Crawfordsville Weekly Journal, Crawfordsville, Montgomery County, 23 March 1894 — Page 6

THE OLD MILL MYSTERY

By Arthur W. Marchmont, B. A.

Author of Jllsor Hnadlej's Sfrrct," "Madellat Power," lly Whosp Hand," Isa,"

&c., Ac.

ICocyriffht, 1892. t.y the Authnr.]

CU AFTER V.

THE STRIKE.

Next morning- the whole of Walkden Bridge was early astir, and the greatest excitement prevailed everywhere as to what would happen at the mill, "what course the. strikers would take, a?id whether there would he any disturbance.

Tom, who was much cooler and more collected in the morning than he had been when with Savannah Morbyn 011 the previous evening, was out very early, as he had promised to be with the two girls.

About half-past five, all the people in the village turned out and began to form little knots of talkers here and there in the street, gradually drawing nearer and nearer to the mill.

Presently there was some little hooting and hissing1 heard and a number of people ran to see what was the cause. It came from a small group of the strikers, who were standing1 tog-ether and the noise was intended as a demonstration against Ileuben Gorringe, who had passed on his way to tlio mill, and was looking after some of the new hands.

He turned on the men at once and went up and spoke to them. "Why do you hiss me and hoot at TOC?" he asked, in aloud ringing voice. "What man among- you all. or in the whole of Walkden Bridge, can say I have ever done him anything- but good? Haven I always paid good wages? Can any man say with truth that 1 haven't tried to make, the place comfortable? Can anyone of you say that I ever discharged a man, woman or child without full and suilicient cause? "Why, then, do you hoot me?"' "Can we do as we like with our own tongues? You ain't boss of them, I should think,'' cried one of the men and the others laughed a little.

Gorringe faced him in a moment, and addressed him by name. "That's not the tongue you spoke in last fall, Dick- Grant, when you *vtie away two months and a half, and I paid your wages all the time. I'm not boss of your tongue, it's true and, so •far as you're concerned, I'm not boss of your gratitude either." "What do you want to go against tho society for?" asked another, after a pause. "Put yourself in my placfc for a moment, Silas," answered Gorringe. "Supposing you were running the mill and were paying me the wage of a tackier and 1 was earning that of a tenter for you. would you go on doing it because I perhaps happened to be. popular with the union?" "You can't go against the union." replied the man whom he had addressed as Silas. "It's like letting the, spindle run when the yarn's brokenonly waste '11 come, of it." ''Aye, aye that's it," chorused one or two. "Then it must come." said Gorringe. "But it's you are forcing this light, not I. And some of you know me well enough to be able to tell whether I'm likely to give in. If you hold out, your places will be filled up: and I've more offers of hands than I've places for." "They won't be allowed to work," muttered one man. "We don't mean having scallywags here." "Then if you win. it'll mean the shutting up of the mill: that's all. 1 don't know whether you think that's likely to do you any good. It'll harm' Mr. Coode and me a bit. no doubt: but

I'll go back to the loom again before J'11 give in. And now. look here. I'll give you all _a word of advice." JJe spoke excitedly. "If you mean violence by what you say about scallywags, I tell you this: I'll meet yon with your own weapons. Two sides can carry on that sort of play, and you'll find that I can be as much in earnest in protecting those who stick to me as I can in opposing those who turn against me."

With that Reuben Gorringe went on his way and now no sound followed him. llis will had for the time conquered them: and more than one of the men were sorry that any dispute had arisen.

In truth there was not much heart in the quarrel. The men had obeyed the call of the society in coming out but they all knew that Gorringe had been a fair employer, while many had received such services as that he had twitted the man Grant with having forgotten.

Alter wornngc naa leit tnem, there were a few mutterings and murmurs, and some of the inen even talked about going home, when messengers came up the street saying that the strikers were to go- together in a body to the mill gates before the time for opening them.

The group to whom Reuben Gorringe had been speaking walked down the main street to where the other men fceemed to be collecting, and joined them. When they all got together they seemed more satisfied with the line they had taken—there is always comfort in numbers. And they buoyed •up each other's spirits and courage with much talk about the justice of their cause and wisdom of their action. "Come on, lads," cried Gibeon Prawle, "let's get up to the mill and see what sort of scallyways old Gorringe has bought. We'll give'em a bit of Walkden Bridge greeting, eh?" and as he laughed ^some of the others joined.

But the men were neither enthusiastic nor angry—only rather curious to see who had been brought over to the mill.

They had not been long at the gates toefore a little commotion showed that some of the workers were approaching. Two or three women weavers and ai couple of half-time lads and lasses •were the first to come in sight .but,

wiien tliey saw the crowd and the long lane of strikers and their friends, t.hey hesitated, stopped, and then turned back. At this there was a great burst of cheering. It was the first victory.

But it was not to last long. The cheer had not died away before one of the heavy gates was swung back, and Reuben Gorringe stood in the way as calm and collected as if it was an ordinary day and he were waiting to greet the workers. At sight of him a groan was raised. He took not the slightest, notice of it ami walked forward between the rows of men and women to the roadway. When he reached the road he waited for the iirst workers—not those who had before appeared and retired—and when they came he spoke quietly to them, as if no one were present but themselves and walked with them until they were inside the gate.

No attempt had been made to interfere with the women as they passed through, and others, seeing this, came forward fit once. and, hurrying between the rows of men and women, entered the mill gate. The. first really hostile demonstration was made when the first strangers—half a dozen women and three or four men—came in sight and were led by Reuben Gorringe into the mill.

At first an attempt was made by the pickets to intercept and speak to them. This was foiled, however, by Gorringe. Then one or two cries and a little hooting followed, and a few muttered exclamations. "No knobsticks down with all scallywags! Ugh, blacklegs! What do you want to come here and take honest folks' work, for?" and questions of that kind, especially from the men's wives, were heard amid excitement.

Tho strikers grew more angry as the number of new hands increased, till talk of violence began to be heard from men and women alike.

The excitement had reached its height just when Tom Roylance came in sight with Mary and Savannah and his appearance seemed to fill the whole crowd with anger. "Knobstick! Scallywag! Blackleg!" resounded on all sides and in all keys of angrv-voiced men and women, with hoots and yells, and some threats while fists were clenched and shaken, and the whole crowd surged about excitedly.

Tom walked in front with Mary, and he passed deliberately through the angry, flushed and gesticulating crowd, casting a glance now and then over his shoulder, as if to assure himself that Savannah Morbyn, who was following close behind, was safe.

Savannah seemed almost to enjoy the scene. She held her head erect and faced the crowd with a smile as she passed through them. Her tall and stately figure, drawn up to its full height, and her beautiful face brought upon her the eyes of many, and some of ,the younger men would have pardoned her for her acts on account of her pretty looks. But not so the women, whose scornful, angrv comments were loud and voluble.

CHAL'TEU VI.

TOM AND SAVANNAH.

Mary Ashworth was-very unhappy. Her dislike and distrust of Savannah Morbyn grew with every day that the latter was at alkden Bridge. Tom had once or twice expressed some vague wishes that the two should be friends but after a few days he scarcely ever spoke to Mary about Savannah. Mary knew, however, that they were together.

Savannah made no attempt to look for other lodging's, remaining with Mary, much to the hitter's secret annoyance. It was difficult, however, to tell her to go away because none of the women whose husbands were out on strike would have her for a lodger, whilst among those with whom she worked Savannah was unpopular.

Hut in the little circle she was all kindness and gentleness, and especially was she attentive to Tom's father. She would sit with the old man by the hour together, reading to him or talking- to him about his favorite1 subject, his soil, and doing all in her power to win the old man's affection.

Tom himself, Loo. grew into a habit of coming into the room where the two were, and staying there until Savannah left, when he declared that he had better walk back with her, for fear of her being molested by the strikers. vuien iney were alone they rarely spoke, and Tom tried to persuade himself that he was doing as he did from a sense of nothing but duty. When the mill closed he would go as usual to Mary, either to her cottage or for a walk with her, and showed more affection towards her than before Savannah had come to Walkden Bridge. He told himself a hundred times a day how good a girl she was and how much she cared for him and he for her and how happy they would be together, and how entirely she trusted him. and what a brute he would be if he betrayed her in anything. And more than once he determined that he would ask her to hurry on their marriage.

He thought that if once everything were settled, and no turning back were possible, it would be all as it had been before. He would not indeed admit that anything was changed but, buried right at the bottom of his thoughts, he knew there was a feeling of which he was ashamed and afraid and it was that which led him to go on repeating to himself the assurances about his fidelity and love for Mary. He was fighting a hard battle, and tho odds against him were many.

Mary divined only a very little of the struggle that was going on, but it was enough to make her miserable. Apart from the fear that Tom's love was slipping away—a fear that was infinite pain to her—she had the firmest conviction that her instinctive distrust of Savannah Morbyn was well founded, but she could not breathe a word of this to her lover neither pould Bhe find any means of ascertaining the truth.

Another Bource of great anxiety to Mary was the growing animosity shown toward Tom byv several of the

men v. iiO"Were out on strike. "Is there anything fresh about the strike, Tom?" she asked him one evening, when the hands had been out about three weeks. "No. The men arc fools," exclaimed Tom, somewhat petulantly. "1 can't think how they can be such idiots to make so much of such a fellow as Gibeon." "No chance of a settlement, I fear, is there?" 'Not the least. The whole business seems to have fitted into Gorringe's hands as if he had planned it. Things have been a bit slack, and if he'd kept the concern going full work he might have had the stuff on his hands. But now the slackness just fits him. He told me to-day he had enough applications on hand from really good workers to fill up the vacancies twice or three times over. And he'll do it if he has to turn out more work, and then these fools who have been duped by Gibeon will see what they've lost." "ThereM be trouble if he were to do that, said Mary. "We don't want to see all new faces turning out the old ones in the village." She was thinking of Savannah. "He'll do it rather than be beaten," answered Tom. "Besides, now the men who are out demand that anyone who has been taken on shall be sent away, even if they lo give in about Gibeon!" "I wish they were, for there's been little but trouble since they came," said Mary, speaking out of the fullness of her thoughts. "It would be a downright meanness to cast them adrift in such a way," answer Tom, warmly, also thinking of Savannah. Then, remembering that perhaps Mary might see this, he llushed slightly and said: "Well, in one way you're right. I wish the trouble was over, Mary we two should be more settled, shouldn't we?" "Would you like to be settled. Tom?" she asked, gent ly. She loved him. and. womanlike, hungered for words of love from him—despite all her doubts. es," he answered, kissing her. "I wish all were settled. I wish it with all my heart. How would you like to go away and leave all the worry and trouble behind, and be married away?" He asked the question suddenly, breaking in upon a little pause that had followed his previous sentence.

The girl looked at him curiously and questioningly, and then, with a sigh which she concealed by a smile, answered: "Why do yon say that? You forget there are the old folks. I can't leave mother. And. beside, you are doing so well now at the mill. Why. there are fifty things now to tie us moie than ever to the Bridge. What made you think of such a thing?" "I don't know," he answered. "Of course there's no reason to do anything of the kind. But at times—wel l, what with this bother with the men and one thing and another, I suppose one gets worried sometimes. But of course it can't be. It would be silly." And he kissed her ag-ain. and then got up and began to walk- up and down the little room.

Mary watched him. looking- up from the sewing she had in her hand and her face dropped a little when she saw him glance at the clock and reach.for his hat. It was earlier than usual. "I must go," he said, and when sindid not answer he added: "I—I want to get in. Father's not so well tonight." Then with art effort, as if the little deceit tried him, .. he asked: "Where's Savannah?''

He knew she was with his father, and Mary knew that he knew it. "She went out. soon after we came from the mill," she said. And when he had left her she let her work fall on her lap and sat buried in troubled thought.

Tom went straight home, walking very quickly until he was close to the cottage, and then lounged as if ashamed of having hurried, or not

wishing to be. seen hurrying. Savannah Morbjni was sitting with his father, and rose when Tom entered the room. "I must go," she said, directly, and when she took the hand he held out she clasped it till she felt it tremble and she looked into his eyes, her own shining with a great luster.

He said nothing he could find no words. But when she had put on her hat he showed that he was going with her. "It is not safe for Savannah to be out alone in these times," he said to his father, as if excusing himself. "No, lad, no: go with her. She's a good lass," said the old man. "A good lass. Take care of her. Tom." "There's no need for you to go with me," said Savannah. "I'm going,-' was all Tom said and the look which she shot out of her eyes at him made him thrill with secret, guilty, shaming, yet glorious pleasure.

The two cottages were some distance apart, lying in different ends of the long village and there was a back way, a footpath, leading at the rear of the cottages not so near as by the road, but much less frequented. "Let us go by the footpath," said Tom, when they reached the corner of the little cross street that led to it. "It is not so near and Mary is alone," answered his companion, but, as if in answer to his look, she turned that way at once.

Tom walked by her side in silence. Ee seemed almost afraid to speak afraid lest he should break the spell which seemed to hold him. Merely to be with her, to feel the wondrous charm which she exerted over him, to touch her as now and then he did as they walked together, filled him with too great emotion to let him speak.

They walked thus silently for nearly half the distance, till they came to a spot where the path ran between high hedges and a stile divided two of the fields one from the other. It was a Tery secluded place, and in the deep dusk of the evening everything was still and silent. Savannah paused a moment before crossing the stile, and, by stopping, caused Tom to come against her, when she put her hands out and touched him.

in a moment—how it happened ho knew not—his arms were round her. Carried away by the mad impulses that drove him and sent the blood rushiiyT through his veins, he pressed her to him, and. drawing down her face to his, rained kisses upon her eyes and cheeks and lips.

She lay in his arms at first, letting him do as he would with her, her eves half closed, her head resting upon his shoulder, and her face pressed to his. Next, with a sudden btirst of passion, she clasped him half convulsively in her embrace and kissed him to the full as wildly and passionately as he had kissed her. Then she drew back and with a deep sigh buried her face in her hands and leant upon the stile.

All the time no word had been spoken between them, save an occasional term of passionate endearment. When at length she looked up, tho tears were in her voice. "Why have you done this?" "I love you, Savannah." was Tom's answer. "I love you. There is no one in the world like you to me."

The tone in which he spoke seemed to frighten her. "You have no right to love me." Her voice was very soft and caressing. "I know nothing of right. You force me you know it. There is none in the world like you."

She laughed a soft, musical, rippling laugh and the next minute sighed heavily. "Ah, you do not know me. You do not know." "I know enough to love you. Savannah," and he went to her again and placed his hand on hers. "I want to know no more."

At that she turned to him gently, and, taking his hand, pressed it in her warm, trembling fingers and kissed it and then placed it round her waist while she laid her two hands on his shoulders, looking into his face till her warm breath maddened him, as her kisses fell again on his lips. Then she rested her head against his breast and spoke in a low, bewitching, caressing tone, in the softness of which there seemed a faint strain of sadness: "Do you really love me, Tom!'1

He kissed her hotly as he murmured an answer. "I mean with love that lasts. Could you bear anything for me? Could you trust me—live forme—die for me?"

My love knows no limits," he said, almost wildly. "I a,in yours body and soul: I swear it."

Can you wait for me? Supposing there were something between us a bar, which only patience could move could you wait? Nay," she said, laughing sweetly "suppose it were nothing but my will that said, 'I wish this,' 'I wish that,' 'I wish to wait'—could vou trust me?" "You can do with me as you will." he said, kissing her. "My love is the war]) you weave, the pattern of the weft as you please." "And what of Mary?" she asked. "Ah, you start. It is she you love, not ma. io to her," and she made as if to move out ot' his embrace. But he would not suffer her. "You know better than that, Savannah, he said. "I am yours now. for goou or ill, better or worse. And you are mine. By iGod, you are mine!" and at the words his passion broke out again, and he showered his kisses upon her. "Lan you wait?" she asked again. "'I can do aught that you ask," he

"Listen, then. I will have no one know of this yet. You must tell no one till 1 wish it. It must be our secret." "Nay, that cannot be. Why, I tim not ashamed."

She drew away from him. "lie it so, she said. "Then 1 will never be more to you than 1 was before I came here. We part now." "It shall be as you wish. Savannah." he said, instantly, humbled directly by the great power she had over him. "I have no thought but to do as you wish." "ion will make no sign to anyone, nor tell anyone." "I must tell poor Mary," he said, his heart smiting him as he thought of her and what she might feel. "No, Mary least of all." cried Savannah, imperiously. "I will not have it. Do as I. will, all in all: or we will forget this—this madness." e*sp

And again he yielded, though reluctantly. Suddenly, they both started as the sound of approaching footsteps reached them, and on the soft night air Tom heard his own name spoken in a man's voice.

Scarcely thinking what he did, he drew the girl back into the deep shade of the tall hedge and waited. Two or three men came up hurriedly, and as they passed one was heard to say: "We shall catch him after he leaves the Ashworths' cottage. The youngster who wag on watch said he came this way with that fine looking lass that bides at Ashworths' so that he'll be leaving there maybe in an hour at most. We'll get him then, and can give him what such a knobstick deserves."

Both the hearers knew that Tom' Roylance was meant, while Tom himself recognized the speaker to be Gibeon Prawle.

CHAPTER VIL

VIOLENCE.

As soon as the men had passed out of hearing, Savannah moved forward out of the shadow. "They are in search of you," she said to her companion, "and think you have gone to our cottage. You must go back now. Good night." "And leave you to face them by yourself? Yes, that's very likely," Tom Roylance answered. "I shall see you to the door of your cottage." "Well, there, the sooner we go the safer."

They walked on then without a reference to the passionate emotions that had moved them both so strvongly. jThey scarcely spoke until they reached the point where the pathway came out Again on to the village street. 'You will remember what I said

about"silencc, saiil Savannah. "I remember," said Tom. "It shall rest with you to speak, or to say when I may do so." "Good," said the girl, impetuously. "I trust you, Tom." and she took his hand and pressed it in her warm strong clasp. "Now we must be careful we may come on those wretches at any moment. I wish you would go back now by the way have come. They won't look for you that way." "I shall not leave you till you are safe indoors," he answered.

They went on somewhat more cautiously, looking about them and keeping their footsteps as quiet as possible.

After they had gone some distance in this cautious way, Savannah stopped suddenly and, placing one hand upon her companion's arm, drew him under the shadow of tlie' fence by which they were passing. "Look. There they are," she whispered, pointing ahead. "I can see nothing," whispered Tom in reply, craning his ncck and straining his eyes in the direction in which the girl pointed. "My eyes arc good in the dark," she said, "lean see them plainly. There are five men, or six. What had we better do?" "I will go forward and clear the road. They'll soon go, whoever they are, when they know I have seen them." "They are moving off," she said. "Do you see? Some one has come up to them." "Yes. I can make them out now. Let us go."

The pair walked quickly away and gained the cottage without further in* terruption.

As lie left the cottage and walked quickly along the village street, Tom Roy'.a nee was soon deep in thought. He was alternately deliriously happy and abjectly miserable. As he. felt the girl's kisses still lingering on his face and the impress of lier arms still clinging round his nec.lc. he was mad for love of her. But when he thought of having to meet Mary, to keep up the old pretense of affection, and to allow no sign of the change in him to appear in his manner, he was wretched, and hated himself.

He made no pretense now at selfdelusion or self-excuses. If he had never seen Savannah, aye, if he could have got away before the scene of that night, it might have been all right. But it was too late now. Whatever the cause might be, Marj^liad never roused in him such a tumult of passion as this other.

His thoughts and emotions filled him, and he had forgotten all that had passed, all lie had heard and seen of the men, and walked quickly along plunged in deep thought. Suddenly with a cry he sprang forward. .lust as lie was passing a somewhat narrow entrance to a shed a heavy cart was run out by a number of men across the footway, without a word of warning, and had he not sprung forward with almost desperate agility he would have been knocked down, lie turned quickly and recognized the men as several of the strikers. "Now, then, clumsy," cried one of them, with a coarse laugh, "what do you want to get in our way for? aivt we even run out a trap to wash it without a cursed knobstick spying round to see what we're doing? Served vou right if it had knocked you over." "That's what you meant to do. yon cowards," said Tom, who recognized instantly that he had only just escaped a serious danger. The thought of their cowardice enraged him. "Look here, don't you stand there pouring out your drunken abuse at us. You're drunk, that's what you are and you'd better look to it that we don't have to defend ourselves against your violence. Don't you run up against: me like that," cried the speaker, stumbling intentionally against T.^rn, -'You saw that, lads, didn't ye? You saw him try to shove me down. Why, he can't stand." and with this he tried to catch Tom off his guard anil to push him down.

But Tom was too quick for him. and when the others approached he raised the stick he was carrying and planted his back against the wall. "Stand back there!" he cried, in a threatening tone. "If you try to attack me I'll raise every soul in the village. I know your game, .Jack Dilwortli but it won't do with me." "Come on. .Tack," cried another of the men. "Leave the scallywag alone. We shall have a chance yet of squaring things up with him." "I shan't," replied the man, doggedly. He had been drinking. "I mean to have a go at him now. Look out for yourself, you young devil," he called to Tom, and as he spoke he made a savage run to the latter, struck furiously at him, and tried to wrest away his stick.

But he reckoned without his host. Tom brought down the stick with a heavy blow on his assailant's arm, and, parrying the blows aimed at him, struck out with his fist, and caught him on the chest and sent him staggering back.

The man changed his tactics then, and, stepping back a pace or two, made a running kick at Tom with all his force. Tom stepped aside and avoided the kick, and then struck the other with all his strength on the leg. With a cry of pain and foiled rage, he fell to the ground, crying to the others to help him.

They were enraged, and, seeing- the issue of the struggle, with a few muttered threats they closed round Tom to attack him. "Kill the young devil," shouted the man who had been knocked down. "If you don't silence him there may be no end of trouble out of this job. Here, help me to get up, I'll soon do for him," said he, with a horrible oath. "Don't you think you five bullies have about done enough?" said a calm, even voice, just at this juncture.

All the men looked up at the words and found that they were being 'watched from the upper window of one of the cottages by a man who was observing the whole scene, lcisjirelv.

"Who's that?" growled the man who was lying on the ground. "Oh, you know very well wlio it is, .Tack Dilworth, just as well as Dick Crook there, or young Tom Roylance himself. You'll better give, this kind of game up, all of you. You, Tom, needn't be so handy with that bit of oak of yours. You might have broken Jack's leg," and the speaker, Peter Foster, a clog and bootmaker, laughed. "Jack'll bear ye a grudge for that see if he don't. You're not the lad to forget you've been knocked over, .Tack, .'ire you?"

The man whom he addressed growled out an oath by way of answer, and his companions coming to the conclusion that it was no use carrying the scene any further lifted the fallen Dilworth and helped him away, leaving Tom alone and master of the field. "You'd better go home, Tom Roylance," said the old clog-maker, with a dry laugh, "and be thankful that you're able to walk the distance instead of being carried, clogs foremost," "Aye, you've saved me a cracked skin, Pete," said Tom, and with a cheery good night he walked away homewards with some words of warning from the old man.

After that, bad blood and black looks were to be seen in many directions. Tom said nothing to either Mary or Savannah for fear they should be alarmed on his account but he began to take precautions lest he should be again attacked. The only person he told was Reuben Gorringe. "Some of the strikers are getting a bit restless," he said. "Howdo you mean?" asked Gorringe, looking keenly at him. "Have you heard anything outside?" "Last night there was an attempt to give me a thrashing," and Tom told him briefly what had happened. "Do you know the men?" asked (iorringe. "Oh, yes." "Then we'll prosecute them. I care nothing for their threats, but when it comes to attacking those who stand by me, it's a different thing. Look here." He gave a short laugh as he took out from a desk half a dozen threatening- letters, written in all sorts of angry language and threatening violence if he did not give way to the strikers. "They little know me," said Reuben Gorringe, his eyes glistening with a hard light as he spoke. "By heavens, if they pulled the mill down stone by stone, and threw every spindle in a different direction, aye, and limbed me into the bargain, I wouldn't give in. now." "I don't carc to prosecute," said Tom. "I'm for not giving way now but Jack Dilworth got a good bit more than lie gave me. and I don't want to stir up more bad blood than's necessary." "What, are you afraid of 'em. then, if you go too far?" asked Gorringe, with a sneer. "No, I'm not afraid," answered Tom, quietly. "But, I'm none too fond of running for police help." "Yes, but 1 wish to make an example of some of them." returned Gorringe. "Then you'll have to find somebody else than me. I'll stand firm enough by you while the strike lasts: but I'm not going to be the means of putting those chaps in prison."

Reuben Gorringe looked after him with agleam of anger in his eyes. "All right, you obstinate young puppy. Take your own line now, while you can. You'll pipe a different tune by and by -when things arc a bit riper. I wish they'd broken his thick don key's skull for him. If they'd knocked the life out of him at the same time, it would have saved a lot of trouble, too," he muttered.

The attack oil Tom came to the esrs of the two girls in a roundabout fashion. Mary's mother heard of it and told the girls. "No, they didn't hurt him, but he hurt that Jack Dilworth. Pretty nigh broke his leg, so they tell me." said Mrs. Ash worth.

Grout flood Done lv ii Revival.

Windfall, Ind., .March -21.—A powerful revival is now in progress in the Methodist church in this place. The meetinir has heeti in progress about eight weeks. About 150 persons have professed conversion, 108 have joined the church, in which all classes are represented, among whom are some of the most substantial business men of the place and vicinity and some of the hardest characters of the town. The two licensed saloons of the place have about suspended business for want of custom. The meeting is being carried on by the minister in charge, Rev. A. A. Turner, assisted by Rev. Milton Cox and others. It is generally conceded that there has been more good accomplished by this meeting than at any other meeting ever held in the place before.

Sensational Suit Against a Hank. INDIANAPOLIS, Ind., March 21.—A Buit was entered in the federal court Tuesday which contains some new and rather startling allegations regarding the manner in which the business of the Indianapolis national bank was transacted on the eve of its failure. The complainant is the Standard Oil company, oi Kentucky. The agent of the company deposited over $1,000 with Mr. Haughey five minutes before the bank closed, and after it had closed Haughey paid out large sums of money to favorite depositors who had received secret in formation about the bank. This will alter much litigation now pending.

To California,

Persons contemplating a trip to the Pacific coast should bear in mind that all through trains start from Chicago. In order to sec ure ample accommodations and desirable locations in these through trains the tourist should arrange to take the train at the starting point. It costs no more and the time is the same as other routes requiring numerous changes and other annoyances. Our extremely low cut pricos will be made known upon application,

L. A. CLARK, Agt. Monon.