fMUfIND TRIBUNE. ESTABLISHED 1 BHB. PUBLISHED EVERY MONDAY, WEDNESDAY AND FRIDAY, UY THE TRIBUNE PRINTING COMPANY, Limited OFFICE; MAIN STREET ABOVE CENTRE, LONG DISTANCE TELEPHONE. SUBSCRIPTION RATES FREELAND.—The TRIBUNE isdelivercrt by carriers to subscribers in Freeland at the rata of 12V6 cents per month, payable every two months, or $1.50 a year, payable in advance- The TRIBUNE may bo ordered direct form th carriers or from the office. Complaints of Irregular or tardy delivery service will re oeive prompt attention. BY MAIL —The TRIBUNE is sent toout-of. town subscribers for sl.si)a year, payable in advance; pro rata terms for shorter periods. The date when tho subscription expires is on the address label of each paper. Prompt re newals must bo made at tho expiration, other wise the subscription will be discontinued. Entered at the Postofflce at Freeland. Pa., as Second-Class Matter. Make all money orders , checks, etc. t payable to the Tribune J'rinting Company , Limited. Rostand Is writing another play. Now is the time for Chicago authors to file their copyrights and prepare to convict him of more plagiarism. The fact that the Paris exposition management will distribute 67,000 medals goes to show what a numbir of meritorious articles there are in the world. Oregon has a fish commission, a dairy commission and a fruit commis sion, but it has no state mining bur eau, and is beginning to realize that it is a lamentable lack for the state not to have anybody to inquire into and make known its mineral re- Sources. Consul Hayes at Rouen in a report to the state department, says that there is an open field throughout most of France for everything connected with the preparation of cold drinks. Ice-cream freezers, milk shakers, soda water fountains, and refrigerators "would find a ready sale if tho people knew of the comfort to be derived from their use. Rouen, a city of over 150,000 people, has no ice factory, though a few people keep ice In their cellars. England has hundreds of curates who are said to be nearly starving on their scant incomes. The average sal ary of a minister in our own land of prosperity is only SBO0 —not more than the earnings of the better class of day laborers—and the limit of real useful ness, if not of earning capacity, is hardly 20 years. Preaching and teach ing used to be the honorable ambition of American youth, but there is little incentive now, for the prizes at the top are not numerous. Nearly two years ago the city of Duluth, Minn., municipalized its wa ter and gas works at a cost of $1,250,- 000. Since then it has added enough to make the plant cost $2,150,000. It has reduced gas rates 40 percent, re duced water rates 50 percent, and has for the first time furnished pure wa ter. The balance sheet just issued shows that the plants have earned all charges and established a surplus. The city now proposes to municipalize its electric light and telephone ser vice. A letter which was addressed to a lady at Hungerford, England, and posted at Swindon in 1871. became lodged in some woodwork and escaped notice for 29 years. The other day it was posted. Life's belated mes sages are all too many. Many a dis couraged soul is waiting yet. perhaps after more than 29 years, for the writ ing or uttering of words of confession, apology, counsel, sympathy or simple friendship which if they only reached ft would put a new song of hope into its life, reflects the New York Observ er. The latest figures of the state super intendent of public instruction on New York's public schools are interesting. There are 11,931 schoolhouses in the entire state, valued at nearly $82,000,- 000. The average number of children in daily attendance is 857,000. The teachers employed in the state number 34,848, and the average annual salary of a teacher is $879 in the cities and $322 in the small country towns. The state's payments in salaries to teach ers foot up over $19,000,u00 a year, and its total expenditures for all education al purposes amount to $23,421,491. Half a dozen leading nrlists in New York have planned a 12-story studio building, which is intended to be the center of boliemlan art circles. There are to be a dozen studios with living apartments and two dozen with bach elor quarters attached. The project grows out of the diificulty in securing kitchen accommodations in connection with studios. j BREAKING THE JAM AT UD TOI'S GORGE. \ A BY RAYMOND S. SPEARS. S The spring drive of logs down the West Canada creek, an Adirondack stream, live years ago, was remarkable for a number of unusual events. To begin with, it was larger by millions of feet than any ever before floated down this stream. It was floated in record time, too, for the snow went off with a rush after the ice had gone out. Con sequently the creek was brimming, and on this flood tide came the logs by the tens of thousands. To roll stranded logs from the banks and to break the jams, there was a gang of more than 60 strong, daring men. They rode the torrent and fell in a dozen times a week, but at last they learned caution. Bill Kennedy rode a log into Has kell's rifts before he knew it one day. A mile of white water full of recks was before him. Kennedy lost his courage, the more completely because liis courage had never before failed him. He uttered a wild cry. Dan Cunningham saw his peril, and jumping to a passing log, pushed out to the rescue. It was a wild race, but the approach of help steadied Kennedy and enabled him to keep his balance. Cunningham, guiding his log into the swiftest current, overtook the helpless raftsman, and with his pike pole steered both logs for shore. There was an eddy just a little way below, and Cunningham, with all his might, shoved Kennedy into it. But that thrust pushed his own far out, rolling and rocking. Kennedy was ashore in a moment, but before Cun ningham could recover his balance the log he rode hit a rock; on© end flew up, and the rescuer was thrown 20 feet into the air. Ho came down head first on a froth covered rock and disappeared. It was dark before the body recovered. After that the men took the long way round, even at dinner time. No man is a raftsman unless he can ride a log. So in a lumbering country every riverside boy of ambition learns the knack on creek still waters. It is a good thing to know how to do. It means a good job when one grows up, and may be the saving of a life be sides. Among the rest of the boys at Wil murt, Will Conway, 16 years old that spring, was renowned. He knew the creek, the places where the deer crossed it. the brooks that the mink followed and the pools the trout lurked In. But he wasn't satisfied with the money he earned selling trout and trapping mink. He wanted to make daily wages like a man. So he went to George Koch, the boss driver, and asked to go with his gang; but Koch told the lad he wasn't big enough yet to handle a cant-hook. It was a heavy disappointment to Will. It hurt his pride; besides, the family needed the money. But as ar gument was of no avail, Will was a mere spectator on the bank just above Mad Tom's gorge when the driving crew arrived there on a Saturday morning. That was the best place on the creek to see the drive. A big boulder had como out of the deep water above the gorge and lodged there in midstream at the brink of the tumult, its broad, ugly head two feet above the surface level. Against it logs were hanging every minute, making the worst jam of the season. It was already 200 yards long. The mere fact that it was a big jam was something, but that was not all. Whoever broke this jam must surely go through the gorge—a third of a mile of the wildest plunging water, where the flood piles up first against one rock ledge, then against the other, and finally glides into the foaming tumble at the head of Mad Tom's pool, in which men have disappeared. Haskell's rift, broad, open and com paratively shallow, had cost Cunning ham his life. Hero was; water tenfold worse. At sight of the jam above it the men hesitated and shook their heads. They ate their lunch of cheese, bread, canned beef and coffee. Some hoped the water would risd and lift the jam over the boulder; they pointed out that the stream was just then rising a bit, for it was higher in the centre than at the sides. At any rate, a little delay would do no harm. At tho head of the jam tho water sucked and boiled, with little whirl pools diving into one another. On both sides it raced, wide, black and smooth, gurgling along the edges as it drew bits of ice and sticks under the ends of logs. Where the water was divid ed and its bed narrowed, the current ran swifter and swifter till, at the en trance of the gorge, the water was lined and the foam stretched out, and even the bubbles wero oblong, slanted back by tho wind, or whisked off the surface into shining. evanescent threads. Under such conditions —with the water sucking and boiling—no man In the crew volunteered to go to tho jam. Asa matter of business, the boss offered $25 to tho one who would try. There never was a log jam that river drivers wouldn't break sooner or later, no matter how h'gh or rough the wa ter. but in thin case the men wanted time to think. An that was a boy's opportunity. Will Conway's father had been a noted jam breaker, and men of the crew who knew the boy relieved their uneasy feelings by joking with him a bit. "Why, Billy," they said, "your dad would have been out there hours ago if he were here. Ho wa'n't afraid of tho gorge. Huh, I should say not! I /sen him the time ho went through It—the only one as ever did it alive. I reckon, though some say they have. Them days they used to break jams with a cant-hook and ax, 'stead of dynamite. There was a jam just like this one. You'd ought to have seen it, the way he rode the first log, stiddy as* a wagon, and he saved his ax, too. Pity tlier' ain't no such men alive now adays." To this bantering narrative Will lis tened without undue gravity, but after a while, unobserved by any one, he opened the cheese box in which were the dynamite and fuse used by the floaters to blast jams and dangerous locks. He nut four sticks of the stuff into his hip pockets, and a length of fuse into his blouse. Then he went up the creek round the bend to his house and took a small corked bottle full of dry matches. The old pike-pole his father had used was under the eaves of the woodshed. He threw it over his shoulder and started for the creek. He was soon afloat on a little log that was easy to guide, and he worked his way to the middle of the stream, dodging or fending off other logs. He watched the current ahead to see that an unexpected drift did not carry him out of his course; be stood with his knees slightly bent and his head for ward, and the quarter-inch spikes in the sole of his shoes gripped the log till it splintered. Ahead of him was the jam with logs hitting it every minute. Some of them dived out of sight instantly. Others slued round sidewise and climbed the back of the jam. Tho whole head of the jam was rolling, twisting and heav ing; there could hardly be a more dan- Gerous place for a man's legs. To miss these rolling logs and yet find a landing was Will's hope. To go too far down would be to risk the pitch into the gorge and the probability of being carried past the jam. But as he plunged into a drift of logs and was unable to steer out of it in time, he had to take his chances as they came. There wasn't really any great choice in the matter, it would be a leap for life, anyhow, wherever the log struck, and it might as well bo a big leap as a little one. Will was within 100 feet of the jam before any one saw him. Then a small boy shouted, "'There's Will Conway on a log!" A hundred men, and as many women and children, looked in time to see Will poise himself for the leap as his log approached the jam. Instead of hold ing the pole for a mere balance as he had been doing, he turned it parallel to his log and stooped for a vaulting jump. Log after log struck, each with a heavy, musical thump —a half dozen of them. Suddenly Will crouched, dropped his left shoulder, struck the iron pole point home in a log, and then sprang forward and up—up, while the log he had jusjt left plunged down into the vortex. He struck fairly on his feet and ran lightly over the uneasy logs to the motionless ones. Then the crowd on shore tossed its arms and cheered. The first and least of the dangers was over come. Will walked down the jam, stepping from log to log, taking his time all the way. The crush at the boulder was very great. He looked the tangle over; some of the logs fairly stood on end, others were piled crosswise and length wise. A big one, its back splintered— almost broken —was evidently the key. As it lay broadside to the current, the water poured over it six inches deep at one end. The other logs were thrust over and under it, and were lodged against the boulder. Just below the key log, in the water beside the boulder, was the place for the dynamite, so Will decid ed after the examination. Then he went to work. While the crowd on shore looked on, wondering what he would do next, not knowing that he had dynamite, Will moved his pike along the jam, and found a straight spruce sapling, eight feet long and bare of bark, which some lumberman up at tho log dump had used as a handspike. He carried this to the key log, and kneeling down, tied the dynamite sticks, one by one to his sapling, lash ing them fast with a stout string, as he had seen the men do. Then he fastened the fuse and ran it along tho stick steadying it by twine. This took only a few minutes —breathless ones to the onlookers. Then Will examined tho logs again, to lie sure that he would put the charge iu the right place. When Boss Koch saw him doing that, he said, "The coolest chicuen I ever see!" At last the rapling was shoved home, the dynamite v. - as three feet under wa ter and the end of the fuse was nearly a foot above the surface. Then Will stood up and looked into the gorge be low. He knew how the water ran there, for he had lived within a mile of it all his life. Tho story of his father's ride was not a new one; indeed, his father had pointed out to him the black streak of navigable water he had fol lowed on that memorable drive of years ago. Will could see the streak for a short distance along the right bank of tho gorge. To the left the logs that missed the jam were lifting their noses against the ledge and tumbling over backward. Will pulled Ills belt a hole tighter, and drew his trouser legs out of his stocking tops; if he had to swim there wouldn't be bags of water 011 each leg drawing him under. He glanced back and saw where the pike polo was. Then he took a match from the bottle and struck it on a hit of dry log. The flame sputtered into the fuse, and Will, grasping his pike, ran for the head of the jam, where the logs were thump ing and rolling. In the days when jams were broken with cant-hooks and axes, the floaters always tried to keep ahead of the rush of logs lest they be crushed among them; but in these days of high ex plosives one must take one's chances at the other end; and this is not the safest place, when all the logs are moving and grinding together. The fuse was long and burned slow ly. Will was at the head of the jam long before the explosion came. He waited with the pike-pole balancing. The onlookers stood on tiptoe. The roar in the gorge was not quieting to any one's nerves, but at last a dozen logs were lifted into the air, splin tered and broken, and the boulder dis appeared in smoke and spray. There was not so much noise as one might think; just a sound that trav eled low down, but a long distance. A 50-foot dome of gray spray, speck led with large black sticks and yellow splinters 10 feet long, flashed up, and then Will Conway poised for a life and death struggle. The jam quivered from end to end. It broke to pieces in great masses. Some logs came jutting up out of the black water; hundreds plunged in with mighty splashing. All were tossed and pitched. In a moment Will was stepping and jumping from log to log, running to ward the gorge. Once he fell, and the crowd gasped; but agile of body and cool of mind, he sprang to his feet feet again with only a shoe wet. As he whisked into the gorge, one voice alone was raised. Boss Koch shouted, "Good boy! Keep your nerve!" Will lifted a hand in reply, and was then whirled out of sight. Till this time hardly any one had stirred, but now everybody turned and ran for the road. Koch and his driv ers leading. They raced over little patches of snow, through a brook waist deep with black water and broke down a dozen lengths of fence getting over it into the highway. The river men were dressed in flannels of bright col ors, blue, red, checkered and plaid blouse waists, and mackinaw trousers of all shade and hues. On them the sun sliono with extraordinary effect as they strung out along the road, the best runners leading and the women bringing up the rear, all headed for Mad Tom's pool,wherethegorgeended. Down the gorge, below the first turn, the right bank is worn out and hangs far over the quick water. The turn is a gradual one, and the logs, onoe clear of the lifting wave above, swing round to the left again, end on, and along the side of a huge molasses like roll. On the opposite side is a fierce eddy, in which logs dance on end and are split in two by the crush. The rocks on either side are. hung with moss wet by a cold, thick spray, dashed up by the wind. Here Will found himself drawing toward the grinding mass in the eddy. He wa3 too far to the left. Quick as thought he jumped to a swifter log higher up the roll, then to one beyond, and on to a third, clear of the eddy by a yard. No time to think of it, though, for ahead was business quite as dangerous —perhaps the worst of all. The gorge narrows below the second turn, and the water, crowded into it, foams so high on both sides as almost to curl over. Down the centre runs the black streak. Will got into that, and the white water was higher than his head on each side. He shot forward with increasing speed. He saw one log three feet in diameter strike a ledge, to be hurled end over end through the As the spray lifted, he saw ahead the black level of Mad Tom's pool, where there was safety. But before that the water gushed out suddenly fan-like, until rollers 10 feet high took up the speed, and only a greasy little trough lay down the cen tre. Once more Will saw that he was off his course, headed too much for the waves. Among them he could do noth ing; he would be tossed as from a cat apult. He jumped again. The log dived, and he had to go to one beyond. For a moment he hung, almosl toppling, but he got his balance again, none too soon. Ten seconds of awful roar followed. His pike-pole, which ho held as a rope walker hold 3 his balancing pole, was in the foam at both ends. Up and down on short, solid three-foot waves went his log, and through some soft, foamy ones. A water-soaked log came lurching at him, but fell short. Another plunged across, just ahead of him. It seemed as If the whole jam was there, waiting for him. The next instant tho tumble of wa ter was left behind. The current be came broad and level; its dancing was over for a while. The logs, after a bit of teetering, ceased their plunging, and floated 011 with rigid dignity. Will quickly pushed himself to shore and started up the road with his pike over hJs shoulder, beating the spray drops off his woolen cap. He was met by a whooping crowd of raftsmen, crying women and screaming boys, who all talked at once. A few minutes later the drivers hur ried away down stream, and Will ac companied them. He was to have a man's wages for handling the dyna mite at jams too big for cant-hook worlt. Of course, somebody went back to tell Will's mother what had become of him; in fact, they've been telling her ever since, greatly to her satisfaat'on. —Youth's Companion. BOXES OE EVERY KIND. NINETY SIZES REQUIRED BY ONE INDUSTRY ALONE. Millions Turned Out Weekly ly Ameri can Factories—Use* to Which Tliey Are Put—Materials Used in Their Manufac ture—All Sorts of Things About Them. Millions of paper boxes are turned out every week in New Haven from the common cigarette holder to the one that holds a S2O creation of a mil linery shop. There are half a dozen box shops in town, and the greater number of operatives are women. Until the paper box syndicate got control of the New Haven box factories the con cerns were run by different people, but the largest here are now owned by the National Folding Box and Pa per company. If you buy a hat it is sent to your home in a paper box; if you order a dress suit it comes to your home in a paper box; you get your cuffs, your collars, your shirts and ties in paper boxes; your shoes, your cuff buttons, your jewelry in paper boxes; dresses, shirtwaists, bonnets, hose, underwear, luncheons, cereals, oysters, milk, cod fish, fruit, candies, perfumeries, soaps and sausage; almost everything but boilers and engines are packed in pa per boxes nowadays. The variety and size of paper boxes is almost without limit, and modern machinery to make them is capable of anything in that way that it may be called on to do. About the only hand work now in making paper boxes is putting on the labels, and this could, If necessary, be done by machinery in the factories. An ordinary well equipped factory makes hundreds of sizes and shapes and usually carries about 200 samples in stock. The foun dation and body of a paper box it strawboard. Strawboard is a hard, thick, yellow ish-brown paper, commonly called cardboard by the consumer. It is made of straw—usually wheat straw. The straw used in this state, which has some of the largest and best known factories in the country, is usually hauled to the factories by nearby farm ers, or the factories buy the straw on the farms and do their own hauling. If at too great a hauling distance the straw is shipped in by bales. It is tumbled into huge pots of lime water and boiled to a pulpy mass, drained, fed between web cloths which flatten it and carry it to machines with many hot rollers, which gradually compress and make it smooth, until, when it emerges at the other side, it is straw board in a continuous sheet of a cer tain width. It passes through a cut ter, which makes it into sheets 20x38 inches. This is the regulation size agreed upon by the strawboard manu facturer of the United States, appar ently because it is the most handy size and the one that can be made into most of the other sizes ordinarily used. Unless otherwise specified, it is always shipped in this size to paper box mak ers and other people who use straw board. It cuts to great advantage for many sizes of boxes and with the least waste. If lined strawboard is wanted, that Is, board with, say, white paper cover on one side of it, the paper from a large roll is made to meet the straw board as it passes through the rollers, and is pressed on the board before the latter is completely dried by the last rollers. Strawboard comes altogether in 50-pound bundles, no matter what the size of the sheets. Some of it is so thick that there are only eight Bheets of the regulation size in a 50- pound bundle; others thin enough to give 130 sheets to the bundle of that weight. The boxmaker first cuts the larger sheets into the sizes he needs to make the kind of boxes wanted. Then these sheets of proper size are fed into a machine that scores them, that is, cuts half way through them in the right places so that the sheet may be folded and be in shape of a box with bottom, two sides and two ends. Before be ing folded, however, they are slipped into a machine which nips the tor ners off. The stay machine next gets the folded shape and puts gummed pa per over the corners to hold together the sides and ends. The next machine lines and covers the boxes with paper in whatever color is wanted. The pa per has blue on one side, like postage stamps, and is in rolls on an axle. The naked strawboard box is hung 011 an other machine which turns the box up and do\yn and over while the operator guides the paper over the box, outside and in. The lid is lined and complet ed in the same manner, being, of course, slightly larger than tho box, so as to fit over it. There is a little ma chine to make the thumb hole, the lit tle semi-circular opening at the middle of the bottom of each side of the lid, Which makes a placo to get hold of the box while the lid is being pulled off. Then girls, by hand, deftly and quick ly put on the labels. The box has made the round of the factory, going from the receiving room, where the strawboard is stored, to the shipping room, awaiting the wagons which take them to merchant or railroad. The largest boxes made in Indianap olis factories are those for shirtwaists, 2GxlGxlO inches; the smallest. Ixlx3-8 inches. The latter are used by dental supply companies to send samples of false teeth to their dentist customers. The little round pill boxes are not made in this city, and are said to be the product of only two factories in this country. The Indianapolis facto ries make pill boxes, but they are square. The small boxes in which qui nine capsules and seidlitz powders are delivered to suffering humanity are a large product of nearly all factories oC this kind. As an example of the extensive use of paper boxes, a saw manufacturer of tUts city gets thousands of them every month, in 90 sizes, from one of the lo cal paper box factories. A wedding box is another product. It contains presents for the ushers —usually a col lar, tie and a pair of gloves. The box is 14 inches long, 2 inches wide and 1 inch deep. It is lined and covered with fine glazed paper. Little dainty boxes for wedding cake are in different shapes, heart-shaped, triangular, square and oblong. Boxes are also made for funeral shrouds. The glazed paper for covering the boxes comes in every color, shade and quality. Some of it costs nearly $1 a sheet. The expensive kinds of boxes have pretty and delicate designs in sev eral colors. Jewelry boxes are lined with velvet and satin, leatherette is an expensive covering for paper boxes. Book cloth is used for sample cases, telescopes and desk files. Silver and gold paper is used for borders and trimmings, and candy. The prices of paper boxes vary from GO cents a hun dred to SIOO a hundred. The old-fashioned bandboxes, the standby of Qiir forefathers, with their black and sometimes white paper cov erings, are seldom seen now, and are not made in any of the local factories. Hat boxes that are made here are square, following the modern fashion. Boxes are not all made of straw board. Woodboard is also used—a strong paper that Is made of wood pulp. This board is white in color.— New Haven Register. QUAINT AND CURIOUS. Vegetables are usually sold in piles in Buenos Ayres so that you have to measure quantity as well as quality by the eye, and butchers sell their meat by the chunk rather than by weight. A wire fence weaving machine has been devised which enables a strong, serviceable fence to he constructed in position with rapidity and economy. The machine carries a number of spools of wire and the weaving of the fence progresses rapidly. One indivdual. who narrowly es caped prosecution for counterfeiting rare eggs and selling the bogus speci mens to museums has recently turued up with exquisitely lifelike photo graphs of birds, which, in reality, are produced by the help of stuffed speci mens, artistically attitudinized. While Mrs. P. T. Bulger of Portland, Or., was traveling on a train toward Spokane, Wash, the other day, she gave birth to twins. The elder, a boy, was horn in Oregon, and the other a girl, in the state of Washington, an hour later. This s the first ease on record where twins were born in different states. The Gaekwar of Baroda has a bat tery of artillery consisting of gold and silver guns. There are four guns, two of gold and two of silver. The gold guns were made in 1871 by an artisan of Lakha, who worked on them for five years. They weigh 400 pounds each, and, except for the steel lining, are of solid gold. There yet remain in London of the old taverns seven Adam and Eves, five Noah's Arks and naturally connected with that, as many Olive Branches. There are two Jacob's Well's, one Job's Castle and one Samson's Castle. Oldest of all, but not the least appropriate, is a Simon the Tanner, in Long lane.Ber mondsey, the seat of tno tanning in dustry in South London. Among those marked for destruction, too. one notes the sign of the Two Spies, a reference, of course, to those advance Israelites who returned from the Promised Land with their burden of grapes. Shave Their Hearts. One part of Egypt shows where the outward and visible evidences of the aboriginal have boon softened down with a veneer which the softeners fondly imagine is indicative of inward and spiritual grace. Tills is along a 350-mile stretch of the White Nile, where the Shilluks live and move and have their being. Now, the Shilluks are a picturesque and a promising peo ple. They have their Fashoda for a capital and their memories of Lord Kitchener of Khartoum, which no man may take from them. Wherefore, what matters it that they have lost their original lawlessness, their former tur bulence and their cheerful specialty of roasting the enemy on the point of the spit? Now the Shilluks are so civilized they carry short wooden clubs, after the fashion of the Broadway policeman and occasionally brandish a long spear in true light opera style. They lead an enviable life, these Shilluks; noth ing to do all the livelong day but lie on the mossy hank and spear the hor ny-hided hippopotamus as he glides within range, or make a dead crocodile of a live one by the simple expedient of harpooning him through his vitals. As for'work, that is for woman, and my lord of the Shilluks never puts his hand to it. Agriculture is yet an undeveloped in dustry, and what little developing has already taken place has been at the instance and hands of the wives. The Shilluk country is not the birthplace of the seven Sutherland sisters of glori ous hirsute memory. All the women of the tribe shave their heads. Canne for War. A citizen walking past a butcher shop in a Kansas town saw the butcher and a customer rolling over the saw dust floor in a lively rough and tumble fashion. He pried them apart anil then learned that the customer had come to buy some dog meat. The butcher non chalantly asked: "Do you wish to eat it here or shall I wrap it up?"
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers