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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 -
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