Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 115, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 May 1910 — Page 3

THE QUICKENING

CHAPTER 111. (Continued.) Thomas Jefferson, awe-struck and gaping, found himself foot-loose for a time in the Marlboro rotunda while his father talked with a man who wanted to bargain for the entire output of the Paradise furnace by the year. The commercial transaction touched him lightly; but the moving groups, the imported bell-boys, the-tesseTated floors, fres- ’ t*?ed celling furnittire—these bit this be South Tredegar, the place that had - hitherto figured chiefly to him as “courj-day” town and the residence of his preacher uncle? It seemed hugely incredible. After the conference with the iron buyer they crossed the street to the railway station; and again Thomas Jefferson was footloose while his father was closeted with some one in the manager’s office. An express train, with hissing airbrakes, Solomon-magnificent sleepingcars, and a locomotive large enough to •wallow whole the small affair that used to bring the once-a-day train from Atlanta, had just backed in, and the boy took its royal measure with eager and curious eyes, walking slowly up one side of it and down the' other.. At the rear of the string of Pullmans was a private car, with a deep observation platform, much polished brass railing, and sundry other luxurious appointments, apparent even to the eye of unsophistication. Thomas Jefferson spelled the name in the medallion, “Psyche”— spelled it without trying to pronounce it —and then turned his ’attention to the people who were descending the rubber-carpeted steps and grouping themselves under the direction of a tall man who reminded Thomas Jefferson of his Uncle Silas with an indescribable something left out of his face. “As I was about to say, General, thit •tation building is one of the relics. You mustn’t judge South Tredegar—our new South Tredegar—by this. Eh? I beg your pardon, Mrs. Vanadam? Oh, the hotel? It is just across the •treet, and a very good house; remarkably good, indeed, all things considered. In fast, we’re quite proud of the Marlboro.” -- < , One of the younger women smiled. “How enthusiastic you are, Mr. Farley. I thought we had outgrown all that —\\e moderns.” "But, nty dear Miss Elleroy, if you could know what we have to be enthusiastic about down here! Why, these mountains we’ve been passing through for the last six hours are simply so many vast treasure-houses; coal at the top, iron at the bottom, and enough of both to keep the world’s industries going for ages! There’s millions in them!” Thomas Jefferson overheard without understanding, but his eyes served a better purpose. Away back in the line of the Scottish Gordons there must have been an ancestor with the seer’s gift of insight, and some drop or two of his blood had come down to this •ober-faced country boy searching the faces of the excursionists for his cue of fellowship or antipathy. For the sweet-voiced young woman called Miss Elleroy there was love at first sight. For a severe, beskliked Mrs Vanadam there was awe. .For the portly General with mutton-chop whiskers, overlooking eyes and the air if a dictator, there was awe, also, not unmingled with envy. For the tall man in the frock-coat, whose face reminded him of his Uncle Silas, there had been shrinking antagonism at the first glance—which keen first impression was presently dulled and all but effaced by the enthusiasm, the suave tongue, and the benignant manner. Which proves that insight, like the film of a recording camera, should have the dark shutter snapped on it if the picture is to be preserved. Thomas Jefferson made way when the party, marshaled by the enthusiast, prepared for fts descent on the Marlboro. Afterward, the royalties having departed and a good-natured porter giving him- leave, he was at liberty to examine the wheeled palace -it near-hand, and even to climb into the vestibule for a peep inside. Therewith, castles in the air began to rear themselves, tower on wall. -Here was the very sky-reaching summit of all things desirable; to have one’s own brass-bound hotel on wheels; to come and go at will; to give curt orders to a respectful and uniformed porter, as the awe-inspiring gentleman with the mutton-chop whiskers had done. At the highest point on the hunched shoulder of the mountain Thomus Jefferson twisted himself in the buggy •eat for a final backward look into the valley of new marvels. The summer day was graying to its twilight, and a light base was stealing out of the wooded ravines and across the river. From the tall chimneys of a rollingmill a dense column of smoke was ascending, and at the psychological moment the slag flare from an iron-fur-nace changed the overhanging cloud Into a fiery aegis. Having no symbolism save that of Holy Writ, Thomas Jefferson’s mind seized, instantly on the figure, building far better than ft knew. It was a new Exodus, with its pillar of cloud by day and its pillar of fire by night. And its Moses—though this, we may , suppose, was beyond a boy’s imagining—was the frenzied,ruthless spirit of commercialism, named otherwise, by the multitude. Modem Progress. CHAPTER IV. If you have never had the pleasure of meeting a Southern gentleman of the patriarchal school, I despair of bringing you well acquainted with Major Caspar Dabney until jrou have summered and wintered him. But tho Dabneys of Deer Trace 'figure so large-

FRANCIS LYNDE

ly in Thomas Jefferson’s boyhood and youth as to be well-nigh elemental in these retrospective glimpses. It was about the time when Thomas Jefferson was beginning to reconsider his ideals, with a leaning toward brass-bound palaces on wheels and dictatorial authority over uniformed lackeys and other of his fellow creatures, that fate dealt the Major its final stab and prepared to pour wine and oil into the wound—though of the. balm-pouring, none could guess at the moment of wounding. It was not inCaspar Dabney to be patient under a blow, and for a time his ragings threatened to shake even Mammy Ju- V liet’s loyalty—than which nothing more convincing can be said. “Mistuh Scipio,” she tyouid say, “I’se jus’ erbout wo’ed out! I done been knowin’ Mawstuh Caspah ebber senee I was OF Mistls’ tlah-’ooman, and I ain’t nev’ seen him so fractious ez he been sence dat letter come tellin’ him come get"dat po’ li’l gal-child o’ Mawstuh Louis’s. Seems lak he jus’ gwine r’ar round twel he hu’t somebody!” etoainshrdlu etoian shrdlu etoain et Scipio, the Major’s body-servant, had grown gray in the Dabney service, and he was well used to the master’s storm periods. “Doan’ you trouble yo’se’f none erbout dat, Mis’ Juliet. Mawstuh Majuh tekkin’ hit mighty hawd 'cause Maw-' stuh Louis done daid.' But bimeby you gwine see him climm on his hawss an’ ride up yondeh to whah de big steamboats comes in an’fotch dat li’l galchild home; an’, den: uck —ruh-h! look out, niggahs; dar ain’t gwine be nuttin’ on de top side dishyer yearth good ernough for li’l Missy. Yop watch' what' I done tol’ yer erbout dart, now!” Scipio’s prophecy, or as much of it as related to the bringing of the orphaned Ardea to Deer Trace Manor, wrought itself out speedily, as a matter of course. At the close of the war, Captain Louis, the Major’s only son, had become, like many another hothearted young Confederate, a self-ex-patrioted exile* On the eve of his departure for France he had married the Virginia maiden who had nursed him alive after Chancellorsville. Major Caspar had given the bride away—the war had spared no kinsman of hers to stand in this when the God-speeds were said," had ■ himself turned buck to the weed-grown fields of Deer Trace Manor, embittered and hostile, swearing never to set ’foot outside of his home acres again while the Union shouM stand. For more than twenty years he kept this vow almost literally. A few of the older negroes, a mere handful of the six score slaves of the old patriarchal days, cast in their lot with their former master, and with these the Major made shift thriftily, farming a little, stock-raising a little, and, unlike most of the war-broken plantation owners, clinging tenaciously to every rood of land covered by the original Dabney title-deeds.

In this cenobitic interval, if you wanted a Dabney colt or a Dabney cow, you went, or sent, to Beer Trace Manor on your own initiative, and you, or your deputy, never met the Major: your business was transacted with lean, lantern-jawed Japheth Pettigrass, the Major’s stock-and-farm foreman. And although the Dabney stock was pedigreed, you kept your wits about you; else Pettigrass got much the better of you in the trade, like the shrewd, calculating Alabama Yankee that he was. w / Ardea was born in Paris in the twelfth year of the exile; and the Virginia mother, pining always for the home land, died In the fifteenth year. Afterward Captain Louis fought a long-drawn, losing battle, figuring bravely In his Infrequent letters to h’s father as a rising miniature painter. He had his little girl back and forth between his lodgings and the studio where he painted pictures that nobody would buy, and eking out a miserable existence by giving lessons in English when he was happy enough to find a pupil. The brave letters imposed on the Major, as they were meant to do; and Ardea, the loyal, happening on one oi' them in her first Deer Trace summer, read it through with childish sobs and never thereafter opened her lips on the •tory of those distressful Paris days. Later she understood her father’s motive better: how he would not be a charge on an old man rich in nothing but ruin; and the memory of the pinched childhood became a thing sacred. How the Major, a second Rip Van Winkle, found his way to New York, and to the pier of the incoming French Line steamer, must always remain a mystery. But he was there, with the fierce old eyes quenched and swimming and the passionate Dabney lips trembling strangely under the great moustaches, when the black-frocked little waif from the Old World ran down the landing stage and into hls‘ arms. Small wonder that they clung to each other, these two at the further extremes of three generations; or that the child opened a door in the heart of the fierce old partisan which was looked and doubly barred against all others. It was all new and very strange to a child whose only outlook oh life had been urban and banal. She had never seen a mountain, and nothing more nearly approaching a forest than the parked groves of the Bols de Boulogne. Would it be permitted that she should sometimes walk in the woods of the first Dabney, she asked, with the quaint French twisting of the phrases that she~was never able fully to overcome. It would certainly be permitted; more, the Major'would make her a deed to as many of the forest acres as she would care to include In her promenade. x '

How the* French-bom child fitted Into the haphazard household at Deer Trace Manor, with what struggles she came through the IneVitableSttack of homesickness, and how Mammy Juliet and evegjr one else petted and indulged her, are matters which need not be dwelt on. But we shall gladly believe that she was too sensible, even at the early and tender age of 10, to be easily spoiled. She never forgot a summer day soon after her arrival when she first saw her grandfather transformed Into a frenzied madman. He was sitting on the wide portico directing Japheth Pettigrass, who was training the great crimson-rambler rose that ran well up to the eaves. Ardea, herself, was on the lawn, playing with her grandfather's latest gift, a huge, solemn-eyed Great Dane, so she did not see the man who had dismounted at the gate and walked up the driveway until he was handing his card to her" grandfather. When she did see him, she looked tdwice at him; not because he was trigly clad in brown duck and tightlybuttoned service leggings, but because he wore his beard trimmed to a point, after the manner of the students in the Latin Quarter, and so was reminiscent of things freshly forsaken. Her grandfather was on his feet, towering above, the visitor as if he were about to fall on and crush him. . “Bring youh Yankee railroad through my fields and pastchuhs, suh? Foul the pure ai-ah of this peaceful Gyarden of Eden with youh dust-flingin’, smokepot locomotives? Not a rod, suh! not a foot or an inch oveh the Dabneydands! X>o I make it plain to you, suh?" “But Major Dabney—one moment; this Is purely a matter of business; there Is nothing personal about it. Our company is able and willing to pay liberally for its right of way; and you that the coming of the railroad will treble and quadruple your land values. I am only asking you to consider the matter in a business way, and to name your own price.” Not anotheh word, suh, or you’ll make me lose my tempah! You add insult to Injury, suh, when you offeh me youh contemptible Yankee gold. When I desiah to sell my birthright for youh beggahly mess of send a black boy in town to infawm you, suh!”'" < It is conceivable that the locating engineer of the Great Southwestern Railway Company was younger than he looked; or, at-all events, that his experience hitherto had not brought him in contact with fire-eating gentlemen of the old school. Else he would hardly have said what he did. Of course, it is optional with you, Major Dabney, whether you sell us our right of way peaceably or compel us to acquire it by condemnation proceedings in the courts. As for the rest —is it possible that you don’t know the war is over?” With a roar like that of a maddened lion the Major bowed himself, caught his man in a mighty wrestler’s grip and flung him broadcast jnto the coleus bed. The w'ords that went with the fierce attack made Ardea crouch and shiver and take refuge behind the great dog. Japheth Pettigrass jumped down from his step-ladder and went to help the engineer out of the flower bed. The old firebrand!” the engineer was muttering under his breath when Pettigrass reached him; but the foreman cut him short. “You got mighty little sense, looks like, to me. Stove up any?" “Nothing to hurt, I guess.” “Well, your hawss is waitin’ for ye down yonder at the gate, and I don’t b’lieve the Major is allowin’ to ask ye to stay to supper.” When the engineer had mounted and ridden away down the pike, the foreman straightened himself and faced about. The Major had dropped into his big arm-chair . His hands shook. Pettigrass moved nearer and spoke so that the child should not hear. “If you run me oft the place the nex’ minute, I’m goin’ to tell you you ort to be tolerably ’shamed of yourse’f, Maje’ Dabney. That po’ little gal is scared out of a year’s growin’, right now.” “I know, Japheth; I know. I’m an old heathen! For, insultin’ as he was, the man was for the time bein’ my guest, suh —my guest!” “I’m (talkin' about the little one—not that railroader. So far as I know, he' earned what he got. I allowed they’d make some sort of a swap with you so I didn’t say anything when they was layin’ out their lines throo’ the hawss-lot and across the lower cornfield this mornin’—easy, now; no more farin’ and farin’ with that thar little gal not a-knowln’ which side o’ the earth’s goin’ to cave in next!” “Laid out theyuh lines—across my prope’ty? Japheth, faveh me by riding down to the furnace and askin’ Caleb Gordon if he will do me the honor to come up hear—this evenin’, if he can. I—l—it’s twenty yekhs swid mo’ since I’ve troubled the law counts of ouh po’, Yankee-ridden country with any affaiah of mine; and now—well, I don’t know,” with a despondent shake of the leonine head. (To be continued.)

Oh, Man! Man!

Maud—Jack swears that he would traverse seas just to look into my eyes. Ethel—He called on you last night, as usual? Maud —Not last night; he telephoned me that It was raining too hard.— Boston Transcript.

An Artist, Anyway.

Rival —What a color Miss Smythe has to-night. I wonder if she paints? Adorer (turning his wistful eyes toward the central figure of an admiring circle) —I don’t know. She certainly draws well.—Tit-Bits.

Bachelors Take Warning!

Hoggs—Alienists say that single men are much more liable to insanity than married. Dobbs—Sure they are! Single men are always in danger of going crazy over some woman.—Boston Transcripts It is a good thing to have good friends, but not to be dominated too much or too long by their example.— Rev. Wm. Dickie. No man can be brave who considers pain to be the greatest evil of life; nor temperate who considers pleasure the highest good.—Cicero.

CHATS WITH GIRLS AND BOYS

THE MONITOR. Ol* clock standin’ oh de mantel shelf; Nuffln’ much to do excep* a-takin’ to .hisself; Tellin’ 'ibout de seconds an’ de minutes an de hours. Countin ’ off de days between de snowstorm an’ de flowers; Jes’ a sing song story, for de mos’ he has to say Is “Yesterday was jes’ about de same thing as today; An’ de days dat's still a-comin* you Is gwfheter find at last, Is purty much de same as you was used to in de past.” . f -W'VSo, what’s de good .o’ waitin’ If you sees a chance to smile, A-thinkin’ dat de laughter may be better after while? An’ what’s de good o’ sighin’ fob de hopes of long ago, When de present has its prospects, same as what de past could show? Say chillun, Is you strivin’ on an’ smilin’ in de Now. Or is you jes’ complainin' ’bout de whyfor an’ de How, ’ An’ fixin’ up a future dat’ll find you on de shelf, Wis nuffin’ much to do excep’ a-takin’ to yourself? THROUGH A MICROSCOPE. “Come in, old man!” Boy’s father was writing hard in his study, but at the sound vs the knock on the other side of the closed deer he laid down his That -knock meant that Boy was thirsting' for his father’s society. So “Come in. old man!” brought Boy bursting into the room with, “Say, dad, are you awful busy?’’ The Boy, I,am sorry to say, when he ’ was in a huscy sometimes forgot his grammar. “Yes, I am very busy*, but I’m going to get out my microscope and look at some things, and maybe you would like to take a peek at them.” It was always an event when the bright polished microscope came out from under its glass case. Boy got the piano stool and screwed it high for his particular perch, from which he could look down into a world where tiny things suddenly became as big as cats and dogs. “Say, Boy, did you ever suppose that a fly or a flea or a mosquito was very interesting, or that there was anything to learn about any of them ?”

“Thev’re just measly little bugs, aren’t they, dad?” "Yes, but being just measly bugs doesn’t keep them from being Interesting, and I am going to show you how they look under our microscope. Here’s a mosquito. Did you ever imagine when you slapped one that he had so many ‘funny things about his body?” “Gee whiz, dad. what a queer mouth this fellow’s got! What’s that long, bristly hair banging out there and those spiky hairs alongside of it?" inquired Boy, as he looked down Into the tube. “That long, bristly hair, as you call ft, Is the sucking tube of the mosquito. He runs It into your skin and sucks up your blood through the slit he makes. If he comes to any hard place that won’t cut through he has two lancets that he keeps in a sheath, and he brings them out when necessary. In the same way he sucks up the nectar of plants, watermelon iuice, drinks water and even beer! Those long, feathery hairs you see are the ears of the mosquito. How would you like to have your ears out on long stalks like that? I have been calling this insect ‘he,’ but reallv this is a ladv mosquito. The gentlemen of the familv 'never bite and rarely go out for food. They prefer the women of .the family to do all the work and all the eating. They don’t come up to our idea of true- men, do thev. Boy? “Now I’m going to show you this chap—excuse me—this lady when she was a baby. She lives in the water and is called a wriggler. You remember we saw a lot of these baby mosquitoes on an old rain barrel last summer. They have to have air, but they get it through their tarts: a funny way to breathe, isn’t it? So now. when people want to destroy the crop of mosquitoes they kill off the wrigglers by putting kerosene oil on the surface of the water where they are living. This oil stops up the wriggler’s tall so it can’t breathe. Nqw I am going to show vou what the wriggler looks like when she is half grown and is just between being a baby and a full fledged mosquito. Now. vou see. she has come out of the wriggler stage and made herself a little raft to sit upon, and on this raft she comes to the surface of the water and sails around until her wings unfold and away she goes, a full fledged winged Insect, armed with her lances and sucking tube, ready for adventure, like the knights of old.’’ “Say, wfto'd ever think, dad, there was so much to know about a little biting buzzer like a mosquito?” "Now, fibv, I want you to look at the flea and tell me what he looks like to you.”, “Whew! Just like a n!g! But what are all those bristles sticking out of him?” “Isn’t It a good thing he Isn’t any bigger than he is- with a body like

that and those sharp, cutting jaws of .his? He Is so llttle and so active and so smart that it Is almost ’imposslbie to catch him or kill him after he is full grown. He can be killed when he is a baby quite easily, for he hatches from an egg and is very frail. Then he lives in a cocoon in a crack in the floor or in the soft threads of the carpet. But after he gets his growth he is well able to take care of himself and lives a happy, care free life, biting cats and dogs and people whenever he is hun-, gry. I think he is the most disagreeable, detestable little pest in the whole list of insects.” “Well, I never thought he looked like that. What next, dad?” “Now, for our friend the fly,” said father, putting a new slide under the tube. “Say, I thought a fly’s body was smooth; but this fellow is all hairs, on his legs and all.”

“Sure enough, Boy, and that is why he is dangerous. He walks in all kinds of dirt, and then he walks on our food ond leaves a trail of filth behind him wherever he goes. Flies are in some w&ysr more dangerous than fleas or mosquitoes, for they are so numerous, so hard to keep out, to catch or to kill. They live on all kinds of decaying food and bring along with them into our homes on their hairy bodies whatever dirt they have been trailing over.' .Men of science are workng to have people do all they can to destroy this dangerous little insect.” The boy was looking very Intently down the tube and thinking how.many hundreds of flies had crawled over him in the summer, outdoors and in, Father said: “Now, run alonb, Boy; time’s up and I must go back to my writing. Next time I'll show you some of the things that eat up these chaps and help to make their lives a burden.” Boy clattered downstairs and went back to his play, thinking how funny it would be if all the small bufcs should suddenly become as big as cats and dogs and come walking toward, him. —Helen B. Schoonhoven in the New York Tribune.

A SURPRISE. Teddy Thomas had been taken sick with mumps—mumps on both sides of the face at once.* That was bad, of course, but his mother said it wasn’t as if it were scarlet fever. Teddy didn’t see how anything could be worse, writes Emma C. Dowd. He was lying in bed, face all snarled with fretful thoughts, when he caught the sound of his own name. Ethel and brother James had come into the next room, and were talking softly. Teddy had sharp ears. ■ “It doesn’t do any good for Ted to be so cross,” Ethel was saying. “Mamma will be all used up if be keeps on this way.” “You may be sure he will keep on,” returned James. “He is a regular baby!” “I should think he’d have a little regard for us,” sighed Ethel. ‘“He doesn’t think of anybody else — selfish little pig!” said James. “I’ve always said I’d hate to have him sick,” Ethel went on. “He doesn’t know what patience is.” “And he’ll never learn,” added James. Teddy made an ugly face at the crack in the door, and then caught his breath with a scowl. Teddy lay quite still for a long time, thinking, thinking. “I believe I’ll do it!” he thought. “I can, I’m sure I can! How it will s’prise ’em! They don’t ’serve to be ’sprised, after talkin’ so ’bout their sick brother; ■but I guess I’ll have to. Mamma didn’t talk so—mamma d’serves a s’prise.” When Ethel came up stairs and said. “Ready for your medicine, Ted?” he answered with a sweet “Yes” through his teeth, and the surprise truly began. A little later mamma came in to change the flaxseed poultices on his face, and she was evidently astonished not to see the least flicker of a frown while she was doing It. “Do you feel any worse?” she asked. “Aches pretty hard,” he answered pleasantly, not even wincing at the pain caused by the slight movement of his jaws. She stooped and kissed him on his lips. “Mamma’s brave little boy!” she said. “Kind o’ fun, after all, to be patient!” he thought to himself, as she went away. “Didn’t suppose it would be.” James came up after dinner to bring a 'book of pictures for him 1 to look at, and Ted pluckily outdid his other attempts at cheerfulness. He had to pay for those smiles afterward —ch. how his jaws did ache! He couldn’t help being glad that James didn’t come very often, for no matter how bad he felt he was determined to show plenty of grit when James came there. It was when he first went down stairs that be let out the secret “I wouldn’t have believed that you would be?r an ill’-ess so bravely.” his father remarked. “You have been a little men.’' Teddy’s eyes shone. “I thought I’d s’prise you!” he chuckled. Jbe first trust In the United States to pass the 1100,000,000 mark in capitalization was the United States Leather Company, organized In 1893. Its capital stock combined with an issue of bonds amounted to 81388,000. In Cuba they fatten little pigs on cocoanuts and bake them into Chrismas turkeys.

CHILD’S WONDERFUL MEMORY.

Uttle Indiana Girl Caa Repeat Whale Book,, Word tor Word. It <is no little" problem confronting the parents of Gladys Sears, a 6-year-old Indiana child, who is evidencing the existence in her little brain of amemory that threatens to eclipse the stories of eastern prodigies who formulate ponderous theories of the fourth dimension and play concertos before they can speak. Little Miss Sears lives on a farm six miles north, of Thornton and stories of her remarkable memory were brought to Indianapolis, the Star of that city says* by the Rev. Arthur Harffion, who happened to visit in the Sears family while he was holding revival services in the neighborhood. The child has not merely an extraordinary memory—lt is more wonderful than that. An extraordinary memory even in a child might be expected to retain longer poems than “Twinkle* Twinkle, Little Star,” but it could hardly be expected to retain word for word the usual illustrated story In a Sunday magazine or the contents of a book a dozen or more pages long. But Qiat is what Gladys Sears can do without even going to the trouble to “commit it to memory.” She merely just remembers it. Poems and stories committed to memor/ do not flit in one ear and out at the other, but are retained by the child, and she can recall them after a long time. Her father and mother have been afraid to read many very long stories to her, because they fear it would tax her brain, but when any one is reading aloud in the house little Gladys’ mind is working and she usually startles every one by showing she knows the story word for word.

A ROMP IN THE DESERT.

The Bedouins of fiction are usually supernaturally grave fellows, who look out on the world with “unfathomable mystery” in their eyes. Quite a different picture is that drawn by Norman Duncan in “Going Down from Jerusalem.” It was a company of travelers —Christian and otherwise — that had stopped for the night. One member had just performed a simple trick tor the entertainment of the others. “A feat!” cried Mustafa. “I* too, will perform a feat!” We made a ring in the moonlight* and fell silent and watchful, while the old fellow gravely wound his skirt about his middle. An athletic performance, evidently some mighty acrobatio feat of the desert. “Observe!” said Mustafa. Ojjr attention deepened, and Mustafa, having bowed with much politeness to the company, turned a somersault. Then restraint broke loose. “Catch me!” shouted the younger khawaja. Here was a familiar game. They reached to seize him; but the younger khawaja leaped from the quick hands of the big muleteer; dodged tho catspring of the Sudanese, buffeted Aboosh, overturned the Bedouin, and darted off into the moonlight with a whoop like a shriek of a disappearing locomotive. They were after him in a flash —a yelping, giggling, hallooing guffawing pack, leaping over the moonlit sand like shadows. Weelah! but the delight of that pursuit, the triumph of the capture! “Ring-around-a-rosy”—and the desert fairly groaned from the vigor of the squatting. “Bull-ln-the-ring”—a mad success! “Crack-the-whip”—and the climax of earthly joys was achieved. We put the camel beys on the end of the line; we sent them tumbling head over heels, rolling over the soft sand like rag balls, far into .the farther moonlight. Weelah! but they would be cracked again. And we cracked them, with such joyous fervor that we never expected to see them more. Mustafa clamored to be cracked. We indulged Mustafa; we put Mustafa where he craved to be, and we gripped hands with a new and mightier grip, and we ran faster and farther, and we turned more abruptly, and we 'cracked the old gentleman clean out of sight over the ridge of a sand drift. “By Mohammed!” he screamed, returning. “But there is a deep hole in the desert where I alighted."

The Change He Wanted.

In a small California town a drummer brought the hotel porter up to his room with his angry storming. “Want your room changed, mister?” politely queried the porter. “Room changed, no!" fumed the drummer. “It’s the fleas I object to, that’s all.” “Mrs. Leary,” shouted the porter ta the landlady down below, “tbe gent in No. 11 is satisfied with his room but he wants the fleas changed.—Success Magazine.

Did She Remember?

“Do you remember that first , night I kissed you?" “No.” “Oh, you coquette! I stole that sweet kiss!” “So I wanted you to think.”—Cleveland Leader. Sweeeaa. Some men act upon the principle that in order to be successful in business it is always necessary to compel other people to wait in the anteroom. ■ m 1 " 1 ■ Did you ever hear of a woman who tired ofi society? Did you ever hear of a mdn who did not? Good sense Is better than good looks, but few people are afflicted with, either.