i
. closely.
Look to Your Trees.
McCurdy Gets $150,000 a Year.
EE ———— -_—
> / |
Bellefente, Pa., Oct. 13, 1905.
AIS,
VICTORY.
Hiram Fenner dragged himself up on
the pillows and fixed his eyes upon the
window at the side of the bed. The fields
were already a vivid green in patehes where
the snow bad lain, and the swoolen brook,
touched here and there with foam, showed
black through the sparse, shining leaves of
the birches and alders that marked its
course. The pleasant, hoarse murmar of
the water reached his ears, brokea from
time to time by the impatient call of a calf
and the answering low of her mother. A
thin column of smoke rose from beyond
the brook, drifting over the hillside, now
pink with maple buds.
‘‘Rans Creyton’s burning a fallow,’’ the
sick man murmured, watching the blue
wreaths. *‘I’d ought to clear up my hill
lot, an’ the north pasture wants breakin’ |
up—it bad ought to be done by rights last
fall. Moving restlessly in the big four
poster bed, his eyes fell on his outstretched
hand; he lifted his arm against the light,
stripping back the sleeves, and scanned i$
Is was the strong, knotted arm of
a man who had been counted a great work
er all the days of his ifty years, bust it was
thin now,and shrunken almost to the bone;
the fingers were long and pale. He let it
fall. “What was the use of planning work
with an arm like shat? Doctor had said ’¢
wa’n’t likely he’d live to see the crops
brought in.”?
A figure moving across the meadow
canghs his eye; it was his neighbor, Rans
Creyton, who had moved from Cohoes two
or three years before and bought the ad-
joining farm. He was a young man,strong-
ly built and quicker in his motions than a
farmer born and bred. Instead of leisurely
climbing the fence that stood in his way, he
pus his hands on the top rail and vaulted
over, then he hurried on to the Fenner
barns, where he had done the heavier work
since Hiram had been laid up. ;
~The sick man watched him swing pass
with a pang of envy. = A moment later he
heard a burst of laughter from the shed
that sagged in an irregular line between
the farmhouse and the barn, Drina must be
out there, he thought, fussing with her
chickens. ‘‘Rans laughs easy,’’ he sighed,
“‘Drina likes to laugh, too. That’s the
kind of a man she ought to have married—
some one that can laugh easy, an’ take a
four-barred fence as nat’ral as a colt.”
‘‘The’ ain’t any one left in her family to
take care of her,”’ he mused, ‘‘she’s got to
marry. They won’t let her alone long—
not with such a farm in her hand, every
stump pulled an’ every piece of wet land
drained. She'll be like a lamb before the
shearers,’”’ he muttered,frowning. ‘‘Why,
she might take that long, lazy, gocd-for-
nothing Jim Sears—he can eenamost talk
me off my feet. If the’s got to be some one,”’
he groaned, ‘‘seems to me, I'd liefer
’swounld be a stranger like Rans than some
one she’d known all her life. An’ Rans is
as good as the bess.”’
In his excitement he bad pushed down
the bedclothes, leaving his gaunt shoulders
and long arms uncovered; the chill air
struck him and he began to cough. ‘I'm
done for!’’ he gasped, when, the . paroxysm
over, he lay back exhausted: “I’m goin’
to die. Doctor said © wouldn’t live to see
the crops brought in—not unless I tried.
An’ Iain’t a-goin’ to try. I'm bound to
die, an’ I guess it’s the best thing I can
do.”
He closed his eyes and lay still, but his
thoughts ran on: ‘‘Drina’s been a good
wile,’’ he told himself, ‘‘no one could ask
for a better—she conldn’t help bein’ good.
But it ain’t in nature that she should like
me as well as a young man her own age. I
don’t suppose she’d ever have married me
if her gran’ther hadn’t wanted it so much
—an’ he just dyin’. That’s what [oiks
8aid, an’ I guess mehbe they was right;I’ve
thought of it a good deal since. Well,she’ll
have her chance now. Ii’s only fair. I’ve
took good care of her,” he added, after a
moment, his throat swelling. He turned his
head and let his eyes roam over the famil-
iar objects about him. *‘It’s all just as she
wanted it,’’ he thought, with a thrill of
pride.
It was a large, low-ceiled room. In the
wide fireplace that almost filled one end, a
great back-log glowed fitfally. Katrina van
Diemen scorned the stoves that had already
put ont the light on many hearths; she lik-
ed best to bang the kettle and turn the spit
as she had learned to do at her grandmoth-
er’s elbow in the rambling, ruined, old
honse that had sheltered her childhood.
The broad, low window, with ‘its snow-
white curtains and the row of blossoming
plants in front, might have looked out on
a Rotterdam canal, but Hiram did not
know this—to him it was just ‘‘Drina’s
way.”” The old, blue china ranged on the |
dresser gave him a pleasant glow; he re-
membered ‘the day he brought it back from
Troy. She had seen it there in a store win-
dow, and hung over it fondly because it
matched some they used to: have at home.
He wouldn’s let her know how much i
cost. Drina was careful, if she was young.
And she was never one to sit and fold her
bands; every chair and chest in the room,
every pot and pan that hung against the
wall, shone as if polished. There at the
corner of the chimney was the spinning
wheel. The Hoosick women had mostly
put theirs up in the garret, to mounlder
there with other household goods. But
Drina tossed her head 'contemptuously at
*!store yarn,’’ and sat spinning in the long
winter evenings by the firelight, as. her
grandmother had spun before her.
Her husband seemed to see the little fig-
ure in the blue gown. The whir of the
wheel mingled with the roaring of the
brook. ‘‘It's all just as she wanted it,”’he
repeated. ‘I’ve took good care of her. An’
1’11 take good care of her yet!" he mutter-
ed between his set teeth, ‘for all I've got
to leave her!” He stretched his long arm
out of the bed as’ if reaching forth from
some abyss, RY a
The door opened snddenly; a young wo-
man stood on the threshold, outlined against
a soft white clond, just flecked with green.
‘“Look'at the cherry tree, Hiram!” she
cried, stepping in and ‘throwing the door
wide: “It’s all come out to-day. Ain't it
pretty? ; § rag :
‘‘Yes,”’ said ber husband, ‘‘it’s blowin’
full as ever I see it, Why don’s you pick
some?’ = ; . i
*'I guess I will,” she answered, ‘‘if yon
don’t care. There'll be more cherries than
I can use for cordial, an’ that's all these
wild anes are good for, any way.’’
She stepped hack, and in a minute reap-
peared, her arms full ‘of the delicate white
wreaths. rs Sisk
“My, ain't they pretty!" &he exclaimed,
litsing down a hlue pitoher: from the dres-
ser shelf, I always did love bloomies!”?
A 1asping cough shook the sick man; she
threw down the flowers and hurried to him,
“You're cold!" she declared reproachtully.
She drew up-the covers, and then dropping
.he reiterated.
te her knees in front of the .hearth, blew
the smouldering fire until it glowed, and
fed it with dry branches that crackled as
they caught the flame.
‘I oughtn’t to have stayed out to the
barn so long,”’ she went on, ‘‘bus the red
calf was sc cunning! Rans was trying to
. | teach her to drink out of the pail. He
couldn’t make it ont; she just bunted him.
Did you hear us langhing?’’ She laughed,
recalling it—a low, gurgling laugh.
‘“Yes, I heard youn,’’ said Hiram.
‘‘I guess it’ll have to wait for you to get
out and see to it,”’ she continued. ‘‘The’
ain’t any one else got your way with dumb
animals. Seems sometimes as if they was
lonesome for you, an’ was tryin’ to ask me
why yon didn’t come.’”’ She was hanging
the kettle over the fire, which bad - barst
into riotous blaze and cast ruddy gleams on
the white curtains, the big bunch of cher-
ry blossoms and Drina’s braids of yellow
hair. ‘‘I'm goin’ to make you a cup of
tea,”’ she announced.
‘‘Is Rans out there still?’’ her husband
asked. © ie
‘Yes, I guess so; I haven’s heard him
bring the milk into the shed. Why?’’ she
asked. i
‘‘I wish’t you’d go an’ ask him to come
in here,’’ he said hoarsely.
She went at once, and, left alone, he be-
gan to speak aloud flinging out his words
defiantly as if at some unseen disputant:
“I’ve got to'do it!" he contended. “‘It’s
best! If I should say anythin’ to her first,
she'd say no. She wouldn’s hear to it. Bus
I won’t try to do it behind her back—it
wouldn’s be fair. An’ I've got to do it!”
‘‘The’ ain’t no one else.”’
He turned his face to the window and
‘watched until Drina and Rans came into
sight on the grass-bordered path leading
from the barn. ' She stepped briskly on
ahead, in the rosy afterglow of sunset, her
blue gown fluttering in the breeze. ‘‘She
looks like a girl,”” he thought with a jeal-
ous pang. When they reached the bars in
the pasture fence Rans took them down,all
but the last one; she sprang over lightly
and they came on together, side by side. . .
‘‘He’s big,” Hiram whispered, watching
them. “I wouldn’t ’a’ wanted her to mar-
ry a little whipper-snapper,’’—he measur-
ed his own six feet unconsciously—‘‘an’
he’s strong,an’ he can’t be more than thir-
| ty. He'll likely live a long time.” He
groaned and turned sharply away from the
window, closing his eyes. !
He was lying quite still when they came
in. ‘‘Perbaps he’s fell asleep,’’ said his
wife, approaching softly.
“No, I ain’t asleep,’”” he said. *‘‘Rans,”
he added, “I’ve got somethin’ I want to
say to you.”’
Rans made no answer, but hitched his
chair nearer the bed and fixed his narrow,
near-set, dark eyes on the sick man. Drina
stepped half-way to the fire and stood lis-
tening.
“I’m goin’ to die,” said Hiram softly.-
Rans thought it probable, no doubt, for
he made no answer, only shuffled his feet a
little on the bare floor and waited. = Drina
started forward,but meeting her husbnnd’s
eyes, which seemed to look at her and yes
not see her, she sank frightened into the
nearest seat and waited, too.
“I’m goin’ to die,” Hiram repeated,
‘‘an’ my wife is goin’ to be left alone. She
ain’t any kith ner kin;an’ I ain’s any eith-
er ’t I’d trust her to. She ain’t fit to be
left alone; she’s allays had some one to
take care of her; first old man Van Diemen
an’ then me.”
Drina’s head drooped and she gavea
frightened sob, but Hiram went on in the |.
same strained, steady tone: : /
“‘She’ll have this house an’ farm, an’ all
the livestock an’ every penny I bave in
the bank. : Such bein’ the case, of course
she’ll marry ag’in. I know how many ras-
kils the’ is in the world tbat’d like noth-
in’ better’n to get hold of a farm like this,
an’ trade it off for drink or cussedness—Ilet
alone breakin’ her heart!”” He had raised
his voice angrily, as if it were a relief to
him, or, perbaps, to drown the sound of
Drina’s weeping. = ‘‘An’ layin here,’’ he
went on more gently, ‘‘I’ve made up my
mind that I'd have it settled before I go.
You can trust me, can’t you, Drina?’”’ he
asked, but without looking toward her:
‘‘you allays have.”’
‘‘Yes, Hiram,’’ she stammered between
her sobs.
“I’ve thought it all over carefal,”” he re-
sumed, ‘an’ I believe, Rans, you’d be the
beget of any one I know. I’ve allays found
you honest an’ keepin’ of your word. An’
the farms lyin’ go clost to each other woald
make it seem nat’ral. Iallays thought the
two south medders ought to be j’ined, then
the brook could water ’em both. ’He wait-
ed, catching his breath. a
“Yes,” Rane said, nodding his head,
‘‘the coarse could be-changed a little at the
bend by the stone wall; thes a fall there.’’
He stopped, but Hiram had turned from
him abruptly, and lay with’ his eyes fixed
on the fast darkening window. He seemed
to have accepted the young man’s answer
as consent. Neither of the men had look-
ed at the woman who seemed withdrawn
into a world ‘apart where she sat silent bus
for an occasional sob that shook her averted
shoulders. te 3
*Well,”” said Rans, at last rising in some
embarrassment, ‘I ‘guess I'd better ‘be
goin’.”’
Hiram nodded. ‘“Drina!"’ he called
quickly. : fi
The young man started and cast a search
ing glance at the woman as she faced her
husband. : Fg ! ;
*‘Drina,’” Hiram said, ‘‘will you go un’
show Rans where I want him to begin to
break up the pasture to-morrow? You know
where it is.”’ # : :
She made no answer, but ‘rose and led
the way. As the door closed on them, Hi-
ram threw up his arms and groaned aloud.
‘‘It seems most more than I can bear,’’ he
gasped. *‘I thought I could, but T danuo
as Ican.” His thick grizzled hair was
matted on his temples where the sweat
stood iu drops; his fingers worked neryous-
ly. ‘‘He’s lookin’ at her now ‘ to see how
he likes her—I see him just now! Lookin
at her?’ He strained forward, listening.
He could hear their. voices faintly; they
were on the stoop still. is Bod
“If he dared!” he thought. .‘‘Yes,
Drina!’ he cried in a hoarse whisper, ‘I'm
comin’!’’ He half rose and then sank back
and turned his face resolutely to the wall.
“It’s my own doin’,”’ he whispered fierce
ly; ‘an’ by God, I'll stan’ by is!" :
Outside Drina stood flushed und wrath-
ful on the lower step of the stoop; the light
of the moon juss climbing over the. hill
caught the tears that still trembled on her
lashes. = Watching her under lowered eye-
lids, Rans said to himself that she was
pretty, prettier than he had ever thought
ber, bus there was no denying thatshe was
in arage. He reached up for some hlos-
sows of the cherry tree, picked them, and
threw them away. .. ‘‘You wueedn’s be so
hard on a fellow,””. he gromhled, ‘‘I was
only just sayin’ what he said.” he nodded
toward the house. ;
“Never you mind. what he said; youv’e
no right to say what hesays,’’ she blazed.
“He can say what be likes, He's took
care of me all my life—long before grande
father died. I'm his little girl—I guess
I'll always he hie little git! to him, no mast-
ter bow old I get to be.” Her voice soft-
ened, but it grew hard again as she met
Ran’s gaze. ‘‘You ought to have known
better,”’ she said resentfally.
“Well, there ain’s any harm done,’’ he
answered, ‘‘of course, yon’ve got the say so,
only you were =o quiet in there.”’
‘‘He was doin’ ic for me,”’ she faltered.
“‘Yes, yes,” he broke in, afraid she was
going to ory again. ‘‘Is’pose you don’t
want to go an’ show me where that piece
of pasture is.”’
*‘You know -well enough where it is,’’
she retorted, ‘‘an’ youn needn’t stop to look
at the meadow again, either; you’ll never
have a chance to change the course of that
brook!”
“‘Dang it all! who’d ’a’ thought she was
such a little vixen? I guess I ain’t losin’
much,’’ he muttered, walking of briskly,
as she turned and wens into the house.
It had seemed a long time to Hiram, but
he did not look up as she entered. She
‘went to the fire, set one foot on the and-
irons and stood gazing into the glowing
bed of coals. He turned his head stealthi-
ly to watch her; the red light caught the
little curls that the wind had blown about
her ears and turned them to gold. He
wanted to see her face, and impatience at
last overcame his dread of speaking.
‘“Well?”” he said painfully, wetting his lips
with his tongue, ‘‘did Ravs look at the
south medder to see how the brook runs?”
‘“Yes,’’ she answered, resentment in her
voice.
He frowned, his long arm stiffened as it
lay stretched across she bed.
Of course he looked at it,”’ be mutter-
ed. ‘The man ain’t born that wouldn’t
like to own that medder; every stump pull-
ed, and the spring a buobblin’ up in the
midst of the vi'lets. an’ the strawberry
blows—’’ he paused, smiling vaguely; then
be looked at bis wife and the smile faded.
‘‘He’s young and strong,” he went on, fol-
lowing his thought; he’s a worker; he can
keep it up a good many years yet. He'sa
good lookin’ young feller, Drina,’’ he ad-
ded, hesitating.
‘‘Yon hadn’t ought to talk so!’’sbe burst
out piteounsly. : |
“I thought you’d see how I meant it,
Drina,”’ be said, speaking slowly, his emo-
tion wrung from him word by word. ‘I’ve
allays took as good care of you as I knew
how; I ain’ been much use for anything
else, perhaps, an’ old feller like me; but
I’ve allays took good care of you,an’ seems
as if I couldn’s leave ’thout knowin’—how
‘twas goin’ to be. An’ Rans is about the
best the’ is.”’
‘I don’t care!”’ she broke in vehement-
ly, her face still averted.
‘‘You don’t care?’’ he questioned anx-
iously, ‘‘don’t care for what?’’
*‘I don’t care anythin’ about Rans Crey-
ton! I don’t care about bein’ took care of!
I don’t care about the farm!’’ and, turning
her tear stained face upon him, she crossed
the room, and, falling upon her knees be-
side the bed, buried her head in the folds
of the bedclothes.
This was a new Drina; Hiram bad never
seen her like this. It stirred his blood,yet
he went on in the same carefully steadied
tone. His hands,stretched rigidly in front
of him, trembled a little.
‘‘But you want to see the farm kep’ up,
Drina,” he insisted gently, ‘‘an’ Rans ’d
doit. He comes from the same kind of
folks as yours, too;he’s a Van Rensselaer on
his mother’s side. =~ Most every one likes
bim,”’ he urged. . :
““They don’t like him to the barn,” she
broke in—*‘0Old Sukey, an’ Dandy an’True
—an’ I guess they know better than folks,
p’raps. Bat, there!’ she added scornfunlly,
‘‘what’s it to me whether every one likes
him or not?’’ :
“‘P’raps there’s some one else you'd like
vebter’n Rans,”” her husband ~ stam-
mered. ‘‘Speak up, Drina, it’s all right.
Youain’t afraid of me. ’Twouldn’t be
anythin’ but nat’ral, the Lord knows!’ he
added with a sigh.
Drina raised her head, and throwing it
back looked him straight in the eyes.‘‘You
hadn’t ought to say such things to me, Hi-
ram Fenner!” she flamed, ‘‘yon haven’
any right! Ob! can’t you understand?’’ she
wailed, breaking down, ‘I don’t want any
one—never! I don’t want the farm. Oh,
Hiram! Hiram! if you’d only vast—?’ she
broke off, caught in a storm of tears.
“Only just—what?’’ he whispered, lift-
ing his head and bending forward to catch
her words. :
“Only just get well!” she panted be-
tween her sobs.
‘‘Youn want me so much? ' You want me,
Drina?"’ he stammered, his hand crept to-
ward her and touched hertimidly. She
took it in both hers and laid it under her
wet and burning cheek. : or
“You vant me to get well? You 'won’é
have no one else!” he cried, his voice ris-
ing trinmpbant. He lifted his arm,clinch-
ing hisgsinewy hand. ‘You want me to
get well, Drina? Then, by the Lord God,
I will’—By Helen Palmer in Collier's
Weekly.
Retrospective.
“There are no birds in last year's nests,’
No dollar bills in last year’s vests;
And 'tisn’t wise to hope that “‘scads’’
Will still flow in from last year’s *‘ads.”
———
Overconfidence.
It is a dapgerons point in any man’s
career when he. feels sore of his position
or his fame. Overconfidence is the first
sign of a decline, the first symptoms of
deterioration. We do our best work when
we are struggling for our position, when
we are trying with all our might to gain
our ambition, to attain that which the
heart longs for.—Success Magazine.
Vile Commercialism.
"They stood in the shadow ‘of the pyr-
amids. : i f
¢‘Oh, what,”’ murmured the romantic
maiden, ‘‘will the sphinx say, when, after
centuries of silence, it finally speaks 2’?
“I don’t know,”’ responded the prac-
tical young business man. ‘Bat I’d ‘be
willing to pay big money to have it holler:
‘Use Dinghat’s Tooth Soap. It does not
bite the tongue.” : !
cof
Jinks’ Joke.
Jinks—Today I pleased a pretty woman
by ‘telling her that a certain red-faced,
snub:nosed, bald-headed mortal looked
like ber.. 4 §
Winks—Get out ! : ; :
Jinks—The red-faced, snub-nosed, bald-
headed mortal was her first baby. :
In Doubt.
‘So you are really in society ?”’ said the
friend of earlier years.
‘I wouldn't say for sure,’’ answered Mr.
Cuwrox. “Nobody bas ever approached
me with any propositions to write up my
past unless I paid to stop ’em.”
———The oftener a man loses. his temper
the more he bas of it.
Do yon own or are you responsible for
even one tree ? If so, now is the time to
look to 18s future welfare. To let it die or
even pine through neglect is deplorable
(criminal, as one enthusiast declared),
when a little knowledge and some hard
work can prevent it.
The deterioration of many of our native
American trees is awakening alarm. Not
long ago a noted tree raiser said that there
was scarcely a healthy tree in tbe capital
city of one of the Middle States. .The
causes for this are many, and the remedy
diffiouls to achieve, apparently.
Man is the enemy of the tree. The
ignorant pruner, the raiser of unnecessary
overhead wires, the layer of closely paved
streets with no provision for the growth of
the city shade tree, should be reached
through legislation and aroused by public
sentiment. For that arch enemy to the
tree, the inseot, whatever his variety, there
is but one sure means of protecsion—vigi-
lance, prompt, uanceaing and laborious.
Right now is the time, if 16 was not done
in September, to carefully examineall trees
and shrubs for those unmercifol little pests,
the borers, whose young have probably be-
gun their baneful operations ou the hase of
your tree without your knowledge.
The sudden wilting of the twigs or the
unusual lifelessness of the leaves, which is
quite apart from the natural sere and yel-
low tone of early antumn, should he a
signal for radical methods of investigation
and eradication. :
The young caterpillars or the leopard
moth, which have proved a most serious
menace to many trees in our eastern States,
always begin their work of destruction in
twigs. When found the tips should be
immediately removed and destroyed.
Thoogh a few borers. who have not yet
gained a headway may have the grub de-
stroyel by pushing a hooked wire as far as
it will go into the hole made, there is but
one sure cure, namely, the knife. Cut ont
tl:e borers even at the risk of injuring the
tree. It cannot possibly be as injurious as
the grabs. t .
‘When the holes can be reached by the
spout of an oil can, bisulphide of carbon
has been used successfully. Poison squirted
into the bole, which is then sealed with
moist clay, has also proved an effective
remedy. The knife, however, ‘is the real
and only destroyer—stick to it even with
fear of the consequences.
Another enemy of the tree is the female
lackey moth, which in the late summer de-
posits her egg, and there in a web of
branches and leaves whole colonies of larvae
or social caterpillars will remain as injuri-
ous inhahitants until the following spring,
to feed on the tender green leaves.
There is hut one thing to do—clear them
off right now. This can be done by hand
picking (creepy, hut essential), or by
shaking them on to paper spread beneath
the trees.
The eggs deposited spirally iu clusters
around the twigs are easily noticed in the
fall, and should be scraped off on paper
and burned, as the caterpillars when near-
ly fall grown creep into the hark or ander
piles of rubbish to multiply woes for the
tree owner.
A thorongh spraying with soft soapand
quassia, or a little petrolenm mixed with
hot water, is good to destroy the oater-
pillar. A rainy day, when the caterpillars
usuvally seek shelter in their webs, is the
A mixture of lime and
Pay Roll 0) Mutual Life Insurance Company Shows
Paid $3.000,000 in Commissions.
Big Salaries.
New York, Oct. 7.—Closing a week,
every day of which has produced a sen-
pation that has stirred the country, the
ppecial legislative committee investi-
pating the methods of insurance com-
panies adjourned until Tuesday of next
week. While other weeks of the hear-
ing have had sensations, no previous
week has had a sensation every day as
the one that just concluded.
On Wednesday, when President Mc-
Call, of the New York Life Insurance
company, was on the stand, he heatedly
declared that three-quarters of the bills
introduced into the legislatiures of the
states of the Union were blackmailing
measures, and on that ground he ex-
plained the necessity of maintaining
the corps of attorneys. On Thursday
counsel for the committee, Mr. Hughes,
took another tack and called Robert
H. McCurdy, general manager of the
Mutual Life Insurance company, and
son of Richard A. McCurdy, presidént
of that company, to testify as to the
agency system of the company, this
feature of the business being under his
control. While Mr. McCurdy was on
the stand counsel for the committee
brought out facts that changed the pre-
arranged course, and the result was the
disclosure of the immense profits
(nearly $3,000,000) derived from the
commissions of the insurance business.
In the last day’s testimony the sen-
sational development was when Mr.
Hughes demanded the pay roll of the
executive officers of the company. This
was produced and showed the salaries
of these officers since 1877. For: the
year 1904 President McCurdy received
$150,000; two vice presidents were paid
$50,000 each; a second vice president,
$17,500; the third vice president, $10,-
000, and the general manager $25,000,
who this year will receive $30,000, and
the treasurer $50,000.
' Robert McCurdy said he never knew
the salary of his father until he heard
it read in the committee room. He
thought, however, that there should be
no limit to the salary of such positions,
because they should be in accordance
with the accumulations of the com-
bany.
When asked if it was any benefit to
tte policyholder to increase the presi-
dent's salary, Mr. McCurdy said he
thought the trustees had considered
that when they increased the presi-
dent’s salary. .No increase, however,
had ever been considered when he was
present at the trustees’ meetings.
Earlier in the day when Mr. McCurdy
was on the stand Mr. Hughes tried to
bring out why C. H. Raymond & Co.
and the partners in that firm received
larger emoluments from the business
than any other agency.
At one point in the day’s testimony
hunt.
accept ?
An Ad—Vantage.
time for a raid.
soot sprinkled on branches of dwarf bushes
is excellent for the wet weather caterpillar
——May—I believe that Miss Passey
when she was sixteen.
Blanche—Indeed ? And the poor thing was
so young and thooghtless that she did not
had a proposal
He who would add unto his trade
Should have an “ad.,”” and well displayed.
For “ads” if one knows how to write ‘em,
Add to one’s trade ad infinitum.
Uncertainty.
“What time does this train arrive at
Swamp Centre?’ asking the traveling
man.
‘My friend,” was the avswer, “I’m
only a conductor. I'm not a fortune
teller.’’— Washington.
——‘‘There goes Miss Letters. I under-
stand she is quite literary.”’
“Who told yon so?”
‘‘She did.”
‘Ah, well, don’t wake her up.’’
ONCE WEALTHY NOW A PAUPER
Jefferson Raplee, ‘Associate; of Jay
- Gould, Goes to Poorhouse. . |
. New York, Oct. 10. — Jefferson P.
Raplee, once a wealthy New York
banker and business associate of Jay
John P. Blair, went to the poorhouse
here. : Bonnin
Raplee was one of the best-known
men along Broadway in his day. His
father, who was Judge Raplee, of
Yates county, N. Y., left him a large
fortune. In 1856 he opened a hanking
house at 137 Broadway, which was
capitalized at. $200,000, and did a
yearly business of $500,000, which wag
a large sum at that time. Since 1867,
when this bank made an assignment
after some unfortunate speculation,
Mr. Raplee’s fortune, although invest
ed in a new banking’ venture, steadily
diminished. Three years ago he closed
his ]ast offices and began to live on
the remnants of his former wealth. He
was unmarried.
TRIPLE CRIME UNSOLVED |
All Attempts to Clear Middletown,
N.Y, Mystery Fails. = ..
Middletown, N. Y., Oct. 9.—AIl at-
tempts of the county and local police
officials; to clear up the mystery of the
murder of Willis and Fred Olney and
little Alice Ingerick at the Olney farm
near here, and the murderous assault
on Mrs. Ingerick on Friday night have
that some clue to the murder had been
found when Alanzon Graham, an old
man, living near the Olney place, was
arrested on information furnished by
Mrs. Ingerick, the only member of the
Olney household who escaped death,
but who was found terribly. injurel and
uncqnscious in the barn. After being
kept in custody all day and closely ex-
amined Graham conclusively proved
his innocence and was discharged from
custody. 1 10} aclisoed ’
much interest was manifested when the
expenditures of the company were
talien up. An auditor of the Mutual
Life, Mr. Prillah, was on the stand, and
he was asked as to the method of: re-
cording the expenditures: It was gath-
ered that these were passed upon by
an expenditure committee, of which
Robert Oliphant was chairman. Three
entries on the books of payments to
Mr. Oliphant of $25,000 each were look-
ed into, but no information could be
gleaned. Mr. Prillah was asked about
the $2500 campaign contribution to the
Republican congressional
which was disclosed, but he said none
had come under his observation.
committee
HUGHES HAS DECLINED
New York Republicans Are Now With-
out a Candidate For Mayor.
New York, Oct. 10. — Charles E.
mp Hughes, counsel for the insurance in-
vestigating committee,
Republican nomination as candidate
for mayor of New York, giving as his
reason that he could not spare the
time from the insurance inquiry now
7 under way.
declined the
Mr, Hughes said: “In this dilemma
I have simply to do my duty as I see
it. .In my judgment I have no right
to accept the nomination.
mount public duty forbids it.
non-political character of the insur-
ance investigation ' and its freedom
Gould, Commodore Vanderbilt and | from bias, either of fear or favor, not
only must exist, they must. be recog-
‘nized. I cannot permit them, by any
action of mine, to become matters of
debate.” :
A para-
The
Negro Lynched By Negroes.
Bainbridge, Ga. Oct. 9—A negro,’
whose home is not known, was lynch-
ed eight miles west of hére by a mob
of his own race. The negro had crimi-
nally asssaulted a negro girl, and had
attempted to assault another, who cut
him in the breast. He was arrested by
Deputy Sheriffs Ivy and Murkerson,
who were bringing him to Bainbridge,
when they were stopped by a mob of
negroes.
negro. They took him from the sher-
iffs and forced those officers to go
‘| away on another road. The negro was
strung up to a tree and riddled with
bullets, None of the mob were appre-
hended. =. : A kaw wii
The latter demanded the
_ 97 Indictments Against Dougherty.
Peoria, Oct. 10.—The grand jury re-
ported 84 indictments against Newton
C. Dougherty ‘in’ addition ‘to the' 13
already: found. Forty-five of these are
for forgery, each
counts. . The amounts involved are
so far been fruitless. It was believed | from $14.40 to $600. Bonds are fixed
in the sum of $1000 on each indictment
for forgery and for $500 on each for
embezzlement, making a total bail of
$64,500. E :
containing eight
Not Too Hard,
“‘Rather bard to lose your daughter,
eh 2”? raid the gnest at the wedding.
‘‘No.”” replied tha hride’s father. Ceipp
did look as’if it were going to be hard at,
one time, but she finally landed this fellow
just as we were giving up all hope.”
LAWYER ARRESTED FOR BRIBERY
Tampered With Witnesses Against
Storey Cotton Company Promoter.
Philadelphia, Oct. 10.—Shortly after
the jury had been - selected to try
Stanley Francis, alleged partner in the
Storey Cotton company, United States
postal inspectors placed William C.
‘Byram, a lawyer, of Bradley Beach,
N. J, with offices at Belmar, under ar-
rest on the charge of attempting to
unlawfully influence witnesses sum-
moned to appear at the trial. Byram
was in the court room when taken in-
to custody and was given a hearing.
The principal witnesses against Byram
were Gertrude Sundheim and Mar-
garet Hoke, who were formerly em~-
ployed as bookkeepers by the Storey
Cotton company. They testified that
Byram attempted to have them elimi-
nat2 “local color” from their testi-
mony and make it as mild as possible
without telling an untruth. They were
to be rewarded, they said, by being
given lucrative positions in other
cities. He told them he came in the
interests of a Mr. Harper who, Miss
Sundheim explained, was no other
than Franklin Stone or Marin, a fugi-
tive from justice. He believed Francis
to be an innocent man, and all he
wanted was to see him free, so that
Harper could return to this country.
Byram made a statement in his own
defense, in which he said he meant to
do nothing wrong, that he only wanted
the witnesses to eliminate biased tes:
timony. Byram was held in $1500 bail
for court.
HAS CONSUMPTION CURE
Professor Von Behring Confident He
Has True Remedy at Last.
Paris, Oct. 9.—At the closing session
of the International Congress, Profes-
sor von Behring made a statement rel-
ative to his new curative principle for
tuberculosis. It was also decided ta
hold the next congress at Washington,
in 1908.
Professor Behring’s statement at-
tracted much attention, Distinguished
medical men from many countries oc-
cupied the platform and filled the salon
of the Grand Palace. The professor
said: .
“Investigations in the last two years
have brought a vast majority of the
best-ecuipped authorities to the belief
that the most efficacious means of
checking the disease, which is so rav-
aging the population everywhere, lies
in the sterilization of milk before feed-
ing young children, isolation of the tu-
Ft ~-~losis patient even in the earliest
£ “he development of sanatorial
SC “th more attention to ulti-
mat. = to temporary care; in-
sistence ne points is the very
keynote oi ... .ongress, which realizes
the truth that tuberculosis is not he-
reditary, in thousands of cases being
due to the indifference with which one
affected member of a family is allowed
to contaminate others. *
“I believe that from the date of this
meeting the dread disease will be fought
with more practical common-sense
measures’ than ever before.”
CONFERRED ON FOOTBALL
President Tries to Eliminate Much of
Its Brutality.
Washington, Oct. 10. — President
Roosevelt entertained at luncheon Dr.
D. H. Nichols and W. T. Reid, of Har
vard; Arthur T. Hillebrand and John
B. Fine, of Princeton, and Walter
Camp and Mr. Owsley, of Yale. The
six guests of the president constitute
the athletic advisors of the respective
colleges named. The president desired
to consider with them particularly the
morale of the game of football, with
view to eliminating much of its bru
tality if possible. A general discussion
of college athletics was had, but the
talk centered around the game of foot:
ball.. It is hoped by the president that
with the co-operation of the college
| authorities and the athletic advisors
the rules of the game may be sa
amended as practically to do away
with much of the brutality which
makes the game objectionable to
many people. It is understood that nc
definite conclusions were reached. In
deed, none was expected, the idea of
the president being simply to start the
ball rolling in the direction of a modi:
fication of the rules of the game.
General Grant’s Chief of Staff Dying.
New York, Oct. 9.—General William
Thomas Clark, only surviving adjutani
general and chief of staff of General
. Grant’s Army of the Tennessee, is dy-
ing from cancer in St. Luke’s hospital
He was: brought from his home in
Washington, D. C. to this city twc
weeks ago in the hope that an opera:
: tion would save his life. Dr. B. Far
quhar Curtis performed the operation,
but the advanced age of General Clark,
who is 75 years old, and the extent of
the malady prevented him from rally
ing. : ¢ ¥ i Ay
Bought Interest In Washington Post.
~ Washington, Oct. 10.—John R. Mc-
Lean, owner of the Cincinnati En-
quirer, purchased from the Wilkins es-
tate an even half interest in the Wash-
ington Post. ‘The amount of the pur-
chase money is not stated, but it is
understood to be in the neighborhood
of $600,000. Mr. McLean will be made
president of the Post company, and
will take an active part, in connection
with ‘John F. Wilkins, in the manage-
ment of the paper. 3 5
ie - —y dni 4 ar
J. K. P. Hall Much Improved.
Harrisburg, Pa., Oct. 10.—Word was
received at the Democratic state head-
quarters here from Ridgway that the
condition of State Chairman J. K. P.
Hall is very much improved.
Editor of the Welt Bote Dead.
Allentown, Pa,, Oct. 10. — John
Weelchi, editor of the Welt Bote since
1869, died as a result of a paralytic
stroke. He was T4 years old and left"
| &@ widow and eight children. :