1 HOW I | HORACE I | WAS 1 | CURED I | 8 8 8 fi By BEN HAINS « § s Coooccccccco?VEOOCCS?>CO3«>O (Copyright.) He sat in a softly padded arm chair by the, window. He was rather small for a boy of 13, his figure too slight, and his face A shade too pale, but otherwise a son of whom any parents might have been proud. There was a gentle winsomeness In the soft, dark eyes, with that indefinable look that betrays at once an impulsively affectionate nature, whose very life, almost, depends upon a reciprocation of its gift. Several times be lifted his glance toward a lady of scarcely middle age, who. rather over-dressed for so early in the morning, was Ims ily engaged with her pen. At last he spoke. "Mamma, won't you please help me with this example?" he said. "I've got all the rest, but I can't sec how to start this one." "Don't bother me now, Horace!" the busy mother replied. "Ask your tu tor when he comes. Don't you know that I have this paper to write for the Emerson club this afternoon?" The boy subsided into a heap in the soft cushions. The day wore away slowly to the boy—they usually did; but evening came at last. Mr. Gilmore took his lunch, perforce, at a restaurant, and as business was heavy now, did not usually reach home until dark, just in time for dinner. That meal over, the family of four were settled in the cozy library. Mr. Gilmore deep behind his paper, as usual After some time the boy ventured d'llidently to his father's chair, and silently stood with his hand upon is back, and his eyes fixed earnestly i pun the strong, manly face beside hint There was an intense wist fulness in his gaze, while he stood patiently, as if waiting for something. His lather looked up with a frown. "Get out of my light, Horace," he said; "I can't see through you!" The boy retreated as though disappointed sat down on a sofa, and began to read. Pretty soon he said: "Papa, what does 'vertebrate' mean?" "Got a back-bone," Mr. Gilmore re plied. shortly. After a few moments of silence Horace apoke , ( p again. "Papa, what is a 'carnivora?'" "A flesh-eater." "And what does—" "Oh, Horace, do keep still!" Mr. Gilmore said, in an irritated tone. "You know how little time I get to read anything." The boy made no answer, excepting to say to him self: "I wish there wasn't any old newspaper!" The boy settled down in the sofa corner. Then he shut, his eyes wear ily, and went to sleep on the cushion, and if anyone had seen it, there were two bright drops that trickled down from beneath the closed eyelids on the blue silk. The next morning Horace sat at the window, watching the boys on their way to school, with longing eyes. There were no private schools near, and the boys at the public schools had no manners, his mother said, so that she could not think of allowing him togo there; hence he must have a tutor. The dwellers in the neigh borhood were such common people, too, that she did not care to have her boy mix with them, and no wonder that he felt very much alone. It was a dreary winter day. Pres ently a large moving van came along the street, and stopped at the house across the way—a rather small house, with a bay-window. Horace w r atched the house closely, and saw a lady with a little girl enter presently, and a little after noon a boy of 11 or 12 years came along the street. He was not so tall as Hor ace, but he was a sturdily-built, jolly little fellow. He looked at the num bers on the houses until he came to the one of the bay-windows, when he darted up the steps and was lost to sight. Horace was much attracted to him. arid not only managed to see him when he left again for school an hour later, but also when he returned, about four. Horace had" brought his book to the window, and so it was thai he was still there when, perhaps half an hour later, the new boy appeared within the bay-window, which commanded somewhat of a view down the street. After watching for a time, he sud denly disappeared, and quickly emerg ing from the door, ran hatless down the street to meet a man who was ap proaching. He joyfully reached his hand up on the high shoulder, when the tall man, putting one arm about him, stooped down and —yes—he did! Horace's face beamed as lie watch ed the happy comrades walk along to gether, and then a look of bitter sad ness overwhelmed it. But in spite of the latter emotion, never a day passed but that hour found him watching from behind the curtains, and always came the hungry look over his face as he turned away. One day, instead of leaving the win dow Horace continued to look down .Kstreet minute after minute. He eeemed to be In a fever of excitement. At last the electric light on the cor ner began to glow, and an instant later he ran for the door and started ! down the steps with a glad smile. His I father reached their foot almost as soon as the boy. "Why, Horace!" said' Mr. Gilmore, | sternly. "What are you doing out in i this wind with your hat off? Go straight in the house, and don't let |me see you do that again—it. will be ! the doctor to pay next!" Horace turn ! Ed and followed his father in with shamefaced manner and drooping head. His heart felt like lead, and there was a burning spot in each cheek —it had all been so different from what he had meant it should! So Horace could only longingly look on, from a distance, at the hap | piness of another. Hut one day he saw something that gave him an idea. It was quite early in the morning, and I the tall man with the kind face had | just descended the steps and started down the street when a voice stopped htm. "Oh, papa, wait a minute!" the boy | called, as he ran after him, and reach- I ing up, he pinned a red carnation on | the lapel of the tall man's coat. Both j looked very happy. Mrs. Gilmore was preparing togo j out that afternoon, when Horace spied four red carnations in a vase on her | table. "Mamma," lie said eagerly, "can't J 1 have one of those?" "What for, dear?" "Oh, I just wanted it." "There are only four now," she an swered, "and I will want all of those to wear. You do not need any to-day." Horace said nothing, but happening in the room an hour later, he saw | one of the red carnations in the ( waste basket in the corner. The stem had broken off so short that Mrs. Gil more did not think of wearing it. "But men always wear them short j er," said the delighted boy to him self, as he picked it up tenderly, placed it in water, and hid it away i safely. And so it was that another boy ran j after his father the next morning, t with a "Wait a minute, papa!" He, too, reached tip to pin the flower on. "Did your mother say you might j have it?" his father asked. "No." "You ought to have asked her." It was said more from force of habit j than anything else, but what differ j ence did that make in its effect? The boy was embarrassed, and consequent ly clumsy and slow. Just, as he had at iast gotten it fast a car whirled ; past the corner on the cross street below. "There, now!" Mr. Gilmore ex : claimed impatiently, "you have made me lose my car!" He did not see : the crushed look on the small face as the words sank in, and a moment after he wished that he had left them unsaid, but he did not say so, and of 1 what good was the wish? The sore | hearted boy rushed into the house, threw himself on the hall settee and hid, his head in bis arms so that no one could see him. He did not mean to, but tears would come. He had meant to please his father, so that— and he had only vexed him by cans ing him to miss his car! "I don't believe Horace is well," said Mrs. Gilnian to her husband one day several weeks after this had oc curred. "He mopes around so." I "I'll send Dr. Kenzie up this morn i ing," Mr. Gilmore said, a little uneas ily. There was no physician in the city excepting Dr. Kenzie, Mr. Gil more thought, and so thought many others. To be sure, his bills were apt : to be startling, but what was that ' when it was a rich man's only hoy! ! Besides. Dr. Kenzie was an old col : lege classmate of Mr. Gilmore's, and ; a great personal friend. Dr. Kenzie came, and came and came again, but the boy seemed no I better. He was puzzled, and began to mistrust that dread foe, consump tion, had marked the slight form as an intended victim. Spring had gone, and June, in her rich beauty, beckoned those who were so fortunate as to afford a life beneath | her leafy bowers. The doctor drop- I pod in unexpectedly one evening when j he knew he might probably find Mr. I Giimore at home. "I don't want to see Horace to ; night," he explained, when both par j ents had met him in the parlor, each secretly anxious to know why he had come at such a time from his down | town home. He came to the point | promptly. "I'm going for my regular month's j outing in the Adirondacks next week," ! he said, "and I want to take your boy along with me. I have tried every j remedy that. I can think of, and if | a change, and out-of-door life, with | its fresh air and exercise, will not bring him out, I do not know what ; will." "Why, doctor!" exclaimed Mrs. Gil more, "I could not think of letting Hor ace go away off there, In the woods, among wild beasts and things. 1 could not feel easy a moment while jhe was gone." The smile left the doc i tor's face, and a look took its place so grave that it startled the mother, a») he said slowly: "Well, you can either let the boy goto the Adirondacks with me—or you may let him goto Greenwood alone, while you follow in the first hack." "Greenwood!" she gasped. "Oh, doctor, you do not really mean that!" "That, is just about what it looks like now," he replied, seriously. Mrs. Gilmore had opened her lips, with a half smile to speak again, whe she lifted her glance to her husband. The ashy look upon his face took away ber voice. "When did you say you were going. doctor?" he asked, in strained ac cents. "A week from Monday." "He will be ready." And there warf something in his tone that made Mrs. Gilmoro shudder. The journey was a great treat to the shut-up city boy, from its beginning on the eelctric car to its last stage in the long wagon ride that took them far into the solitude of the hills and forest. He was delighted with the doc tor's one-room cabin, on the shore of an exquisite bit of tree-enclosed wa ter, and the doctor, who had chosen to come alone for several years, found it more than pleasant to have bis com pany. He soon noticed, however, a re pressed manner about the boy that puzzled him. He would start, often, to say something, and let it die away on his lips before the first word had well gotten out. But he was a win some little fellow, and there was something about his face that, to the doctor, was very attractive, even beau tiful. in fact, confirmed old bachelor though he was, his heart warmed to ward the boy wonderfully. It was the second evening after their arrival, and the two were sealed upon a large rock at the very edge of (he tiny lake, when the boy, who had been sitting long ia deep thought, suddenly spoke. "Do you live all alone?" he asked. "Yes, except for the servants in the house,"was the reply. "Do you ever feel lonely?" "Sometimes. Do you?" "Yes, often," and there was a great sadness in the tone. 'Yon!" said the doctor in surprise. "Why. there's your father and mo ther!" "Yes, but papa is so busy and tired, and he has no other time to read the newspaper—and it's so long, you know. ' He did not mention the ab sorbing baby. "But your mother?" "Oh, mamma has so much to do. She belongs to three clubs, and she has to write papers and read up for them read lots, and she is on the orphanage board, and—lots more things, beside ever so many calls to make, and then she has the headache so much, and I mustn't disturb her then." And you get lonesome—some times?" "Yes." "I'retty often?" "Yes." The deep pathos in that one little word was irresistible. The too small, too white hand lay upon the boy's knee, half open, half closed, as his companion could just see in the dusk, and he placed his own in it and drew his fingers gently shut. He was startled at the result. The small hand closed upon his with a sudden con vulsive grip that sent a thrill through the man such as he had not felt for many years. He looked down, and saw an upturned face so full of grati tude and pure content that, he smiled back as, also, he had not done for years—while the boy 'nestled close be side him. The great doctor had at last found the medicine that the heart hungry little fellow needed, and its effect was instantaneous. J he days that followed were times of unbounded happiness to the boy in inoi e ways than one, and of surprising enjoyment to the doctor, but before half the month was up he wrote, from a sense of duty, a letter to Mr. Oilmore, ending with these words: "Horace seems much better, but it is imperative for his recovery that you come here at once." The busy man declared most em phatically that it was an utter impos sibility, but nevertheless three days later found him, an hour before sun down, at the little cabin, where he waited in the shade of the small porch for its inmates to return. It was not very long until he heard the sound of animated voices, and they both soon came within sight, skirting the edge of the water. The boy bounded along joyously at Dr. Kenzie's -side, and as they came near the cabin, threw his small arm around him and looked up into his face with a countenance radi ant in its happiness. The father's heart beat in an unaccustomed man ner at the sight. How happy the doc tor seemed, with his boy beside him! What business had he—and why had Horace never treated him, his own father, in that affectionate manner, when he did everything for him? Then he blushed red as a thought smote him like a dagger. What encourage ment had he ever given him! And, a3 new light tell upon the past actions of his boy, did I drive him away when he tried to!" "Well, I have at last found the med icine your boy needs," said the doctor that night, af or Horace was fast asleep companionship your com panionship. He was grieving hin heart away for want of it, while you gave yourself to business, and tho newspaper! If you don't care for the boy, I'll give you $50,000 for him— give you my 30-day note till I can realize." His eyes twinkled, but Mr. Gilmore's shone as he answered: No, sir! not now. The boy market has gone up recently, and I'll hold on to my stock." It was the father's turn to lay awake that night—until long past one o clock but as a result he arose in the morning a different man. The boy scarcely knew him, but it was all de lightful, and it was hard to tell which one of the three enjoyed the next two weeks the most, though the doctor declared that he was getting really jealous since Mr. Gilmore had come. That gentleman, however, replied un gratefully that he did not care for that—he had not so enjoyed living since ho was a hoy himself; and a» for Horace, the cure was permanent but the newspaper suffered. NEAR TO DISASTER RAILROAD MAN TELLS OF NAR ROW ESCAPES. Forward Truck Lost from Under Box Car While Train Was Moving Rapidly—Train Flagged in Nick of Time. "There are actual happenings in railroading every year which are far more sensational than the wildest dreams of any writer of fiction," said a railroad man, and he proceeded to tell stories lo demonstrate his theory. The first story related to a freight train on the New Haven railroad. Wil liam Dellert, now traveling engineer on the New York division of the road, was the engineer. When the train reached Stamford the car inspectors examined the cars and in the middle of the train saw a sight that caused ! them to start back in amazement. The | forward truck of one of the box cars was missing and the only thing hold ing that end of the car up was the coupling. A hurry call was sent out for every available man to start in search of the missing truck, for cn object of that, kind loose on a four-track road was likely to cause a lot of trou ble. The truck was located down a bank on an out curve at Cos pob, six miles west of Stamford. It seems that as the car started around the curve the pin connecting the car and the truck broke and the truck shot out. from under the car and then ran down the bank, leaving the forward end of the car suspended only by the coupling. When it is consid ered that the train was running at a speed of 35 miles an hour when it rounded the curve, and that this gait was kept up into Stamford, the escape from a bad wreck was surprising. Engineer Charles M. Clark, former ly on the Connellsville division of the Baltimore & Ohio' railroad, had an ex perience somewhat similar. He was firing an engine with three large driv ing wheels on each side, the middle wheel being without a flange. They had passed Olencoe and were mount ing the grade to the long Sand Patch tunnel when they were flagged and stopped. The engineer utilized the delay to get down and oil up a little. A moment later Clark heard him gasp: "Clark, for the love of heaven, come down here and see this engine!" The mifllle driver on the engineer's side had twisted off its axle flush with the outside of the journal box, but the massive wheel was still in an upright position leaning at a slight angle on the side rod, which was the only support holding it on the rail. It was evident that in this condition the loose driver had been running along the rail for at least two miles of straight track at the end of which they were. It was thought that the wheel was twisted from its axle as the engine rounded a sharp curvs about two miles below, and it was pretty certain that it would have jumped the track and fallen in the way of the hind driv ing wheel as soon as the engine start ed togo around the very next curve. That this did not happen was due to the accident of the train being flagged. The engine ran along all right until the train was flagged, but once stop ped, the engine was completely dead and had to be hauled to the end of the division. OWN RAILROADS IN BRAZIL. American and Canadian Capitalists Securing Control. American and Canadian capitalists have secured a more or less perfect control over the system of rail and water transportation forming a "belt line" around the most productive por tion of Brazil, sa»s the New York Sun. In a report to the bureau of manufac tures Consul-General C. E. Anderson at Rio Janeiro says that this "belt line," with the help of the government railroads and subsidized steamship line, practically reaches every import- 1 ant commercial center in the whole republic. The "belt line" system of railroads is distributed over the republic in three main lines, as follows: The Sao Paulo-Rio Grande railroad lines, which cover the southeastern part of Brazil, reaching into the coffee districts; the Amazon-Bolivian line, which connects the republic of Bolivia and the great rivers of the northwestern part of Brazil, which is principally grazing country. American intei%>sts are now organ izing a syndicate for the further de velopment of the Paraguayan and Bo livian connections. The amount of money at present invested and which will soon be invested in several en terprises now being begun, including the Bolivian development, will prob ably exceed $150,000,000. The move ment of American railway and other material to Brazil, he says, represents the most active and the principal ele ment in the export trade of the United States to Brazil and Bolivia. Cars Run by Man Power. Street railways with care operated by manual power are in use at Mam basa, in East Africa. The light, nar row gauge tracks are laid through the street, and the cars are for hire, like cabs, or are the private property of officials and wealthy residents. They are little four-wheeled cars, with one or two cross seats, and each is propelled by two natives. Spur tracks are run into private grounds, so that persons can take the cars to their doors. —Philadelphia Record. NEWEST IN STEEL CARS. Union Pacific Man's Invention May Have Solved Railway Problem. • Representing the highest form of passenger coach construction, the new Union Pacific steel car, which was on exhibition in front of the headquar ters recently, attracted a large crowd of spectators and many scientific men who were interested in the possibili ties it holds out for the future. it is built on the very latest model, with round windows —which offer far greater resistance in case of accident, and side entrances, which also lessen the danger of telescoping. It lias ven tilators on tlie roofing which carry an air stream around underneath the car and distribute it evenly over the entire surface. There is scarcely a stick of wood in the whole car an<* r« ry conflagration in case of a wreck will be practically impossible. The car is the work of Superintend* ent of Motive Power McKeen of tha Union Pacific and is greatly admired by those who make a specialty of railroad construction. It has a large seating capacity. The car will soon be placed in active service and others will be immediately turned out of the shops in case it proves successful. Growth of Canadian Town. As an example of the increasing railroad facilities for the west, comes the report of the marvelous growth of Nokomis, Canada, as a center, caused by the increase of the wheat industry of that section of the coun try. Two lines have already been es tablished in the town and the rich country lying between the Quill Plains and the famous Regina district is to be tapped with a line running direct from liegina, crossing the main line at this point, and running in a north easterly direction to the fertile Swan river valley. Government support has been given to the part of the new transcontinen tal lines that connect Winnipeg with the great lakes, and the Grand Trunk Pacific company, which builds the sec tion to run from Winnipeg, is doing its utmost to get the rails down as far west as Edmonton before the ground freezes. Already the line has been completed and is opened for freight as far as Minnesota, 186 miles west of Winni peg. The increased railroad facilities have made Nekomis the junction point with the Canadian Pacific and have also made it the most promising and the liveliest town in that part of the dominion. Despite the fact the town is but six months old, it has 30 buildings, two banks and three hotels. Two great trans-continental lines run through the town, the Grand Trunk Pacific and the Canadian Pacific. Eating on the Train In Spain. As even express trains seldom attain a higher rate of speed than twenty-five miles per hour, travel is slow and tedious though fairly comfortable, and to enjoy Spain one must assume the leisurely indifference of the Spaniard to whom manana is always the chosen tinm He is wise who carries his own luncheons and never are dainty tea baskets more indispensable than on these long journeys. Spanish eti quette demands that the traveler be fore partaking of his food must po litely offer it to those who share the compartment with him. It may either be graciously accepted or declined. In no country is it so difficult to travel and to secure information, as but little English is spoken even by important officials. —Travel Maga zine. The World's Railroads. A year and a half ago, according to a German statistician, the railroad mileage of the world was 563,771 miles, or 13,036 miles more than in the preceding year. Of the world's mile age the United States had 216,713 miles and Europe 192,247 miles. The world's capital in railways Is estimated at over $43,000,000,000, and the aver age cost per mile, with equipment, etc., is $76,850. In the United States the average cost per mile was $68,038; in England, $305,000 per mile. It th« reflective person considers what fa cilities for transportation the various countries have in their rivors and canals, the cost of their railways will appear to mark the extent of tl?e de ficiency of water trausDortatioa. brirqisg BcOrge TS TIME Some fellows hav« no idea of the value of a girl's time-—that, is, a girl who is somewhere between 25 and HO. They just fall into the habit of dropping into eat fudge or hits oC cold chicken. It is nice to do so. Meanwhile, Maude is wondering how much longer she must keep her hair curled and pinch her cheeks to get the proper glow. "Jf he doesn't mean business," she wonders, "why doesn't he move on and let Joe Smith have a chance?" Joe isn't as good a prospect as George; still, lie will do in case George can't >.• made to speak. Hut George continue to hold down the claim. Maude triod many ways of induc ing the back\v;>id one to toe the mark. Simple as the dear girl looked iit her pretty white frock, she was deep and knowing. You c ouldn't blame lior. It was necessary to do a little pulling. George really needed a derrick to hoist him. He had been coming there oft and on for several years. Maude was first in hot water, then cold. It seemed a century since the "Denver Is So Far." thought had first come to her that she would marry him. Maude was per fectly willing to settle down if George would only speak. But he wouldn't speak. Several times she got matters where where she thought the cards would be mailed to their friends the following week. Then George would get off the trolley. So everything had to be done over again. Now George was going away. The evening he came to say good by they strolled into Jackson park. Maude gently led him to just the right seat, in the shadows, with other people not too near. Maude had made a resolution. George was ignorant of his dan ger. The lake was glistening. The moon was shining. The girl was nice. "Oh, Maude, isn't it lovely here?" he murmured. He was happy to iind her hand in his. "J wish this evening could last." Maude meant it to last —until she had accomplished her object. "I suppose it can't," she sighed. "No, I suppose not. Shall you miss me when I am away?" Maude knew he was going away. "You are going away?" Maude's voice trembled just enough. "I suppose you won't miss nie?" questioned George. "You don't think that," she said, just as if she felt hurt because he had doubted her. "I wonder if you'll ever think of—me." "Every day—dear." The danger sig nal was flying, but George didn't ob serve it. How could he when- Maude's eyes were shining in tears? A man adores a woman's eyes floating in tears —for him. "Denver is so far," she sighed. Somehow the length of the seat bad Increased —at the other end. Maude hadn't noticed it. "I don't suppose I'll ever see Den ver," she continued, "They say it is a beautiful city. And you are going to live there!" "Oh, Denver's ail right. It won't be Chicago to me, though, for—" "Have you never dreamed of a place where you could be happy—oh, so happy! Where there were views of mountains and balmy air to soothe you?" Maude was going some. "Gee, Maude, you don't mean to say—Would you like to live in Den ver?" "Oh, George!" And her head dropped to his shoulder. "Perhaps you better speak to papa before you—you get the ring. This will take him so by surprise. He didn't think to lose his little girl so soon." George was surprised, too. But what could he do? What could he Bay? Squirming would not avail him. Not •hat he was unhappy; oh, dear, no! Not until then had he realized how dear she was' to him. As he brushed a little electric curl from her brow and whispered in her Bar, he could only murmur: "How did I ever get up courage to ask .such a pearl to be mine? J am fio unworthy.!" Chioago Daily News.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers