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.