THE BUTLER CITIZEN.
VOL. XXXXII.
THE MODERN STORE-
Flannelettes.
; We have over 6000 yf-rds new Flannelettes suitable for j
Petticoats. Kimonas, Chil Irens Dresses, Wrappers, etc.—all bought at .
lowest figures and sold accordingly.
30 pes- good wide heavy Flannelettes at He yd. ;
50pea. Teazledown and Daisy Cloth, best goods of its kind -plain and
(i fancy colors—loc yd.
: 25 pea fancy fleeced back Armure Cloth. Pacific Fonlards, etc , smt
, able for wrappers and dressing sacqnes, 10c yd.
Moleskin— a heavy fleeced material—beautiful patterns—l-i yd.
Velvetta—extra heavy velvet finished outing cloth— handsome pat
terns—lßc yd. i
New waistings in Cotton and Wool and New Plaid silks just in. :
EISLER-MARDORF CO T PAN Y, E
»OUTH KACT STKirr \ QA4 1
1"I Sam P les sent on request.
OPPOSITE HOTEL^A^IJNGTON^^^^^BUTLER^^^^^g
Handsome Carpets | .
matter how Hne
W expense needn't debar you from getting a cheerful, rA
f fj attractive home. Look these figures over:
F Mattings —Chinese or Japanese designs in mixed
k| colors, per yard, 18c, 20c, 22c, 25c and 30c. FJ
j. Carpets of Tapestry— Axminster — Brussels — kl
Velvet —Ingrain and Rag from 25c up. rJ
Rugs —9xl2 — in Art Ingrains—Grass —Tapestries
[ : \ Axminsters and Body Brussles at $5.50, SB, $9.50, ri
| $ 12, $ 17, $ 18, $22, $25 and up. kl
I While looking at our carpet line—see the many TA
| , bargains in furniture we are now offering.
BROWN 8c CO. f]
J No. 136 North Main St., Butler. M
| Fall and Winter j
\ 1905-1906. <
\ We are ready for you with our Fall and Winter line?
I of Men's, Boys' and Children's Suits, and such patterns\
c and style —you never saw their equal. We. are always\
i the early bird with up-to-date ideas. You buy early andj
) we are prepared to show you just when you are ready toC
; buy. n
/ Men's Suits, the richest patterns you ever saw for sls, /
0. \ SIB.OO, $20.00, $22.50 and $25.00, all hand-made, hand- <
\ felled collars and hand-quilted breasts in coats; patterns \
VtO please the most fastidious —same to say of our Boys \
v and Children's Clothing. We sell the best qualities and /
/styles, We sell at the lowest price. j
/ See window display, and buy early. S
\ Douthett & Graham. \
J INCORPORATED.
I Huselton's j
I FALL WEAR. 1
I THE FALL STYLES SHOWN AT B
B OUR STORE EMBRACE LOOKS B
B FOR EVERT LIKING AND A fl
B GRACEFUL, COMFORTABLE FIT fl
fl FOR EVERY FOOT. fl
I EXFERT FITTERS TO SEE THAT p
'f fl YOU ARE FITTED TO THE S
fl SHOES FOR YOUR FEET. g|
fl THE PRICES RANGE FROM $1
fl TO $4.00 AND EACH SHOWS A ||
fl WIDE CHOICE OF STYLES IN fl
fl THE LEATHERS THAT WILL fl
fl BE POPULAR THIS FALL AND |g
fl WINTER. M
® IT WILL AFFORD US GREAT fl
M PLEASURE TO HAVE YOU LOOK fl
lg OVER OUR FALL STYLES. |
I HUSELTON'S I
I 102 N. Main Street. fl
r Trp The CITIZ6N
FOR
JOS WORK
When a Woman Needs Notions |
She usunllv wants them at once. Oirr notion counter
is filled with the little things that go with dress mak
ing and repairing. Buttons, tapes, seam bindings,
pins, dress shields', hooks and eyes, needles—all the i
countless articles are here for immediate delivery.
Some of these you ought to have at home in ad\ance.
If your stock has run low come in—see how quickh
and willingly we 11 meet your demands.
UNDERWEAR.
We've kept our eyes open for chances to obtain
the sort of underwear that s going to lit well, feel w< l
and wear well —and yet be sold at prices you li ap
prove. Now, if you'll come in you will see just how
well we've succeeded in finding the \er\ ligbt tilings
in these important items of woman's and children s
wear. . .
It pays to visit u> when you need notions, under
wear, hosiery, gloves, lx*lt>. ribbons, corsets, etc.
L. Stein & Son,
108 N MAIN STREET, BUTLER, PA
0 Bickers Fall Footwear, [j
pi largest Stock and Most Handsome Styles of
M # Fine Footwear we Have Ever Shown. T4
CADAC3C 6UAFC Twenty Fall Styles—Dongola, Patent- fA
OWKvuIJ Jn bid anc'l Fine Calf Shoes made in the Ikl
VA latest ut. to d«te styles Extremely large stock of Misses' and Chil-
dren's shoes in irnny new and pretty styles for fall 7 if
i/J* CHACC Shoeing all the latest styles in Mens B j
L IrlCn 3 oilUtJi p jnp gh wßi a i| leathers, *2 an<l *<J. r J
VA Complete StAck of Boy*', Youths' and Lit.le Gents' Fine Shoes.
Bargains in School Shoes,
» J High-cut cojiper-too shoes for Boys and good water proof School
Y& Shoes for Girls. . _ ~ .wl
Large stock of Women's Heavy Shoes in Kangaroo-calf and TJm
wl Oil Grain for country wear,
M Rubber and Felt Goods. 4
WA . Our stock of Rubber and Felt Goods is extremly large and A
kTI owing to the large orders which we placed we were able to get very
A 1 close prices and are in a position to oiler yon the lowest prices for r 3
V A best grades of Felts and Rubber Goods. , , M
J A An immense business enables ns to name the very lowest
f prices for reliable footwear. '2
When in need of anything in our }ine give us a call
4 Repairing Promptly Done. j
3 JOHN BICKELH
m 1 # Ltff MEN
I'Tv, nr? ill Won't buy clothing for the purpose of
|J I) .iWy I W^ijji t l| spending money. They desire tp get the
IITTI it//
I*l I I\J 1 li Those who buy custom clothing have a
L —' j fIT right to demand a fit, to have their clothes
i r IKSF P correct in style and to demand of the
/* V seller to guarantee everything. Come to
JLj\ f. '' I us and there will be nothing lacking. I
''lß have just received a large stock of Fall
I and Winter snitings in the latest styles,
%|f| | 8 shades and colors.
\u|PJI I G. F. KECK,
\_iJJ Ifws 142 N. Main St., Rutl?r, Pa
* Ml' Do More Work, $
$ Belter Work, $
g Witb Less Work j|
« ITfSrl Than any other Washer*
1 _ on the market. 1
is |
I J. G. &W. CAMPBELL, j
; BUXLER, PA. jg
Our Grand
Clearance Sale
last month was a big success. The
clothing buying public of Butler saved
themselves many dollars by this sale.
, J r
To be candid with you, friends, it was
the sale of all sales. It left us with
some odd lots of goods, which we will
sell at our August Grand Clearance Sale.
SCHAUL& LEVY
SUCCESSOR TO SCHAUL & NAST,
137 South Main Street, Butler, Pa.
BUTLER, PA., THURSDAY. SEPTEMBER 14. 1905.
In the Dunes
Copyright, WOS, by Hcraore Willsie
Lake Michigan is covetous of her
eastern shore. Year after year her
sands creep inland. Inch by inch, mile
by mile, now a peach orchard is smoth
ered, now a mellow wheatfield is
blotted out, and in their stead scrub
pines thrive and sand burs sprawl ia
the sun. Year by year the scrub
pines grow stouter and the sand burs
tangle thicker and thicker, and with
each year the desolation of the sand
dune country Increases. Roads tormed
one month are shifting dunes the next.
Inland lakes, once green aud lovely,
slowly and mercilessly are choked un
til only sand skirted pools remain.
And still the desolation grows.
Katlierine and her Great Dane hud
dled together under »'.e ccrub pine
and watched the gray of the twilight
turn to purple.
"Well, we're lost, Jacky," she said,
"just plain lost! The hunting lodge
ought to be over in that direction, but
it's not, and they have supper so late
they won't miss us for another hour.
How would It seem to spend the night
in the sand burs, do you suppose,
Jacky?"
Jacky whined and laid his great head
in the girl's lap. She rubbed his ears
absentmindedly and started off over
the dunes. "I'm not frightened," she
said. "I'm just—Just lonely. Well,
let's empty our shoes, Jacky, and start
on."
The low shoes once more securely
tied, Katlierine picked up the bit of
fl«h rod with which as a staff she had
strolled from camp early in the after
noon and struggled to the top of the
dune, the dog trudging beside her, with
now and again a growl at the shadowy
pines. From the top of this heap of
sand she saw another heap looming
through the dusk. Down she waded,
now leaning on her bit of bamboo, now
holding to Jacky'a collar, until from
the top of this she discovered a third
bur crowned dune. On the top of the
third dune she dropped down to rest,
while the dog crouched on her skirts,
witb watchful ears pricked forward.
Suddenly he gave a little yelp and ran
into tho dusk.
"Jacky!" called the girl. Then she
strugled after him through the heavy
sand.
"Why," she said, "It's another little
lake! Look out, Jacky; don't drink too
much. I'm not thirsty enough to drink
water I can't see. Why, how soft this
sand is! Jacky—it—why—l'm in way
above my ankles!"
She floundered toward the dog as he
turned |qward her with a whine, the
instinctive desire in danger of the liv
ing for the living.
"Oh, Jacky, it's one of the quicksand
bars!"
Trembling and panting, the dog
threw himself against her knees, while
his whinea changed to sharp yelps. In
vafn Katberlne struggled to draw her
feet from the sand. It had closed
about each foot with the grip of giant
hands thaf insistently, silently drew
her down. She stooped and felt
Jacky'a batfk. Already the quivering
sands were half way up his legs. As
she felt of him his yelping ceased. He
reached up and licked the face bending
over him. Then he crouched low, while
Katherine felt bis great muscles swell
and stiffen. Then suddenly he hurled
himself forward with all the strength
of his lean, magnificent body and in
three leaps had disappeared into the
dusk. Katherine gave a low sob.
"Oh, Jacky, how could you leave
me?" Again, summoning all her
strength, she strove to follow him.
But the struggle was worse than use
less. And now the calm that had pos
sessed her left her. She stooped and
scooped at the aand about her ankles
with' bare hands, diggiug frantically,
with low moans not unlike Jacky's.
Handful after handful, then a pause,
while she stared out into the darkness
with shrieks for help. The sand had
crept above her knees With broken
uutls sue stopped to listen. Yes, far
out across the dunes she heard a
man's shout aud Jacky's excited bark,
and again she raised her own hoarse
cry. Then she heard the crackle of
BftUd burs,
"Katherine, for heaven's sake, where
are you?" His voice!
"Go back, Hugh—go back! I'm in
the quicksand!"
Silence from the shore, then: "-Stay
!>erfectly still- J'U be out there in a
'ew miuutes, I'm going to cut pine
boughs to walk on."
In utter thankfulness Katherine stood
sileut. Theu surprise swept over her.
Hugh! That was Hugh, whom she
had not seen or heard of for a year,
not since shp had tossed tne ring—the
wedding ring—back to him and said:
"Well, six months have shown us
what a fuddle we have made of mar
riage. Let's have sense enough to stop
now. We evidently don't care enough
to give in to each cither,"
Without a word Hugh had taken the
ring and left her. And now to be
found this way, and by him! In si
lence she watched the path he made
p-ow out toward her and In silence
Vard Jacky's excited greetings to her
from the shore. Then, afte" what
seemed a lifetime of battle with a
ureeptng sand, the man lifted her In
his arms and silently carried her to
the shore. She lay quietly, while the
dog fawned about her and the man, a
broad shouldered figure in the summer
darkness, brushed the sand from her
skirts and emptied her sodden shoes.
"What «m I to do with you, Kather
ine?" he asked.
"I eot lost from eauiD." she an-
swered. "I don't kUW- Show we the
way back, and I'll go when I'm rested.
I don't want that coward Jacky,
though."
"I was driving out to Camp Minitka.
I didn't know you were there. John
asked me—to effect a reconciliation, I
■uppose. It is like him. Jacky was
running about among the burs, whin
ing. Theu he saw me and literally
dragged me out of the buckboard and
down here. I shall drive you bactt to
wmp and then return to town."
The girl put her arm about the dog,
aud he snuggled dowu beside her with
a deep sigli. "That will be best, I
suppose," s'ie said.
' I tldnk 1 shall leave you here,"
Hugh went on, "while I go back for
the horse. It must be three-quarters
of a mile away." He pulled off his
coat, wrapped it about Katherine's
shoulders and strode off Into the dark
ness.
Katheriue lay in tl»a warm saud
close to Jacky, who watched her every
movement, she was not at all afraid.
It seemed to her that, after the won
der of her rescue, she never again
could know fear. Little by little the
stars grew brighter and the answering
glow of the saud seeuied lllte the half
light of gogie strapjge new flawo- At
By HONOR.E WILLSIE
first she lay without articulate thought,
thaukful to be alive, to feel the
warmth of the sand and of the great
dog beside her, to rest her strained
muscles.
Then suddenly the past year, which
had seemed to her so heroic, so sacri
ficial, seemed very useless and shal
low.
"I must find some new thing to do,"
she thought. "Hugh has gone on in
his work. I must find work for my
self."
She moved closer to. the dog and
half unconsciousls* raised her head
from the sand to listen for the crackle
of sand burs under heavy boots. Then
almost without warning Hugh stood
beside her.
"Can you walk," he said, "or shall
I carry you?"
"Oh. I can walk," she answered as
he helped her to her feet. They walked 1
in silence to the buckboard. Hugh
untied the horse and, reins in hand,
stood waiting to help her.
Katlierine stared at the man. She
seemed to have awakened from a
dream. "And I've missed a whole
year." she said. "And who am Ito set
myself in judgment of us both? Hugh,"
with a pitiful little inflection of humil
ity in her voice that was as strange to
her own ears—"Hugh, will you—shall
we try again?"
For one moment he stared at the
drooping head of the girl. "Dear!" he
said after awhile, and, gathering her
in his arms, he climbed into the buck
board, and, with Jacky following close
behind, they drove slowly oft into the
summer night.
Fenrlnß Fop E*erpi»e.
The enormous value of continual
practice with the foils as a means of
securing and preserving good health Is,
lu my humble opinion, the main reason
for the steady hold of fenc'ag upon
public favor In France and Italy. It is
only of late years that the attention be
stowed by medical men upon physical
exercise, in France at least, where
Dr. Lagrange's treatises have become
classical, has given prominence to the
worth of fencing as a health factor.
Every one knows, or, rather, every one
should know, that feuciHg presses into
service every muscle of the human
frame, that it creates and develops
suppleness and quickness, that prac
ticed lu youth it Imparts a freedom and
grace of motion absolutely unattain
able by other means, that it is not a
violent exercise In so far as Injury by
strain Is involved and, finally, that Its
perils are comparatively few. At very
remote intervals one hears of a fatal
Injury resulting, almost Invariably
from a cheap or damaged mask or
from the foolhardy practice of exercis
ing without the usual head or chest
covering or with an ill buttoned foil.
The proportion of mishaps to the num
ber of fencers, however, is infinitesi
mal.—Frederick A. Schwab lu Outing.
A Louk Walk.
The dear old professor was one of
the kindest hearted men in the world,
but he was also one of the most ab
sentmlnded. He was recently visit
ing his newly married nephew, and,
naturally, the young wife was full of
the praises of her firstborn. The pro
fessor listened like a man in a dream
to her recital of the remarkable forti
tude with which he cut his teeth and
his truly wonderful intelligence. At
last the dear old fellow woke up with
a start aud felt he really must say
•omething for the sake of at any rate
appearing interested. "Can the dear
little fellow walk?" he Inquired mild
ly. "Walk?" said the proud mother.
"Why, he bAS been walking six
mopths!" "Dear me!" said the pro
fessor, iapsing once rnore Into abstrac
tion. "What a long way he must have
got!"
American Claba All Wrong.
"American clubs are few and small,"
said a social philosopher, "because they
exist on a radically wrong principle.
This principle Is that club life is an
extravagance, wheroas the right prin
ciple of club life Is that it is an econ
omy.
"London is the club city of the world.
Why are London's clubs so splendid
and so popular? Because a man can
"Jue, drink, smoke and amuse himself
n {hem almost as cheaply as in his
own house—far and away more cheap
ly than in a cafe or a hotel.
"Hence in London every man desires
to Join a good club, for a London club
1$ nn institution that actually saves Its
members money. But bore in Amer
ica our clubs are conducted extrava
gantly, and it is an extravagance to
belong to them. Only the very pros
perous American can afford to be a
rlnbmaiv"—Philadotohla Bulletin.
THE HOTEL CHILD.
■anger* That Be«et the LtoklfM Off
spring of ReatleM Phrent».
It is not the material aidjq ex
istence which are tho bttno of t£e. hotel
child; it Is the mental and spirltu&J at
titude accompanying this life which
is to be deprecated: It destroys a
democratic spirit throogh emphasizing
the difference between tne servant and
the served, it exaggerates the power
of money, foster? a spirit of deoead
enee and unfits the pamperal Individ
ual for any pther kjad of Hfe t snd,
worst of all, In fl child so'broughj -up
there can be no understanding or lt>Ve
of home. .There may be svmq future
for the chifd *w«bo knows nothing of
art, some .functlqp for thjo one to .whom
literature makesappeal tyid who Is
not sensitive to. mpsU?, but there U no
place In the state for th«r man who.-bas
neither Initiative, seif reliance, patriot
ism nor lOV9 of home. Be Is A SOCIA!
menace, a disease. Jhe community Is
better off without this satellite 01 the
manager, parasite of the bell boy and
source of supply for the waiter.
If there is one child Jn our commun
ty who Is superfluous it is tUO hot*
child. Asplaces for temporary occu
pation by homeless and childless adults
hotels are to be tolerated,.butrM resi
dences for children Jlhey ar« Without
the possibility'of
8. Bensley in Everybody's 'M&gaw&4-
Carefully Led l'p To.
"Yonder," said the party of the first
part, "is the house In which I was born.
We lived on the first lloor. Mcßooth
Rantln&taß, the great tragedian, oceu
pled the upper apartments. He was
not only a famous actor, but a singu
larly fortunate man."
"Then," responded the party of the
second part, "you were born under a
lucky star, eh?"
N. B.—The management begs to state
that it considers this one of the most
elaborately worked out jokes we have
produced this season. —Louisville Cou
rier-Journal.
Woman') Presence.
What a consoler is woman! No pres
ence but hers can win a man from his
sorrow. The soldier becomes a light
some boy at her feet; tho anxious
statesman smiles himself back to the
free hearted youth beside her and the
still and shaded countenance of care
brightens beneath her influence, as the
.tosed flower blooms in the sunshine.—
I American Queen.
AMUSING JOKES.
tnme That Have Been Played ®n
.Members of Belrutlflp Societies.
Nothing Is so funny—to the joker as
the development of a practical joke or
hoax, and the most learned are soma
times fooled in this way, to their great
discomfiture. An amusing hoax was
perpetrated on the learned members of
the Dumfries Antiquarian society of
London, when an alleged Greek charm,
said to have been taken from the dead
body of a Bedouin, was presented for
their inspection and admiration. It
was said to have been an heirloom in
the Bedouin's family for many centu
ries and consisted of a scrap of skin on
which was transcribed a mysterious
legend. It was circulated among the
members of the august body of the An
tiquarian society until it fell into the
hands of Dr. Sample, who. amid much
amusement, deciphered the hieroglyph
ics as "Old Bob Ridley, O," the refrain
of an old song.
One of the best of these Jokes was
practiced with considerable success by
an eighteenth century wit, who pro
fessed to have unearthed an undent
memorial slab on which this epitaph
was just decipherable:
BENE A. TH. TH. ISST.
ONERE. POS ET.
H. CLAVD. COS TER TRIP
E. SfcLERO. F. IMP.
IN. GT. ONAS, DO.
TH. HI. S C.
ON. 80R. T. J. A. N. E.
In vain did archaeologists and lin
guists rack their brains to find a solu
tion of this cryptic Inscription, which
its discoverer "humbly dedicated to
the penetrating geniuses of Oxford,
Cambridge, Eton and the learned So
ciety of Antiquaries," and it was only
when it had driven the cleverest men
In England almost out of their wits
that the following reading was sug
gested by the hoaxer: "Beneath this
stone reposeth Claud Coster, tripe sell
er, of Impington, as doth his consort
Jane."
That, too, was a clever, if rather
heartless. Joke which Steevens, the
Shakespeare scholar, played on Gough,
known to posterity as the author of
"Sepulchral Monuments." Gough had
criticised a drawing by Steevens ra
ther mercilessly, the latter forth
with planned a revenge which should
hold up antiquity to ridicule. Procur
ing a flat piece of stone, he scratched
on it, In Anglo-Saxon characters, the
inscription, '"Here nardenut drank a
winehorn dry, stared about him and
died," and had it exposed in a shop
which Gough was In the habit of visit
ing.
A few days later Gough called at the
shop, saw the slab, which, he was told,
had been found in Kennlngton lane on
the supposed site of Hardlcanute's pal
ace, aud, overjoyed at his good fortune,
carried It off In triumph as a discovery
of rare antiquarian vftlue. LJ showed
It with pride to his fellow members of
the Society of Antiquaries, a paper
was written on it, a learned discussion
followed and the inscription was pub
lished in the Gentleman's Magazine.
Steevens' triumph was complete when
he took the public into his secret and
laughed with them, but what his vic
tim's feelings and language were It
would not have been possible to ex
press in print.
Something over fifty years ago the
Ingenuity of antiquarians was tested
by a legend faintly traced on a time
worn slab of stone which, so its dis
coverer said, had been unearthed dur
ing some excavations In Cumberland.
This was the inscription:
TH. ISI SAHAR. DNU. TOC. RA
C. K.
But what language was It and what
could it mean? The accepted opinion
was that the legend referred in some
way to Hardlcanute or Hardnut, but
beyond that speculation even was
dumb, until the wicked joker had the
effrontery to confess that he himself
had chiseled the inscription, of which
the true translation was: "This is a
hard nut to crack." And so it was.—
London Answers.
Jealomi of Imaginary Ills.
"Talk of a woman's jealousy of her
husband," said a physician of long
experience In New York. "It is noth
ing compared to her jealousy of an
other woman's chronic ailments. Half
the doctors would starve if it werQ
not for the prevalence of Illnesses that
are purely imaginary. Of course, it
does not do for us to tell a woman
who has firmly made up her mind that
she Is ill that she Is not 111. In nine
cases out of ten she would lose her
temper and consult another doctor.
Among certain women invalidism
| gives them a distinction which is
gratifying to their self love. They may
literally be said to 'enjoy poor health.'
They look for the doctor's visit to
I them or their call at his office as the
most exciting event of the day. If
they know him well enough, they Im
plore him to waive professional eti
quette and toll them about ailments
of other women who consult him. Wo
men of this description—and they are
legion—have a craving for martyrdom,
which doctoring an Imaginary Illness
seems to satisfy."—New York Times.
The One I'oriou.
There was a certain old New Eng
land minister who had a blunt way of
getting right at the bottom of things.
With a solemn air he announced from
the pulpit one day that a button had
Aeen found in the collection. "Only
one Individual in the church could have
been guilty of this trick," he said, "and
I shall expect tills person to replace
the button with a coin." After service
a member of the church owned up to
being the culprit and asked: "How
did you know I was thu man?" "I did
not know," said the clergyman. "But
you said only one person could have
done it." "Just so," was the reply.
"Two persons could not have put th«
same button on the plate."
BITS FROM THE WRITERS.
There Is nothing in life worth mak
ing a secret of —except one's income.—
Seton Merriman.
Civilization means universal civility,
and to be civil to everybody argues a
great power of telling lies.—Eden Fhill
potts.
How exquisite in life is tlieTlrt of not
seeing many things aud of forgetting
many that have been seen!—lames
Lane Allen.
Truisms, whether they lie in tho
depths of thought or on the surface,
are at any rate the pearls of experi
ence.—George Meredith.
Have you never observed that if you
conscientiously neglect to do your work
it somehow manages to get done with
out you?— Henry Ilarland.
Relations, as somebody said, are dis
agreeable acquaintances Inflicted upon
us by Providence. But It is no use
losing one's temper about what they
say. It only pleases them.—Richard
Bagot.
There's mu»Jc In all things, if men
had ears.— Byron.
MISTAKEN
JU IDENTITY
By FRANK H. SWEET
Copyright, 1905, by Frank H. Sweet
The train stopped only a few mo
ments, but the conductor and a porter
bustled out, with deference in their
every movement, and assisted the one
ladv into the car with much bowing.
The train was already in action again
when Enos stumbled breathlessly up
the steps and sought to enter the car.
The conductor was standing inside the
door.
"This is a parlor car, sir," he said.
"Oh, that's all right," Enos answered
quickly. '-Extra, I s'pose?"
"Of course; but I doubt if there's
any uno'ccupied space. Torter!"
The car attendant was just return
ing from the lady's chair. He stopped
inquiringly, dusting cloth in hand.
"Have you any spare seats?"'
"Just one, sah, down t'other end."
"Very well. Give it to this gentle
man."
The conductor turned as he spoke
and preceded him a few paces down
the car, then stopped and bent over the
chair of a lady. As he passed, Enos
leaned toward her with a diffident
"Hello, Martha," but the increasing
noise of the train drowned his voice,
and lie stumbled on with crimsoning
face. The lady had not even perceived
him.
Enos followed the porter througli the
car. hat in hand, with a feeling that he
was intruding Into some one's drawing
room. Passengers were seated or re
clining in various attitudes—some read
ing. some talking, but most of them
with their attention fixed upon the
chair over which the conductor was
leaning. Enos had never been in a
drawing room car before, but even
amid all this elegance and among these
strangers he perceived that Martha was
understood and appreciated better than
he had understood and appreciated her
himself. He heard a subdued "Who
is she?" from one side and a "Don't
know, but evidently a somebody," from
the other.
He turned his chair so that he could
watch her and still not be especially
conspicuous. The conductor or porter
was ut her chair every few minutes
trying to devise new means for her
comfort. Curtains were drawn or
raised, a ventilator opened to let in
more air, the window closed to keep
out a draft. Even the paper boy
seemed to catch the infection, for he
was continually leaving periodicals for
her to examine at her leisure.
Euos watched her with mingled feel
ings of surprise and pleasure and per
haps with some depression. Heretofore
he had looked upon her as in a way be
longing to him. Now, with the entire
car paying her homage, he wondered
nt his audacity. He wished that ho
had been bold enough to ask straight
out to be her escort on this little trip
instead of watching over her, as he
was, from a distance. He wished that
he had pressed his suit more assidu
ously and marveled at his presumption
in pressing it as strongly as he had.
The conductor came through the car,
and a man in the next chair reached
out and touched his arm.
"Can you tell me who she is?" he
asked in a low voice. "Tile car seems
to be getting curious over so much at
tention."
The conductor answered in a voice
equally low, but Enos caught the
words.
"She's Mrs. Roche, wife of Cattle
King Roche, you know. He's making
a deal for our railroad. That's why our
management is anxious to show him
attention. We received notice that she
would take our train at a certain point
and for us to show her all the courtesy
In our power. Seems a very nice little
woman, but a little. Just a little, too
pleased with everything. Gives one an
impression that she hasn't traveled
much. But I have heard that Roche
made his money very suddenly, so per
haps the attention Is a little over
whelming."
Enos had turned away before this
and was again watching Martha. He
had heard that a man of the name of
Roche was negotiating for the railroad,
and he now allowed his glance to wan
der up the car, finally fixing upon a
richly dressed woman in the chair be
yond Martha as the one who was a lit
tle overwhelmed by attention. She did
look Keif conscious and, he thought,
just a little supercilious too.
As they stood upon the platform at
their destination a half hour later
watching the train glide away Martha
saw Enos turn toward her, not slowly
and diffidently, as was his wont, but
with head erect and both hands out.
And somehow after the experience on
the train it did not seem strange, but
rather a natural sequence. To have
seen him awkawrd and ill at case just
then would have been a shock. It was
so much nicer for men to be easy and
courteous, and Enos was king among
men.
She put her hands into his naturally.
Impulsively.
"Oh, Enos," she breathed, "wasn't it
beautiful? I never Imagined it could
be so nice in a train. Why didn't you
*«JI me?"
"Well, I don't reckon I knew," he ac
knowledged frankly. "I was never in
one of these parlor cars before, and It
isn't so awfully nice In one of the
others when it's crowded' with folks.
But say, Martha," still holding her
hands and allowing something to come
into his voice which she had never
heard there before, but which brought
a soft color to her cheeks, "you looked
awfully pretty In those nice clothes,
the prettiest I have seen. There wasn't
a woman iu the car who could touch
nu la looks, not even the one who'# to
Juy the railroad. I just sat and looked
at you and wished I'd got things set
tled more solid and wondered If I'd
ever dare to speak to you at all. But
I just can't wait any longer, Martha"—
his voice quivering with suspense—"not
a minute. Do you s'pose you could
learn to love me a little —not all at
once, you know, but just a little at a
time, as you can. I didn't intend to
be so hasty and inconsiderate, but that
ride seems to have stirred me all up
somehow. But don't you feel upset,
Martha. Just take all the time you
want to think it over, dear."
The flush deepened. I»ld she hear
aright? Had that last word really
come from Euos' slow Hps?
"I don't need any time to think it
over, Enos," she answered in a low
voice, but firmly. "I do love you."
She mißlit have added that this an
swer had been ready and waiting for
him more than ten years.
"No; do you really, Martha?"
lie made an impulsive movement, but
was suddenly conscious that the plat
form was well filled with people aud
that some of them were looking nt
him curiously.
"I'll get a carriage for you, dear," he
said hurriedly, "and—and I guess, If
No. 36,
you ilou't mind, 1 11 ride along. I never
have ridden with you yet—not right
close t>y. you know."
When the carriage was procured tra<r
he had helped her in, almost timidly,
she looked up into his face.
"I don't believe that I ever shall for
get that train ride, Enos," the said.
'Nor I." heartily. "Sitting there
watching you and seeing all the men
round made me hasty and inconsider
ate. Rut I'm glad of it now. I suppose
it might have been a long time before I
felt I d a right to speak."
She caught her breath suddenly, her
face paling.
"Oh, Enos," she whispered, "I—l nev
er paid them. You told me about get
ting a ticket, but I was late, and they
hurried me to the par and were so alee
to me that I—l never thought about
paying. What shall I do? And they
were so awfully nice too."
He looked puzzled.
"It does seem sort of funny," he ac
knowledged. "Gonerally they're pretty
particular about pay. I wonder they
didn't ask"
"They didn't want to hurt my feel
ings, Enos. They were awfully nice,
but I'm so ashamed."
He considered a moment.
"You—we don't want to be beholden
to them any." he said warmly. "I reck
on I'd better meet that same train to
morrow and settle with the conductor."
"If only you would," In a relieved
voice.
So the next day Euos was at the ita
tion, and when the polite conductor
reached the platform he was the first
to accost him.
A few minutes and the puzzled look
left his face, and presently he turned
away chuckling.
But he only told Martha that there
had been a mistake and that the con
ductor had accepted the money and
asked to be remembered to her.
Overreached Himself.
An old farmer had a choice lot of
cows, and a neighbor, seeing the herd
in the pasture, asked for how much
he could have his pick of one. "Twen
ty-flve dollars," said the owner. "All
right. I'll be around tomorrow and
select one." The next day the owner
of the cows told his hired man to
drive the only poor cow in the lot to
the barn. Soon the buyer put In an
appenrance to buy a cow. He missed
one, however, and was suspicious.
"How is this? You said I could have
my pick of the lot. Where Is that
other cow?" "Oh, that cow you don't
want," said the owner. "She 1s old
and no good, so I placed her In the
barn. You don't want her." But the
buyer insisted on having that cow. He ,
suspected she was the best one of the i
lot. "All right, then," said the seller.
"Drive that cow out, Jobn." The
cow was driven out, and the buyer
would not look at the rest, but pur
chased her at once and drove her heme.
A day or two afterward he came back
and accused the seller of cheating him
and wanted him to take the cow back,
but the old fellow refused, saying that
the buyer had had his pick.
Economy of Spape.
When Henry Ward Beecher was on
a trip to the far west many years ago
he was visited at his hotel In a little
mining town by a local celebrity, a
man noted as a hunter and scout, and
the great preacher was especially cor
dial to him. After the caller had gone
away one of Mr. Bee Cher's traveling
companions took him to taßk.
*'l marvel at the warmth of your
greeting to that man," he said.
"Why?"
"Didn't you notice his eyefl— bow. re
markably close together they were?
That is a bad sign."
"Not in his case," said Mr. Beecher.
"Didn't you observe his nose? It to) V
high awl thin—the nose of a great man.
With a nose like that, why should his
eyes waste space by sprawling wide
apart? The man Is all right."
Mr. Beecher's Judgment of his caller
was correct, as subsequent history at
tested.
Short on K'a.
During the early days of NtW. Zea
l§nd an apologetic paragraph appeared
in an Auckland paper In which the
ed'tor explained the absence of lower
case "K's" in his Issue. He had fool
ishly lent these letters from his font to
the government printer, who, having
failed to return them, the Indulgent
reader would please notice that wher
ever a blank space appeared In a word
the letter "Iv" was to be understood.
There are only fourteen letters In the
Maori alphabet, and the letter "K"
is used In that language as frequently
as Jhe letter "E" in English.
A Great Painter'* Bcßlnnlaf.
Sir Thomas Lawrence was one of .
the great portrait painters in Englaud.
His parents were poor, his father be
ing a country innkeeper. One day
Lord Shaftesbury's father and mother
stopped at the inn, having their young
er son, the future lord, with them. In
conversation the innkeeper spoke of
the genius of his boy in drawing and
wished them to test it by a picture of
their son. They assented, thinking to
gratify a father's pride, but not look
ing for any evidence of superior talent.
The boy came in modestly, with chalk
and paper, and In a few minutes had ,
drawn a picture of their son on which
the parents looked with wonder. They
recognized the genius and the promise
of future greatness and befriended the
young artist, giving him the help need
ed to develop his wonderful gift
The Valunble Palmyra Palm.
A Hindoo poem enumerates 800 pur
poses to which the Palmyra palm aloue
Is put. Among other tilings It supplies
paper for writing upon, un intoxicat
ing drink called "toddy," large quan
tities of sugar fruit and a * egetable
for the table when the plants are
young. Palm wine is also obtained
from the Juice of the sago palm, which
yields excellent sugar candy when boil
ed. The pith of the trunk forms a
large part of the food of the natives
In many parts of India. Ropes, brush
es and brooms are manufactured fnom
the fiber of the leaf stalks.
Wondarfnl Eroalon.
A curious effect of the wear and
tear to which the earth's crust is ever
being subjected is exhibited in the sin
gularly capped pinnacles existing on
South river, in the Wasatch moun
tains, in Utah. There are hundreds of '
these slender pillars, ranging In height
from 40 to 400 feet, most of them
crowned by large caps of stones. They
arc not works of human art, as might
be Imagined, but are the memorial
monuments of the hill from which they
have been cut by the action of air
and water. Those pinnacles alone re
main of many square miles of solid
rocks, whicli have been washed away
to a depth of some 400 feet. The
greater hardness of the surface has
caused it to resist corrosion more than
the underlying rock, tliu» leaving huge
caps of stone perched high iu air on
the points of their columns. One dou
ble column, capped by a singly stone,
forms a natural bridge bdth unjque
ufl picturmvs.