I A Hundred Yard Dash By HCNOKE WILLSIfc j l>> M. M. < 'unninghaiu | Harwell loped along the lake shore path The spring wind beat in his face. A mating blackbird trilled in the greening marsh. Harwell In his runii 1 g pants and jersey, witli his bare legs and sandaled feet, with hi 9 tine head t ;c-d back and the muscles of his back l-lppllng beneath his jersey, was as beautiful In his perfection of youth as the spring landscape through which he ran. It was getting a little warm for the daily cross country trot, but the spring meets would be 011 in another week, and after that cap and gown In ex change for Jersey during commence ment week. Until then Harwell had only three things to remember. First, he was not to overdo. He was so near the per fection point now that with the least ■ro his armpits in hand, wtth his face WHITE AND REXSiXESS. extra work he would be stale. Sec ond, he must be careful of that right •high muscle. He had strained It in tho fall as quarterback. And, lastly, this third necessity being unknown to the trainer, he must win the hundred yard dash in the Colwell-Wilton meet. The rivalry between Harwell and Small had become more than physical. To win first place In the meet was to w!n first place In Alice Summer's eyes —at least, this was the conclusion leached by Harwell. He hurdled the pasture bars into the meadow. It was rather wet, and the sir.ell of bruised cowslips and tender new sprung mint followed the soft pad of his sandals. At the sand pits Har well halted at the sound of his name shouted at the top of lusty lungs. Small, In knickerbockers, was pound ing awny with his geological hammer at a huge bowlder. "I'll chill if I stop!" called Harwell merrily. "Why aren't you running?" "Got this bloomln' five-fifths geology to make up this week." "Too bad!" shouted Harwell, bound ing with his lung strides toward the far side of the pits. Small looked after him, then a mali cious look crossed his eyes. If—lf Har well should get chille.l! He sprang to liis feet. "Walt! Walt!" he roared. "I want" —then "Great heavens!" he cried. Then there was silence Harwell did not turn his bead at Small's call. He grinned appreciative ly to himself. "Can't work me that way," he thought. "A chill for me would be very valuable to Small," and he crossed the little meadow brook with a careless bound. Then a vague seise 01 apprehension entered his mind. Email's roar had stopped very sudden ly. He wondered why. Perhaps he ought togo back, yet be kept on. But the sense of apprehension grew and would not go. Finally, with a lit tle groan .1 his own foolishness, Har well turned aud retraced bis course to the sand pits, his stride never break ing. At the brow of the slope he gave n startled ejaculation. In springing to his feet Small had dislodged a great slice of the san-i pit wall. To his arm pits In sand, with face white and sense less and the sand creeping constantly down to sift higher and higher about him, was Small. Harwell dashed toward him. As he ran he snatched up au old tin can half full of rain water and dashed It In Small's face. Small opened his eyes. "I'm suffocating. Harwell," he said. "Oh, no, you're not; not by a long j chalk. Here, lake this can and dig to heat the band. I'll use this piece of shovel, and we'll have you out In a Jiffy." 1 He set to work feverishly. The bit of shrivel proved very efficient wielded 1 by Harwell's sinewy arm. and the tin 1 can In Small's hands was not to be de spised. Harwell worked with one eye on the edge of the pit. The sand lay ers, one by one, were loosening. If he did not get Small free before they fell —well, there was no use In thinking of j that. Now Small was free to his %vaist j line, now to his thighs, now—silently, swiftly, a great wedge of sand gave ! way, and Small n-as again burled to his shoulders Harwell loo; ed about. The pits had b- 11 n"> I og deserted that there wot ■ 11 t a bom 1 li; -i;;ht. Yes. half buried ! . nd black .vir'i a* . there was one. He pelted ii' iiws the |j:tve a great ; v;rencli 1 Iv. .'is !; rk again with the board, wh!"b ' e j laced as a bulwark ' a iiu t further sartd slides. Then to j rk ig;. 1 v 11! 1 the broken shovel, feverishly 112 • Small was growing ; 112 tint . nd limp. \t Ist, pas ing. Harwell helped the half unconscious Small to Ills feet. 'I hen i e was suddenly conscious that bis bund- wore Mistered, that his feet dragged, thiii his right thigh muscle ached wearily. But he put his arm aoout :smau aim ien mm siowiy rrom the sand pit down to the turnpike road ; that was the straightest course to the j college dormitory. It was nearlng sun- j *et, and a damp, cool wind blew from j the mar(fte> Harwell shivered, but he closed bis lips firmly and hurried Small on as best be could. There was the sound of hoof beats behind thein. The two weary figures drew to the roadside and waited for the smart little dogcart to pass them. But It stopped, aud Its solitary oc cupant gave an exclamation of sur prise. "What In the world is tho matter?" Mked Alice Summers. "Small got uaugbt In th« sand ptt," r»- piled Harwell, both men staring tip in j to the beautiful, sensitive face. Tho j girl gave a little cry of sympathy. "Oh, get In here. Mr. Small, and I'll drive vou to the doetor." In a few moments Harwell was watching the gay painted back of the trap, now occupied by two figures, re treating Into the dusk. His lip quivered a little sensitively. "They never thought of me," he mut- j tered. "Small has got her. and I—l've j got the chill he wanted me to have." Then he limped on through the twi light toward the dormitory a mile away. That evening Harwell sat in the liv- | Ing room of his fraternity house nurs- j Ing his aching muscles and giving an occasional sneeze. The hundred yard dash was lost; but, since Alice, too, was lost, he was strangely Indifferent. , Then he was called to the telephone. Miss Alice Summers, who was staying at the hotel with her mother, would be glad to have him call. As Harwell, very cold and dignified, stalked Into the reception room Alice, her winsome face eager, led him to a quiet corner. "Dick," she said hesi tatingly. "did I act very brutal this afternoon ?" Dick thought for a moment. "Yes," he replied firmly. Alice caught her breath. "But how could I know that you had been so fine? You said nothing." "There was nothing to say. It was Small's Inning." "Small!" sniffed Alice. "Don't men | tion Billy Small to me! I think you are fine, but I could get that from what Billy said only by Inference. Dick, did you get a chill?" Dick nodded, and Alice's face filled with dismay. With two brathers In college, she understood all the shad ings of training. "Oh. Dick!" she said. "Oh, Dick!" Something in her tone made Dick look up. "But you don't care," he said bitterly. "Don't I?" she replied. "Well, per haps 1 do care, more that you were brave and fine enough to give up all chances in the meet to help a man who was not worth It." The room swam arourd giddily. Dick clutched the arms of his chair, and then both the girl's slender hands were In his. "Dick." she whispered, "don't you see that what you have done Is better than winning ten dashes?" "I am sure of It," said Dick. And there was a thrill of Joy In his voice that left no doubt ns to his meaning. MAGIC AND RELIGION. Their I'nrtinji I)ae to the Advance ot Civilization. In west Africa the belief In a new birth without loss of Identity is proved by the fact that when a baby arrives In a family It Is shown a selection ol small articles belonging to deceased members, and the thing which th« child catehes hold of Identifies him as "Uncle John" or "Cousin Emma," and 60 forth. So far as this belief prevails it is held by some that garments once worn or other objects which have beeu In intimate contact with a human be Ing are penetrated by his personality and remain, as it were, united with him for good or 111. In nearly all stages of civillzatloc uow to be found in the world what we call supernatural beings were concern ed with the Initiation of the magician The schism between magic and reli glou was a later development of civ illzation. When It occurred, as the history of heresy In Europe and the witch trials teach. It was rather magic In Its antisocial aspect than in Itself which was reprobated and punished. It Is strange in this connection to no tice that the magician was only con demned when he departed from estab lished custom and established beliefs which involved a severance from the community and an imputation of anti Bocial ends. Practices essentially mag leal might be incorporated In religious riles and exercised for what was be lieved to be the general good. In such a case they have continued to be ex ercised with general assent in the high- j est forms of religion.—London Hos j A NAVAL REBUKE. I Two Admiral*, u Captain and a Fool , In Mnnila Bay. When Dewey's fleet was at Manila ; the late Admiral Chichester was then a captain. On one occasion Admiral i Diedrichs, the German, sent out the ' Irene on an unrevealed errand and • without the customary notification to I the commander of the blockading fleet. Admiral Dewey had suffered, he thought, sufficiently from that sort of thing, and so the admiral sent a vessel across the Irene's bows and notified j her captain that she would not be per mitted to depart without a statement j as to her destination. It was not Ad- j ruiral Diedrichs' mission to quarrel j ' with both the American and the Eng- j Ush fleets 0:1 this critical occasion, so he sought to find out Captain Chiches ter's purpose in case of a collision. Go ing 011 board Chichester's ship, he an grily exclaimed. "Did you see what Dewey did to my ship?" "Yes," replied Chichester. "What would you have done if it had : been an English ship?" "Well," said Chichester, convenient- i c lv assuming that the Irene's captain had sailed without orders from Die- 1 driclis, "I'd have pot my captain in ar- j ] rest, and then I'd have gone on board J < the Olympia and apologized to Admiral j j Dewey for having such a fool in coin- j ' maud of one of my ships."—Harper's Weekly. j * A I'oet** ll<l m«-1}- Knee. The poet ltogers was afflicted with a notabiy unpleasant, cadaverous coun- I tenance. which, with all his intellectual power, was a mortification to him. To < hide his annoyance, he joked about his j ugliness Incessantly and deceived his , frieuds Into supposing him Indifferent 1 to it. He once turned to Sydney Smith, who, with Byron and Moore, was dining with him, and said: "Chuntrey wants to perpetuate this miseraMe face of mine What pose would you suggest that I should take?" "If you really - isli to spare the world us much a-> possible," said the wit, "I would, if 1 were you, be taken at my prayers, my face buried in my hands." Itoirers laughed with the other per .-■on-- 1 r 1 lit, but be sli.it a malignant glance at iiu jester and, it is said, nev er fully forgave him for the bonmot. Tim 111* 112 allies*. I am no friend to the people who re ceive the bounties of Providence with out visible gratitude. When the six pence falls into your hat you may laugh. When the messenger of an un expected blessing takes you by the j hand and lifts you up and bids you walk j you may leap and run and sing for ' joy, even as the lame man whom St. j Peter healed skipped piously and re joice 1 aloud as be passed through the beautiful gale of the temple. There is no virtue in solemn indifference. Joy is as much a duty as beneficence Is. Thankfulness Is tho other side of mer cy.— Haury Yau Dyke. Alicia's 112 Home '" iliaA Loizeiux Coming ?e Copyright. 19i*J. by iiuby Douglas O =C "It isn't even ns if yon needed to dc Ihls, Alicia." Bob Ivondal held hla I voice to a cool, argumentative tone that made the girl before him still j more Indignant. "Who nre you that you should decide ! whether I need to do anything at all?" she blazed indignantly. | "I am your fiance, and"— he was be ginning when she interrupted him. "If that Is your excuse for such un just interference with my wishes, I can at least relieve you of your duty." And she placed her engagement ring on the table between them. The young man glanced at it without seeming to see it. Then he 1 >oked sharply at the angry girl who was drawn to her full height. "Alicia," he said gently, "you are too angry to realize what you are doing. Put the ring on your finger again. You don't mean this." "Pardon me, I do mean it." said the girl icily. The young man's face whitened, and a hurt look sprang into his steady brown eyes. Then he straightened up and squared his shoulders and set his string chin firmly. When he spoka there wa i a note of hardness In his vi ee which the girl had never heard fx iot L rii before and from which she si ,V it mentally. 'o i. do yoli realize what you are d; 'u ? W n were to be married in May. V "j, t- )f seau is begun, I know. And you've g'-en me every reason to be lieve you cared for me as much as I do fi.r you. And now. because I ask you to do this one thing—for your sake as well as mine—you are going to give all this up!" Tha girl turned suddenly and went to the window, where she stood look ing out into the dripping garden. She felt her lips quivering, and she must not let Bob see. Bob looked at the crown of dark red hair against the deep green of the window draperies, and his voice sof tenod. "This is all I've ever asked oi you. Alicia. I've been t.>o confident of your love for me after you confessed it: I've believed in you too utterly ever to be jealous of your flirtation % as many another man would have been—and rightly too. I've submitted cheerfully to being 'trailed' in public because it was you wh3 did the 'trailing.' " Alicia turned and faced him again, her foot tapping the floor impatiently. "Is the list of your virtues a long one, sir?" she asked. "I shall not name them all," he au swered calmly. "The only thing I've ever Insisted upon your doing is this one we're talking about. (Jive up this silly concert tour. I've never said a word when you've sung for sweet char ity's sake or for any society affair, even when the publicity of the events has often made me writhe. This time you haven't any real reason. You are not In need of money, and you're not dolug It for charity. It Isn't even the necessary ambition of the professional to win a higher place for herself. You will get flattery from the critic; who do not think It worth the effort to 6pend real criticism on society ama teurs. If they should criticise you honestly—the way they do profession als, to whom it means bread and but ter—you'd see the point I'm trying to make. I appreciate the charm of you and your voice as no one else who looks and listens to yju possibly can, and, Alicia Fairall, I don't want to see you 'damned with faint praise' or hu miliated by any conscientious critic. Can't you see that"— "When you are quite through," inter rupted Alicia, "you can doubtless find your way out. I must ask you to ex cuse me." And she swept from the room, pausing once in the curtained doorway as if to speak. Unconsciously 6he assumed a theat rlcal attitude. Her face was turned back over her shoulder, and her lips were parted a little. With her glowing head and her soft green dross between the mck, i. t 112. *ji tti*- curutiun »iie loua ed like a tall, beautiful dahlia, and Bob involuntarily started forward. But she closed her lips to a thin red line and went on dropping the curtains behind her. Pre- r.f i<• he heard the tapping of her slippers upou the stairs and then the bang of a door. He did not leave the house at once, but stood at the window where Alicia had stood and looked out into the gray twilight. It was early spring. As he looked wearily at the sparrows on the soaked lawn Bob felt his throat tighten and brushed his hand across his eyes. "She couldn't menu It,"he muttered as he turned and picked up the emer ald ring and slipped It Into his vest pocket. "It Is too close to May for her to mean that." Then he sought for pa per and pen and sat down at the table. He wrote; Dear, if I have been too harsh forglva me. I have said too strongly, perhaps, what I believe to be true, and all I want la to spare both of us the pain any failure of yours would he sure to cause. Think It over well, dear, before you decide, j What I came to tell you today is that : our house Is all done. The last workman has left. I am Inclosing a key—there are j only two—and I beg you will go there | and think it all over at least once before j you decide finally. lit; inclosed the key and on his way out handed the envelope to the butler to "be taken up to Miss Alicia." As for Alioin. she had gone straight to her desk and had wlitren the follow ing note: My Pear Mr. fourtenay—l have decid ed. as I promised I would by today, about the concert tour. Vou may depend upon nie for your eop' ano. And as I have the only one to object to the longer trip you planned I withdraw my objections to that Isn. t'nder your management I sur sur- we shall be successful. Sin c rely. AI.ICIA LEE FAIRALL. | When i»e In I heard the closing of j the 'niter door she gave the note to the j butler and took from h!m the envelop# j Hih hul left With it In her hand she went slowly upstairs and sat down be- i fore h"r grate tire. She felt her tinker i melting a'vay. md by the ache in her I throat kne-.v 'hat tears were not far j »tf. Siie tore open the envelope, hop- j lug to liud some stimulus to her Indlg- ! nation, but at the gentleness of the j w •• ,i:. 1 (be sight of the key to the home 'ie ml Hob had so eagerly, care fully planned the tears came with a rush. and, burying her face in the arm of her e i-y ehair, she cried herself to sleep. Press notices of "a concert lo be giv-n In the near future by the best i un it! ur talent the city afforded" be- j g i to in- ; r"queht during the next few | w Then came t!ie programme and pi-hires < 112 tho principals. Alicia was ofteru--t mentioned, and one Sunday paper contnineii her picture, a theat rically po-ed. full length affair, with her head over one shoulder and her ttru iiu if soeaklnif. liob's heart sun* and turned sick. She did then. As the time drew near he thought he would goto the concert, and when the night finally came he dre sed early and fidgeted miserably till time to utart. Then, suddenly changing his mind, he had himself driven to the door of tho little new homo he and Alicia had planned together. Bob let himself Into the house with his key, which ho always carried, and walked through the empty, desolate rooms, which !>y now should have been furnished and ready for the bride's home coming. lie roamed clear through the bouse, draw ing the shades and lighting all the chandeliers till every room was blaz ing with light. Then he turned them all out and lit a blazing fire in the din ing room grate, and, sitting down on •he high settee built into the niche by the fireplace, he closed his eyes and de liberately conjured up the presence of Alicia. He was almost asleep when he heard the front door open and close and tho click of high heeled slippers on the bare floors, accompanied by the unmistakable swish of a woman's silken skirts. Then he heard « match scratched and an Im patient exclamation as something was dropped. Then, with his heart pound lug violently, he laid his head back against the settee and feigned sleep. Tie bear l the steps come to the din ing room door, heard Alicia's voice say "Oh!" In frightened, breathless sur prise, felt his heart beat almost to suf foeallon, and then he heard the ste; s recede with a rush to the ball and (he front door open. llu v. as about to call to her <vbeii he heard her say to some one on the peveh: "Tell Mr. v'ourtenay I am sick or dead or buriwl—anything you like only that 1 shall n-.»t sing tonight." Then the door closed again and Hob immediately went to sleep. It seemed to be a very sound sleep, tor lie did not opeu hi* eyes, though Alicia couuhed three time". But wh-'n she could stand it no longer and sho »k his shoulder he woke up with a most excellent look if sur prise on his l'uce. "Is (t too late?" she asked hroath lesslv. Looking at n< r as if dazed, he pulled out ids watch. "Oh, 1 don't mean for the concert! I mean"- hot Alicia could gel n;> fur ther. and, dropping to her knees beside the settee she leaned her head nuainst his arm and cried. "I guess If Isn't too late for a wed ding." sa ! il Ro!>, "but we'll have tc hurry." TRAILING DOG POLICE. Bi-fii kiut; In of Che Seine I'litrol One nt' l!i*» -•! ,lit» «»• Pari*. The training of the young New foundlands that are periodically added to the staff is one of the sights of I'aris. Ii place in the headquar ters of the ugei>:< plongeurs, a small building < n the euayside uot far from the Cathedral of Notre Hanie. Hogs and men enter into the exercise with zest, and t! ere is usually a crowd of onlookers, cnly dummy figures are used, but the "rescue" is nevertheless a very realistic affair. The big dogs know peii'ecily v dl what the exercise means, and they wait with comic eu thusiasin until the dummy Is thrown Into the water nnd plougeur rushes out on hearing the splash and the outcry of spectators. While the men are busy with lii.es and life buoys the dog plunges into the water, swims to the dummy, watches with rare in telligen e for an opportunity to get an advantage. »ns hold, and then it either swims ask ae or waits for its master, who brings to the rescue long poles, cork belts and the like. The more ex perienced dogs, however, will easily effect a rescue from first to last with out human assistance, and it is an in spiring sight to watch them looking for a foothold on the slippery sides of the river bank and pulling the heavy dummy into a place of safety. It takes about four months to train the dogs efficiently. They are also charged with the protection of their masters when attacked by the des perate ruffians who sleep under the arches of the bridge in summer. Thus in Paris the police dogs are a proved success.—Century. A GREAT BEER HOUSE. Munich 0«!14 the Olilful nnd I.ar«renl Snleon In the World. The llofbraubaus of Munich is per haps the oldest and largest saloon iu the world, owned by the king of Ba varia and patronized by an average of 12,000 customers a day. On holidays the number often runs up to 15,000 and 10,000. Nothing to drink is sold but beer, brewed at the royal brewery, which was started by King Ludwigtbe Severe In 1 The present Ilofbrau liaus was built in 104-1, and the beer was brewed on the spot until IS7B, when the brewery was moved into the country to less expensive quarters. There are seats for 1,500 customers, plain wooden benches without backs beside plain wooden tables without covers. Iu the garden or court are 100 empty beer barrels set on end, which are used for tables. The steins, which are very heavy and hold a quart of beer, are piled up in stacks before the bar on the floor in the morning, where they remain until they are used. When a customer wants beer lie picks out a stein, takes it to one of the basins of running water which line the walls and washes it himself. Then he carries it to the counter and hands it over to the bartender, who fills It with beer from the barrel. The price is (1 cents a stein, and the profits support the hospitals of the city, although the king could claim them If he desired to do so, as the brewery and the llofbrau baus belong to him by Inheritance.-- Chicago I:ecord Herald. Members of the M'jiji tribe, who live on the Limpopo river, wear an extraor dinary "marriage dress." This weiru and uncomfortable looking costume is made entirely of split reeds, fastened together with gras--. and the unhappy bachelor who contemplates matrimony Is compelled to wear it for three solid months before the happy event comes off. meanwhile leading a life of strict seclusion. What effect this extraor dlnary custom has on the popularity of marriage among the M'jijis is not known, hut it was only with the ut most difficulty that some members of the mounted police, who encountered some would be Benedicts, induced the i to allow their photographs to be taken. —Wide World Magazine. \<»t itn IriMliaiinn. There i* a bust of Hugh o'Brieu. a former mayor of Boston, in the < «n dor of the Boston Public library and one of John Boyle O'lteilly In the new paper room. The other day a man ap proaehed one of the clerks In the new paper room, saying. "Isn't there a hust of anybody except Irishmen in the building?" "Certainly," replied the clerk. "There is a bust of Lucifer in the periodical room, and he wasn't an Irishman." I \ | G * s By JOHN J. O'CONNOR Copyri'.' 1 1" ■ b' • H. Sulclillc j ' CWM". 'I.'.'VXW .tv aVMAt'WWS 'I think I iuivi better take you to the train." til i: he! eohlly. "I do not car* 1 to advertise to the whole family tii:* fact that my affections were be stowed upon a man so utterly un ■ worthy of them." You will have to announce thu : breaking of the engagement some time. g>: te 1 Castron, "but 1 guess 1 it's bei;er this way. We'll talk it over ion the a \ into town. You have not j given n e :i c!'anee to defend myself I yet. -It will • all right when I get a j chance t > t..;u ' » you quietly." | Ethel sin" That was precisely i what -he \. -died to avoid. She would j take the rtnsr cart and have the littla : "I'T/r. MAKE IT FIVE," HE OFFEKKD. groom g> c.' iig. Castron noticed the smi a ... •• jessed her thoughts. When the t\. t «■;;• brought around the back t eat was un >eci:; led. "Jjire-t •:* 1 • -• had to send the boy t > town," she explanation. "He will l \ i irg fir you at the station." Ethu ; >\i,e i and turned and walk ed to v. her • hi r small brother was try in.g t) * \ti • gd'.lflsb from the foun tain b. • : i a bent pin and a bit of b;' id. !i • 11 1 up guiltily at her ap pi ;, bul was visibly relieved when he saw wli > it was. "I>>:'t you want to ride into town w aii ■ . i;ro,i and me?" she said. "No 1 ■ lid decidedly. "I'ii ■: u that air guu if you "it co■ $2. ' he warned. "I !; : " he agreed. "Hurry, oi Mr. < .- i iv.id in * his train." Georgie raced across the lawn and clin od 11:* j the back seat. "I'm go ing. too." ' announced gleefully. Fran! r i ;r ,;i s id something beneath the cover I his luustaclie and scowled as he i-e|pt ii ).tii ! into her seat oil the box. It v.:: ap •areut that Etliel was de ter;; ■>d n,.: to a.l'ord him any oppor tunitj for a tete-a-tete. lie thought that ie! d *rr i rated !• r design when be bad bril < 1 the bead coachnffca to end t!: • ti"-r to town, but lie had not counted i.a Ocorgie. lie settled him self in his seat, anil Ethel took up the lines. They i vciv l the fir t half mile In i'er ,• Tr 'U !;e broke the quiet. "I I I i t -ll yon." 1 »» l"»gan, "that that locket wa "<■ \<i)l hear," she whispered. 'I i ,:- e ni l the annoyance of ,■ 'tche ! story spread all over ' e hoi - e." *T'..t if oid. you would listen for o .' •pi ided. "Let Georgia ted v all-: 1 ick. He won't inlnd." !•.» y. i/u i ' ' " y wor ;e of you than I do 're- : " 1! veil a miserable mis i' 'd, ; aad you have not '. m e for a single word since it hapjieued." For answer Ethel turned to speak to the ! y. a; 1 •" tron gritted Ids teeth. •Tr 112 ■ iii. •< -, jf-.d t!'e whole mis ei bl mist ike would be explained. If he could not get this chance, there was no 1 .pe She would return his letters ' unr< ,d, J-.. t as : ' • had sent back the 1 note he had written l st night. A bit of p .• i 'o-.lng a'-rass tlieroad fright ••ne.' t: eh >; -es and demanded her at t 'at; > Car f r-vi leaned over tho back '■ of t'-e se-v. "■ • yon u do"'r to fall off and bade t > t n o ! -.r h - offered. Is to ■ ive ; ■ two." he ex idaliicd i . ■ j ticts 8 i "■ ii iii 5 s I U .RlOgi I V i .*• V' j .' '*JW vS y fj' r r» IPTION Prlee ii {■ i-l'H S OUt. S. nd 50c hsl 00 | I- Frc? fri3l. B ....... «■ .... —— -«jj esl a .-kest Cure lor all H 1 Ej THROAT and LUNG TBOUB- 1 HLE3, < MOKEY BAvjjf. q M EI ; A Flolinbl© ror aM kind of Tin Roofing Spouting and Ceneral Joh Work. S toyes. Heaters. Raniiec, Furnaces, etc. mm TUB IMKJiT! ijlll.in TUB BEST! JOHN HIXSON | NO. 116 E. FRONT ST. ' i II make : ! five," he offered. (_!ee v re-solute "'I matle a bar pain," lie der l::rpd. '• Twonldn't be fair." ("astron i , ,1 ihe front again. Ev erything <v \ to ho against him. "I con-rar.uale yon upon your fore thought in ' '"ih'ng (Jeorgie." tie said bittcr'y. "V determined to al low me n> < • ('■ . ty to explain." "Tiiori* i- > possible explanation," 1 ' said • My. "The least you • "i do f< t •-p lient for the few t -- ! y«u are to he bur .l , ...... . i • s d 'hortly. "If you a; * ■ ( !#o- - e there N no ,vo VO! V-TTg." • • ! ;■ ii], and as they "i-i. the leafy avenue is of the tumult ' r hi pride and afi'ec *! . sat i:i silent anger re > i-t.< ••{ tin- past twentv i-i iM ?!i had given him a ag tier picture. Yester • ! .u\ ne ' the case anil had :.n > .er picture and a r that in no way suggested . - •a i explain she had run no amount of en • i .-r to ii'-ten to his e' .* :«•!. » ii • one • i><->!:•'. <Jeorgie ■" ui ui the back seat ii ii' ;• to i . while the horse's la; !. ling the smooth road sec ■;[ t> < to count the lost >(>•••.■ .'■ ( ! i ;t. in d« "atiou, he felt in his p>-*.ct. here a bill he had slip ped i'ii > his < i.. g;» pocket to avoid the rror \? of lUing out his poeket -I>'! »k In tiie stall; :i. Gently he with ui-»\-* the bill a lid for an instant held l( i-.-'diid bis i a<-k: then, certain that -) gie had • :i it.he released his hold and let ii flutter to the road. Quickly the b .* slipped off the tail board and scrambled in tho dust. Castron turned k> Ethel. "We are almost in town," he said. "I ir ist upon being given tho right to explain." "Ili. b!" she warned, "(Jeorgie will hear." ' s be ' ; exceptional ears," he ■■ >' !. i-j about half n tr back." i'ih"l half tut ' iii her seat to con vince herself. -hen turned to him again. "I supno u I jt.gbt him off," she salt! scornfully. 'Von told me you -re av.-are of his price. I suppose I shall have to listeu since I cannot drive and stop up my ears too." Til drive." he volunteered, "If you want to -top up your ears." "Wh t is it \ u wish to say?" she d utile . !gr; .( ng his generous offer. •'Tn t this" be said eagerly. "That is :• >t nf. locket at all." ".\s though I did not recognize it!" she sc :ffed. "It 112 >;eu me," he argued. "You see, I h t looked inside since I've been un in- • because I've had the original of the p!oturo to look at." I never no tice! tii.t I picked up Frank Comp ton'" !••« ' et by mistake. You were so pro l of ti " uniqueness of the locket that I I. h-d to teil you that my room mate had one Just like it. From tho sit ilinritv 112 the engraving I fancy It came from the same store. "When t picked up the chain I got Frank' .'1 never found it out until you op.*;. 1 ii. That girl in this locket is Frank's fiam-ee." For a moment the horses trotted along in s : !en«- broken only ny rneir hoof !>eats; then she turned to him with moist eyes. "What can you think of me?" she cried penitently. "That you are the dearest little wo man in the world." he said promptly. Her hand stole Into his. "I'll never be so foolish again," she said. "I'm so glad you persisted, dear." "Ale, too." he agreed. A couple of dji ■; later Castron was s;- r * • over a rawly letter that had just com<■ it • d: ytr It ain't fair I didn't drop off that «• five, but because ) I<r'tther-in-law som* ■ft & yam ,0 "ion op lAi(i iiUiilC" 14ipUi ! r i ! i I y| HqHiIII^ I | 11 ! Of course you read i. ! J i j 11, 111 if no. 1 'j! \f i' ! i 11 THE fIEOPLEIS !| pOPULAR I APER, 1 ! Everybody I?-, -ids It. | ft/ I 1 - ■»—™. ~ r ~~ [ ! i Publisher Every Mor' Except Sunday . I; ! ! [No. ii h /VI £?! ng- St. I j Subscription - ' r Week. I Tvr>!u<"ci mo to. too. because she gave me I the gun and cried over me. It's funny to Ilivi; a r/' ) cry over you. Did you over hi. e one erv over you? Come up soon, i Ht broth. r- !j> !o\ to be, GEORGIE. i f'astr n s :]r ] rcroinlscently, reeall ' * n £ tiie Inst n.v to town. THE WAILING WOMAN. A «|ti< <*r 4il«l Legend of the City of Mexico. i As is generally known, seuor, many ! IK: I things ar:; met with at night In the >treets of the city, hut this wailing woman. I.n I.iorona, Is the very worst of them :il!. She Is worse by far than tli> Vn -a d' I.umhre, that at midnight c.'fne-i forth from the potrero of San f:'el»!isiiiin ami goes galloping through , the streets like a blazing whirlwind, I !>! -at'ilng forth from her nostrils smoke ; vud flumes, because the fiery cow, se | i) r. while a dangerous nulrnal to look ! at, n lly does nobody any harm, and ! I.a I.ioroua is as harmful as she I can be. : - iii l !' walking along quietly— | at the times when sue is not running ! ami shrieking for her lost children— I she sterns a respectable person, only ! odd 1 . »kiug because of her white skirt and the white reboso with which her head is covered, and anybody might speak to her. But whoever does speak j to 1: r !n licit very same moment dies! N > one wh.» has stopped her to talk v. hot- e .er lias lived to tell what iff;;- •: s at tli.it terrible encounter, but il i-j generally known that what does happen is this: Slowly she turns to ward ti: • • u'. i has s >oken, and slowly she n ; llie •' jiils • 112 her white reboso, and thin '< - en a hue grin ning skull set l"' t a bare skeleton, i and from her fleshier jaws comes oue 1 single Icy old 1 ■ sstli that freezes into instant ds whoever feels it. After that. shricUic.g c.u'ain for her lost chil dren, she rushes onward, the white gleam of her gashing the darkness, and In the morning the one who spoke to her is found lying dead there with a look of despairing horror frozen fast In his dead eyes. What is most wonderful Is that sha I Is seen in the same hour by different | people in places widely npart, one see ; Ing her hurrying across the atrium of the cathedral, another beside the Arcos de San Cosmo and a third near the Salto del Augua, over by the prison of Belen. nr.d all in the very same mo ment of time. {■■!•■> is -) generally known, senor, and so gr*.i»i% i-tired that nowadays few people - ton her to spe.il,- with her, and that is fortunate. Hut her loud, keen wailing i I'j'.d the ound t»f her running 112 • t : • > heard often and especially on i ..t >. ii.l myself have heard • c e ■ "lit 1 have never seen her. >. •: . r' A 11.:t t ever hall!— Thomas T At KA *9ANNA RAILROAD lJ - BLOOMSBUHG DIVISION Lackawanna and Wswtvi Railroad. in Effect Jan. 1, 1905. TRAINS LEAVE DANVILLE EASTWARD. 7.07 u. in. dad} tor Rlooilisburgi Kingston Wtlkes-Biirre ;i..d Scrauton. Arriving S'-ruii ton at H.Ua. in., aud connecting ai 3cranli.il witli trains arriving nl Philadelphia at ".)? R in and New Yorii City at 8.30 it.m. j !o.lh a. ni. weekly for Hiooinsbnrg.Kingston i WilkeH-Harre.Scranl.ju and intermediate sia j iionn, arrivine lit Scrat.ton a! 12.35 p.m. ant connecting th re with trains for New V^ri • City, Philadelphia and Buffalo. 2.il weekly forßloomsburg,Kingston,VVilkO j Barre, scranton and intermediate "tation.l j arriving at Scranton al 4.30 p. a . 5.t0 p. m.daily for UlootiiHhurg, Jtispy, 1' y j mouth. Kingston, Willies-Barre, Pitteton Scrantou and intermediate station*, arriving ; at Scranton at s.ss p. m.and connecting the** with trains arriving at New York City a', 0.51 ; a - in., Philadelpeia 10 a. 111. and Buffalo "am TRAINS ARRIVE AT DASVILLE ! 'i.lSn. w week Iv from Scr->iton. i'ittston , t '> .11,.tbui* aud 'i.riq«dtat«Kt»- • • '• Scranton at Tin. :a., where 1. • v> iili trains IcavlDK N. ■.% Yor\ Cltj • 1 >0 [• m , Philadelphia at " •:? p. tu. ano j miffaio i»t V'.Sf- t. r •. 1U .. 1 11. daily li-oui Scranton I'ittston, •- •• •st. .. r\.. li. tt'ocmsbnrn: and interme -1 - »iH>ns. ;«*av 11'. '••rar.lou at 10.10 a. m . . 1- •. • : with tralr. .t-aviDg Bnfl i »•"»• • • ">• i t3p .i weeklv n:a Kingston. nisi-hi4 and ti>t4frned!Hie Nta joj s, leivlng Hi c ."urn at !.5o p. m. ( whew ft .ei 1 e.t- •*!'; r 1 :e»vlni! '■ w York Citj •' tu.oo « sod Philadelphia at VJW m. 1 .>"■ 1 11 : "rem Beruttn. Klnsston ! iitn»ei IU-; AIC '» HiooinKhnrg and interme , <J ; Kt- -11 • .ou«. i .'xvinij- Sera w>fi a! S.> r > p. 1:1. ! wi.er it couni.c'* with trains -1 avlnc Ntw 1 York ity at 1.0(J 1..m.. Phi lad- i-!iia a' 13-'' , 1 ■ i> .i Buffo -• »! W.S I n, tn. !. K. CI.\KK i: Gen Soil. T. W, I.Eb.'. tiCl.. /'asi- A«r< Is want io ab kinds al' Printing I JDS !;i I J.J 111 I ||' || ill's fifßlii A. well pr:» tasty, Bill or ] : \f / ter Head, i .. Ticket, Circ Hlr I Program, ment or C irci I w an advertiserru :-. foryoui businesp satisfaction to you New Type, lei Presses, x ,, Best Paper, MA fort A ' Frailness- Al) can ask. A trial will make you our customer We respectfulb r ask that trial. Mr siiinMlili' UK '• r tn 1 L 11 iV> 1;! IJltvi I -s- i■ - No. 11 H. Mahoning ♦ •J
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers