aan rl
CHAPTER |
The Inheritance.
To be twenty-five, to be wearing a
new seventy-five-dollar suit, and to
walk down Broadway in the sun on
a May morning with the knowledge
that an inheritance of a hundred thou-
sand dollars is to be turned over by
one's trustee within half an hour. must
be quite an experience. If an accu-
mulation of such trifles constitutes a
sum of happiness, Winton Garrett
ought to have been happy.
He was happy. He had left college
the day before. The world was before
him. He had nothing to worry him.
He had no plans, no aims, and no
ambitions. He had resolved not to en-
tertain any until he received his
legacy.
Now that it was as good as his, Win-
ton was beginning to wonder what it
would be like to have control of it.
He had not had much money to han-
dle; his bills had been paid for him,
and he had had a modest allowance
which he had never exceeded.
“I'll have to do something useful
with it,” he was reflecting, “if Archie
hasn't spent it all.”
Archie Garr_., Winton's cousin,
was just twenty years older "han bim-
self. When Winton's mother died,
ten years before, and a year after
her husband, who had left her every-
thing unconditionally, she had willed
all to Winton, her only child, and ap-
pointed Archie her sole trustee.
The thing had puzzled everybody,
and it had worried Winton’s relatives
quite a little. For Archie Garrett was
the last person in the world whom the
average testator would select as a trus-
tee. Winton’s mother believed in her
nephew, however.
He had once advised her about an
investment which was turning out bad-
ly. She had listened to him, in the
face of expert opinion, and Archie had
plucked her out of the financial morass
into which she had strayed, and set
her on firm ground. People said it was
luck, but Winton’s mother never for-
got.
Archie, a bachelor of forty-four, was
one of those men who never quite grow
up. His own money had been tied up
by a prudent father, but he lived on
the adequate income and played at
business. He was supposed to be in-
terested in land development some-
where. But nobody who entered Ar-
chie's office ever saw any signs of
business. Archie hadn't even a stenog-
rapher. He read French novels with
his feet on the window-ledge, three
hundred feet above Broadway; and
his desk itself was as immaculate as
its owner.
Incorrigible in his optimism, noth-
ing ever disturbed him. He did have
the knack of falling on his feet after
sundry financial croppers. He was be-
lieved to have made quite a little
money out of his income; but nobody
trusted Archie any the more for that,
though it was admitted that he was
honorable. Archie was incapable of
wrongdoing. But Archie as a trustee
was—unthinkable,
Winton had never troubled very
much about his cousin’s handling of
his fortune. Archie had paid his bills
promptly, and had been generous. He
had written cordially to Winton a week
before making an appointment for that
morning at his office, to be follower
by luncheon. At the interview the
books were to be shown and the es-
tate—which, Winton gathered from
some vague statement made a few
months before, had increased consid-
erably—was to be handed over,
Winton crossed one of the squares of
the city and made his way toward a
tall, triangular structure of great
height, the acute angle pointing up-
town. He went in, entered the ele-
vator, got out at an upper floor, and
saw the name of his cousin on the
ground glass of a door.
Winton found his cousin seated at a
‘very large desk, quite bare of papers,
with his feet on the window-sill, a pa-
per-covered novel in his hand entitled
“Les Amours de Viviane,” and a huge
cigar in his mouth. The band upon
‘the wrapper was beginning to smolder,
and it occurred to Winton that the
‘band on the wrapper of his cousin's
cigar had been beginning to smolder
when he saw him in the same place
and the same attitude six months be-
fore. Archie might have remained
there immovably during the interven-
ing period for any difference that Win-
ton could see.
“Hello, Win! You're looking fine!”
said Archie, coming to a reluctant
equilibrium. “Sit down,” He pushed
the box of cigars toward his cousin,
and Winton took one and began to
smoke. “I've been looking at the
trees,” Archie continued. “Those
chestnuts are beginning to bloom at’
last. You can feel the spring in the
alr on a day like this. By George, it
makes one feel like a three-year-old!”
He leaned his elbows on the desk
7
VICTOR.
| ROUSSEAWLL
COPYRIGHT 4¥ W.G.CHAPMAN
and bent forward in a confidential at-
titude.
“So you're down from college for
good, eh?’ asked Archie. “And look-
ing forward to blowing in your moth-
er’s fortune? My boy, take a tip from
an older man, who doesn’t pose as
your guardian, or anything of that
sort, but speaks as a man of the world
to a young friend. Be careful of it.
With all the sharks there are in the
one has, to trust no man, and to re-
member the old proverb about all that
glitters—eh, Winton?”
He nudged him jovially in the ribs.
“Take my tip, Win, and if ever you
change your investment, put it into
bonds,” he said. “Now I'm not what
you'd call a practical man exactly.
Plenty of people have stung old Archie
Garrett in the past. But I do possess
hh
LL i
!
0 /]
common sense
and knowledge
of the world”
“But | do possess / I
: pl
i
common sense and knowledge of the
world, and those are the staying quali-
ties, Winton. Get me? Well—bonds,
say I. Gold mines? No, sir! Oil? Not
if you take the advice of an expert!
They don’t bite this chicken twice, and
if I know you—by George, Win, let's
go out and have lunch together!”
“I've got an engagement at two,”
said Winton, who had to see an old
friend off to the West.
Archie consulted his gold watch,
“It’s only a quarter to one,” he said.
“There’s a prefty fair restaurant
near by. I always go there.”
He got up, and Winton seized the
occasion to say:
“Hadn't we better get through our
business first, Archie? There won't
be much time afterward.”
“That’s sense,” said Archie enthusi-
astically. “But what's to prevent our
killing two birds with one stone? I'll
give you a statement between the soup
and the meat, you'll read it between
the meat and the salad, we'll sign
whatever has to be signed between the
salad and the cafe parfait, and I'll
mail you the deeds—no, by George,
they're in the vault of the Second Na-
tional. Come along!” said Archie,
clapping on his hat.
“But just a moment, Archie,” pro-
tested Winton. “You wrote me about
the books. Show me whatever is nec-
back.”
zled expression, as if the word did
“Did I write that? Yes, I remember
now. But that was just a figure of
like on paper. What do you care, so
long as I show you I've doubled your
capital? The fact is, Win, there ain’t
any books worth speaking of. What's
books between cousins? Come along,
Win!”
“Well, it won't trouble me if it
doesn’t trouble you,” said Winton as
they left the office together.
“It hasn't troubled me a particle,”
answered Archie. “I look on it as a
family matter.
me to take care of your interests. I
promised I would, and I guess I've
done it. There was just a little under
a hundred thousand when I took over
your capital. I aimed to raise it ten
thousand a year. And I've done bet-
ter. There ought to be two hundred
thousand coming to you, if you want to
realize, Win.”
said Winton delighted. He had quite
enough business sense to realize how
than one.
“Between ourselves,” said Archie as
they left the elevator, ‘there's more
coming to you than that. I've made
your fortune, Win. Youll be a mil-
lionairea inside of two years. We'll
talk it over at lunch.”
few minutes later, enjoying the excel-
lent meal that Archie had ordered,
Winton listened to his cousin's amus-
ing chatter. He noticed, howevér, that
Archie displayed no extraordinary eag-
erness to take up the subject of the
world one needs to hold on to what .
essary, so that I won't have to come
“Books?” echoed Archie with a puz-
not convey very much meaning to him.
speech, Win. It looked more business- |
Dear Aunt Mary asked !
“By Jove, you're a trump, Archie,”
much better two hundred thousand was |
Ensconced in a little restaurant a '
mvestment; in fact, all Winton’s en-
deavors to lead up to it failed, being
followed invariably by a fresh crop of
reminiscences of Winton's childhood
and Archie's young manhood. Mean-
while the minute-hand of the clock was
moving on inexorably, taking the
hour hand with it. Also, Archie. mel-
lowing under the spell of the dark
beer, was growing sentimental.
“Archie,” said Winton suddenly, “if
| you've spent all my money, let me
{ know the worst.”
Archie looked inexpressibly shocked,
He set down his glass which he was
just in the act of conveying to his
| mouth, and Winton saw that his hand
ghook. “My dear boy,” he protested,
| “that’s a nice sort of bomb to hurl at
! your cousin!”
| “Then, why the dickens are you tell-
: Ing me about your past instead of com-
ing to the point?” exploded Winton,
“Don’t you realize that I am interested
in my fortune, Archie? Let's get this
business over. Where's that two hun-
' dred thousand that you were speaking
about?”
i Archie winked and laid his hand
soothingly on Winton’s arm. “Work-
ing, my boy,” he answered. “Do you
suppose I've put out real solid money
to accumulate at four per cent when
I've had a chance to double it? I tell
you, Win, if 1 were not conservative
by nature, I'd have put it all into
| those investments, instead of leaving
ten thousand to your credit account.”
“So I've really got ten thousand to
my account in the bank?” asked Win-
; ton.
| “Well, what about it? Isn't that
' enough?” retorted Archie. “I haven't
| got a hundred to my account. Haven't
{ had more in ten years. I get checks
and I pay out checks. By George, Win,
| I saw more real money when I was
a young twelve-dollar clerk than I've
‘seen at any time since.”
“What have you invested my capital
in?’ said Winton quietly. He was
growing suspicious of Archie; he felt
| sure his cousin had made some in-
. vestment that would never prove remu- i
nerative. He was wondering whether
: he would ever get more than the ten
, thousand.
“You're very persistent, Winton,”
' said Archie, with a touch of bitterness,
| “If you don’t trust me I'll sell out and
'let you have your hundred thousand
back.”
| “You said two hundred thousand just
now.”
“1 said there ought to be two hundred
' thousand coming to you. So there
| ought to be—three, four, five hundred |
thousand. Five would be conservative.
I should put the actual value of your
investments at eight or nine. hundred
thousand. Personally I'd refuse a mil-
lion. And I never make a mistake.
I'm lucky as well as shrewd—remem-
ber that, Win. But, of course, you
won’t realize even two hundred thou-
sand until your properties have proved
themselves.”
“Yes, Archie,” answered Winton,
“But the trouble is that I have an en-
gagement at two, and that leaves me
only half an hour to learn about these
investments. What are they?”
“The most permanent, enduring, and
valuable commodities in the world,”
said Archie. “Rubber, Win. Fifty
thousand in it. What do you think
about that?
“Of course, there’s rubber and rub-
ber. There's rubber that never was
worth anything and never will be. You
have to plant the right sort of soil,
under the right sort of sun. Good rub-
ber is a staple—I mean a staple that
never grows less. All the world wants
rubber, Winton. The price is going up
and up and up as the natural supply of
wild rubber becomes exhausted. I
was reading an article the other day
which showed conclusively that civili-
zation is built on rubber. It was writ-
ten by the chap who tipped me off
How would we’
about this company.
get along for autos, and road houses,
and rubber heels, and—" =
“You've bought rubber shares?’
“No, a plantation, Win.
and barrel!”
| “Where?”
“It’s in one of the Indies,” answered
Archie. “Java and—and Mocha—no,
that isn't it. It's either in the West
Indies or in the East Indies, Winton.
It doesn’t matter a pin, because both
have the same climate. Fve got a
splendid map of the property some-
{ where. When the trees get bigger,
they're going to plant pineapples be-
tween them. Of course they're only
saplings now, and it would kill them
to tap them, but in a few years, when
they begin bearing—"
| . Winton nodded drearily.
counts for fifty thousand,”
“The other forty?’
“Piamonds,” said Archie enthusiasti-
cally. “You see, Winton, being nat-
urally conservative, I split instead of
putting all your eggs into one basket.
I've bought a diamond claim. You
“That ac-
he said.
own four-fifths of it, at least, and that's
almost as good. Now diamonds are a
a know, |
stable—confound it, staple,
vestment, Price goes up every year.”
| “Where is this mine—or claim?”
asked Winton.
“Somewhere in South Africa, Win-
ton. Johannesburg—no, that's the
gold fields.
the Kimberley men were wild to get
i hold of your claim, but he wouldn't
sell to them at any price. Had no
use for that crowd, he told me. He
floated his company on the spot and
came over here to sell enough shares ;
Didn't |
to provide a working capital.
want to turn over the majority to me
at first, Win, but he's got too many
interests, and I persuaded him. It's
what Is called a cost-book mining com-
pany, unlimited, and De Witt's gone !
back as purser. That's what they call
the manager in that sort of concern.
There are a hundred shares at a hun-
Baas santa
oro
Lock, stock, |
Winton. People buy them ds an in-:
I know It isn't Kimberley, |
because De Witt explained to me that |
dred pounds each, and you own eighty
of them. And now I remember the
name of the place, Win. It's called
Malopo, and it’s in the desert some-
where.”
“Thank you, Archie,” said Winten
coldly. “I begin at last to gather the
extent of your activities as my trustee,
Where are the deeds and certificates of
these two enterprises?”
“In the Second National,” said
Archie. “And now, Winton, what are you
thinking of doing? If I were you, my
zoy, I'd put in the next year living
juietly on the uninvested portion of
your inheritance, At the end of that
time you'll have at least one half-year-
ly dividend from the mine. De Witt
spoke of forty per cent, but he admit-
ted that, with the market as it is now,
it may be preferable to withhold a
few of the larger stones, which would
bring down the dividend to about twen-
ty-five per cent every six months, And
in a year's time they'll be tapping a
few of the larger trees—rubber, I'm
speaking of.”
“I suppose I'd better go out and look
one of these valuable properties over,”
said Winton. “I might save some-
thing.”
; His sarcasm was apparently lost on
Archie, “I think you might,” he
agreed.
“I've been thinking that a little holi-
day—"
“No, Archie,” said Winton firmly.
“Your financial genius is best adapted
to New York. I might want somebody
with faith in the enterprises to sell the
shares for me.”
“That's a good idea, too,” said
Archie. “Well, I'll stay at home, then.
Now, which is it to be, rubber or dia-
“monds? Rubber’s the rage, of course,
| and, after all, diamonds stay diamonds,
while rubber doesn’t stay rubber. It
. requires a very intricate process, I
"understand. If I were you, Win, I'd
go to the Indies.”
“That decides me,” answered Winton,
, “The Indies, eh? We'll look up the
map—"
“No, Malopo,” said Winton.
| Archie took up his cup of coffee,
, drained it, set it down, and rose with
| offended dignity.
“I understand your insinuation, Win-
ton,” he said bitterly. “You are trying
to express the fact that you discredit
.my business judzment. Because 1
! have preferred to invest your capital
in two conservative business enter-
: prises instead of handing it to you to
squander, you asperse my honesty and
my intelligence—"
“Not your honesty, Archie,” protest-
' ed Winton.
“My-honesty -and my intelligence.”
repeated Archie firmly. “I'm very
much annoyed, Winton. It's a
thing that hurts, I'm going to give you
a tip. As you go through the world
you'll find it doesn’t pay to blurt out
your mind. Try to have a little ret-
icence and keep your thoughts to
yourself. Now, you can find your way
to the Second National bank yourself,
and fix things up with the manager,
and get your certificates and papers.
And you needn’t come to see me again
! until you say you're sorry. Till then I
wash my hands of you. Have the
goodness to pay the waiter!”
CHAPTER Ii
Sheila Seaton.
Taungs—one hundred miles from no-
where—sizzled at eight o'clock in the
morning, though it had shivered an
‘hour before in the rarefied air of the
‘ desert. The little station on the long
railroad line that runs from Cape Town
northward into the heart of heathen-
dom looked forlorn indeed, set down
in the middle of the scorching sands,
coated, like a mangy dog, with patches
of stubbly grass that would not show
green until the annual rains.
Winton got down from the train, col-
lected his baggage, and watched the
engine go snorting down to the water
tank. He looked about him with the
| curiosity of one new to the life of
Bechuanaland, which had seemed com-
| roanted, during the northward jour-
' ney, of ragged negroes, farmers with
: gkinny oxen, heat, flies, sand, and
' swarming piccaninnies.
He say an array of single-story brick
' houses, with corrugated iron roofs that
! gave the sun glare for glare. There
| were also huts of wattle and daub,
! and tents pitched on lots in the heart
| of the town. The market square was
filled with cumbrous, white-topped
wagons, before which many pairs of
| oxen chewed and winked away the
i flies, still harnessed on either side of
{ the wagon tongue. Every house
. seemed a store, and every store ap-
peared to be dedicated to the sale of
old clothes and junk; in front of them
gangs of natives In loin-cloths, with
tattered, filthy blankets about their
shoulders, were chaffering in a dozen
~ different dialects with the proprietors.
Taungs looked the dirtiest, meanest
place that Winton had ever seen. He
wished that it were possible to take it
up with the implement of the same
name and bury it. He was sure that it
would not be terribly missed. He was
glad that he was to take the morning
stage across the desert for Malopo.
He hoped earnestly that Maloro looked
better than Taungs.
| A drunken native, wearing a loin-
| cloth and a naval officer's second-hand
| coat, which he had just purchased, and
carrying a knobkerrie, which is the lo-
cal equivalent of the shillalah, lurched
by. A white man on the platform, tak-
i
t
the road and sauntered on.
heart warmed toward his Caucasian
| brother. He accosted him.
| coach office is?” he asked.
“Just arrived up-country and bound
for Malopo,” answered the white man,
pot in question. but as the result of
his analysis of Winton,
ing a dislike to him, kicked him into
Winton’s |
‘ “Will you kindiy teil me where the
He took him by the arm and pointed
up the principal street.
“You'll find Zelden's hotel right at
the end,” he sald. “You can’t miss if,
It’s by the garbage heap. He wants a
pound a day, but you can beat him
down to five pounds a week, Better
get your board by the week.”
“Why?” inuired Winton.
“Because you won't start for Malepo
under a week, unless you hoof it or
go by aryoplane,”
“Travel pretty brisk?” asked Win-
ton.
“Look here, young feller, if your hair
was a little shorter I'd ask you when
you came off the breakwater. Where
have you been living if you don’t know
that men are rushing to Malopo from
all parts of the country?”
“I only landed last week,” said Win-
ton, trying to be diplomatic. “Has
\ | il},"" only landed
| last week,”
i said Winton
there been a big strike of diamonds
there?”
“Big strike, Mr. Van Winkle? Oh,
no! Just a middling one. Only a hun-
dred thousand pounds’ worth of stones
taken out since Saturday, excluding the
ninety-five-carat De Witt pebble!
That’s nothing to men like us, eh?
We don’t trouble about little things
like that.”
Winton gulped, but managed to re-
tain an aspect of tolerable indifference.
“Did the De Witt stone happen to come
out of the Big Malopo claim?’ he in-
quired.
“Look here, young man, you know
more . than you're pretending,” an-
swered the other in disgust. ‘Think
you're smart, don't you? I don’t know
what your game is, but take a word of
advice and don’t play
Malopo, because it don’t go down!”
He left Winton in disgust and saun-
tered back, only pausing to kick the
native, who had the misfortune to in-
tercept him, back into the road again.
Winton saw the situation,- as he
thought, precisely. If his claim had
actually proved valuable, De Witt, who
had unloaded the shares upon the un- |
must be Kicking ;
suspecting Archie,
himself savagely at that moment. He
resolved to be very cautious and to say
nothing to anybody about his business. |
He learned the location of the coach
office from the station agent, and
strolled across the market square to-
ward it, stepping among the recumbent
oxen. Now he began to perceive signs
of prodigious activity in Taungs. The
market square was filling up. Auction-
eers were putting up thin, miserable
donkeys and broken carts,
brought incredible prices. Indian ped-
dlers, old clothes men, hawkers of “ice-
cold” drinks poured out from canvas
bottles suspended in the sun, to lose
heat by evaporation, swarmed among
the crowd of bidders. Occasionally a
man on horseback, in flannel shirt and
wide-brimmed hat of felt, his worldly
goods packed in his saddie-bags, and
thumping at his steed’'s flanks, came
loping by, riding toward the west.
Many of the ox wagons were already
upon their way, making their first
march before the heat of noon.
Winton pushed his way through the
throngs and found the coach office,
near the northeastern corner of the
square, surrounded by a crowd of ap-
plicants, among them his traveling
companions of the two daye and nights
spent in the train.
The coach, a huge affair, containing
seats for sixteen, with an immense
leather boot at the back for baggage,
stood at the side of the office; in the
rear a half-dozen mules, which had
been led from their stables, were tak-
ing their last roll in the dust and scat-
tering clouds upon the bystanders.
Winton heard a passenger offer twen-
ty pounds for a ticket to a little one-
eyed man, who rejected his proposal
scornfully. The fare was ten pounds;
the little man had bought some seats
on speculation, and was receiving of-
fers with astonishing disdain and ar-
rogance. .
“Twenty pounds!” he repeated sar-
castically, spitting into the dust.
“Gemmen here offers twenty pounds for
a seat as far as Malopo. Come, gem-
men, shame him! Only one stage a
day, and all the seats booked weeks
ahead. Who says fifty?”
“Pifty !” cried a stalwart old pros-
pector at Winton's side.
“Sixty!” shouted another.
“Sixty! Who'll raise sixty? Seven-
ty? Thank you, sir. Eighty? Seventy-
five?’ He was holding out the ticket
{o Winton, who shook his head indig-
nantly.
Just then his eyes lit upon a pair
who attracted and arrested his atten-
tion immediately. One was an old
man, apparently in his late sixties, with
his occupation as prospector stamped
all over h'm, in the hungry eyes, sun-
wrinkled and staring, his calloused
hands; the other was a girl, dark-
Laired, about three-and-twenty, and of
innocent in '
which |
singular and rather exotic beauty, who
stood beside him, her arm drawn
through his own,
It was not so much the contrast be-
tween the two that struck Winton as
the reversal of their natural roles, in
that the girl seemed to be the leading
spirit. There was something indica-
tive of protectiveness in her finely
modeled face, her gesture. The man,
on the other hand, looked like one
broken by misfortune ; his hands shook,
as with a palsy, and he glanced up into
the face of his taller daughter from
{ time to time with appealing helpless-
ness.
“It’s fortunate that I got a ticket for
vou, father, when I left Malopo,” said
the girl.
She had evidently come into Taungs
to meet her father. Winton wondered
who she was, and what she was doing
alone in Malopo, unless her father lived
there habitually.
“Eighty!” shouted the ticket-holder.
“Eighty-five?” Winton realized that
the man was addressing him again. He
had declined to pay seventy-five with
indignation. But now, before he quite
realized what he was doing, he nodded.
All the while he was watching the girl
and the old man.
“I'm bid eighty-five. Who says
ninety? Eighty-seven ten, then. For
the last time, gemmen! Going at
eighty-five, which is a sin and a scan-
dal—going—going—gone! It’s yours,
sir!”
So Winton found himself the pos-
sessor of a ticket to Malopo, for which
he had paid the equivalent of four hun-
dred dollars and a trifle more out of
his swiftly diminishing capital of ten
thousand. And he found himself won-
dering why the sight of the old man
and the girl had caused him to change
his mind and fall into the speculator’s
trap.
He discovered that the coach would
not start for nearly an hour, and, sus-
pecting that Malopo prices would be
considerably in advance of those in
. Taungs, hurried into the first store he
saw which did not seem to have a na-
tive clientele, There he threw himself
upon the mercy of the proprietor who
equipped him with a sensible outfit con-
sisting of a small tin trunk—the white
, ants would eat through his leather
, suit-case in one night, Winton was told
| —and a correct up-country costume.
| Winton sent for his baggage, which the
| proprietor obligingly agreed to store
{ for him, and presently strolled in sensi-
| ble khaki, with a wide-brimmed felt hat
| rising into a peak, and high boots. He
took his seat among the miscellaneous
| crowd of passengers, and, while the
mob outside ewied fantastic offers for
seats through the window, the mules,
now ten in number, started.
On the box sat the Hottentot driver,
cracking his twenty-foot whip of hip-
popotamus hide, and flicking the slack-
| est mules with a dexterity that wus
never at fault. On ro'led the coach
through the infested streets, into the
clean desert, making in the directien
of a ridge of pale-blue mountains west-
ward.
(Continued next week)
THE FLYING MACHINE
DISPLACES THI CAIITL.
{
|
The Palestine Weekly is one of the
: most interesting papers that ccines to
| this office. It is the first newspaper
to be published in the city of Jerusa-
lem and to students of the Land and
the Book gives most valuable infor-
“mation that cannot be gotten else-
| where. The other day we noted the
following:
“King Feisal, of Irak, has at last
arrived at Amman on his long-waited
visit, and was received with much
pomp by his ruling brother in Trans-
jordan, the Emir Abudllah, A slight
mishap befell his majesty during the
flight from Bagdad te Amman, when
his machine was forced to land at
Azark, owing to a shortage of petrol.
Another machine was dispatched with
supplies and the flight to Marka air-
drome was successfully completed.
After his majesty had chatted with
the British officers at the Amman air
station, he motored to the Emir Ab-
dullah’s encampment, which lies above
the town. There his majesty was re-
ceived by his brother, attended by a
troop of Transjordan military and the
affectionate greetings left no doubt
as to the warmth of the welcome.”
What a remarkable thing is the
modern report that a king of the
Arabs has thrown aside his stately
camel which bore his tribesmen over
the desert sands for centuries and
now flies through the air in an air-
plane! Surely the West and the East
at last are blended and the modern
has displaced the ancient. The an-
cient caravan paths so full of charm
and lore as well as vital history have
long been filled with the solemn cam-
els with poised heads gazing away in
the distance as if resting their soft
eyes on the beginning lines of the
world’s history as they plod over the
sand stretches with padded fcet and
a dignity that outrivals any king
Thus the ancients for years made
their way. Thus Abraham journeyed
on the first stages of the Promised
Path. Thus Isaac sought Rebecca.
Thus the Wise Men sourh* ‘he Lord,
Thus went the commerce of that world
bringing out their treasures and tak-
ing back their own.
Now the change has come. Ford
machines burn gas ard toot horns
along the caravan paths where the
camels held swav. The Arab king
rides no longer on a camel of sta‘e ov
an Arab charger with royal bloed. He
flies throngh the air in a mode™n alr-
plane. What will happen next?-—
Richmond Christian Advocate.
Marriage Licenses.
Bud T. O'Neil, State College, and
Bertha A. Parker, Lemont.
Guy O. Musser and Lydia M. Breon,
Millheim.
James McKivison, Gatesburg, and
Olive D. Ellenberger, Marengo.
Arthur Snook and Laura A. Hoover,
Pleasant Gap.
—Get your job work done here.