7 - ---r -Ti
; In Cupid ii
Chariot
~By Michael James
J I "6, ha A.. < ParctlU) |}j
Shades of Cleopatra," ejaculated
Covington *«» himself, "it's a woman,
no 1 lie auded. a rfdghty pretty one
too!"
t'he -ample room of the Hotel Went
wortli was tilled with neatly arranged
dr\ g ' xls samples, among which the
Vouuk woman moved, calm and confi
dent. Behind her trotted old Epton,
tli*- b«~-t cust »mer he had In Wont
worth 'l l e att!e clr< le embracing each
corner of tie old man's thin lips show
ed that in uis pleased too. "She's
sold him, or I in a Dutchman," was
«ovlugtou's thought as he backed out
«112 the d'tor he had so airily opened a
moment I.< ;->re. "ami that means I've
g..t to work, for the man, woman or
<-tiild who van sell Kpton under a year's
a. qualntancf u a wonder Well, It's
the Itacfe sample room for mine and a
hustle to -itaro the p st of them before
she gets done wltll Kpton."
His eye . u _ht a big black sample
t :««e In the hall ".Jim Hunkley's trunk!
I'll b« t a dollar booie not the Itest of
Jim, mid they've given this woman Ills
territory "
Igtt .ring the grinning clerk, who had
seen Covington advance on the sample
riw»ui like a conquering hero, he scan
ned the register. Yes, there It was:
"Miss Cecil Gardner, Chicago." The
afltnatnre was very like the young lady
herself trim, neat capable and yet al
moKt api**allngly feminine.
As be laid out his samples In the
poorly lighted back sample room Cov
b.g» >n pandered resentfully upon the
deprnvltv of the firm of Stern & Sulz
manu which would fire good, easy pick
ing like Jim Hunkley and give his place
to a woman—what was worse, to a
woman who know her business. Slam
ming the door viciously, Covington
started out to round up the other dry
good* men of the town
He returned In half an hour, even
more resentful than !»efore. Miss
Gardner evidently ftelleved In the early
bird theory, for she had already sold
good bills to all three dealers. Cov
ington met Kpton on the hotel steps.
He knev> the ease w-as hoi»eless, but
he gtveted his former customer cor
dially. "Sorry I can't do any imslness
with you tin-- time. Mr Covington."
aald the in -reliant when the prelim!-
p. \ fT
p
J
IHhIU WAS A CIiASH.
nar ■ - had l-eon disjtosed of. "but Miss
Gardner had what I w anted. You are
Just a trifle too late." Coviugton felt
Ike kickltif the bijf S S sample case
That h-ered at hilu ill the hallway.
When Covington tossed his grip into
the bus after d.nner he found Miss
• inrduer already eu*o«H!<"ed lu a corner
of the vehicle.
I»ur:ug the ride to the railway sta
tlon he discovered by oblique glances
that she was even prettier than he had
at flrut Imagined Her pro Hie was
guud. iter complexion beautiful and
real, her lijts su|>erlati vely pretty.
TamuiyrotT snorted Covin-jton to
bin.»elf when he saw where his reflec
tion* lia<l l<s] him H<- tteguii planning
bam to outwit Miss Gardner when they
rea te-d Ks-lg. for he knew that she
sureU would stop there.
Eijterlem-e told at Fssig. and Cov-
IbKtiM big bills to the two dealers
In the thr!*liiir little town It was
M>s rd:.. r'« turn to depart without
au »»r«ier Tltere was something more
tb«n tt»- iii«-re Indifference of a stran
ger in her ma nner when they were bus
o:upane«» oaee more, this time for
the evening train to Tilton. The at
mosjrfiere was s*> chilly that Covington
felt like Mowing on his finger*.
Th«- flrwt day was a of
most «112 tie* <biys thnt followed for
two *h» «Hvaalotially <'OVlligtOll'S
side trips stuuii towns which Miss
■ Gardner dM not make would keep them
out of ea<-h other's way for u time.
Soon < oi :ijto:i found himself j4an
nfnir to avoid these side trips by hav
lug the costotnera conte at the expense
of the le,use to the larger point" on h «
rwite -fitlier fellows do It,"he ar
tIM-ui a little holiday, and It doesn't
<v«st mi. b more than my livery hire"
He nev.-r once admitted that a growing
Uc liiaition t«» i*ee as much as ;»ossfhle
of Miss Cardner bad anything to do
with the matter.
The situation cert a I til v had its ilraw
a* i ie> na-anie acquainted, of
cmirse \|las Cardtier told him of her
tlrst etnployiuent lu Stern A.- Sulz
uaun « as a stenographer; how gradu
ally *fie had l«-eii defalks! to wait on
the smaller . "istomers who came t » the
«it>- for their k<mnls and how the firm,
quick to her natural ability as a
. .tesw- 1 irlv.-n iier Punkley'.t
j.' o t \hen lb it gentleman's
ii I;s . ail I let I Miv'. " be overlooked.
lint t c no pleasant little
Uats w: u v; -s Gar lner falltsl in a
town Btv -it station* on these un
lu- ky <!iis < t\ ngton. with the uncom
f.r (lie fts ig that It was c >wanlUe
to make a a on a w uiwii. usually o»*-
•upas I a s. t lu th • -in tkor. while a
very d*- ou: i*<sl M .s Cardner did
fiiiey w <rk or read; lien e. after a par*
th-ul«rl> <lb tatroiis day. lie saw a
tear fall onto the pa e of his fair op
l**iiieiit's l«M>k He In id down, flagrant
ly and ■ oinplotely. f>r the next four
town*, ouii awakening t<t tin* pass his
chivalry had bt him wlien the
h «use. In a sarcastic letter, suggested
that he was out after orders and not
on a pleasure trip, as he seemed to
Imagine.
"It's all right to sit there in the of
flee and 'call* a fellow." ho mused bit
terly. "but I'd like to see one of them
up against the same situation. It Isn't
like having a man to deal with. A man
will gTln and buy a drink when you do
him M*»d and hard, but he'll lay awake
nights until he gets ba>-k at you Ile
djean't go away and <-r> all by himself
as if he hadn't a friend ou earth. I'm
I but If I let myself out (Veil"—lie al
ways thought of her us < Veil— 1 "will
lose her Job. And if I don't let myself
out I'll lose mine, I guess." He rubbed
his homely boyish face in perplexity,
"I'm sure 1 can't see the finish."
Dick Ilarpin's bus at Barton Centei
was the factor which provided a vio
lent but satisfactory solution to Cov
ington's problem. Ilarpin's bus was a
standing Jest among the traveling fra
ternity. It was as old apparently as
the wonderful one boss shay. I>ut its
age was not so honorable, for the bus
was rickety and disfigured.
It was a nippy February morning
when Miss Gardner and Covington
climbed into the bus for the long, cold
ride uptown. The driver unhooked the
weight strap and stepped back. At
that precise moment the keen wind
whirled a piece of paper Into tlie faces
of the restive horses.
Harpin grabbed at the reins and
missed as the animals leaped forward
A man ran Into the center of lt<#
street. They swerved from his foolish,
waving arms, and there was a crash
The wheels on one side of the bus bad
struck a telephone pole and been torn
off.
At the first alarm Covington tried to
open the door. but it stuck. With two
wheels gone, he saw that few seconds
would elapse in-fore the vehicle would
overturn. His one idea was to protect
the girl who, pale and terror stricken,
sat opposite him. He seized her In his
arms, shielding her with his body, as
the bus, swayed wildly at the heels of '
the galloping horses, toppled over.
When the team was stopped a block j
away they found Covington beneath
the wreck of the bus. cut and bruised |
somewhat, but conscious. Miss Card- j
ner. uninjured, was still clasped In his ,
arms, and his lips were against her 1
check.
Covington's orders have regained |
their former satisfactory size and vol j
ume. and I Minkley has been given his
old place by Stern & Sulzmanu. Miss
Cardner has resigned. It's to be In
June, and any woman will tell you j
that four months is hardly time enough
to prepare for a wedding.
A HOPELESS SITUATION. 1
i
Odd < I i in2i x 'Unit \\ iin Not it Part of
I lit* I'll*jr.
I-'rank Gillmore, the actor, tells the j
following story about his aunt. Miss J
Sarah Thorne, who was leading woman j
at the Theatre Koyal. Dublin, many I
years ago.
"Miss Thorne was given a part in
The Masked Prince,' the second piece
of the evening," said Mr. (Jilltuore.
"Glancing through her part hastily at
breakfast, she noticed that there was
»ne scene in which she had so little to
lay that it could be learned Just be
fore going on. She decided to skip that
scene and get to the longer passages.
"When night came, and my aunt
made her appearance, she did very
well in the first scene. In the second
scene occurred the passages she had
skipped la the morning. She rushed to
the corner In which she left her book,
but it was not there. Finally, the
6tage manager, receiving iw> response
to his re] tea ted cfllls. songot her out
and pushed her on the stage. There
she was, before a large audience, with
out the slightest idea of what she was
supposed to do or say. The scene was
a courtroom. At a high desk sat the
presiding Judge, letter perfect in his
part, because he had it ready to read
from the papers in front of him. A
trial was taking place, and Miss
Thorne, to her horror, discovered that
she was to be the principal \ itness,
on w*oso answers hung the entire plot
of the play. The judge adjusted his
spectacles. looked at his part, and said
In solemn tones, 'The witness will now
state what she saw the prisoner do on
this particular night.'
"What was she to answer? She
glanced around helplessly. She hadn't
the faintest idea what she had seen
the prisoner do on that particular night.
The critical moment had arrived; some
one must speak, but sin- couldn't. Her
eye alighted on one of the characters
In the play who looked particularly
reliable. He looked like a person win
could get one out of any sort of dif
ficulty. So, {minting at him, she ex
claimed In Impressive tones. 'Ask that
man!'
"The entire cast seemed disconcerted
by this remark. They did not know
precisely what ought to be said, but
instinct told them something was
wrong. The Judge, thinking he might
have made some mistake, turned over
a couple of pages of manuscript and,
having Convinced himself on this point,
again addressed the witness. My aunt
glanced at the uncomfortable gentle
man and, no other idea coming to her,
again exclaimed, 'Ask that man!' This
concentration of public attention was
too much for him. and he sneaked off
the stage with a feeble 'Excuse me.'
Of course the situation was a hopeless
one, and the curtain had to be rung
down."- Success.
Tin* *i»f» nihla >1 it iii .
"What do you understand by 'the
Spanish main'?"" Such was the prob
lem propounded at the club lunch ta
ble, and many and varied were the an
swers. In the "Wreck of the Iles
|terus" it was remembered that there
spake up "an old sailor who had sailed
the Spanish main," and it was recalled
that In the "Ingolsby Legends" one
says. "My father dear he is not here;
he seeks the Spanish main." There
Was, however, a certain vagueness
about the speakers' views as to what
particular thing was meant by the
word, some thinking one thing and
some thinking another, and only one
speaking with the authority of "an old
sailor who had sailed the Spanish
main." Such a discussion tends to
show how satisfied most of us are to
half know a thing or to think that we
■mow without troubling about veriflca-
Mon. London • 'hroniele.
Tli«* l.)il»or of >ioM*iti«ln I Ii in l»i ii ft?.
lie low a curious calculation oa
the amount of energy expended by a
person weighing I»SH pounds in climb
ing a mountain peak 7'mmi feet high,
the time allowed for the ascent being
five hours* By careful calculation it
is found that the total nmoiuit of la-
Itor performed is equal to raising
I,:'.sm,< mi pounds to a height of one foot
or that of raising one pound to a
height of 1,::SO.(HHI feet, of this enor
mous amount of work I.l~ti,<*Mi foot
pounds are cxp -nded by the muscles of
the leg's i.i rai-ing or lifting the body,
r_> uio I > ihe heart in circulating le
blood, :;0.04hi |.\ the chest in breath
ing and • In the various exer
tion- of balancing the body, overcom
ing friction of the ground, etc
lim and Oaf*.
!tronz« r| liy foreign suns, he enterei.
the olllce of his colleague, but the cash
ler's chair was vacant.
Is Mr Smith out';" he asked anx
iously "I tun an old friend of his."
"No. sir." returned the clerk. "Mr.
Smith is not out He won't be out for
sixteen ye. :•
lie-c tli • clerk smiled griualy.
"'1 he firm is out, though." he went
ou. "one h id red thousand, Just." —
New Jfurk J're-s.
I LOVE AND |
LAUNDRY 1
I I
By JOSEPH LANE
"If you keep on having deaths in the
| ?amily at this rate, you will kill them
ill off before the end of a year and
lave to marry Into another family to
fet more relatives to kill," warned
Freeman as he regarded the woman
who was supposed to keep Ills apart
j ments in order.
The ebony face opened wide in a guf
faw. Cynthia regarded Freeman as a
rare joker.
"'lteed," she protested, "I didn't lose
no fambly. It was my bos' lady. Her
li'le gal done got married yesterday."
"Well, don't let it happen again," ho
warned. "(live the rooms a good clean
; ing today."
Cynthia wriggled first on one foot,
then on the other. "1 doau' can do no
elcanin' today," fclie protested. "Dis
imy young lady day. I Jes' come for
your wash. She tole me I could wash
j yours there."
"If you mean you are going to do
my laundry on some one else's gas
range, b < ireful that you get all my
j things back."
c iilhi.i. with many voluble protesta
tions, cscorle i him to the door and re-
I Mr.icd lo ill" apartment to gather up
J lac .. t clothes, and Freeman went
j dov n n a to work.
i'!• i: " all ■ 'i:t wrong that day, and
j v !i. i iie c! me home in the eveulug he
v el to th - top drawer, where from a
, ; 'io'o ; ;i! and a handkerchief he was
Iv ort to di w comfort. The girl in the
: pho o: rap!i smiled up at him, but the
; ban II■ erchief was goue, and, though he
I turned out the contents of every draw
er. he could not find it.
Willi an odd sense of foreboding he
j sat d iwu to think it over. Freeman
1 was of an unusually sensitive tempera
ment. and the loss of the handkerchief
seemed to him to be an omen.
liessie had worn it when he had gone
to say go >■! by before he had started
for the city, and she had given it to him
to wrap the photograph In when he
slipped it into his pocket. It had been
his talisman, and the faint perfume
that he knew so well cleared his brain
of worries.
Now it was gone, just as Bessie had
gone. There was something uncanny
in its disappearance, and it seemed to
him to presage evil.
She had dropped utterly from sight.
She had written liini that she, too, was
coming tot »wn, and that was the last
"SHE HONK I'AWIX'T IT," WAS TUB COM
FOBTIJJO lIKPI/V.
he had heard. That had been a year
ago, and he had searched In vain for
any trace of the girl who had promised
to become his wife.
He was still lost in his thoughts when
a shrill pc:il of the electric bell roused
him. At the door stood Cynthia, panting
from the exertion of stair climbing and
carefully nursing a huge basket cov
ered with it is best red tablecloth.
"Got t!irou::ii all right?" he asked, his
good temper returning- "What did the
young lady say to the intrusion?"
"She done expect It,"was the com
forting reply as Cynthia made her way
toward the bedroom to put the things
away. "I done tole her that I had to
look after my young gemmau too."
"You better had," he laughed as he
settled himself with his paper.
"I got togo back there," she said as
she came lumbering toward him. "It's
des as funny."
"What's funny?" he asked.
"I done to ik a handkerchief oaten
your top drawer."
"Thank God!"' he breathed softly.
"An' 1 don't know which it is." she
went on as she handed out a pile of
filmy lacy things.
"Your young lady use the same
kind?" he asked as he held out his
hand.
Cynthia nodded.
Freeman gave a gasp. There was
nothing by which he could tell the one
he had lost. They were all alike. He
turned to Cynthia.
•'What's y >tir young lady's name?"
he asked.
"Mis' Hadley," was the stammering
AOS|nnisr. i »»• r»«mj i uuiltf K<»l 1*11)
mixed."
"I'm not!" he shouted. "Where does
Miss Hadley live?"
"I was a goin' to des slip 'em in de
drawer." she protested. "I>oan* you go
to takin' 'en. round."
"Hang the handkerchiefs!" he
I *he caught tip his hat and
s' if m- door, and he darted out,
t\ g • -h I a niosi astonished ue
Ten ini.iute later he was ringing tlie
Ie! 1 of a i! i house half a mile away
iii<i with trembling feet was climbing
the stair It might, of course, all be a
mistake, yet it would be odd if bet
name wa< II nil •>- and it was not his
Then a i on- ipened in the hall above,
Hiid her face peered over the banis
ters. \\ i h a choking cry she tottered
toward the stairs ins) as he sprang tc
the top. and an Instant later she was
sobbing in his arms.
For a moment he held her there, toe
happ. t» - ical; Then the closing of a
door on the floor above aroused him,
uud he quietly drew her Into the par
lor.
"I have found you at last!" he ex
claimed. I v. as beginning to fear that
you were dead."
Gently she slipped from his arms and
move I away I sent and told you
where I was," she reproached. "You
never came to inc."
"1 did go,"he protested. I was out
of town When I came home they told
me that you had gone out one evening
and had not returned. I searched th«
UTWII MM \Mir. MIII iiuo no irace,
and 1 even went bn< k to the old home
to see If you had become discouraged
and had returned there."
"I met with an accident," she ex
plained. "1 was struck by an auto
mobile, and my head was hurt—con
eusston of the brain, they said It was.
I was lusensllile for two weeks. Then
I sent to your address, but you had
moved, and no one seemed to know
where you were."
"I had titled ui) a flat for two," be
explained. "When I lost you I could
not bear to live In it and be constantly
reminded of all 1 had planned.
"Then how did you find mo now?"
she asked.
"Through your handkerchief," he ex
plained.
"I did not know they were marked
with my address," she said coldly.
"There must be some other explana
tion of your suddenly awakened do
sire to see me. Did you not have my
address ail the time?"
"Do you remember that Cynthia
brought some one's washing to do here
at your house today?" he demanded,
Ignoring her question.
Bessie nodded.
"Well, through some foolishness she
got the handkerchief you gave me tho
day I wenl away mixed up with the
wash. When she came to pick it out
they were all alike, and she brought
the whole lot over to me to see If I
could pick out mine."
Bessie's lace cleared. "Do you
know," she said, "that for a moment
I thought that since you knew where
I lived you must have known all the
time';"
"If I had," he smiled, "there would
have been a double laundry for Cyn
thla long ago."
"And to think that a little thing like
that should bring us together!" she
cried "Cynthia always spoke of you
as her 'young gemman.'"
"And you were her 'young lady,'"
he answered. "Don't you think it Is
about time there was a change of own
ership?"
"If you still want me, Charlie," she
said.
"If I want you!" he echoed as he
caught her to him, and Cynthia, com
ing back, beamed on them with th«
air of one who has worked a great
good.
RISKED HIS LIFE.
H(»v nit Enteri»ri*liiar Reporter (lot
(lie Ni'H* I'm 1 liin Paper.
Fndoubtedly the boldest undertaking
i»n the part of a reporter ti score a
"beat" ever known in the history of
American journalism was when Thom
as B Fielders <>f the New York Times
leaped from a steamer In New York
harbor at odds of about PN) to 1 of
being drowned and brought iu the first
graphic story of the loss <>f the ocean
liner Oregon. It is the custom of New
York dailies to send ren irters down
the bay to meet incoming steamers
when It is known there Is "big news"
aboard. <»n the ground that it is bet
ter to be safe than sorry the editors
dispatch the reporters by special per
mit on a government revenue cutter
or else on a specially chartered tug.
with a view I i catching their game
before the ship <1 >< ks. It was known
early one afternoon that a North Ger
man Lloyd steamer was not far out,
and every city editor in New York laid
plans for sending re|»orters to meet the
incoming liner.
Fielders was one of these, fie man
aged to get aboard the big steamer far
down the bay and went among the sur
vivors of the Oregon disaster and ob
tained onie thrilling tales of escape.
He t'»>k notes enough to write a book
about the sinking of the ship, with
minute details of heroic rescues and
plenty of what newspaper men call
"human interest" stories. Then time
began to wear heavy on his hands. It
was getting late at night and the sliiji
had not jet passed quarantine. To
make matters worse, the captain said
that he would allow no one to leave
the ship until she had made her way
clear of quarantine. Fielders vainly
pleaded that he was not a passenger
and therefore was not amenable to the
Inspection of the ship by the health
ofliccrs. His remonstrances were un
availing. The captain was obdurate.
Ten o'clock came. The city editor of
the Times paced nervously around the
night desk, repeatedly asking, "Where
on earth is Fielders?"
Out there in the bay Fielders,
wrought to a pitch of anger almost
sufficient t j impel au assault upon the
exacting captain, looked vainly at the
dimpling stream of light from his tug
as she lay out In the darkened waters
waiting 112 r him. The captain of the
steamer would not permit the tug to
come any nearer to his ship. Fielders
stood beside the rail, loudly remon
strating with the man commanding the
big ship. He stealthily placed one leg
over the rail, then the other. Then
there was a splashing sound below
and a chorus of shouts from the pas
sengers. The reporter was overboard!
Out In the rippling light his body was
seen to rise, and as it did the daredevil
began swimming toward his tug. His
comrades had thrown out a line at a
signal from him previously given, and
he made for that line. Would he ever
get it? Could they see him, a mere
speck on the dimly lighted water? He
gained a hold on the rope, was pulled
aboard the tug and gave orders for her
nose to l>e turned toward the Manhat
tan shore with all possible speed. The
Times contained a full and graphic
story of the l >ss of the Oregon the
next morning. Itemson Crawford In
Success Magazine.
Tamed tin* Tul»le*.
Alexandre Dumas one day found in
his mail a letter from a French count
suggesting collaboration in the writing
of a drama, Dumas to get the pe
cuniary benefits and the count to share
in the glory. The author sent the fol
lowing answer: "Sir, I am not in
the habit of harnessing a horse and au
ass to my carriage. I regret, therefore,
that I cannot accept your amiable
proposition." 'I tie count, In his turn,
wrote: "Sir, your note refusing to
join me in literary work is at band. Of
course you are at perfect liberty to
refuse •«> advantageous au offer, but I
forbid your calling me a horse in the
future "
They Don't Kpenk Vow.
Miss Mugley I»i i Mr. Knox seem
surprised to hear that I was engaged?
Miss Cutting Oh, a little bit. Miss
Mugley I iid lie ask when It happened?
Miss Cutting No. not "when," but
"how on earth." London Express.
<t UfCIIN.
"Yes," sa d the gay Lothario, "I call
ed on four ladies last night."
"Huh! You must be a quitter."
snorted the poker friend, "I'd keep
on raising all night if 1 hail a band like
that" Exchange.
The mind is found most acute and
most un-sisy in the morning. Uneasi
ness is. ndced, a species of sagacity—
a passive sagacity Fools are never
uneasy. Goethe.
' B Zl=r- ' ~^=St
Co bcr <Xlbo
Cdatts
BY BEATRICE STURGES
|j Copyright, 1806, l>\ ltuby Douglas |j
"Nothing ever happens in this fam
ily," grumbled Molly Fvans sis she sat
by tin; open window :ind watched au
automobile disappear in a cloud of
dust. Slu* knew the girls who had just
passed in the machine. They had
waved their hands gayly at her, but
she wished they hadn't. She wished
she hadn't seen them. It was no fun
to watch oilier people enjoy them
selves.
"You expect too much," replied her
sister Kate, who sat near by trying to
make a last -ninuier's dress look like
new. "There are lots of things that
might happen that you wouldn't liko
at all."
Kate was older than Molly and had
managed to evolve l'or herself a phi
losophy that made life easier for her
than for her restless sister.
"Just give up and stop expecting
things, and they will come to you with
out any trouble," she added, with a
serenity which, it must be confessed,
scarcely matched her inmost feelings
at that moment, for it is not the easi
est thing in the world to mftke a last
year's sleeve appear as the latest fash
ion model.
"Oh, t! it's all very well to talk,
Kate," burst In Molly, "but what good
has it ever done? Here we are grub
bing along in the same old humdrum
way. You've always been an angel
and given up to other people, but
you're not any nearer your ambition
than ever, and just look at me!"
Kate did 1 >ok at her affectionately.
Molly was nineteen and Kate two
years older. They had taken care of
themselves for four years, Molly by
teaching music and a class of little
children, as their town had no kinder
garten, and Kate by tine sewing and
embroidery. The latter's ambition was
to be a trained nurse, but that took so
much time and she could not afford
to give up her present income even
for the prospect of a better one in
years to come. She was always call
ed upon v, hen there was sickness and
responded cheerfully, though usually
her compensation consisted solely of
thanks verbally expressed.
".Never mind, dear," replied the opti
mist i<- Kate. "Something will happen
before? yon think—maybe today. Ev
erything tomes to her who waits. Sup
pose you walk over to Ferncliff and
take this waist to Mrs. Dean. I prom
ised it to her today, and it's all done up
ready to go."
Molly arose and shook her curly
brown head, smoothed out lior pink
frock and took the package. She
kissed Kate before she started out, but
there wasn't much animation in her
walk.
"Something nice is on the way," said
Kate. "I feel it in my bones." Molly
laughed and ran down the steys. She
broke off a bis spray of lilac as she
passed the bush by the gate and car
ried it iilo;i ' with her. The scent of
the blos-o brought that
were both vcet and sad. A year ago,
leaning over tsate in the moonlight
by that s. me lil.i<- bush, Dick I-'oster
had first sii.i. Molly, 1 love you," and
a new world of s-.-eetness an 1 life had
been op 'i:e 1 for lie • Two months ago
tli--y bid < d and - 'parated.
Why? \ do 1...1TS ever <juaiTel?
Do the; krio.v? I) >M anybody know?
The mo: t I •■■! hand futile reason* on
earth—j'-aloi y. IDe pride and some
times :t ti'. Hive de: ire to gain the
mastery. Wth Molly and 1 >ick it was
mostly je !o isv, with hardly any foun
dation, a I . ter tint a ft.olish resolve
o;i the pat, of each not to give in.
"I will . in • back when you s>'iid for
fie." announced 1 >ick.
"i will tiev.T send for you." declared
Molly.
And ih i w the situation, and vhat
•vus v. h> M< li,- Fvans, young and
pretty : n I I.v. with every right to
be hap;>>. v . taking a lonely walk
and fe -li is h r>elf the most abused
girl In th v o Id
'Maybe F.ai • is right," she thought
to hcrsel, "ill do things for other
people and try to forset myself. I
think I'd li'.e io be a nun anyway. I
'eve tho- \ !• ie caps."
A tired tonkins woman passed her
just then, stud a sudden impulse made
Molly h ii: I the lilac spray to her. The
woman I e< urpriscd, but Molly
lutnret! i, i ;t waiting for thanks.
As she ap| : o.ictie 1 a little cottage that
stood near the road she heard a child's
screams, and the same Impulse made
her rush around the house In the direc
tion of tin noise, 'l here in the kitchen
stood a tc; 1 ied little girl trvius to put
out a lire which had started from some
burning oil and which had just leaped
to the child's dress as Molly burst in
the door. To snatch a rug from the
floor and put out the latter was the
work of an instant, and in a few mo
ments more the other flames were
quenched. Alter it was all over the
neighbors • ned in and explained that
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mother \vc. i out to work. The damage
was slight, and neither Molly nor the
child was hurt, hut when Miss Evans
started out again she was a hit pale
and shaky.
"\\ ell, something happened, any
way, she told herself as she went
along.
She left the package at ferncliff,
which was the tinest estate in the
neighliorho >d and stood not far from
1 tick Foster's home. She decided to
walk through the village on the way
hack and had pa<.-••:! the postoUice. the
drug tore, of whi'-h the town had hut
one, and had stopped to look In the
window ot the little bookshop, where
some new music was displayed, when
she heard a commotion and turned
around to see people hurrying in till
direct ions.
"A runaway," was her first thought,
and she started to step into the store
for safety when she noticed a big
black dog approaching and heard peo
ple excitedly exclaim, "He's mad.'"
And SJ he was. Yelping, snapping at
everything, frothing at the mouth,
eli 'vii the street he came. Directly
lero- ! rmn where Molly stood was an
Open grass square where a dozen little
fhihlren, some hardly more than ba
!»:«■•; were iti.i via:/. Toward them ho
came, and Molly's heart grew cold
within her. Not a man moved except
to throw a •. e at the mad beast, and
even tin* little ones seemed oblivious
of the danger that threatened them.
Leaping, the dog gained the square,
and the in %t instant the maddened
mouth woul I ha <• snapped at some
helpless child, but Molly was there as
soon as he was. Fear had lent wings
to her feet, and she stood directly in his
path, stooped down, caught his head in
her skirt and fell upon her knees,
holding him down while she screamed
for help. Sc ires of people rushed up
then. Some snatched the children,
some picked up Molly, others stood and
looked, while one man dispatched the
dog with a revolver. A chorus of grate
ful mothers assailed her ears, but she
was so faint and weak she felt only a
desire to get h one and weep on Kate's
sympathetic neck. .Just then the 5:30
train from New York pulled in, and the I
passengers promptly stepped across the
tracks to the square to see the excite
ment. One young man who shouldered
his way through the crowd caught her
eye.
"Oh, Dick," she exclaimed, "I'm so
glad you've come!" and then fell limp
ly into his outstretched arms before
them all.
lie drove her home very slowly, for
they had a great deal to say, and, of
course, Dick had to bring out the ring
again from his pocket and put It on
Molly's linger, and Molly had to tell him
how silly and unhappy she had been,
an l Dick had to tell her something to
the same effect about himself, and all
that took considerable time.
Kate was waiting by the gate for
her, but all clouds of anxiety vanished
from her face when she saw Dick and
loooked in Molly's contented and shin
ing eyes. "Didn't I tell you?" she
whispered.
"Yes. you dear old prophet, you did,"
replied Molly, kissing her. "and It will
come t > you. too, for when Dick and I
are married next month you can go and
study and nurse to your heart's con
tent."
"lai»to Amateur* a Study.
One of the most interesting places in
New York to study human nature is at
a counter in a photographer's shop
where the customers come to get ama
teur photographs they have had devel
oped and printed. The anxiety they
display to get the products of their
"shots" would seem to be out of all
proportion to the results, when you
catch a glimpse of them, and their dis
appointment if the prints are not ready
is almost as keen, apparently, as if
some important business transaction
had fallen through. And when they do
get thi> prints their faces are even
more interesting. The satisfaction of
these amateur photographers over a set
of fairly good pictures is absolutely
idiotic, and their dismay at a lot of
failures is tragic. The frankness of
these exhibitions is not the least inter
esting phase of the whole thing.—New
York Press
The Home Paper
of Danville.
Of course you read
iII IB Ml
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I THE FIEOPLE'S \
POPULAR
I A PER.
Everybody Reads It.
I _
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Publisher livery Morning Lixcept
Sunday
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No. ii B. Mahc ng St.i
I
Subscription 6 tvn »\.r WVek.
i
!
to I.u ii<ti«*on.
How a man goes: Glances ut the
Clock, drops liis i« j n, jumps from his
chair, grubs liis hat, holts for the door,
says briefly, "Going to lunch," and is
gone. Time, one half minute.
How a woman goes: Glances at the
clock. Wipes hei pen carefully and
places It in the pen tray. Arranges pa
pers neatly 011 her desk. Goes to the
mirror. Removes four or five combs,
as many pins and possibly unties a
bow from her hair. Combs up her
pompadour, puffs out the sides, combs
up the scolding locks, replaces bow,
pins and com I then surveys result
with hand inlrror. Washes her hands
iiud cleans tier nails. Dabs the pow
der rag over licr face to remove "that
shiny look. Applies whisk broom to
dress. Puts 011 hat and thrusts into 1"
five long hatpins Consults hand mir
ror again. Puts 011 veil. Uses hand
mirror ouce more. Investigates sun
dry fancy pins at back of neck and
belt. Pulls on gloves. Gets her para
eol. Gives OIK- more look in the mirror
and goes. '1 line depends 011 the wom
an and the length of her gloves, but
anywhere from twenty minutes to half
an hour. New York Press.
Old EIIKIISII Colli It
Thero Is a record, dated of the
re<'< -t of twelve cartloads of fossil
Coal it the abbey of Peterborough, and
this \wt i assuredly not the first case of
production and delivery.
The deeds of the bishopric of Dur
ham contain records of grants of land
to colliers as far back as 11SU In va
rious parts of the county. In the yea*
l'-'IiO st charier was yr anted by Henry
111. to the freemen of Newcastle on
Tyne to dig coal in the fields belong
ing to the castle, and it was In or about
this year that coal was lirst sent to
London. Very early in the fourteenth
century evidence abounds < " 1 largo
consumption of coal by smiths, brewers
and others. Already the smoke nul
sance appeared, und a commission of
Edward I. lovled tines to prevent It.
Anotner charter, or license, waa
granted to the freemen of Newcastle
In Edward lll.'s time to work coal
within the town walls, and In the year
13(17 coal began to be worked at Win
laton. In the neighborhood where
George Stephenson was to evolve th<
locomotive 400 years later, while him
tiolf a worke'- at the coal plt3.
I'oor An&nstau!
Augustus linperator, with the world's
wealth at his command, "had not 8
shirt tj his back or a chimney to his
kitchen." He had not a fork, either,
or a teapot or an umbrella or a plec«
of soap. In the depth of winter Augus
tus hn.d no covering for his limbs.—
Land Outlook.
T ACKAWANNA RAILROAD
" -BLOOMSBURG DIVISION
Delaware, Lackawanna and Western
Railroad.
In Effect Jan. 1, 1905.
TRAINS LEAVE DANVILLE.
EASTWARD.
7.07 a. 111. dally tor Bloomsburg, Kingston,
Wilkes-Barre Scranton. Arriving Scrau
ton at 9.42 a. m..and connecting at Scranton
with trains arriving at Philadelphia at 8.48 a.
m.and New York City at 3.30 p. m.
10.19 a. 111. weekly for Bloomsburg, Kingston,
Wilkes-Barre,Hcran ton and intermediate sta
tions, arriving at Scranton at 12.35 p. in.and
connecting there with trains for New York
City, Philadelphia and Buffalo.
2.11 weekly forßloomsburg,Kingston, Wilkei
Barre, Scranton and intermediate stations,
arriving at Scranton at 4.50 p. m.
5.43 p. 111. daily for Bloomsburg, Kspy, Ply
mouth, Kingston, Wilkes-Barre, I'ittston,
Scranton and intermediate stations, arriving
at Scranton at 5.25 p. 111 and connecting ther«
with trains arriving at New York City at t>.so
a- m.. Phiiadelpeia 10 a. m.and Buflalo 7 a in.
TRAINS ARRIVE AT DANVILLE
9.15 a.m. weekly from Scranton. i'ittston,
Kingston, Bloomsburg and intermediate sta
tions, leaving Scranton at 6.35 a. m., where It
connects with trains leaving New York City
at 9.30 p. m., Philadelphia at 7-02 p.m. and
Buffalo at 10.30 a. m.
12.44 p. in.daily from Scranton I'ittston,
Kingston, Berwick, Bloomsburg and interme
diate stations, leaving Scranton at 10.10 a.m.
and connecting there with train leaving Bufl
alo at 2.25 a. ni.
4.33 p. m. weekly orn Scranton. Kingston,
Berwick, Bloomsburg and intermediate sta
tions, leaving Scranton at 1.55 p. 111., where it
connects with train leaving New York City
at 10.00 a. in., and Philadelphia at y.OO a. m.
9.05 p. 111. daily from Scranton. Kingston,
Pittston, Berwick. Bloomsburg and interme
diate stations, leaving Scranton at 0.35 p.m.,
where it connects with trains leaving New
York City at 1.00 p. in., Philadelphia at 12.ll)
p. 111. and Butfolo at 9.30 a. m.
T. K. CLAKKE, Ueu'l Snp't.
T. W. LKK. Gen. Pass. Afct.
!
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Ms of Printing
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tasty, Bill or I.c
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We respectfully ask
that trial.
1 I'll II
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No. 11 E. Mahoning: St..
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