Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 242, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 October 1913 — Page 2

From Alpha to Omega

T narrows a man to stick around in one place. You broaden out more pan- . handling over one divi- , Bion, than by watching the cars go by for years. jn I’ve been everywhere from Uy Alpha to Omega, Oklasbc==* homa, and peeked over nflN most of the jumping-off 111 places; and lowa is not ytt the whole works at all. u That’s why I’m here now. Good Quiet state to moss over in; but no life! Me

for the mountains where the stealing is good yet, and a man with genius can be a millionaire! I was in one big deal, once—the Golden Fountain Mine. Pete Peterson and I worked in the Golden Fountain and boarded with Brady, a pit boss. Ever hear of psychic power? A medium told me once that I have it, and that’s why folks tell me their secrets. The second day Brady told me the mine was being wrecked. "How do you know?" said I. ’ “They’re minin' bird’s-eye porphyry," said Brady, “purtendin’ they’ve lost the lode.”

"Maybe they have,” Bald L "Not them,” replied Brady, who never had had any culture. "I can show you the vein broad’s a road an* rich as'pudd’n!” I didn’t care a whoop, as long as .they paid regular; but Brady worried about the widows and orphans that had stock. I said I had no widows and orphans contracting insonomia for me, and he admitted he hadn’t. But he said a man couldn’t tell what he might acquire. Soon after, a load of stulls broke loose, knocked Pete Peterson numb, and In the crash Brady accumulated a widow. It was thought 'quite odd, after what he’d said. The union gave him a funeral, and then we were all rounded up by a lawyer that Insisted on being a pall-bear-er and riding with the mourners, he and Brady been such dear friends. The widow never heard of him; -but unless he was dear to Brady, why did he cry over the bier, and pass out his cards, and say he’d make the mine sweat for this? It didn’t seem reasonable, and the widow signed papers while he held In his grief. Then we found he had awful bad luck losing friends. A lot of them had been killed or hurt, and he was suing companies to beat fours. We were going over our evidence, and another bunch was there with a, doctor examining to see how badly they were ruined.

"Beautiful injury!” said the lawyer, thumping a husky Hun on the leg. "No patellar reflex! Spine ruined! - Beautiful! We’llmake'em sweat for this!” He surely was a specialist In corporate perspiration. I asked what the patellar reflex was, and the doc had Pete sit and cross his legs, and explained. “Mr. Peterson,” said he, “has a normal spine. When I concuss the limb here, the foot will kick forward Involuntarily. But in case of spinal Injury, It will not. Now observe!” He whacked Pete’s shin with a rubber hammer, but Pete never kicked. His foot hung loose like, not doing a blamed thing that the doc said It would If hie spine was In repair. The doc was plumb dumbfounded. "Most remarkable case of volitional control —” he began. "Volitional your grandmother!” yells the lawyer. “Mfr. Peterson is ruined also! He was stricken prone in the same negligent accident that killed dear Mr. Brady! He Is doomed! A few months of progressive induration of the spinal cord, and breaking up of the multipolar cells, and —death, friend, death!” The widow begun to whimper, and the lawyer grabbed Pete’s hand and bursted Into tears. Pete, being a Swede, never opened his face. “But.T said the lawyer cheering up, "we’ll make them sweat for this. Shall we not vindicate the right of the work-ing-man to protection, Mr. Peterson?” "Yu bat!" said Pete. "Ay bane gude Republican!” "And vindicate his right,” went on the lawyer, "to safe tools and conditions of employment?" “Ay tank we wlndlcate,” said Pete. "Nobly sald<" said the lawyer and hopped to it making agreements for contingent fees and other .flimflams. It was wonderful how sort of. patriotic and unselfish and religlpus and cagey he always was. We quit the Golden Fountain, and I got some assessment work for Sile Wilson. Pete wouldn’t go. He was sort of hanging around the widow, but his brains were so sluggish that I don’t believe he knew why. I picked up a num named Lungy to help. Bile’s daughter Lucy kept house for Bile in camp, and In two days she was calling Lungy "Mr. Addison,” and reproaching me for stringing a stranger that had seen better days and had a bum lung and was used to dressing for dinner. } told her I most always allowed to wear something at that meal myself, and she snapped my head off. Ho When I had to go andteftlfy to the

By HERBERT QUICK

Aotftor of "Alladin & Co." "Virginia of the Air Lanes," Eta.

Copyright by the Bobbe-MerriU Company

"Bein’ as the poor man is not long f*r this wicked world," said she, “an’ such a thrue man, sweatin’ as the I’yer wanted, I thought whoile the crather stays wld us—” "Sure,” said I. "Congrats! When’s the merger?" “Hey?” says Pete. “The nuptials,” said L "The broomstick jumping.” The widow got up and explained that the espousals were hunk up till Pets could pass his exams with Father Mangan. “Marriage," said she, “is a sacrilege, and not lightly recurred. Oh, the thrials of a young widdy, what wld Swedes, and her sowl, an’ the childer that may be—Gwan wld ye’s, ye dlwle ye!" Now there was a plot for a painter; the widow thinking Pete on the blink splnally, and he soothing her last days, all on account of a patellar reflex that an ambulance chaser took advantage of —and the courts full of quo-warran-toes and things to keep the Jackleg from selling a listed mine, with hoist-ing-works and chlorination-tanks! I got this letter from Pete, or the widow, I don’t know which (displaying a worn piece of paper), about the third year after that Here’s what It says: "Ve has yust hat hell bad time, savin* yer prlsence, and Ay skal skip for tjlens of climlt to gude pleas Ay gnaw in Bad Lands. Lawyer faller sell mine fer 10 touean to vtdder, an thin, bad cess to him. sells it agin to Pete fer 110001 an git 2 stlfkit off sheriff an say hae keep dem fer fees, an Ay knok him In fess an take stlffllt Hae say hae tell mae spine bane O K all tern, an thrittened to jug Pete, an the back of me hand and the sole of «w tut to the likes ft Mm r savin' yer

Brady and Peterson cases against the Golden Fountain, old Bile was willing. “I’d like to help stick the thieves!’’ he hissed. “How did you know they were thieves?” asked I. “I located the claim,” said he, “and they stole it on a measley little balance for machinery—confound them!” “Well, they’re stealing It again,” said I; and I explained the lost vein business. "They’ve pounded the stock away down,” said the lunger. “I believe it’s a good buy!” “Draw your elghteen-seventy-flve from Slle,” said I; “and come with mb and buy it!” “I think I will go,” said he. And he did. He was a nice fellow to travel with.

Well, the Golden Fountain was shut down, and had no lawyer against us. It was a funny hook-up. We proved about the stulls, and got a judgment for the widow for ten thousand. Then we corralled another jury and showed that Pete had no patellar reflex, and therefore no spine, and got a shameful great verdict for him. And all the time the Golden Fountain never peeped, and Lungy Addison looked on speechless. Our lawyer was numb, it was so easy. "I don’t understand —" said he.

“The law department must be connected in series with the mine machinery," said I, “and shuts 6ff with the same switch. Do we get this on a foul?” "Oh, nothing foul!" said he. “Default, you see—” “No show-up at ringside,” said I; “9 to 0? How about bets?” “Everything is all right,” said he, looking as worried. "We’ll sell the mine, and make the judgments!” “And get the Golden Fountain,” said I “on an Irish pit boss and a Swede’s spine?”

“Certainly,” said he, “if they don’t redeem.” “Show me,” said I; “I’m from Missouri! It’s too easy to be square. She won’t pan!” “Date bane hellufa pile money fT vidder,” said Pete when we were alone. “Ten thousan’ fr Brady, an’ twelf fr spine! Ay git yob vork f’r her in mine!” “You wild Skandihoovian,” said I, ‘that’s your spine!” “Mae spine?" he grinned. “Ay gass not! Dat leg yerkin’ bane only effldence. Dat spine bane vidder’s!" I couldn’t make him see that it was his personal spine, and the locomotor must be attaxlng. He smiled his fool smile and brought things to comfort Mrs. Brady's last days. But she knew, and took him to Father Mangan, and Pete commenced studying the catechism against the time of death; but it didn’t take. The circuit between the Swedenwegian intellect and the Irish plan of salvation looks like it’s grounded and don’t do business. One night the lawyer asked me to tell “the Peterson,” as he called called them, that some New Yorker had stuck an intervention or mandamus into the cylinder and stopped the court’s selling machinery. “We may be delayed a year or so,” said he. Pete had gone to the widow’s with a patent washboard that was easy on the spine, and I single-footed up, too. And there was that yellow-mustacher Norsky holding the widow on his lap, bridging the chasm between races in great shape. He flinched some, and his neck got redder, but she fielded her position in big league form, and held her base.

TltE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

prtsence, an Fader Mangan can me big towhead chump an kant lern catty klsfrius an marry me to vldder, an Pete, God bliss him, promised to raise the family in Holy Church, but no faller gnow dem tings Bfour hand, an Ay tank ve hike to dam gude pless in Bad Lands vun yare till stifkit bane ripe an Mine belong vidder an Ay bane Yeneral Manager an yu pit Bobs _vit gude yob in Yune or Yuly next, your truely, an may the Blessid Saints purtect ye, Peter Peterson.

“P. S. Vldder Brady mae vise git skar an sine stifkit fer Brady to lawyer faller like dam fool vooman trik an sattle vlt him, but Ay tink dat legyerkin bane bad all sem an yump to Bad Lands if we dodge inyunction youre frend. Pete.” So they got married. Well, this lunger sleuthed me out when I was prospecting alone next summer. “Hello, Bill,” said he, abrupt-like. “Cook a double supply of bacon.” “Sure,” I said. “Got any eating tobacco, Lungy?” “Bill,” said he, after we had fed our respective fades, “did you ever wonder why that Swede received such prompt recognition without controversy for his absent patellar reflex?” “Never wonder about anything else,” shld I. “Why?” “It was this way,” said he. “The crowd that robbed Sile Wilson found they had sold too much stock, and quit mining ore to run it down so they could. buy it back. Some big holders hung on, and they had to make the play strong. So they went broke for fair, and let-Brady’swidow and Pete and a lot of others get judgments, and they bought up the certificates of sale. D’ye see?” “Kind of," said I. “It’ll come to me all right” “It was a stock market harvest of death,” said Lungy. “The judgments were to wipe out all the stock. Thio convinces mb that the vein Is hidden and not lost, as you said.” "I thought I mentioned the fact” said I, “that Brady showed me the ore-chute.”

"That’s why I'm here,” said he. “I want you to find Pete Peterson for me.” “Why?” I said. “Because,” answered Addison, "he’s got the junior certificate.” “Give me the grips and pass words," I demanded; “the secret work of the order may clear it up.”"’ "Listen,” said he. “Each certificate calls for a deed to the mine the day it’s a year old; but the younger can redeem from the older by paying them

off—-the second from the first, the third from the second, and so on.” “Kind of rotation pool,”'said I, “with Pete’s claim as ball fifteen?” "Yes,” said he; “only the mine itself has the last chance. But they think they know that Pete won’t turn up', and they gamble on stealing the mine with the Brady certificate. Your perspicacity enables you to estimate the Importance of Mr. Peterson.” "My perspicacity,” I said, giving It back to him cold, “informs me that some jackleg lawyer has been and bunked Pete out of the paper long since. And he couldn’t pay off what’s ahead of him any more’n he could buy the Homestake? Come, there’s more than this to the initiation!”

“Yes, there is,” he admitted. "You remember Lucy, of course? No one could forget her! Well, her father and I are in on a secret pool of hie friends, they to find the money, we to get this certificate.” "Where does Lucy come in ?’’ said I. “I get her,” he replied, coloring up. "And success makes us all rich!” I never said a word. Lungy was leery that I was soft on Lucy—l might have been, easy enough—and sat looking at me for a straight hour. “Can you find him tor me?” said he, at last.

"Sure!" said I. He smoked another pipeful and knocked out the ashes. "Will you?” said he, kind of wishful. “If you insult me again,” I hissed, ‘Til knock that other lung out! Turn in, you fool, and be ready for the saddle at sun-up!'* We rode two days in the country that looks like the men had gone out when they had the construction work on it half done, when a couple of horsemen came out of a draw into the canyon ahead of us. “The one on the pinto,” said L ”ie the perspiration specialist." "If he doesn’t recognize you," said Lungy, "let the dead past stay dead!” Out there to the sunshine the Jack-

leg looked the part so I wondered how we come to be faked by him. We could see that the other fellow -was a sheriff, a deputy sheriff, or a candidate for sheriff —it was in his features. “Howdy, fellows’” said I. “Howdy!” said the sheriff, and closed his face.

“Odd place to meet!” gushed the Jackleg, as smily as ever. “Which way?” “We allowed to go right on,” I said. “This is our route,” said Jackleg, and moseys up the opposite draw, clucking to his bronk, like an old woman. >

“What do you make of his being here?” asked Lungy. “Hunting Swedes,” I said. “And with a case against Pete for robbery and assault.

We went on, Lungy ignorantly cheerful, I lost—like to know what was what, and feeling around with my mind’s finger for the trigger of the situation. Suddenly I whoaed up, shifted around on my hip, and looked back.

"Lost anything. Bill?” asked Lungy. "Temporarily, mislaid my brains,” said I. “We’re going back and pick up the scent of the Jackleg.” Lungy looked up inquiringly, as we doubled back on our tracks.

"When you kick a covey of men out of this sage brush,” I explained, “they naturally ask about anything they’re after; They inquire if you know a Cock-Robin married to a Jenny-Wren, or an Owl to a Pussycat, or whatever marital misdeal they’re trailing. They don’t mog on like it was Kansas City or Denver." "Both parties kept still,” replied Lungy. "What’s the answer, Bill?" “Both got the same guilty secret,” said I, “and they’ve got it the worst. They know where Pete is. So will we if we follow their spoor." We pelted on right brisk after them. The draw got to be a canyoii, with grassy, sheep-nibbled bottom, and we knew we were close to somewhere. At last, rolling to us around a bend, came a tide, of remarks, rising and swelling to the point of rough-house and riot. “The widow!” said I, “She knows me. You go in, Lungy, and put up a stall to keep ’em from seeing Pete alone first!” I crept up close. The widow was calling the. Jackleg everything that a perfect lady as she was, you know,

could lay her tongue to, and he trying to blast a crack in toe oratory to slip a word into. «s “I dislike," said Lungy, "to disturb privacy; but we want your man to show us the way.” “Who the devil are you?” said the sheriff. "My name —” began Lungy. "Whativer it is, sorr,” said the widow, "it’s a betther name nor his you shpake to—the black far-down, afther taking me man and lavin’ me shtarve wld me babbies he robbed iv what the qoort give! But as long as I’ve a tongue in me hid to hould, ye’ll not know where he’s hid!”

And just then down behind me comes Pete on a fair-sized cayuse branded with a double X. “Dat bane you, Bill ?” said he casuallike. “You most skar me!” I flagged him back a piece and told him the Jackleg was there. He ran, and I had to rope him. “You’re nervous, Pete,” said I, helping him up. “What’s the matter?” “Dis blame getaway biz,” he said, “bane purty tough on fallar. Ay listen an’ yump all tem nights!” “How about going back for the mine?” I asked. “Dat bane gude yoke!” he grinned. “Ay got gude flock an’ planty range hare, an’ Ay stay, Ay tank. Yu kill lawyer fallar, Bill, an’ take half whole shooting-match! ” “Got that certificate ?’’ I asked.

It was all worn raw at the folds, but he had it The Jackleg had an* assignment all ready on the back, and I wrote Addison’s name in, and made Pete sign it “Now,” said I, “we’ll take care of Mr, t Jackleg, and you’ll get something for this, but I don’t know what Don’t ever come belly-aching around saying we’ve bunked you after Lungy has put his good money and copped the mine. These men want this paper, not you. Probably they've got no warrant Brace up and stand pat!”

So we walked around bold as brass. The widow was dangling a Skandylooking kid over her shoulder by one foot, and analyzing the parentage of Jackleg. Lungy was grinning, but the sheriff’s face was shut down. "Ah, Mr. Peterson!” said the lawyer. “And our old and dear friend William Snoke, too! I thought I recognized you this morning! And now, please excuse our old and dear friend Mr. Peterson for a moment’s consultation.”

"Dis bane gude pless," said Pete. “Crack ahead!”, “This is a private matter, gentlemen,” said Jackleg. “Shall we withdraw?" asks Lungy. “No!" yells Pete. “You stay—be vitness!” “I wish to remind you, dear Mr. Peterson,” said he as we sort of settled in our places, "that your criminal assault and robbery of me has subjected you to a long term in prison. And I suffered great damage by Interruption of business, and bodily and mental anguish from the wounds, contusions and lesions inflicted, and especially from the compound fractufe of the Inferior maxillary bone ” "Dat bane lie!" said Pete. “Ay yust broke your yaw!" “He admits the corpus delicti!” yelled the lawyer. “Gentlemen, bear witness!” “I didn’t hear any such thing,” said Lungy. “Neither did I,” I said. “I figure my damages," he went on, “at twelve thousand dollars.” Pete picked a thorn out of his finger. "Now, Mr. Peterson,” went on the lawyer, "I don’t suppose you have the cash. But when I have stood up and fought for a man for pure friendship and a mere contingent fee, I learn to love him. I would fain save you from prison, if you would so act as to enable me to acquit you of felonious intent. A prison Is a fearful place, Mr. Peterson!"

“Ay tank,” said Petet, “Ay brace up an’ stand pat!” “If you would do anything,” pleaded the Jackleg, “to show good intention, turn over to me any papers you may have, no matter how worthless —notes, or—or certificates!”

Pete pulled out his wallet. Lungy turned pale. “Take dis,” said Pete. “Dis bane order fer six dollar Yohn Yohnson’s wages. Ay bane gude fallar!” “Thanks!” said the Jackleg, piouslike. “And is that long document the certificate of sale in Peterson vs. Golden Fountain, etc.?” “Dat bane marryln’ papers,” said Pete. “Dat spine paper bane N. G. Mae spine all tem O. K. Dat legyerkin’ bane yust effldence. Ay take spine paper to start camp-fire!” It was as good as a play. Lungy turned pale and trembled. The lawyer went up in the air and told the sheriff to arrest Pete, and appealed to the widow to give up the certificate, and she got sore at Pete, and called him a Norwegian fool for burning it, and called the bigger kid, which was more Irlsh-looklng. Pete dug his toe into file ground and looked ashamed and mumbled something about it not being his spine. The sheriff told Pete to come along, and I asked him to show his warrant. He made a bluff at looking in his clothes for it, and rode away with his countenance tlghtclosed.

Lungy and I rode off the other way. That night Lungy smiled weakly as I started the fire with paper. “Bill,” said he, "I shall never burn paper without thinking how near I came to paradise and dropped plump———” “Oh, I forgot,” said I. "Here’s that certificate.” Lungy took it, looked it over, read the assignment, and broke down and cried. He waited 'till the last minute, flashed the paper and the money, and swiped the mine. The company wanted to give a check and redeem, but the clerk stood out for currency, and it was too late to get it He got the mine, and Lucy, and is the big Mr. Addison, now.”

Took the Trick.

A conversation relating to the face value of cards the other evening caused Senator Bradley of Kentucky to become reminiscent He was reminded, he said, of a man from the mountain zone of his state, who once bought a jug of whisky, and not wanting to carry it around with him, decided to leave it at the corner grocery until he should be ready to go home. Jn order that the jug might be properly identified, the man took a deck of cards from his pocket, extracted the six of spades, wrote his name upon it and attached it to the handle of the jug. This done, he happily rambled forth, leaving the jug on the end of the counter. Two hours later the mountaineer returned, and great was his consternation, as well as eloquence, to find that his jug of electrified spirits had faded away. “Look here, Jim,” he agitatedly cried to the proprietor of the store. “Do you know what become o’ thet jug o’ mine?” “Of course I do, Seth,” was the prompt rejoinder of the proprietor. “Jake Howell come along with ther seven o’ spades an’ took it’’—Philadelphia Telegraph.

Exact

“Did the prisoner strike you between the arguments?” "No, sir; he didn’t He struck me between the eyes.”

Mean of Maud.

Ethel—Jack snatched a kiss from Alice last night and she cried. _ Maud—What for—more?

He Had a Few Opinions

“I have absolutely nothing to say about it,” declared the man. Then he began to talk freely. “I don’t like that dress,” he declared. “In the first place, it doesn’t look like a dress. It might just as well be a 750 piece picture puzzle on a horse and buggy as a dress, according to my notions! I don’t care if it is style—the person who invented that style ought to be shot or else made to wear the dress. I think myself that I’d prefer to be shot. Women have gone completely crazy this season, and every man will tell you that same thing! Yet you women say you dress to please the men! "Now, see here!” the man went on, warming to his subject. “What pleasure do you suppose a man derives from gazing at a woman whose sole aim in life is to look as absolutely different from the way a woman is cupposed to look as the brainstorm of an insane chop suey dress artist can make her? I’ll bet the Frenchman who invented that rig of yours tied his head up in a bag ai d then stood on it, whirled around three times and somersaulted into a pile of dress goods, grabbed things as he went through, and, when he landed, held what he had collected till his breathless assistants pinned them together as they were. Then no doubt he called for absinth and the $l5O price mark and went home to dinner feeling that he had created something worth while and had thereby won the eternal gratitude of womankind.

“If he had not done it that way,” went on the man, “it would have been outside human achievement for any one to put together in one piece of chiffon, a bath towel/ glass buttons, a strip of satin and an embroidered dishcloth. The thing in front looks like .a dishcloth anyway, and If you ripped it oft and gave it to Delia to wash pans with she’d be insulted! You can try it if you like, for you’ve got to make use of that dress-some-how. I’m against wasting things. The bath towel part is easy, and maybe you could make me a necktie out of the satin strip, but unless you can make a jlgamaree for your hair out of the chiffon I fear it is useless unless you could use it for screening on the basement windows. “I’m not saying your taste in dress is worse than that of any other woman. Unless a man breaks his neck keeping his eyes glued on the stars or wears blinders, he can’t avoid seeing remarkable signs in every direction. I met a woman the other day who 20 years ago would have been comfortably relegated to garndma’s rocking chair, would have worn her gray hair parted and plastered down, and would have had white ruching at the top of the collar of her black dress, and she wouldn’t have had any more figure than a flour sack. "Well, today this same woman was tripping down the street in heeled pumps with buckles on ’em, and as she stood she resembled a slice of

pie, ami with the point on the grand. What kind of pie? Well, it was a slice of squash pie that she resembled, if you must know. —— “From her shoulder to her heel with a perfect toboggan slide if the line had run out instead, of in. The bottom edge of her skirt was blue satin and the section up to her arms was white with green and red things dashing all over it, and there was a hint of purple and green up above. There were two feathers sticking straight up in the air in front of her Panama hat, and she had on pearl drop ear-" rings and a facial massage and a marcelled coiffure and a boxful of the best rouge and liquid powder. Maybe she was starting away and thought is safer to carry her whole season’s supply of cosmetics that way. And she was horribly well satisfied with herself, though in the depths of her harassed soul I know she yearned for a kimono, carpet slippers and a rocking chair. “The young girls are worse. Not to speak of their face enamel, the rigs they get on are enough to make a modest, sober man blush. They are skimpy where they shouldn’t be, and low where they should be high, and short where they should be long, and heavens knows what material they’ll use to make ’em of next! This year they’ve tried everything short of an oriental rag, cobwebs and the horsehair covering on the old furniture in the attic. Gunny sack garments seem to be regarded by them as particularly stylish this year.

"Just why a woman, whom the Lord made curved, should spend anguished time trying to mold herself Into the shape of an Iron cylinder or a wedge. Is beyond me! I’d rather they’d rock on the piazza and do tatting and gossip scandalously In the old-fash-ioned way. I don’t believe women can gossip in the clothes they wear today—all they can think of Is how soon they can reach home and be extracteu from their painful garb and draw a deep breath. I say it’s a sin and a shame, and I’d like to know who’s responsible for It!" "I think from what you say," murmured the man’s wife, "that you disapprove of my new dress." ■ "No, Mlrandy," said the man, "I don’t disapprove of it—l simply turn purple and froth at the mouth at sight of it So you'd better send it to your unfortunate sister, Jane, out in Montana. I always did have a grudge against Jane!"