Newspaper Page Text
THE WINSLOW MAIL.
J. F. WALLACE, Publisher. WINSLOW, ARIZONA. COFFEE AND CAKES. Coffee and cakes. (And the bright eyes of Helen.) What joys are in store for us—Time has the teliin’! Coffee and cakes, and the bright eyes of Helen! The rustle of silvery curtains of lace — The light of her eyes and the light of her face Where the bright dimples race! A blessing that day from Love’s heart was upwellin’— Coffee and cakes, and the bright eyes of Helen! Who'd think that a beggar who knelt in the dust And the darkness of life, and thanked God for a crust. Would e’er o'er a banquet be granted the grace Os the light of those eyes and the joy of that face, Where such rose-dimples race! Ah, what is in store for us—Time has the teliin’— Coffee and cakes, and the bright eyes of Helen! Was ever such banquet? Ah, every bright minute Had silvery ripples of laughter wove in it! All the joy of a lifetime seemed merged in an hour Os light and of joy, in an April-sweet shower, And that face like a flower! Forever and ever Love’s blessings up wellin’ For coffee and cakes, and the bright eyes of Helen! —Frank L. Stanton, in Atlanta Constitu tion. |jobson^^^sfi^^J PROPOSE,” said Mr. Jobson, I when he arrived home with a bulky package under his arm the other evening—“l propose to make the pres ent. year one of instruction and mental cultivation in this household,” and he cut the twine that bound the bundle, ripped off the paper and re vealed a stack of books of the same color and pattern. “This thing,” he went on, “of dod dering around the house for five or six hours every night, until bedtime, playing checkers, or sawing on the vio lin, or listening to you pick out a note here and a note there on the piano, and watching you reading with rapt, open-mouthed attention the narration of the extraordinary adventures of ‘Birdie Juteworks,’ or, “The Hapless Maiden of the Mill,’ has got to come to an end. It’s slothful, unprofitable, idiotic, and a miserable fashion of frit tering away the time.” Here Mr. Jobson halted and gazed solemnly at Mrs. Jobson, who won dered w hat was coming next. “I have here, Mrs. Jobson,” he went on, “an immortal historical work, which you may have heard of, and which you may not have heard of. It is called ‘The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,’ and it w as written by Gibbon.” “Quite true,” said Mrs. Jobson. sweet ly. “I read an abridgement of it when I was at school, and have read the complete work through twice since we were married. You will remember HE COULDN’T FIND THE HOT STUFF. that my Uncle John gave it to me for a birthday present, in eight volumes. It is in the bookcase now, bound in morocco, you’ll remember.” Mr. Jobson’s countenance fell, but he promptly recovered and looked in credulous. “There’s something queer about ail this, that’s all I’ve got to say,” he re marked, however. “I never knew of these books being in the house, and you must have been hiding them all these years. I’ll bet you the nicest poke bonnet that can be built for new currency that those volumes have never seen the inside of the bookcase, anyhow —you’ve probably had them in the bottom of one of the old trunks in the storeroom all this time.” “They’ve been in the bookcase ever since I got them,” put in Mrs. Jobson, and Mr. Jobson, perceiving that he w as cornered, cleared his throat ponderous ly and went on: “We’ll just let that little mystery pass for the present,” he said. “If 1 had known that there was an edition of this immortal work around my house d’ye suppose that I’d have blow n in S2B for this 12-volume edition? How ever, we’ll let that pass, as I say. The fact remains that a chapter of this great historical work is going to be read in this household every night from now on, and I’m going to be the reader. We need to have our horizon expanded. We live too much in the trifling and frivolous present. We are too much concerned with merely dinky affairs. We need inspiration, elevation, exaltation. What better way of gaining those things than by hark ing back, through the medium of this masterful work to the glorious days and the mighty happenings of im perial Rome?” and Air. Jobson was be coming so eloquent that Mrs. Jobson felt like chiming in with “Hear! Hear!” but. she didn’t care to take the chance. “I think,” went on Mr. Jobson, “that I started to read this book when I was a young fellow, but I’m not sure, and I’m not setting up any fictitious claims like some people I know. We’ll begin on these readings right after dinner, and from this time on nothing whatever is going to interfere with at least ont chapter of Gibbon every evening. You’ll thank roe for this later on, although I can see by your looks now that you are suffering the miser ly* of an anticipated martyrdom.” Mrs. Jobson denied the impeach ment, and said: “Os course, you know that the chap ters of Gibbon’s ‘Decline and Fall’ ar* very long, and th.at-—” “Oh, that’ll be all right, too,” inter rupted Air. Jobson, “I don’t care if each chapter’s as long as the Koran, when I set myself & certain task, that task I perform in the face of every dis couragement. Just hurry the girl up with dinner, so’s we can get at the first volume right after dinner.” So, immediately after the evening meal, Air. Jobson planted Airs. Jobson in a chair right opposite himself, so that he could watch and see if she yawned or nodded, and started in to drone chapter 1 of volume 1 of Gib bon’s “Decline and Fall.” He hadn’t got through with more than half a page before he struck a number of snags. By the time he had read four pages he was in real difficulties. The Latin quotations in the foot notes first got him going. He bravely went at them and spluttered them so that they sounded like a mixture of ragtime and Fiji, and he looked out the tail of his eye to see whether Airs. Jobson was laughing at him. She wa* n’t laughing outwardly, however, no matter how much she might have been inwardly enjoying herself. The names of the ancient provinces of the Roman empire caused Air, Jobson to splutter and choke a good deal, too, but he attacked them all, and continued to regard Airs. Jobson slantwise, after misnaming a long list of the provinces, to see if she was giving any exterior manifestations of glee, which would have afforded him his opportunity to throw the book down and refuse to play any more. Airs. Jobson, however, preserved her inter ested exterior. “I wonder,” Mr. Jobson broke off, after reading many pages, “w r here the dickens the hot stuff, so to speak, in this work begins? Where’s the account of this fellow, Nero, who used to burn Christian maidensi for torches and who played on the fiddle while Rome was burning, and— “ Well,” interrupted Airs. Jobson, “you will remember that the work doesn’t include the reign of Nero, The history begins, I believe, with the imperial reign of Augustus, and then hurriedly passes on to the reign of Trajan, where the real story begins.” “Well, that’ll be about all for the present,” said Air. Jobson, closing the book with a snap. “You seem to know the whole thing, anyhow, to hear you tell it. However, I shall resume the readings to-morrow evening, right after dinner.” Air. Jobson did resume the readings on the following evening, and he con tinued them for four nights, until his voice grew r husky. He really didn’t ap pear to be enjoying himself very much. Immediately after dinner on Thurs day evening he went upstairs, and when he came down, about half an hour later, he was togged out in his best clothes and primped up. “Are you going out?” inquired Airs. Jobson. “Do I look like I’m on my way r down to the cellar to repair the furnace?” he asked her. “But,” said Mrs. Jobson, “how about the reading from—” “The readings are ail off,” broke in Air. Jobson. “If think you’re go ing to put up a job like that and make it stick—bamboozling me into reading about a million pages every night of long-winded, dry-as-dust, dead stuff about dead criminals with purple togas, for the piirpose of keeping me in the house all the time, you’re mixed, that’s all. I’m going downtown to play bil liards and take in a variety show, a d if you w ant to wade through that Ro man rot, go ahead. There’s nobody going to stop you,” And when he had gone Mrs. Jobson, smiled and smiled.—Washington Star. SENTINELS ON DECK. Adventure of Capt. Slocum with Sav- HKi’i on Hi« Lons Voyage Around the AVorld. A wise man will take the weapon at his hand, even if it is not the conven tional one. So thought Capt. Slocum, who, on his sloop, the Spray, made a voyage alone around the world, and' met many good friends, and singular enemies. This is his description of one comic happening, w hich might have ended in tragedy. He says: I discovered, as she sailed along through a labyrinth of islands, that she w as in the Cockburn channel, which leads into the Strait of Alagellan at a point opposite Cape Froward, and that she was passing Thieves’ bay, sug gestive by name. That night she lay at anchor in a snug cove at the Turn. I now became jaded and worn from my previous battling with danger and rough weather, and as drowsiness came on, I sprinkled the deck with tacks, for it is well known that one cannot step on a tack without saying something about it. A pretty good Christian will whistle when he meets the commercial end of a carpet-tack; a savage will howl and claw the air. That was just what happened that night, at 12 o’clock, w hen the savages thought they had me, sloop and all. until they stepped on deck; then they learned that I had them. They howled like a pack of hounds, and jumped pell-mell, some into their canoes, others into the sea to cool off. I fired several guns w*hen I came on deck, to let the rascals to know that I was at home, and then I turned in again, feeling sure I should not be dis turbed by people who left in so great a hurry. The Fuegians, being cruel, are nat urally cowards, and regard a rifle w ith superstitious fear. The only danger from their quarter would be in allow ing them to surround one within bow shot. or to anchor within range, w here they might lie in ambush. Aerial Telejsrapliy and the Telephones The Russian inventor, Popoff. haa successfully applied a telephonic re ceiver in transmitting telegraphic messages without wires. By means of radio-conductors, variations of re sistance of short duration are pro duced, and these can be direcjly ob served in a telephone. Last winter a Russian cruiser, ashore on an island in the Gulf of Finland, was able to communicate telegraphically, without wires, with an island 29 miles distant, where the ice-breaking steamer Er mak was stationed, and by the same means the lives of 27 Russian fisher men, carried by an ice floe in sight of the stranded cruiser, wtjrc sated.— Science. | THE STURGIS WAGER l % A DETECTIVE STORY. £ $ J) By EDGAR MORETTE. jc $5 Copyright, 1899, by Frederick A. Stokes Co. J CHAPTER XXI. — Continued. Sprague rushed to the speaking-tube and whistled long and loud, after which he placed I:is ear to the mouth piece. “I hear some oi.e walking,” he sud denly exclaimed. The two men listened in breathless silence for an answering call. “Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you?” The words came in Murdock’s voice. Sprague’s eyes met those of the re porter and saw that the last faint-glim mer of hope was gone. In that swift and silent interchange of thought there was resignation to the inevitable doom and the final farewell of two brave hearts. The spluttering candle gave its last flicker and went out, leaving the pris oners in utter darkness. The room was rapidly filling with gas and they were beginning to feel its effects. “We can at least complete our task before we die,” said Sturgis, with grim determination. “Our task!” “Yes, and insure Murdock’s convic tion for our murder.” “What chance is there that anyone will ever discover our bodies, since they are destined for Alurdock’s oblivion tank?” “Give me your hand,” Sturgis re plied; “there is a box of matches. I place it here, between us, within easy reach. I want to write a few words to the superintendent of police to ex plain matters. By that time there will be enough gas in the room to produce a terrific explosion, when we strike a match. We can thus succeed in wrecking this place and calling at tention to it. If I should succumb before you do, do not fail to light the match.” While he was speaking the reporter had taken from his pocket a pad and a pencil and had begun to write as rapidly as he could in the darkness. Sprague’s head was beginning to swim and his ears were ringing, but the thought of Agnes Alurdock was uppermost in his mind. “An explosion!” he exclaimed; “no, no; that must not be. What of Agnes? iShe may be hurt?” Sturgis continued writing. “It is the only chance there is of bringing Alurdock to justice,” he said, firmly. “But Agnes is innocent of his crimes,” urged the artist, in a thick voice. His tongue clove to his palate; he felt his consciousness ebbing. “Why should she suffer? I am go ing, old man—l cannot hold out any longer—Promise me that you—that you will not—strike —the match—” He staggered and fell against the reporter, who caught him in his arms. His own senses were reeling. “Promise—” pleaded the half-uncon scious man. “I promise,” answered Sturgis, after an instant’s hesitation. It struck a chill to his heart to se® his friend dying in the prime of youth, strength and happiness. Suddenly a thought flashed upon him. “Brace up, old fellow. All is not yet over. The speaking-tube leads to fresh air. Here, put your lips to it and breathe through your mouth.” The artist heard the words and made an effort to obey these direc tions. With Sturgis’ assistance he managed to place his lips to the mouth-piece of the speaking-tube. A few whiffs of comparatively fresh air sent the sluggish blood coursing through his veins and gave him a new hold on life. With renewed vigor came the animal instinct to fight to the last for existence. As the shadows of death which had been closing in upon him receded, he became conscious of Sturgis’ voice beating upon his ears in broken and scarcely audible tones. “It is—the last chance—Stick —to the tube —When he comes—surprise him—your revolver—shoot —before —*’ The reporter was clinging unsteadi ly to 'his friend’s shoulder. Sprague suddenly realized that Sturgis in his turn was succumbing to the effects of the gas. He sprang back in time to catch the staggering man in his arms. “Selfish brute that I am!” he ex claimed. “Here; it is your turn to breathe!” And he pushed the report er toward the tube. “No, no,” said Sturgis, struggling faintly; “it cannot be both —and you • —have —everything—to live for.” But the artist was now the stronger, and he succeeded in forcing his friend to inhale enough fresh air to restore his departing consciousness. At length Sturgis, with returning strength, was about to renew the gen erous struggle with Sprague, when suddenly the place was ablaze with the glow of an electric light. “He wants to see if his work is done,” whispered. Sturgis, to his companion. Then, observing that Sturgis was again on the verge of asphyxiation, he continued hurriedly: “Fill up your lungs with air. quick! —quick, I tell you. Now drop and feign death. Do as I do.” Suiting the action to the word. Stur gis threw himself upon the stone floor, face downward, and lay motionless, his right :iand grasping a revolver con cealed beneath his body. Sprague, after a short breathing spell at the tube, followed his companion’s exam ple. After a short interval there came a metallic click, which Sturgis recog nized as the sound made by the open ing of the slide in the panel of the door at the head, of the stairs. A moment—which seemed an eter nity cf suspense followed, during which the prisoners felt, without being able to see, the cold gleam of the steely eyes of Alurdock at the grating. ould he enter? Would he suspect the ruse? Would the two men retain their grasp of consciousness and their strength long enough to make a last fight for life? These thoughts crowded upon the re porter’s brain as he lay simulating death and making a desperate effort to control his reeling senses, If Alurdock were coming he would have to shut off the gas and ventilate the room. What was he waiting for? “Come in!” The words were Alurdock’s as he turned, away' from the grating and closed, the sliding panel. “An interruption which probably means death to us,” whispered Sturgis to his companion; “take another breath of fresh air, old fellow; we must hold out a little longer.” Sprague, however, lay motionless and unresponsive. The reporter shook him violently and turned him over upon his back. The artist’s body was limp and inert; his eyes half closed; his face livid. The reporter himself felt sick and faint. But, with a mighty effort, he succeeded in raising his friend in his arms, and dragging him toward the speaking-tube. There, of a sudden, his strength failed him. His head swam; his muscles relaxed; he felt Sprague’s limp form slip from his grasp, tottered, reeled, threw his arms wildly about him for support, and fell, as the last elusive ray of consciousness was slip ping away from him. CHAPTER XXII. FATHER AND DAUGHTER. After Sprague had left her, Agnes, shaken by the conflicting emotions of the day, had gone to her room to rest and to prepare for the interview which she meant to have with her father on the subject of her lover and of Chatham. Having received word that Alurdock would remain in his study during the rest of the afternoon, she had taken time to reflect upon what she meant to say, and how she meant to say it. Her visit was not prompted by the desire of a daughter to confide the great happiness of her life to the lov ing sympathy of an affectionate par ent; but Agnes was punctilious in the performance of what she considered to be her duties, great and small, and she counted it among those duties to obtain, or at any rate to seek, the pa ternal sanction of her choice of a husband. Her knock at the door of Alurdock’s study was answered in the chemist’s quiet voice: “Come in.” As she opened the door, Alurdock advanced to meet her. He seemed to TOTTERED AND REELED. come from the direction of the ex tension. . Aliss Alurdock sniffed air. “Isn’t there a leak of gas?” she in quired. “Y’es,” replied Alurdock; “I have just stopped a leak in the laboratory. Won’t you taxe a chair, Agnes?” She felt liis calm, searching glance upon her; and, in spite of her prep aration, she grew embarrassed, as was her wont, in her father’s pres ence. “Did Air. Chatham wait to see you this afternoon?” she asked, after a momentary silence. Alurdock observed her narrowly. “Yes; Chatham has been here to day. I did not know that you had seen him.” “I could not help seeing him; for he forced his way into the parlor, m spite of all the servants could do to prevent him.” An almost imperceptible furrow ap peared between the chemist’s eyes. “Has he been annoying you with his attentions?” The words were spoken in Alur dock’s usual tones; but Agnes saw something in her father’s eyes and in the firm lines of his mouth which sent a cold shiver down her spine, and caused her pity to go out to the un fortunate young man who had offend ed her. “Perhaps he is more to be pitied than blamed,” she suggested, gently. “Aly interview with him was certain ly not pleasant; but I bear him no malice.” “Tell me about it, ’ said Alurdock, slowly. Agnes gave her version of the visit, in which, instinctively, she softened, as much as possible, the passion and brutality displayed by' tlie account ant. Alurdock listened in silence until she had quite finished. Then Agnes noticed that his right hand was clenched upon the arm of his chair with a force which caused the mus cles to stand out in hard knots. She looked up into his face in sudden sur prise. His features gave no indication of what his feelings might be; and his voice, as usual, was steady and delib erate. “I am sorry all this should have happened, Agnes. As I told you yes terday. I hoped to save you from this man’s importunities. It cannot be helped now. But I think I made it clear to the gentleman that his atten tions are as distasteful to me as thev are to you. As he seems to have told you, he has been obliged to leave the country —1 understand that he has done something or other which makes it safer for him to undertake a long, journey. At any rate, we are well rid j of him for some time to come, and I think you need have no fear of fur ther molestation.” “What did he mean by saying that he had had encouragement from | you?” asked the young girl. “I am sure I do not know. That was of course a lie out of whole cloth, lie came to me with letters of recom mendation from good friends of mine, and T therefore occasionally invited him to the house: but that is all the encouragement he ever got from me. We live in the United States and at the close of the nineteenth century. The selection of a husband is no long er performed by a stern parent, but is left entirely to the young girl her self. That is certainly my way of looking at the matter. When you find the man of your choice, my only function will be to give you advice, if you seek it, and my best assistance in any event.” The turn of the conversation thus suddenly brought to the surface the topic which occupied the young girl’s mind, to the exclusion of all others; and which, for that very reason, had been kept severely in the background up to that point. “That reminds me,” said Agnes, consciously, as a charming flush suf fused her beautiful face, “that I have not yet broached the principal object of this interview—” Murdock observed her closely and waited for her to proceed. But Agnes was once more laboring under a strange embarrassment and could not find words in which to frame the con fidence she was so reluctant to offer. Perhaps the chemist divined some thing of the nature of what she was struggling to find expression for. At any rate, he noticed her embarrass ment and endeavored to come to her assistance with a few encouraging words, spoken with unusual gentle ness. Agnes, engrossed with her own thoughts, did not notice it; but there was in his manner as near an ap proach to tender wistfulness as his nature was capable of. At last the young girl seemed to gather courage, and she was about to speak, when there was a knock upon the door. “Plaze, sur; there do be two gin tlemin in the hall.” “Who are they, Mary?” “Sliure, thin, sir, I dunno, barrin’ wan uv ’em do be a polacemun.” “Did they ask to see me?” “They did not, sur; shure they asked if Mr. Chapman was in.” “Mr. Chatham?” “Yis, sur. And I told ’em he wuz here this afthernoon, and I wud see wuz he here now, fur I ain’t seen him go yit.” “Well, Mary, you see he has gone, since he is no longer here,” said Mur dock quietly. “Take the gentlemen into the parlor, and tell them I shall be with them in a minute.” “All right, sur.” After the maid had left the room, the chemist rose from his chair and walked toward the door leading to the library. “If you will excuse me for a few minutes, Agnes, I shall see what these men want. Wait for me here, if you will. I shall be back directly.” So saying, he noiselessly opened the folding doors and passed into the li brary, closing the doors carefully be hind him. Freed from the presence of her fa ther, Agnes almost instantly regained her composure. She had not, how ever, had much time to collect her thoughts, w hen she was suddenly start led by a loud, shrill whistle, which brought her to her feet in alarm. “Well?” She asked the question in anxious tones, as if realizing that life and death were in the balance. Then she placed her ear to the mouthpiece. At first she could not make out the words spoken by her invisible in terlocutor. Then, gradually, they fell upon her ear with terrible distinct ness; and she stood spellbound, as in a horrible nightmare, with sudden ter ror in her staring eyes, and with the fearful sense of impotence in her trem bling limbs. CHAPTER XXIII. THE SPEAKING TUBE. Nature has implanted in every one of its living creatures, from the top to the bottom of the scale, the strongest of all instincts that of self-preservation. As Sturgis fell forward and clutched wildly at the air, his hand struck the stone wall of the square chamber. No conscious im pression was made upon his brain by the contact; but, automatically, his fingers tightened as they slipped over the smooth surface. Ilis right hand struck an obstacle and closed upon it, in the convulsive grip of adj ing man. Then a sudden gleam of consciousness swept across his sluggish brain. It was the speaking-tube! He clung to it with the remnant of his strength and eagerly placed his lips to the mouthpiece. For a few min utes he drank in with avidity the re vivifying draughts of air which grad ually brought him back from the brink of death. W ith returning consciousness, the thought of his dying friend recurred to him in all its vividness. He tried to go to his assistance; but he was sick and faint, and liis limbs were powerless to respond to his will. Then, at last, he was seized with utter despair and gave up the struggle. He had sunk dejectedly upon the chair w hen a faint and indistinct mur mur, as of distant voices, beat upon his ears, whose natural acuity seemed ex traordinarily increased by the long nervous tension under which he had been, 'the ruling passion is strong in death; without knowing just why he did so, Sturgis found himself again at the speaking-tube, endeavoring to hear the conversation, the sound of which evidently came from Murdock’s office. He could barely distinguish a word here and there; but he recognized the timber of one of the voices. It was the chemist’s, and his interlocutor was a woman—perhaps his daughter. If only he could reach Agnes Murdock with bome word or signal. In suspense, he held his ear to the mouthpiece, occasionally taking a breath of fresh air to renew his strength. Should he take the chances and shout in the hope of catching the young girl’s attention? If he whistled, Mur dock would answer himself, and the last chance would be lost. But would she hear a shout ? And, if she did, woulci not her father prevent her from render ing any assistance? Yet what other chance was there? Poor Sprague was dying; perhaps already dead. There was no time to lose. fTo Be Continued.] Correcting- Him. “I will make you walk the chalk!” ex claimed the angry customer, as he led the milkman through the stream of spilled milk. —Baltimore American. “BABOO” ELOQUENCE. Hit And Miss Pleading of an Indian Lhw yer Before an English Judge. People in this country frequentlv express surprise at the high salaries paid to members of the judicial bench in India., says the London Chronicle. When, however, these gentlemen have perforce to hear with a grave face such pleadings as the following, it is not difficult to understand why the government offers them a handsome rate of remuneration. The case in question was one of assault and bat tery: “My learned friend with more wind from a teapot thinks to brow beat me from my legs. But this is mere guerrilla warfare. I stand un der the shoes of my client, and I only seek to place the bone of con tention clearly in your honor’s eye. Your honor will be pleased enough to observe that my client is a poor widow with one post-mortem son. A widow of this country, your honor will be pleased enough to observe, is not like a widow of your honor’s country—is not able to eat more than one meal a day or to wear dhoties or to look after a man. So my poor client had not such physique or mind as to assault the lusty combatant. Yet she has been deprived of some of her valuable leather—the leather of her nose. “My learned friend has thrown only an argument ad hominum upon my teeth, that my client’s witnesses are all near relatives. But they are not her near relatives. Their relation ship is there homeopathic. So the misty arguments of my learned friend will not hold tvater—at least, they will not hold good w r ater. And I am sorry to say that this witness is a man of my own feathers, that there are in mv profession black sheep of every description, and some of them do not always speak gospel truth. Until the witness therefore explains how he has come across my client’s nose leather, he can not be believed. He cannot be allowed to raise a castle in the air by beating upon a bush.” We are glad to observe that the de fendant who took a piece of the widow’s valuable nose leather was bound over to keep the “piece.” FREE AND EQUAL. A Now England Jehu Who Raffled the Dignity of a Formal Leave-Taking in Samoa. Mr. Lloyd Osbourne, the author of a recent volume of delightful Samoan stories, most of which are so little fiction as to be merely picturesque adaptations of truth, is better ac quainted with the characteristics of Polynesian natives and Americans of the Pacific coast than with those of New Englanders. Nevertheless, he knew in Samoa at least one “daown easter” who was a thorough-going New England rustic type. He was a jack of all trades, one of them being that of driver, says Youth’s Com panion. On one occasion a ball was given at the German consulate which Mr. Os bourne and his sister attended, being driven over from Vailima. It was a formal affair in honor of the officers of a visiting German warship, and they went in their best attire, pre pared to discard the unconventional tty of island life for all the elegance and correctness of demeanor they could achieve. When the time came to return, their carriage was driven up to the door and Miss Osbourne promptly took her seat; but her brother, occupied in bidding lively adieus to a group of pretty girls on the veranda, lingered somewhat unduly. The horses were restive and the free-and-equal, not to say free-and-easy, citizen on the box soon became impatient. He did not lose his amiability, but he considered that it was high time the inconsider ate young man was hurried up, and he proceeded to hurry him. Obvious of the grins of gorgeous officers and the titters of gauzy dam- Bels, he signaled violently with his whip; then, failing to receive atten tion, he sang out in a tone of indul gently derisive banter: “Wal, Lloyd, I guess ye might’s well be startin’ along! It’s gettin’ late, an’ them gals’ll be tired of ye by this time, sure!” Mr. Osbourne’s exit was scarcely as dignified as he would have liked to have it, but he obeyed the summons. n |R| n1 ft —» UAolUnlA For Infants and Children. I The Kind You Have A\i*gc(.ibkTfC|>acat:onrorAb- *1 similating the Food andßegula- ts _ _ # ling the Stomachs andßowels of <g JjgQjg tllo M \ Promotes Dige9tion,CheerfuT- 1 ness and Rest. Contains neither :§ A X* ffL Jf »T Opium,Morphine nor'Mineral, vs Ui # h not "Nar. c o tic . % AVVIP* Jltapeaf Old Lr SAMUEL PITCHER |jj| I yfbcSanna * 1 Ln ■ RotoKdleSoltt- I m m. I M Slnivp. Seed el A H | • | i I tetedi,. j b n Hi' 1,1 ClmuLd Sugrs I fftft If " X mUtryfwCriuYor. / *|jN ? 11 Qft Aperfecl Remedy for Constipa- Ml Lr VwW Ron, Sour Stomach .Diarrhoea sp I Worms .Convulsions .Feverish- I gST [av fl If O K ness and Loss of Sleep. Jj IU 1 UV U I Facsimile Signature of ,|r- § __ I Thirty Years EXACT COPY OF WRAPPEIFL M Mjd Jfls ftjl gj |L§| Rlf M fra • Cheap Ratea to California. February 12th and each Tuesday there”’ aSter, until and including April 30th, especial Low Rate Colonist Tickets will be sold via the Southern Pacific’s Company’s “Ogden and “Sunset” Routes to all points in Califor nia. The rate wiil be: From Chicago $30.00, from St. Louis, Memphis and New Orleans_s27.so, from Omaha. Kansas City, etc., $25.00. Corresponding low rates from all other points east and north. For particulars and detailed information! pertaining to the Southern Pacific Com- Routes, and these special rates to Cal ifornia, call upon or address W. G. Neimyer, G. W. A., S. P. Co., 238 Clark St., Chicago, 111. W. H. Connor, C. A., S. P. Co., Chamber of Commerce Bldg., Cincinnati, Ohio. G. G. Herring, C. A., S. P. Co., 711 Park Bldg., Pittsburg, Pa. L. E. Townsley, C. A., S. P. Co., 421 Olive SC, St. Louis, Mo. C. C. Cary, C. A., S. P. Co., 208 Sheidley Bldg., Kansas City, Mo. Our Fickle Climate.—“l got my cutter down yesterday.” “Did you? Ride?” “Nop. Dusted it and put it back.” —Cleve- land Plain Dealer. Try Graln-O! Try Graln-O! Ask your grocer to-day to show you a pack age of GRAIN-O, the new food drink that takes the place of coffee. The children may drink it without injury as well as the adult. All who try it, like it. GRAIN-0 has that rich seal brown of Mocha or Java, but it is made from pure grains, and the most delicate stomach receives it without distress, i the price of coffee. 15c. and 25cts. per package. Sold by all grocers. Youth is a manuscript without the blue pencil marks. —Puck. You cannot be cheerful if you have dys pepsia. You won’t have dyspepsia if you chew White’s “Yucatan.” From labor, health, from heaVn content ment springs.—Beattie. Sweat and fruit acids will not discolor goods dyed with Putnam Fadeless Dtes. Sold by all druggists. There is no end to the rings a woman wears.—Chicago Daily News. I DOWNFALLS § 0 Sometimes in winter at every ® 0 *tep there is danger of © 1 SPRAINS I I BRUISES I © which cripple or hurt © © deeply, but at any time © © from whatever cause © 1 St. Jacobs Oil 1 ® will cure surely and promptly © ABSOLUTE SECURITY. Genuine Carter’s Little Liver Pills. Must Bear Signature of See FaoSimile Wrapper Below. Tery small and os easy to take as sugar. Ir AOTrtfQl FOR HEADACHL UAl\l tKO FOR DIZZINESS. Er FOR BILIOUSNESS. : p FOR TORPID LIVER, f FOR CONSTIPATION. •®* FOR SALLOW SKIN. . OKNI IJIU MU.THAV. IIOMATU.C, 2b P cants I Purely airßß.au 1 CURE SICK HEADACHE. THK OINTAUR