(Continued from last week).
SYNOPSIS
CHAPTER 1L.—Winton Garrett, twen-
gy-five and just out of college, calls by
pointment on Archie Garrett, his New
York cousin and executor, to receive
inheritance of $100,000. Archie,
onest, an easy mark and a fool for
uck, assures Winton that he is prac-
tically a millionaire, as he has invested
1 but $10,000 in a rubber plantation
n either the East or West Indies and
an a controlling interest in the Big
opo diamond mine, somewhere or
other in South Africa, sold him as a
special favor by a Dutch promoter
mamed De Witt.
CHAPTER IL—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
aton, 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
jaye that her father is a broken Eng-
ish army officer, who has killed a man
nd is therefore in De Witt's power,
ha De Witt is all-powerful, being
cked by Judge Davis, president of
the diamond syndicate and also the
pesident magistrate and judge of the
mative protectorate.
CHAPTER III.—Winton finds Malopo
fn a turmoil, both over the strike and
the theft of the De Witt diamond. Win-
jou foolishly discloses his identity to
m Simpson, a Jamaican negro, sub-
editor of the local newspaper. He more
wisely confides in Ned Burns, watch-
men at the Big Malopo, who tells him
that the syndicate has planned to take
eontrol of the mine the next morning.
‘ CHAPTER IV.—Winton finds that
Sheila is cashier at the restaurant. He
ffers his friendship. She rebuffs him.
an Vorst, a notorious diamond thief,
e of De Witt's men, slips the ‘stolen
Pe Witt diamond into Winton's pocket
end two policemen club Winton and
arrest him. He escapes them and
when at his last gasp Sheila takes him
{nto her house, bathes his wounds and
saves him from his pursuers.
CHAPTER V.—The next morning
Sheila offers Winton help in escaping
from Malopo. He convinces her with
ifficulty that he did not steal the De
itt diamond and that he is president
of the Big Malopo company. Bruised
and blood-stained he runs across town,
Preaks by force into the company meet-
ing, and aided by a popular demonstra-
tion proves his identity, blocks the re-
organization and takes control. He
asks Sheila to marry him. She laughs
hysterically and refuses him.
CHAPTER VI.—Winton hires Seaton
@s compound manager and develops Big
Malopo. Judge Davis, a philosophical
old hypocrite of unknown past, offers
fim the syndicate’s co-operation. “Oth-
erwise, he says, “we'll smash you, you
&—d young fool.”
CHAPTER VIL—Winton,
®y a scurrilous newspaper article about
Sheila and himself, knocks Sam down
and publicly threatens Judge Davis. He
finds Sheila about to elope with De Witt,
save her father. He horsewhips De
itt. Sheila again refuses to marry
him and says she is going away, never
to see him or her father again.
CHAPTER VIIIL.—Winton hires Sam
as night watchman. Van Vorst's gang
steal the De Witt diamond. Winton
ursues Van Vorst, who escapes with
he big stone.
CHAPTER IX.—Winton is rescued by
Sheila, on her way to a native village.
There she kisses an old woman, only
partly white, and says, “This is my
mother.” He again asks her to marry
him. She refuses him, because of the
race bar. Heartsick, he sets out for
Malopo with a native guide.
CHAPTER X.—Winton succumbs. His
guide robs and deserts him. Sam res-
cues him. Burns's brain is affected; he
cannot tell what happened. The work-
ers in the mine return no stones. Win-
ton is forced to borrow money from the
syndicate, agreeing to pay in a month
or lose the mine.
CHAPTER XI.—The syndicate makes
further plans to oust Wintor. His men
search the native workers &nd secure
many large diamonds. Seaton appears,
confesses the plot and says he's come
to take his medicine.
. CHAPTER XII.—Seaton is tried for
diamond buying from the natives be-
fore Judge Crawford, who has suc-
ceeded Judge Davis. The crowd re-
gala De Witt as the real criminal and
elieve Davis to be behind De Witt.
Seaton confesses everything. He tells
how he shot a man and how De ath
knowing about it, forced him to do al
kinds of crooked work. De Witt, think-
ing Davis has abandoned him to his
fate, voluntarily testifies that Davis is
the man whom Seaton mistakenly
thought he had killed and that Sheila
is Davis’ daughter. Davis drops in a
faint. De Witt flees from Malopo. Sea-
ton is acquitted.
infuriated
When he went out early in the
morning Judge Davis was just turn-
fng into the compound. He was
mounted on a big bay, and appeared
much the same as usual. Winton,
who had been a little alarmed at his
appearance the night before, was re-
assured. He saddled his horse and
mounted, and the two rode silently
out into the desert.
The sun was rising in a crown of
flery clouds. There were pools of rain
everywhere, and the freshness of the
gir was a delightful contrast to the
fong drought. Cloud-banks were ai-
peady heaping up In the sky, but there
was not likely to be another downpour
uatil nightrall ; the first rains are not
continuous, as in later weeks. The
day promised Intense heat, but the
long, rolling ridges of the desert had
already a sub-tinge of green.
Hour after hour, the two men rode
side by side. Occasionally Winton
ventured some remark, but the judge
hardly answered him; he was brood-
ing, with his head sunk on his breast.
Winton was lost in dreams of Sheila.
After a long time, in the broiling heat
of the noon sun, he saw the faint out-
lines of the distant hills before him.
First they were a blue line against
the sky, then a patch of green against
the brown of the desert. He pointed
them out to his companion, but the
VICTOR
J) ROUSSEAWL
COPYRIGHT 4y W.G.CHAPMAN
judge only looked up, nodded, and re-
sumed his brooding. Presently he
raised his head, and Winton was
alarmed to see the light of the deadly
purpose in his eyes.
“He'll make for there,
he said.
“Seaton?”
Judge Davis nodded. “They told me
last night,” he answered. “That’s
why I wanted to give him a night's
start. He'll have made that place by
now. I've been there—long ago. We'll
meet. It will be the fulfillment of a
duest that occupied a great part of
my time years ago, Garrett; I put it
aside, but I never abandoned it alto-
gether, and now I've taken it up
again.”
It occurred to Winton that if Judge
Davis went mad, he would go mad in
precisely that cool, methodical way.
He wondered if he was armed, and
what he would do if he and Seaton
met. And he cursed himself for not
having reflected that such a meeting
was highly probable.
He had a fleeting idea of attempt-
ing physical restraint, but he aban-
doned the idea instantly. Whatever
needed to be done must be done when
the time arrived.
_ The distant hills grew nearer. Green
valleys. and precipitous heights ap-
peared. The sun was at the zenith.
The horses walked with hanging
heads, panting. Not a living thing
appeared on the vast plain except the
steeds and their riders. :
But presently Winton caught sight
of something on the far horizon that
looked like a vast flock of sheep. Yet
surely no man had ever owned so
large a herd. It formed a wide are,
miles in- length, along the edge of
the desert.
It was a mirage, of course. But,
even so, somewhere the reality ex-
isted; and Winton, more puzzled than
ever, followed it with his eyes as he
rode on, wondering when it would dis-
appear. It did not disappear. The
entire herd seemed moving in the di-
rection of the hills, now about four
miles away, traveling almost parallel
with the horses, yet with sufficient in-
clination to make it probable that,
if it were indeed a real herd, it would
pass into the valley toward which the
riders were making.
At last Winton called the judge’s
attention to the flock. But Judge Da-
vis, seeming hardly to be aware of
his presence, shook himself impa-
tiently and rode on, immersed in his
morbid introspection.
The flock appeared to keep pace
with the horses, and it was now
clearly converging toward the pass.
Winton, watching it, abandoned the
idea that it was a mirage. Yet it
could not possibly be any man’s flock.
There were hundreds of thousands of
the animals, moving, apparently,
without herdsmen,
The valley opened before them.
Winton recognized his location; the
native village was not far away. The
riders were already ascending into
the foothills. As they rounded one
of the bases of the mountain chain
Winton looked back, and saw the herd
much nearer. Then it was lost to
sight, and he thought no longer of
the prodigy in thinking of Sheila.
They rode along the winding pass,
ascending, descending, until at last
the cluster of beehive huts appeared
in the distance.
Suddenly Winton saw that Judge
Davis was clutching a revolver in his
hand.
The sight shocked him but less than
the look which Davis’ face had now
assumed. If Seaton was in the vil-
lage there would be murder. Winton
tried to take the weapon gently from
Davis’ hand; but with an adroit
movement, as if he had been on guard
all the time, the judge wrenched him-
self away, and suddenly spurred the
horse he rode, which darted on ahead
down the valley.
As Winton followed half a dozen
antelope came bounding past him, and,
glancing back for a moment, he saw
that a straggling band was following
them. They had short, lyrate horns,
white faces, and rufous bodies. And
then he understood what the herd sig-
nified.
The herd was not sheep, but ante-
lope—springbuck. It was, in fact,
one of the periodical migrations of
these animals, of which Winton had
heard. After a drought, when the
rain falls; they travel from the inte-
rior in countless numbers in search of
water, turning aside for nothing, pass-
ing even through populous cities.
Herds of half a million have been en-
Garrett,”
tered.
And what had looked like an orderly
progression, seen at a great distance,
' was a succession of the gigantic leaps
that have given the animal its name.
The springbuck were streaming into
the valley, jumping to a height of ten
or a dozen feet, and jostling against
the riders’ horses, as if devold of fear.
Winton galloped through ‘the 'ad-
vance guard in pursuit of Davis, who
was far in advance of him and near-
ing the village. He emerged out of
the pass suddenly, almost into the
middle space among the beehive huts.
The village appeared deserted, ex-
cept for an old man and an aged
woman who had crouched over the
embers of a dying fire. The woman
was the old queen of the tribe; the
man was Seaton.
Davis,
Winton saw the judge's hand tight-
en upon his revolver. But suddenly
the weapon was lowered. The judge
was looking into the old woman's face;
his own seemed to become rigid as a
plaster cast, and he noticed Seaton no
longer. i
“So it is you, Amy?’ he said. “I
have found you at last?”
“Yes, it is I,” answered the woman
in a strange guttural voice, speaking
as if the words were difficult to pro-
nounce.
“] have come to take you
my dear; you and the child.”
“Home?” mumbled the old weman.
“Home,” the judge repeated impa-
tiently, passing his hand across his
forehead.
“How long ago it seems since you
went away! You must have been ill.
I think. Or perhaps it is 1. Bring
our baby; I want to see her. What
did we call her? I have forgotten.”
“I forget what we called her,” ane
swered the old woman; “but she is
called Sheila now.”
“A pretty nae,”
judge.
As he spoke, Sheila came out oi one
of the huts. She fixed her eyes on
Winton in inquiry; he could see that
Seaton had told her the truth. Then
she looked at Davis. She stepped
toward him.
“I am here,”
voice.
Judge Davis did not appear to no-
tice her.
“I wish she would come,” he said.
“She must be a big girl by now.
home,
answercd the
she said in a ow
Where is she, Amy?” !
“I don’t know,” muttered the wom-
an, passing her hand across her fore-
head. :
And Winton knew that the past
twenty years had been completely
obliterated from Judge Davis’ mem-
ory. He had no notion that it was
his own daughter who stood before
him. If the old woman had kept her
wits, they were gone now, perhaps
through the shock of the meeting.
And a strange metamorphosis had
come over her. The withered old
woman assumed the attitude of one
of thirty years. There was a vivacity
in her gestures.
“I'll go home with you now, my
dear,” she said, advancing and laying
her hand upon the horse’s neck. “I
have been waiting such a long time
for you. Did you have a hard journey
here, my dear?”
“Not very hard,” answered Tthe
judge. “I'll carry the child, and you
shall ride my horse. Where is she?
Wait a moment, though, Amy; there
was something else I had to do.”
Seaton, recognizing the situation,
had stolen quietly away toward a
ridge of rocks behind the village.
Watching him, Winton saw him un-
tether and saddle a horse that was graz-
ing there. He was not greatly interested
in this maneuver. The man without
a people seemed to have become an
outcast once more.
There was only one passage from
the huts, which stood on a small ele-
vation half way up the hill, into the
valley. Seaton climbed into the saddle
and started down this track. The
movement arrested the judge’s atten-
tion. 3
Instantly he remembered. His old
face flushed. He spurred his horse
and set off in pursuit, leveling his
revolver,
Seaton’s horse stumbled, but the
rider pulled him to his feet and dashed
down the winding trail. Winton was
near enough to see the look of terror
on the old man’s face. The judge
might have been fifty feet behind him.
The old woman watched the two men
fmpassively; probably her stunned
mind was incapable of taking in the
situation.
Suddenly the thunder of hoofs be-
came audible, and the vast herd of
springbuck dashed into the valley, !
completely filling it. |
Seaton had reached the end of the
trall and was dashing up the valley, '
with Davis in pursuit. They raced
almost side by side. The judge made
no attempt to use his revolver, which
he had replaced in his pocket; but,
bending forward over his horse’s neck, |
stretched out his hands, which worked |
convulsively, as if to rend his enemy !
to pleces. After them poured the tor-!
rent of hoofs and horns, two hundred
thousand springbuck surging like an
frresistible tide under the impulse of
the migrating instinct. It swept be.
tween Winton and Davis, cutting them
asunder; and Winton, checked on a
little knoll, remained a helpless spec-
tator of what followed, as incapable
of interfering or rendering aid as if
he were marooned upon an island
amid a surge of living waters,
All around him tossed the red bod-
fes, and his horse, snorting with fear,
reared and plunged, so that It required
all his skill that he might keep his
peat and not be flung down, to be
gored and trampled on. :
He saw the judge grasp at Seaton
and half pull him from his saddle.
Seaton screamed and tere himself
free. Then the flood of the spring
buck swept in between them and
drove them along, not ten paces apart,
but isclated and helpless in the living
stream.
Their horses moved automatically,
carried on by the momentum of the
vast herd, which filled the valley be
hind and had spread over the face of
the desert as far as could be seen.
He rose and faced
ARR
The swirl through the neck of the |
pass had all the force of those un-
countable numbers behind it. It was
like water forced through a hose pipe.
Iron gates could not have withstood it.
Winton saw the judge and Seaton
swept upward, where the pass as-
cended toward the summit of the prec-
ipice. The herd gained the plateau.
But there was no other exit. It was
nearing the edge of the acclivity.
Then, without any perceptible check,
| the foremost tiles of animals leaped
| to destruction upon the rocks below.
| or an instant Winton saw Davis and
| Seaton at the verge of the precipice.
They disappeared.
| And, file by file, the springbuck fol-
lowed them, the tawny bodies plunging
into the void until the pressure was
| checked as the main body of the herd,
by some communicated instinct,
swerved into the main channel of the
' pass.
As the compact ranks of the spring-
muck scattered, Winton drove his
horse up the precipice. At the edge
he dismounted, and, thrusting his
arms through the reins, he looked
over.
A vast brown stain upon the rocks
pelow was all that marked the grave
of Davis and his enemy. And over-
head, winging their way through the
Lue sky in solitary file, the vultures
dropped to their festival.
Sick with horror, Winten went back
to the village. He saw Sheila stand-
ing beside the ecrouching woman at
the fire. [He tethered his horse to a
(ree apd went up to her. She paid
no attention to him, but looked at
her mother fixedly.
The old woman was bent forward,
her body supported by the elbows upon
the knees. She was quite motionless.
Winton took Ler hand; it was already
=old,
CHAPTER XIV
The Uprising.
It wes night. Winton had performed
the last offices for the dead woman.
The tripie tragedy had been too stun-
ning for any interchange of words
upon their future, but at last, there
being nothing more to do, Winton was
free to speak to Sheila about their
future.
He had already gathered that Sea-
ton had told her everything concern-
ing the past.
“] want you to come back with me
to Malopo, Sheila,” he said. “Marry
me—I will sell out and take you to
my own country. Your life shall be-
gin anew-—yours and mine.
She put her hands on his shoulders.
“Do you still love me, Winton?’ she
nsked. :
“I have not changed, Sheila.”
“It is not because you think you
are bound?”
“Sheila, I love you just as much—
always.”
“Phen I will be your wife, Winton,”
she answered gravely, raising her
mouth to his.
He did not urge his love—it was no
time for that, and the past was too
vividly with them for love-making.
Some day, not very far ahead, Win-
ton hoped that his dreams might come
true. For the present he was very
well content to know that Sheila was
his, and that nothing more could come
between them.
It would be impossible to find the
way back to Malopo that night, and
already the rain-clouds hung black in
the sky. Winton was to occupy one
of the huts, and on the morrow they
would start for Malopo at dawn.
He was surprised that the village
was empty, and was about to question
Sheila when she spoke of it.
“They left two days ago,” she sald.
“All the warriors, with the women and
I am afraid it
They do
children. Winton,
means something serious.
“l tried to
get warning
to Malopo.”
pot trust me any longer. They tola
me nothing. I tried to get warning to
~ Malopo, but my Hottentot left me.”
“Sheila, I must tell you something.
The boy robbed me on my return from
this village last time when I had
fallen from exhaustion. Then he
made away.”
“He robbed you, Winton?”
“He took my watch and purse, and
I think he was planning to kill me,
only he was afraid.”
“He came back and teld me that
you had reached Malopo safely. I was
alarmed for your safety, Winton. If
1 had guessed— But now I must tell
you something in turn. Mr. De Witt
was here last night.”
“De Witt!” cried Winton.
you saw him?”
“No. ' I heard the howse coming up
the pass, and I could tell from the
“Shella,
clan.
whiie "ile
ot firs
{ae stirrups that it was a
I hid, Winton. I thought
wis youl.
De Witt. I was afruid of him.
thought he had come to find me. And,
Winton. that Hottentot, who had run
away two Jays before, was with him.
1 recognized him, too. Mr. De Witt
has great influence among the Totties.
I don’t know what he is planning—"
“He is planning to escape, Shei.
ii was not you that he was seeking.
He is a fugitive, and thinking only or
getting away.”
And he told her guickly of the de-
tails of the trial. But whether he
convinced her or not, his own fears
were aroused for her. He believed
that De Witt planned to take Sheila
with him; he would, of course, be ig-
norant of the fact that she knew the
story of her parentage. Svmewhere
De Witt was lying in hiding. Winton
spent a very restless night in the hut
next to Sheila's, and when at last the
dawn cane, and he called her and she
came out, her eyes heavy with sleep,
but smiling at him, his heart went out
in utter thankfulness.
They saddled their horses and rode
away. During the journey they dis-
cussed their plans. They would reach
Malopo in the afternoon and be mar-
ried at once. He would take Sheila
home to the little cottage, and he
would settle up his affairs as fast as
possible and leave the country with
her.
But the program received an unex-
pected setback. A civil marriage was
rendered impossible by Judge Davis’
death, and the clergyman, the only
one in Malopo, had gone out for a '
day's bok-shooting, and would not re-
turn till the morrow.
Winton was utterly downcast. Even
the thought of taking the girl into
Malopo, which had used her so badly,
was unbearable. He decided to house
her making tea for him in Burns's cot-
tage—Burns having gone back to live
in the boarding house, some little dis- |
tance away, where he had resided for-
merly. ’ fia
After he had settled her there, un-
der Sam’s protection, he went back
into town and, calling- at the police
station, informed the police chief of
the tragedy.
To his surprise he found himself
the object of a severe cross-examina-
tion. The presence of the vast herd
of springbok was, of course, known,
but the story appeared incredible.
Winton had been seen riding out
with Judge Davis; the enmity of the
two men was, of course, a common-
place of knowledge. The chief of po-
lice said that he would ride out the
| next morning to investigate, and his
manner left little doubt that he sus-
pected Winton of having caused the
judge's death.
With his reception, Winton’s second
purpose, of giving warning concerning
the native unrest,
pared for an outbreak for some time
past, and rumors of all sorts were
current ; it was not probable that any
action would have been taken on the
story, which would, furthermore, have
led to Sheila’s examination. On the
whole, when he remembered his lapse,
Winton did not regret it.
When he got back to the claim, full
of fears for Sheila’s safety, and found
her making tea for him in Burns's cot-
tage, he forgot all his troubles. :
That was the happiest afternoon he
had ever spent. He left Sheila at
went out of his
head. Malopo had, indeed, been pre- |
nightfall, confident that all would be
well with them. An unreality hung
day since he had been with her in the
little house in the suburbs on the night
after his arrival in Malopo.
He slept—but suddenly he found
himself upon his feet, groping for his
clothes. Fear hung heavily over him,
and he did not know what Intuition
had awakened him. But he thought of
Sheila in imminent danger.
He struck a match, lit his lamp, and
went to the window. There had been
a heavy shower, but the rain had
ceased now, and it seemed not far
from the dawn. The stars were bril-
liant in a cloudless sky.
Far away Winton heard an inde-
finable murmuring sound as of a num-
ber of voices. It dwindled and grew
again, and suddenly swelled into a
tumult, which seemed to spread along
the ridge of the fields. There was no
mistaking its portent.
riot had broken out.
And suddenly the night was cloven
CUO,
the savages were approaching, with
the evident intention of attacking the
But I watched
{ building.
from among the rocks and recognized | g.
They were seen. The yells were re-
I doubled. A spear whizzing through
the air buried itself in the ground at
Winton’s feet just as he reached his
Goor.
He pushed Sheila Inside, ran to his
. table, and grabbed his revolver, load-
i ing it hurriedly and thrusting two or
three handfuls of cartridges into his
| pocket. Then he ran back to receive
| the fugitive, of whose presence he had
| heen subconsciously aware, although
| his mind had been filled with Sheila.
Me recognized Sam and greeted him.
Sam sank down on the floor, panting
und sweating. His foremost pursuer
was not twenty feet distant. Winton
aimed methodically and fired.
The man flung up his arms and fell
with a scream. The mob behind, which
had been streaming on in a disorder-
ly mass, stopped short. Winton fired
again and another native dropped.
The savages, disconcerted, bolted, re-
formed, and began to spread out about
the cottage. A few had spears, but
there were, of course, no firearms
among them, and the majority were
armed with nothing more formidable
than knobkerries, the native shillalah.
Sam in turn dragged Winton inside
and bolted the door. They faced each
other, . i
“What is it, Sam?”
“It's a rebellion,” gasped the negro.
“They've broken out all along the
fields. I heard the uproar and went
into the compound. I thought our boys
would co-operate, after our social—"
“Never mind that, Sam. Yours was
a brave act.”
“No, sir,” gasped Sam. “IL was sure
moral suasion—appeal to human broth-
erhood—no primitive instincts in our
men—was mistaken.”
“Yes, your theory didn’t work. Now
we've got to save Miss Seaton—Mis”
Davis here—"
“They’ve killed Josephs, sir.”
“What?” cried Winton in horror.
| Sam began to shake. “They stuck’
a spear right through his body, sir.
He had gone in alone. They nearly
got me. We're all as good as dead.”
| “Nonsense!” answered Winton, try-
' to convince himself that the outbreak
i was one of those sporadic riots that
occurred periodically in the com-
pounds, and had no connection with
the threatened rising of the tribes. He
looked at Sheila, who smiled bravely
and laid her hands on his arms and
looked up at him.
“I'm not afraid, Winton,” she said.
“We'll have help soon—we must,”
said Winton with conviction.
, . But the yells increased again, and
there came another rush for the door.
Winton opened it suddenly and dis-
charged his revolver. Screams fol-
lowed and a panicky retreat. He bolt-
ed it again and recharged the weapon.
A spear came upward through the
open window, glanced off the angle
formed by the wall and roof, and
dropped flat at Sam’s feet. Winton
fired out into the black faces massed
beneath. Another scurry followed and
two more natives writhed on ue
ground. :
The mine boys had discarded the
trappings of semicivilization. The ob-
sequious diggers had become native
warriors, dressed for the most part in
loincloths alone. Their rolling eyes
and painted faces gave them a dia-
bolical aspect. 2
From the window Winton could see
fires rising everywhere along the
fields.
over the past, and it seemed only a
“If we can hold out half an hour
help must come,” he sald to Sam.
(Continued next week).
COPPER DRAGON OF BEFFROI
Twelve-Foot Weather Vane in Ghent
Celebrates Its Five Hundred and
Forty-Sixth Anniversary.
The Copper Dragon of Beffrol, In
Ghent, has just celebrated its five
hundred and forty-sixth birthday on
the top of its lofty perch on the Beff-
roi, over 800 feet above the ground. It
is six feet in height and eleven and
one-half feet in length, measured from
the tip of its enormous tongue to the
end of its tail. :
The copper grasshopper atop
Somewhere a
by a column of fire that shot upward, |
| ing survived two earthquakes.
flluminating a smoky cloud that
drifted slowly across the stars.
Winton thrust on his clothes hur- |
riedly and ran out of the room toward
Burns's cottage. He knocked hard on
the door,
“Sheila!” he called. “Sheila!”
He heard her answer. She came to
the other side of the door, and he
begged her to dress hastily and come
out to him. He waited through ago-
nizing moments. The tumult was grow-
ing. It was spreading from compound
to compound.
Then there arose within his own
compound a terrific babel, so sudden-
ly and unexpectedly that it seemed as
Faneuil hall, Boston, was designed by
Shem Drowne, a coppersmith of colo-
nial days. Over 180 years old, it has
had an interesting history, being pres-
ent at the Boston tea party and hav-
Perhaps the public tired of gauging
the wind by the weather report in
next day’s newspaper; or perhaps the
ornamental possibilities of this new
idea in vane design have given a new
| fillip to the use of this time-honored
' institution. Whatever the reason, the
if by preconcerted agreement. And
all at once the enclosure was filled
with a mob of yelling savages. Belore
them a man, dressed in European
clothes, went flying for his life.
“Sheila!” called Winton desperately. |
. She opened the door and stood be- !
fére him dressed, with her unbound
hair hanging down her back. There
was no need to explain anything. She
ran to him and clung to him.
Winton hurried her toward the cot-
tage. It did not seem much of a
refuge, but at least he had his re
volver there, and on both sides of him
weather vane is coming back.
Only Half Efficient.
“These scientific management peo-
ple,” says a well-known business man,
“with their extraordinary ideas of
doubling or trebling a man’s labor, re-
mind me ot the humble hod carrier's
fmpossible promise.
“Now a facetious boss sald to a
new hod carrier:
“00k here, didn't I hire you to
earry bricks up that ladder by the
day?
“Yes, sir, said the hod carrier.
“Well, I have had my eye on you,
and you've only done it ha!f a day to-
day. You spent the other half coming
down the ladder.
“Whereupon, the hod carrier, with a
grin, responded:
“syery well, sir, I'll try to do bet-
ter tomorrow.’”
—— Subscribe for the “Watchman.”