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."
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