(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
juck, 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
mamed De Witt.
CHAPTER IIL.—Winton, en route to
fis mine, finds the town of Taungs
wildly excited over a big strike at
Malopo, including the 95-carat “De Witt
diamond.” Two coach passengers are
@ disreputable old prospector, Daddy
Beaton, and his daughter Sheila. On
the journey a passenger, who turns out
to be De Witt himself, insults Sheila.
‘Winton fights De Witt and knocks him
out. Sheila tells him to turn back. She
gays that her father is a broken Eng-
lish army officer. who hag killed a man
and is therefore in De Witt's power,
that De Witt is all-powerful, being
backed by Judge Davis, president of
the diamond syndicate and also the
resident magistrate and judge of the
native protectorate.
CHAPTER II1L.—Winton finds Malopo
fn a turmoil, both over the strike and
the theft of the De Witt diamond. Win-
ton foolishly discloses his identity to
Sam Simpson, a Jamaican negro, sub-
editor of the local newspaper. He more
wisely confides in Ned Burns, watch-
man at the Big Malopo, who tells him
that the syndicate has planned to take
control of the mine the next morning.
CHAPTER IV
Framed.
He saw her start, and then bend
hastily over the money she was reck-
oning. But the flush that overspread
her face showed her confusion, and
when, compelled by Winton’s presence,
she raised her head, her mortification
was too evident for Winton’s feelings.
Suddenly he understood the mean-
ing of her self-depreciatory words in
the coach. A glance at the smirk!ng
waitresses, who were plainly of a
class that had drifted to the fields for
adventure and predatory purposes
showed him the humiliation of the
girl’s position. He remembered what
she had told him about two kinde of
women; and in a flash he understood
more than he could have !earned ia
the course of a detailed explanation.
He saw the invisible class barrier
that recognized two and only two con-
ditions. On one side you were of the
chosen; on the other, you shared the
circumstances of the most vile. There
were no subtle nuances of station here,
nothing by which a decent woman was
recognized as such, unless she came
to Malopo in the care of some man of
independent means.
And a flood of pity surged over the
young man. He strode impu!sively to-
ward the desk.
“Miss Seaton!” he exclaimed. *“I1--"
She shook her head in vexation.
“You must go away, Mr. Garrett,” she
said.
“I want to see you, to spzek with
you.”
“I dare not. Pledse go away!”
Her distress was so evident that
Winton could do nothing but obey.
“At least let me meet you afterward,”
he pleaded. “Let me walk home with
you. I shall wait for you on the
steep.”
“If only you'll go away now—"
begged Sheila.
Winton went to a table. As he sat
down he was conscious of the glance
of the hotel proprietor, who stood near
the entrance. The fellow was watch-
ing Winton and appraising him. Win-
ton saw the waitresses glancing at him
and smiling. And then he understood
still more than before.
The flashy women in the Continental
dining room were there much less for
their ability to wait than to draw cus-
tomers. And Sheila, in the cashier's
seat, was the particular magnet of the
place. And Winton might be a “find.”
The proprietor was sizing him up as
a potential captive of his cashier. He
was estimating him in terms of pounds
and shillings brought to the bar of
the Continental. The waitresses, al-
ways alert for new victims with money,
were watching him, too.
Winton understood Sheila's shame
to the full. It was his now, and it
overwhelmed him. He must get the
girl away from that place. Not for an
instant did it occur to him to doubt her,
He saw the desperation that had driv-
en her to her employment, tied to a
drunken, good-for-nothing father, in a
land where women were of two kinda
alone, the parasites and the home
makers.
He did not raise his eyes to the desk
again, but ate his meal hurriedly,
ignoring the friendly approaches of
his waitress, and went out upon the
stoep. He sat down, looking across
the market square. The sun had set
and darkness was coming on with the
swiftness of those low latitudes. H¢
began planning busily for Sheila and
her father.
He must discover what hold De Witi
had over Daddy Seaton. If he could
break that bond and restore the old
man’s self-respect the beginning would
have been made,
VICTOR
| ROUSSEAWL
COPYRIGHT 4y W.G.CHAPMAN
“Weil, it's a fine evering, ain't iL.”
suid a voice beside him.
Winton swung round, to see the little ,
man whom he had noticed before sup-
per standing against the wall of the
hotel. He started. How long the man
had been there he could not imagine,
but he felt almost as if his thoughts
had been laid bare. g
The man dropped into the chair be-
side him. “And what do you think of
this country?’ he continued, fixing
Winton with his black eyes. “Strang-
er, ain’t you? I spotted you as soon as
you came in this afternoon..”
“Yes, I'm a strunger,” answered Win-
ton curtly.
“There ain’t many Americans in this
country yet, but they won't be long |
coming. You always find 'em where
the money is,” said the little man, *“In- |
terested in a claim?’ 3
*1 might be,” answered Winton. “As
a rule I keep my affairs to myself.”
“Oh, no ottense,” said the little man
hastily. “we're all here for the money,
ain't we? Of course, you're dead right
to take that stand. You don’t know
me and I don’t know you. Town's full
of rogues and I. D. B. men, anyway.
That was a smart trick getting away
with the De Witt stone, eh? But the
police will prove too smart for those
fellows—it it ain't a lie.”
Winton said nothing. He disliked
the little man intensely. He felt an
atmosphere of steaith and moral un-
cleanness exuding from him, and the
little man was getting on Winton's
nerves by the way he fidgeted, first
with one arm and then with the other;
then with one leg and then with the
other.
“This I. D. B. game now—you've
heard of it, I suppose, even though you
are a stranger? Illicit diamond buy-
ing—it’s as old as the first diamond
claim pegged out in Kimberley. Sev-
en years on the breakwater at Cape
Town to buy diamonds that way, and
most of the big men in this country
started in that game. Perfectly re-
spectalile now, and they ought to have
the convict brand stamped all over
them. But it's a temptation, when a
Kaftir laborer knows more ways of
hiding a stone than any white man
could think of. Takes a shrewd com-
pound manager to keep tab on them.
They used to swallow them, but we
countered that. “Then they'd cut holes
in their skin and bury them, till we
started the medical examination as
well as the daily search. Then they
hid them in their dogs, and we shut the
dogs out of the compounds. There
was one fellow, a dentist, used to stop
their teeth with them. And that game
wasn't worked out before they had a
new trick.
“Yes, Malopo's a queer place,” he
continued. “Between you and me, I
don’t believe that De Witt stone was
picked up here at all. De Witt brought |
it up from Kimberley and planted it on |
the Big Malopo claim. That's what !
most people are saying. Just an ad- !
vertising trick to boom his stock, and
the sume with the stealing. That stone |
wasn’t stolen.”
“See here!” cried Winton, goaded to
exasperation. “What in the name of
thunder do ycu mean by calling the |
Big Malopo Mr. De Witt's? What has
Mr. De Witt to do with it?”
The little man laughed and nudged
Winton jovially in the side. The touch |
of his fingers against Winton's coat
was almost intolerable, Winton moved |
his chair away.
“Now it’s you who are asking ques-
tions,” said the little man. “You know
what you know and I know what I
know, eh?” i
He chuckled, rose up, and walked ;
away. Whatever the object of his
address might have been, it had suc-
ceeded in stinging Winton in his ten-
derest place. Everybody in Malopo !
seemed to take it for granted that De
Witt already owned the Big Malopo.
Even Ned Burns had taken the stone
to De Witt. And it had been placed
on exhibition in the Syndicate’ bank.
Winton was raging. He meant to
show Malopo who owned the claim,
and he had forgotten all his warnings
about being cautious.
A mob of men from the dining room
came out upon the porch, laughing and
joking. Inside the hotel Winton heard
two in altercation, the subject of their
dispute being, apparently, one of the
waitresses. The meal was over. Win-
ton rose and looked through the door-
way. Then he saw Sheila putting on
her hat beside the cashier's desk.
A man spoke to her as she left the
room, but she walked past him, and
went down the steps before Winton
could intercept her. He followed her,
and as he did so he heard one of the
men on the porch make a jesting re-
mark about him to a companion. \
Winton did not heed it. He caught
up with the girl at the corner of the
block. ‘Miss Seaton!” he began.
She turned and stopped. “Mr. Gar-
rett—" she began,
“You asked me to go away, and I
did so.
wme—"
“What is it that you want?” asked
Sheila.
“I want to help you. I know that
you are friendless here, that you are
i
|
doing work which is unsuited to you.
while they sat side by side on the stoep
I know that you were not born for this
sort of life.
und your father’s.”
“A hundred men have said that to
ie since I came to Malopo,” answered
the girl bitterly.
“I mean it.”
“You mean that you are quixotic
enough to wish to do a kindness with-
out any return. No, Mr. Garreit. Aad
J. want you to forget that you ever met
me.”
She turned again and began walking
quickly along the aark street, but Win-
ton kept at her side, '
“But you are unreasonable,” he cried.
Miss Seaton, surely you are not so
jeer ope which is disinterested.”
“Mr. Garrett,” she answered, ste
ping once more and looking him square
ly in the face, “I am not so friendiess
as you think. And I do not accept
friends out of pity. If you are a gen-
tleman, you will not speak to me again,
not notice me, in the Continental, or
anywhere. Good night; and let this
be good-by.” :
ke watched her until her figure was
lost in the murky mazes of the foul
streets that stretched toward the des-
ert. His heart sank. There was noth-
ing more that he could do, then. He
hated Malopo now ; he wished he had
never coine,
Looking back toward the single elec-
' tric light that stood at the corner of
the market square, he fancied that he
| perceived the figure of the little man
who had talked with him upon the
stoep of the hotel. He was standing
with another, pointing after him.
Winton strode away. He had en-
tirely forgotten Burns’ warning; «ad it
he had remembered it would not have
made any difference. He wanted to
get out toward the desert again, to
be alone.
Old clothes shops, which thrived
upon the wages of the native gangs
brought to work in the compounds,
booths of Greek, Syrian, and Indian
peddlers, alternating with vacant lots,
lined the sandy track. There were
mean little alleys that extended at
right angles, terminating in shadows.
The moonlight, straggling fitfully
through a bank of clouds, something
rarely seen in the dry season, disclosed
the desert beyond.
Near the outskirts of the town was
a new structure consisting of about a
score of brick houses of uniform height
and a single story each, joined to form
two sides of a square. On the third
side was another street, with vacant
lots fronting it; on the fourth barbed
wire, and the desert beyond. In the
center was a well. These houses
which were of the crudest construction,
contained apparently but two rooms
apiece, and the aspect of the whole
construction was dismal beyond imagi-
nation. Only two or three seemed to
be inhabited, and this fact was to be
learned by the tin cans and other ret-
use that had been thrown out from
the doors.
Winton turned from the place in dis-
gust and made his way toward the end
of the street, looking upon the desert.
Then he perceived two men close be-
hind him. Since the little man was
not one of them, however, he thought
little of the matter, and, as they came
quickly toward him, he stepped aside
to let them take the harder center of
the road.
When they were almost abreast of
him they separated, with the evident
intention of passing on either side.
For the first time Winton scented mis-
chief. He put his hand to his pocket,
where lay Ned Burns’ revolver. He
had half drawn it when it was daghed
to the ground, and the two leaped at
him.
A stunning blow upon the head from
a wooden baton sent Winton reeling.
He gained his feet just in time, and !
sent the men staggering back with a
couple of blows in the face. They
came at him again. A second blow
on the head felled Winton to the
ground. His assailants were upon him,
kicking and pounding him.
One of them put his hand into his
pocket and drew something forth, hold-
ing it up to his companion with an ex-
One of them put
his hand into his
pocket and
drew some-
thing forth. 4
ultant cry. It seemed to be a small
stone, wrapped in tissue paper. An
instant later it lay in the man’s palm,
an irregularly shaped pebble, of no
particular luster.
“It’s the De Witt!” yelled the other,
and, turning to Winton, kicked him
agein,
“The game's up, my lad,” he shouted.
“We were tipped off about you, and
I want to be your friend, ;
. rich In friendships that you can re
. bright as day under the hard moon-
I thought you would allow | we've got you fair. Are you coming
quietly ?”
At first bewildered, Winton now dis-
cerned that the men wore the uniform
of the town police. He saw the trap
into which he had fallen. The little
man had placed the stone in his pocket
of the hotel, an hour before.
He saw the consequences. He would
be flung into jail, held there, and, if not
' railroaded to the breakwater by Judge
Davis, at least prevented from attend-
ing the meeting in the Chamber of
Commerce the following morning. De
Witt had laid his scheme well.
The fury that filled him at the reaii-
zation of his predicament momentarily
paralyzed him. He lay perfectly stil}.
One of his assailants stooped over him
snd looked into his face.
“You knocked him out for fair, Rob-
orts,”” he said. “This will mean pro-
motion for ns.”
“And De Witt'll pay through (ie
nose. He'll have to,” answered the
other meaningly. :
“There was some papers we was to
took tor,” said his companion.
The two were off their guard as Wit
ton sprang. But he rather seemed to
fly from his supine position to his reet
with an instantaneous co-ordination of
movements. Before the amazed police
could meet his onslaught he had
snatched the baton from the one who
iad struck him down, and brought it
crashing down on his skull. The man
dropped upon his hands and knees,
mioaning, and began crawling with ap-
parently aimless movements, this way
and that.
The second policeman, who did not
lack pluck, had time to draw his
truncheon and attack Winton, who
dodged in under a blow which glanced
harmlessly off his arm, and landed his
fist full on his mouth. The man stum-
bled and fell, and Winton turned and
ran like the wind, making for one of
the dark alleys that led out to the
road. As he ran he heard the crack
of revolver shots behind him, followed
by the police whistle, and cries for
help. The man had picked up Ned
Burns’ revolver and fired, but the bul-
lets did not go anywhere near Winton,
and the policeman’s act in firing, and
his delaying the pursuit to summon as-
sistance gave the fugitive time to dart’
out of sight around the corner.
Winton had been something of a
sprinter at college. He knew he could
probably outdistance the best of the
police force. But he heard answering
whistles before him and shouting. He
inferred that he was running toward
the police station. He saw another
alley mouth open beside an empty ped-
dler’s wagon, and darted down.
The street was empty, but the moon
now rode high in the sky, lighting up
the town more brightly than an instal-
lation of electric lights might have
done. Winton had baffled his pursuers
for the moment, but they were all about
him; the trap had been well set, and
in fact pairs of police had been sta-
tioned at the ends of all the streets |
leading into the desert. He was like
a trapped rat, rushing blindly froin
alley to alley, and, what was worst,
the foreign population of the district
was waking from the early sleep in- |
duced by its activities of the day. As
Winton ran an Indian fired deliberately
at him from a window. The wind of
the bullet whistled upon his neck. And
the shouts were growing louder on all
sides.
Winton was reeling from weakness
as he ran. He had not realized how
strong an effort he had made to pull
himself together after the two stun-
ning blows. Something was dripping
into his eyes; he put his hand up and
was amazed to find it covered with
blood.
At last he halted, breathless. He
was in an alley blocked now at the
end behind him by his pursuers, They
had not seen him as he ran in the
shadow of some booths, but the yells
of the Indians apprised Winton that his
course was accurately known. Before
him a street ran at right angles, and
somewhere in this another group was
racing to cut him off.
He looked up in despair, and then
discovered that he had run round the
circumference of a large circle. In
front of him was the square which he
had passed immediately before the at-
tack on him. He was approaching
from the third side of it, and his only
chance of escape lay into the desert,
light.
As he stopped he saw a woman
emerge from one of the single-story
houses and peer out from the door.
Her attitude was indicative of terror.
Realizing that she would be in danger
from any chance shooting, Winton
gathered his failing strength and stum-
bled on, meaning to pass her. He was
almost at her side when a cry broke
from her lips. He looked at her; it
was Sheila Seaton.
She seemed to take in the situation
in a moment. She grasped at him, and,
as he reeled from weakness, dragged
him into the tiny house with all her
strength. Then she shut the door soft-
ly and blew out a candle.
Neither spoke. Winton had sunk to
the ground, but, half fainting as he
was, he could hear her frightened
breathing as she stood over him, and
then the cries of his pursuers as they
swept down the street and wet the
party running up the alley.
There followed a medley of voices.
They dwindled away and died in the
distance. Winton heard the girl strike
a match. The little candle light flamed
up in a corner. Sheila, standing be-
side it, looked at Winton, saw the blood
on his face, and ran forward with a low |
cry.
Vie snatched a towel from a rack,
dipped it into a basin of water that
stood on a packing case, and kneeling
beside him, began wiping away the |
blood.
Winton staggered to his feet, He
smiled whimsically at Sheila, tried to
reach the door, and collapsed into tbe |
single chair in the room.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I dide’t
dream—you lived here. I'll go—in a
rmninute.” .
“You can't go!” cried the girl in a
frenzied whisper. “You are safe nuw.
You must wait.”
“They'll come back and search tor
me. They're bound to get me. Miss
Seaton, I—" ¢
“If they arrest you they can arrest
we, too. Come here—please do as 1
say. I'm going to help you as you
helped me.”
She placed her shoulder under his
arm and raised him upon his feet, 1!
was astonishing what strength lay ix
her slim body, or what resoluticr
nerved her. She forced him to cross
the room and pass through a doorway
Beyond was another door, and throagt
the giuss of the uncovered window
Wipton saw the pump in the sguare
ania the angie of the buildings,
And ‘he heard ugain the shouts or
his pursuers, returning from their fruit.
less search. They swarmed into the
square and heavy blows resoundea
upon one of the doors, followed by #
man’s gruff answer.
“They'll be here in a moment,” Win-
ton gasped.
“They'll see you if you try to leave.
You must lie down here. This is my
father’s room. He's away on the fields,
You must let me cover you and, if they
come, they'll think you're he. Quick!
Oh, please be quick!”
Winton took in the stretcher bea
with its disordered array of blankets.
He knew Sheila had told the truti.
The once chance of saving her now
was to do. as she wished him to do;
and it was one chance in a dozen.
He managed to crawl upon the
stretcher, and the girl pulled the blank-
ets over him. She hurried to the buck
door and bolted it; then blew out her
light. Hardly were these preparations
made when the crowd came yelling
along the row of houses, banging at
all the doors and smashing the win-
dows. The police were far outnum-
bered by their followers; for an 1. D. B.
chase arouses as much enthusiasm and
vindictiveness as the pursuit of a horse
thief in the old days of our own West.
It would have gone hard with Winton
if the mob had discovered him. And
for the first time in his life he was
afraid. He was afraid for Sheila.
He heard her creep into his room in
the darkness and stand behind the
door. The mob was abreast of the
house.
“There was a light here!” a man
velled, and a stick smashed the win-
dow glass into tinkling fragments. The
thin door yielded under the terrific
blows,
“Open, whoever’s fqere!” cried one
of the leaders.
The bolt was shot back, Sheila ap-
peared to Winton's gaze in the shaft
of moonlight that fell upon the floor.
She wore a long dressing gown, and her
hair hung loose down her back. At
the sight of her the crowd was silent,
and Winton, crouched under the blan-
kets, ready to make his last fight for
the girl, waited, with every muscle taut
and every nerve quivering, for the mo-
ment that never came.
Perhaps in his ignorance of frontier
life he misjudged the rough and ready
nature of Malopo’s inhabitants. He
had seen the worst side of Malopo only.
The mob hung back, ashamed.
“What do you want?’ asked Sheila
steadily.
“There's a damned I. D. B. thief hid-
ing somewhere along this block. We
want him,” cried the man who had
shouted first.
“He isn’t here,” said Sheila quietly.
“There are only myself and my father
here, and he’s sick. Won't you please
go away?”
“It’s Miss Seaton!” cried one of the
men, “That goes, boys! Her wots |
as good as the best in town, and she’s !
the pride of the good old Continental
bunch. Hooray!”
“Come along boys!” shouted anoth- ,.
| An average expenditure of between
er; and the mob began to move away. |
Winton crawled painfully off the
stretcher and staggered toward the
girl, who was still standing beside the
door. The robe which she had flung
over her dress lay at her feet, where
she had thrown it. She was coiling up
her hair in a knot behind. As Winton
came toward her she turned from him
and hid her face in her hands.
“I don’t know what to say,” he be-
gan. “I want to thank you, but. that
sounds foolish after what you have
done for me. I—I'm going now.”
But instead of going toward the door
he fell in a dead faint at her feet.
CHAPTER V
The Stockholders’ Meeting.
The next thing of which Winton
was aware was that the moonlight had
given place to the light of day. It was
intolerable, in spite of the strip of
heavy material that had been pinned
before the window. Winton raised his
head, and groaned at the stabbing pain |
in his temples. He saw the stretcher ,
bed and a quantity of dried blood on
the blankets, and he did not remember
what had happened to him or know |
where he was. !
Glancing about him in bewilderment,
he saw the bare brick walls of the
interior of the house. The floor was
of boards, roughly laid down, and a
strip of cheap carpet led into the room
from another room behind the door. !
Between two of the loosened planks '
wis a little pyramid of earth, the
nigud's labors of the white ants that
swanued everywhere.
The room contained, besides the |
stretcher bed, a chair, a little mirror,
and a cheap hureau. In a corner were
some shelves with crockery and cook-
ing utensils,
; ing to rise once more,
Then Winton remembered, and he
groaned again and made a brave effort
to rise. At the sound Sheila came
through the doorway. Her eyes were
red and heavy, and she did not look
at him, but set down a tray beside
him, with a cup of tea and some strips
of toast scorched over an open fire,
“How do you feel now?”’. she asked
anxiously.
“I'm better,” muttered Winton, try-
But she put him
gently back upon the pillow.
“You are not well enough to get up,”
she said. “You must rest till night.
; fall, and then I shall try to get you out
| of Malopo.
Father may be back today,
but if he comes he will be in no con-
dition to understand or to cause
troubie.”
“Why should I leave Malopo?” asked
Winton. “Who do you think I am?”
“YT don’t know who you are,” an-
swered Sheila, “but I know that you
came here to steal the De Witt dla-
mond.” .
Winton looked at her in incredulity.
“You think I am a thief, then?’ he
asked.
“Aren't you?’ she answered. “Aren't
you?”
“Because I
mob?’
“Because you talked of the diamond
all last night. You sald it was yours.”
“And you shielded me and saved me,
believing that?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I
have lived long enough in this country
to know that good men and bad men
are just about the same,” she an-
swered. “Perhaps I have lost my
sense of right and wrong. I don’t
know, or care. I only knew that you
were in danger, and I wanted to help
you as you wanted to help me, and
did help me.”
“I see,” sald Winton, gazing at her
curiously and wondering whether the
acid of humiliation had eaten into her
soul beyond restoration.
“I may as well explain to you where
my father is,” the girl continued. “Mr,
De Witt sent for him and offered him a
position. I know what that means.
He is planning to use him as a tool
for some dishonorable purpose, as he
has often done before. We are in his
hands. We have only been three
months in Malopo, and the same old
story will repeat itself until we flee
somewhere else.
“Mr. De Witt has offered father the
position of compound manager on the
Big Malopo as soon as the gangs ar-
rive. He has displaced a man for him.
Father walked out to a new claim that
the syndicate is developing, outside the
town, to see Mr. De Witt, and didn’t
return. He will be back some time
today, drunk. If he comes in before
dark he will go to sleep at once, and I
shall hide you in my room till it is safe
to leave. I have seven pounds, und
that will help gou acruss the desert
if you need money, After that you
must do the best for yourself that you
can.”
Winton made a tremendous effort
and got off the stretcher. He found
that he could stand; his head still
ached abominably, and the room
seemed to sway, but he pulled Lin ef
was pursued by that
together. He faced Shea and took
her hands in his.
“You have saved me when you
thought I was a thief,” he said, “and
I think it is the most wonderful thing
I have ever known. Now listen to me.
I am not a thief, nor does Mr. De Wilt
or the syndicate own the Big Malopo.
I am the president of the Big Malopo
company.” :
(Continued next week).
Not Enough Forest Protection.
Thirty-nine states contain impor-
tant areas of forest land, but only 27
have organized state forest protection
on a more or less adequate scale.
Systematic fire protection of privately
owned forest lands is sadly lacking.
At least 166,000,000 acres of such land
now receive no protection and on
many other areas the protzction fur-
nished is incomplete and Inadequate.
two and one-half and three cents an
acre, or a total of $9,250,000, would
fairly protect all of the privately
owned forest land in the United
States. The task is at present two-
thirds undone.
For Value Received.
A Boston woman relates that dur-
ing her trip to England she visited a
certain place and employed a guide
to show her around. After he had
explained the principal attractions of
the neighborhood she remarked as she
handed him his fee: “I trust that what
you have told me is absolutely true.
I never feel I should pay for un-
truths.”
“Well, ma'am,” responded the old
fellow, scanning the coin, “truth or
untruth, ye've had a good shillin's
worth.”
Better Animals in C nada.
There have been large increases In
the number of pure bred animals in
Canada during the decade between the
last two censuses. The increase in
the number of pure bred horses bhe-
tween 1911 and 1921 was 44 per cent;
of cattle, 139 per cent; of sheep, TH
per cent. and of swine, nearly 44 per
cent. The number of pure bred horses
in the Dominion in 1921 was 47.782;
cattle, 206,656; sheep, 93,643. and of
swine, 81,143.
Growth of Bank Deposits.
A single New York city bank of to.
day carries deposits equaling more
than 21 times the total deposits in
all the city’s banks in 1847. The de-
posits in New York hanks in the year
1847 totaled $28,000,000. These hanks
carried $11,000,000 of specie and had
a circulation of abwui $7,000,000,