Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 258, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 October 1913 — Page 3

The Fool of the Plains

HERE and there on the grassy uplands, or hidden in the wooded hollows of British East Africa, lives the rhinoceros, shunned by all other game, huge, morose and solitary. Misunderstanding, perchance misunderstood, bold without knowledge, hrave without discretion, one cannot but feel, after some acquaintance with the beast, that Nature has been hard on him, that a little more consideration, a little more sympathy, and the “rhino” would have no cause to lament a diminishing population and inadequate birth-rate. But Nature, as her habit is, has not gone out of her way to be kind; she has made no use of the material latent in the vast body; Evolution at her dictation has held his hand, and the “rhino” remains the stereotyped relic of a bygone age, when still stranger creatures browsed along the waters of a tropic Thames, when the mighty summits of Kilimanjaro and of Kenia were not conceived, of a time when the sole condition to survival was impermeability. And impermeability he achieved in those long past days, achieved it with an absolute success, achieved it so that no scheming tricks, no carefully-thought plan was necessary so that he might obtain food and water and the vanquishing of his enemies; he was impermeable to todth and claw. He was impermeable, and they of the tooth and claw knew it. He was absolutely safe, and in that safety the brain stagnated, and Evolution stood back and waited while the “rhino'* encompassed his death warrant.

Like Black Ridge.

You see him afar off, massive and aggressive, storming through the grass like a great battleship through the ripple of a summer’s sea; you watch him fidgeting from side to side in some chosen spot, long since worn saucer-like with the scraping feet, or are suddenly aware of his huge bulk upraised. Ride across the plain, your “safari,” a long black line of porters, the team of oxen, a mottled patch on the hillside far behind, and you may see, a few hundred yards away, a black ridge of somewhat unfamiliar aspect, or, more probably, be aroused from the semi-somnolence born of monotony by cries of “Faro!” from your men. That rather long black ridge, like and yet not quite like an ant-hill, surmounted by a row of birds —that is your “rhino.” There he lies, sleeping through the long hot hours, a solitary beast in the open plain of dry golden grass. Unknown to yourself, you have crossed the wind of the sleeper, and the faintly-caught smell, unfamiliar and pregnant with alarm, brings him to his feet to stand alert, each move of the massive body and upraised head eloquent of disgust and resentment. He has you; 500 odd yards away, yet he has you. The unwieldly parallelogram of flesh, which gave you your chance for a comfortable shot, zigzags in rapid spasmodic runs to and fro, across the plain, ever working up-wind, running now to this hand, now to that, and, as the scent strengthens with every tack, nearing you rapidly, looking less unwieldy, more agile at each advance. Nqw, .now he has you with a vengeance. Straight at you he comes, galloping like a gigantic pig, and—you sigh too late for your comfortable shot. Or, perchance, his sole asset, hi< nose, proves unequal to the task or locating the seat of the disturbance, and forthwith anger surges within his vast frame. You stand and watch, not, it mtrst be confessed, if you are new to to the manners of the “rhino,” without some tinge 'of anxiety. His Chase Unavailing. But this time there is to begun charge and no hasty firing of shots in the hope of turning, or of killing, the enemy. He sees an ostrich,.and the sight of the bird serves as a vent for his ill-considered spleen. Off he goes In chase, full tilt, for half a mile or Snore, the biped complacently trotting on before (can it be that an ostrich ;has a sense of humor?), merely glancing over his wing again, carefully keeping distance. Soon it dawns on him that the thing tn front he dimly sees has not that faintly-caught but •vil smell; this idle chase grows wear-

CHARGING RHINO

isome, and other forms loom up before him. Only a herd of hartebeeste; but he switches oft suddenly in their direction, with scarce abated wrath, and disappears over an undulation of the plain, a bad second to any one of the flying white rumps scattering before him. The fool of the plains and hollows; a dangerous fool if you will, but still the fool. He has, in fact, no ideas, but one idea. His eyes are useless to him, he relies upon his nose, and his nose proves but an unsatisfactory and unreliable guide. Watch him carefully down-wind of his meditating self, as he stands hour after hour moving a few yards from side to side, forwards or backwards, shuffling, or lying nose on ground in ponderous doze, oblivious, while around him, unheeded, the life of the plains goes on. Black stands the summits of the hills against the rioting colors of the western sky, a chilliness is already in the air, the brief twilight is at hand. Slowly the game moves in to water, strings of. blacks ormsagainst the sky-line, silver, brown and sable in the light of the valley. A long line of zebra, with drooping heads, file in from the outer plain; a herd of “kongonl” with dejected mien straggle obliquely waterwards; over a rise appears the black Roman nose and fierce shaggy head of an enquiring gnu. You have disturbed the life of the plains. The zebra pause and turn towards you-a row of black muzzles and well-cocked ears, the “kongonl” their fiddle-shaped flat faces; a herd of gazelle move off, wagging black black tails furiously against white thighs. Far away a pair of jackals running furtively stay their trot to gaze, sharp noses and bats’ ears pointed at you. Cunning, foxy little chaps. And through it all our friend the “rhino” sleeps oblivious. ZebrtP may fight with teeth and fore feet'’flor equine laurels; “kongonl” "Chase each other In far-drawn circles bent on love or play or war; the hyena and the jackal purloin bones bravely from the lion’s kill—-it is all one to the “rhino.” He has no interest in the life about ""him; he does not know 1 of your detested presence, though he stand so close that every wrinkle of his hide be visible; like some old autocrat, sunk into sleep, whose grandchildren snap his commandments under* his very uose, he is oblivious.

ELECTRICITY ON THE FARM

Experiments in England Seem to Show That With Chickens It Is a Big Success. A long succession of ingenious experiments have been privately made in the effect of electricity upon the growth of plants and anmals. It is now possible to say with some approach of confidence that startling results have been reached in one direction, according to a London contemporary.

Beyond all question young poultry respond to electric stimulus, applied in a particular wfiy, with astounding rapidity. They surpass the best record in speed of growth at the time of year; they keep their health independent of the season. In the south of England on the biggest poultry farm in the world, an experiment of this nature has just been completed. Eight hundred chickens, in two equal groups of 400, were nurtured on the intensive system —that is, in flats, almost z trays, one above the other. One group of 400 were treated by this electric system, and so charged were the chickens with electricity that the shock could be distinctly felt if the finger was put to the beak of a chicken. - The chickens in the 400 grew to a marketable slse in five weeks, and of the 400 only six, and these were weaklings in the beginning, died. Of the other 400 nearly half died—lt being late in the year for health growth —and the survivors took three months to reach the marketable slse.

"How did the new man cover that job?” "With a gun.”

Strenuous Work.

THE EVEXING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

THAT OTHER WOMAN

By ARTHUR BOLTONWOOD.

The frosty October day made the crackling fire on the hearth very cozy and very cheerful. They sat before it, Bob Standish and Betty Arnold, two very happy, carefree children for the time being. Standish put his fingers into his vest pocket and drew out a little case of morocco. “I got the one I wanted, Betty,” said he. "I made ’em take it out of .. thafr pendant There wasn’t another one like ,it." He snapped open the cover of the case and the dancing flames burned in a thousand many colored reflections in the heart of a perfect diamond. Standish reached over for a girl’s slim hand, but to his utter amazement she drew It back —very gently, but with determination. Glancing up he saw her eyes were troubled. “Oh, just a moment —just a moment before you put it on my finger, dear,” she breathed quickly. “I—l—don’t know just how to say it. I’m afraid.” “Afraid?" he echoed with a boyish laugh. “Of what, you dear little Miss Tease.” “Honestly, Bob,” she panted, as he would have snatched her to him. “Oh, please—just a minute —let me be sure!” She drew away from him. Her face was just the least bit twisted as with pain—for him. “Yes, that’s just It," she said with downcast eyes. “I want to be certain that I am sure of you.” "Betty!” he cried reproachfully. But still she held him off. “I’Ve —I’ve heard something,” she said. "I don’t believe it, but it —it hurts. It will hurt till you let me know It isn’t so.” He scowled. “Who’s been talking now?” he said'almost harshly. "Mrs. Malvern." “That —that trouble-monger! ” “Bob!” “Well, what has she been saying?” The girl stared long into the fire. Bob Standish saw she was biting her under lip.

“I wouldn’t listen to her nor believe it,” she said at last. “Still I had to hear some of the things—and—and—thinking them over—the few I did hear—l’m afrttld; just the weehlest bit afraid, dear. She said you were buying a whole lot of flowers every Thursday at Rondeau’s —that you went away every Thursday in your car right after lunch and—and that you didn’t get back upttl dinner time. She said you always wore your heart on your sleeve and that —Bob!” she said suddenly sitting very straight, “tell me it isn’t so. It’s hurt—awfully; more than I’d admit.” His own face became very grave. He kicked back an ember that came hurtling across the hearth. “About wearing my heart on my sleeve —that isn’t so,” he said. “About the flowers—well. I’ll have to admit them.” V

She looked up quickly. He wasn’t looking at her. She felt some vague sense of something dreadful impending. “Oh,” she said. * “And perhaps I had best explain about them before I put the ring on,” said he. She waited silently for him to go on. She did not know she was pressing her hands tightly together. "It’s really all right, dearie,” he said quietly at last “She’s an 'old friend of the family. Her people have met reverses. She’s living on gamely, pluckily, on what was left She isn’t asking odds of anybody. I —I —wanted to make it just a little easier for her. I want to think that once in a while she has a few of the things she used to have. So every Thursday I blow myself for some orchids for her at Rondeaus’, and —yes, I take them to her myself, I might as well own up, and I take her for a spin in the car for a few hours —out to Mllvllje, or over the old turnpike to that cozy little inn at Bridgton for tea. It makes her forget. It’s so very little I do and so entirely innocent You’ve forgiven me haven’t you?”

’1 —I don’t know,” said she rather hoarsely. She noticed he stiffened a bit Then he grinned; she thought to cover his -embarrassment. “She is here in town then all the time?” she asked. , “Oh, yes." “Is she pretty?” He wrinkled his brows as of debating a point in his mind. “Beautiful is a better word,” said he. Again she looked up. His face was all ashine. She turned away that he might not see how badly she was hurt. 1 “I don’t know why I have not told you all this before,” said he. "The very fact I haven’t shows how lightly I thought of it. I have meant to tell you at different times, and I certainly should have told you before we were married, because I want to buy her those flowers every Thursday just the same and take her for the spin. You wouldn’t mind, would you?” She flushed beautifully. He caught the sound of a little half-frightened gasp. “Oh, Bob, I'm afraid I do care,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m not a bit broad. I'm selfish. Of course it’s very noble of you and there isn’t.the least bit of harm in it, st^ll —” a “She’s so plucky about it all,” he Said, as If in self-defense. She tried to stop them, but two big tears slipped out of her eyes and coursed, one down each cheek. "Suppose you come and see her with me—now, this afternoon, this

minute,” he said. "Then yon can decide, and TH abide by it" "You don’t understand,” she said hotly. "It isn’t that.” "Come just the game,” said he. She shook Iter head. “Not if I Insist?" "You wouldn’t" "But I do.” She arose very proudly. "Very well,” said she. ~ She ran up stairs. In a momefit she was down again, smiling now, but very coldly, he noticed."I’d best take furs?” she asked. *JYes,” he said shortly, and opened the door- 1 - - » His car was drawn up at the curb outside. He tuckled her In, climbed In himself and away they spun through the crisp autumn air with its more than hint of frost He did not speak; neither did she, watching the streets slip past one after another. At last they shot into the suburbs, turned In at a wide gate, flanked on either side by great stone posts and drew* up ’ before a huge building. ; He helped her out, led her up the stone steps and Into a wide hall, where a smiling woman came forward to greet them. ... "May we see Mrs. Horton?" Standish asked. "I know it isn’t my day, but I thought she’d be glad to see us Just the samp.” "Glad? She’ll be delighted as a child,” said the woman. Betty had clutched his arm. “What place Is this?" she whispered. s For answer he led her a few steps down the hall and pointed to a brass tablet on the wall.

“For lonely and aged women whose slender means offer them but scant comfort in the all too forgetful world they have served, the fund for this hdme Is given by Helen P. Corlis.” Later the car whizzed down the wide drive through the after-glow of a gloricrs October sunset. "Isn’t she a dear!" cried Betty, nestling close to Bob. “Beautiful doesn’t half do .her justice. T don’t wonder you hesitated when I asked you If she was pretty.” "You’ll let me buy her the flowers and. take her joy-riding, then. Just the same after we’re married?” he asked. “Indeed I won’t," said she with much emphasis. "We’ll buy her flowers, and we’ll take her motoring, and well have her to dinner very, very often. Now, Bob, dear, stop the car right here, aryl put that ring on my finger." (Copyright. ISIS, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)

NO MORE LAST FORTY WINKS

Fiend Has Invented an Alarm Clock That Simply Insists on One’s Rising In the Morning. It has often seemed, after the announcement of an invention to which the attention of the entire civilized world has been called, that the human mind could scarcely invent anything more and fashion it in material form, but the countless dreams of inventors continue to be realized in astounding numbers. Every week, every month, the trade journals advertise and comment upon new things in the lines which they represent and publish new ideas which this material labor saving age seizes and makes its own.

An alarm clock which awakens you with the words of a disgusted wife who has breakfast on the table, and a large vessel which carries submarines over long distances by means of a “pouch” are among the newest offerings. As an ever present need, the alarm clock will probably be put into more general household use than the ship with the "pouch” for carrying submarines. In the evening before retiring you set the clock for 6:30; at 6:30 you will probably get up. Here is what will waken You: “Six: thirty, six-thirty, six-thirty; time to get up; get up, can’t you? Get up you miserable, lazy man. 'Get up, get up, get up!” The first clock of this kind was exhibitedin 1900, but it cost $2,500 to make it The present offering costs $25. If you are awake In the middle of the. night and wish to know the time, press a button and the clock will tell you the nearest quarter hour as: “Two-fifteen,” if it happens too be 2:13 or 2:18. The phonographic record is on an endless belt and the grooves in which the voice vibrations are recorded run lengthwise of the belt. The belt continues to give out sound until shut off when once started. So far the clocks have been supplied with belts which talk in thirty-five languages.

Wise Compromise in Slang.

"Good slang is permissible among school children,” according to Dr. G. Stanley Hall. Precisely the same thing is true of college boys, of college girls and of the rest of us. Slang is inevitable. To thunder against it, to ignore it, to burlesque it is equally idle. Since we cannot end it—and, really, we should not and would not if we could —the part of wisdom is endeavor to mend it. Let educators direct their satire and condemnation against vulgar, vicious, idiotic slang—of which there is abundance —and they will accomplish something. The slang that is racy, spontaneous, humorous, expressive deserves kindly toleration if not encouragement. Some of It establishes itself and becomes classical English. As to the question what good slang is, It is manifestly foolish. There is no fixed test, but persons of taste and cultivation have no difficulty in differentiating between legitimate slang and grotesque silly and offensive slang.

WAR REMINISCENCES

GREATEST BATTLE OF WORLD Reception and Banquet Was Prelude at Gettysburg—Enemy Routed After Desperate Conflict. I name Hanover before Gettysburg because it was here that I think the greatest battle tn the world began on June 30, 1863. When the Fifth New York cavalry rode into town we were greeted by the citizens of that par triotic town in a manner that was far different from the treatment accorded us on the other side of the Potomac. They gave us good food and sang songs of cheer as we marched along the road.

A reception was being given in ths market place when there came a report as from the mouth of a cannon, writes C. B. Thomas in the Chicago Record-Herald. At first we thought that it was but a part of the reception program. But this idea-soon was rudely dispelled when shells began to scream through the air and explodd in the streets. The curtain was rung down, then up, and another scene was on in the drama. The sounding of bugles, the hurried command, the quick movements, the shots of revolver and carbine, the Sash of the saber, the oncoming enemy, the broken ranks of the rear guard pressing upon our rear and flank. But the Fifth was not to be so easily disconcerted or panicstricken. At this critical moment Major John Hammond, who commanded the regiment, took in the situation, and with his accustomed coolness and bravery quickly commanded head of column to the left, and we passed down a side street toward the railroad depot, and upon a vacant lot reformed into line, drew sabers and breaking off into fours, he ordered and led a charge. By this time the enemy had penetrated to the market place. We met and were instantly engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict. Our onslaught was so sudden and strong that notwithstanding a gallant resistance they were buried back and followed with irresistible force. Thotfgh fresh reginjente were brought to their assistance, rallying again and again, they were driven back over the hill they had taken possession of under cover of their guns. As one writer says: "In less than fifteen minutes from the time they charged the rear guard,” they were driven from this loyal city. Many were found'hiding, in the wheat fields through which they came, and others in out of the way places, leaving the streets strewn with their dead, dying and wounded, dead and wounded horses, and the debris which always belongs to a conflict, of this kind. The dead and wounded of both the blue and the gray lay strewn about, covered with blood and dust; the gray of'one and the blue of the other was blended into one almost undistingulshable color, so that it was hard to identify one froin the other; In many cases the blood of contending parties had mingled in one common pool. \ The next day we moved on toward Gettysburg, and took an active part in the fight. I contend, however, that the real opening of the battle was there in that little town of Hanover.

WANTED THEM FOR HIMSELF

Confederate Soldier Prevents Boy Hl Blue From Taking Fine Boots From Dying Comarde. After the battle of Chancellorsville among the mortally wounded left on the field was a young Confederate soldier. One of his countrymen, reallzr ing that the breath was fast leaving his body, leaned against the side of a great tree which screened him from observation and waited for the end to come. Presently a boy in blue came up, and obsexying that the dying soldier was wearing a fine pair of leather boots stooped and began quickly to unlace them. *

The Confederate realizing what he was up .to stepped from his hiding place and accosted him. “Hey, you! What are you doing there, you rascal? That man’s still living. Take your hands off him this instant!” The Union soldier rather sheepishly abandoned his undertaking* and turned to depart. "A precious lot you’Ve got to do With it, anyhow!” he grumblpd as he shouldered his gun. "I’ve got this much to do with ft, my friend. I’ve been waiting around here in the rain a couple of hours for that fellow to die to get those boots myself—and I don’t mean to be cheated out of them.”

It Drew All Right.

A new recruit was doing duty in one of the garrisons ffhen he complained of a pain in his breast. The. doctor gave him a plaster to put on his chest; but he had no "chest,” so he went to the laundress of the company and asked her if she had a chest "No, but I got a bandbox.” ' “That will do,” said he. So he put the plaster on her bandbbx, and when the doctor the next day asked him if it drew, he said: "Yes; it drew her bonnet all out of shape.*

111 - I < ' - Poliliaans Boy The papers scold my pa; they say Bad things about him every day, And often ma begins to cry When she looks at the paper—then X kind of get to wishin’ I Could lick a few newspaper men. Pa doesn’t care; he says no man That tries to do the best he can To get ahead and help along Has any right to think they’ll not Hurrah about it when he’s wrong Or prod him in his sorest spot. I don’t blame ma for feelln’ sad Because they say my pa is bad; He’s always good to her and me. And when her eyes were wet, one day. He kissed us both and said that he Had joys they couldn’t take away. One time they had his picture so He looked like old Nick down below— I wish the papers all would please I Just print niee things about my pa To make him always glad, for he’s The dearest pa I ever saw. '

MERE OPINION.

People who go to watering plaoee generally get soaked. The boy who inherits a barrel of! monoy starts right out to whoop it up. No woman ever boasted that she was born in a log house. The man of one idea is always in, danger of being laughed at by people who have none. ---1— It is impossible for any man to be true to himself by deceiving others. —?T-; “ r H '■/< 7, ‘ J';?:'. r ;-'' The mountain stream is regarded as the emblem of purity, but it is generally very crooked and always has a downward tendency.

His Vacation.

He worked for years and sighed because He could not have a holiday; He mourned, what his condition was. He longed to put his work away And then, with care left far behind, Go forth to play, with peace of mind. He envied other men who went .To fish beneath the shadows eool; He envied them the days they spent Released from Duty’s rigid rule. And thought how happy he would ba For but a single day care-free. At last his glad old wish came true; He put his wearing tasks away. And left his office, feeling blue, z And fearing that he ought to stay— He spent three sad weeks feeling sore To think they would so soon be o’er.

TERRIBLE POSSIBILITY.

•: “Well,. I see you’re borrowing, trom ble again. What’s the matter now?”

be so terrible, would it?" “Mercy, yes. Think of what the women in the congregation would always be saying about her.”

The Chauffeur's Fault.

"But why didn’t you take the number of it when the automobile ran over you?” askdd the court "Well, ni tell you, judge,” replied the nian on the stretcher, "I would have doner'it if the fellow had only waited till I came to.”

Discouraging Habit.

"Tour buahgnd seems .to have great stability of character.” “Tbit's what Tve'always found fault with Josiah for. If Be would only learn not to act so; people know right off that he got bin first start by workin’ tn a livery stable’”

His Falling Sight.

"Walter, I aaked you for green tea.’ "That la green tea, air.” “Oh, la it? I muat be getting coin blind. I thought it Urea blonde."

He’s Always Willing.

“la'be h man you can treat?" “Oh. yto. he'a a man you can tnal if you want to, eaay enough." ■ Ji « - ’ i'

“Oh, George,” she replied, ‘Tye just been thinking what if our dear littledarling should when she grows up become a minister’s wife.” “That wouldn’t