Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 189, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 August 1913 — Page 2

HIS UNCLE BILLY

How He Smoothed Things Out for Little Dan Cupid. By NELLIE C. GILLMORE. The old man paused, out of*breath, at the end of his laborious climb up the steep flight of concrete steps that marked the Intersection of Ninth avenue. He fumbled in his pocket and drew forth a battered little red notebook, turning the worn pages with tremulous Angers. Here it was: 1735 E. ra Ninth, between Oak and Elm streets. The house on the corner bore the number 1736 in large gilt letters and the one next dbor, the big graystone building overrun with thick, velvety ivy—that must be the place he was looking for. His heart, misgave him as he timidly took inventory of the handsome edifice, the imposing grounds and general air of grandeur that undoubtedly bespoke wealth and culture and importance. He almost wished he hadn't come and was of half a mind to turn round and go straight back to the station. After all, it was foolish—even a ridiculous—thing to do; this coming to New York to see and talk to the girl !Dick wanted to marry. In all probability he would only be turned from the door —such a door—and what was worse, if the boy ever heard of it, succeed in incurring his everlasting displeasure.

What if Dick found out that he had purloined one of his letters and read the address of "Miss Barbara Shepard,” delicately penned in the upper right-hand corner?” He hadn’t been mean enough to go further —he wouldn’t have done a thing like that—but he had gleaned enough from the intimate conversation he and his nephew had held together to form his own conclusions. And they amounted to just one thing: Barbara Shepard was rich, Dick poor; they loved each other devotedly, but the boy’s pride stood like a brick wall between them, and until he could batter down that wall, he would not ask her to share his life. And, mused Uncle Billy, forlornly, perhaps he was the real handicap. Alone, Dick might have faced the world, wrestled with it, thrown it — and come forth victor. But with an old man to block his path! The swish of skirts cut in abruptly on Uncle Billy’s reflections. He glanced eagerly into the fresh young face of the owner. The girl paused and smiled pleasantly; she was very young and very pretty and exceedingly winsome, and the old man found hts tongue without any trouble under the melting sunshine of her smile. “Excuse me, miss, but could you tell me if a family by the name of Shepard lives in that big house yonder?” “Why yes, certainly. Were you looking for some one?” Maneuvering was strange to Uncle Billy and he replied directly: “I wanted to see Miss Barbara Shepard, and talk to her. You see, it —it’s about a very important fitter and I’ve come all the way from Brooklawn—about It” Brooklawn! The girl drew a little Quick breath and answered quickly “I know Barbara quite well, but—but she’s not at home this morning, though I expect her in within an hour.” A disappointed look swept over the old man’s face. The train back to Brooklawn would leave that city at two and despite the fact that only a little while ago he had made up his mind to return without seeing the girl, the thought that he couldn’t see her troubled him. But the other had begun to speak again, and he noticed that her was soft and clear and very gentle.

“Won’t you come with me and sit there on one of the lawn-benches and wait for Barbara?" she asked. “If you’re a friend of hers, I’m sure she’d never forgive me for letting you go away.” Uncle Billy gave a little appreciative cackle. “Well,” he drawled, “I don’t know as that’s exactly the word to usp, since I’ve never seen Miss Shepard in my life.” “Ah!” The girl has commenced to walk on toward the lawn with the old man keeping pace beside her. They came to a twisted-oak seat under a great, spreading tree and sat down. “I’m rather curious,” she admitted laughingly, “to see, Bobby-vher best friends call her that sometimes —and I are close chums and there isn’t much —she —hasn’t told me. Perhaps if you told me your name?” she paused with a little tentative uplifting of her brows. “William Barker. I live, as Psaid, at Broodlawn —with my nephew, Ricbard Fielding. Perhaps you know Dick too?” The girl nodded thoughtfully. “I guess you mean Barbara’s sweetheart, don’t you?” "Precisely. I’m feeling a bit worried about the boy—and' that’s why I’m here. I want to talk-with her; I want to find out what’s at the bottom of Dick’s—well, his pale face and silent ways. I was young myself once—-and I can come pretty near to guessing at the bottom of some things." The young girl had turned and was gazing intently into ttye rugged old face beside her; she saw that the faded blue eyes were dim with holdback tears. "Oh, but I’m sure that Bobby loves him,” she said quickly. ‘I know it You—couldn’t be mistaken?” Uncle Billy shook his head back and forth. “Maybe you’ll think I’m a foolish old man to be telling yoh, a perfect stranger, all about. my troubles on first acquaintance, eh?” “Not at all, Mr. Barker. I’ve heard sf you so often—through Dick and Ber-

b&ra —that it aoesd't seem as if we're strangers at all. And —” she hesitated, threw him' a swift scrutiny, then proceeded, “it may be that 1 can help you out a little.” The old man was silent, thinking intently. “Maybe you can; ” he exclaimed suddenly, “and then —I wouldn’t have to bother her at all.” The girl bent forward abruptly and broke a spray of clematis from a nearby trellis. She buried her norSe in the blossoms for a moment, keeping her eyes steadily down. Presently she said: “1 don’t mind telling you Mr. Barker, that Barbara, too, has seemed to me a good deal troubled about something of late. And—why, ,1 might just as well tell you the truth at once; they’re crazy about each other, her parents admire young Fielding immensely and are perfectly willing for her to marry him. But Dick is obstinate; he refused to allow her to do it until, in his own words, he ’makes good.’ ” The anxious expression on Uncle Billy’s face all at once gave place to one of satisfaction. “If that is all, then I knew it already. But I was afraid there might be something deeper. I was thinking perhaps she’d said something—done something—maybe hurt the boy’s feeling in some way. I—l even went so far as to wonder if—if it might be —me.” A tender little smile played about the girl’s lips. “You should hear your nephew talk about you, Mr. Barker—and you should know too, how Barbara has already taken ‘Uncle Billy’ into her heart.” The old man mopped his eyeß. "I’m mighty glad to hear you say so, miss. Now I’m going to tell you something queer. You’ve been so good as to take me into your confidence. I’m not Dick’s real uncle at alk Once when be was a very little boy, oh, ten or eleven, I guess, I was knocked down in the street by a big express wagon and injured about the head. Dick and his father were close by and Mr. Fielding, giving in to the boy’s persuasions, had me carried to his own home instead of to the village jail. That was the only place in Brooklawn; they didn't have any hospital then. After a few weeks I got on my feet but it was months before I could work. Dick and I had grown to be great friends and Mr. Fielding kept me on at the place as his overseer. A few years later he died, then, his wife—and there was just Dick and me left. We’ve been together ever since. It would break my heart to go out of that boy’s life, but if I thought I was hindering him in the world—”

"Indeed, you mustn’t say such things. I—l’m convinced it isn’t that, but just a silly, false pride that’s got possession of your nephew.” "I guess it’s silly all right. But — but I just can’t help admiring Dick for sort of feeling that way. And, if the truth was known, I bet Miss Barbara thinks a lot more of him for it!” The girl flushed softly at some sudden recollection, “I’m certain of it, too, Mr. Barker; it only goes to show what —what Dick Fielding is made of. But she’s only human, you know, and she isn’t willing for him to go to breaking her heart forever!” The old man rose suddenly to his feet. The girl glanced up, bewildered at the swift change of expression that had come over his mild little face with the faded eyes and withered cheeks. The former were suddenly aflash with purpose and the latter streaked with dark red. “And he shan’t either!" he cried. “I’m going home and tell him something tonight that will make a whole lot of difference. I’ll tell it to you now, though you must promise to let him be first to his sweetheart with the news. A week ago, a distant cousin of mine died out in Colorado and left me a fortune of a half a million dollars. It’s all going to Dick —the little boy with the great big heart. I only wanted to find out the truth about the girl, that’s all. I wanted to know if she’d been fair. I —l love him too much to give him up to —to somebody that’ll —care less—can’t you see?” The trembling old voice trailed almost to a whisper. The young girl had risen too and was standing beside him. She laid an affectionate row of soft fingertips on his rusty coat sleeve; the eyes she lifted to his were brimming with the tenderness of unshed tears. “You—won’t have to give him up. Uncle Billy,” she revealed herself in a little joyous undertone, "sor —it wouldn’t be a home at all —without — you.” f (Copyright, 1913, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) .

Iron Ore Statistics.

Thd rank of the five states producing the largest amount of iron ore— Minnesota, Michigan, Alabama, New York and Wisconsin —remained unchanged in 1912. The Minnesota iron ranges are producing at present considerably more iron ore than is produced in all the rest of the states together, having furnished nearl 62.5 per cent, of the total for the United States* In 1912. The whole Lake Superior district, comprising all the mines in Minnesota and Michigan and part of those in Wisconsin, mined 46,368,878 tons in 1912, or nearly 84.08 per cent, of the total.

Could Not Enthuse Philosopher.

Herbert Spencer, the philosbpher, once attended, the Derby. Francis Galtrin, who was his guide, took noter of the Jaunt: “All went off well, except that Spencer would not be roused to enthusiasm by the races. He said that the crowd of men on the gras* looked disagreeable, like flies on * plate; also that the whole event was just like what he had Imagined th< Derby to be.’’ the costumes ol /the men who shouted the odds wat only what he had imagined then to be!

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, JND.

GRAY PALACE of ATONEMENT

YOU can see it from the river, or you can see it from the road; either way it looks very much the same. If you brought to look at it an Eskimo from the northern seas or a native of the Tonga Isles and asked him what he thought it was he would Bay: “A prison!” Every stone in the long, low, dark building spells prison. Every narrow slit of a window*, every grill of Iron bars, every foot of thick wall, every glint of a sentry’s gun—they all spell prison. Sing Sing is Its name, and when it passes and is succeeded by a new prison the new one’s name will be Sing Sing, too. So long as New York endures and men are wicked, there will be. somewhere, a Sing Sing. Some buildings grow old gracefully. But Sing Sing, at the end of a hundred years, grows musty in every stone and at every angle. It is grim, repelling, suggesting all the horrors of its mediaeval prototypes—if, indeed, it is not actually mediaeval itself.

Has Special Function.

Yet, to the city of New York, which has most to do with it, Sing Sing is not only a prison. It is the cold gray palace of atonement. It has a special function for the metropolis. It slays the city’s slayers. New York furnishes the stage setting for any crime. It provides the principal and his victim. Its labyrinths serve as a place for the criminal in his flight. Its police make the pursuit and, usually, the capture. Its lawyers make the pleas, for and against. Its juries find the verdict. Its judges pass the sentence. But when the sentence is death, the city turns to the old gray dungeon in \yeßtchester county and says: "Take him; he is yours-’-to kill.” And so the last the man sees of the city is at the moment when he steps from the carriage to take the train. His lawyers have told him they will appe«l his case. He knows that he will not die the next day, nor the next week, nor the next month. He still has money and the lawyers are sanguine. Surely they will win tor him. 1 On the trair be sits, with his lawyer. in the smoking car, and the two guards sit behind them, very placid and pleasant, but with very serious revolvers in their pockets. They get out at Ossining station. It used to be Sing Sing station, but the people of the village got It changed because they did not like to say. when visiting in other towns, that they came from Sing Sing. People laughed, and Ossining is a serious town. At the Ossining station, whenever a train arrives, there is always a line of old-fashioned, two-seated carriages. The town is a hilly one, and it is a steep walk either to the business section or the prison. Brooks tyo Delay.

Then he Bees the cold gray palace of atonement that squats square and flat. Its western edge touching the Hudson river. A door Is open and the ferriage stops In front of it. The prisonc-T goes In. •Ing Sing begins to grind its machinery. It brooks no delays and stands on no formalities. The guards from the city surrender their man to the guards of the prison. He is led Into the office at the left A clerk takes hi*\ name, age, place of birth, occupation and what else is needed for

EXTERIOR of SING SING and INTERIOR, SHWING CELLS

the record. Opposite this record is put down his number. His pockets are emptied and a careful Inventory made of everything in them. If he leaves Sing Sing his watch and keys and money will be given back to him —or to his heirs and assigns. No more does the property of the felon revert to the state. He is shaved by the prison barber, and if his hair is too long to be considered sanitary, from a prison point of view, it is cut, but not shaved. He is photographed from both sides and in front and his measurements are taken for the Bertillon system. Stripes went out of use at Sing Sing years ago. The prison garment is of dark gray. If the cloth were fashionably cut any man could wear a suit of it. The prisoner dons a suit of this, shakes hands with his lawyer, who has been fidgeting about, and is led away. One rainy afternoon, as he lies on his cot, a keeper with no stomach for his errand comes to the door of his cell. He has his little speech ready and fires it quickly. “Sorry,” 'he says, “but the court of appeals sustains the Ending of the lower court.” When his last morning comes he is ready, and the clergyman is at his side, talking so -earnestly that he does not notice it when the keeper his trouser leg from bottom to knee. He pays little Mention as the prison barber quickly cuts the hair from the crown of his head. He is keady when the cell door swings open, and he follows the priest and his flaring candle. From the .curtained cells come ,the last goodbys of the rest of the condemned company, some of them to follow him that very morning. He walks bravely through tbe black door.

And now he is out of the gray walls an<Vin a little brick house of one room. It is about twenty-five feet square. Its woodwork is oak, brightly varnished. Even the back of the black door is yellow. The walls and ceiling are as brightly blue as the bluest sky of spring. No in this room except the chair, the chair of atonement. made of yellow oak and leather straps. He sees it and knows its purpose, but the priest is still talking and he listens. The talk Is carrying hjm far away from the room of blue and oak. It is little to him, now that they are fastening the wet electrodes to his head and to his leg where the trousers were slit. It is even less that tbe pipelike fixture above him is lowered so that Its wires fasten to the electrode. From the lethal stores of energy’s most mysterious realm, liberated by a hand unseen, 1.800 volts of lightning leap down the pipelike fixture. Sing Sing has done what the Jaw bade it do.

Tennyson, like Mrs. Browning, was careless regarding hlB manuscripts. Some weeks after leaving bis lodgings In Mornington alace, Hampstead, he wrot< from Bcncburch, telling Coventry Patmore that he could not find his "book of elegies—a lon*, butcher-ledger like book,” and asked him to make Inquiries. Patmore went to Mornipgton place and, being allowed .to feearcb the poet’s old rooms, found the bdok In a closet where Tennyson had kept his tea and bread and butter. It was the unpublished manu> script of "In Memoriam.”

Great Poet Not Methodical.

HAVE DISTINCT STYLE

HATS FOR FAIR MOTORIST APART FROM OTHER MILLINERY. Softness Imperative, Which Means That Few Wires May Be Used— Arrangement of the Veil Is Matter of Importance. Styleß for the motorist have become quite settled as to hats which, to be within the nwde, must be rather small, fit well, \mh sufficient brim 'to protect the eyes. They must be soft; if of braid, a pliable variety is used. In the majority of motor hats

there are very few wires, in fact the fewest number possible to hold the shape of the hat. It is in the management of the veil i'hat the designers find exercise for their variety of ideae. They arousing hemstitched chiffon, either wire or narrow, and in lengths varying from lbi to three yards. Nearly all these veils are attached to the hat at the back or across the front or all around by a band of trimming which is placed where the brim and crown join. Small elastic cords are run in some of the veils, gathering them loosely about the neck. The veil is fastened at the back with a hook and eye. Longer veils are brought over the face and about the neck and tied in a loose knot. Wide veils, falling from the brim of the hat, are split up from the bottom to half the width of the veil. The split is finished with a narrow hem. Each half of the veil 1b brought to the back of the neck, where the ends Cross and are brought to the front and tied in a loose knot either directly in front or to one side. Vivid colors are in great demand. Bright red silk bonnets with royal

blue veils, blue with emerald green, white with green, etc., are everywhere, and tans are always stylish, and the taupe bonnet with veil to match continues in favor. But the furore for Btrong colorings which has marked this season has extended to motor headwear. It Is very pretty and Inspiriting. to see these gay bonnets where motorists assemble.

New Coat Sleeves.

Sleeves of coats and gowns are slashed In the same manner as the skirts. The opening is filled with a lace ruffle or ia outlined with fancy buttons.

FINDS A SCRAPBOOK HANDY

Girl Whose Entertainments Are Always Looked forward to With Pleasure Tells Her Secret A girl who is quite noted among her friends as a successful hostess says It is not just chance, it’s due to her method. This is how she does it: “People sometimes wonder,” she writes, “why it is that the boys and girls always like to have our club meet at our house. We have such good times, and I think it is because we do- not waste time sitting around and wondering what form of amusement we will h>ve tonight This is the way I manage to have plenty of suggestions for games and other sorts of-amusements on hand.' In the newspapers there are always a lot of suggestions for games of all kinds and articles telling how other people have entertained in clever ways. I have cut these articles out and pasted them In an ordinary notebook, classifying them as well as I could, as to whether they were games, g\i easing contests or just merely clever ways to entertain. Then whenever the club comes to my house I can turn to this book, and in a few minutes get a suggestion for that evening’s entertainment, and if the game we start first does not seem to go well, there is very little trouble to consult the book again and find something to take its place.” «

Shepherd Plaid Skirt

A fashion that is having a great vogue is the skirt of shepherd plaid with a separate coat of black satin, rather fancifully made and finished with the Inevitably ruffles of net or shadow lase.

ADOPT THE MULTIPLE SKIRT

Prediction Made by Famous Costumer as Far Back as Easter Has Proved Accurate. Away back at Easter time K. Jacques Worth confided to American women his conviction that the threetiered skirt would be popular this season. M. Worth was quite righL And now, not content with three tiers, or flounces, or whatever you want to call them, we are going to have four, or five, or even more. A recent French creation, for example, has no less than nine of these “tiers.” The costume Is in white mousseline, and the various "stories” of the skirt are finely plaitetd and finished with a picot edge. The top one is the deepest, extending from the waistline to below the hips. The next one Is about six inches deep, and the successive ones grow narrower and narrower, until the ninth and last, which measures 'only two inches In depth. The skirt is lifted in front under a great dark blue velvet rose at the watetline. This makes It draw in around the heels at the back and "hike” up in front to show the whole Instep. The walßt has a flat fichu edged with two plaitings, and a double row of these plaitings extends from the front under the arms to simulate a bolero. The sleeves are short and finished with a plaiting of the mousseline. This costume la described, with italics, as very much in the present vogue.

PRETTY HOT WEATHER FROCK

Cool and Serviceable Garment for Child Would Look Well In Any Summer Material. The drawing shows a novel frock for a child. It may be developed In

batiste or , other summer material or would be charming in pongee or other light weight silk. A noticeable feature is the sleeve with Its narrow Irish crochet insertion. The pointed yoke Is of all-over embroidery outlined by the Irish crochet. An extremely broad broad girdle effect Is produced by the joining of two lengths of embroidery insertion by the i lace. The scant

little bodice with its drop shoulder is allowed to blouse slightly-, over the girdle. The skirt Is plaited at the sides.

New Tea Seta.

One of the newest tea sets in made of heavy imported cream porcelain combined with silver deposit, hand engraved. The set consists of a teapot, a sugar bowl and cream dish. It would be hard to imagine a more afr tractive wedding gift. The combination of cream porcelain and silver tracery Is Indescribably dainty and withal durable.

To Lace the Corset Cover.

Instead of using ribbons, get white crochet cotton, crochet a string, and run It through the top of the corset caver,. Finish each end with a Utile tassel of cotton, and you will have fio trouble with broken strings. By crocheting a double thread you can ru» It through lingerie petticoats.

Brocaded Pique.

Brocaded pique iB a popular fabrle for warm weather wear. It cOmes in various prices, according to the quality, and it comes in wide and narrow wale. Some of the designs are lovely, showing open, sprawling figures brocaded on the pique background.

FANCIES OF FASHION

The newest bracelet is the faulted bangle bracelet. The new mohair dust coats have raglan shoulders. Separate vests or waistcoats to coats are very popular. t Mandarin or set-in sleeves are In as great favor as ever. Serge will come to the front for practical street dresses. Plaid silks are increasing in favor* especially clan colorings. Poplins, both plain 'and figured, ara a* much liked as ever. Summer hats are made of malinst, chiffon, taffeta and lace. A great many blouses of white mewi saline will be seen this fall. Velvet and tulle trimmed, hats ar« being much worn in Paris. In the dressiest suits the skirts ara the most elaborately draped.

New Trimmings.

As the eye steadies down sufficients ly to take in the detail of the season's fashions it is Impossible not to ba struck by the wealth of new trimmings and revivals. Of the latter is a coarse macrame ~ lace, frequently dyed to tone with the gown it adorns. An afternoon dress of rose crepe chiffon had a broad line of this lace set In round the skirt, while the lower half of the little bodice was fashioned of It, the front hollowed out in a long oval and filled In with a gulmpe of lvory.net that was Just eased Into a tiny heeding at the base of the throat, a row of minute black velvet buttons punctuating the center, and at the base thtjjg was poised a spreading bow of. black ribbon velvet