TTIK OITIZK. , FIHDAY, NOVKMHKK 11, 1010.
nnnmi
rnuur
THE PUDOBN
Being Another Case of Truih
Stranger Than Fiction.
By 0. HENRY.
Copyright, 1910. by Doubleday, Page &
Company.
Spring winked n vltrcons optic nt
Editor Westbrook of tbe Mlnervn
Magazine nnd deflected him from his
course. He hnd lunched In his favor
ite corner of n Broadway hotel and
was returning to his olllce when his
feet became entangled In the lure of
the vernal coquette. Which Is by
way of saying that ho turned eastward
In Twenty-sixth street, safely forded
the spring freshet of vehicles In Klfth
avenue aud meandered along the walks
of budding Madison square.
The lenient air and the settings of
Uie little park almost formed a pas
toral; the color motlff was green tho
presiding shade at the creation of man
and vegetation.
The callow grass between tho walks
was the color of verdigris, n poisonous
green, reminiscent of the horde of der
elict humans that had breathed upon
the soli during the summer and au
tumn. The bursting tree buds looked
strangely familiar to those who had
botanized among the garnlshlngs of
tho flsh course of a forty cent dinner.
The sky above was of that palo aqua-
SAW THAT HIS OAPTOn WAS DAWB
SIIACKLErOl'.D DA WE.
marine tint that hall room poets rhyme
with "true" and "Sue" and "coo."
The one natural and frank color vis
ible was the ostensible green' of the
newly painted benches a shnde be
tween the color of a pickled cucumber
and that of a last year's fast black
cravenette raincoat But to tho city
bred eye of Editor Wostbrook the
landscape appeared a masterpiece.
And now, whether you are of those
who rush in or of tho gentle con
course that fears to tread, you must
follow In a brief Invasion of the edi
tor's mind.
Editor Westbrook's spirit was con
tented and serene. The April number
of the Minerva had sold Its entire edi
tion before the tenth day of the mouth.
A newsdealer In Keokuk had written
that he could have sold fifty copies
more if he had had 'em. The owners
of the magazine had raised his (the
editor's) salary, he had just Installed
In his home a Jewel of a recently im
ported cook who was afraid of police
men, and the morning papers had pub
lished In full a speech he had made at
a publishers' banquet Also there were
echoing in his mind tho jubilant notes
of a splendid song that his charming
young wife had sung to him before ho
left his uptown apartment that morn
ing. She was taking enthusiastic in
terest in her music of late, practicing
early and diligently. When he had
complimented her on the Improvement
In her voice she had fairly hugged him
for joy at his praise. Ho felt, too, tho
benlgu tonic medicament of the train
ed nurse, Spring, tripping softly adown
the wards of tho convalescent city.
While Editor Westbrook was saunter
ing between tho rows of park benches
(already filling with vagrants and the
guardians of lawless childhood) ho felt
bis sleeve grasped and held. Suspect
ing that he was about to be panhan
dled, he turned n cold and unprofitable
face and saw that Jils captor was Dawe
Shackleford Dawe dingy, almost
ragged, the genteel scarcely visible lu
him through tbe deeper lines of tho
ihabby.
While tho editor is pulling himself
out of his surprise a flashlight biog
raphy of Dawo is offered.
ne was a fiction writer nnd one of
Westbrook's old acquaintances. At
tmo tlmo they might have culled each
ether old friends. Dawe had somo
money in those days and lived in a de
rent apartment house near West
brook's. Tho two families often went
to theaters and dinners together. Mrs.
Dawo and Mrs. Westbrook becamo
"dearest" friends. Then one day a
little tentacle pf the octopus, Just to
amuse Itself, Ingurgitated Dawe's cap
ital, and he moved to tho Oramercy
park neighborhood, whero one for a
few groats per week may sit upon
ono's trunk under eight branched chan
deliers and opposite Carrara marblo
mantols and watch tho mice play
upon tho floor. Duwo thought to llvo
by writing Action. Now and then ho
sold a story. Ho submitted many to
Westbrook. The Minerva printed one
or two of them; the rest were r''t"..
ed. Westbrook m-nt a careful tun' i.
sclcutlous personal letter with i-ui ii r
Jectcd manuscript, pointing out n 0
talis his reasons for considering i n,
available. Editor Westbrook hud !
own clear coin'eptlnti of what i-i-';
tuted good flcllon; so hnd Dawe. '!
Dawe was mainly concerned about t-
constituents of the scant. v dlshr of
food that she managed to scrape to
pel her. One day Dawe had ft !!
spouting to her about the excellen !
of certain Vrviu Ii writers. At d!n:m
they sat down to a dish that a hiui-r
I schoollioy could have encompassed af
a gulp. Dawe commented.
"It's .Maupassant hash," said Mr
Dawo. "It may not bo nrt. but I do
wish you would do a five course Mtir
lon Crawford serial with an Ella
Wheeler Wilcox sonnet for dessert.
I'm hungry.,'
As far as this from success wat
Shackleford Dawo when he pluekid
Editor Westbrook's sleeve In Madison
square. Thut was the Hist time the
editor had seen Dawo in several
months.
"Why. Shack, Is this you?' said
Westbrook, somewhat awkwardly, for
the form of his phrase seemed to tou.-h
upon the other's changed appearance.
"Sit down for a minute," said Dawe,
tugging at his sleeve. "This Is my
office. I can't come to yours looking
as I do. Oh, sit down! You won't be
disgraced. Those half plucked birds
on the other benches will take you for
a swell porch climber. They won't
know you are only an editor."
"Smoke. Shack?" said Editor West
brook. sinking cautiously upon the vir
ulent green bench. He always yielded
gracefully when he did yield.
Dawe snapped at tho cigar as a king
fisher darts at a sun perch or a girl
pecks at a chocolate cream.
"How goes the writing?" asked the
editor.
"Look at mo," said Dawe, "for your
answer. Now. don't put on that em
barrassed, friendly, but honest look
and ask mo why I don't get n Job as
a wine agent or a cnb driver. I'm In
tho light to a finish. I know I can
write good Action, and I'll force you
fellows to admit It yet. I'll mako you
change the spelling of 'regrets' to
'c-h-e-c-k' before I'm done with you."
Editor Westbrook gazed through his
nose glasses with a sweetly sorrowful,
omniscient, sympathetic, skeptical ex
pressionthe copyrighted expression
of tho editor beleaguered by the un
available contributor.
"Have you read tho last story I sent
you, 'The Alarum of the Soul?" " asked
Dawo.
"Carefully. I hesitated over that
story, Shack; really I did. It had
some good points. I was writing you
a letter to send with It when It goes
back to you. I regret"
"Never mind tho regrets," said
Dawe grimly. "There's neither salve
nor sting In 'em any more. What I
want to know Is why. Come. now.
out with the good points Arst"
"The story," said Westbrook delib
erately after a suppressed sigh, "is
written around an almost original plot
characterization, the best you have
done; construction, almost as good,
except for a few weak joints which
might be strengthened by a few
changes and touches. It Is a good
story, except"
"I can write English, can't I?" Inter
rupted Dawe.
"1 have always told you," said the
editor, "that you had a style."
"Then the trouble Is the"
"Same old thing," said Editor AVest
brook. "You work up to your climax
like an artist, and then you turn your
self into a photographer. I don't know
what form of obstinate madness pos
sesses you, Shuck, but that Is what you
do with everything that you write.
No; I will retract the comparison with
tho photographer. Now and then pho
tography, In spite of its impossible
perspective, rannages to record a fleet
ing glimpse of truth. But you spoil
every denouement by those Ant, drab,
obliterating strokes of your brush that
I huvo so often complained of. If you
would rise to the literary pinnacle of
your dramatic scenes and paint them
in the high colors that art requires the
postman would leave fewer bulky, self
addressed envelopes at your door."
"Oh, Addles and footlights!" cried
Dawe derisively. "You've got that old
sawmill drama kink In your brain yet.
When the man with the black mus
tache kidnaps golden haired Bessie you
are bound to have the mother kneel
and raise her bands In the spot light
and say, 'May high heuven witness
that I will rest neither night nor day
till the heartless villain that bus sto
len mo child feels the weight of a
mother's vengeance!' "
Editor Westbrook conceded a smile
of impervious complacency.
"I think," said he, "that in real llfo
tho woman would express herself lu
those words or in very similar ones."
"Not In a six hundred nights' run
anywhere but on the stage," Bald Dawe
hotly. "I'll tell you what she'd say In
real life. She'd say: 'What! Bessie
led away by a strange man? Good
Lord! It's ono trouble after another!
Get my other hat I must hurry around
to tho police station. Why wasn't
tomebody looking after her, I'd like to
know? Kor God's sake, get out of
my way or I'll uever get ready, Not
that hat tho brown ono with tho vel
vet bows. Bcssio must havo been
crazy. She's usually shy of strangers.
Is thut too much powder? Lordy,
how I'm upset!'
"That's tho way she'd talk," con
tinued Dawe. "I'eoplo in real llfo
don't fly into heroIcB and blank verso
at emotional crises. They simply can't
do it If they talk at all on such oc
casions they draw from tho same vo
cabulary that they uso every duy and
muddle up their words and Ideas a lit
tle more, that's all."
"Shack," said Editor Westbrook Ira
prcsslvely, "did you ever pick up tho
mangled and lifeless form of n cli ' 1
from under the fonder of a ntivet
and carry It In your arms and laj i'
down before the distracted inntl ei
Did you ever do that and listen to t.x
wonU of grief and despair ns tl..
flowed spontaneously from her llp:"
"I never did," suld Dane. ' Hit'
you?"
"Well, no." said Editor Westbrot!.
with a slight frown. "But I can well
Imagine what she would say."
"So can I," said Dawe.
And now the fitting time had come
for Editor Westbrook to ploy tho ora
clc and silence his opinionated contrib
utor. "My dear Shack." said he, "If 1
know anything of life I know that ev
ery sudden, deep nnd tragic emotion
In the human heart calls forth nn ap
posite, concordant, conformable nnd
proportionate expression of feeling.
How much of this Inevitable accord
between expression nnd feeling should
be attributed to nnture and how much
to tho Influence of nrt it would be dif
ficult to say. Tho sublimely terrible
roar of the lioness that has been de
prived of her cubs is dramatically as
far above her customury whlno aud
pur as the kingly and transcendent
utterances of Lear arc above the level
of his senile vnporlngs. But it Is also
true that all men and women hnve
what may bo called ,n subconscious
dramatic sense that is awakened by n
sufficiently deep and powerful emotion
a sense unconsciously ncqulrcd from
literature and the stage that prompts
them to express those emotions in lan
guage befitting their Importance and
histrionic vnlue."
"And, In the name of tho seven sa
cred saddle blankets of Sagittarius,
where did the stage and literature get
tho stunt?" asked Dawe.
"From life," answered tho editor tri
umphantly. Tho story writer rose from the bench
and gesticulated eloquently, but dumb
ly. He was beggared for words with
which to formulato adequately bis dls
Bent. Editor Westbrook looked at his
watch with an affected show of lel
Bure. "Tell me," asked Dawe, with trucu
lent anxiety, "what especial faults In
The Alarum of tho Soul' caused you
to throw It down."
"When Gabriel Murray," said West
brook, "goes to his telephone and Is
told that his Aancce has been shot by
a burglar he says I do not recall the
exact words, but"
"I do," said Dawe. "Ho says: 'Damn
central; she always cuts me off!' (And
then to his friend) 'Say, Tommy, does
a 32 bullet make a big bole? It's kind
of hard luck, ain't It? Could you get
me a drink from the sideboard, Tom
my? No; straight, nothing on the
side.' "
"And, again," continued tho editor
without pausing for argument, "when
Berenice opens the letter from her
husband Informing her that he has
Aed with the manicure girl her words
ore let me see"
"She says." Interposed the author.
'Well, what do you think of that?' "
"Absurdly inappropriate words," said
Westbrook, "presenting an anticlimax.
plunging the story Into hopeless pa
thos. Worse yet, they mirror life false
ly. No human being ever uttered ba
nal colloquialisms when confronted by
sudden tragedy."
"Wrong," said Dawe. closing his un
shaven Jaws doggedly. "I say no man
or woman ever spouts hlghfalutlu talk
when they go up against a real cli
max. They talk naturally and a little
worse."
The editor rose from tho bench with
his air of indulgence nnd Inside Infor
mation. "Say, Westbrook," said Dawe, pin
ning him by the lapel, "would you
have accepted 'The Alarum of the
Soul' If you had believed that the ac-
'AIN'T IT II Ii, NOW, BHAOK AIN'T IT?"
tlons and words of tho characters
wero true to llfo In tho parts of the
Btory that wo discussed?"
"It Is very likely that I would If 1
believed that way," said tho editor.
"But I havo explained to you that I do
not."
"If I could prove to you that I am
right?"
"I'm sorry, Shack, but I'm afraid I
haven't tlmo to arguo any further just
now."
"I don't want to argue," said Dawe.
"I want to demonstrate to you from
llfo itself that my view Is tho correct
one."
"How could you do that?" asked
Westbrook In a surprised tone.
"Listen," said tho writer seriously.
"I havo thought of a way. It is Im
portant to mo that rav theory of true
to llfo fiction be roi cKiiied r
by the magazines. Vv !u ,.
for three years, and I'm down i.
last dollar, with two uiohiIih i
due."
"I have applied the opposite of v.mi
theory." .salt! the editor. "In Ht in
tho Action for the Minerva Mnguli -
The circulation has gone up from IN).
000 to"-
"Vour hundred thousand." said Duwe.
"whereas It should have been booster!
to n million."
"You snld something to me Just now
about demonstrating your t theory."
"I will. If you'll give mo about half
an hour of your time I'll prove to you
that I am right I'll prove It by Lou
ise."
'Your wife!" exclaimed Westbrook.
"How?"
"Well, not exactly by her. but with
her," said Dawe. "Now, you know
how devoted and loving Louise has al
ways been. She thinks I'm tho only
genuine preparation on the market
that bears tho old doctor's signature.
She's been fonder and more faithful
than ever since I've been cast for the
neglected genius part"
"Indeed, she Is a charming nnd ad
mirable life companion," agreed the
editor. "I remember what Inseparable
friends she nnd Mrs. Westbrook once
wero. We are both lucky chaps.
Shack, to have such wives. You must
bring Mrs. Dawe up somo evening
soon, nnd we'll have ono of thoso In
formal chafing dish suppers that we
used to enjoy so much."
'Later," said Dawe, "when I get
another shirt. And now I'll tell you
my scheme. When I was about to
leave home after breakfast If you can
call tea and oatmeal breakfast Louise
told mo sho was going to visit her
aunt In Eighty-ninth street She said
she would return home at 3 o'clock.
She Is always on tlmo to a minute. It
Is now"
Dawo glanced toward tho editor's
watch pocket.
"Twonty-seveu minutes to 3," said
Westbrook, scanning his timepiece.
"We have Just enough time," said
Dawe. "Wo will go to my flat at
once. I will write a note, address It
to her and leave It on tho table where
she will see It ns sho enters tho door.
You and I will be In thn dining room
concealed by the portieres. In that
note I'll say that I havo fled from her
forever with an affinity who under
stands the needs of my artistic soul as
she never did. When she reads it we
will observe her actions and hear her
words. Then we will know which
theory Is tho correct ono yours or
mine."
"Oh, never!" exclaimed tho editor.
shaking his head. "That would be in
excusably cruel. I could not consent
to have Mrs. Dawe's feelings played
upon In such a manner."
"Brace up," said the writer. "1
guess I think as much of her as you
do. It's for her benefit as well as
mine. I've got to get a market for
my stories In some way. It won't hurt
Louise. She's healthy aud sound."
Editor Westbrook at length yielded,
though but half willingly. And In the
half of him that consented lurked the
vlvlsectlouist that Is lu nil of us. Lot
him who has not used the scalpel
rise and stand In his place. Pity 'tis
that there are not enough rnbbits aud
guinea pigs to go around.
Tho two experimenters in nrt left
the square and hurried eastward and
then to the south until they arrived in
the Oramercy neighborhood. Within
its high iron railings the little park
had put on Its smart coat of vernal
green and was admiring Itself In its
fountain mirror. Outside tho railings
the hollow square of crumbling houses,
shells of a bygone gentry, leaned as If
In ghostly gossip over tho forgotten
doings of tho vanished quality. Sic
transit gloria urbls!
A block or two north of the park
Dawo steered the editor again east
ward, then, nfter covering a short dis
tance. Into n lofty but narrow flat
house burdened with a floridly over
decorated fucade. To the fifth story
they tolled, and Dawe, panting, push
ed his latchkey Into the door of ono of
the front flats.
When the door opened Editor West
brook saw, with feelings of pity, how
meanly and mengerly the rooms were
furnished.
"Get n chair, If you can And one."
said Dawe, "while I hunt up pen and
ink. Hello! What's this? Here's a
noto from Louise. She must havo left
It there when sho went out this morn
ing." Ho picked up nn envelope that lay
on the center table and toro It open.
He began to rend tho letter that he
drew out of It, and, once having begun
it aloud, he so read It through to the
end. These aro the words that Editor
Westbrook heard:
Dear Shackleford By the time you pet
this I will bo about a hundred miles away
and still a-golng. I've got a place In the
chorus or the Occidental Opera company
and we start on the road today at 13-
o'clock. I didn't want to starve to death.
and so I decided to make my own living.
I'm not coming back. Mrs. Westbrook Is
going with me. She said she was tired ot
living with a combination phonograph.
iceberg and dictionary, and she's not com
Ing back either. We've been practlcltif
the songs and dances for two months on
the quiet. I hopo you will be successful
ind get along all right, Uoodbyl
LOUISE
Dawo dropped tho letter, covered
bis faco with bis trembling bands and
cried out In a deep, vibrating volco:
"My God, why hast thou given me
this cup to drink? Since sho Is false,
then let thy heaven's fairest gifts,
faith and love, becomo the Jesting by
words of traitors and fiends I"
Editor Westbrook's glasses fell to
the floor. Tho fingers of one hand
fumbled with n button on his coat as
ho blurted between his palo lips:
"Say, Shack, ain't that a h-1 of a
noto? Wouldn't that knock you off
your perch, Shack? Ain't it h 1, now,
Bhack ain't it?"
TIMELY Ii
FBFl FARMERS
Besting tho Hog Lice.
Up to this year my young pigs lm .
been badly troubled with hog v
writes A. .1. Lcgg lu Farm and Fire
side. Although I killed tho Ice on tin
old hogs repeatedly with kerosene, In
n few weeks there would Jio llco again
on them sufficient to Infest the young
pigs. The trouble was thut while th)
kerosene would kill every louse it
touched) there were sttre to be some
nits left to hatch out or else a few lice
escaped and tho oil was soon gone.
Last Fprlng I separated my sows Into
pens a few dnys before they were due
to farrow nnd covered their backs with
a mixture of kerosene and hog lard.
Tho lard stayed on for several days.
When tho oil was about all gone from
their backs I applied It again. Not a
louse was to bo found on either tho
lows or their pigs until tho pigs wero
weaned, nor have there been nny since.
Tho hog lnrd and kcroscno mixture Is
n much more satisfactory lice remover
than kerosene alone, and it Is not so
hard on the hog's skin.
Supply Fodder Early to Calves.
Young dairy calves and. Indeed, all
ealves should be given good fodders
early. It is Important that these
should bo given to them early, so that
the proper distension of the paunch
may take place in due order. If It does
not the capacity to take food becomes
limited. Even with calves of tho beef
breeds the tendency Is In tho direction
of giving too little attention to this
matter. The free feeding of meal to
calves makes flesh In good form, but
It docs not distend the stomach.
Brood Sows and Corn.
It Is just as far wrong to feed and
bow corn entirely to mako a lot of
milk rich In protein nt pigging time ns
It Is to feed the dairy cow nothing but
corn. If corn alone is neither a satis
factory nor economical ration for a
milk cow it certainly is not for a milk
sow.
A Lazy Man.
A worthy old citizen of Newport
who had tho reputation of being the
laziest man alive among "them hil
locks," so lazy. Indeed, that he used to
weed his garden In a rocking chair
by rocking forward to take hold of the
weed and backward to uproot It, had
a way of Ashing peculiarly his own.
He used to drive bis old white faced
mare to the spot where the tautog
(bluekAsh) might be depended on for
nny weight, from two to twelve
pounds, backed his gig down to the
water side, put out his line and when
the tnutog was safely hooked start
ed the old mare aud pulled him out.
ALCOHOL 3 PEH CENT
ANgelabtePreparalionrorAs
similalingtheFoodaMRcdula ling the Stomachs andBtMtls of
it
PromofesDigesttonJCkerfnl-i
ncss and Rest.Contains nciite
OpiuTO-Morphinc norHiacraL
Not Narcotic.
...
ihvpha Sttd"
JhtMeUts
j4wtSttd HimSttd
CtariMSm' lOaaqntn ftrnr.
Aperfect Remedy for Coreflpi-
uun.ouui ounuaui.LM"'""-"
Worrasfonvulsionsjewrisii
ness andLoss of Sleep.
lacSinule Si$iamre of
NEW YORK.
Cunrantc ed under
Exact Copy of Wrapper.
J
is!
TALKING LIGHTHOUSES.
A 8wedlsh Invention to Give Mariners
Warning.
Wonderful possibilities aro claimed
for a Swedish Invention called tho
photographono, by means of which It
li sold that sound wnves can bo regis
tered on a sensitized plato.
Tho negative Is developed In tho
ordinary way and tho sound curves
transferred to ebony plates, from
which tho sound Is rcprixluccd as by
tho gramophone.
Tho photographono records can bo
reproduced an infinitum, and if tho
original music or soug should not bo
strong enough to All a largo concert
hall, tho sound can bo Increased as
desired. On account ot tho lmmenso
volume of Its sound the Inventor
prophesies that tho photographono
will replaco fog sirens In lighthouses.
Instead of tho Inarticulate howl
which the sirens send out In the night
tho photographonio foghorn will call
out tho name ot tho lighthouse for
miles over tho ocean. London Dally
Graphic.
Chimney Sweep Brutality.
This Is almost too shocking for
print Jim Seaward, Just elected an
English Alderman, says ho wan
"Tom," tho little chimney sweep of
Klngsley's "Wator Babies." Here is
part of Seaward's story: "When I
was only 6 years old I went up my
first chimney. Loft an orphan I fell
into the hands of a chimney sweep,
and a cruel master waa he. He would
thOTO me up the chimney like a help
loss little monkey, set straw afire un
der me, and stick pins Into the soles
of my bare feet to make me climb up
tho chimney. Ho would say, 'Climb,
damn you, climb.' And when I camo
down my knees and elbows would bo
covered with blood and soot and hero
are still bluo scars. I was soaked In
strong salt and water to mako my
flesh hard and tough, and sometimes
I was kept up a bad chimney six
bourn at a strotch."
A Country With One Railroad.
Persia, like Turkey, Is awakening
from her sleep ot centuries, and
aspires to reassumo the position sho
onco occupied In the affairs ot the
great world. She has a constitution
and somo other modern improve
ments, but she hasn't caught up with
the times enough to provide herself
with a real transportation system.
Horses and donkeys still constitute
the passenger and freight carrying re
sources of the empire which onco
dominated tho East Still, Persia has
one railroad. It Is 10 miles long and
runs from Teheran, the capital, to th
shrino of a defunct shah. The gen
eral manager of this road hasn't much
trouble In Aguring his ton-mile costs.
Strikes do not disturb his slumbers.
The finance committee does not both
er Itself with dividend policies or bond
issues, nor doe3 it lie awako nights
wondering If rate-regulating bills are
going to pass the Persian Parliament
Moody's Magazine.
For Infants and Children.
The Kind You Have
Always Bought
n
e
Over
Thirty Years
GASTORIA
THI CENTAUR COMPANY. M TO CITT.
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