Bellefonte, Pa., January 2, 1903.
THE GIRL BEHIND THE PIE.
The man behind the cannon and the girl behind
the man
Have been sung in fabled story ever since the
world began—
From the day the Trojan Helen, leader of a
grizzled herd,
To the time of *‘Maggie Moorphy, mascot of de
bloomin’ Third;
Round the world have spread the stories of the
brave who do or die,
But we’ve never heard an anthem of the Girl Be-
hind the Pie.
There she stands, with cups of coffee, slabs of
pastry, chunks of cake,
Temptingly arrayed arcund her, with dyspepsia
in their wake—
And she eyes the deadly sinkers with a most
bewitching eye,
As a stream of willing victims sorrowfully wan-
ders by ;
Filled or filling, starved or foundered, go they
on their varied ways,
And for her who works the pie pump they have
naught but ready praise.
Call her Liz,
mayhap.
Since the chance is ten to nothing that she
doesn’t care a rap—
Call her “madam” shé will
“honey” she will frown,
But you are safe to call her anything, so you
don’t call her down;
“Sinkers up—draw one!"
the magic of her voice
Is a wicked death to sorrow and a bidding to
rejoice !
or plain Eliza, or Elizabeth,
snicker; call her
she murmurs; Ah!
You may keep your fabled wonder in the long,
immortal line,
But I'll take the little pie girl as the heroine
in mine!
Ay ; I'll take the little pie girl in her modest
suit of drab,
As she cuts a brand new custard, when I ask her
for a slab !
Laud your man behind the cannon and his girl
to the sky,
But I'm writing this here anthem to the Girl Be-
hind the Pie!
— Baltimore News.
BRINER’S WHEAT.
At the edge of Princeton stood the Sum-
mit Mill. Dry, dusty, and suouny-yellow
was the stretch of wagon ground in front,
and the box-like office was in the middle
of it, a lone wooden thing. It was half-
past eleven. A breeze swayed the corn
stalks across the way. An Air-Line engine,
switching at the bottom of the descent be-
hind the mill, rumbled and coughed and
clattered empty freight cars. The sound
that issued from the six wooden stories of
the building was like ab undercurrent to
all things, and the gray edifice trembled—
a perpetnal agitation, as of palsy. Ed.
McNair, the negro packer,came to the door
with a flour-sack cap on his head: little
Aleck Mynn, in the dust, was throwing
stolen wheat to his flattering pigeons. And
the negro’s voice rolled out on the Sep-
tember air in mock-tragic warning :
“I take yo’ livah, boy; I take yo’ livah!”’
Tom Jordan, the young office-man, sat
on his stool in the reat room of the box.
The desk and the ledger were dusty, the
safe was sprinkled over with spilled samples
of wheat. The weights that swung from
the scale beam hy the window swung idly
to and fro. Iu the front room young Mr.
Dawson argued with old Mr. Shackner.
‘It’s the second offer from Rome, Georgia,
in a week, and the third from Tallahassee.
It’s good; we must conciliate. We must
Xkeep their trade whatever we do.”” Jordan
could see black-bearded Dawson fidgeting.
‘We wouldn’t have done it five years
ago,’’ came Shackner’s slow and querulous
answer. ‘‘Three dollars and fifteen cents
for a barrel of patent flour. Oh, my—ob,
my. We used to make a profit of a dollar
a barrel. Dear me—we can thank the Lord
if we make five cents now. But go on—
do as you like. [’m semi-retired.”
**Conciliation, yon know; following the
times,’’ cried Dawson, running about and
rabbing his hands. ‘‘Now, Tommie; write
out that telegram, Tommie.”
Outside there was the shrill grating of a
brake on a wheel,and a farm wagon beavily
laden came round the corner of the cooper-
shop. James Briner, a weather-beaten,
strong-faced farmer, drove the team, and
by his side sat a gi1l in a wide blue hat.
Her face was daintily colored; her features
“were mobile and beautiful. Her eyes were
smiling. Jordan made a mistake in the
telegram, tore it up, and wrote another,
with quick jabs of the pen.
“Why, Jamie—why, I’m mighty glad to
see you, Jamie!” Mr. Dawson was trot-
ting into the street. ‘‘And Miss Maude—
well !- I thought you were in Greencastle
at college. Brought in a little wheat,
Jamie! All right—all right !”
‘Times too bard for college!’ blurted
Briner’s staccato ioice. His face was
rough-cut, not unlike an Indian’s, hair-
less, brownish red, vaguely humorous,
plainly rendered ruggeder hy trouble.
‘*What you goin’ togive me for this wheat,
hey ?”’
“Oh, Mr. Briner,”” came old white
Shackner’s sick and complaining tones, as
the senior proprietor of the Summit Mill
sauntered into the street, ‘fifty-eight is
. the hest we can do; dear me.’
*‘The Lord’s tryin’ to kill off the farm-
ers—huh—I see that,”’ was the grim reply.
| “Why, Jamie,” cried Dawson, examin-
ing the wheat. ‘‘“We’ll make you the
very highest price the market allows.’’
Shackver’s face was whiskerless. One
of his old brown eyes always bad a look
intensely shrewd, half shut; the other was
wide, child-like, even plaintive. Maud
smiled on him, and cautiously, shyly,
stretched her pretty neck and strained her
eye a second, sidewise toward the office
door, and twisted a little restlessly on the
wagou seat. She was flushed and beam-
ing, full of expectant nerves.
*‘Drive right on, Jamie. Tommie, weigh
Mr. Briner’s wagon, now, Tommie.” The
horses’ feet pounded the wooden platform.
“Good morning,” cried Tom, through
the scale window.
‘‘Mornin’,”’ ejaculated Briner.
“Good morning,” caroled Maud. She
bent far over to see the young office man,
and then looked up into his eyes out of a
summer countenance.
; ‘Your daughter would make a fine paint-
ing up there,” called Jordan.
HI'd call it ‘July,”’’ laughed Dawson
affably.
_'She’ll freeze up to January if you don’t
gimme more’n fifty-eight cents,” wns
Briner’s jest. ‘‘Git up.”
The wagon made the long sweep, svat-
teHoe the pigeons, and drew up at the
mill.
Tom, in gray trousers and vest, coatless,
dead pencils in his pockets, came over here
00.
‘‘You’ve promised to show me the mill,”’
said Maud, a little diffidently.
“Give me your hand,’” he cried, and she
leaped down. She was trimly dressed and
graceful. They entered the rumbling
edifice. The support under the wagon’s
rear wheels gave way, the wagon slumped,
and its river of wheat ran into the bowels
of the earth, where screw conveyors re-
ceived it. .
“I'm afraid you'd better let me hold
your hand along here,”’ said Tom. ‘‘These
passages are dangerous, here where the cog-
wheels are.”” He stopped suddenly.
“What wakes you look so scared?”
laughed she, timidly letting him have a
finger.
*‘I was thinking how awful it would be
if you got your biue skirt caught in there.”’
He was staring at the dress, holding to her
finger in oblivious delight.
*It—it would be bad. Put it would be
more dreadful if you got your hand ground
up in there—ugh !”’
It was necessary, all over the mill, for
him to lead her by her hand; and she
shrank, and was afraid, and laughed full
of joy at the same time.
Descending from the sixth story, they
went down into the bowels of the earth.
Here, in a kind of big, infernal cavern,
endless mysteries of wheels and belts and
mighty shafts whirled round. It was dusty
and rather dark.
“I’ll show you where your father’s wheat
comes in,’’ said he, leading on among those
steel monsters.
‘There it comes.”” He pointed to a hole,
where a line of grain began its screw-like
progress. ‘‘Mand, I’m glad you couldn’t
go back to Greencastle. Through the high
school, and one year at De Pauw, is educa-
tion enough.”’
*'I was sorry,’”’ she murmured, ber face
turned away. ‘‘It’s Papa’s money trou-
bles. I'll maybe have to teach.’’
**‘Maud— if vou love me, you’ll never
have to teach !”’
She startled, uttered a faint cry, like a
sob and one note of happy laughter mingled
together. He put his arms’round her and
kissed her.
‘‘But—what will father say? He’s
desperate all the time of late. He doesn’t
like college men very well. You’ll have
to be very careful, Tom, to say the right
things to him !"’ she cried appealingly.
“I'll come to-morrow and I'll try to win
him,’’ said he, determined.
The farm was only a mile from town.
The fields wore an unmistakable air of
prosperity. The house, near the road, with
a lawn in front, was of brick. A tall poplar
tree shaded it; a turkey who had made a
success of life strutted at the kitchen door.
Briner trod in and out of the barn, in
big boots, his face iron-like, his eyes giving
a hint of wild pain. The brim of his hat
flopped down over one ear.
*‘That’s Shackner and Dawson’s buggy,
I see that,”’ muttered he, striding to the
front gate. ‘‘Come in, Mr. Jordan; if you
can eat mortgaged victuals you're welcome
to ’em.”’
Jordan tied his horse and stepped on to
the lawn.
*‘Mr. Briner, I'm sorry il you’ve been
having any trouble,’’ he said.
“Trouble! Hub. I'ts the man that
lent me the money that’s been havin’ the
trouble,’’ named James, standing there, a
horny specimen, gazing with grief, where-
in his humor was barely evident, over his
fields. ‘‘Mine comes next.’’
They went in.
‘‘You had to come into the country to
get something to eat, I know,” said Mrs.
Briuer. ‘Town folks starve, poor things.
I’ve seen a whole family eat breakfast, and
it wasn’t a thing but half a little paste-
board package of meal, labelled fancy. And
they’re all dyspeptics at that. Walk to
the dining-room Mr. Jordan, I was just
putting it on.”
As he and Maud entered last, he stole
a pressure of her hand behind her back.
The dining-room door was open to a rear
porch. The well looked very cool outside.
Away over the stretch of fields the sunny
air held a bluish-white haze. All during
the meal Tom was aglow, seeing nothing
but high-strung Maud, who sat opposite
him. And she, conscious, pressed down the
red how under her chin.
‘‘Mr. Jordan, I have to coax this girl to
eat,”’ raid Mrs. Briner, pointingat Maud.
Mrs. Briner was tall, her face was long and
old, and because she was bent a little her
chin was thruet pleasantly forward, to
counter-halance the angle of her body. She
had shy brown eyes. ‘‘Maud never eats.’’
“She blooms on it,”’ blurted Briner.
Tom sought vaguely for some acceptable
speech to bestow on the gram farmer.
‘About the wheat,”’ ventured he. ‘I’ve
wondered why the farmers all raise wheat,
anyhow. That’s why the price goes down.
I’ve wondered now if you couldn’t raise
something new. I've heard of a jasmine
farm in Texas.”’
‘‘Aw !"? cried Briner, gazing at the well.
He was quite disgusted, but forgot about
it at unce, and sat, a hewn monument with
a cast of tragedy over its features.
‘They have big flower dealers in Indian-
apolis. Why don’t you turn your farm
into—well, say——"’
Maud’s eyes looked scared.
‘‘A violet farm, for instance,’’ said Tom.
‘What !’’ burst out Briner, and got sud-
denly up, the sum of his troubles over-
powering him. ‘Never mind—never mind
—young folks have got to talk,”” and he
stalked away.
“Oh, Tom; you said the wrong thing,’’
cried Maud.
III
The sorrows of James Briner were com-
ing to a crisis, and of that crisis the barn
was the fitting scene. At four o’clock he
entered the red edifice. There were bins
of good wheat, waiting. He looked at
them sorrowfully. He went to other bins,
and gazed at them also, and took up some
grain in Lis hand.
“Smutty,’”’ muttered he. ‘‘Three-fourths
of the crop. James Briner, the devil's
tempting you.”*
He took a letter out of his pocket and
read it over. It meant only one thing,pay
—pay, the creditors can wait no more. He
read his doom in that epistle, and, chew-
ing it up, he thought of Maud.
‘Lord I’” cried he, as though his
thoughts were half a prayer, ‘I’ve slaved
too many years for this. It's a great fall,
old Briner. And they’ve called you the
richest farmer in Gibson county for
years. If I putin the smutty wheat just
once, enough to tide over, maybe I could
make it up some time again, and the
price’ll go up next year—sure, the price’ll
£0 up nexs year."’
He heard the gentle ripple of Maud’s
laughter by the well, and looking out saw
her seated there, the breeze blowing the
red bow, her love looking from her eyes
on Jordan.
‘“‘You’ve heen a just man all your life,’
the farmer said. ‘You can afford to sin
once—to give it to her. A layer of good
on top, and the bad underneath. They
don’t have to examine your wheat any
more. Why, they’ve known my honesty,
O Lord, these thirty years—these thirty
years.”’ .
He in the shadow could see the little
sunlit scene at the well, without being ob-
served.
“Will he lose everything,
asked Jordan.
“I'm afraid’’—ber eyes were wet—"'I'm
afraid so, Tom."
Briner’s heart smote him. The world
had made him, without, a rock. The
tears of Maud, sitting by the well with
her lover, broke him. He rested his head
against the boards of the bin of smutty
wheat.
“The devil's won for once,’’ groaned he.
When, in the evening. Tom wonld
have sought him out, wishing to tell him
of his love for his daughter, Briner was
not to be found.
Mand ?”’
Iv
“I'm going up to the depot,’”’ whined
Shackner. “Here Jim came down and
said there weren’t any cars for us. Ob.
my—what kind of a railroad, anyhow ?
How do they expect us to ship flonr—in
the engine, maybe ?”’
“No freight cars? No freight cars?’
cried Dawson. “Why, Tommie, you told
them we had that Nashville order ready to
fill. Why, Tommie—O. say, Mr. Shack-
ner, now I thought I'd make an offer of
two-forty for that—Oh, Jim! Jim! come
in here. Never mind—go ahead ! I said
go ahead ! Now, I thought two-forty for
that low grade—"’
*‘Go on, go on,”” mambled Shackner as
he moved away on the cinder path. “‘Give
it away for nothing if you want to—I'm
semi-retired.”” And Shackner’s childlike
and plaintive eye looked over his shoulder,
the shrewd one remaining invisible.
“Tomimie,’’ ran on Dawson. ‘‘now make
out that invoice, Tommie. Wheat’s gone
down a cent; offer fifty-seven, and don’t
buy anything but the best at that. I'm
going down to the engine-room. Wilkin-
son said Briner’s going to haul to-day.
Ab, Tommie—ha! ha !—where did yon
drive to Sunday ? Try to get it over and
your wits back before the busy season.’
He poked Tom in the ribs and went out.
The low rumbling of the miil was the
undercurrent to another day; a breeze
swept through the wooden box and blew
Tom’s hair on his temples. He was lost
in successive reveries, from which he woke
himself every little while with a start.
A buggy came round the corner of the
cooper-shop at a brisk rate, drawn bya
trim little black horse which trotted to the
office. Out came a blue hat and a pair of
dancing eyes, and a girl jumping to the
round.
“Isn’t father here yet ?”’ cried Maud,
daintily confused. ‘‘I was just going to
town. Good-by. I wanted tosee him.”
“Don’t get in !'’ implored he.
She paused, with her hand on the dash-
board, and turned to smile a little, linger-
ing.
“Why 2?’ faltered she.
Is that all you came for ?’’
“I—I thought be would be cold. I
brought his muffler,’’ she said, blushing,
holding the white thing up.
“It’s hot as can be,’’ ejaculated he.
‘‘But—oh, of course, it’ll probably ges
cold. You’d better come in and wait for
him.”
*‘To--to give it to him.”
“Yes.”
‘‘But--you said it was Lot.”
“I’ve been cold ever since Sunday.’’
She cast mischievous eyes at him.
“‘Since the violets ?’’ sang she.
The familiar sound of the grating brake
pierced the air, followed by the 1asping,
angry torture of other brakes, and up the
road came four heavily laden wagons,
creaking; powerful drafs horses straining,
heads down. On the seat of the first wagon
sat Briner, his red hands gripping the
lines, his face set, his hat brim flopping
down over his forebead.
“Good morning, Mr. Briner,”’ said Jor-
dau, a shade of anxiety on his face, for he
rememberec that fall of a cent in the
market.
‘Mornin’. You like the millin’ business,
Maud ?’’ grimly.
She marked a little in the dust with her
toe.
‘‘We're glad to get your wheat to-day,’”’
said Tom, still anxiously. ‘‘We need it.”’
“I've waited my head off for the price
to rise. What you gimme to-day ?’’
“I’m sorry. The market’s very bad,
Mr. Briner.”” Tom was rather pale just
now. ‘‘We can’s give you but fifty-seven
to-day.’
“Git up!’ The words were grated in
Briner’s throat, and a savage desperation
was in the guick sweep of his whip. The
horses’ “feet pounded the scale platform.
Maude came in to see Tom weigh the
wheat.
The four loads were weighed. As the
mill wagon was being heaped with sacks
of ‘Jersey Cream’’ at the sink, Briner
must wait. His teams stood in a row, while
he stared at the horses’ hips. His hands
gripped the lines so hard that they ached.
The wheat was in bulk, filling the wagon-
beds, and spread smooth and shining to the
gaze of the September sun.
*‘This is your best wheat. of course, Mr.
Briner?”’ Jordan climbed toa hub and
twirled his fingers in the grain. Briner
said : :
‘Yes. Forty loads.”
Maud thought her father’s face] looked
haggard. She sighed, and stood in the
sun. Tom glanced but casually at the
wheat. Briver was known to be as honest
as the very United Presbyterian churoh,
whereof he was a pillar.
At length the mill wagon drove off, ite
Clydesdales stamping the earth.
*'Git up,’’ said Briner. .
Oue quick fall of the wheels would do it.
Wheat always ran out swiftly---and the
bottom should run evenly with the top.
What was the dread law of nature, which
unschooled Briner knew not, about the
running of wheat out of a wagon ? Would
some inexorable principle of friction cause
the surface to break, and let the guilty
shadow be seen? Briner looked strangely
on his danghter and Tom. What brought
those young things here, in the very mid-
dle of hig'sin ? !
. Maud, with a wistful yet a happy face,
stood there to see the wheat run out—for
no reason at all.
The wagon’s end-gate was removed, the
wooden lever was shifted. the timber un-
der the rear wheels teetered violently down,
with a crash the wagon slumped, and the
river of wheat flowed into the depths.
Briner now stood at his horse’s side, and
Tom perceived that this rugged farmer bad
a singular stare in his eyes. Jordan glanc-
ed at Maud; she was infinitely beautiful,
thought he. He turned his eyes to the
vanishing wheat. There was a queer shad -
ow in it.
“Why, Mr. Briner!”
stopped.
The blood leaped to his face, and depart-
ed entirely. He stooped and caught up a
handfal of grain as the last disappeared.
His trained eye knew too well the matter.
He stood a moment, silent, looking at it.
‘A little smut has got into this, Mr.
Briner,”’ he said.
Maud was coming to see, half interest-
ed, not imagining danger. In Briner’s
cried he---then
eyes was the truth, unrouated---for they
had heen honest eves for sixty years. Bat
hisface was a blank. The woman’s in-
stinct all at once read the whole thing
aright, and Maud, full of shame and
stronger pity, turned a sudden pale conn-
tenance to her father.
“Git up!’ This time the words were
ground between Briner’s teeth.
The wagon rattled with slow movement.
Maud stood forlorn, alone in the dust,
suffering. The moment was a ciisi= for
Jordan. This wax the hardest thing he
had ever to do. He wanted this girl—he
t wanted her now ! He might let the smut
go. After all, maybe it was only in the
one wagon. Briner---Briner of all men on
earth ! Yet Briner was tempted. To do
nothing would be to he faithless to a trust.
Forty loads of that wheat would color the
flour, perbaps lose thousands of dollars,
and a reputation more valuable still, for
his employers. One of those seconds of
battle which wrench a man left him with a
heart fall of misery and a blind dete mina-
tion to do right. The wagons must wait.
He walked to the office. The day had
darkened, but Jordan had won.
Maud sat in the door of the will; full
of fear, while Briner walked yonder. Jor-
dan came out of the office with a little
pownted tin tester. He climbed to the hub
of the second wagop, thrust that cone to
the bottom of the wheat, and drew outa
sample. It was smutty. So -it seemed
to be Tom who was to he punished. With
her eyes on him, he must walk to the third
wagon, climb up, and find smut there.
Then he must get down, seeing her pallid
face, and go to the fourth, and climb up,
and find yet smut—smut that colored life
itself.
Round the corner of the cooper-shop
came feeble Shackuner, disgruntled about
the freight cars. Up from the engine-room
Dawson trotting with a smile on his face.
Briner was standing stock-still in the san.
“Why, Tommie, why, Tommie, what’s
the matter, Tommie? Good morning,
Jamie—brought in your——"’ :
‘It’s full of smut,’’ said Jordan, casting
the sample into Dawson’s hand.
“Smut? What's this? Hm. Why,
Jamie---Why, there’s some mistake here;
this is a little---this isn’t just---Oh, Mr.
Shackner !”?
Shackner put on spectacles; his trousers
were all dusty and his knees were bent.
*‘Oh, my---oh, my,”’ complained he.
“‘Is it all like this, Tommie?’ Dawson
was excited.
Tom was in the office now, and cried out
with a somewhat anguish-laden cry :
CAL ”m
Briner now strode up, a fierce look on
his face.
“I tell you it's good !"’
bly. ;
‘Dear me---we’'ll have to see,”” and
Shackner, grunting, drew himself to a hub
and pulled out a sample.
“It’s smut,” he complained.
James, what did you do it for ?”’
‘‘Some error—it’s all right—it’ll be all
right !"’ cried Dawson, agitated, patting
Briner on the moveless shounlder. ‘‘Why,
Jamie—where did you—how did it come.
The farmer, like some gray crag, gazed
at his wagons of ruin. Then he mounted
to his sedt, swung his whip with a cut of
despair, motioned his men after him, and
the wheat was driven away, like a funeral
cortege, down over the dusty road. round
the corner of the coopershop, wheels grat-
ing, horses straining with heads down, old
James Briner’s back disappearing as he sat
and gripped his lines and felt the hrim of
his bat flop on his weather-beaten brow.
Shackner and Dawson stood gazing after.
Maud got up from the door-sill of the
mill, and stumbled to the buggy. She
climbed in, and the white muffler fell and
lay in the dirt. Tom, looking out of the
office-door, saw her drive down the road,
letting the little black horse have his way,
for Mand was weeping.
Vv
“I don’t know what the business is
coming to.”’ said Shackner, in plaintive
distress, ‘‘if all our old stand-bys go like
shat. Oh, my, James, you've made me
sick.
*‘The old scoundrel, the old rip !’’ cried
Dawson.
“Mr. Dawson,” said Jordan, coming in
from the rear office, where he had been sit-
ting with his fingers in his hair, “I have
something tosay about this.”
Shackner’s dissimilar eyes swung round
slowly to Tom, with a vague hope in them.
“I'm going tetry to prove toyou,’’ said
Tom, with firmness, ‘‘that this is a case in
which there is reason to excuse.”’
*I don’t see how we could,” murmured
Shackner, seeming, nevertheless, to grasp
with the invalid’s eagerness at that idea.
“It happens,’’ cried Tom, flushing a lit-
tle and standing before the two, ‘‘that I’ve
seen the cause of this, Mr. Shackner, you've
koown that man for thirty years, and you
never knew him to do a wrong thing be-
fore. Every summer, year after year,yon’ve
paid him a big check for the hest erop in
the county. You've leant him money in
advance, and without interest. And there
was a time, too, when you weren’t so
well-known here yourself, but that Briners
word at the bank gave yon a lift.”’
“True,’”’ quavered Shackner. ‘‘James
was sitting here when I got the telegram
about the elevator burning down in Pet-
ersburg.”’
‘You know how long he’s werked, for
you've worked with him. He never
bought a piece of ground or built a barn
without telling you his plans first. You
know what the slow accumulation of his
property has meant to him and how it is
that his farm and the prosperity of his wife
and daughter have been his hfe. Well—
now he’s in debt.”’ ;
- ‘‘They’re always in debt, I tell youn,”’
cried Dawson. ‘‘Who ever heard of a farm-
er thas wasn’t in debt 2”?
‘I have,” said Tom. ‘‘There’s been
many a year when Briner wasn’t. Think
what it meant to him to lose everything—
forty years’ work wiped out. Maybe I don’t
know much about business, Mr. Dawson,
but I do know this, that the one time a
good man falls down is the one time to be
charitable. Now, I don’t say that Briner
is going to be trusted, as he was before
You can watch his wheat. It’s easy enough
to keep smut ont of the mill, if that’s all
you want. What I do say is that you men
ought to drive out to James Briner’s farm
and clear this matter up. And if he did
this thing because he’s been tempted past
his powers, you ought to stand by him.”’
‘‘We can’t,’”’ said Dawson. ‘The only
ground yon could possibly do such a fool
thing on is that it might be business—con-
ciliation.”’
“I’11 declare,” said Shackner, mooning
about unhappily, ‘‘you’re right—I was go-
ing to anyhow.”
*‘To what,’’ sharply rasped Dawson.
“Oh—just drive out,”’ whined the other
‘James, James, I'd be willing to ad vance
you a little, but—-"’
“But !”” exploded Dawson, under his
breath.
“Oh, I'd begrudge him every cent of it,
Mr. Dawson, dear me.
swore he terri-
‘Oh,
¥I
The women, because they can see why a
man falls, forgive him. The world seldom
sees why. There were three loaded wag-
ons, standing hoiseless at Briner’s barn ; the
fourth had heen left at the gate. There
were two days which seemed like Sundays.
Nobody worked much, and James stalked
twice into the sun. gazed bareheaded out
over the scene, turned again and sat down
in the bedroom. He sat for hows in there,
with the blinds drawn. Mis. Briner wept,
and brought him things to eat. Mand
came and hugged him, and kissed his big
hand.
“You're a-haggin’ the devil,” was his
remark, as he lapsed into infinite gloom.
On Thursday morning, along the road,
‘drove Shackner and Tom in a buggy. Hav
ing hitched the hose in front of the house,
and come through the gate, they were ad-
mitted to the parlor, whose shutters Mrs.
Biiner threw open in haste, for the room
had been dark for a month. She, face
thrust forward in a white mockery of its
customary pleasantness, and her body more
bent, grasped the hand of each, and said in
agitation :
‘‘He isn’t like himself; oh, Mr. Shack-
| ner, don’t forget that he's getting old.”
Shackner andjTom stood up, and Mand
came in and sat on a sofa. Now Briner
loomed in the door, entered, and stood by a
what-not with his wife.
‘Oh, James, you’ve made me sick, said
Shackner, his wide eye shining on the farm
er. “What did yon do it for? Is it a
debt? I'd begrudge every cent; but, say,
now. this won’tdo—tnt, tut. How much
is it? Or was it just a mistake ?
*‘No,”’ said James, ‘‘it wasn’t a mistake.
I took that smut and I put it in them wag-
ons, and I took good wheat and I smeared
it on top. If there's any mistake. the dev-
il made it. Now, you men have been my
friends, and I take it kindly that you’ve
come out here. But you’d better goaway.
For I say plainly, Mr. Shackner, I was
tryin’ to stick you.’”” He walked to the
window. ‘‘Look at them fields, look at
that corn, look at these barns, Mr. Shack-
ner, you know what I’ve done to get ’em.
Well, they’re in soak, and they can stay
there to kingdom come.’”’ A haggard look
came over his face. ‘‘I’m busted.”
Mrs. Briner wept aloud. Maud was
resting her head against the back of the so-
fa.
“Why, James, I can’t see you busted,”’
complained Shackner. ‘‘I could lend you
some. You don’t deserve it; I'd begrudge
every cent of it—dear me. Wilkinson told
me how much you lacked. That’s an aw-
ful sum. I’ve made you a check. I hated
to do it, my—bhut it’s on the corn, mind
vou, and next year’s crop, don’t you for-
get it; yon’re not going to get out of that.
Bat I can’t see your farm go; we mightn’t
get the wheat off of it—from Wilkinson.
Here, take it—I'm just doing it because
Jordan there made me. Jordan explained
the thing. It's the way Jordan saw it.
He mouthed around so. I begrudge you
every cent of it.
‘“Take it away,’’ groaned Briner.
‘Now look here,”” quavered Shackner’s
voice, ‘‘that time you fixed things at the
bank for me—you recollect ?*’
“Aw——"" cried Briner, gazing out of
the window.
‘You just did it as a pure matter of busi
ness—to keep in touch with a good buying
firm. Now don’tdeny it. Didn’t yon now?’
‘Of course,” said James. °‘‘I didn’t
have any more use for you.”
Well, that’s what I’m doing. Now take
it, James. Now, see here, .James.”’
Maud arose, walked to Shackner, and
said: *'If you really mean it, Mr. Shack-
ner, and will take my word that father will
pay it back, I'll take it.”’
“Your word’s hetter’n his,’’ said Shack-
ner, staring at Briner.
She took it and laid it on the what-not.
*‘Now don’t come round me about this
avy more,’”’ said Shackner, walking out
with a highly disgruntled air. ‘I’ve got
vothing to do with the business—I’m semi
retired.
Briner at length sat down stifly on a
chair, and his wife cameand clung to him.
“Look here, young man,’’ said he after
a long time to Tom, at whom he had heen
staring. ‘“*Ain’t you the feller that made
some crack about jasmines ?’’
Tom’s eyes turned to Maud.
*‘Something about a violet farm,’’ con-
tinued Briner.
“That was'a joke, father.
‘‘Wuz it? What have you got to do with
it? Say, are you still so fond of the mill-
in’ business?’’
“I’m foud of Tom,’’ she said, with her
head down. *‘I told you last night.’’
‘““Tawm, Tawm,’’ mused Briner. ‘Young
feller, do you want that girl ?
Tom’s answer was not uncertain.
‘*Well”’—he meditated a long time—
‘“‘why don’t you git hold of her?’’—By
Charles Fleming Embree, in McClure's Mag-
azine, :
Porcupines in the Hemlock Forests.
‘There are more hedgehogs or porcubpines,
as the natives call them, in the hemlock
forests of Northwestern Pennsylvania than
anywhere in the east,’’ said an old Potter
county woodsman. ‘‘They are curious
creatures, and a great pest around lumber
and hunting camps. A peculiarity of these
spiny armored little beasts is their fond-
ness for salt. If the four sides of a lumber
shanty be salted from ground to roof the
porcupines would eat it down over the
heads of the inmates, and vot leave an un-
salted splinter of it to mark where it stood.
They do not care for a man or twenty men
when there is a barrel of salt in camp, and
they will persist in getting at it as long as
one of them is left alive.”
For Mayor of Philadelphia.
Republican Leaders Select District Attorney
Weaver.
Insurance Commissioner Israel W. Dar-
ham, the leader of the Republican organ-
ization in Philadelphia, announced Friday
night of last week that the party leaders
unanimously decided upon John Weaver,
the present district attorney, for the Re-
publican nomination for mayor of Phila-
delphia, to succeed Samuel H. Ashbridge.
The mayorality election will take place
in February. John Weaver was elected
district attorney a year ago over P. F.
Rothermel, Jr., the Union party candidate,
after an exciting campaign.
House Containing Kegs of Powder on
Fire.
A house at Windber, occupied by four
Polish families, was set on fire by one of
the inmates throwing a lighted cigarette in-
to a keg of powder to see it explode. There
were twenty six kegs of powder in the
house, and when the explosion of the keg
occurred a panic ensued. One woman more
cool than the rest, directed the rescuing
neighbors to the room where the other kegs
were stored, and succeeded in having them
nearly all removed. The house burned to
the ground, but one Polish man, who oc-
cupied an upper room, was roasted to death.
Frightful Raliroad Accident.
It Happened a Short Distance From the Little Sta-
tion of Wanstead, in Ontario, on the Sarina
Branch of the Grand Trunk Railways The Loss of
Life is Twenty-eight—The Injured Number Con-
siderably More and Ma'y of These May Die—The
Express Was Running Nearly Two Hours Late and’
Was Making Fast Time, —
The most frightful railroad accident in
the annals of the past decade happened a
short distance from the little station of
Wanstead in Ontario on the Sarina branch
of the Grand Trunk railway Friday night
of last week. The trains in collision
were the Pacific express and afreight.
The express was running nearly two
hours late and was making fast time.
The freight was endeavoring to make a
siding to get clear of the express but failed
by a minute or two.
There was a dreadful crash, the locomo-
tives reared up and fell over in a diteh, the
haggage car of the express telescoped the
smoker and in an instant the shrieks and
cries of the dying and the wounded filled
the air. The loss of life is twenty-eight.
The injured will number considerably more
and many of these will die.
NO DEATHS SATURDAY.
LoxDoN, Ont., Dec. 28.—There were no
deaths to-day among the persons injured in
Friday unight’s collision at Wanstead on
the Sarina branch of the Grand Trunk rail-
road, between the westbound Pacific ex-
press and an eastbound freight, in which
twenty-eight persons lost their lives. To-
night the Associated Press was informed at
Victoria hospital that, while several of the
injared are still in a serious condition it is
expected that all will recover.
The vody of Fireman Ricketts, of the
express train, which was last night heliev-
ed to be buried under the wrecked en-
gines, was found today covered with snow
in the ditch beside the track. One arm
was completely torn off and the body was
otherwise mangled. Death must have been
instantaneous. It is helieved that the
body was thrown clear of the engine and
into the deep snow in the ditch, where in
the storm and darkness the workers failed
to find it on Friday night. Snow fel}
rapidly all that night so that Rickett’s
hody was covered and was not found. One
of the men working at the wreck found
the body under the snow. Tonight there
is but one unidentified body in the morgue
here, that of a woman who was ticketed,
from Toronto to Duluth. The man’s body
which was unidentified Friday night was
identified as George D. Southern, of
Lockport N. Y.
STATEMENT MADE BY CARSON.
Andrew Carson, the operator at Watford
the first station east of the wreck, whose
failure to deliver orders to Conductor Mec-
Auliffe, of the Pacific express, to pass the
freight at Wanstead, is said by the Grand
Trunk officials to have caused the wreck, Sat-
urday afternoon made to the Associated Press
bis first statement since the wreck. He says
he received the order for No. 5, the express
to pass the freight at Wanstead at 9:48,but
declares positively that a few minutes later
Dispatcher 8S. G. Kerr, at London, called
him and ordered him to ‘‘bust’’ or cancel,
the order. He said :
‘‘About 9:45, after calling Wyoming and
ascertaining that the freight was there, the
dispatcher called me rapidly a half-dozen
times. When I answered he told me to
“bust’’ this order. I wrote ‘‘Bust it’’
across the order just as No. 5 was coming
in. Conductor McAuliffe came in and ask-
ed me what the order hoard was out against
bim for. I told him that we had an order
for him, but the dispatcher had ‘busted
it He asked me to hurry and write him a
clearance order, which I did.
LEARNED THAT FREIGHT LEFT WYOM-
ING.
‘‘After the train had started and was out
of my reach, the dispatcher learned that
the freight had left Wyoming. I told him
I could not stop No. 5. az it had left. He
immediately began calling King’s Court
Junction, the station between Watford and
Wanstead on the railroad wire, and I tried
to raise them on a commercial wire. We
both failed to do this, however, until after
the express had passed the juuction.”’
Carson admitted that he knew it was
against the rules of the company to cancel
a train order without sending a substitute
for it, but said that the dispatcher was his
superior officer and he disliked to question
his order or dispute his authority to take this
action. Dispatcher Kerr’s order book, in
the local Grand Trunk office, does not show
that the order was ‘‘busted,’’ or cancelled,
as Carson claims. According to the book,
it was still in force and should have been
delivered to the conductor of the express.
Kerr bas not made any statement, even to
the railroad officials, and will not until he
takes the stand at the inquest.
STRICTEST IN COMPANY'S CODE.
Division Superintendent George G. Jones,
of Toronto, says that the rule against can-
celling, or ‘‘busting,’’ train orders is the
strictest in the company’s code. ‘'I do not
believe.’’ he said tonight, *‘that it has been
violated since the Standard dispatching
rules went into effect. Dispatcher Kerr is
one of the best and most efficient dispatch-
ers in our service. He is the operator who
accompanied the train bearing the Duke
and Duchess of York on the royal tour of
Canada a year ago. I have every confi-
dence in him.”’
Other Grand Trunk officials who were
Present also expressed their confidence in
err. :
VERY PATHETIC FEATURE.
One of the most pathetic features of
the wreck is the triple loss sustained by
the Bodley family, of Port Huron, in the
death of Mrs. J. Bodley, herson,Clem Bod-
ley, and granddaughter, little Lettie
Lynzb, who died at the Victoria hospital.
The bodies of nineteen of the victims have
been shipped to their sorrowing relatives
at home. The trunk of theas yet uniden-
tified woman was located by the Grand
Trunk officials and will be searched in
an endeavor to find something with
which to identify the woman.
Decadence in Oll Stoves.
The Rise in Oil Makes it too Expensive to Use.
The recent coal famine caused the re-
course of hundreds of people to oil stoves
for heating and cooking. The demand for
the stoves was so great that the manufac-
turers could not fill their orders. The
Standard Oil company put a stove on the
market to stimulate the demand for oil,
and lots of people found that the oil stove
solved the problem of heating rooms on
milder days, when the coal stove or furnace
made too much heat.
A change has come about, as people find
their oil bills getting enormous. The
Standard Oil company has raised the price
two and one-half cents a gallon within the
past few weeks, giving the increased de-~
mand as a reason. The city dealers report
a large falling off in the demand for oil
since the rise in price, as heating by oil
stoves was expensive at the old price. As
it stands now second-hand dealers are buy-
ing oil stoves cheap.