o—— o Announcing an Engagement By BEATRICE STURGES Copyright, 1906, b> Beatrice Sturges I 6 6 Daisy Leonard and Jack Kawllnson had been engaged for two years and uobody knew it. It was Daisy's own idea to keep the affuir a secret. There seemed to her a deep romance in hav ing what the novels termed a "hidden love," and besides a girl conld have so much more fun when she wan not tick eted as belonging to some one particu lar man, and so checked off the list of possible girls to be invited to picnics and escorted to dances by all the other nice young men. She was sure of Jack, who adored her. and way down beneath the frivo lous surface of her heart she loved him very much, but at the same time a girl who has always had her own way and been the center of a crowd of admirers does not want to give It all up. At least Daisy didn't. She was a spoiled child and was quite accustomed to having her own way. All her life she had done what she wished rather than what her mother had told her. Finally Mrs. Leonard wearied of struggling along without a husband and with a headstrong daughter for so many years. In June she had married again and gone abroad for the summer, and Daisy had been sent to the mountains with her aunt and a family of cousins. Jack, who worked In the city, came up now and then for a day or two, when Daisy treated him Just about as she did some half dozen young men who were all her devoted admirers. One day she and Jack had strolled off to a big rock which overhung the lake aud was well surrounded with trees, and here Jack had protested. "I say, Daisy, you ought to give me a Show." "Goodiiftss, Jack, how unreasonable you are! Didn't I give you a trip to 08 THB LACNCU JIIiANTXiIE WAS SPEEDING I.N THEIU DIKEOTION the glen this afternoon on purpose to stay with you? They didn't like It a bit, either." "They? What are they to you and me, Daisy? Aren't we everything to each other? I'm sure you're the whole world to me. sweetheart," he added, taking her hand. She let him hold It while she pulled Idly with the other at a fern growing out of a cleft lu the rock. It was very nice to have such a splendid big fellow «!.■! Jack so devoted to you and all your own, but It was fascinating togo row ing one day with Tom, and riding next day with Jim, goliing with Will and playing tennis with Dirk. It made life exalting, aud she intimated as much to Jack. "These fellows here are too fresh, anyway, and 1 don'c like the way you go around with so many of them," ho objected. "Would you rather have me go with one all the time?" asked Daisy, mis chievously tickling his cheek with a piece of feathery grass. "Yes, and I should be the one. Dear, It's time we settled this thing—either you are engaged to me or you are not. If you are, then matters are going to chauge, aud I Intend to look out for you and to have It understood by your aunt and everybody at this place. If not"— Lie broke off and sat looking across the lake with a firm line around his lips that the girl had never seen before. She drew her hand away. Indeed, he had dropped It when he had first begun to speak. She stiffened, al though her lips trembled, and If he had looked at her probably everything would have been different, but he sat and gazed moodily at a white sal) across the blue lake. "If the eagageemnt Is irksome to you," she began stiffly— He turned to her now Impatiently. "For heaven's sake, Daisy, don't talk nonsense. I want what Is due me, that's all. I came up this time chiefly to tell yon that I have been transferred to the western branch of our business and have to be there In six weeks. Will you come with me, sweetheart? You know how I love you, and I want you now for my very own. You will, won't you?" She might have said yes, but as luck would have it voices and steps broke on the stillness of the wood, and in an Instant two girls and two young men were climbing onto the nx A Loside them. After a few mo ments of the usual nonsense Jack rose. "Will you come?" he asked, showing too plainly that he was bored. "Not just yet," she answered. She could nit bear to have the others see Jack "order her nround," and, besides, she observed a launch approaching, and she knew that in it was Dick Car tel looking for her, and she wanted the pleasant ride home. So Jack went alone in auythlug but a cheerful frame of mind. '[!• ' sit th« hotel hon ft wumwl to Jack that she was unusually gay. fie danced with several other girls before going to her, and then she stood with the young launch owner Just as the fifth waltz was about to start. lie put out Id* hand with a commanding gesture. "Will you give this to me, Daisy?" he asked. The other man looked rather ruffled and then said Jestingly. "Too late. Miss I-eonard belongs to me"— Jack broke in:"I beg your pardon. Miss Leonard Is my"— But before he could say It Daisy put her hand on the other's shoulder. "Mr. wllnson Is mistaken. I have prom this to Mr. Carter." late tb&t BJUcht but mtw v «va. nc r*[jCiii i w j uJurj In the bowling alley and then took the two mile walk around Star lake. The next morning he paid his bill and ar ranged to leave on the 3 o'clock train. To fill in the time he took a canoe and was soon pulling out by himself to ward the center of the lake. It was a day of brilliant sunshine and crisp breezes. It seemed strange that one could be unhappy with so much beau ty In the world. Presently across the water he saw Dick Carter's launch with Daisy and several others aboard, and his wrath burned anew. They were coming In his direction, and he slowly rowed off to ward the camp, which was opposite the hotel. A young boy was out In a frail canoe, and Jack wondered If he was able to manage It in the stiff wind that swept around the point. The next min ute the little boat spun round, turned over and the boy went down. Jack pulled several long hard strokes before he reached the spot and jumped In after the little fellow, who had gone down twice. He managed to grab him the next time, however, but meantime the canoes had both drifted away, and the only thing to do was to swim with the boy to the camp. It was a fair dis tance, and the water was almost icy cold, after the manner of mountain lakes. The launch meantime was speeding In their direction, nud Jack knew that he could hold the boy up until they came, but he was beginning to feel numb himself. Ills breath came with labored gasps and he was whispering to the boy to float when he saw that six more strokes would get them to shallow water where the nurses' camp Lad a dock. He took five und then lost consciousness. It was fully ten minutes before he came to himself again. lie was Inside n log house, rolled In blankets, and a white capped woman was holding some brandy to his lips. "Is the boy all right?" he whispered. She nodded. Then there was a noise on the dock and presently on the steps of the little house. The nurse went out. There was a sound of men's voices and also of women's, but Jack heard just one rising above all the rest In excited tones. "But I'm different," she said, "and I must see him. I—l'm engaged to bo married to him." It was the sweetest thing he had ever heard. In a moment she was bending over him. "Sweetheart" she murmured. He tried to speak. "Hush, you mustn't say a word. Walt till you're rested." she cautioned. Then with true feminine inconsistency she bent over and asked him a question. | For answer he threw his arms around her neck and kissed her. THUNDER. Odd Beliefs That t'sed to Exist la Days of Old. Thunder, just because it is a noise for which there is no visible cause, has always excited the Imagination of tho unscientific, so it is natural that the most outrageous superstitions about storms should date back to the time when everybody, more or less, was un scientific. One old writer explains tho belief of his day that "a storm Is said to follow presently when a company of hogges runne crying home," on the ground that "a hogge Is most dull and of a melancholy nature and so by rea- j son doth foresee the raine that com eth." Leonard Digges, in his "Prog-< nostlcatlou Everlasting" (1356), men- i tlons that "thunder in the morning signifies wind; about noon, rain, and In the evening, a great tempest." The same writer goes onto say, "Some write (but their ground I see not) that Sunday's thunder should bring the death of learned men. Judges and others; Monday's, the death of women; Tuesday's, plenty of grain; Wednesday's, bloodshed; Thursday's, plenty of sheep and corn; Friday's, the slaughter of a great man and other horrible murders; Saturday's, a gen eral pestilent plague and great dearth." After this the gay and lightsome man ner shown by Lord Northampton to ward these grave matters In his "De fensatlve" is most cheering. "It chaunceth sometimes," he writes, "to thunder about that time and season of the years when swannes hatch their young, and yet no doubt It Is a para dox of simple men to think that a swanne cannot hatch without a crackle of thunder."—London Chronicle. A STUDY IN MILEAGE. Almost Every Country Has a Stand ard of Its Owu. English speaking countries have foul different miles—the ordinary mile ol 5,280 feet and tho geographical or nau tical mile oft 5,085, making a differ ence of about one-seventh between the two; then there Is the Scotch mile of 5,928 feet and the Irish mile of C,72C feet—four various miles, every one ol which is still in use. Then almost every country has its own standard mile. The Romans bad their mille passuum, 1,000 paces, whict must have been about 3,000 feet It length unless we ascribe to Caesar's legionaries great stepping capacity The Germau mile of today is 21,315 feet In length, more than four and t half times us long as our mile. The Dutch, the Danes and the I'rus slans enjoy a mile that is 18,440 feel long, three and a half times the length of ours, and the Swiss get more exer cise in walking one of their miles than we get lu walking five miles, for theii mile is 9,153 yards long, while ours Is only 1,760 yards. The Italian mile is only a few feet longer than ours; the Roman mile Is shorter, while the Tus can and the Turkish miles are 15C yards longer. The Swedish mile is sH and a half times and the Vienna posl mile is four and u half times the length of the English mile.—Pearson'! A Queer Fart About Vision. In the eye itself certain things may go on which give us wrong sensations, which, although not truly Illusions, are .•cry much like them. Thus, when wo suddenly strike our heads or faces against something in the dark we see ■'stars," or bright sparks, which we know are not real lights, though they ure quite as bright and sparkling as if they were. When we close one eye and look straight ahead at some word or let ter in the middle of this page, for ex ample, we seem to see not only the thing we are looking at, but every thing else Immediately about it and for a long way on each side. But the truth is there Is a large round spot »omewhere near the point at which ire are looking Iti which we see notli ug Curio lsly enough, the existence ot this blind spot was not discovered oy accident, and nobody every sus pected It until Marlotte reasoned from tho construction of the eyeball that It must exist and proceeded to find It A Brick. Knlcker—Which side of the house does the Lily resemble? Bocker —' The outside. Don't you see how red he is? —Harper's Bazar. I Blind as a Bali I 1 iij " [I By Martha McCulloch'Williams ;;; 111 l:i ::: >:j ::: Copyright, 1906, by Ruby Douglas !:i ii iil Eastbrook opened s eyes very wide and caught its brei "jver the Taun ton girl when she it through It riding cross saddle '>e sure, the town had been rea» long time about the divided skirfT then the town was also not exactly sure in its mind that riding its streets even upon a proper sidesaddle was not rather bold. Of course in the country it was dif ferent. The very best young women rode there. Moreover, it had come to be a sort of proverb among the plan tation folk that the hardest aud most reckless riders were town girl visitors. Very few of them had any mercy upon the beasts luckless enough to carry them—this not because they were hard hearted, but from sheer Ignorance and the pure animal delight of finding themselves unlettered for a time. They fretted not a little, these town bred riders, when the couutry folk checked speed at hills or insisted that a horse should have a chance to blow a bit •liter ;; hard gallop. Possibly envy, the least touch, gave euge to their disapproval of Edith Taunton. Edith had a fortune aud three tlee saddle horses. As if that were not e.iough, Billy Drayton fell into a way of sharing her early gallops. I'ntil she came back to the old homestead Billy had not seen a sun rise once a year. It was provokingly significant, this change in him. He had been the despair of the town matchmakers. He was a governor's grandson, rich, good looking, good hu mored. Further, he was a squire of dames so nobly impartial nobody ever yet had been able to establish a claim to him. The people he regarded most and was readiest to serve wera meek old ladies who had known his mother and very little girls. Edith was, he insisted, only a big lit tle g'.rl. very lone aud lorn in her big empty house. What he did not say was that he thought her coming back to It something so line and brave he was bent on helping her fight doivn the loneliness and make her own social place. This in the beginning—until the town gossips took to craning the neck, shak ing the head aud drawing aside the least bit when the girl came among them. Billy saw the head shaking, tho drawing back, a long time before she did. She was open and unsuspicious as daylight and had no thought of tread ing ou the corns of town propriety In anything she did. But, being also full of quick intuitions, after awhile she understood. And then? Then only *>he really did set out to horrify the good gentlewom en. She drove tandem through the middle of the square, sitting up very straight, looking neither to right nor left, but pulling up at the corner by the bank to pick up Billy and take him away with her. Next week it was a card party—wholly masculine in com position, except for Edith herself and the colorless cousin who served as her companion. There were wine and ci gars and a supper afterward—a very late supper. The town thrilled with the horror of it. But not as It did a little later, when everybody knew that thereafter, upon Sunday evenings, Edith meant to be at home to her friends. If Billy had known In time that uev- j er would have come to pass. But he had gone away for a fortnight right after the night at cards, first making Edith promise to have no more such assemblies until he was there to give j her countenance and protection. Wheu he came back and found the mischief done, he was lu a sad taking. "I see Just one way out of it—you have got to marry me, else you won't have a rag of reputation left," he said, pretending to shake her hard. Edith made a mutinous mouth at him, "Suppose we try some othei sac rificial lamb. Aren't you most too old and tough?" she asked, her eyes danc ing wickedly. Billy grinned cheerfully. "You can have carloads of 'em for the taking, nice white baa lambs, but I doa't be lieve they'd be the least effectuil," he said. "You see, what you need, really. Is not a sacrifice, but a scapegoat. I'm strong enough to have your sins confessed over my bead and thence forth imputed to me." "But scapegoats have to be sent away, out Into the wilderness. I learn ed that much at Sunday school, and I can't have you go away." Edith pro tested. "Besides. lam uot doing any thing horrid. I shall goto church mornings just the same. As for the evenings, you know yourself other girls goto church then, mainly to have somebody see them home and stay all hours afterward making love to them. I really feel like a missionary—the boys can come here and rest or talk or do anything they please. As it is now, they have no choice at all—they must either mope at home or go out and court somebody—and that must be dreadfully wearing." "It Is," Billy said fervently, his eyes reminiscent. "But, my dear girl, you had better give it up. Get a telegram calling you away. I'll send it if your conscience is against fibbing"— "My conscience is not against any thing necessary, and you know fibs are necessary," Kditli Interrupted. "But I have much more conscience against backing out of anything just because I'm afraid of some old tabby cats and JOUUK ones." "Tabby cats have claws," Billy said oracularly. Edith looked at him doubtfully a min ute. "I know. They try even to scratch you." she said. And then quickly, her »ves tinning, "They actually eame here, three of them, to tell me about your past"— "They did?" Billy's voice was deadly quiet. "And you?" "I said it did not interest me to fcnow about it; all I was concerned with was vour future." l-'dith answered, her vohe trembling a little, althougn her eyes were brave. Billy got ni» and stretched himself. "That settles it,"he said. "Name the day, right off, so l can go order wed ding cards." • «*»••• Edith did name the day, but not until she had stood out against him a week. She might not have given in even then but for the ordeal at church. Not only was she cut right and left—the minister preached at her—not by name, of course, but in a fashion more than un mistakable. Billy was there, across the aisle, glum and furious After service he icu 11 ci uui, auu waiiieu away with her, his head high. But even that did not hurt like the furtive yet swag gering airs of the three men who called in (lie evening. There was fur ther something of patronage about them. Altogether they made Edith hate them, but not as she hated herself. She was full of quick kindness and had not meant hurt or affront to anybody —at least not in the beginning. Dully she wondered why her townsfolk would not understand she had come back to them because her Interest lay among them and had been eager to help in all good works if only she had been per mitted. But she held up her head and laughed and jested till the latest of her callers took himself away. Then silently she held out her hand to Billy. He under stood and announced an early wed ding day. It was a church wedding, with the house jammed to the last inch. After it the newly married settled back into their old ways, going a pace that kept ' them the talk of the towii. They were very gay an 1 desperately unhappy. Edith could not get nway from a sense that Billy had married her wholly out of chivalry. Billy? Billy was old enough to know better, but he was proving the adage that love, which may make a fool a wise man. may like wise make a wise man a fool. He tor- mented himself with the thought that he had taken advantage of Edith's ex- . tremity. She must know he had loved her from their very first meeting, but ! she was shy and proud and high with him, notwithstanding she was his duti- ; l'ul wife. lie left her much to herself and took pains to make her know that she was , as free as ever. Edith resented the freedom. Billy ought to understand that she wanted to obey him—make him at least that poor recompense for his sacrifice. Thus they ate out their hearts In ; cross purposes, cross miscomprehen sions, until Ashbel Clare came to visit them. Ashbel was reputed a danger- j ous person— tall and slight and hand- • some, with deep seeing eyes. A glamour of romance hung about him. After the first day Eiliy wondered, with catching breath, if he had been quite wise to fling a man like Ashbel ucross Edith's path. She was clearly fascinated by him ! They were forever walking about the bi~, scrubby garden or along the strip of lawn in full sight of passersby and ill the while absorbed in tab*. Edith •vas brighter, too—quite her old, win- ; ionic self. Ashbel seemed equally cap- ; tivated. He roused himself as Billy had not seen him since they were lads j '.ogether. So the days went by, mounting into weeks, at last into a month, and Billy was in torment. He had made a grim and mannerly third for the most part of the time. Still he was sure the two ' had HOMO secret understanding. lie had made u;> his mind to endure to t.io end. There wr.s no danger of dishonor. Dishonor and E.litli could not come to gether in his mind. Isut when he was quite sure—lf he were quite sure—h? would find a way out of It. His fa ther had die lof heart disease. The"" were ways of ending yourself without making a s-.indal. lie would make an end of himself rladly if only that way lay Edith's happiness. The first thing was to make his will. J Ashbel Clare surprised him nt It. Biby was glad. He wanted Ashbel to know, to understand how entirely lie liad trusted his wife and his friend. So ha , thrust the paper luto Clare's hand, say- , ing grulUy: "Itead that! You see I've some de cent instincts if I am half a savage." "I see. Everything, great or small, fa your wife." Ashbel said, then, with a whimsical, half dreamy smile. "Do you know that she's the most fassinat tng creature alive?" "Just what she says of you!" Billy growled, signing his name with a hlurreil flourish. Ashbel bent over him, laughing softly. "The perception does credit to her mind." he said. "As for her heart, Billy, you brute, that knows no better 1 than to belong to you wholly, and you won't see it, you blind, blind i>at!" A soft, stifled so'), the patter of swift, iisrht feet, sounded at the door. Billy followed them, caught his wife in his arms and said, with his lips on h?r forehead: "Darling! Darling! If you really do love me"— "Ilush!" Edith said, with her hand over his lips. "You were a I.Pud bat. Even Jealousy could not uial»« ycu see." MESMER'S METHODS. lie Influenced Patient# by Snftre». Hon, bat lUd Ileal Power. Mesmer published in 1773 his ac count of the marvelous cures effecteJ by what lie was pleased to terra an Imal magnetism. When In 1773 came to Paris he came with a weli veloped sense of the value of advert ing. The campaign he Inaugurated wa Df a character to disgust the conserva tive and thoughtful, hut to take a sen j ration loving populace by storm. Most extravagant tales of cures he bad ac complished in Berlin. Vienna and else 1 where were noisea abroad. Through a convert he challenged the physicians of Paris to enter Into a contest with him, they to treat twelve patients by the orthodox methods, be to treat twelve by his. Of course this challenge was rejected, and equally of courst Its rejection was Interpreted by the thoughtless as an acknowledgment of the superiority of Mesmer's treatment His rooms were thronged. His purse , waxed constantly heavier. The treatment he gave was such as to appeal vividly to the Imagination of the patient—in a word, to Increase his suggestibility. Suggestion, Indeed, was Its root element, although Mesmer fail ■ed or pretended to fail to recognize this and taught that its efficacy depended upon the effluence of a mysterious fluid. In a room dimly lighted and hung with mirrors the patients were , seated about a circular vat of con siderable size covered with a lid and containing various chemicals. A long cord connected the patients with oue another, while in the lid of the tub were several holes, through each ol which passed an iron rod bent In such j a way that Its point could be applied | to any part of a patient's body. Tlit patients were requested not to speak, the only sound in the room being strains of soft music. When expectan cy was at Its flood Mesmer would en ter clad In the robe of a magician and carrying an Iron wand. At one patient he would gaze intently, and another hi' j would stroke gently with his wand 1 Soon some would burst luto laughter, others luto tears, while still others would fall into convulsions, finally passing into a lethargic state, out ot which. It Is claimed, they emerged cured or on the highroad to a cure, Occasionally the treatment was giveu outdoors, a tree being "magnetized" and the patient collapsing In a swoon BO soon as he approa«bed It.—Applfc toa's Alaaaaiat*. 112 c "'l Nurse Helen Ey IZOLA FORRESTER Copyright, IMJG, by Ruby Douglas $ The first recollection Derrick had of oer was very hazy. There had been the fight outside of Kid Murray's. He remembered that, every detail of it. For nearly a week he had been waiting for it to come off, on a tip from the union secretary. And it had all come true. The very uight that Barker had landed from Pitts burg thej had prepared his reception in memory of the speeches he had made before the coal barons. He had bean faithless. Barker had. He had dallied and parleyed and dined and hobnobbed and, as Murray said, play ed the fool generally, and the wine of It all had made him heady, and this while thousands of strikers waited on his word and their children and wives waited for daily bread. It was not wise of Barker. Even Derrick could see that, and Derrick was merely reporter for what Murray called the "pink sheet." So the night that Barker returned to make his ex planatory address iu Central hall Der rick was on hand to see the fun. He saw it. Not only that, but he was right down in the middle of it, and when the boys made a dash for Barker as he tried to glide out the back win dow he went with tliem, not knowing exactly why, but crazy with the sight of the running fox, like the rest of the hounds. They caught him outside of Mur ray's, and those who could not get their hands on him began to throw things. Some of the things went astray, and wheu the melee was clear ed and Barker had been thrown up by the tide into an ambulance Derrick, the "pink sheet" reporter, was beside him with a battered cranium and a faintly riotous sense of victory, as he dropped into unconsciousness, of hav ing got a "beat" on the other papers. But the "beat" never came out, be cause for days the "pink sheet" re porter lay up at Bellevue, and the world spun round him In gray circles like, a view of the fifth heaven. Then gradually out of the circling grayness he distinguished one shape that came and went with more tangibility than the other dreams. And one morning he opened his eyes and saw two real objects clearly, without the gray film. They were Nurse Helen and Barker. Barker lay a couple of beds away from him. lie could see the face on the pillow. The redness had left it, and some of the unctuous mildness. The outline of the profile looked harsh and almost forcible against the white pillow. And lie was asleep. Derrick sluiced up at the nurse. She was dressing the wound on his bead swiftly, deftly, easily. Impersonally. A ward surgeon in white came by, stop ped and bent forward to examine the wound. "He ran leave tomorrow." he said briefly and went on. And suddenly Derrick changed his mind, lie did uot want to leave. He wanted to stay there forever and let this girl in gray and white pat him nnd wrap h> up and case him. Then he thorght of Barker. "Is he b:ullv hurt?" he asked. '1 lie nurc looked startled for an in stant. At lev t her eyes lost their Im personal look and met those of Der rick. Then she understood. "Yes. lie will not be out for several weeks," she said quietly. Derrick remembered swiftly. Sev eral weeks! That would carry him past the lPth. and the 10th was the decisive day in Pittsburg. And if Barker were not on band at that arbitration meet ing t<> <1: lly and parley and fool aroun generally something definite might re sult. There was only oue man to send In his pi- <\ StiMgund. and if Strogui went t : would Ie no parley, no foe big. II" would win the strike. "Have I Ken here long?" he asked. The nurse was clearing the table be side the I i"i of bandages and bottles. Derrick noticed that her hair was re 1- dish browu 1 eneatli her cap. He cov i see the little curls around the edges. "Two weeks ago yesterday you were brought in," she replied. "It is tie 9Ui." I "errick tried to sit up lu bed. "Two weeks!" he gasped and dropped heavily back on his pillow. "You inu ! not do that," said the girl severely. "You have had a high fever and are still very weak. Don't you sit up again." She went on, and Derrick closed his eyes. The gra; ness swept around him, circling, wheeling, waving, until he could not stop himself and was lost in its void. \Yh :i he awakened It was night. f l here were two figures stand ing beside him, tio girl nurse and an older woman. "He is worse," the girl was saying. couch I j AND CURE THE LUMPS I /"»ONSU!KPT:ON Price g #-f|?. ' U'JCMS and 50c&$1.00| j Free Trial, g : Suresl; cad (iiiicliest Cure for nil B THROAT and lAJNG TROUB- H LEo, or HONEY BACK. | fimi nv 1 A nollable TIN SHOP Tor all kind of Tin Roofing, Spoutlne and Ceneral Job Work. Stoves. Hoators, Ranges, Furnaces, «tc. PRICES THE Lo\l EST! QViLITV THE BEST! JOHN IIIXSON SO. 110 E. FRONT BT, morrow. 1 will be on again at 7. i'on | had better not let them take him be j fore Ingraham sees him again." "Nurse." It was barely above a whisper, but j she heard and came to the bedside. j "Will you send a telephone message j for me?" "To your friends?" The nurse was j used to such requests, and this partic ular patient h id seemed particularly j friendless. "Yes." Derrick tried to think clearly, j to keep bis gr'p on tilings before ihe I grayness should come again. "Call u; 3008 Main, ask ior the •'City" room— for Yates. To!! him that Barker is laid up In Be.'levtv.* with a smashed head ind can't goto Pittsburg tomorrow Fell him—oh, hang it, if I could only get on the wire for half a minute!" "You must : ;t excite yourself," said the nur>e calmly. "You could not pos sibly travel to Pittsburg tomorrow. You inu t l.e quiet and not worry." Derrick st.ued at her. She thought he was Barker. And her eyes were dark blue, air,,a hazel, and she was young. ' I will send the message tonight," ;he said and walked away. And Derrick smiled for the first time i" mrvv <'a vs ai d went to sleep with out the gray v >id around liim. She would keep lior word. Yates would at tend to the i'i 1 They would be able to follow up ill.- tip. He wondered vaguely which oi to boys would bo sent to ritt burg to cover the barons' eud of the stoiy. and then he smiled again, ivnieiuberi;:-" the little nurse with the dose curved lips and dark j blue eyes who thought that he was j Barker. The next day Yates came to see him, Yates himself, clean shaven and cold ■ blooded, but with the glimmer of ap- | preciatiou in his eyes as he saw Barker two 1 -ds away. "It wont in this morning," he told Derrick. "The.'e has been a general kickup over liarker's disappearance. Some said he was dead. But they thought he was simply laying low, to turn up high ami dry at the meeting. Now they've sent Strogund since the extra came out." Derrick grinned happily. He had had an idea it would be that way. And Barker wa watching them, grimly, understanding!}', his face looking odd ly incongruous in its halo of white bandages. Yates nodded to him. "Badly knocked out, Barker?" he asked pleasantly. "But not done for yet," muttered Barker. When ho rose togo Yates gripped Derrick's hand. • It was a very deeent, timely thing to do. Deny." he said. "The old man will appreciate it." That was all. but it left Derrick radi antly Joyous. When the nurse came around ne couldn't help it. He had to tell some owe. and lie told her while she dressed his head. It was after 0 then. At 7 she went off duty for the night. When he had finished she was suiillug, too, and her eyes were bright. "I am glad for you. Yesterday 1 j thought that you were Barker, and I | didn't want to send the message. I i am from Pittsburg, and we know about Barker there,' she added seriously. "But you sent it?" "I knew it didn't matter so long as he couldn't. go." Derrick-laughed. The dear, delicious, foolish denseness ot' her. Didn't mat ter! He looked over at Barker and re joiced over 'he smashed head that did : not matter. "They had an extra out again to ' night," the little nurse was saying. The strike has been settled by arbl i tratlou, but the strikers won." | "God bless Strogundi" said Derrick 1 fervently, and Barker heard him. The I nurse added gently: I "You are to leave iu the morning, perhaps before I come on. Don't work hard at first and you'll he all right Goodby." * "What's your name, nurse from Pitts burg?" asked Derrick, looking up at the dark blue eyes. She flushed. It Is against the rules fur nurses t> flirt with fellow nurses or doctors In Bellevue, but they ha\ not passed any rule barring patients a ■ r —: —ffll j of Danville. J Of course you read J j ' ! i i 1 i * II ~ \ II THE I POPULAR I APER, Everybody Reads It. i i Published Every Morning Except Sunday a? i No. n E.Mahcn ng St. Subscription «> cen ; IVr Week. -tieien, sne saia—"tteien way ward." "Mine's Derrick—Wilfred Derrick.' He lowered his voice so tiiat Barker could not hear. "I'm going to see you Nurse Helen, after I get out of this place tomorrow, because you and 1 broke that strike. You don't know how we did it. hut I do. and I thinl ! you're a brick. May 1, Nurse Helen?" "Yes," said Nurse Helen under hei j breath And Derrick held one of the ! slim white hands close to his lips an'"' i kissed it. There was no one to deny him, for liellevue had not barred lov from the patients yet, and Barker was looking the other way. The Power of n Ring. She was homely and to most persons unattractive, yet as she entered the train a sort of halo seemeil to surround her as one set apart from common mor lals. There was no indication of ex ceptional talent, ability or endowment about her, no evidence of superiority but a certain indefinable distinction It was not quite an air of eonques though suggestive of satisfactor achievement. She bore her head higo And wore a Buddha-like expression of proud serenity. Only a moment was she settled In her seat when off came her gloves, and then the key to the problem was evi dent. The long, joyous look bestowed upon tiie sparkling ring on the third finger of her left hand told the story. That left hand had a busy time. It Investigated the lingerie hat poised co quettishly over the face of one no lin ger young. it made sure that her bro >cb was fastened, it pulled her silken skirts closer about her, it tightened the straps to her traveling bag sitting In the aisle, and so on indefinitely, occasionally pausing for a caressing glance from the tired but beaming eyes. The giy little scintillations from tho diamond flashed out the song, "Engag ed, engaged, engaged!"— New York Presa. national lsatilt ivotes. The government guarantees the clr culatlng notes issued by national banks, but not the deposits. Each na tional bank Is required to deposit with the treasury in Washington govern ment bonds to the amount of the notes Issued by it, and if the bank falls the hands are told, and out of the proceeds the notes are redeemed as they are presented, in fact, the government redeem i these notes at any time, charg ing the amount so paid to its bond ac count with tho bank. But while the government doe.; not guarantee the de p.>sits In national bauks It safeguards thorn by dose inspection of the condi gn >t II >.f :Lie i. ; . that there is sel hv i<:v> t" •••■v ,112 a national ".ieuk. M W <Mwl.be. T ACK A WANNA RAILROAD — BLOOMSBURG DIVISION Delaware, Lackawanna and Westeri Railroad. In Effect Jan. 1, 1905. I TRAINS LEAVE DANVILLE. EASTWARD. 7.07 a. in. dally tor Bloomsburg, Kingston Wilkes-Barre Seranton. Arriving S<-rau ton at 9.42 a. in., and connecting at Scrantoi with trains arriving at Philadelphia at 3.48 ft m.and New York City at 3.30 p. in. 10.19 a. m. weekly for Bloomsburg. Klugston W likes- Barre.Seranton and intermediate sla | lions, arriving at Seranton at 12.35 p. in. an( | connecting tlure with trains for New Yori City, Philadelphia and Buffalo. 1 2.11 weekly for Bloomsburg, Kingston, W'llkti | Barre. Seranton and Intermediate stations 1 arriving at Seranton at 4.50 p. m. I 5.13 p. in.daily for Bloomsburg, Espy, Ply 1 mouth. Kingston, Wilkes-Barre, I'lttston | Scrantou and intermediate stations, arriving 1 at Serant on at .-.25 p. m.and connect ing ther« : with trains arriving at New York City ato.s> | a- m., Phlladeipeia 10 a. m.and Buffalo 7 a m ! TRAINS AttRIVE AT DANVILLE I 9.lf> a. m. weekly from Seranton, Pittston ! Kingston, Bloomsburg and intermediate sta- I lions, leaving Seranton at 6.35 a. m„ where H i couiitets with trains leaving New Yoru CltJ !at 9.50 p. in ~ Philadelphia at 702 p.m. anC i Buffalo at 10.30 a. rn. 1 12.14 p. m.daily ironi Seranton Pittston Kingston, Berwick, Bloomsburg and interme- I Jiate stations, leaving Seranton at 10.10 a. in and connecting there with train leaving Bufl a lo at 2.25 a. in. i 1.38 p. m. weekiy om Seranton, Kingston ! Berwick. Bloomsburg and intermediate sta tions, leaving Seranton at 1.55 p. m., where li ; contents with train leaving New York C'lt) nt 10.00 a. in., and Philadelphia at 9.00 a. m. 4 05 p. in. dailv from Seranton. Kingston ; r'lttston, Berwick. Bloomsburg and interme- I diate stations, leaving Scr.i'.ton at b.35 p.m. where it connects with trains leaving Nev York Cilv at 1.00 p. m.. Philadelphia at 12.01 ' ;>. m. au.i Buttolo at 9.30 a. m. T. K. CLARKE, Gen'l Snp't. . T. W. LEE. Uen. Pass. Agt. ft nt to do i Ms of Prill la ■ HI! ii 1 ( is tel. II (ill M li MM 112 112 A. well printed tasty, Bill or Le !} / ter Head, Post<> )lt Ticket, Circulni Program, State >J ment or Card ' y > an advertisemen for your business, 8 satisfaction to you lew Type, lew Presses, Best Paper, 5# SfciM fori!, " Proitness -111 you can ask. A trial will make you our customeh We respectfull" usl that trial. I ill II Wi Wi No. 11 H. Mahonin* St., JD^ISTT:rjT^JL.2S.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers