{winstonWorkl
]i —J
By HONORE WILLSIE. \
V Copyright. IM7, by M. M. t lumlngham. A
The sun was just rising behind the
bluffs when Darrel strolled out onto
the veranda of the bungalow. On the
east shore the Mississippi was still
•dark and gray with night shadows, but
toward the dim line of Miuuesota the
water was liquid crimson.
Darrel, a fitK\ strong figure in his
bathing trunks, shivered as he paused
to look at tiie familiar beauty of tha
great river. Then he took a breath
thut swelled his deep chest and plung
ed with great bounds down the bluff
side to the river far beneath. When he
returned, red aud dijipptng, Jim, his
darky factotum, was setting the break
fast table on the veranda, and In a
short time Darrel was drinking his cof
fee and looking out at the tendot
spring green of the midstream islands.
It was for over a year now that he
had piqued the curiosity of the "na
tives" by living alone on the bluff side.
Two isolated facts, however, known
to the gossips, accounted for all his ec
centricities. Darrel was a writer and
n New Yorker. They called him surly.
They could not know that he was
merely readjusting Ills lifelong theory
of married happiness. They could not
know that he was merely fighting to
recover his old time buoyancy that had
left him that spring morning when
Elizabeth had told him that she was
going to devote her life not to lilm, but
to her "art."
Darrel sighed, then rose abruptly.
"Jim," he said, "Mr. Winston ma,,
come today, so you had better watch
the bend sharply about noon."
"Yessah."
"And you may as well fix up the
guest room this morning."
Jim looked around at the simple fur
nishings of the porch and living room
critically. Jim had served Darrel's fa
ther and had privileges.
"Am Mr. Winston very particular,
sah ?"
Darrel smiled. "I don't know, Jim.
The publishers are sending him out to
get illustrations for my book. This
BHIC SAT IN SIWQiCE FOB A .MOMENT.
will have to do." And he swung down
the bluff side to the little pier where
was tied a string of canoes and skiffs.
He jumped into a canoe ami was off
down the river, with beautiful long
strokes of the paddle that told of many
hours spent on the water. In fact, it
was from the hours spent on this river
that Darrei's book had grown. He had
written it in a fervor of enthusiasm
over the wonders of the Mississippi,
and the publishers had received It Joy
fully. Darrel had found a new field.
The noon train drew slowly up to the
station platform, and Darrel turned :
away In disappointment. Hut one pas
senger alighted, and that was a wo
man. He glanced back once more to I
make sure that he was not mistaken.
Then he halted. There was something
very familiar about the slender, well
dressed figure standing hesitatingly at
the far end of the platform. Suddenly
the girl moved toward htm.
"Oh, HoraceT' she cried.
"Yes, Elizabeth," he replied quietly
as If they had not parted over a year ,
ago.
"Well, aren't you, glad to see me?"
brightly. "And what are yon going to
do with me?"
"I don't know," said Dan-el to both
questions. "What brought you hera,
Elizabeth ?"
The girl looked into his face, with
her candid blue eyes full of wonder.
"Why, Horace, didn't they send you j
word that 1 was coming?"
"They?* Who are 'they?*" Par- 1
risTß fingers were trembling a little.
*Jilr. Tompkins, your publisher."
Darrel sat down heavily on a truck,
then arose. "They wrote me that they
were going to send Winston. You—
you know my old prejudice, Elizabeth." ;
Elizabeth's beautiful mouth twitched,
and her eyes twinkled. "You have al
ways said that a woman could do only j
'pnetty' work; that she could put no
strength Into her sketches. Come, Hor- (
ace? you are not very hospitable, are !
you'/"
Darrel was himself again instantly, j
"You see, I could have put up Winston,
but I am going to take you to Mrs.
Brnfly, who will be glad to have a ,
'paying guest.' "
That afternoon Elizabeth sat in the
canoe facing Darrel. In her lap was a
sketch book. Darrel had said nothtng j
more concerning feminine artistic abil
ity. He was struggling with the old
disappointment and with the old lov«
that, as if the Intervening years had
been for nothing, had returned with I
redoubled force at the sight of Eliza,
beth's beauty. She was so dainty, so
merry, so .winsome, that Darrel had
been able to consider her for her
art seriously. She was « thing to be
adored and protected and slaved for.
The toll of a profession was ridiculous !
considered with Elizabeth.
Bhe sat looking at him In an inscru
table sort of wav. "You must take mo
I to the places you wnnt sketched Bret,
I Homee, so that I won't get confused
by sec lug too much else."
They paddled slowly up to the foot
| of Gniy Eagle. Darrel held the canoe
: against the current and looked up at
the magnificent bluff side, whose great
j face was deep and cool with pines.
| The Mississippi bluffs were new to
! Elizabeth. She sat In silence for a mo
| mcut, looking at the grandeur of river
i and shore. Then she liegau to sketch
rapidly. All the brilliant spring after
noon they paddled about In silence for
j the most purt. Elizabeth slipped her
i sketches as rapidly as they were fin
ished Into her portfolio, anil Darrel did
not ask to see them. He was grateful
' to Ellzalieth that she did not rhapso
dize over the scenery. Words were ln ;
! adequate anil idle here.
At last the girl, with a tired little
sigh, slipped the last sketch into her
portfolio. "Now, if you will come back
to supper with me we will talk them
over," she said.
They sat on Mrs. Brady's porch just
before sunset, and Elizabeth laid one
of her sketches in Barrel's hands. Ho
| gave a little start of surprise. How
had she done It V The Mississippi, calm,
swift and deep, In all Its potency of
motion; then for miles bluff after bluff,
: pushing Into water, stern, forbidding,
yet lovely; the tenderness of the blue
sky, the softness of ragged clouds,
the -
"Elizabeth." said Darrel, and his
voice trembled a little, "1 diil not know
that you could do this. This is better
! than Winston's best work."
Elizabeth looked anxiously into Ills
face. "Do you think that?" she said.
Darrel again studied the sketch, "it
is wonderful," he said. "You have told
! more in these few strong brush strokes
than I have in my whole book. Eliza
| betli," wistfully, "how could you un
; derstand so well?"
Elizabeth clasped her hands softly in
her lap. "Oh, but you see I've read
the book and reread It, so I was pre
pared to see all that you did. The
book was as—as fine and strong as
you are, Horace."
The man rose and walked back and
! forth. "Elizabeth, can you ever for
give me for being such a fool as to be
little your work? Why, do you know,
: I admire Winston's work so much that
I was in the seventh heaven when I
found that 1 could get him to do mj
illustrating, and your work is far and
away better than Ills." He turned
(•toward the girl abruptly. "Elizabeth,
why did you come?"
| "Because"—the girl looked up at him
bravely—"l wanted to se" you again,
and"— She paused.
"And?" suggested Darrel.
"And when you asked for Winston
I was glad to come. I always sign
my work Winston. It Is my middle
; name, you know."
! Darrel drew her close to him. "But
vour 'art?' " he questioned.
"I—l wanted to see if a woman
could," she whispered.
"And a woman always shall," he
said. " 'Winston' shall illustrate all
my books."
A Sailor Made Suit.
On the summer day that Captain
Collins embarked with his ten-year-old
son for a lake trip on a lumber vessel
the weather was hot and sultry. Tha
j captain had more Important matten.
I than his son's wardrobe on Ills mind,
I and young Peter, with the sliortslght
; edness of excited youth, left home
] without his jacket.
For two days the wind blew softly
from the south, on the third day It
switched suddenly to the north, bring
Sag with it a cutting arctic coldness.
Mrs. Collins, fingering the forgotten
jacket, had visions of her thinly cla<
eon turned blue with cold or perhaps
already stricken with pneumonia.
Two weeks later the travelers re
turned, the father beaming, the boy
i even more radiant In a bulging fianue
garment of curious but ample cut.
"You see," explained Captain Collins,
'Teter didn't have clothes enough, so
'we putin at the nearest port to buv
him a coat But there was only one
| store and not n ready made garment In
! the place, so I bought three yards of
| red flannel and made him a suit"
"Where," asked Mrs. Collins, trying
not to laugh, "did you get the pattern'"
"Used the boy," said the captain
proudly. "Laid the flannel on the
| deck, spread the boy on his back on
I top and cut all round him with my
jackknlfj. Then I laid him on Ills
stomach and cut out the front How
else could yon make a puttunu?"—
Youth's Companion.
Aboriginal "Capiat."
In the "History of the Town of Mld
dJeboro," V ass., there is a footnote
quoted from the "New Eugland Me
morial," which gives a curious exam
ple of Indiun courts and the rules of
practice In them.
An Indian court In Barnstable coun
ty, presided over by an Indian magis
trate, Issued the following warrant to
an Indian constable;
"I Illhoudl,
You Peter Waterman,
Jeremy Wicket;
Quick you take him.
Fast you hold him.
Straight you bring him , j
Before me,
"Hihoudl."
- 5 !
Von Moltke at Cards.
Count von Moltke, Germany's great
field marshal, never lost a battle, and
It annoyed him to lose a game of cards.
A biographer says of bis old age: "The
family were trained to let him win if
they could without his noticing their
maneuver, and they would reckon up !
the stuns to the smnllest amount. 'lt
Is really wonderful that I have won In <
spite of my bad play,' he remarked to
me once rather suspiciously, but he j
abided by the result"
A Free Hand.
"You sketch with a free hand, Miss
Brownsmith," remarked the professor,
who had Iteen critically examining her
portfolio.
"Entirely free," said the young lady i
as she cast down her eyes In soft con
fusion and waited for the professor to
follow up the opening.
Liberal,
The new pastor of a country church !
said to one of his deacons, "I find that
Brother Elnknm has very liberal re- j
llglous views."
"Yes," replied the deacon, "Brother j
Linkum is more liberal In his views .
than In his contributions."
\ His Clever Ally I
• 1
• ...Dy... »
• W. CRAWFORD SHERLOCK. •
: :
Copyright, 1907, by Mary McKeon. *
"Now.'Tip, something must be done,
but how I'm going to do it is more
than I know."
Jim Granville stretched his great
Vengtb on the grass beneath an old oak
tree and addressed his fox terrier, who
surveyed his master with evident inter
est and understanding. There was a
frown on the broad forehead of the
young man and a troubled look In his
big brown eyes. Tip sat on his
haunches, wagging his diminutive
stump of a tail vigorously, one eye
fixed intently on bis master's face,
while with the other he watched the
movements of a squirrel on an over
hauging branch.
"I'm in love, Tip," continued Gran
ville, flicking the ashes from his cigar
with an Impatient gesture. "You know
what that means, old fellow, since
you've been paying your addresses to
that little spaniel of Miss Browning's.
Yet you can't understand why 1 don't
tell the girl so and settle the whole
matter, do you? Tip, canine affairs are
different from human affairs. Men
have responsibilities, and dogs don't.
That's the whole difference in a nut
shell."
Tip gave a short bark, as if he fully
comprehended the distinction, and
Granville went on; "I have a pretty
good Income, Tip, but it is not big
enough to support two establishments.
If I get married, my mother would have
to live with us, and you know from
your own experiences that she is a wo
man of decided convictions."
Tip shuddered at the remembrance
of a whipping he bad received for tiio
slight offense of chewing up one of
Mrs. Granville's gloves in a moment
of absentmindedness and then hung
Ills head.
"Well, Miss Browning also has de
cided views on certain questions of
life, and she and my mother disagree
upon almost every subject. The nat-
B
IN THE tenter of the clearino btood
WENTWoRTIf ANI> MRS. GRANVILLE.
lira! result of bringing such opposite
natures together and compelling them
to live beneath the same roof would be
trouble, Tip, serious trouble too. I
would have to side with my wife
against my mother or I would have to
sido with my mother against my wife.
In either case my position would be
decidedly unpleasant. I don't expect
you to fully understand this, old fel
low. You were separated from your
mother when you were too young to
comprehend the meaning of filial af
fection. Hut human beings are quite
different and have a certain duty to
perform in looking after their maternal
relations. Now, these are the facts in
\ the case. Tip, and something must be
done, but I don't know what it is
! to be."
The squirrel had disappeared from
view, and Tip fixed his undivided at- j
tention upou his master, evidently med- j
Itatlng deeply over the perplexing prob
lem. The stumpy tall ceased its pen-!
dulum-llke motions, and his sharp ears
were pricked up In an attitude of ear I
nest attention.
"This crisis has come upon us sud- j
denly, my boy," pursued Granville aft
er a few moments of silence. "Things
were running along all right, and there
was no necessity for Immediate action!
until this big fellow from California—
Wentworth's his name—came upon the
scene. lie's been showing Miss Brown-;
lng the most decided attention. Took
her out three times last week in his
auto and twice to the theater. In fact, I
every time I went there she vas out
with this confounded Went worth, and
I haven't had a chance to say a word
to her since he came."
The terrier whined sympathetically. 1
and his master continued:
"He's twice as old as she is, Tip,
but that doesn't make any difference in
these days, when men of sev- ty mar
ry women of twenty. There ought to
V>e a law passed that would prevent
people from marrying when there is
more than tive years difference in their
ages, and if I ever goto congress I'll
Introduce such a measure. That won't!
help me now, though, and if I don'tj
make a move he'll win out and leave !
me at the post. There you are. Tip.'
I've unbosomed my secret soul to you, j
the only friend in whom I can confide, '
and I look to you to straighten this j
tangle out for me."
If the fly that hovered about Tip's 1
head had been Wentworth, Granville's j
anxiety would have been at an end. I
After maklng'sure that his winged tor
mentor would worry him no more Tip '
glanced around and espied the squirrel
several rods away, engaged in making
his morning meal from some crumbs
that had been left in the woods. For
getting his master's troubles. Tip dash
ed off in pursuit, leaving Granville to
solve the question that so greatly per
plexed him. The young man, left to
his own devices, lighted a fresh clgur
| nin 1 began a mental calculation as t" ,
I the length of lime that must elapse be- !
I fore he could hope for sufficient In- |
j come wherewith to maintain his moth- J
! er and wife In separate homes, pro- j
i vklod, of course, that Wentworth did j
! not succeed in carrying off Miss ;
j Browning before his eyes,
j The calculation was interrupted by a
series of ear splitting yelps, and Gran
ville, fearing his pet had come to grief,
j arose and hurried down the path along
which Tip had disappeared. As he j
■ reached a clearing a hundred yards or
• so away he stopped short, his eyes !
| resting upon a curious scene.
| In the center of the Clearing stood |
Wentworth and Mrs. Granville. The
' former had one arm around the latter's j
waist, while, with his walking stick in :
his disengaged hand, he was vlgorous
■ iy parrying the furious rushes of the
11 enraged Tip.
"I'm so glad you've come, .Tim," cried
, Mrs. Granville as her son drew near. i
"You are just in time."
"It looks as if I'm around at the
wrong time," grimly returned the
! | young man as he proceeded to calm
the excited Tip. "I don't quite under
stand what it all means. I didn't know j
i you knew Mr. Wentworth."
"Not know Tom Wentworth!" ex
claimed Mrs. Granville In surprise.
,! "Why, I've known him ever since I
| was a child. He's Catherine Brown
ing's uncle, you know, and while he
was looking up his niece he found me
out, and we've renewed our old friend- t
ship. Tom tells me"—a pretty flush
had crept into Mrs. Granville's cheeks,
i and her forty-five years of life seemed
to dwindle perceptibly—"that 1"- has
cared for me ever since lie has known
I me, and ho has persuaded me to go
' back to California with him if you
I have 110 objections, Jiin. What do you
' I say?"
! "I won't stand in tlie way of your
happiness, mother," declared Granville
ij with an emphasis that Mrs. Granville
1 did not understand until Wentworth
enlightened her.
"I knew Jim would be all right," ob
served the Mg Califoruian jovially,
"lie's been making some plnus for
himself, and I think we'd better make
a double wedding of It."
"You're a clever ally, Tip, even if
you're only a dog," remarked Gran
ville as he walked toward Miss Brown
ing's home. "That wild bolt of your
-1 brought about a solution of the whole
matter."
Marsh Cup Water Plant.
The plant that I found in the Hud
son bay region which is most worthy
of notice grows in the mossy mus
kegs, in places where there is little
or no grass. It is remarkable for two
reasons- the beauty of its flower and
I its water containing properties. The
leaves, which grow flat upon the
: ground, are broad and green. The bell
of the flower seems adapted as a nat
ural reservoir for water, of which,
from a large one, there can easily be
obtained as much as an Egyptian cof
fee cup will hold. But the beauty of
It was that in tlie early autumn, when
the nights were frosty, but the heat
still excessive by day, the water it
contained was always iced, for these
charming flower bells are evidently
constructed to resist frost, and as they
close in toward the top they protect
from the rays of the sun the lump off
clear lco formed within the calyx nt
night. The result of this was that
often when toiling along at midday,
hot and weary, through a stagnant
swamp all I had to do to slake my
thirst was to pluck a few of these j
miraculous flowers to obtain so many '
j small cups full of delicious water, j
each with a little lump of ice floating
on the top.—Blackwood's Magazine.
What Boys Learned 300 Years Ago.
Schoolboys tii old England took to
| Latin and Greek at an early age. At
St. Saviour's Grammar school, South
wark. In 1611 a pupil of seven years
j an<l three months was admitted as an
ordinary occurrence, who signed his
form of admission, stating himself to
; be "reading and learning in the Acci
dence and entering into Propria quae
Maribus, etc., and also Tully his sec
ond epistle, among those gathered by
Sternius, and Corderlus' dialogues,
I etc." The hours of study were long
too. An old record says that from
| March till September "the child is to
i come at 0 in the morning and be at
school till 11. Again at 1 and tarry
Wll 0. The rest of the year he is to be
i gin in the morning at 7 and leave at 5
in the afternoon. The maister will not
fclve leave to play but once a week."
I The maister was to be "skilled In the
j Latin and able to teach grammar, or
] atory, poetry and Greek, as also the
i principles of Hebrew. He is to be of a
j wise, sociable and loving disposition,
not hasty or furious, nor of ill example,
j He shall discern the nature of every
I child, If such may bo discerned."
What He Made.
| Towne—Well, he's a tailor, you know.
He's not used to polite society. It's
only natural to expect a break.
. Browne—Yes, but lie made another
1 breach of good manners shortly after
that—
j Towne—Ah, a pair of breaches!
That's still more natural for a tailor.—
Catholic Standard and Times.
Marie Antoinette's Books.
The unhappy Queen Marie Antoi
nette possessed an important library of
: 4,712 volumes, consisting of plays and
romances, little books a la mode, the
works of rascal, Bossuot, Feuelon,
Bourdaloue. Masslllon. lioileau, Cous
seau, Cornelile, Mollere, Voltaire and
many others. She loved music passion
ately and had a large collection of
operas in eighty-nine numbers. The
; bindings were by Hlaizot and were
j uniform in red morocco, with the arms
| of France and Austria stamped upon
, them. The execution of the work was
| poor and the decadence in the art of
i binding evident. The glories of the
! art of Padeloup and the Deromes had
passed away, and the revolution effec
| tually killed whatever knowledge re
i mained of the ancient skill of the
j bookbinders. Half a century later saw
I its revival in France, and the art has
since flourished both there and on
' English soil.—London Spectator
Mother (returning home)— Gracious,
Tommy, what means this? The lamp
Is broken, the dishes are smashed, and
j everything is upside down. Tommy—
I Why, mother, you said we could play
anything we wanted, didn't you?
| Mother—Yes. Tommy—Well, we play
ed earthquake.—lllustrated Bits.
STONING A TIGER.
The Punishment of a Man Eatir Thai
Killed a Tibetan.
Fifty years ago tigers were very com
| mou. even in the high hills of western !
Tibet, writes C. A. S herring in his ae
-1 couut of that country. At the present
time, however, owing to the Increase
of population and the general spread of
cultivation, they have become rare,
| and the appearance of a man eater
who carried off a poor old woman on
| the slope of Chipia created consterna
tion.
On the following day there were
! gathered together a hundred grim men,
I armed only with axes and stones, for
i they had not a gun among them.
Fortune favored the brave, for the
tiger was found asleep under a rock.
At once each man dropped silently into
j*the cover of the brushwood and piled •
a heap of stones near to his hand,
while one of the most trusted of the
party was commissioned to stalk to
the top of the rock and drop a huge
stone 011 the sleeping brute.
So well was the work done that the
stone fell true on the tiger's back, and
Immediately, with a roar, the wounded
beast sprang up and, seeing his ene- ;
mies, who leaped from their cover,
charged the line.
But a hundred men, desperate as to
consequences, throwing stones with
might and main, are not to be awed or
turned from their purpose lightly. The
stones broke the tiger's teeth and went
into his mouth, and his body soon be
came r. mass of wounds.
1.1 riling, he tried to escape and took
his pursuers up hill for a mile, but
wherever he paused and whatever ho
did lie could not escape the pitiless
rain of missiles. The blow on his back,
first given, effectively checked his
speed, and finally, worn out, he came
to bay under .1 great cliff.
The rest was easy. He was immedi
ately hemmed in, and the stones were
showered on him thicker than ever and
hurled w.'tli redoubled energy. As he
sank down the villagers rushed in and
dispatched him with their axes.—
Youth's Companion.
nespected Mis Scruples.
In the mathematics class one day at
Williams college Professor S., who
was rarely made the subject of college
jests, was excessively annoyed by
some man "squeaking" a small rubber
bladder. The noise seemed to coma
from near a certain Jack Ilollis, and
after querying each of his neighbors
and receiving a negative answer Pro
fessor S. said sternly:
"Hollis, do you know who is making
that unbearable noise?"
Hoills, who had Iteen the guilty per
son all along, assumed an air of stoical
bravery and said calmly, "I know, sir,
but I prefer not to tell."
Professor S.'s angry face grew calm
er, and with evident pleasure he re
plied: "I respect your scruples, Hollis.
They do you < redlt and should shame
the guilty man. sir."
John Milton's Cottage.
One of the best preserved historic
country houses in all England is John
Milton's cottage at Chalfont St. Giles,
to which the blind and aging poet fled
when the great plague swooped down
on London. That was in July, 1065.
and Milton had just finished "Paradise
Lost" and received a five pound note
for It, with a promise of three more
five pound notes if the poem sold four
editions of 1,300 copies each. The cot
tage stands at the top of the village,
I nnd It is in practically the same con
dition us when Milton left it. Here
1 the poet received his distinguished
guests during tile latter part of his life.
n
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.lie Home Paper
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THE FJEOPLEIS 112
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THE ZOO CATERER.
Special Knowledge Required to Run a
Wild Animals' Hotel.
"To run a wild animals' hotel—for
what is a 7.00 but that?—requires a lot
of special knowledge," said an animal
keeper. "How would you, for la
stance, know how to provid® for a
rhinoceros or a tapir? If you don't
cater right for your animal guests, If
you don't give them what they want,
they pack up and quit the hotel, you
know—that Is' to say, they die. It
amounts to the same thing.
"Yes, it takes special knowledge to
feed a zoo. You wouldn't know, would
you, that au elephant requires 150
pounds daily —no more, no less —of
rice, hay, straw, roots, bread and bis
cuit?
"A hippo wants more. Give him
roots, hay and g.-ass, 200 pounds of
them, and he won't register a single
kick.
"A giraffe with its dainty appetite,
asks only for fifty pounds a day of
chaff, salad, grain and clover.
"But don't offer vegetables to lions
and tigers. Eight pounds apiece of raw
horseflesh, with plenty of bone and
gristle, Is their ration, year in and
year out.
"We have our farms, too, to supply
our table, just as lots of other hotels
do. Only our farms are queer ones.
One is a mouse farm. Iu it, with the
'ielp of traps, we raise a tremendous
annual crop. Another is a worm farm,
where we produce yellow meal worms
by the thousand for our birds "—Ex
change.
: 3lli NEW!
Fl©lli\ble
TIN SHOP
sr all kind of Tin Roofing
Spoutine and Cenersl
Job Work
Stoves. Heaters. Rantjoa,
Furnaces, eto.
PRIDES THE LOWEST!
QIIILITT TDE BEST!
JOHN HIXSOiV
MO. 11« E. FRONT ST.
8 K!U. t:T COUCH 1
• AND CURE THE LUNCBI
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xIS a s&SsijSj it §
sver iissawery!
i ron /Consumption Price I
- i'Urt i. -nd soc & $1 .co a
Free Trial. g
, Surest and Uuiciteat Cure for all 1
THROAT and LUNG TKOUB- I
I,ES, or MONEY BACK.
fe want to ao ais
kinds of Printing
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Will
It's Neat.
ll wiljlegse. j
A. well
tasty, Bill • Le
\f/ ter Head, Poster,
h)* Ticket, vj culr.i
Program', St
Jit
If'yi] men'i > arc' *
an advertisemer
for youv business,;!
satisfaction to you
New Type,
Hew Presses, .
Best Paper, M
Skilled Wort A 1
Promptness-
All you can ask.
A trial will make
you our customer
We respectfully «is^ v
that trial.
'
No. 11 E. Mahoning St..
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