g B E i hh wd The ... Borthwick .-. Theory By E. C. DAWSON. Professor John Borthwick closed his front door at 9.14 a. m., one mo- ment ahead of scheduled time. This enabled him to collect a scrap of paper from his lawn and inter it de- cently in a bed of variegated lc.ves fallen from the maples bordering the roadway. The sharp October breeze exhumed it =2lmost before his back was turned, and his housekeeper, watching from an upper window, ob- served tha. men with a vast amount of brain showed an extraordinary want of ccmmon sense. Professor Borthwick—with the al- phabet transposed after his name— walked to the end of the block and turned the corner that brought the buildings of the Canadian Geological Survey into view. For a generation past he had been one of the depart- ment’s shining lights; over and above all, he was the Borthwick Theory. It was impossible, in scientific ecir- cles, to discuss the pre-glacial period in Polar regions without reference to the Borthwick Theory. It permeated the calculations of two decades of geologists as inevitably as the knowl- edge that certain fossils were char- lacteristic' of certain horizons. The world over the Theory was discussed and quoted, argued and dissented from. Of course, there was dissen- sion—the very magnitude of the theme courted criticism from its bear- ing upon vast economic possibilities jn the Northwest provinces, as yet but partially explored. Not that Pro- fessor Borthwick concerned himself intimately with economic questions; his int-rests were centred in the course of events before Man was. His critics, also the possessors of cometlike alphabetical tails, were the members of other surveys; they dis- puted the Borthwick Theory in the academic journals, and fenced Pro- fessor Borthwick at international cong-osses. Meanwhile, the scientific world, ap- proving and dissentient, waited com- placently; men to whom a thousand years were as a day, geologically speaking, expected to wait; even the optimists scarcely supposed that Pro- fessor Borthwick would have the luck to personally establish his claim to posterity. The Theory had its origin in a handful of obscure fossils collected by the professor in early manhood, when field instructions had taken him, one of a band of pioneers, into unexplored r ~ions vordering upon th~ Arctic. Years passed, and each season found him pursuing his investigations with patient, unswerving energy; those untrodden lands became divi- sions, the divisions districts; widea- wake prospectors began to follow in the Geological’s Survey's footsteps; Professor Borthwick continued to col- 1c~t fossils in summer and determine tnem in wint~r, anc slowly but sure- ly his researches strengthened his convictions. Borthwick on Northwesten geology attained importance in the eyes of ¥*°- (epartment, his views passed, in process of time, to wider acceptance as Dr. Borthwick’s Theories, and finally attained impressive, singular and international significance as the Borthwick Theory. The Professor aged with the Theory; younger men went into the field, able—where he was now un- ab'e—' withstand the hardships en- tailed; he remained in his labora- tory, and cn the evidences of their re- searches continued to deduce and es- tablish the Theory, link 'by link. Year by year he hoped for the con- clusive results that would blazen it on time's records as incontrovertible fact. Thus, the autumn was a season of paramount importance to him, since it heralded the return of the field staff and the possibility that the Northwest had yielded the clews he needed. A sharp gust of wind swirled his coat tails; the Professor folded the garment closer without annoyance; a touch of frost in the air, and clear sunshine induced a physical sense of wellbeing that demanded analysis, together with the opposite deduction that it was possible to feel otherwise. He paused on the steps of the sur- vey with a dawning sense of misgiv- ing. Suppose that, in place of con- firmatory evidence, the season’s work served to weaken the foundations of the Theory, or in any way suggested the possibility of his critics being right and he wrong. Even in the home survey there were men who d--1bted—youths of thirty-five and forty who based their arguments on experience that, compared with Pro- fessor Borthwick’s, was insignificant. Some of them had theories of their own, and toward these he exercised the courtesy and tolerance becoming jn a man who had forgotten more than they ever knew. For the Theory, so far as it went, was cir- cumstantially proved—-even as the- ory it was a laurel that had credi- tably adorned his lifetime and would -ndoubted!y be utilized on his bust. A side door into the building opened to exude a couple of empty crates, indication, therefore, that the fossils and mineral specimens col- jected in the past season were un- packed and awaiting identification. The Professor's autumnal elation reasserted itself, his forebodings van- jshed; entering the Survey, he said good-morning to the janitor in a tone that caused the official to note thoughtfully that he mounted the stairs to the next floor taking two at a time. He remerbered that same buoy- ancy in the Professor when the pa- triarchal beard had been brown, and, coupled with baldness and compara- tive youth, sufficiently incongruous to suggest the possibility of hair re- storer applied absent mindedly to she wrong place. A spirit of bustle and rejuvenation pervaded the Survey; the field par- ties were assembling day by day from all quarters, and exchanging speci- mens cond experiences. In a -orridor “rofessor Lorthwick happened upon a man fresh from the centre—to him—of vital interest. They paused for am interchange of greetings. The Professor was popu- lar with the younger generation fol- lowing his footsteps in the North- west; its solitudes bore everlasting witness of him and of their esteem, even though the Theory should pass, in a Borthwick mountain, a Borth- wick river, and lakes to match. “A su~cessful season, I hope, Till- man?” said the Professor punctilious- ly, but with an undernote of eager- ness in his voice that was unmistak- able. “Tha*’s for you to decide, Profes- sor,” the younger man replied. “There’s a crateful of specimens wait- ing for you, some of them new, I think. We followed up the west fork of the Borthwick and explored one of the unknown tributaries. A wonderful country, .but the difficul- ties >» “No doubt, no doubt,” interrupted the Professor gently; transport prob- lems were mere details, and he * ‘ant- ed facts. “Come to my room when you have a moment to spare,” he pursued. “I should be glad to note d~wn everything likely to be of ser- vice in my researches.” He proceeded down the corridor and reached the door labelled with his name. His stenographer, Miss Dickson, was seated at her desk, studying the stock and share column of the morn- ing paper. . “Good morning,” said the Profes- sor, with the same jubilance he had evinced toward th2 janitor. ‘What a delightful day!” “Good morning,” said Miss Dick- son, without looking up. She never encouraged the Professor to be en- thusiastic at 9.20 a. m.; it involved working through the luncheon hour without a break, which was bad for both of them. **A delightful morning,” pursued the Professor, unchilled. When not conversihg academically he tried to be conventional, and became com- monplace. “I believe the market is going up,” he added, after a pause and a flash of inspiration. “Down,” replied Miss Dickson, pursuing the damping process. She dabbled mildly in shares, and the Professor heard of her ventures with the puzzled interest that a man with a banking account and no use for money would naturally evince to- ward a woman with gambling pro- pensities—and a salary. Next to the Theory, Miss Dickson. was an indispensable adiunct to the Professor's welfare. Every New Year's Eve a check, for the purchase of additional shares, lay on her desk, presented ‘“‘with the gratitude and es- teem of J. Borthwick.” She was a little, energetic woman, agreeable, well educated, well read; ten years as the Professor's secre- tary had grounded her so effectually in the Theory and all pertaining to it that she had become a source of reference on the subject, consulted by the Professor and the geological staff, indiscriminately. A kindly na- ture enhanced her mental attain- ments, coupled with an assured man- ner. She was self-sacrificing and self-assertive as occasion demanded, championed her chief in public, and bullied him in private as one who knew his weaknesses and corrected his spelling. He turned to his desk and the morning’s corespondence. Miss Dick- son laid aside her paper. “The new batch of fossils came in this morning,” she said. ‘‘I had them arranged in the sampling room.” “I met Tillman as I came in,” the Professor replied; ‘from what he said it’s just possible they have hap- pened upon something new.” * He reverted to his letters. ‘“Noth- ing of importance—ah, yes, unfortu- nately—a reminder from the Editor of ‘The Scientific Journal’ about the contribution I promised. He shall have that note on a Fossil Fish Tooth from the Devonian—when it’s fin- ished, only”’—he referred again to the letter and glances toward the sampling room door regretfully— ‘‘he wants it at once.” ‘“And you want to get to the fos- sils, so ‘The Journal’ must wait,” suggested Miss Dickson, conniving with the Professor’s inclination against his conscience. “A promise,” began tke Professor pedantically, drifting toward a bu- reau. From a drawer containing manu- seript he extracted the Fossil Fish Tooth sheets. Miss Dickson took them from him compassionately. “1°11 look through it and see what alteration is needed—vyour attention would be so divided,” she said. The Professor bore the imputation: with meekness and made a bee line: for the sampling room. Eo “Be sure you come to me if theré is anything unnecessary or unintelli- gible, in your opinion,” he paused to add from the threshold—to propiti- ate Miss Dickson and palliate the sense of wrongdoing. Miss Dickson nodded and smiled; the Professor, artful and conscience- stricken, was genuinely humorous. Left in solitude, she commenced work on the Note; it covered several pages, closely typewritten, and even to her scientifizally adjusted mind be- came a trifle tedious. She turned, for diversion, to the Professor's cor- respondence and prepared the replies for his signature. Midday struck; the janitor knocked at the door with a telephonic dinner invitation for the Professor. “Ask for the number and say the Professor will ring up later,” replied Miss Dickson. “He is busy with some fossils, and I can’t disturb him.” It was her custom to waive matters of minor importance without refer- ence to him, an authority the Pro- fessor never resented. In the next hour various individ- uals dropped in for conversation with the Professor, and stayed to enjoy it with Miss Dickson. It was past the luncheon hour when the last depart- ed, and th2 Professor was still clos- eted in the sampling room. Miss Dickson decided to give him another half hour, and reverted, hungry but patient, to the Fossil Fish Tooth. At the end of the period she knocked at the door and entered. “Time you went to lunch, Profes- sor,” she said. . He was seated with his back to- ward her, before a table littered with rock specimens, his head sunk be- tween his shoulders, his elbows rest- ing on the table. ’ It struck her, for the first time, that he looked very old and shriv- elled and fragile; the reaction, possi- bly, from his earlier elation. She approached softly, to avoid startling him. He seemed unconsicous of her presence; his eyes were glued to a magnifying glass beneath which lay a fragment of limestone containing fossils. “It is past 2 o’clock—time you went to luncheon, Professor,” she re- peated. He made no reply, nor even the slightest movement. She waited a moment longer, and with a woman’s intuition divined that something was wrong. “What it it, Professor?’ she ex- claimed. He turned his head slowly and stared at her with a sort of mute de- fiance. *‘Professor, there's something wrong! Tell me what it is,” she said sharply. He pointed at the specimens be- fore him and tried to speak, and with the several languages at his command could find no word to express himself. He raised his eyes to hers, shame- facedly; ‘a suspicion of the truth flashed upon her—he read it in her eves—and flyng the magnifier from him with a gesture of despair. “All—dis—proved,”” he said, fal- tering from syllable to syllable, and sank back in the chair, a withered, decrepit, old, old man. ‘“‘Nonsense! Not the Theory?” she retorted, struggling with over- whelming conviction of the truth and the utter futility of fighting against it. A knock came at the outer door. It galvanized the poor, broken old man into active misery. “A laughing stock! A doddering old idiot. Good God!” he said. Miss Dickson answered the knock instantaneously, stepped into the passage and closed the door behind her. “The Professor is busy, extremely busy; for goodness’ sake leave him in peace,” she said with irritation to the intruder. ‘Oh, it’s you, Mr. Till- man; I beg your pardon—will you come back presently—I mean to-mor- row? Professor Borthwick promised an article for the next number of ‘The Scientific Journal,” and we must get it off to-day, somehow.” Tillman departed, after a chaffing reference to the business methods of academic cranks. In his wake fol- lowed the janitor with another mes- sage. “Look here, Symes,” said Miss Dickson decisively, ‘‘tell every one who wants the professor—in or out of the building—that he’s too busy to be interrupted to-day—on any ac- count. I'm sick of repeating the same thing.” The janitor shufiled away; Miss Dickson re-entered the study and paused for a moment's reflection. Before returning to the Professor she slipped on her hat and coat. He sighed with relief at her entry; his misery became a ghade less acute in her presence; she seemed, tempor- arily, to stand between him and ex- posure. Then he noted with deeper despair that she had donned walking attire. She came to the table and scrutin- ized the specimens lying before him. Next she turned to a cabinet filled with rock sections labelled “Borth- wick River Series,” and picked out several fragments from a miscella- neous heap, resembling in shape and size those that lay on the table. The Professor watched her with apathetic curiosity; she came beside him and picked up the tell-tale lime- stone near the magnifier, and dropped the pieces one by one into the capa- cious pockets of her coat. “The river,” she said quietly, and aranged the specimens from the cabi- net in the space ueside the glass. “No, no!” he exclaimed. She drew gn her gloves with de- termination. ‘They will never be missed,” she said. on ~ He: remembered with terrible joy that she had .always had her own way. She was having it now, and he sat there—unprotesting. “Now, I'm going to lcck you in for a few minutes, Professor,” she re- sumed. “You've overdone things to- day, and you're too busy to see peo- ple.” The door handle clicked, and the key turned on the outside. Inevi- table reaction succeeded the tension of the last few moments; a shiver ran through the distraught old man — "his head swam, a tightness at his throat and chest turned him sick and clammy, his head dropped limply on his hands. “I’m dying for luncheon and a mouthful of fresh air,” said Miss Dickson to the janitor, in passing. “I won't be gone long, but don’t for- get my instructions about the Pro- fessor.” s She took the air from the bridge spanning the river, pitching stones into midstream with vigorous accur- acy. Thus the Borthwick Theory re- mained unrefuted for a season, at all events, and possibly for an indefin- able period. But she sav in per- spective a vista of weary days—she and the Professor enacting the pre- tence of the Theory; she could do it, but he, with his abstruse intellect and elemental simplicity, was like a child—there was childish, helpless abandonment in his grief, but where the child’s misery is short lived, his would endure—till the sods in the Northwest hzd teen opened to re- ceive Professor Borthwick, as pro- vided for in his will. He was old, and it was a terrible shock. Miss Dickson found herself wondering, conscience-stricken, how long it would be. She hastened back to the Survey and the Professor. He had not stirred from his seat, and made no sign when she laid her hand on the arm of the chair. “Professor!” she said, softly. He did not reply; she scarcely ex- pected that he would, and stood for a moment irresolute, reluctant to rouse him. His watch lying on the table ticked out the seconds; she counted them mechanically. No other sound broke the stillness, not even the Professor's breathing—she held her own to listen. Another moment passed, and she dropped on her knees beside the chair. “Professor!’’ she cried, and her fingers closed on his wrist. *Oh, Professor!” She dragged his hands from his face and his head drcpped sideways, limp and unsightly. She shrank away horror-struck and reached to the bell. A rumor rushed through the build- ing that old Borthwick was in a stu- por; later, the news spread that he was dead. Miss Dickson was blamed for the folly of letting an old man remain for so many hours without interrup- tion and without food. 2 “Heart, I'll be bound,” said the janitor. “jt’s what you'd expect when a man of his age tries to climb the stairs two at a time.” “Heart, I am sure,” said Miss Dickson, with nervous conviction.— The Sketch. WORDS OF WISDOM. He is not eloquent whose words do not change acts. : Complacency is often complacently mistaken for consecration. A little laughter lengthens all our lives and shortens every day. There is no outer radiance from the life that has no inner light. Deep in the dark alley we often find the foot of the golden ladder. The worst of all liars may be able to make the best analysis of truth. The honorable man will always honor the things that are honorable. The emerged tithe will do a lot to solve the problem of the submerged tenth. Many women forget that it takes more than a perfect house to make a home. The social for revenue only does not promote the righteousness of the church. Every weed that comes to fruitage is to remind us that good seed is not barren. The religion that can be confined to place and season is never in place or in season. The virtues with which we are op- pressed are not impressing others in the same ‘way. You cannot eliminate selfishness by legislation, but you can sometimes check its speed. This world is being saved by the love that could die, and not by any theory about it. Some men think they save the leaking ship by hauling a new flag to the masthead. He who has walked life's way in truth always sees the promise through the gates of death. They become blind to the spiritual who will not blind themselves to some of the things of sense. The Love that is ever within us gives us greater comfort than even the hope of the life beyond. A rubber-tired vice is likely to take just as straight a course and make even better time to the pit than the old rattle-rim - kind.—Ram’s Horn. More than 5000 Russian Jews ems igrated to Palestine in one month, Ee A A, Q Life Philosophy of a Gilded Youth By Wilson Mizner. (He married the middle-aged, mil ionaire widow of Charles T. Yerkes.) 2 $C prnetsmainmFlmprmaivdiy IME belongs to no union. He never goes on a strike. While we sleep our €nemy is ever at work. Sooner or later he gets us all. Life is always a disappointment. It is a big practical joke. Work! Dor’t speak of it. It is the poorest excuse of an occupation I know of. No one ever got a snapshot at me doing manual labor. I hate work like the Lord hates St. Louis. But why should I work? I never committed any crime. Ugh! 1 wouldn't mind getting up at 7 in the morn- ing. But if I had to I couldn’t. I'd lie awake all night long thinking about it. Work is a curse. I can’t understand people making such work out of pleasure. There's this skating rink fad in New York. It's too much effort. And I never could understand a man’s going to a dance with four collars in his hat extracting pleasure hopping around and perspiring. I'd get operated on for anything that would make me energetic. The ideal state of existence is rest. Sleep and food; then food and sleep, and then reverse the process. Be sure it's light, then go to bed. The sun just lulls me to sleep. People take me for a clothes-rack; a namby-pamby jackass; a peaceful elementary knowledge, two ideas being an unlawful assemblage. Dress is a secondary consideration with me. I'm a perfect slob. I only go around so the health commissioners won’t complain. As for money, I don’t care for that either. I have always made a lot, but I never can keep it. If'I had $8 at the end of a year I'd break out in a rash. ® 8 «® | 8 «a ¢ Japan's Trade Invasion of Europe | 9 By Major-Gen. Sir Alexander Tulloch. OME fifteen years ago, when there was a possibility of the manufacturers of warlike stores being too busy in England S to supply what we might require in Australia, I got onr minister of defense in Victoria to try what Japan could do Emm in making rifles to special patterns. We sent a cadet’s rifle (Francott) and a Wilkinson officer’s sword. In a won- derfully short time we got a dozen perfectly made rifles at the same price we had hitherto given, and a dozen swords quite equal to the Wilkinson for £1 each—just one-third of our contract price for the same article from England. In articles of ordinary use, such things as cricket bats and tennis racquets made in Japan are in Australia cutting out similar articles made in England. Last summer, when in the Highlands, I was informed that a consignment of Japanese-made nail-brushes similar to English ones had actually found its way to a town in the east of Scotland. I found Japanese boots made to measure when I was in Yokohama sO good that I now get my boots from Japan by parcel post. The material— American leather—and the make are both excellent; the price, including car- riage, just one-half of what I have hitherto paid for similar boots in Ijondon. | * «| a 8 «x gre E) Cm How to Limit Big =Fortunes=— By Professor James Walter Crook, of Amherst College. ea Fogoetetotatelok 3, ORTUNES may be considered as swollen beyond healthy _________% ]imits which yield from $5,000,000 to $20,000,000 a Year. The methods of relief sometimes proposed are an arbitrary limit to the amount an individual may accumulate; jro- gressive taxation of imcomes, and progressive inheritance taxes. Where should the limit be. drawn? The limitation ——% is repressive and is meant to be so. It would put a pre- PARTIR ICA NCACA AN mium upon relative inefficiency and deprive society of the advantage of beneficial enterprises. A progressive tax on incomes high enough to accomplish the purpose aimed at has the same dis- advantages. There is left the progressive tax on inheritance. As a tax meas- ure aiming at revenue, I approve of it. It is easily collected. As a measure to limit fortunes, however, it seems to me more doubtful. To accomplish the purpose the rate must be very high. A tax heavy enough would involve a problem of administration. Even so low a rate as 30 percent would mean a tax of $15,000,000 for every estate of $50,000,000, and there are now many for- tunes of that size. There are said to be fifty men in Pittsburg alone whose fortunes exceed { that amount, and in the case of some well known fortunes the tax would | amount to upward of $43,000,000. The greatest objection is the encouragement which the heavy taxation of the wealthy will give to extravagant public ex- penditures. : Sotelo igodet EIT TCI TCT CIR CORON a AER smolyfiot Demoralizing Effect of Money By Walter Beverley Crane. HE first and most conspicuous of the moral influences ot money, as they are developing themselves in our actual so- ciety, is a consequence of the undeniable but prodigious fact that most rich people are radically convinced that to be rich is in itself a merit. It is amazing, but it is so. There are persons of this description who positively scorn other people because they are not rich, toe; who 100k upon dollars as the one test of merit, and who regard pov- erty as a condition of. low inferiority, if not, indeed, of absolute degradation and disgrace. : It is deplorable, but it is se. To ask such persons, men or women, to believe that their money is noth- ing but a mere accidcht, a simple hazard of the game of life, would be like telling them that two and two make five; they could not comprehend it—the allegation would surpass théir understanding. Of course, your plutocratic readers will laugh and quote Voltaire: ‘It is more easy to write about money than to have it; ahd those who have it laugh at those who can only write about it.” Yes, it is laughable, and it is so. T baboon who wouldn’t raise his hand to help a fellow, capable of only the most - ~ he “+ . WwW one to, a and knov bana com thei: obje Lon to b Frer idea ple harc cout with © scrij foul: duty reco soci pal the club who han Will by lang so f ing. use to I a t lace men cost a pe en. trin lace mac Iris] aiss belt the belt and in f the for you but the you be: the you fied Alw no ret per tor thi the ce; no 8id
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers