," I continued, "a deadly
enemy, a wretch who wishes to put
you out of the way. You may not
know who he is, but none the less he
exists. You stand between him and
a will. It is money, the greed of It,
that brings him like a wolf to your
door. According to my information,
he Is to enter here between the hours
of twelve and one, chloroform you.
and pilfer the safe. He knows the
habits of this household well, lor he Is
aware that on this night neither your
aunt nor your servants Would be In.”
She still eyed me with unchanging
terror.
"It was only human on my part,” 1
went on, "to make known to you what
I had found.”
Suddenly an inexplicable change
came over her.
"Yes, yes; I see, I understand!
Thank you! Oh, thank you!" hyster
ically. -"Come Into the drawing room
and sit down. 1 have been dreading
this moment for months!”
Dreading It for months? And yet
she remained alone in this big house?
I was vastly puzzled; but I followed
her into the drawing room and sat
down, waiting for a further explana
tion on her part. She was a rarely
beautiful creature, and the Idea that
any man could harbor thoughts against
this exquisite life filled my soul with
horror.
"The Will is in the safe, but- the safe 1
Is in the library. Walt till l go and see
if the papers areTHra'ci ~ TShff iiurriml
from the room, leaving me with a
sense of utter bewilderment. There
was something about her present ac
tions that I could not understand. She
was gone fully five minutes. When she
returned she was very pale, but all
her agitation wai gone or suppressed.
"The will Is there; nothing, as yet,
has been disturbed. Tell me all you
know" —looking anxiously at the
clock\ the bands of which were now
close upon midnight.
I reviewed, the whole affair.
"JTes, I have.a terrible enemy, who
seeks my life at every turn"—her slen
der fingers snarling and unsnarling.
1 nodded comprehensively. "You
ought never to be alone.”-»l'p l ald.
"I realize that. This will . . .
leaves me untold mining 'p'rbfoerty.
. . . To my: howror 1 must confess
that this man fs'iCfiear relative.”
"Your brother?” I whispered.
"Heaveps, no! A cousin; yes, that
Is It, a cousin. 1 live from day to day
In constant misery.”
Frightful!”
"Is It not? And I am so young!”
Then she proceeded to tell me what 1
believed to bo the family history. It
was marvelously complicated.
"It seems Incredible," I observed;
“yet we read of like tales every day In
the newspapers."
’And no words of mine can express
my thanks to you, sir. You have put
me on my guard. 1 had heard that
my uncle —”
"Uncle?”
"Did I say uncle?” —with a catchy
sort of laugh. "I meant cousin. I was
going to say that I had heard he had
left the country."
But why did she watch me so close
ly? Every move I made caused her to
start. When I turned down the collar
of the other fellow- a coat, she shud
dered; when I drew off my gloves, she
paled; when I folded my arms, she
sent a terrified glance toward the
door. I could not make any sense out
of her actions.
“To prove the manner of his en
trance, let me see if the bow-window
1b unlatched. But wait!" I cried, pro
ducing the frayed envelope. "Listen
to this and see bow carefully lie
planned it, the rascal!” I then read
to her the scribbling, putting careful
emphasis on the bow-window and serv.
ants’ night out. "Now, ir you do not
mind, I’ll try the window.”
Sure enough.'it was unlatched!
“You see?’' 1* cried triumphantly.
The wild look returned to the girl’s
eyes.
"Let —let me see that paper!”—
bolding one hand to her throat while
the other she stretched out toward
me.
I gave the paper to her. She
glanced at it, dropped it, and burst
into tears.
"Good heavens!” I cried.
Then she laughed shrilly and hys
terically.
"What is the matter?”
"You positively came here, then, to
riOT even a cup or cnocoiATiriri riant
it J"
do me a real service;.and all the while
1 have been thinking that you were
a—’’
"What?”
"A lunatic!" —covering her lace.
"A lunatic?” I was absolutely dura
founded.
"Yes; and when I left the room it
was rjmply to call the police. The
manner of your entrance —the incred
ible thing you told me,—sir, there Is
some dreadful niii-take. 1 haven’t an
enemy In the whole world. There Is
no will in the sale. My brother and I
live with our aunt, who owns this
house. We have no property what
ever. What I have been telling you
was in the effort to keep you in good
humor till the police' arrived. But
what can it all mean? It is simply In
credible.”
I picked up the envelope and stared
at it stupidly. The address is the
same,” I said, trying to* find some
thing to stand on.
”1 know it; that’s what makes it so
uncanny. I cannot possibly under
stand. Perhaps the police can untangle
It." . '
The police! I saw that I should
have to give a good account of myself
when the police arrived: Where did 1
stand, anyhow? W’hat did It . mean?
No man would write-such a thing for
the fim of It.
“I’m -sorry." said T awkwardly. "1
thought I was doing right. Indeed, 1
really thought so.”
"And I thank you. You will admit
that some of mv suspicions were ex
cusable. To whom am I indebted?”—
graciously. In this mood she was
charming.
I told her my name.
Shd loked puzzled, and finally shook
her head.
"It has a familiar sound, but I can
not place It."
"There goes the bell!” I exclaimed.
“It’s the polic» ' me for the luna
tic!”
The girl flew t the door. I could
easily read In r mind. If I was a bur
glar or a lunati' the police meant pro
tectlon; In case my errand was in
feod-falth, there would still be the po
lice to greet the mysterious stran
ger.
Presently she returned, followed by
a private detective and two police
men. 1
"Is this the fellow?" asked the for
mer, scowling at roe.
The girl explained, rather incoher
ently, her mistake. Everybody sat
down. It was quite a social gathering,
or would have been but for the scru
tiny of the police, which 1 bore none
too well. Prom all sides .questions
came popping at me. and it was only
by the use of the telephone connect
ing my bachelor quarters that 1 suc
ceeded in establishing my identity.
The frayed envelope was vastly inter
esting to the police. They read it for
ward and backward, upside down,
and even held it close to the lire to
taee if any sympathetic ink had been
used in writing It.
"I guesH Mr. Carewe's a well-mean
in' chaf>, miss," volunteered the detec
tive. "But this matter will need close
attention. It.lonks like a tough prop
osition.” He began to ply her with
questions, but to no avail.
During the examination 1 vaguely
wondered what the other fellow was
doing with my coat.
The clock on the mantel struck hair
after midnight.
“There’s only one thing to be done,”
said the detective; "and that’s to turn
out the lights und wait for the blood
thirsty gent."
For three-quarters of an hour we
five sat in the semi-darkneßS, our ears
strained to catch the faintest foreign
sound. Once I sneezed suddenly, and
one of the policemen nearly fell out
of his chair. It may seem funny to
you who read, but it was mighty seri
ous to the girl and myself. The sus
pense was nerve-racking. We scarce
ly dared breathe naturally. The oc
casional slumping of the coal in the
grate was pregnant with terrors. And
our faces, seen but dimly, were drawn
and tense with the Bilent watching.
Every eye was directed toward the
baleful window, through which, at any
moment, Wfe expected to' see a man
crawl.
"Sh!” The detective raised a warn
ing hand.
On the stillness of the night there
came a clicking sound, like that of a
key being Inserted in a lock. Pres
ently we heard the hull door open and
close. We waited in ngony, or at
lenst I did. Possibly a minute passed,
and then we saw the figure of a man
loom in the doorway. We Baw his arm
extend toward the electric-light but
ton, and instantly the room became
brilliant with light.
The young man blinked at us nnd
we blinked at him.
"If you move n step," said the de
tective threateningly, "I’ll plug you
full o’ lead."
"What the. d ?" began the new
comer, gazing from face to face.
"Stop!" cried the girl, Bpringing to
his side; "it Is my brother!”
Her brother! I looked at the man
with Indescribable horror. He had on
my coat! And, more than this, he
was a man on whose honor 1 would
formerly have staked my life —Ar-
thur Keilerd, one of my classmates at
college. And this exquisite girl was
his sister, the girl I had always been
wanting to meet!
"Your brother!" cried the detective,
taken aback.
"Yes, her brother," said Keilerd
amiably. "Now, what’s all this pother
about, anyhow?" Here he chanced
to get a good square look at me.
! “Hang me, IT It isn’t Dicky Carewe!
—and wearing my coat!” He came
I forward and grasped my limp hand
! and pumped It. "If you only knew
! how I’ve been cursing you!” he add
j ed, laughing.
Then everybody began to talk at
1 once, nnd nobody would have learned
! anything had not the detective reso
! lately Interfered. He thrust the fray
ed envelope under Kellerd’s nose.
I “I)o you know anythli g about this?”
i he'demanded.
j KclJjjrd scrutinized It for a moment,
I and began to laugh; I might say
! that he roared. 1
; "I’m askin’ you If you know any
j thing about it?” Repeated the detect
; Ive coldly.
I “I ought to know all about it.” nn
i swered Keilerd finally; "I wrote It
j not four days ago."
"Arthur!” cried the girl, her voice
I full of shame, horror, anguish and re
proach.
"Come, come, Nancy; It’s ail a curi
ous mistake, a very curious mistake;
and you’ll all readily understand why
I laughed, when I explain.”
“A Joke, eh?" said the detective.
"Perhaps you can explain It, and per
haps you can’t,” —truculently.
“Easily. You have doubtless heard
of Norman Douglas," he began.
yThe police shook their heads, but
the girl and I looked Interested
"Douglas is the fellow who’s writ
ing all those queer detective yarns
lor the magazines," raid 1.
"Well," said Kelferd, "I’ve been
trying to keep it dark, but here’s
where I must confess. I’m Douglas,
und that slip of paper represents the
climax to a chapter In a new story.
Come into the library, gentlemen "
We followed soberly, even foo’.sbly
Keilerd drew out from a drawer la
his desk a bundle or manuscript, and
the paragraph he read aloud coincided
with the writing on the envelope.
"Well, I’m jiggered!” breathed the
detective heavily.
I looked around Tor a hole to crawl
Into, but there wasn’t any.
"Your sister notified us that a luna
tic was at large and had forcibly en
tered the house,” said the defective,
perfectly willing to cast all the odium
on my shoulders. (I could have throt
tled him with joy In my heart!)
"A lunatic?" roared Keilerd. For
a moment I thought he was going to
die of suffocation, and if he had I
should not have been sorry at that
moment. To have made an ass of
myself before, the prettiest girl I had
ever laid eyes on!
"I’m very sorry-." said the girl
"Never you mind." I replied. "Some
day I'll tell you all about the tabloids
for the breath 1 found In Arthur’s
coat.”
A short time'after, the policemen
solemnly filed out into the hail and [
into the street: nrd. not being In a
strictly amiable fran* of mind, I '
started to follow
"Dh. hang It. now, Dicky!" cried
Keilerd; "a man who used to b<> »
professional writer ought not t
harbor any ill feelings. Have a cigar?
I shook my - head. 1 had an idea
that I wanted to utilize.
"But I want you to’ hieet my sister.”
"I am delighted,’’—bowing rather
stiffly.
"But you’re not going off’with my
coat again!" . ,
I flushed, and shook the erstwhile
evil garment from my shoulders.
/ "Not Just a friendly cigar?" plead
ed Keilerd.
"Nary a one.”
The girl appronched shyly and
touched my arm. (This was my
Idea.)
"Not even a cup of chocolate, —if 1
make it?"
"Oh," said I, "that’s altogether a
different matter.”
Subsequent events proved that it
was.
MUST BE GIVEN FAIR CHANCE
Society’s Obligation to the Child Well
Bet Forth by a Writer In
Atlantic Magazine.
As a member of the social group,
every child born is In some sense the
child of the whole community. Organ
ized society has {Always found its real
meaning in the ideas, faiths, fashions,
hopes, emotions, which have been held
in common. The child Is born without
any character and without any knowl
edge. It is the business of the various
social organs to do their best with
each fresh life. The Immediate social
organ is the family, of most Import
ance during the first five years; after
that come the school, the street, liter
ature, business, politics, and whatever
else expresses the social faith. As the
child receives these impressions he be
comes gradually a citizen of the little
world in which he finds himself. The
Important field for practical eugenics
at the present time is In the social ef
fort to see that every child has u fair
chance. To begin with, the child must
have the chance to live. M. Bertlllon
says that of a thousand children born
among the rich, 943 are alive at the
end of five years. But of every thou
sand children born among the poor,
only 655 are ulive. The blood of these
children cries from the ground. Social
hygiene on the physical side, Including
all the modern municipal efforts for
Improvement, scarcely needs discus
sion, but it is equally Important for so
ciety to see that the child not only has
a chance to live and to live well, but
also un opportunity for the fullest de
velopment.—Atlantic.
Sad Plight of Uncle Wagner Weems.
“Uncle Wagner Weems Is sadly af
flicVed." remarked John Henry Jurni
gan. "He Is a chronic and consistent
advanced thinker, with all the love
possessed by most radical persons for
unbridled conversation, but Just now
he is blessed with the asthma, and
can hardly breathe, let alone argue
and declaim. And when he thinks of
the outrages that are being perpetrat
ed by the plutocrats, and the fact
that the money power Is holding the
noses of the vox popull hard down on
the grindstone of financial degrada
tion until It's a livin’ wonder that
there Is a nose more than three-six
teenths of an Inch long left In circu
lation among the tillers toilers, and
the urgent need for somebody to say
something about It. and finds himself
unable to do more than gasp like an
expiring catfish, the expression on his
countenance is well worth noticing."
—Kansas City Star.
Curious Facts About Oysters.
An oyster is wonderfully prolific,
producing 30,000.000 young in one
year. If they and their offspring all
survived, they would within a few
years multiply so greatly as to fill up
our great bays and sounds, like Long
Island Sound. Poconlc, Gardiners.
Narragansett, Great South and Chesa
peake bays, so that navigation would
be prevented. The oyster shells would
form solid land, as do the houses of the
coral Insects; but, instead of Increas
ing. the destruction of the young oys
ters by their enemies is so great, to
gether with the depletion of the nat
ural beds by the demand for this de
licious food by mankind, that, far from
Increasing, the supply has greatly de
pleted, and in many cases has threat
ened to become extinct. This was es
pecially true In Great Britain and
some places on the Atlantic coast.
Fitted fer Florida.
Will Irwin, the author, was holding
forth upon the superiority of Cali
fornia over Florida as a winter re
sort.
"Florida." he said, "is too relaxing
This Is due to the fetid air of the
swamps.
"There's a story about a young
man who was being examined for nd
mission to the Florida bar. The ex
amination ran thus; | ,
“ Young man, are you malaria
proof?’
“’Yes, sir.'
"’Can you ride?’
" ’Yes, sir.’
‘‘Do you own a horse?’
"’Yes, sir.’
"'ls he a good swamp swimmer?'
“'Yes, sir.’
“'Then, young man. I welcome you
to the practice of law In this dis
trict.' ”
From a Day’s Trapping $3,600.
Jesse Herrin of Canaan, Maine, a
trapper, has made a small fortune In
one night. He put out a line of
traps In the Pittsfield woods late one
afternoon and when he visited them
the next morning he found a prime
glossy fox in one trap, a silver gray
fox in another and four red foxes In
other traps. The black fox Is valued
at $2,000, the silver gray at $1,600
and the red foxes at $lO each —$3,540
In all. When Mr. Herrin reached the
read where his wife and team were
waiting he found a big buck deer
which had been shot by Mrs. Herrin '
He figured up that the morning’s trip
had netted him about $3,600.
Opposition.
A Blair county barrister recently
handed a brief up to the court in
which he thus described his two 1
brethren on the other side: "They
are like two ghouls In a country !
graveyard seeking a carcass to de- ;
vr.ur." —Philadelphia Record
LATE
MARKET
QUOTATIONS
Western Nowepn|M i 1111..11 N.w* s.-i vl.. .
DENVER MARKETS.
Cattle.
Beef steers, corn fed, good to
choice S.OOO 9.00
Beef steers, corn fed, fair to
good 7.0008.00
Bed steers, grassers, good to
choice 6.40(57.00
Beef steers, grassers, fair to
good 6.00@6.40
Heifers, prime grassers ... .5.5006.20
Cows and heifers, grassers.
good to choice 5.0005.50
Cows and heifers, grassers.
fair lo good 4.2505.00
Cows and heifers, corn fed,
good to choice 5.5006.00
Cows and heifers, corn fed,
fair to good 5.0005.50
Feeding cows 4.0005.00
runners and cutters 2.5004.00
Veal calves 6.0008.50
Hulls 3.7504.50
Stags 4.0005.50
Feeders and stockers, good
to choice 6.00 ‘j 7.C0
Feeders and stockers, fair to
good 5.2506.00
Feeders und stockers, com
mon to fair 4.5005.25
Hogs.
Good hogs 7.655 7.75
Sheep.
Lambs 7.0007.55
Ewes 4.250 4.CM*
Yearlings t;. 2507.n0
Wethers 5.000 5.40
Feeder lambs, F. I’. It 7.0007.50
Feeder outs, F. I’. It 4.2504.80
Feeder yearlings, F. P. It. ..5.7506.50
Hay.
(Prices Paid by Denver Jobbers F. O.
B. Track Denver.)
Colorado upland, per ton.. 12.000 13.n0
Nebraska upland, per ton. .11.50012.00
Second bottom, Colorado
and Nebraska, per ton.. 9.50010.00
Timothy, per ton 12.50013.00
Alfalfa, ptr ton 9.50010.00
South Park, choice, ton.. 12.50013.00
San Luis Valley, per ton .. 11.00012. 00
Gunnison Valley,'per ton. 11.000 12.00
Straw, per ton 4.000 4.25
Grain.
Wheat, choice milling, 100 1b5...1.32
Itye, Colo, bulk, 100 lbs 1 «»5
Nebraska oats, sacked 1-27
Corn chop, sacked LO7
Corn, in sack LOG
Bran, Colo., per 100 lbs 1.05
Dressed Poultry.
Turkeys, fancy, D. P 19 020
Turkeys, old toms 17 018
Turkeys, choice 14 015
Hens, large LI
Hens, small II 012
Broilers 20 023
Springs 18
Ducks 13 019
•Geese 13 019
Roosters 8
Live Poultry.
Hens, 3V& lbs. and over ... 12 013
Hens, under 3Vfe lbs 10 011
Broilers 20
Springs 15
Springs, young hard boned,
lb 10 012
Roosters 6
Ducks IS 018
Turkeys, 8 lbs. or over ....15 017
Geese 13 018
Eggs.
Eggs, graded No. 1 net F.
O. B. Denver 23 024
Eggs, graded No. 2 net, F.
O. B. Denver 21 528
Eggs, case count, are bring
ing from so.2sfti 7.00
Butter. '
Elgin 31
Creameries, ex. Colo., 11). .. 35
Creameries, ex. East, lb. .. 35
Creameries, 2d grade, 11). . . •’>'>
Process 26
Packing stock 20*4
MISCELL AN EAOUS MARKETS.
* New Orleans Cotton.
New Orleans, La. -Cotton Mid
dling. 12 7-lGc. Sales, 210 bales.
Lead and Spelter.
St. Louis. —Lead—Firmer, $1.22%0
4.25.
Spelter Lower, $6.3006.40.
Hay and Grain.
Chicago.—Wheat- May, at 91Vt0
94 */,c.
Corn—May at 53%c. Cash: No. 2,
50*4; No. 2 yellow, 51c; No. 8, 4SV&O
50c; No. 3 white, 50 , / 4051%c; No. 3
yellow, 48V6050C; No. 4, 46045%c;
No. I white, 48 0 50c; No. 4 yellow,
4GV&O 48%c.
Rye—No. 2. 635 Gsc.
I la rl ey—4 9070 c.
Timothy Seed—s3.ooo4.oo.
Clover Seed—sl2.ooo2o.oo.
Lard $10.35.
Pork $19.10019.50.
Ribs $9.750 10.50.
Prices in Chicago.
Chicago. -Butter Steady. Crean
cries, 27 034 fac.
Eggs- At mark, cases Included. 2
023 c; refrigerator firsts, 17c; first.
21c.
Potatoes Michigan. 15ft/ 57c; Min
nesota, 430 47c; Wisconsin, 42047 c.
Poultry- Turkeys, 15c; chickens,
14Vfcc; springs, 15c.
Wool in St. Louis.
St. Louis. Wool Medium grades,
combing and clothing. 23*402i.‘c; light
fine, 19021 c; heavy fine, 13018 c;
tub washed, 27036 c.
Omaha Live Stock.
Omaha. Cattle Native steers.
$6,750 5.25; cows and heifers. $1.0064
7.00; Western steers. $5.5007.75:
Texas steers. $5.00 5 6.35; range cows
and heifers, $3.7506.50; calves, $5.50
0 9.00.
Hops Heavy, $7.2507.45; light.
$7.4007.50: pigs. $6.000 7.0' bulk «>f
sales. $7,350 7.1".
SI •• t Y* ; • sreth
ers, $5.300 lambs. ss.«"•>»/ B.' 5.
P-ice of Flax.
Dulnl eed * Maj
s!.*>’ ’ !•. ’MO nominal