ABER
The ability of Mr, McCutcheon to
fnvent clever, bang, nighly interest-
ng plots seems to
be without limit.
In each of his
novels there is an
unusual situation
or unique idea.
In “Graustark” it
was the tantaliz-
ing position of a
patriotic Ameri-
can who loved |
and was loved in
return by a fam-
ily-controlled an
politically - boun
European prin-
cess. In “Brew-
ster’s Millions” the
engaging young
hero was con-
fronted with the
necessity of
George Barr spending a mil-
Cutcheon. lion dollars in a
year without giv-
ing any of it away, making useless
purchases or indulging in wild extrav-
agance. In “Viola Gwyn” two young
people, ardently in love with each oth-
er, but whose birth records were con-
fused, were confronted with the pos-
sibility that they might be brother and
sister. In the present story, “Oliver
October,” you will find an even more
original and remarkable situation.
eorge Barr McCutcheon, born on a
farmin Tippecanoe county, Indiana, be-
an his writing career as a reporter in
fayette, Ind., shortly after gradua-
tion from Purdue university. is first
novel, “Graustark,” was published in
901. Its popularity was instantaneous. |
t seems to have struck exactly the |
right chord with romance lovers, and
continues to be a favorite, .its annual
sales still ylelding its author substan-
tial royalties. It resulted in a series
of several novels, in which many of
the same characters appeared, and
which were received no less graciously
than the first one. For a number of
ears Mr. McCutcheon has been almost
he king of romance in America. He
i written upward of 40 novels, most-
Me-
y romantic in character, besides a
arge number of short stories, the lat-
ter chiefly of a humorous nature.
It has been said that no one excels
McCutcheon in ability to portray beau-
tiful heroines and make them real. It
is a certainty that his girls are all
captivating in the highest degree, while
not one of them seems too much so to
be human. He is also an exeellent
master of humor and character draw-
ing, and is an expert in the art of fit-
ting tense dramatic situations into his
stories. “Oliver October” is a thor-
oughly interesting story and probabl
different from anything you ever read.
CHAPTER 1
Oliver, Born in October
Oliver October Baxter, Jr.,, was born
in the town of Rumley on a vile Octo-
ber day in 1890. Rumley people were
divided in thelr excitement over this
event and the arrival of a band of
gypsies, camped on the edge of the
swamp below the Baxter house.
Oliver's parents were prominent in
the commercial, social and spiritual life
of the town. His father was the pro-
prietor of the hardware store, a prom-
fnent member of the Presbyterian
church, and a leader in the local lodge
of Odd Fellows. His mother, Mary
Baxter, a comely, capable young wom-
an, was beloved by all. No finer
“youngun” than Oliver October had
ever been born, according to Mrs.
Serepta Grimes, and Serepta was an
authority on babies. If was she who
took command of Oliver, his mother
and his father, the house itself, and all
that therein was.
As the story of Oliver October really
begins at 7 o'clock in the cvening of
his birthday, we will open the narra-
tive with Mr. Joseph Sikes, Mr. Bax-
ter’'s old and trusted friend, hovering
fn solitary gloom over the baseburner
in the sitting room of Baxter's house.
He was interrupted in his gloomy medi-
tations by the slamming of the kitchen
door. His brow grew dark. This was
no time to be slamming doors.
Rushing to open the door, he was
confronted by a pair of total strangers
—a tall man with short black whiskers
and a frail little woman with red, wind-
smitten cheeks.
“] am Oliver Baxter's sister,” an-
nounced the woman, “and this is my
husband, Mr, Gooch. We drove all the
way over here from Hopkinsville to
take charge of things for my brother.”
“Well, I guess if you are his sister
you'd better come into the sitting room
and take your things off,” said Mr.
Sikes, leading the Way.
Mrs. Gooch, having divested herself
of coat, scarf, bonnet and overshoes,
straightened her hair before the look-
ing glass, while her husband surveyed
the room and its contents with the dis- |
dainful air of one used to much better
things.
Gooch typified prosperity of the
meaner kind. Over in Hopkinsville he
was considered the richest and the
stingiest man in town. He was what
1s commonly called a “tax shark,” de
riving a lucrative and obnoxious in-
'come through his practice of buying up
real estate at tax sales and holding it
til it was redeemed by the hard-
pressed owner, or, as it happened in
many instances, acquiring the property
under a provision of the state law
then in operation, whereby after a pre-
‘scribed lapse of time he was enabled
to-secure a tax deed In his own name.
No. one, not even his fellow church
members, had ever been known to get
ghe better of him. ood
ly OCTOBER.
COPYRIGHT.BELL SYNDICATE (W.N.U. SERVICE)
“I shall take charge here,” Mrs.
Gooch announced to Mr. Sikes. “Is
this the way upstairs?”
Mr, Sikes nodded. “But if 1 was
you,” he said, “I'd ask Serepty Grimes
before I took charge here.”
“I will soon get rid of Mrs. Grimes,”
said she, tossing her head.
As she started to leave the room, a
loud knocking at the front door rose
above the howl of the wind. Sikes, re-
suming his office as master of cere
monies, pushed his way past Mrs.
Gooch and opened the door to admit
a woman and two men. The first to
enter the sitting room was a tall man
wearing a thin black overcoat and a
high silk hat. This was Rev. Herbert
Sage, pastor of the Presbyterian church
of Rumley. The lady was his wife.
The other member of the trio, a fat,
red-faced, jolly looking man of Iinde-
terminate age, was Silas Link, the
undertaker, upholsterer and liveryman
of Rumley.
“Reverend” Sage was a good-looking
young man of thirty, threadbare and a
trifle wan, with kindly brown eyes set
deep under a broad, intelligent brow.
His wife was, surprisingly enough, a
handsome, dashing young woman. She
was tall, willowy and startling. She
wore a sealskin coat—at least it looked
like seal—with sleeves that ballooned
grandly at the shoulders; rather stun-
ning coral earrings made up of gradu-
ated globes and a slinky satin skirt of
black. :
“Good evening, Mr. Sikes,” she
drawled, as she scuffled past him into
the sitting room. “Nice balmy weather
to be born in, isn’t it?”
Mr. Sikes, taken unawares, forgot
himself so far as to wink at the par
son, and then, in some confusion, stam-
mered: “St-step right in, Mrs. Sage,
and have a chair. Let me make you
acquainted with Oliver's sister, from
Hopkinsville. Reverend Sage, Mrs,
Gooch. Mr. Link, Mrs. Gooch. And
this is Oliver's brother-in-law, her hus-
band, also of Hopkinsville.”
Everybody bowed,
“How is your dear brother,
Gooch?’ inquired Mr. Sage.
“l didn’t know there was anything
the matter with Oliver.”
“There isn’t anything the matter
with him,” sald Mrs. Sage, “that a
good, stiff drink of whisky won’t cure.”
“Ahem!” coughed her husband, He
had the worried manner of one who
never knew what is coming next.
His wife looked up into his face and
smiled—a lovely, good-humored smile
that was slowly transformed info a
mischievous grimace.
“I'm always making breaks, am 1
not, Herby r? It's a terrible strain,
Mr. Gooch, being a parson’s wife.”
“Umph!” grunted Mr. Gooch.
At this juncture the sitting room
door was opened and the proud father,
followed by Serepta Grimes, entered
the room. Beaming, he surveyed the
assembled gathering,
“He's got the finest head you ever
saw,” he announced. “Got a head like
a statesman.”
Reverend Sage had moved over to
one of the windows, while the other
occupants ‘of the room surrounded Bax-
ter, and was gazing out between the
curtains across the gale-swept porch
into the blacknegs beyond. He shiv-
ered a litile, poor chap, at the thought
of going out again into the bitter, un-
believable night—at the thought of his
Mrs.
“cold little home at the farther end of
the village,
He was thinking, too, of his wife and
the mile walk she would have to take
with him Into the very teeth of the
buffeting gale when this visit was over.
She had ceme to this wretched little
town from a great city, where houses
and flats were warm and snug, He
thought of the warm little rocm on the
third floor of the boarding house where
he had lived and studied for two full
years. Kt was in this house that he had
met Josephine Judge. She was the
daughter of the kindly widow who con-
ducted the boarding house—a tall, slim
. girl who used slang and was gay and
blithesome, and had ambitions! Ambi-
tions? She wanted to become an
actress. She was stage-struck.
He was not a theater-going youth.
He had been brought up with an ab-
horrence for the stage and all its in-
iquities. So he devoted himself, heart
and soul, to the saving of the mis-
guided malden, with astonishing re-
sults. They fell in love with each
other and were married.
He pressed his face against the cold
pane, striving to rid his mind of the
doubts and worries that beset it.
‘Suddenly he drew back with an ex-
clamation. - The light fell full upon a
face close to the window pane, a face
so startling and so vivid that it did not
appear to be real. A pair of dark,
gleaming eyes met his for a few sec
onds; then swiftly the face was with-
druwn He leaned forward and peered
intently Twe ndistinet figures took
shape In the unrelleved darkness at the
corner of the porch—tweo women, he
made out.
“Joseph,” he called, “there are two
strange women on the porch. Perhaps
you—" 5 ;
“Go see who it Is, Joe,” commanded
Mrs. Grimes crisply.
Sikes hastened to obey, and returned
presently in great excitement.
“Say, Ollie,” he burst out, “there's
a couple of women out here from that
gypsy camp. They claim to be fortune-
tellers. One of 'em wants to tell the
baby’s fsrtune. She says she knowed
a couple of weeks ago that he was go-
ing to be born today, that’s what she
says.” .
“Well, I'm not going to allow any
gypsy woman to go nigh that infant,”
cried Mrs. Grimes.
“She says it ain’t necessary to even
see the baby. She says the only re
liable and genuine way to tell a baby’s
fortune Is by reading its futher's
hand.”
Mr. Baxter arose. “Bring her in,
Joe. Now. don’t kick, Serepty. My
mind’s made up. I'm going to know
my son’s future.”
Mr. Sikes rushed from the room. A
moment later he returned, followed by
two shivering women who stopped just
inside the door. :
The host, with a nervous sort of
geniality, beckoned to the strangers,
“Better come down to the fire, Queen.” |
he said.
The elder woman fixed a curious
look upon Mr. Baxter.
“I am the queen of the gypsies, Mis-
ter, but how came you to know it?”
Full
Close to a Window Pane.
The Light Fell Upon a Face
she asked in a hoarse, not unmusical
voice. !
“Always best to be on the safe side,”
said Baxter. “But look here. Do you
mean to say, Queen, that you can look
at my hand and tell what's ahead of
my boy upstairs?”
“First, you must cross my palm with
silver.”
The company drew their chairs
closer as Baxter dropped some coins :
into the gypsy's palm. Silence per- |
vaded the room. Every eye was on the !
dark, impassive face of the fortune- |
teller as she seized Ollie’s hand and
began:
“I see a wonderful child. He is
strong and sturdy. I can see this son
of yours, mister, as a leader of men.
Great honor is in store for him, and
great wealth. I see men in uniform
following your son—many men, mis-
ter, and all of them armed. I see
him as a successful man, as the head
of great undertakings. He has been
out of college but a few years.”
“That will please his mother,” said
Baxter, snifiling.
“Sh!” put in Mr. Sikes testily,
“I see him,” continued the fortune:
teller, “as he Is nearing thirty. Rich,
respected and admired. He will have
many affairs of the heart. I see two
dark women and—one, two—yes, three
fair women.”
“That would seem to show that he's
going to be a purty good-looking sort
of a feller, wouldn't it?” said Baxter,
proudly.
“He will grow up to be the image of
his father, mister.”
The gypsy leaned back In her chair,
spreading her hands in a gesture of
finality.
“I see no more,” she sald.
“Is that all?’ Mr. Baxter sniffed.
“Well, Queen, I guess you took us all |
in purty neatly.” ; !
Outraged royalty turned on him.
“You scoff at me. For that you shall |
have the truth. All that I have told '
you will come true. But I did not tell
you of the end that I saw for him.
Hark ye! This son of yours will go to
the gallows. He will swing from the
end of a rope for a crime of which he
is not guilty.” She was now speaking
in a high shrill voice; her hearers sat
open-mouthed, as if under a spell that
could not be shaken off. “It is all as
plain as the noonday sun. He will
never reach the age of thirty. That
is all. That Is the end. I have spoken
the truth. You forced me to do so.
I go.”
rem—
CHAPTER II
Ten Years Later
fen years passed. years of change
and growth Rumley had: not stoed
! visit to her mother.
. at once for New York, where she had
still during the decade. It was the
proud boast of its most enterprising
citizen, Silas Link, that it had done
a great deal better than Chicago: it
had tripled its population.
Oliver Baxter, Sr., owned one of
the new business “blocks” on Clay
street. It was knewn as the Baxter
block, erected in 1896.
Mary Baxter died of typhoid fever
when young Oliver was nearing seven.
Her untimely demise revived the half-
forgotten prophecy of the gypsy for-
tune-teller. People looked severely at
each other and in hushed tones dis-
- cussed the inexorable ways of fate. It
was the first “sign” that young Oliver's
fortune was coming true.
Of an entirely different nature was
the agitation created by the un-
rightzous behavior of Josephine Sage,
who had finally succumbed to the lure
of the stage, leaving her husband and
child, in order to gratify her. life's am-
bition. Half the women in town, on
learning that she was going to Chicago
for a brief visit with her folks, went
around to the parsonage to kiss her
good-by. Excoriation and a stream of
“I told you so’s” were bestowed upon
the preity young wife and mother
when it became known that she wae
not coming back.
Herbert Sage was stunned, bewll-
dered. . She wrote him from
Chicago at the end of the first week
of what was to have heen a fortnight's
She was leaving
been promised a trial by one of the
greatest American producers. A month
later came a telegram from her say-
ing she was rehearsing a part in a new
piece that was sure to be the “hit o*
the season.”
“You will be proud of me, Herby,”
she wrote, “because I will take mighty
good care that you never have any rea-
son to be ashamed of me or for me
to be ashamed of myself. You know
what T mean. I don't suppose I will
say my prayers as often as I did when
you were around to remind me of them,
but I will be a good girl just the same.”
That was four years ago. Her confi
dence in herself had been Justified.
and, for all we know, the same may be
said of Herbert Sage's confidence in
her. She had the talent, the voice, the
beauty, and above all, the magnetism,
and so there was no hoiding her back.
For two successive seasons she ap-
peared in a Chicago theater, following
long New York runs of the pieces In
which she was playing.
Finally, in one of her letters an-
nouncing a prospegtive engagement in
London, she put the question to him:
“Do you want to get a divorce from
me, Herby?' His reply was terse and
brought from her the following un-
dignified but manifestly sincere tele-
gram: “Neither do I, so we'll stick
till the cows come home. Sailing Fri-
day. Will cable. Much love.”
She made a “hit” in London In the
big musical success of that season.
They liked her so well over there that
they wouldn’t let her go back to the
States.
* * ® % ® ® *
She was greatly missed by little Oli-
ver October. For some reason—per-
haps she did not explain it herself—at
any rate, she did not go to the trouble
of speculating—she had taken a tre-
mendous fancy to the child. This small
boy of five or six was the only being in
town with whom she could play to
her heart’s content, and she made the
most of him. Her own tiny baby,
Jane, interested but did not amuse
her.
Oliver was always to have a warm
corner in her heart for the gay Aunt
Josephine, but new diverting games re-
i duced his passionate longing for her to
a mild but pleasant memory. Perhaps,
too, her own daughter had something
to do with Josephine’s fading from Oli-
ver's mind.
For Janie Sage, at the age of six,
was by far the prettiest and the most
sought after young lady in Rumley.
Oliver was her chosen swain, and
many were the battles he fought in her
defense.
The time came when Oliver October
Baxter, age ten, had to be told what
was in store for him if he did not
mend his ways. For, be it here re-
corded, Oliver not only possessed a
quick temper, but a surprisingly san-
guinary way of making it felt.
He was a rugged,
youngster with curly brown hair, a
pair of stout legs, and a couple of hard
little fists, with which he made his
temper felt.
It was after witnessing a particular- |
ly ferocious battle between Oliver and 3ePot by a delegation.
freckle-faced
Nobody on this earth can foretell the
fature. All that talk about your be-
ing hung some day is poppycock—pure
poppycock. Don’t you believe a word
of it. I came upstairs with you just
for the purpose of telling you this—
not really to hear your prayers. Now
don’t you feel better?”
“Yes, sir,” said Oliver. “I do.”
“What I want you to do, Oliver, is to
go on—leading a—er—regular boy's
life. Do the things that are right and
square, be honest and fearless—and
no harm will ever come to you. Now,
turn over and go to sleep, there's a
good boy.” ;
And the kind-hearted minister went |
downstairs feeling that he had given
the poor lad something besides the
gallows to think about.
* *® * * * LJ *
It is not the purpose of the narrator
of this story to deal at length with the
deeds, explvits, mishaps and sensations
of Oliver October as a child. He was
“Yes, Sir,” Said Oliver, “l Do.
seventeen when he left Rumley high
school and became a freshman at the
state university. The last of the three
decades allotted to him by the gypsy
was shorn of its first twelve months
when he received his degree. As Mr.
Sikes announced to Reverend Sage at
the conclusion of the coiamencement
exercises, he had lesssthan_ nine more
years to live at the very outside—a
gloomy statement that drew from the
proud and happy minister an unusual- |
ly harsh rejoinder.
“You ought to be kicked all the way
home for saying such a thing as that,
Joe Sikes.” Turning to the slim, pretty
girl who walked beside him across the
June-warmed campus, he said com-
fortingly: “Don’t mind this old croak- .
er, Jane dear.”
A word in passing about Jane Sage
Slender, graceful, slightly above
‘medium height, just turning into young
womanhood, she was an extremely
pretty girl.
She adored Oliver October. There
had been a time when she was his
sweetheart, but that was ages ago—
when both of them were young! Now
he was supposed to be engaged to a
girl in the graduating class—and Jane
was going to be an old maid—so the
childish romance was over.
Late in the fall of 1911, young Ol-
ver, having passed the age of twenty-
one, packed his bag and trunk, shook
the dust of Rumley from his feet, and
accepted a position in the construction
department of a Chicago engineering
and investment concern.
Early in 1913 he was sent to China
by his company on a mission that kept
him in thee Orient for nearly a year and
a half. A week before Christmas, 1914,
the Rumley Dispatch came out with
the announcement—under a double
head—that Oliver October Baxter was
returning from the Far East, where he
had been engaged In the most stu-
pendous enterprise ever undertaken
by American capital.
Sammy Parr, that Joseph Sikes and
Silas Link decided that the boy must
be warned of the fate that awaited
him if his awful temper was not
curbed.
And go it came to pass that young
Oliver October learned what was in
store for him if his “fortune” came
true. In the presence of his father,
his good friend, Mr. Sage, who had op-
posed telling the boy, and the Mesars.
| Link and Sikes, he was made to realize
the vastness of the dark and terrifying
shadow that hung over him.
When they had finished, he cleared
his throat. “I wish my ma was here,”
he said, his lip trembling.
“Amen to that,” said Mr, Sage, fer-
vently.
“Amen!” repeated Mr. Link in his
most professional volce.
Mr, Sage laid a hand on the boy's
shoulder. “Do you say your prayers
every night, Oliver?”
“Yes, sir—I do.”
“Well—er—Iif Brother Baxter doesn't
mind, and if you gentlemen will ex-
cuse me, I think I will go upstairs with
|
i
‘When he arrived, he was met at the
“I can’t believe my eyes—no, sir, I
can’t,” cried old Oliver, quaveringly as
he wrung his son’s hand. “You're back
again, alive and sound.”
“You bet I'm alive,” answered Oliver
' October, laying his arm over the old
man’s shoulder and patting his back.
“It's mighty good to see you, and it's
wonderful to be back in the old town |
again. Hello, Uncle Joe! Well, you |
see they haven't hung me yet.”
“And they ain't going to if I can help |
it,” roared Mr. Sikes, pumping Oliver's |
arm vigorously. “Not on your life! |
It's all fixed, Oliver.
the appointment of city elvil ehgineer
We've got you |
. of Rumley.”
Oliver and—and listen to his prayer.”
A little later on, the tall, spare pas-
tor sat on the side of young Oliver's
trundle bed and talked in a confiden-
tial whisper.
“I am going to tell you something,
. Oliver, and'I want you to believe it.
“You needn't worry about that, fa-
ther. I'l not accept the position.”
Mr. Baxter brightened. “You won't?
Good for you! That'll show Joe Sikes
and Silas Link they can’t run every-
thing.”
Presently they drew up in front of
the Baxter residence, and as they did
#0 an uncommonly pretty girl opened
the front door.
“Hello, Oliver!” she cried.
“Hella, Jane!” he shouted back, as
he ran up the steps. “Gee! I\’s great
to see you. And, my goodness, what &
dig girl you are.”
He was holding her warm, strong
hands in his own; they were looking
straight into each other's eyes.
“You haven't grown much,” she sald
slowly. “Except that you are a man
and not a boy.”
“That's it,” he cried. “The differs
ence In you is that you're a woman
and not a girl.”
“Come in,” she said, with a queer
dignity that she herself did not under-
stand.
When he came downstairs, after
having unpacked his bags and scat-
tered the contents all over the room,
he found the “company” already as-
sembled. As might have been ex-
pected, the guests included Rev. Mr.
Sage, Mr. Sikes and Mr. Link, and
one outsider, the mayor of Rumley,
Mr. Samuel Belding.
“What's this I hear?” demanded the
latter sternly, as he shook hands with
the young man. “Your father's just
been telling us you won’t accept the
distinguished honor the city of Rum-
ley has conferred upon you. What's
the matter with it?”
“The truth of the matter is,” Oliver
answered seriously, “I have other
plans, I'm going Over There in Feb-
ruary with the Canadians, It's all
settled. I'm to have my old job back
when the war is over.”
“But it's not our war!” cried Mr.
Sikes.
“It’s everybody's war,” spoke young
Oliver out of the very depths of his
soul. “We will be in it some day.
Oh, I'll come back, never fear. You
see, Uncle Joe, I've just got to pull
through alive and well, so that I can
be hung when my time comes.”
Tc be Continued.
Filipinos Continue to
Believe in Talismans
A young Filipino descended from a
“gatmaytan” or ancient feudal prince
known as Maiki is seeking the en-
chanted kerchief which gave hig illus-
trious ancestor supernatural powers,
such as that of charming birds so that
they would alight upon his extended
finger, or philandering with other
men’s wives without arousing jealousy
on the part of the offended husbands.
The kerchief is known in the family
traditions as “the kerchief from the
angel in moon.” With other talismans
and amulets, it is supposed to have
been secretly buried by the chieftain
before he died. Each succeeding eldest
son has searched for the spot in vain,
American schools endeavor to disabuse
the native mind of its belief in talis-
mans, but the belief 1s still wide-
spread; a mysticism almost abysmal
in depth affects the psychology of the
people.
It was only recently necessary for
the police In a town adjoining Manila
to take into custody an adolescent boy
to whom thousands of fhe afflicted
were going because it was said his
possession of an enchantment be-
stowed upon him healing powers.
Not far from this town a gang of
counterfeiters were recently ralded by
a constabulary squad. To conceal evi-
dence the men threw their dies into &
stream back of their shanty. Washer-
women later found one of the dies,
and when they cleaned it they discov-
ered the Image of Maria Cristina,
i queen regent of" Spain prior to King
: Alfonso’s coming of age. The old wom-
an conceived this image to be that of
the Virgin, and soon a story was
abroad that the die (of the true nature
. of which no one had the least concep-
tion, not even the local officials) had
been miraculously hidden in the
stream bed and that a great blessing
would ensue from its discovery. From
surrounding towns people by thou-
sands began making pilgrimages to the
fortunate village, to adore the image
and receive its blessing.
Vets Plant Memorial Trees
One hundred and sixteen new mem-
bers of the American Tree association
at Washington have been registered,
following a tree planting on a memo-
rial walk, by the United States Veter-
ang’ hospital, No. 100, Battle Creek.
Mich. Among others, trees were plant-
ed for President Coolidge, General
Pershing, Woodrow Wilson, Warren G.
Harding, Robert BE. Lee, General Miles,
Clara Barton, Mabel Boardman, Abra-
ham Lincoln, Joyce Kilmer, Plans for
the tree planting were directed by
Emma L. Kotz and Dr. William M,
Dobson. The tree association sends
tree-planting instructions and tree-day
| programs for a stamp to pay postage.
The memorial walk is of silver maples
Does Active Work at 88
R. R.® Woodring of Nampa, Idaho,
cannot play golf like the senior Rocke-
feller, but upon the occasion of the
oil magnate’s recent birthday when he
played a round of golf and got much
publicity, Mr. Woodring pointed out to
the newspaper reporters that he him-
self of similar age, was quite active.
He mowed the lawn while the repori-
ers stood by recording the proof, Mr.
Woodring mows grass for eight to ten
. hours dally as a regular vocation.—
. Chicago Post.
Homecoming Proved Fatal
Thomas O'Rourke of Liverpool, Eng:
land, at the age of sixty-nine, decided
to revisit his boyhood home in Bel-
fast, Ireland. As he reached the beau-
tiful Mourne mountains near Kllkeel
he stopped at the foot of the hill lead:
ing upward to his old home and after
a few seconds dropped dead. Physi-
clans say his death was caused by the
emotional excitement and joy whieh
were too much for his physiesl conds-
tion at his age.
Italy’s Streets Narrow
Few streets In. Italy: are broads
enough to permit street cars.