6 COMRADERY. Oood comrade mine, I do not care Along what path our £eet shall fare. So be we toss! our burdens by, Ar.d wander free beneath the sky, K-iic brethren of the sun and air. The morn «aits us, and the noon; Ay*, even till the peer of moon. With fern ai.d flower, with bird and bee, With reed and vine, with grass and tree, ■Our spirits shall be close In tune. Jtr.d well I know that we shall bring iStack from our outland'gypsying A largess captured from the mirth And lovlngr.ess of mother-earth Whose soul is ever like the spring. TTien ftrlp the pilgrim staff. Afar Viie hills and hermit hollows are; The sun pours 'round us virgin gold. Ami from yon violet height, behold, The unknown beckons like a star! —Clinton Scollard, in N. Y. Independent. / \ A Knave of Conscience By FRANCIS LYNDE. ICoyyrigbt I'JUU, by i'raiicia Ljudu.) CHAPTER XXVII. The day after the riot—the day Upon which Margery Grierson had asked her father for bread and got « stone—was fraught with other happenings to more than one of those whose trivial tale this is. The first of these fell upon Jasper Grier son, ns we have seen, and was little short of a rebellion in his own house bold. The next was of import to one Andrew Galbraith. The president of the Bayou state bank was spending a very pleasant | vacation in the quiet Minnesota sura- Bier resort. The people at the hotel were chiefly from New Orleans, and hence ctr.genial; the cooking was good, the weather perfect, and the few social doors of the town that Mr. CSulbrnith cared to enter were opened wide to him. Moreover, Mr. Jasper | Grierson had been exceedingly kind to a crabbed old man who was with out kith or kin to make much of him; end Miss Margery had quite neglect esl the younger men to be gracious to him. It was 111 the forenoon of this day of happenings, while Mr. Galbraith •was smoking his after-breakfast ci gar 011 the great veranda which over looks the lake, that a caller was an nounced. A bellboy brought the card from the office, and Mr. Galbraith ad- Justed bis glasses leisurely and read the name. "'Mr. Kenneth Griswold,' eh? I •don't recall the name. Stop a bit—- yes, I do. He is Miss Maggie's writ er friend. Ask him if he will step out here, where it's cooler." The bellboy disappeared, and pres ently returned, towing Griswold. The old man rose with the courtly good breeding of the elder genera tion and shook hands with his visitor. "I am glad to met you, Mr. Gris wold. Miss Grierson has often spoken of you. Sit down—sit down and be comfortable. If you could only have our Louisiana winters to put with your summers, this would be Para dise itself." Griswold made shift to make some Acknowledgment, sat down, and be gan to fumble for his cigar case. What he had come prepared to say to Mr. Galbraith was not made any easier by this instant lugging in of Margery Grierson as his social spon sor. "A cigar?" said the banker, inter xogatively. "Try one of mine; they are Cubans with a pedigree, -and if I may toot my own pipe a bit, I'll say they are not to be duplicated this side of New Orleans." Griswold took the proffered cigar end was still more ill at ease. While he hesitated, not knowing exactly how to begin the tale which should twist itself into a warning to the ■would-be purchaser of worthless pine lands, the old nian leaned back in his chair, regarding him with kindly in terest.. But all at once he sat up very straight, and the kindly gaze be came a sharp scrut'.ny. "Have you ever been in New Or leans, Mr. Griswold?" he asked, ab ruptly. Griswold was instantly on his guard, but in the thick of it he set his teeth upon a sudden resolve not to lie. "i have; but not very recently." "li'm; may I ask how recently?" "1 was south for a few weeks last spring, and spent part of the time in New Orleans." Andrew Galbraith sat back in his chair, and for all his apparent lapse Into disinterest, Griswold could see the long upper Hp twitch nervously. "li'm; last spring, you say? We had quite a bit of excitement last •pring, Mr. Griswold. Did you chance to hear of the robbery of the Bayou bank while you were there?" Now Griswold knew that, notwith standing the seeming abstraction of his questioner, he was under the •sharpest surveillance that u pair of well-trained <>l<l eyes could bring to bear; knew this, and made sure thut the slightest hesitation, the merest quivering of a muscle, would betray liiui. So, though his lips wer# parched and his tongue clave to his teeth, he answered with wcll-sium kited nonchalance: "1 read of it in the newspaper* on my way north," lie said, with exact and literal truthfulness, "I remem ber thinking it was the most bru/cn thing I had ever heard of. I presume you know all the parties concerned?" This was said with the mildest pos slide -I lading of decent curio ity, and a very master stroke of evasion, whit h did its work effectually for the time. Andrew Galbraith smiled u sour little smile, and confessed that Jbe uoe.v utlv ol ibc put lie* vcij vu'U indeed, and went about to explain that the Bayou bank was his bank. Griswold listened respectfully, said | "Ah? it must have been a thrilling \ experience," and said no more. And j if lie had been from his earliest child hood the closest student of the va rious methods of averting a crisis he could not have done better. A little interval of smokers' silence intervened, and Griswold was the t first to break it. The thing he had come to say admitted no preface, so he began in the midst. "What 1 came here this morning to tell you, Mr. Galbraith, may strike you as an odd thing with which to be gin an acquaintance; but as we have 110 mutual friends, and as common justice is, or should be, more far reaching than mere acquaintance, I felt it my duty to come. I happened to hear the other day that you were likely to become interested with Mr. Grierson in the Red Lake pine lands. Was my information correct?" Andrew Galbraith's eyes looked j their shrewdest at this, but he an- | swered in the affirmative, and Gris wold went on. "Pardon me if I seem impertinent, but is the transaction concluded?" The banker said it was, in effect; that it wanted but the passing of a check to its conclusion. "It involves a good bit of money, doesn't it?" "It does that, but it's a fine chance to make money." "May I ask upon what you base j that statement?" "Why, my dear sir! upon the stand ing pine, to be sure. At the present rate of consumption, a five-year hold- ! ing of a good-sized bit of virgin pine land will treble its value." "Of virgin forest —exactly. But this particular tract you are buying has been culled and re-culled for ten years or more." "Wlia—what's that you're saying?" Andrew Galbraith staggered up out of his chair heavily, and Griswold saw again the terrified president of the Bayou bank as he had seen him on that momentous morning in the private office in New Orleans. But this time the start was only momen tary. Mr. Galbraith sat down again, and picked up the cigar he had dropped in the shock of it; picked it up and wiped it carefully with true Scottish eanniness. "I think you must be mistaken, Mr. Griswold," lie went on."1 have a file of expert reports thick enough to make a book!" Griswold rose and held out his hand. "I have done what I conceived to be my duty, Mr. Galbraith —a rather disagreeable duty at that—and I hope you'll pardon me if I have seemed unwarrantably meddlesome. But I also hope you will send an ex perienced land looker whom you can trust absolutely before you let that check pass. Good morning." CHAPTER XXVIII. In the matter of the armistice Margery was as good as her word— and a little better. She did not go j over to the enemy promptly upon its ! expiration, as she had said she would. Instead, she gave her father another and a final warning. "Oh, pshaw! what can you do?" ; was his rather contemptuous rejoin der when she reminded him that the peace protocol had expired by lim itation. "That is neither here nor there," she returned, coolly. "You will find out what I can do if you drive me to it." "Bah!" said the man,"to do you've got to know. You don't know any thing about my business." "This is your last word, is it?" "You can call it anything you like. Go ahead with your pigeon shooting any time you're ready." Margery bit her lip, gave a little sigh, which might have been of dis appointment or of renunciation, and said 110 more. But the following morning, after a call upon some newly come guests at the resort hotel, she made it a point to stumble upon Mr. Andrew Gal braith, who was smoking a peaceful cigar on the veranda. The purpose of the stumbling was meant to be very obvious; was obvious, since she made it the occasion of inviting the banker to join the party in the launch for an afternoon on the lake. But after she had given the invita tion and had left him, she went back to say: "Oh, by the way, Mr. Galbraith, I think papa has heard something more about those pine lands —up at Red Lake, you know. They are not worth nearly as much as he thought they were. I think he is trying very hard not to believe it, but—' She stopped abruptly, not because of any maidenly embarrassment, but i because she had the rare faculty of knowing when she had said enough. Mr. Andrew Galbraith's smile was shrewdly inscrutable, and what h«s said touched upon the pine land mat ter only as it might be a doubl' en tendre. "I thank you. Miss Margery. I shall lie very happy to join your launch party." From the summer resort hotel on j the lake edge, Miss Grierson drove I to the telegraph office and sent a | brief me-inge to a far-away mining camp in the Rockies. What she wrote on the square of yellow paper was well within the ten-word limit, but it was fraught withconsequeiices to Jas* I per Grierson out of all proportion to its brevity, "lie has broken faith, and you inuy come," was tin* message ticked oil by the wires into western space. And when she had paid for it, and had een it shut bullet-wf >• up the pneumatic tube to the oper ating room, she »ighed again. It w.ts another bridge hurtled; a bridge of price to u .voting |t«r»on whose am bition* weie '.uii'Uj auouii CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1902. After this she drove home to don her simplest gown while the man was putting up the higli-svvung trap and the big English horse, and making ready the pony and the phaeton. She made a long round in the phaeton, driving herself. It began 011 the manufacturing side of town, and ended there, and was a house-to house visitation in the quarter occu pied by the cottages of the iron works men. She saw few of the men; but she did better. She saw and talked with the wives of the men. What she said to the women, and what her saying of it was like to ac complish was set forth in a brief con ference with Edward Raymer at the iron works office —a conference with which the morning of conferences ended. She found Raymer alone m the oftice, and was glad enough for that. "I don't know what you will think of me for meddling in this," she said, when she had told him what she had been doing. "You may say very justly that it wasn't any of my business; but I saw, or thought I saw, a chance for a woman to do what all you men could - n't seem to do. So I did my part, and now if you'll do yours, I believe the trouble will stop right where it is." Raymer evaded the business part of it, and gave praise where praise was due, taking her hand and letting his eyes say more than his words. "I think you are the bravest little woman I ever heard of," lie said, warmly. "I haven't the least doubt in the world as to the success of your appeal, and 110 one but a wom an—no one but yourself—could have made it. You may be sure that Gris wold and 1 will do our part." "If you will, I think we may con sider the strike settled." She rose and made as if she would go, but that was only because her courage threat ened to fail her while yet the major half of her errand was undone. She fought a brave little fight, and then went back to sit down beside him. "There is something else," she be gan, nervously, "and I don't know just how to say it. May I say any thing 1 please?" "Certainly. The privilege would be yours in any case, but you have just earned it a thousand times over." "You—you have had some dealings with the bank, haven't you?" "With your father's bank, you SHE RAN OUT. mean? Yes, we keep our account there." "I didn't mean that; I meant —in the matter of —a loan." "No, not lately." She looked the surprise which she did not put into words. "But you did borrow money, didn't you?" "Yes." "And you paid it back?" "I did; or rather, we did. Mr. Gris wold came into the firm just then, and putin enough capital to pay us out of debt." She was twisting her handkerchief around her fingers, and otherwise displaying a degree of embarrass ment which was quite foreign to her, or to Kaymer's knowledge of her. "Would you mind telling me how much it was?" "Not at all; it was $95,000." '"So much as that? Somehow, I have never thought of Mr. Griswold as a—a capitalist. But it was a good investment for him, wasn't it?" "It would have been if we had not had this strike." She paused again, and again as saulted as one who will not be daunt ed. "How much has the strike cost you, Mr. l!:ivmcr?" "A great deal more than it would at almost any other time. We had a number of time contracts with for feitures, and they have lapsed, of course. One hundred thousand dol lars wouldn't more than make us whole again." "So much as that! All of Mr. Gris wold's money, ami more." So much she said, and then she was silent un til her nervousness began to be con tagious to Raymer. At length she said: "You know Mr. Griswold pret ty well, and love him; and I know him pretty well, too, and—ami like him. Did he ever tell you how he came to have so much money?" "Why, no. In fii-t, I never thought ! enough about it to be curious. From the little he has told me about hiin self I have gathered thut lie inherit ed something from his father, and thut accounted sufficiently for his means." Now Griswold had been more con fidential with Margery than lie had ever been with his business partner, ,o she knew the story of the slender patrimony, and of its spending. But what hiii here b>-eu written down of Margery Grierson has been ill-written if it hut not shown her to be fur more discreet than her sex or her 4ge would kiespeak. Ami hecstl; e she was wiser than Iter generation, »he , went a*Hi> Irotu Heistvulu , : t'Jua "I think that is all I had to say," Bhe said, rising again. "All excepting one other thing, and that is harder to say than all the rest." Raymer rose with her and took her hand again. "After what you have done, it mustn't be hard for you to say any thing to me, Miss Margery." "But this thing is hard—for me; not for you. You say you keep you account at the Waliaska National Keep it somewhere else, Mr. Ray mer." He bowed in ready acquiescence. "I'll transfer it at once—and without asking why I should do it,"he agreed. "But —but it is right that you should know why," she faltered. "My father does not like you. Need I say more?" He pressed the hand he was still holding and smiled down upon her from his athletic height. "You needn't have said that much. I have good cause to know it. And that makes your loyalty and good ness of heart all the more wonderful to me, Miss Margery. I hope the time will come when I can show you how much I appreciate—" She snatched her hand away and turned from him. Though he meant it not, he was slipping into the con ventional attitude and it was more than she could bear just then. "Good by," she said, abruptly, and before he could offer to help her she ran out, sprang into the loyr phaeton and drove rapidly away. Raymer stood at the office door and watched her out of sight. Then lie went back to his desk and sat down to fall into a musing excursion which led him far away from the matter in hand—the matter of the strike and its probable composition in terms of peace. At the end of the reverie, one of its conclusions slipped into speech. "They may say what they please about her —the mother and Gerty— and the most of the things they say are true; but away down deep in her heart, under nobody knows what a sandbank of trouble and hard-living, there is a vein of the purest gold. 1 guess I couldn't say that if I were in love with her; and yet—" LTo Be Continued.] SUBDUING A BULLY. llow a lliiMMian Lndy flron«:lit a Ilru tal Muncliu Noble to Her Feet. The Siberian railroad traverses the greatest wilderness that steam lias ever been set to conquer. The taming of our western prairies and mountains was a small task compared to this sub jection of the Siberian wastes. An ex perience on a train, related by a writer, in a Vladivostok paper, reminds one of the early stage coach days beyond the Mississippi, and seems even nior.? violent because the participants in the adventure were not rough plains men and mountaineers, but a lady and a nobleman, says the Youth's Com panion. When the train pulled upat Tsitsikar, in Manehuriu, a Mancliu noble, who had bullied all his fellow passengers, alighted at the station restaurant, aft er warning them that he would decapi tate any of them who took his seat. During his absence a smartly dressed young Russian lady entered the car, and, despite the alarmed expostula tions of its occupants, calmly appropri ated the seat. When the noble returned he flew into a passion, and advanced threat eningly with his curved saber drawn. But the young woman coolly covered him with a shining revolver. "Do you take us for a puck of cow ardly mandarins?" she exclaimed, and then, pointing to her feet, she re marked: "Ilere is your place, my hero." The Mancliu noble surrendered, and sat at her feet for the rest of the jour ney. I'rcinf of the lord * K (nd lie**. As one of the great Atlantic liners was Hearing the end of its voyage re cently a wealthy passenger on board gave a champagne supper to the other male passengers. Each one of those invited was to render payment by singing a song, dancing a jig or tell ing a story. Among those on board was one person who had won a repu tation for moroseness, for in spite of the constant stream of moss-grown talcs which one is forced to listen to on shipboard he had never tried to revenge himself by telling one of his own. Accordingly when his turn came to speak everyone listened eagerly. "Gentlemen," said he as he rose tn his feet, "1 can't sing a song or tell a story and 1 have never danced a jig, so 1 can only offer a conundrum. In what way is the Lord kinder to a turkey thnn toman?" Of course everyone gave it up. "Because," came the answer, "ho doesn't allow it to be stuffed with chestnuts till after it is dead."—Chi cago Chronicle. Orittlly 111 II MI IMI 11 HK (in*. It is asserted by a writer in an American medical weekly that cases of poisoning by illuminating gas are on tke increase, and he attributes this to tits use of the so-called water gas, which contains a high percentage of the deadly gas called carbon monox ide. In Massachusetts, a taw so limit s r the proportion of thi» substance ii» practically to exclude water gas from use, was repealed about 111 years ago. Since that time, there have been ' 4.v.» deaths from inhalation of gas, | while in a period of equal length pre eeiling the repeal of the law there were only eight death* from this ' I'aii-e. I urlion nom \h!e I- not only ( fatal In large quantities, but it pro. ' dltd ik" ' 1 i a 1 c.iiidlt i.ii of ID-health ' in very slight proportions, and the I writer believes that many puzzling j ea*es of ile. Mm* In physical vigor are jt.i be attr <»i»t.-d |» almost iuupprcct- PEACE NOW IN SIGHT Gen. Fred D Grant Brings Good News from Philippines. Inhnl>ltnnta of Samar Will Mnke No I'arlhcr Truulile anil .Huron Can lie ConlrotU-U l»> a Siuull I'"orce. Brig. Gen. Frederick Dent Grant, who pacified the dark and bloody Island of Samar, has returned from the Philippines after three years' service in the islands. He came on the transport Logan and brought with him a bushel of facts about the situation in the island, together with a rather concise idea of the situation down there. Since Gen. Smith, of the "kill and burn" order fame, re linquished his authority over this blood-stained island, Gen. Grant has been in charge, lie began the work of bringing the fiery native spirit of the islanders under civil and military control, where Gen. Smith left off, and he pursued the task with a mixed combination of aggressiveness and diplomacy, qualities that pre dominated in his father, the late president of the United States, U. S. Grant. Gen. Grant has been in the Philip pines since the first outbreak, and during that time he has only been home once, and that was on a two months' sick leave. He goes to San Antonia, Tex., having been appointed to take charge of the department of Texas. "Samar is enjoying the first period of peace it has ever said Gen. Grant, "and I am entirely satis fied that the inhabitants of the island will not attempt to make any further trouble for our government. "Now that they have been forced by the stress of military operations to cease their hostility, the natives for the most part seem actually and absolutely contented with the new order of things. An incident which occurred just before I left has con vinced me that even the natives who live in the thinly populated portions of the islands are no longer opposed j GEN. FRED D. GRANT. (New Commander of the Military Depart ment of Texas.) to the invasion of our civil system into their lives, and that they bear no ill will to American citizens or I American soldiers. 1 "When I first went to Samar it was : a case of fight your way everywhere, i and protect yourself while so doing. ! A soldier could not venture much out of hailing distance of even the conquered towns without being set upon and killed by savage natives. Now an American can go anywhere and go unarmed. One of our sol diers deserted for some reason or other, and he braved all sorts of dangers and made straight for the interior of the island, lie met na tives armed to the teeth, but none of them showed any disposition to | molest him. "This particular soldier, whose name I have forgotten, was being court-martialed when 1 left, but his '< experiences with the heretofore un tamed and savage natives brushed nway a doubt and left the authori ties in the rather confident attitude of knowing that the island was eon ! quered. "The Moros, of course, will com mit deeds of depredation now and again, but it needs only a strong po lice force to hold them in check. "When I first went to Samar 1 had s'i garrisons' and s,Guo men under my command, l'eaee dawned so rapidly that the forces were gradually with drawn, and when I left there were but half as many men and only 14 garrisons. This force is more than is necessary to keep insurrection down. Ihe natives are showing a lively interest in the march of civil ization that our government lias started. Of course, they are a low type of manhood not a low type in their physical development. They are brave and strong, and have good intelicits, hut they lack education. Tliey do not know how to read in write. In fact, their education con sists of thrir knowledge how to en- I if age in all sorts of piracy and revel in bloodshed. Ihe day will come, i however, when these native-, will reach a creditable stage uf advance ment. "The native* are not quite as prim itive a rta>s a our Indians, hut they 1 are still wholly uncivilized. We may ' expert a little trouble from the till . the of the lloln group. They are ' ruled b> a sultan, but they owe him a sort of informal allegiance, | don't think lie will prove very strong , with In people If ever the time , I'oifie* that the\ I_- .- 1 11111 ••rlous trouble with our troop*. They are i nu Ignorant, low-bred rli-N and Ima ill eeptlljle to restraint than any 1 oihei of the aullve, of that couti- I trv •• GOOD ROADS NEEDED. They Promote Social Intrrronriif and Kimble Hie llrad) Miirkellnij of I'arm l'rodace. The subject of good roads is an all- American subject, but it is one which should be of most interest to those sections which have given it the least attention. Naturally, the best built and the best maintained roads are in districts where there are many people and much stone. 15ut good roads do not come always because the region they traverse is populous; a region sometimes becomes populous because there are good roads. Then, again, there are bad roads in thickly settled districts—in districts where the roads ought to be good. Good roads in a neighborhood indicate progress. They result from progress and they pro mote progress. They are both cause and effect. Well-kept highways consti tute a theme which has engaged the attention of many more persons in the last decade than in any previous one. The convention of New York repub licans at Saratoga adopted a platform containing a good roads plank. In this division of the platform it was set forth that: "Good roads and canals are two of the important features which make for Ilie material welfare and progress of the commonwealth. The canals provide a channel for commerce, while better highways bring the markets closer to the door of the farmer." The pledge regarding good roads lias appeared in the platforms of political parties in New York before, and that state has perhaps a greater mileage of excellent roads than any other state in the union. The Baltimore American, in a recent article, in which it made comparison of roads in Maryland to those in New -York, said: "New York roads, compared with those in Maryland, are" the better. New York people are dissatisfied with thoroughfares which would be hailed in many parts of this state as the means of revolutionizing travel and traflic. The result is that New York state has grown marvelousiy rich. Take out half a dozen men who are reputed to have fabulous fortunes, and the state outside of Greater New York is the richest part of the common wealth. The counties in .Maryland have a soil as fertile as New York, and the reason why they are unable to make a great display of property is .due mainly to the execrable roads which are almost general in this state." Good roads enable farmers to haul more produce with the same expendi ture of horse power. The farmer saves in time and in wear and tear on horse, harness and wagon. He can sleep later and get to market earlier; stay later at a neighbor's and get home sooner. Good roads promote social in tercourse, insufficiency of which is one of the reasons why so many persons leave the country for the city, and why so few give up city life for the country, except at that season when nature is at her best in the country and at her worst in town. Improved highways have promoted the extension of rural free delivery, and this delivery has aided in the de velopment of better roads, says the Washington Star. The buggy was a benefit to high ways. A road good enough for mount ed horsemen and horsewomen, as so many, of our predecessors traveled, was not good enough for a buggy. Then the bicycle improved the road ways. A highway good enough for a buggy was not good enough for a bi cycle, and thousands of wheelmen rolling through the country did cam jmign work for the betterment of roads. They told the country folk, and insisted on it. too, that their roads were not as good as some others. This was missionary work, because it is a phenomenon of country life that a man always thinks the road he lives on is very good, or at least not so bad as some others. As the bicycle helped along the good cause, so will the automobile or the traction carriage. Automobilists want better roads. Every farmer should help a little by using broad-tire wheels. These wheels not only do not "rut" the roads, but help to maintain them. A broad-tire wheel ought to bear move weight without strain than one with a narrow tire. There is no more friction in the use of a broad tire on a smooth road than in the use of a narrow tire on a rough one. A committee of automo bilists reporting recently on New York roads said: "It is worse than useless to create expensive and valuable highway s only to have them cut to pieces by the use of narrow tires, as now used for the hauling of heavy loads in this state. When you have a good thing, it costs money, and you must take care of it mid change your methods to maintuin it. Wide tires are of the greatest *uliie in preserving ordinary dirt roads." <|uli a k ('ooll itii ill Milk. Milk allowed to stum! tw<> hnure without ling c<»iil.lined SI HMD many tfi-rm»* lis when milking was tluUbed, while that which wtt» en..let t , 54 decree* - nly hiol four time* a« u int .it the > ml of tw.. hour* I his empli.t i/' *li e Importer-e of i|uiek u thorough co»-tiny Cfeeuiei) end Ifesiry.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers