J
(Continued from last week).
SYNOPSIS
CHAPTER I—Winton Garrett, twen-
ty-five and just out of college, calls by
appointment on Archie Garrett, his New
York cousin and executor, to receive
his inheritance of $100,000. Archie,
honest, an easy mark and a fool for
luck, assures Winton that he is prac-
tically a millionaire, as he has invested
all but $10,000 in a rubber plantation
in either the East or West Indies and
in a controlling interest in the Big
Malopo diamond mine, somewhere or
other in South Africa, sold him as a
special favor by a Dutch promoter
named De Witt.
It swayed and creaked upon its way,
the baggage thumping in the boot, the
mules dancing over the sand, the pas-
sengers good-humoredly jostling one
another at every movement. It began
to pass the travelers of the morning—
men riding thirsty Basuto ponies, carts
with thin donkeys, crawling at a snail's
pace between heaven and sand; daring
and resolute pedestrians walking be-
side ‘donkeys, their only friends, laden
with baggage and water-nags.
Winton turned his attention to his
fellow passengers. Besides the old
man and the girl there were a number
of prospectors and mining men, evi-
dently old residents of the country, to
judge from their tanned faces and the
brick-red arms disclosed under the up-
rolled shirt sleeves. There were two or
three clerks or storekeepers, and one
man seated in a corner, with his hat
over his eyes, whose insolent demeanor
and flashy clothes arrested Winton’s
attention.
Winton sat rather uncomfortably
against the strap that ran across the
width of the coach in the center, di-
viding it into two portions, and fur-
nishing an inconvenient, swinging sup-
port for two rows of passengers, back
to back. There was another row at
either end of the coach; thus there
were four lines of seats, the occupants
of the first and second, and those of
the third and fourth facing each other.
Opposite Winton sat the girl and her
father. The old man, who had taken
several pulls at a flask in his pocket,
was lying back. half asleep. As Win-
ton watched him, he saw his eyes open,
travel from face to face, and suddenly
fix themselves upon some occupant of
the farthest row with a look of terror
and abasement.
Involuntarily Winton turned, to per-
ceive that the man with his hat over
his eyes had pushed it up and was
watching the older one with a smile of
amusement. Winton thought his face
was one of the most sinister that he
had ever seen. He was about forty
years of age, and not ill-looking; but
the smile on his countenance was a
wolfish snarl. There was greed there,
and cruelty, and utter heartlessness.
Yawning, the man rose, and, without
a word of apology, strode over the
strap, pushing between the seated pas-
sengers. He went over to the girl. Be-
side her was an inoffensive little clerk.
He jerked him by the arm.
“I'll change places with you,” he
said peremptorily.
The little clerk rose obediently and
made his way across the strap, the
other passengers, who had not dared to
resent the first disturbance, remon-
strating vehemently as they dislodged
themselves to allow him passage.
“Well, Shella, my dear,” sald the
newcomer, grinning into the girl's face,
“glad to see you. I'd been wondering
how you could stay away from your old
friend De Witt so long.”
He wus referring evilently to hime
self. Winton started at the name. He
had an introduction to De Witt in his
pocket, but now he hardly felt like
presenting it.
De Witt sat down beside the gir.
There was nothing in the man’s woras
that need be especially offensive in a
free-and-easy community, but the fa-
miliarity of the coarse tomes, which
made the girl wince, stung Winton to
fury.
“Well, who'd have thought to see you
here, Daddy Seaton?’ the man con-
tinued. “Come to try your luck on the
fields? It’s never too late to strike it
rich. You and I have been old friends,
daddy, since those days down at Sand
River.”
The old man, who had been watching
the other like a fascinated rabbit, put
out one hand with an involuntary ges-
ture which seemed to be warding off a
blow.
“J—didn’'t know you were here, Mr.
De Witt,” he gulped.
“Or you would have given Malopo a
wide berth, eh?’ laughed the other.
“Well, never mind, daddy. Friends
like you and me stand together through
thick and thin—eh, Sheila?”
Winton saw the appealing look in the
girl's eyes. But he restrained himself.
There was nothing he could do; he had
no knowledge as to the relationship, if
any, existing between the girl and De
Witt. And while he was trying to keep
his anger under control, the coach
stopped at the first post.
The passengers were glad to stretch
their legs after the ten-mile drive. The
mules, unharnessed, rolled in the dust
VICTOR
ROUSSEAWL
COPYRIGHT &Y W.G.CHAPMAN
delightedly, while their ten successors
| came dancing through the corral. They
| were inspanned, the driver cracked his
whip, and once more the coach was off
and away, and the post only a fleck
upon the besom of the sand.
It was insufferably hot. The whirling
dust found its way through the crevices
of the window-panes and coated the in-
terior of the coach with white, plaster-
ing the sweat-stained faces off the
travelers Daddy Seaton still crouched
in his corner, watching De Witt in fas-
cinated terror. De Witt’s mood ap-
peared to have changed when he re-
sumed his seat beside Sheila. With
hardly a word to her he settled him-
self to sleep, 2s did the majority of
the passengers. His body, swaying with
the swaying coach, gravitated now
toward her and now toward the man
next to him, who was himself asleep,
his head resting against the glass of the
window: finally, however, De Witt’s
head fell sideways upon the girl's
shoulder, and the man lay with his
shoulders supported against her body.
Winton saw the same appealing look
in her eyes. And this time he was
about to intervene, when Sheila ven-
tured to protest by a slight movement
which sent De Witt’s head back gently
against the padded back of the coach.
De Witt opened his eyes,
round, grinned, and settled himself
again deliberately; in the same posi-
tion. Next moment Winton was stand-
ing in front of him, white with pos-
sion.
“Have the goodness to take your
head off that lady’s shoulder!” he
demanded.
He was aware of a slight commotion
among the other passengers, such as is
described in published accounts of
speeches by the parenthetical word
“sensation.” But the effect of his
words upon De Witt was electrical.
The man sat bolt-upright, stared at
him, snorted, and then deliberately
shot out his foot, the heavy boot strik-
ing Winton in the pit of the stomach
and eauging him to double up with
pain.
It was only for a moment. Winton
leaped at him, tore him from his place,
and sent him spinning backward
against the window with a well-planted
blow in the face.
Instantly the coach was in an uproar,
Hands were outstretched to pull
Winton away. But Winton, mad with
rage and pain, was ignorant of them
and of Daddy Seaton’s high, quavering
cry of alarm. As De Witt recovered
himself, he followed his blow with an-
other, which landed squarely on the
man’s lip. The blood spurted as from
an artery, and De Witt reeled and fell
backward as the door gave. In his fall
he clutched at Winton and dragged
him from the vehicle.
A few seconds later Winton found
himself facing De Witt upon the sand.
The coach had stopped some hundred
vards distant, and its occupants were
running back toward the pair.
In a flash Winton realized two
things: first, that his enemy was not
a coward, at least when infuriated;
second, that he was a man of great
muscular strength. De Witt ran at
him, bellowing like a bull, while the
blood from his cut lip streamed down
over his chin. i ;
Winton was no mean boxer, but the
trained man is not always profited by
his lore in a rough-and-tumble. There
followed a confusion of short blows
which never got home; then De Witt
had him by the throat, but lost his
hold. Winton grew calmer. The others
were almost upon them, and he meant
to punish De Witt before they were
separated. He watched for his op-
portunity, and as De Witt, flinching
under a short and comparatively harm-
less jab at his face, opened a space be-
tween his body and his extended arms,
Winton shot his right upward with
the full force of his body behind it.
It was a deadly blow at close range,
permitting the extension of the strik-
er’s arm to the full, with no possibility
ing lost. It caught De Witt upon the
point of the jaw, and the man dropped
where he stood. A moment later Win-
ton stood, quite collected, in the hands
of the other passengers, who, seeing
that the fight was over, turned their
attention to the man om the ground.
De Witt was unconscious and breath-
ing heavily. Somebody ran back for
water. Another man produced a flask
of brandy and got some of the contents
between De Witt’s teeth. Presently
De Witt began to spiutter. He sat up,
saw and recognized Winton, and his
eyes filled with dead!y hatred.
“I'll get even with you for this,” he
mumbled.
But there was no more fight in him.
Solicitously attended by the little clerk
whom he had ousted from his seat su
elRcermoniously, De Witt staggered
back to the coach, resuming his old
place in the corner, with his hat pulled
over his discoloring forehead.
He looked so abject and crestfallen,
with his swollen lip and bruised jaw,
looked
of an ounce of the driving-power be-
97 Winton shot his
right upward with
the full force of
his body behind it.
that Winton almost felt pity for him.
But it was certain that De Witt de-
served no pity. The man was a bully
and a cad and had got his deserts,
After the coach had started, Sheila
Seaton bent forward and spoke to Win-
ton.
“I don’t know how to thank you,”
she said, with a catch of her breath.
“Nobody else would have dared to do
what you have done.”
“I think most men would have done
50,” said Winton.
“You don’t know who he is. He is
Judge Davis’ man. Nobody would dare
to thwart Judge Davis. The judge
stands behind Mr. De Witt in every-
thing.”
“Who is Judge Davis?”
“The president of the Diamond
Fields Syndicate. And the landdrost.”
“What's that?’ Winton asked.
“The resident magistrate and judge.
You see, Malopo is really a native pro-
tectorate, and there isn’t any legisla-
ture or law, so Judge Davis can do
anything he pleases. You are a stran-
ger, aren’t you? But you don’t speak
like an Englishman.”
“I'm an American, and I know noth-
ing of this country,” answered Winton,
“I only landed a week ago. I came out
to”—he checked himself—*“to take up a
claim in Malopo.”
They were bending close toward
each other. The creaking of the coach
made their words inaudible to the
others, who, having discussed the
amazing incident to their satisfaction,
had settled down to sleep through the
glare and heat and dust. Winton cast
a glance toward Daddy Seaton. The
old man, having assuaged his thirst
with plentiful gulps of whisky, was
fast asleep in his corner.
“You have made a terrible blunder,”
said the girl earnestly. “You had bet-
ter take the next coach back. Really,
vou had better, because nobody can
fight the judge, and Mr. De Witt is his
right-hand man.”
“We'll see,” said Winton grimly, “In
the mean time, won’t you tell me why
—why he thinks he can insult you?”
She smiled wearily. “In a frontier
settlement women do not expect cour-
tesies,” she answered.
“On the contrary,” answered Winton,
“I don’t believe these men”—he looked
round the coach—*would not protect
you in an emergency, unless—"
He hesitated. He was getting into
deep water. The question was too
personal.
And Winton was beginning to suspect
that the same fate which had broken
old Seaton had somehow changed the
course of the girl’s life, though she was
not spiritless like her father. There
was about her an indefinable air of
aloofness, as if she had been driven in
upon herself, as if some tragedy had
robbed her of her right to happiness.
And she had submitted to De Witt's
grossness as if it had been inevitable.
The girl bent forward earnestly. “I
see you don't understand,” she said.
“In our frontier towns there are only
two classes of women, those that are
ladies and those that are—not. I am—
not. These men could tell you—"
“If De Witt thinks he has any hold
over your father—” Winton began,
The girl placed her hand on his
sleeve. “My father’s life is in his
hands,” she said solemnly. “He killed
a man.”
She looked at him in fear, and then,
as if resolving to trust him, continued:
“He comes of a good English family,
and—you’ll hardly belleve it—he was
once an officer in the army. He got
into trouble and was dismissed, Then
he settled down in the Colony. And
then—this happened, and it broke him
and ruined his life. When I can first
remember him, we were wanderers all
over the country. Father never stayed
anywhere for more than six months,
He had no friends of his own class. He
became coarse in his speech like an
uneducated man. And in time I dis-
covered that he lived in terror of Ma
De Witt.
“Five years ago we were living In
Johannesburg. Father is an expert na-
tive linguist. and he was compound
manager of a mine there. We had a
little home, and we were happy, and I
thought our troubles were at an end,
Then Mr. De Witt met father aud
forced him to do some crooked work
for him in connection with some of his
mining interests. After that we started
on our travels again.
“We went to Malopo with the first
rush of prospectors and stayed there a
year. Then Judge Davis was ap-
pointed landdrost by the government,
and went there to form the syndicate,
We had known that Mr. De Witt was
connected with him, and he appeared
soon after. Father urged me to leave,
But I was tired of wandering, I had
a position in a hotel, and I thought
father was safe after so long a time,
Father went away without telling me,
and afterward I got a letter from him
in Rhodesia. Then Mr. De Witt went
to the United States, and I wrote to
father to return.
“For a long time he would not, but
at last he believed that Mr. De Witt
was gone for good, and he arranged
to come back to Malopo. Then, three
weeks ago, Mr. De Witt returned. He
knew me, and he—took a fancy to me.
He promised me father should not be
molested. I went to Taungs yesterday
to meet father, and—you know the
rest.”
She shivered at the remembrances
that came crowding in upon her. Win-
ton remained silent for a few moments,
But an instinct made him turn his
head, and, looking across the coach, he
saw De Witt watching him and Sheila;
and the hate and rage upon his face
showed him that the fight of that day
had been only the first round in their
conflict. ’
“I thank you very much for your
confidence,” he said to Sheila. “I hope
to be your friend in Malopo.”
She shook her head in warning, and,
leaning back, closed her eyes. And
they traveled on through the heat and
dust, stopping only at the coach-stables,
and eating indifferent meals of canned
foods at wayside stores. All day the
coach rolled through the desert toward
the distant hills that never seemed
any nearer. Winton slept by suaatches
through a night that seemed unending,
awakening at every bump and stop-
ping, until they came into Malopo in
the cold dawn.
CHAPTER 111
Ned Burns—Watchman.
The coach deposited its half-frozen
passengers in frout of the office in the
market square.
“Miss Seaton, I'm going to help you
and your father with your baggage,”
said Winton. “And I hope to be of
service in any way that is possible.”
He handed her his card. Then he
became aware that De Witt was stand-
ing elose at his side and looking over
his shoulder. He turned angrily, and
the man moved away.
Had he read the name on it? It did
not matter; but Winton would have
preferred to maintain the advantage of
being unknown, in view of the situa-
tion. He arranged to have his trunk
held until he had found lodgings, and
then, returning, found that Sheila and
her father had quietly disappeared.
The busy day had begun. The slant-
ing beams of the rising sun struck like
shafts of gold upon the post office,
across the square, in which the en-
camped transport riders were prepar-
ing breakfast at numerous fires built
in the tiny spaces between the wagons
with their spans of longhorns. Dust
whirls were dancing everywhere, break-
ing against the buildings and envelop-
ing those who happened to be passing.
The stores were opened, carts were
driving back from the market, hawkers
and peddlers were afoot with their
wares.
Malopo was about as large as
Taungs, but, being a boom town, and
not a railroad one, had a cleaner and
more prosperous aspect, though the
old-clothes shops were almost as plenti-
ful.
two stories, and here and there was a
business building of three or even four.
Beyond the market square Winton
could see a little, new suburb of neat
cottages, with the beginning of gar-
dens, beside a rivulet, dry now, but
converted into a torrent during the
short rainy season. Large cisterns,
holding and storing the single month’s
rainfall during the remainder of the
year, squatted upon the roofs.
Beyond this suburb appeared a ris-
ing patch of desolate ground, rocky and
scarred, out of which projected a suc-
cession of wooden superstructures, re-
sembling the scaffolding of innumerable
small houses that were destined never
to be completed. This was the dia-
mond ground. And Malopo ended as
unconventionally as it began. It sat
like an excrescence upon the desert,
which came up to its doors.
On one side of the great square Win-
| ton perceived the sign “Continental
Hotel” hanging from the upper story of
a fairly substantial building. He re-
| solved to make this place his head-
, quarters for the time being, and, dis-
| covering that he could have a room
1
and board for a pound a day, he or-
dered his trunk sent there,
He did not sign his name in the ink-
stained register, and the clerk seemed
indifferent whether he did or not. This
was an act of common prudence, in his
opinion, although he had nothing on
which to base suspicions against any
one, except the single fact that De
witt had given his own name to the
diamond. But Winton had discovered,
during his single week in South Africa,
that human nature was pretty much
the same as among the flotsam of
American mushroom towns.
His room was one of a long row at
the back of the hotel, the brick floor
innocent of covering, and the bed of
sheets. But it was a refuge, and, after
his trunk had arrived, Winton put
some important papers in his pocket
gov rig or the stains of his journey, and
went out on the porch. or stop.
#e found the place packea with men
who were eagerly discussing what
' Winton soon gathered to be a «inmond
theft. Hearing De Witt's name mea-
tioned, he unobtrusively joined the
nearest of the groups.
“It's just some damned trick of the
judge's,” a man was saying. “Huw
and De Witt are thicker than thieves—
which they are, God knows! ‘I'he De
Witt stone never wus stolen.”
“Where Is it, then? It was on ex-
hibit at the Syndicate bank, and It
ain’t there now.”
“Locked away in the safe, Scotty.”
“I tell you it's stolen. And they
won't say nothing nor admit nothing at
Many of the brick houses were of ;
the bank. Just let you draw your con-
clusions. Now, if it was a trick, why
shouldn't the bank be spreading the
story far and wide?”
“Why should De Witt want people
to think his stone was stolen, if it
ain't?”
“God knows!
old judge's.”
“But the judge don’t own the "Big
Malopo claim!”
“He will,” said a pock-marked man
with a quiet emphasis. “Ever know
the syndicate to go after anything and
not get it?”
“Who in thunder does own Big Ma-
lopo?”
“American firm, ain't it?”
“I heard De Witt unloaded his shares
on some bunch of fools in New York
before the big stone was found, and
now he’s kicking himself.”
The advent of a negro man, carrying
a sheaf of copies of the local paper,
just from the press, checked the dis-
cussion. A staring head-line announced
the robbery of the big diamond.
“Now, now, gentlemen, there are
copies enough for all,” remonstrated
the negro; and Winton, reaching for a
paper, took in his appearance with a
glance of amusement.
He was a young negro man, appar-
ently in his early twenties. He was
dressed with a scrupulous attention
that put the clothes of the hotel visit-
ors to blush. A soft felt hat of daz-
zling whiteness sat upon
locks. His wrists showed two ex-
panses of snow-white cuffs that rivaled
the brilliancy of his immaculate collar.
A black tail-coat and waistcoat, gray
trousers, pressed to the compression-
limit of the cloth, and patent-leather
shoes completed his attire. But his
Some scheme of the
accent puzzled Winton. The tones that
emanated from the young man’s throat
were exactly those of the stiffest and
most precise of gentlemen reared in
the sacred atmosphere of an English
university.
“Is this news straight,
Sam?” in-
quired one of the cluster, who were '
busy reading the account of the rob-
bery.
“The Chronicle is very strong on
veracity, Mr. Elfridge,” replied the
negro, hitching up his trousers at the
knees before stooping in search of an
elusive coin.
“I bet Van Vorst is at the bottom of
this,” remarked one of the group.
Winton scanned his copy hastily. It
was a four-page edition, in which
Reuter cable dispatches, telegraphed
and local news jostled advertisements
promiscuously. The front page, which
was devoted entirely to the account of
the robbery, stated that the De Witt
diamond had disappeared from the safe
of the Syndicate bank at some time
during the preceding night. The rob-
ber, who had probably worked with a
{ confederate, had somehow learned the
|
|
i
combination of the lock, had opened
the safe, taken the stone, and walked
away with it. No suspicion rested
upon any of the bank employees, in
spite of the discovery of the combina-
tion, and the robber was undoubtedly
one of the number of strangers in
Malopo. Fortunately his discovery
could be only a matter of a short time.
since the police were carefully scruti-
nizing the outgoing coaches and
wagons.
Winton folded up the sheet. “A
story like that wouldn't pass muster
anywhere else,” he reflected. “I be-
lieve it is a trick, unless De Witt or
one of the heads of the bank is re-
sponsible. And it's my diamond—four-
fifths of it!”
The irony of the situation made him
smile; and then he became aware of a
smiling black face in close proximity
to his own.
“I don't believe I received my tickey,
sir,” said Sam.
“Your what?” asked Winton.
“Three pence, sir.”
Winton, remembering the colloquial
name of the unit of currency in the up-
country regions, produced a three-
penny bit from his pocket and handed
it to the “boy,” who thanked him cour-
teously.
“You are an American, sir?” he in-
quired.
“I am,” said Winton.
may inquire?”
“Barbados bred, sir, Where they
speak the purest English, sir. We are
an altogether superior class to your
own colored population, sir.”
“Well, I've known some pretty de-
cent colored people in my own coun-
try,” said Winton in amusement.
“Possibly, sir. But you must recog-
nize that our ancestors obtained their
emancipation a generation before
yours, sir. We have rid ourselves of
our primal Instincts, sir.”
“I'm glad to hear that,” said Winton,
“By the way, where is this Big Malopo
claim?”
“Three miles out, sir. I shall be very
pleased to show you the way if you
plan to go there.” I
“Ill be obliged, Sam.
busy?”
“No, sir. My literary labors begin
at three this afternoon. We are a
morning newspaper. This was an
extra, and I have completed my round.”
They strolled across the market
square toward the suburb. Winton,
amused and interested In his com-
panion, drew him out further.
“Your literary labors, I take it, Sam,
consist in selling the copies of the
Chronicle?” he asked,
“No, sir. I am subeditor. Indeed, if
T may say so without offense, the style,
not to say spelling, of our paper would
be considerably ‘off.’ as they say, with-
out my services.”
“And part of your duty consists in
selling copies?”
“Qutside the office, sir, I am simply
a negro,” sald Sam, without any trace
of bitterness, “I am a Stoic, and I
recognize conditions, And yet it is
hard, 1 emigrated to this country,
sir, with the idea of being of social
“And you, if I
You're nut
his crisp
A EP TE ATR ET SR PRR,
1
service among men of my race. I
found myself a pariah. Perhaps you
{ do not know, sir, that the chief justice
| of Trinidad was a colored man?”
“No,” said Winton. “But I'm glad to
| hear it. What do they do to you, Sam?”
| “They are unable to discriminate be-
| tween the colored aboriginal population
and the negro of culture,” said Sam.
“I realize that in this imperfect world
certain prejudices as to color exist.
I accept them. But for a British sub-
“To be denied
the right to walk
on the pavement
is hard, sir."
ject from a civilized land to be denied
the right to walk on the pavement is
hard, sir.”
“But there is no pavement,” said
Winton, bewildered.
| “Not at present, sir. But if there
were a pavement, I should still be sub-
ject to the disability imposed upon
these raw savages. In the same way
the sale of alcoholic liquors is forbid-
den to me, sir.”
“Oh. cheer up!” said Winton en-
couragingly. “Anybody can get a drink
anywhere.”
“I am a teetotaler, sir,” responded
Sam. “I was taking exception to the
principle, not to its application. As a
colored British subject, I should not be
subjected to laws passed for the dis-
ciplining of savages.”
“They ought to be more discriminat-
ing,” admitted Winton.
“Thank you, sir,” said Sam warmly.
“I hold that, when a man has shed his
primal instincts, that fact should be
recognized.”
“You have no primal instincts?”
“None, sir, that are peculiar to the
Bantu race. I am a man like you, but
not a savage.”
“Not especially fond of chicken,
Sam?” asked Winton; and then he re-
gretted his speech, afraid that he had
hurt his companion’s feelings. Dut
Sam took the words with his cus-
tomary smile,
“I like chicken. I eat chicken,” he
acknowledged. “But I am certainly not
what might be termed remarkably at-
tached to chicken.”
They passed between the rows of
little cottages, crossed the dry river
course, which was unspanned hy any
bridge, and saw the diamviad fields in.
front of them. The appearance of the
district was striking. Beneath the red
sand, which had been piled up into
long ridges, the bases propped up with
boarding, were bright patches of yel-
lowish clay, the diamond-bearing
stratum. and under this, it was hoped.
{ would be found the famous blue ground
indicative of the volcanic funnels in.
which diamonds are formed of carbon
under terrific pressure.
No blue ground had yet been struck;
its existence was, however, almost a
certainty, since the yellow clay is mere-
ly the blue ground decomposed. The
vellow patches extended on either side
as far as the eye could reach. All
along this depression in the ridge build-
ings were under construction. Here
and there, where more substantial
progress had been made, pits yawned,
bridged by plank roads, and endless
windlasses, from which buckets were
lowered to bring up the diamond-bear-
‘ing soil, stood ranged in disorderly
array. The ropes from these wind-
lasses, extending into the pits in every
direction, gave their sides the appear-
ance of cliffs covered with huge spider
webs.
(To be continued).
An Indian Christmas.
Did you know that Indian children
know about Christmas, and that many
. celebrate this great holiday? You
see, at Carlisle, Pa., there is a large
| Indian school, and here the boys and
' girls learn all about the way we ob-
' serve the week, and they are taught
many little stories of interest about
the “present-giving season.”
| The Indians who live out West go
to the schools on the reservations, and
in the evening they go back to their
' camp homes and tell their parents all
they have learned about Christmas,
and in a small way they imitate the
white children in their mede of keep-
ing alive the Christmas spirit.
Mistake Somewhere.
| It was bed time for 4 year old Juck
i but the little fellow wanted to stay
| up later. His aunt, who Hipped the
scales at nearly two hundred pounds,
said: “Why Jack, think of me, I am
{ever so much older than you and I
go to bed with the chickens!”
Jack looked at her great size, and
remarked succinctly, “Well, I don’t
{ see how you ever get up on the
roost.”—Judge.
A Good Worker.
A city man called upon another,
and after a glance round the estab-
lishment inquired, “How’s your new
office boy getting along?”
“Fine!” was the reply. “He’s got
things so mixed up that I couldnt
get along without him.”