Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 February 1915 — Page 2

A LADY OF THEORIES

By ANNE O'HOGAN.

(Copyright.) In Athenetown the tower* of the Bute university buildings and the chimney* of the great leather factories are equally prominent in the landscape. In like manner, the wealthy manufacturers and the dignified professors are eqaally prominent in the social life of the city. Wealth and leounlng vie with each other In attracting people to Atbenetown. Mrs. Wilson —whose husband is the professor of political economy and sociology at the college—is a lady of theories. One of her theories touches upon the brotherhood of man .and the Just division of property. Had she not been actuated by this theory, she would never have installed Jenny Marks in the second-story-back bedroom of. her house. In the other bonses on College Hill this particular room served either ss a guest-room or a room for one of the family. Mrs. Wilson had no children and few guests. '‘Besides.” she argued, "should I not strive to make those who labor for me comfortable, rather than stray visitors who are not balf so tired at the end of the day as my Jenny is? Especially ns the third-story bedrooms will do perfectly for visitors —and Jenny Is a treasure.” Both of these statements were true. Before very long. Jenny, neat, deft aund always amiable, made a reputation in the housekeeping circles of Atbenetown. where everybody knows everybody else'* affairs, and where good servants are scarcer than hens’ • - iseth. • When housekeepers, far-sighted and fortunate, were hard put for the services of a waitress, Mrs. Wilson very amiably lent her treasure. Soon Jenny was playing maid in the dressing room of Mrs. Leading Manufacturer Hardy—when that lady gave g reception; she had waited on the table at Mrs. German Professor von Schmitt’s first big dinner; and had gained a familiar knowledge of various other leading houses. It was in the early part of November that Athenetown began to enjoy Its riot of initiations and hasing. But, strange to say, the annual orgy of silliness provoked comparatively little comment in faculty circles. There were a few perfunctory warnings against rowdyism, a few routine reminders of the purpose of college life, but nothing more. The truth was that Athenetown, at this time, was too much excited over a series of skillful robberies to bother much about the inevitable autumn outbreak of ruffianism. Mrs. Letheridge had lost a pearl collar; Mrs. Hardy a set of diamond ornaments; Mrs. von Schmitt, some rare sapphires collected by her mother-in-law. Silver safes had been rifled of their contents in half a dozen houses before Thanksgiving day. Detectives came and ransacked houses, servants' trunks and pawnships. Fathers of families slept with revolvers beneath their pillows. The police in all the surrounding cities were notified to be on the lookout tor the stolen property. “You've escaped entirely, haven’t your said Mrs. Webster (the "faculty bride" of the year) to Mrs. Wilson, as the two ladies sat at their luncheon in the latter’s sunny dining room. “I haven’t anything worth taking,” laughed Mrs. Wilson. “It’s one of the advantages of poverty. But neither have you lost anything, have you?” The faculty bride nodded. “Yes, I have. Our house was entered last night—please don't say anything about it, for i have more hope of an arrest if the news is not bruited abroad. They—or he—took a lot of trinkets. We hope to trace them, however, by means of a set of old-fashioned - topazes which were stolen. They are unmistakable, it happens, and their description was telegraphed all over the country this morning.’’ i “But the thief will not try to dispose of them in their settings, will he? And when they are removed —” “It's the stones themselves that are unmistakable,” answered the bride, as Jenny came in to remove the salad plates. “They are very remarkable. In the heart of each there is a defect that if you examine it under the microscope, a tiny, starry radiation. Every leading jeweler and pawnshop keeper in the neighborhood has been informed. They were stolen once before from my mother —they were hers —and we recovered them just because of these defects. In fact, a gentleman is now serving a" sentence in Joliet for failing to know this little secret”

Mrs. Wilson looked half-reproachful-ly at her guest. “Ah.” she said, “dishonesty is, of course, dreadful, but do you ever stop to think of the injustice are the parents of It; the inequalities of property, of hap—” Mrs. Webster interrupted her hostess with a good-natured laugh as Jenny brought in the coffee. *1 have heard about your theories.” she said, “but I confess Tm a bit oldfashioned on this subject of property. By the way, what a perfect waitress you have! Wherever did you find such a treasure in AthenetownT* Mrs. Wilson proudly proclaimed that Jenny was the result of her beHa# fn hgf fellow beings. ' The bride looked thoughtfully at the waitress when she next glided

Tvs aeen her somewhere,* sue ■mid; "I wonder where? Oh, I remember. Out beyond the town, on the edge of the oak woods. I was coming in from s ride and she was kneeling, digging at something in the ground." “Very likely," answered Jenny’s employer indifferently. “She goes for a walk every afternoon if she has leisure, and she sometimes does a little botanizing. She’s a very superior girl and a good deal of a student. 1 have never seen any one who glorified manual labor as she does.” Then the ladies wandered Into the library, and Jenny cleared off the table. She did not go out botanising that afternoon. She sat in her room sewing, instead. The linings of a neat waist were ripped, a thin layer ot cotton batting was laid against the dress material, and to this were neatly secured, with a few invisible stitches, many tiny packages covered with oiled silk. Then another layer of cotton batting covered these and (he lining was again adjusted. When she had finished her sewing (in which she exhibited the same neatness and dispatch that she displayed in her household duties), she passed her hand caressingly over her bodice and smoothed out and arranged another one in her bureau drawer. She then took out a clean cap, collar, and cuffs, to brighten her black gown. That night, before she went to bed, Jenny carefully examined a leather case which was none the worse for aaviug been buried. Sbe pressed the spring and looked earnestly at the shining yellow stones in their old-fashioned settings. “Lucky 1 heard about that starshaped defect," she said to herself. "Guess I’ll send them back —it would be a joke.’’ She looked carefully at the stones, but could not see. with her naked eyes, the telltale marks. Then she yawned, locked the door, opened the window, and crept Into bed, leaving the leather case upon her bureau. She was awakened from a light sleep by the sound of a creaking board and a gently raised window. She knew that there was some one in the room. She held her breath for a while and heard in the stillness the sound of some one breathing. A button near the head of the bed controlled the electric light, and her hand slid gently and cautiously toward it. As it moved she heard the clock on the old meeting-house chime two. There was nothing cowardly about Jenny. She snapped the button and sat up straight in bed. As the burglar swung around—a tall fellow, with his mouth and chin covered by a black muffler, and a soft hat pulldd low over his forehead —she again slid her hand under the pillow. In an instant a revolver confronted him. Jenny looked toward the bureau; the jewel case had vanished. “Stay where you are,” she said in a low, cautious voice, keeping him covered with her pistol as she slipped out of bed sind made a few steps toward the door. “I beg your pardon, madam,” the burglar whispered. “I assure you that I am not what I seem. You’ll regret it if you alarm the household. Surely you cannot have lived here long and failed to hear that initiations are sometimes very—er —peculiar* I—" “Oh!” said Jenny. She favored him with a long stare and weighed his words carefully. “What initiation is taking place tonight?” “Lady," said the burglar pleadingly—and the dissyllable and the whine with which It was uttered destroyed Jenny’s shortlived tendency toward credulity—“lady, I’m sworn not to tell and not to let any one know that I am not a regular thief. My stunt is to rob some one of something, to get away with the goods, and to show them to the initiators as proof.” His eyes, quick and furtive under his soft hat, measured the distance to the window. Jenny smiled and shook- her head. But the hand that held the weapon did not shake. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot,” she said caimly “I mean it. I’m not bluffing. You can explain all about the initiation to Professor Wilson.” And, with, eyes and pistol still pointed unfaltering at him, she backed toward the door, opened it with her free hand, and filled the hall with a loud call for help. The burglar sprang toward the window A bullet Btung his arm. The next one will not be in your sleeve,” said Jenny tartly Then, as the room filled with people and the professor of political economy grappled with the intruder, she added modestly: “Well, I hope that this ends the Athenetown burglaries. Though this man declares that this is only an initiation trick." It was quite clear to the community that the intrepid little waitress’ captive was indeed the skillful burglar who had kept them all on the anxious seat for two months. For they found, concealed upon his person, the very set of topazes which had been stolen from Mrs. Webster the night before. The burglar’s stream of profane abuse of women, his wild denunciation of his captor, his crazy asseveration that he had found the jewels in the treasure’s room, only injured his cause and made his hasty conviction more certain. “It’s a wonder you don't say that you found them in Professor Wilson’s safe, you impudent creature,” said Jenny with great warmth. ;' When, a month of two later, Jenny left Mrs. Wilson’s employ and went home to Canada to recover from the effects of the shock, a band of grateful souls of College Hill presented her with a'sfiver toilet set in recognition of her plucky capture of the thief.

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, INP,

The Japanese Red CTobs contingent, bound on a mission of mercy that carries it half way around the globe, photographed in New York before it sailed for England. It is headed by Dr. Jiro Suzuki (at right in first row) and the nurses are the pick of the medical corps of the Japanese army, every one having been decorated for efficiency and bravery.

PAINTS HORRORS OF WAR’S WORK

Nellie Biy Describes Awful Scenes Witnessed in Red Cross Hospital. SOUL SHRINKS FROM SIGHT Wounded, Frozen, Starved, Thousands Are Dying in Agonizing Torture and Other Thousands Are Being Rushed to the Same Fate.

By NELLIE BLY.

(International News Service.) Budapest. Ten languages are Bpoken in the hospital, and nurses, German, Austrian, Gulitzin, Hungarian and Servian, are employed, so that patients will always have nurses who speak their language. They have also a series pf chapels, Catholic, Protestant and. Hebrew. Off each ward are small soundproof rooms called “death chambers.” Patients on the point of death are removed to these rooms to spare the feelings of their fellow comrades. Smoking rooms, glass partitioned, are also an adjunct to each ward. This hospital accommodates 2,000 wounded. ■./ The kitchen is superb and needs a column to properly describe it. They showed w r ith pride a large American refrigerator. The doctors and nurses each have their sleeping, eating and rest departments. One large hall, gayjy decorated with the national colors, is ♦sed for the amusement of the convalescent. Every kind of shows are given and concerts. Men were being reecived from a train, so we went down to see them. We talked to them, as detachments of 20 were “token at a time to the bath. I cannot praise too highly the wonderful executive ability of those who conceived and established the astounding perfection of these two hospitals. Nothing is wanting to aid and assist nature to save and heal what man is so inhumanly torturing and destroying. We had scarcely reached the Astoria when I had a telephone call from Doctor MacDonald. ' Called to Hospital. “I want you to get into a taxi and come here, Miss Bly," he said, “I have received just now the worst cases I have ever seen in my entire life. They may interest you." I rushed to the American Red Cross hospital. It is located in Mexico street in a large building, formerly used as a home for the blind. I flew in the door and up the stairs over which floats a 50-foot American flag. Doctor MacDonald, grave and sad. met me at the head of the stairs. “Come into the operating room,” he said, taking my hand. “I have the most frightful case I ever saw.” Mr. Schriner, who had enough misery for one day, had tried to induce me not to come. Falling he had come along. Silently he kept at my side. The operating room was in confusion. On the floor was blood. Filling pails and in piles were bloody bandages. I tried not to see. I began to wish I had not come. Four American . Red Cross curses stood grarely aiqund an. operating ta* bis. Doctor MacDonald pointed to two bandaged stair pa. I could see one

JAPANESE RED CROSS CORPS GOES TO FRONT

foot was gone at the ankle, the other apparently half way to the knee. “This is a Russian,” said the doctor. “He was wounded by a shot through his body. For eight days he lay In the trench unattended. His feet froze. He was put on a freight train, and when we received him an hour ago his feet had dropped off, doubtless In the car, for we never saw them, and the last blood the poor fellow had was pouring from his open veins. We carried him here and bandaged him up, but he cannot live many minutes longer. He has no pulse now. Come, look at him.” A Dreadful Sight. Come, look, reader, with me! My whole soul shrank from the sight. The doctor took me by the hand. I kept my eyes away from the face I was afraid to look upon. “Look at this body,” said the doctor. I looked —I shuddered. The clay-pallor of death. The ribs cutting the skin. Bones, bones, no flesh anywhere. The head turned. Great, hollow blaok eyes looked into mine. Trans

Nellie Bly at the Front

fixed, I stood, heartsick, soul-sad. Those great hollow eyes searched mine. They tried to question me. They spoke soul language to soul. The lips parted, a moan, a groan of more than physical agony. He spoke. I not understand. Hts words were a sound my ears shall never forget. The appeal, the longing, the knowledge! "What does he say?” I cried, unable to stand it “Can no one understand? Can*t you find ,someone to speak to him?" - A nurse Smoothed his forehead. An attendant held fast the pale, pale hands, - j —- “The attendant understands,” the

doctor said; and to him, “What does he say?” Asked for Children. “He is asking for his children,” was the low reply. The hollow, black eyes turned again to search mine. I could not endure their question. I had no answer to give. . “Let me go!” I said to the doctor. The low moans seemed to call me back, but I walked steadfastly toward the door and down the corridor. “Could emperors and czars and kings look on this torturing slaughter and ever sleep again ?”T asked the doctor. “They do not look,” he said gently. “Only by witnessing such horrors can one realize them.” “Miss Bly,” cried Von Leidenforst, running down the hall, “that poor fellow just died!” This is only one case. Travel the roads from the scene of battle; 'Search the trains; wounded, frozen, starved thousands are dying in agonizing tor* ture —not hundreds, but thousands. And as they die thousands are being rushed into their pest-filled trenches to be slaughtered in the same way.

NO LONGER NEEDS PENSION

Aged Woman Returns Check to Gov* —-* ernment, Saying She Does Not Need Money.

Washington.—Mrs. Catherine A. Richards of "Worcester, Mass., for many years on the pension rolls of the United States government, has sent back her most recent quarterly check for $36 to the pension bureau with the information that she, is no longer in need of the money. Mrs. Richards is nearly eight-eight years old. The pension she received was granted to her as the dependent mother of a son killed in the Civil war. The letter said:

“I write to say that, in view of my advanced age and poor health, shall drop my pension, or have you do so, and take my name from the list of pensioners. Ido this with kindly feelings toward all concerned, and thank the best of governments for all its favors to me in the loss of my precious son, who gave his life, with thousands of others, that the nation might live. I have enough income to make me comfortable the remainder of the time I may stay, being nearly eighty-eight, born in 1827. Dear sir, I do not know of any papers that I should return. Should there be any, will you please advise, and accept for your kindness and patience shown to me many thanks and good wishes for happiness and prosperity."

GETS TWO LICENSES TO WED

Feared Business Might Interfere With Original Plans So He Prepared for Emergency. Woodland, Cal. —To make certain that there would be no possible hitch in the arrangements, Charles F. Johnston, local garage man, obtained a marriage license in Woodland Recently to wed Joan R. Erringer, a Williams girl, although the couple had originally planned to be married in San Francisco. Later Johnson contributed his second $2 marriage certificate fee to the county clerk of San Francisco, and the wedding was solemnised according to schedule. It is supposed that the two feared business affairs might possibly" prevent the ceremony being performed hr San Francisco, and so obtained a license from the Yolo county clerk in ewe of an emergency.

BROTHERS IN MISERY

COMRAOEBHIP OF WOUNDED ON THE (BATTLEFIELD.

Letter Written to Hie Fiancee by Dying French Officer Reveals Triumph of the Finer Feelings of Humanity.

A letter, which is among the most moving documents written since the beginning of the war, has been received by a young American woman in Paris. It was written by her fiance, a French cavalry officer, as he lay dying in Flanders, and with the letter she received the news of his death. narrating how he was wounded in the chest during a cavalry charge and temporarily lost conscious-' ness, the writer goes on: “There are two other men lying near me and I do not think there is much hope for them, either. One is an officer of a Scottish regiment and the other a private in the uhlans. “They were struck down after me and when I came to myself I found them bending over me, rendering first aid. The Britisher was pouring water down my throat from his flask, while the German was endeavoring to <■ stanch my wound with an antiseptic preparation served out by their medical corps. “The Highlander had one of his legs shattered and the German had several pieces of shrapnel buried in his side. In spite of their own sufferings th6y were trying to help me, and when I was fully conscious again the German gave me a morphia injection and took one himself. His medical corps had also provided him with the Injection and the needle, together with printed instructions for its use. “After the injection, feeling wonderfully at ea&e, we spoke of the lives we had lived before the war. We all spoke English, and we talked of the women we had left at home. Both the German and the Britisher had only been married a year. “I wondered, and I suppose the others did, why we had fought each other at all. I looked at the Highlander, who was falling to sleep exhausted, and in spite of his drawn face and mud-stained uniform, he looked the embodiment of freedom. Then I thought of the tricolor of France and all that France had done for liberty. “Then I watched the German, who had ceased to speak. He had taken a prayer book from his knapsack and was trying to read a service for soldiers wounded in battle.” The letter ends with a reference to the failing light and the roar of guns. It was found at the dead officer’s side by a Red Cross file and forwarded to his fiancee.

Germany’s Dead Letter Maill.

The German post office is to spare the feelings, so far as possible, of the families of soldiers who have fallen in battle, when mail matter, nondeliverable for that reason, is returned to the sender. Hitherto it was the custom to stamp on the letter or package merely the word “fallen,” or “dead, and send it back home to shock the relatives with this harsh brevity. Now s the military authorities have been directed to use the words “fallen for the fatherland,” or “fallen on the field of keaor.” . In still another way the authorities are trying to soften the blow 'of death notices from the front. Hitherto this was attempted only in country districts, where the returned mail of the fallen soldiers was handed over to the local authorities or the clergyman, who then undertook to break the fatal news gently to the family. Something like this is now to be done also in the towns and cities. The local authorities will now be asked to select some person suitable for bearing the me* sage of death. .

Monkey War Veteran.

Jacko, the pet monkey of H. M. S. Loyal, who has been in three wars.Tecently paid a flying visit to Harwich, and for the sake of variety made part of the jpurney on the roof of a railway carriage. Born in South Africa during the ■war, Jacko was made the pet of a regiment, and was with the troops on two or three battlefields. A seaman fathered him and took him afloat. He went to the China station, and wa« with the naval brigade in the Boxer rebellion. Back to sea he went from ship to ship, and he was in the Loyal during its recent engagement with German destroyers. Being an old soldier, he then took refuge in the fish-kettle, emerging quite gay and hearty when the shooting was over.—-London Daily Mail.

Tramps Raid Peacock Pen.

A feast fit for kings, perhaps, has been indulged by hoboes who raided the grounds of Millionaire Gardner Hammond of Montecito, Cal., and made off with the peacocks. The beautiful fowls have attracted no end of comment, being imported birds. The loss wgh discovered in the morning and all day Sheriff Nat Stewart searched the hobo camps, but in rain. Raids on Montecito hen coops* have been of nightly occurrence. “Big reward paid and no questions asked,” Is the way the Hammonds are advertising for the return of their peacocks. . -

She Doesn’t save Them.

“Young Mr. Twobble is very dignified. Do his letters to you burn, ft* tricia?" “Yes— eventually”