Bellefonte, Pa., October Ii. 1907.
HOW WE SAVED FOR A HOME.
Amelia, we could buy a home, if we should try
real hard,
80 don't use butter any more, we'll spread our
bread with lard,
No more from rented house to house, improv
ident we Il roam.
Quick, put the furnace fire out.
for a home,
"Twould do us good, both you and me, to get a
little thinner ;
For breakfast we will eat stale bread, and have
cold tea for dinner,
Think how luxuriously we'll fare beneath our
paid-tor dome.
We'll iive oo fifiy cents a week while saving for
& home,
We're saving
You might take in some washiog, wife, and
keep some boarders, too,
Then do plain sewing half the night, when
other work is through.
No more vacation days for us by woods or
ocean's foam ;
No trolley rides shall take our dimes. We're
saving for a home.
Amelia, you did nobly, dear, you led a frugal
life,
And now you lie beneath a slab marked
“Sacred to my Wife,"
And while your weary body rests beneath the
churchyard loam
My second wife and I reside within the saved
for home,
= Blsic Duncan Yale,
SAVING THE CHILD.
‘James Hennessy !'- calls the olerk.
Jimmy stands there beside she big police-
man who dragged kim out of a dry-goods
box some time between midnight and
dawn. He in barefooted, and his frayed
and ragged tronsers are miles soo big for
him. They are held over his diminutive
nakedness by a single suspender Litobed
over a thin little shoulder. Such feelings
as be bas known in bis gray life have vi-
brated chiefly between hatred and fear.
A hand is raised as a sign that the officer
who has taken him into custody is 80 be
sworn, and Jimmy dodges. That is instinot.
Jimmy bas been dodging all his life.
The story is told in the nsnal stolid po-
lice way. There are a few formal phrases
about “‘exposed and neglected" and “‘im-
proges gumdianship,” bat, of course, this
s beyond Jimmy's ken. He is simply a
concerned, cowering voung animal.
Then a man in & black gown, who sits
up in a big chair, begins to talk to him.
The startliog thing to Jimmy is that he is
neither being ounrsed at nor reviled. This
man, who is Joking 80 earnestly at him,
is speaking quietly, kindly. Jimmy kuows
little of church but this, maybe, is thepriest.
There is a queer stirring within his ssanted
litsle being. A new pucker comes to bir
pinched face. His fists go suddenly to his
eyes, when, strangest of all, his diny,
tear-bedewed hand is taken gently hy the
gowned man. Jimmy then looks into the
man’s eyes. He sees something there bet
ter than a bed, better even shan the food
he oraved, a something for which he bas
dambly starved all bis shors, miserable
life—a ray of human kindoess and sympa-
thy, This birthright of childhood bas ever
wen denied him. With his advent in the
Children’s Cours, and hy the finding of
that cours which gives him a good howe a
vew life begins and James Hennessy,
erstwhile of Corlear’s Hook, is saved to the
State.
This story is not au uncommon ope. It
is one of the commonest of the common in
that great hnmane tribunal, where eachday
children are being released from the will-
stoues thas evil environment aud neglectful
parents bave set about their necks. Here
no fortunes are heing litigated, nor is the
fight made for the freedom or punishment
of grown-ups, whose babits avd vices are
fixed. The prize is of richer worth, —our
futare citizenship. For the problem of the
child is the problem of the State.
Into this conrt crowds more of human
interest thao in any other court of the
world. Before its bar is constantly passing
a great procession of haman incoogruoities,
scenes vibrant with pathos and humor.
For both pathos and humor consists in the
perception of incongruities. It is the sins
of the parents and the sins of the living
conditions that the overerowded city forces
ou its children that here stand ous most
strikingly. The real culprit is more often
the delinquent parents than the delinquent
ohild. The sight of a child trosting to a
saloon two or three times daily, pail in
hand, to procure the family supply of
beer—a familiar one in a great city—im-
peaches the parent for a criminal indiffer-
euce. Small wouder that the child's
moral perceptions are obliterated, and hia
instincts perverted in such surroundings !
Itisin the streets, the vice sown streets,
that the child learns to gamble, to swear,
to steal. He cannot help it. He must
employ the ways of his companions if he is
tosurvive among them. And the ways of
his companions lead oftenest to the Chil-
ands Court. ;
¢ who mits in judgment here is charg-
ed with great ibilities. He knows
that often on his decision rests the blight-
ing or making of a life.
In fact, bere the judge is a big father in
time of greatest peed to the multitude of
small boys, tearful or sullen, and small
girls, hysterical or coldly indifferent, who
are baled before him each day to answer
charges of lawbreaking that ron
—charges
the gamut of the Penal Code from the ordi. big
nary mischief! of irrepressible th to
burglary and attempts at ii
Curiously enough, each one of the score
end more of children who bave been
brought here for attempted suicide has
been a girl.
Between the appearance of Jimmy and
that of the sinartly dressed youngster in
koickerboukery boss case is a called,
there is a striking contrast.
defendant and bis father have hetero
only a few minutes before in a big antomo-
bile, for the hoy has been released on bail
after having been arrested she day before
for breaking a street lamp while playing
hall, The obarge is read by the judge who,
in this common sense court, is prosecutor,
judge and jury combined.
“Did you break the lamp ?'’ aaked the
jodge as he calle Robbie to him and mo-
tions to the officer to keep she self-import-
ant father outside the rail.
“Yee, sir,” is the boy’s simple, straight-
forward response, and it does the hears of
the Court good.
Robbie's father fames. The boy’s hon-
esty bas thrust him to the verge of
oplexy. Such truthfulness will never do
for Robbie in business !
“What do youn say that for ? You know
ou did not do it I" And the father
and thrusts out a card with a Riverside
Drive address engraved upon is. The
judge casts the card aside in disgust.
“Your has been manly enough so
tell she trash, and yet you, bis father,
think so listle of hima that you woald bave
him come into a court of law and tell a lie.
You are nos fit to bave sach a son !"
Robbie's elder gloweringly pays a fine
and as they walk out of cours to the wait-
ing sutomobile, Robbie looks deeply
ashamed for both. Robbie's handicap is
his father. This man’s sin is only a little
less grievous in the eyes of the Court than
the criminal negleot of she father of the
boy who was found sleeping in the dry-
goods box, for Robbie's father should have
kuown better and Robbie is being raised in
luxary. In this great sbhow-place of
parental deliquencies, such parents are
constantly oi revealed under she X-
rays of jadical investigation.
A passive, slovenly dressed woman drops
iuto she witness chair. She, so the repors
goes, is the ‘*leaser’’ of hall a dozen crowd-
ed tenements in the sweat shop distrios.
That is, she applies the screws to the help-
less tenants for the real owner, who perhaps
lives in a fine house on ope of the avenues
aud moves in high sociesy. Her thirteen-
year-old son is charged with being an
haibitaal truant.
“*The school records show that your hoy
has broken the law hy heing ahsent from
school for more than a year,’’ the Coars
informs her.
When the sentence is interpreted to her,
she shrugs ber heavy shoulders and mildly
replies :
“*Mayhe he wasn’s feeling well.”
Of what avail is reason against such
stolidity as this ?
Her indifference, however, suddenly
disappears as her boy is led away to the
truant school. ‘Ob, my Izzy ! My Izzy!"
she cries ; but the ory comes from no ma-
ternal impulse, —her Izzy has helped in
the collection of the rents.
A freckle-faced adventurer from one of
the worst districts is accused of hurling a
hrick through the window of a Chinaman's
laoudry.
“I did is, Chudge, bat de Chink ain’t
Kot no provers '' is his ingenious answer to
the charge,
Aloyeius, for 80 his name has been writ.
ten in his baptisinal lines, ies made to nn-
derstand that he will fare better by a
straightforward plea than by trying to
dodge bebind the technicalities of toe law.
He is led to an noderstanding, also, before
the lesson is over, that even Chinamen
have rights, and be ig obliged to humble
nimsell so far as to take the reluctant
Chinaman by she haod and beg his pardon.
‘This, too, after his father has agreed to pay
for the glass. To teach boys and girls to
respect the rights of others is io the ground-
work course of our children’s courts.
Aloyrinn in released on parole, which
aieaus that the hand of she Court rests over
bim and that for any trapsgression of the
strict live of conduoce that i= laid down he
may be brought back at once and comwis-
ted to an iostitusion. There is not to be a
«ingle day of ‘*hooky,”’ and she report of
the Parole Officer, on the day that he is to
reappear in court, most show that he has
heen an exemplary little citizen. For the
Children’s Court is often called *‘the coors
of ove more chance,’ and little boys aod
girls are not packed off to iustitations un-
less there is absolutely no other prospect
for reformation, for there is always the
danger that they will be turned oat auto-
matons or if they go to the old harrack re-
formatories, that they will suffer by con-
tamivation.
It is ever remembered that the child is
the creature of environmens and of oppor-
tanity. The court is often a potent factor
in improving both. Frequently one of the
conditions of the release on parole is that
the parents shall move into a different
neighborhood to give their children another
chance in better surroundings. Eighsy-
five per cent of these paroled children do
so well that their commitment to an insti-
tution is not necessary.
Au affrighted urchin of ten, who ran off
with a pair of shoes that were hauging in
trout of a store, climbs up in frons of the
bench. Ap avxious, worn mother, who
sees him now for the first time since he
was taken into custody, lays a trembling
band on his arm. Care and the marks of
drudgery are on her face. She is a scrub-
woman and bas a family of five thas the
father has deserted. e little fellow's
eyes fill.
“Judge, I took em for me listle sister,”
be quavers.
The sister is there, two years yonuger
than the defendant. She shows her sym-
path, hy Belding via hand and pasting him
on the cheek. e stolen shoes are pro-
duced and. sure enough, they are about
Emma’s size, and Emma's toes are show-
ing. A paivs-takivg inqoiry proves the
boy’s story true. From some unukvown
source the price of shose stolen shoes is
dropped into tbe complainant’s hand and
he leaves couit,grumbling in his beard. Au
agent of a charitable society becomes inter
ested, and, following she hoy’s arrest aud
arraigoment, things will look up in thas
home,
An uokempt Italian mother shofiles in
with a child, placid avd unwinking, un one
arm, while she leads a reluctans youngster,
not at all bad-looking, with the other hand.
She says Tony is a bad boy, oh, a very bad
boy. Tony, who is all of nine, gazes at his
mother in weoder as she wonla swear him
futo an institation—the ‘‘collegio,’’ as it is
known to the Italians of this class. To
them, putting their boy away into a re-
formatory is sending bim to college aud
olssimes the parent who is able to do this
is looked upon with envy by his neighbors.
For they reason that there the children
will be fed, clothed and taught a trade, at
public ex Ot course, when Tony is
to help in the breadwinning,
his parents will want him back.
The baby, who has heen staring with
round eyes at the policeman who hovers
pear, bogine on a sudden to wail. Poor
listle Tony, Tony the culpris, the male-
factor, then patiently draws a feeding-bos-
tle from the pockes of his jagkes and pute
it into the baby’s hand. cries cease
aod the mother’s im ment of Tony's
character flowe volubly on. Tbe judge is
“Yes, I'll
used to all this.
“Stop!” be commands.
send your bey away, but your husband
will be ander an order 0 pay the
city each week the full amount this
cbild’s support. I! he fails to do this he
will be sent to prison.”
‘When this is borne in upon the mother
she suddenly finde that Tony has some re-
deeming qualities and she finishes by say-
ing that she guesses she will give Tony an-
other chance. A ‘‘collegio’ that is free is
one thing, but a ‘‘col '* for which one
must pay two precious dollars every week,
—ob, no, it is not desirable. So Tony
makes hia way home, back to his old job of
nursing the baby.
The philosophy with which some of the
small Jn acoeps the matter of their
arrest and arrsigument is a study by itself.
Constant contact with bard itions has
pushes | often developed this stoic calmness, and
the trails of tears are not #0 numerous as
might be expected. One youngster who
has dropped into a policernan’s arms as he
crawled from she fanlighs of a grocery he
bas robbed coolly tells the judge that he’d
leas thet be put away ' than go back
to the that fate gave him for a home.
. Soblinsky’’ is the euphonions
name of a youth who is charged with the
heinous offense of using a sliog-shot in a
public park. He, in fact, bad aimed ata
Spiros and hit a peddler, and patorally
latter was wroth. The judge explains
how dangerous it is $0 throw missiles iu a
public place. Again it is the lesson of the
rights of others, and that the higger the
orowd, the less are the rights of the individ.
ual. Bo often is this lesson told to the |
youth thas the city would suppress and
repress.
“How did you come todo it?'’ the Court
finally asks
Now “Coffee” belongs to that large class |
of boys who in their eager search for infor-
mation devoar everythiug readable shat
comes within their reach. Neither his
father nor his mother could read or write
English, bus Coffee’ is rapidly waking
ap for any deficiency in thas direction.
“‘Caffee’’ squares his listle shonlders and
looking the Judge straight in the eye asks :
“Didn't I read in the papers shat the |
bird season was open ?'’
A thin, white-faced little girl of eleven
is brought forward hy one of the officers of
the Children’s Society. ‘‘Mother and fath-
er drank most of the time,’’ says the of. |
ficer; ‘‘the three of them live ina little |
dark ball-hed-room,—cook, eat and sleep
there. No fis piace for her.”
The judge asks for the parents, who
shuffle forward. The man tries to assume
a bravado hearing, but he soon weakens |
before the judge's merciless questions, Yes, |
he does drink —onoe in a while—-he coun: |
fesses, and then, with pathetic shame, |
acknowledges that his wife is diouk “'pret- |
ty often.” He admits that he earns from
six to eight dollars a week—-when he works, |
The judge torus to the unkempt, blear- |
eyed woman, whose shaking hand, a« she
takes the nath, hetrays her pitiable condi: |
tion. After a few questions the judge says |
that he will send the child to a home where |
towards her support. |
“'Oh, judge, please don’t take her away |
from me | I swear I'll never touch another
drop—dou’'t take my listle lamb from we.”’ |
The woman’s voice rises to a hysterical |
wail. The little girl begins so ory and |
presses close to her mother’s side. ‘‘Mam- |
ma, mamma,’ she sobs; and there is love, |
the real heart-ory for the mother, in her
voioe and caress. |
Something suddenly olouds the judge's |
spectacles ; he has to wipe them witha!
hand that trembles,
Bat he knows thas he is right; this child '
must be saved, for there are other details |
in the officer’s story that show the horror |
of such a home for the girl. The mother's |
oath will be broken within twenty-four |
hoars; it does not mean true repentance.
So the Conrt rales shat the listle girl shall |
20 to the Proteoctory, and the pitifal listle
group moves away from the desk, the child
clinging to ber mother notil the last mo.
ment,
The case of a girl of fifteen, whose face is
darkened with evil knowledge prematurely |
gained, is called next. The mother, a
foolish-looking oreature, stands indifferent |
to the whole wretched recital. As her un- |
fortunate daughter is led past her on her |
way to a reformatory institutson the moth
er in heard to whisper in her ear :
‘Never mind, Florence ; the lower yon
fall, she higher you'll kounce.’’
An extreme oase? Yes, perhaps, but
there are constautly being revealed offenses
of parents against their children that are
little less startling.
There are, of course, offenders plainly
and typically oriminal : the hardened
young Dick Tarpins, the trained and skill
fal pickpockets and other children who
have heen raised in a generation of crim.
inals,hovs of ten piping up to confess men’s
ans. Bot even in these cases all hope is
not lost, for in is all environment rather
than heredity has been the coutrolling
force. —By Ernest K. Coulter, in the De.
lineator.
How to make the most and best of life,
how to preserve the health and increase the
vital powers. how to avoid the pitfalls of
disease; these are things every one wants to
know, fs is the kaowledge of these things,
taught in Dr. Pierce's Common Sense
Medical Adviser which makes she work
protuisally priceless to men and women.
is great hook, containing 1008 pages, is
went free on receipt of stamps to pay ex-
pense of mailing only. Send 21 one-cent
stamps for the book in paper covers, or 31
~tawps for cloth binding, to Dr. R. V.
Pierce, Buffalo, N. Y.
~——1It's lucky to bave a rabbit's foot.
At least the rabhit thinks =o.
¥
~—'‘A busy man is vever too busy to
tell yon how busy he is.”
-——— In some circles a gentleman is a
man who gets drank with a dress suit on,
Given Nine Months For Manslaughter.
Hartford, Conn., Oct. 5.—Engineer
Jerome Wilson and Conductor David
C. Maroney, charged with manslaugh-
ter, were found guilty in the eriminal
superior court and sentenced to nine
months each in jail. Wilson and Ma
roney were in charge of the passenger
train which on June 23 collided with
a work train in this city, killing 10
persons and injuring 40.
Hammered Dynamite; Head Blown Of
Buffalo, N. Y., Oct. 7.—Benjamin
Formato, foreman of a gang of labor-
ers, was blasting slag at the Union
Furnace company’s plant. While driv-
ing a 25-pound dynamite cartridge in
to a drill hole he decided to hammer
it in with a sledge. Formato’s head was
blown off. Anthony Tomillo also was
killed and five other men were injured.
Child's Assailant Killed by Father.
Newton, Miss, Oct. 8. — William
Bender, a negro, who attempted to as-
sault a 6-year-old white girl, was kill
ed by the child's father, Benjamin
Coker, a planter, who came upon him
while he was attempting to make his
escape, and fired a charge of buckshot
into his head.
Two Fatally Injured In Duel.
Pittsburg, Oct. 7.—Levi Jones, 63
years old, and William Carpenter, 34
years old, are dying in a hospital from
injuries received in a duel with a
knife and an ice pick as weapons. The
fight was prompted, it is said, by
jealousy
A POTTERSVILLE EPISODE.
T was at the fall elections that the
feud begun in Pottersville. John
Grant, the village blacksmith, a
big, rawboned fellow of enormous
muscle, whose family had hailed from
Nova Scotia, had dared to oppose
Judge Weaver, candidate for the legis-
lature. From the judge's point of view
the worst feature of this presumptu-
ous antagonism was its success. Judge
Weaver had been defeated by the nar-
row margin of one vote, and bitterness
was ever thereafter to rankle in his
heart.
Another source of vexation for the
judge was the attachment which he
could not fail to see existed between
his daughter Nellle, a girl of pretty
face, medium height, plump person
HE GENEROUSLY OFFERED TO FIGHT THEM.
and many suitors, on the one hand and
Willis Wenham, son of the first select-
man, who was in the midst of his
course at one of the big eastern uni-
versities.
Selectman Wenham was another of
Judge Weaver's political opponents;
but, though the judge never forgave
one who crossed his will, this was not
the reason for his opposing the match
between his daughter Nellle and the
selectman’s son Willis. The judge was
a man of means, while Selectman
Wenham, though possessed of a mod-
erate competency, could leave but a
small sum at his demise to each of
his numerous family, of which Willis
composed exactly one-thirteenth.
With young Wenham absent at col-
lege, the judge was able to give his
undivided attention to the village
blacksmith. He was willing to bide
his time, for he knew John Grant to
be one of those men who with unfail-
ing regularity get themselves into a
beastly state of Intoxication just once
every twelve months. For a full week
it was the blacksmith's custom to
wrestle with John Barleycorn, quite
willing to be overcome.
The only article in the warrant for
the last town meeting over which
there had not been more or less con-
test was that which called for the
erection of a town lockup. It was gen-
erally conceded that Pottersville had
reached that stage in a town's progress
where a jail is demanded for the pres-
ervation of peace and order. An out-
sider might have objected that there
had been no arrest made in the little
village excepting of boys on truancy
charges since the convening of the last
town meeting, but this would have
been regarded as a Machiavellian at-
tempt at Impeding the wheels of
progress. So the new structure had
risen triumphantly, with not so much
as a hint of graft, under the super-
vision of the selectmen, and, although
the suggestion of building had come
from the mouth of Judge Weaver, none
sang the praise of conception and exe-
cution more loudly than the village
blacksmith.
It was at the fall elections, as we
have said, that the feud started be-
tween John Grant and Judge Weaver.
It was not until the approach of the
following spring that the latter found
the sought for chance to “get back” at
the smith. One morning in early Feb-
ruary the blacksmith failed to show up
at his place of business. A line of six
or more impatient teamsters set out
to look up the reason. At Henry
Come's hostelry, known as the Come
Inn, they found it. Red eyed &nd
maudlin, mostly oblivious to the cares
of this world, yet occasionaily burst-
ing into tears and hiccoughs as he ex-
postulated against the hard fate that
had carried an uncie of his away on
the wrong side of a log drive thirty
years before, was the village black-
smith, leaning for sympathy and sup-
port against the rose colored, reeking
bar over which the liquors of
Come Inn were served.
John Grant refused to do
therefor as provided and laid down in
the statutes of the state. Judge Weaw
er forced the unwilling constables, aft.
er considerable goading, to action. The
blacksmith, snoring in slumber, was
dragged out of the woods and cast Inte
the new lockup. On the following
morning he had sobered up sufficiently
to appear before the court, which in
Pottersville meant Judge Weaver,
Two of the constables swore to hav-
ing seen John Grant very drunk and
disorderly at the Come Inn. There
was no defense. The blacksmith even
pleaded gullty with a certain amount
of elation. Apparently the one uncom-
fortable feature of the affair to him
was the long and maliciously worded
tarangue which, behind the dignity of
the law, Judge Weaver delivered to
the prisoner, closing by sentencing him
to sixty days in Pottersville jail and
fininz him $6.76 costs. .
There was a beatific smile on the
highly colored face of the prisoner as
he was led off to the lockup, closely
guarded by quite unnecessary consta-
bles, after offering to work out the
fine by shoeing the yoke of oxen kept
to aid the paupers in their work on the
town farm. The proffer had been re-
fused with a great show of dignity.
It would have required no great ef-
fort for the burly prisoner to tear down
the bars which covered the windows
of the jail and which were rather more
for decoration than for anything else,
but other thoughts were in his mind.
He was, for the first time In his life, a
prisoner. It was the duty of the town
to which he had paid poll and property
taxes for more years than he could
really remember to provide him with
bed and board. The experience was
not only novel, but also distinctly
pleasing, vesting him with a sense of
new importance.
It was easier than working, this jafl
life, and after the first week in the
well warmed lockup he began to look
forward with regret to the time when
he must leave It.
With the passing of the first fort-
night of the sixty days’ confinement
this state of affairs, however, began 2
pall on him. He found that a vacation
may be of too long duration. He be-
gan to pine for work. Furthermore,
his pride was seriously affected. On
two or three occasions Jailer Gibson on
leaving the lockup after bringing in
the blacksmiih’s supper had forgotten
to lock the door after him. The pris-
oner remonstrated in forcible language
at this inattention to duty.
“I'm goin’ to be locked up nights
hereafter, Jim Gibson,” he said, knit-
ting the red skin of his forehead into
n mass of frowning wrinkles, “an’ I
want you to understan’ it. Think of
me stayin’ in jail without bein’ locked
up! Ain't 1 got a right to be locked
up?
“I'll put a spring lock on the door
tomorrow, Joka, an’ then if I go away
an’ forget to lock the door you can
close it an’ lock It any time you want.”
“Well, Jim, all I ask’s to be locked
up like I ought to be,” answered the
mollified prisoner. “That's all I ask.”
“Yes, an’ I'll do more than that,”
continued the constable. “I'll have
that lock 80's you can open it from the
inside with a nail. Nobody but us
need know, an’ you can step outside
any time you want to. I'm doin’ this,”
he went on hastily, “’cause I don’t
want you to get sick while you're in
my charge. Prisoners get all the ex-
ercise they want in ev'ry well regu-
lated jail, an’ I ain't goin’ to have no
one say the Pottersville jail's behin’
the times.”
“No, nor I nuther!"” agreed the black-
smith heartily. “Have some tobacco,
Jim?
Jaller Gibson took a pipeful of the
contents of the blue and tinsel pack-
age extended to him, and, rolling it in
the palm of his hand, sat down to have
a further chat with the prisoner.
“See here. John,” he began, “the
boys aroun’ Pottersville are gettin’
mighty hard up f'r a horseshoer. They
don’t want to go out of town f'r one
thing. ‘Sides, they couldn't get nobody
nearer nor Spencer, an’ that's most
forty mile away. We've been a-talkin’
it over at the grocery store, an’ we de-
cided to ask you if you wouldn't like
to do a little work here. We could fix
up a place where you could do shoein’
real slick.”
“I don't know's I'd object to it, Jim,"
deliberated the blacksmith, “providin’
the boys didn’t think twas lettin’ me
down on my sixty days.”
“No one would think that, John,” in-
terpolated the constable. “Why, 'twould
be just a favor to you, if you'd do it.
It's mighty slipp'ry on the roads, an’
it's hard on the horses’ feet. There's
more'n fifty on 'em need sharpenin’.
"Twould be just a stroke of common
humanity on your part, John, if you'd
do it.”
“Well, you go ahead an’ fix the things
up,” agreed the prisoner, “an’ | reckon
twill be all right.”
The next day a portable forge was
obtained, and a huge pair of bellows
set up. The smith donned his apron
and did a rattling business. On the
day following he shod Judge Weaver's
trotting horse Kelleck, 2:18, who had
earned his record at the county fair
the previous year. The blacksmith al-
so shod the yoke of oxen from the
town farm. For a week he was forced
to turn away trade dally and even be-
gan to talk of hiring an assistant.
People who lived midway between
Pottersville and Spencer who had been
in the habit of going to Spencer now
came to see the strange spectacle of a
Jail prisoner doing horseshoeing. John
Grant had more business than ever
before. He offered, if the town author-
ities would arrest and send to jall
some tramp who knew something
about the work, to hire him as assist-
t and even to pay the town for his
keep. The coustables, though enjoined
to be on the alert, falled to find such
f personage.
In the meantime Willis Wenham
came home from the university for a
fortnight’s vacation. His attentions to
Nellie Weaver once more became a
source of annoyance to the judge.
Sympathy in Pottersville, as it is apt
t be in any town, was with the young
people. In some way it got rumored
around the town that Nellie's life at
home was made none of the pleasant-
est by her father. Further comment
was aroused when the postmaster gave
out that Miss Nellie had returned one
of Wrangle's (the wealthy summer vis-
itor’s) letters unopened. The incident
showed a further progress in the stand
taken by the energetic young lady
ewaingt the plan of her father to mar-
ry her to the aforesaid Wrangle In-
ead of to young Wenham.
The crisis was reached early in April.
There had been an ice storm during
the night, making the roads as slip-
pery as glass. Unfortunate indeed was
the horse that with unsharpened shoes
had to venture on them. Trade was
brisk at the improvised blacksmith
shop, and John Grant had all the work
he could handle. Judge Weaver's trot-
ter Kelleck was late In getting into
line, so that it was nearly nightfall,
with a bitter wind blowing from the
northeast, when the prisoner black-
smith at last stripped Kelleck of his
shoes and commenced with his usual
expedition the task of reshoeing.
Three shoes had been nailed to Kel-
leck's prancing hoofs when an excla-
mation from the judge drew the atten-
tion of the walters and loafers to a
couple dashing by at high speed In a
familiar sleigh. They were Willis
Wenham and Judge Weaver's daugh-
ter Nellle. As they turned up the road
where, two and a half miles distant,
the house of the minister was situate,
it dawned on the company that they
were witnesses of an elopement.
There was ample time for the angry
Judge to overtake the couple, provided
John Grant drove the nails of the
fourth shoe with his customary quick-
ness. The judge commanded him to
hurry. Instead of doing so he laid
the shoe down and said that, as he
was a prisoner, working only to oblige
folks, he'd be hanged if he'd do anoth-
er tap of work for a man so low down
as to swear at him. The judge plead-
ed aud apologized in vain. It was only
when the young couple returned and
rendered Judge Weaver speechless
with rage by the announcement of
their marriage that John Grant would
consent to put on the other shoe.
The very next day came an Apri
thaw. The traveling was so bad that
the prisoner's only visitor was Jaller
Gibson, who brought him his meals.
In the night when the blacksmith re-
tired the rain was pouring outside in a
monotonous drizzle. The Pottersville
jail was situated on the bank of a
small but deep river, and the waters of
this stream were yellowed and swollen
by the freshet.
In the early hours of the morning
there was a slide and a fall and a
splash. Over into the river went a
section of banking, the Pottersville
jall and the prisoner therein. The
structure did not float far, but ground-
ed on the shelving shore opposite the
blacksmith shop where John Grant
had practiced his trade prior to his
latest departure from the narrow path
of sobriety. As John Grant forced
4 COUPLE DASHED BY AT HIGH SPEED IN
A FAMILIAR SLEIGH.
open the conveniently arranged door
it cccurred to him that at midnight the
sixtieth day of his imprisonment had
been completed. His face wore a sat-
{efied smile,
His equanimity was undisturbed the
next morning when Judge Weaver
drove over, furiously accusing him of
stealing the jail and demanding that
he return it to the place he had taken
it from. The easy grin on the features
of the blacksmith grew to broader di-
mensions,
“I whipped you at ’lection, judge”
he drawled slowly, “an’ you sent me to
that place.” indicating the floating jail,
“when you had your turn. Then I
wouldn't put the shoe on your horse
80's you cculd stop your daughter's
marryin’ young Wenham. Now you
say 1 stole the jail. Judge, it's this
way. I've got a chance to sue the
town of Pottersville f'r false imprison-
ment. I ought to have been let out o’
jail at 12 o'clock last night. More'n
that, the jail’'s mine!”
The judge's face grew blank and
purple with amazement.
“Yes, sii-ee! The jail's mine. I
didn’t go to sea f'r nothin’ when I was
young. Pottersville jail .is flotsam—
F-L-O-T-8-A-M—an’ if the town wants
it back It'll get it by payin’ good
money. An’, judge, if you should want
Kelleck shod in a hurry don’t f'rget
I'm doin’ business at the same ol
stand!”
Dishwasher An Heir to $80,000.
Indianapolis, Ind., Oct. 7.—Thomas
Yeakle, who has been employed as a
dishwasher in hotels in Indianapolis,
sees a fortune of something like $30,-
000 in sight and has left for Chicago
to try to obtain it. Edward A. War-
fiald, of Chicago, administrator of the
estaje of George T. Cline, who died in
Chicago some months ago, leaving an
estate of $2,000,000, found Yeakle in
Indianapolis after a long search and
sent for him. Yeakle is a nephew of
the late millionaire.