Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 159, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 July 1915 — Page 2

The SCARLET PLAGUE

by JACK LONDON

SYNOPSIS. Tn a California valley an old man. one of the sow survivors of a World-Wide that has destroyed civilisation. teO* the story of the Scarlet Pla<ue to Ma grandsons. CHAPTER I—Continued. The boys were overwhelmed with delight at sight of the tears of senile disappointment that dribbled down the old man’s cheeks. Then, unnoticed, Hoo-Hoo replaced the empty shell with a fresh cooked crab. Already dismembered from the cracked legs the white meat sent forth a small cloud of savory steam. This attracted the old man's nostrils, and he looked down in amazement. The change -f his mood to one of joy was immediate. He snuffled and muttered and mumbled, wklnr almost *. croon of delight, as ho began to eat. Of this the boys took little notice, for it was an accustomed spectacle. Nor did they notice bis occasional exclamations and utterances of phrases which meant nothing to them, as, for instance, when he smacked his lips and champed his gums while muttering: "Mayonnaise! Just think —mayonnaise! And it's sixty years since the last was ever made! Two generations and never a smell of ft! Why, tn those days it was served tn every restaurant with crab.” When he could eat no more, the old man sighed, wiped his hands on his naked legs, a-d gazed out over the sea. With the content of a full stomach, he waxed reminiscent. "To think of it! Fve seen this beach alive with men, women and children on a pleasant Sunday. And there weren't any bears to eat them up. either. And right up there on the cliff was a big restaurant where you could get anything you wanted to eat Four million people lived in San Francisco then. And now, in the whole city and county there aren’t forty all told. And out there on the sea were ships and ships always to be seen, going in for the Golden Gate or coming out. And airships in the air—dirigibles and flying machines. They could travel two hundred miles an hour. Mail contracts with the New York and San Francisco Limited demanded that for the minimum. There was a chap, a Frenchman, I forget his name, who succeeded in making three hundred; but the thing was too risky for conservative persofis. But be was on the right clue, and he would have managed it if it hadn't been for the great plague. When I was a boy there were men who remembered the coming of the first aeroplanes, and now I have lived to see the last of them, and that sixty years ago.” "But there weren’t many crabs in those days,” the old man wandered on. "They were fished out, and they were great delicacies. The open season was only a month long, too. And now crabs are accessible the whole year around. Thirk of it—■catching all the crabs you want, any time you want, in the surf of th 3 Cliff house beach!" A sudden commotion among the goats brought the boys to their feet The dogs about the fire rusheu to join their snarling fellow who guarded the goats, while the goats themselves stampeded in the direction of their human protectors. A half dozen forms, lean and gray, glided about on the sand hillocks or faced the bristling dogs. Edwin arched an arrow that fell short But Hare-Lip, with a sling, such as David carried into battle against Goliath. hurled a stone through the air that whistled from the speed of, its flight It fell squarely among the wolves and caused them to slink away toward the dark depths of the eucalyptus forest The boys laughed and lay down tgain in the sand, while Granser sighed ponderously. He had eaten too much, and with hands clasped on his paunch, the fingers interlaced, he resumed his maunderings. ""The fleeting systems lapse like foam,’” he mumbled what was evidently a quotation. “That’s It —foam, and fleeting. All man’s toll upon the planet was just so much foam. He domesticated the serviceable animals, destroyed the hostile ones, and cleared the land of its wild vegetation. And then he passed, the flood of primordial life rolled back again, sweeping his handiwork away—the weeds and the forest inundated his fields, tne beasts of prey swept over his flocks, and now there are wolves on the Cliff house hesch” He was appalled by the thought. “Where four million people disported themselves, the wild wolves roam today, and the savage progeny of our loins, with prehistoric weapons, defend themselves against tne fanged despoilers. Think of it! And all because of the Scarlet Death—f The adjective had caught Hare-Lip’s ear. "He’s always saying that,” he said to Edwin -What is scarlet?” "The scarlet of the maples can shake me like the cry of bugles going Vy/” the old man quoted. -It's red.” Edwin answered the question. "And you

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none of them. Scarlet is red —I know that" "Red is red, ain’t it?” Hare-Lip grumbled. "Then what’s the good of gettln* cocky and calling it scarlet?” "Red is not the right word," was the reply. ’The plague was scarlet The whole face und body turned scarlet in an hour’s time. Don’t I know? Didn’t I see enough of it? And I cm telling you it was scarlet because —well, because It was scarlet There is no other word for it" "Red is good enough for me,” HareLip muttered obstinately. “My dad calls red re’, and he ought to know. He says everybody died of the Red Death." “Your dad is a common fellow, descended from a common fellow,” Granser retorted heatedly. “Don’t I know the beginnings of the Chauffeurs? Your grandsire was a chauffeur, a servant and without education. He worked for other persons. But your grandmother was of good stock, only the children did not take after her. Don’t I remember when I first met them, catching fish at Lake T emescal F’ "What is education?" Edwin asked. "Calling red scarlet” Hare-Lip sneered, then returned to the attack on Granser. "My dad told me, an’ he got it from his dad afore he croaked, that your wife was a Santa Rosan, an* that she was sure no account He said she was a hash-sling-er before the Red Death, though I don’t know what a hash-slinger is. You can tell me, Edwin.” But Edwin shook his head in token of ignorance. "It is true, she was a waitress,” Granser acknowledged. "But she was a good woman, and your mother was her daughter. Women were very scarce in the days after the Plague. She was the only wife I could find, even if she was a hash-slinger, as your father calls it But it is not nice to talk about our progenitors that way.” “Dad says that the wife of the first chauffeur was a lady—” “What’s a lady?” Hoo-Hoo demanded. "A lady’s a chauffeur squaw,” was the quick reply of Hare-Lip. “The first chauffeur was Bill, a common fellow, as I said before," the old man expounded; “but his wife was a lady, a great lady. Before the

Hare-Lip With a Sling Hurled a Stone Through the Air That Whistled From the Speed of Its Flight.

Scarlet Death she was the wife of Van, Warden. He was president of the board of Industrial magnates, and was one of the dozen men who ruled America. He was worth one billion, eight hundred millions -of dollars — coins like you have there in your pouch, Edwin. And then came the Scarlet Death, and his wife became the wife of Bill, the first chauffeur. He used to beat her, too. I have seen it myself.” Hoo-Hoo, lying on his stomach and idly digging his toes in the sand, cried out and investigated, first, his toenail, and, next, the small hole he had dug. The other two boys joined him, excavating the sand rapidly with their hands till there lay three skeletons exposed. Two were adults, the third being that of a part-grown child. The old man nudged along on the ground and peered at the find. “Plague victims,” he announced. “That’s the, way they died everywhere in the last days. This must have been a family, running away from -the contagion and perishing here on the Cliff bouse beach. They —what are yon doing, Edwin?"

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN. RENSSELAER, IND.

This question was asked in sudden dismay, as Edwin, using the back of his bunting knife, began to knock out the teeth from the jaws of .ne of the skulls. "Going to string 'em," was the response. The three boys were not hard at it; and quite a knocking and hammering arose, in which Granser babbled on unnoticed. "You are true savages. Already has begun the custom of wearing human teeth. In another ger eration you will be perforating your noses and ears and wearing ornaments of bone and shell. I know. The human race is doomed to sink back —farther and farther into the primitive night ere again it begins its bloody climb upward to civilization. When we increase and feel the lack of room, we shall proceed to kill one another. And then I suppose, you will wear human scalp locks at your waist, as well —as you, Edwin, who are the gentlest of my grandsons, have already begun with that vile pigtail. Throw it away, Edwin, boy; throw it away." “What a gabble the old geezer makes," Hare-Lip remarked, when, the teeth all extracted, they began an attempt at equal division. They were very quick and abrupt in their actions, and their speech, in moments of hot discussion over the allotment of the choicer teeth, was truly a gabble. They spoke in monosyllables and short, jerky sentences thft were more a gibberish than a language. And yet, through it ran hints of grammatical construction, and appeared vestiges of the conjugation of some superior culture. Even the speech of Granser was so corrupt that were it put down literally it would be almost so much nonsense to the reader. This, however, was when he talked with the boys. When he got into the full swing of babbling to himself, it slowly purged Itself Into pure English. The sentenc'i grew longer and were enunciated with a rhythm and ease that were reminiscent of the lecture platform. "Tell us about the Red Death, Granser,” Hare-Lip demanded, when the teeth affair had been satisfactorily concluded.

“The Scarlet Death,” Edwin corrected. “An’ don’t work all that funny lingo on us," Hare-Lip went on. “Talk sensible, Granser, like a Santa Rosan ought to talk. Other Santa Rosans don’t talk like you.” The old man showed pleasure in being thus called upon. He cleared his throat and began: "Twenty or thirty years ago my story was in great demand. But in these days nobody seems interested—” "There you go!” Hare-Lip cried hotly. “Cut out the funny stuff and talk sensible. What’s interested? You talk like a baby that don’t know how.” “Let him alone,” Edwin urged, "or he’ll get mad and won’t talk at all. Skip the funny places. We’ll catch on to some of what he tells us.” “Let her go, Granser,” Hoo-Hoo encouraged; for the old man was already maundering about the disrespect for elders and the reversion to cruelty of all humans that fell from high culture to primitive conditions.

CHAPTER 11. The Beginning of the End. The tale began. "There were very many people in the world in those days. San Francisco alone held four millions—” “What is millions?” Edwin interrupted. Granser looked at him kindly. “I know you cannot count beyond ten, so I will tell you. Hold up your two hands. On both of them you have altogether ten fingers and thumbs. Very well. I now take this grain of sand —you hold it, Hoo-Hoo." He dropped the grain of sand into the lad’s palm and went on: “Now that grain of sand stands for the ten fingers of Edwin. I add another grain. That’s ten more fingers. And I add another, another, and another, until I have added as many grains as Edwin has fingers and thumbs. That makes what I call one hundred. Remember that word —one hundred. Now I put this pebble in Hare-Lip’s hand. It stands for ten grains of sand, of ten tens of fingers, or one hundred fingers. I put this pebble in Hare-Lip’s hand. It stands for ten grains. Take a mussel shell, and it stands for ten pebbles, or one hundred grains of sand, or one thousand fingers. ...” And so on, laboriously, and with much reiteration, he strove to build up in their minds a crude conception of numbers. As the quantities increased, he had the boys holding different magnitudes in each of their hands. For still higher sums, he laid the symbols on the log of driftwood; and for symbols he was hard put, being compelled to use the teeth from the skull for millions, and the crab shells for billions. It was here that he stopped, for the boys were showing signs of becoming tired. “There were four million people in San Francisco —four teeth." The boys’ eyes ranged along from the teeth and from hand to hand, down through the pebbles and sand grains to Edwin’s fingers. And back again they ranged along the ascending series in the effort to grasp such inconceivable numbers. That was a lot of folks, Granser,” Edwin at last hazarded. “ (TO BE CONTINUED.)

A romance begins with a man trying to capture a woman. It ends with a woman to recapture a man. *

HENDRICK’S PLACE

He Held It Only Long Enough to Make Sure of a Better. By CLARISSA MACKIE. JCopyright, ISIS, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) Evelyn Post acknowledged the respectful greeting of the tall, straight young man in the doorway. Hendrkdfxdid not look the part of chauffeUr—not exactly; he was altogether too handsome, too self-possessed, with an air of authority, that did not rest well on a servant. But his skill in driving compensated for these other faults. He had remained in the employ of Evelyn’s mother for three months and all during that time he had kept his “place." But Evelyn did not like him—she was positive of that; because he looked disconcertingly like men of her own class. It was puzzling and not at all desirable in a menial. There even were times when she found herself addressing him on terms of equality.- Of course, she always followed such a lapse by unusual haughtiness. Altogether the advice of Hendrick was rather disquieting to his young mistress. Now he stood, quietly attentive, waiting- for his morning orders. “Get the morning mail, Hendrick,” said Mrs. Post; “return and drive Miss Post over to Mill Hill.” “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Post, but the river is rising and the Mill Hill bridge is unsafe," said Hendrick. “Then go around the other way—the long road,” returned Mrs. Post. Hendrick bowed and disappeared. At eleven o’clock Hendrick returned with the car and announced that the long bridge was down in the flood and that the upper bridge could not long hold up against the waters pouring from the swollen creeks which were tributary to the river. Evelyn paused with one foot on the step of the car. “I’m sure it cannot be so bad,” she said carelessly. “You will drive over, Hendrick; Mrs. Beatty’s please.” Hendrick hesitated, almost as if he were going to demur; then he shrugged his shapely shoulders, climbed to his seat and started the car.

Evelyn found herself studying her chauffeur’s stern, clear-cut profile. HoW becoming was the neat tan livery —Hendrick was so dark—she bit her lip and stamped her foot on the rugs. She would tell her mother to discharge Hendrick in the morning. He was presumptuous! “Presumptuous? In what way?” asked her conscience. Evelyn Post knew that the chauffeur’s presumption lay in the fact that he stimulated her interest —nothing beyond that! At the foot of the slope that led to the bridge, Hendrick stopped the car and turned to Evelyn. “Do you still wish to cross the river, Miss Post?” he asked. Evelyn glanced indifferently at ths. bridge in the distance. “Certainly—drive on Hendrick.” “The bridge isn’t safe. Miss Post.” objected Hendrick, with a note of sternness in his voice. “So you said before,” returned Evelyn coldly. “Please drive on. I promised Mrs. Beatty I would be there at twelve o’clock, and it is now half past the hour.” The car glided down the hill until the front tires touched the timbers of the bridge. Evelyn glanced at the river boiling between its narrow banks. She could see that it was rising rapidly, and the wooden planks of the bridge were wet where the waters haa splashed up between them. The frail structure trembled at the first impact of the heavy car. Hendrick got down and came to the tonneau, one gauntleted hand resting on the door. “It is unsafe to take the car across the bridge. Miss Post,” said the chauffeur patiently; “it is more than unsafe —it is foolhardy. If you will walk across. I will try and take the car ovei and then pick you up on the other side.” He opened the door. “If you are afraid, Hendrick, I will drive the car myself,” said Evelyn, •with wonderful self-control. Hendrick would be discharged the instant they reached home—she would see about that. “If you are afraid, Hendrick —” Evelyn was repeating when the chauffeur leaned forward, deftly snatched her from the seat and ran across the bridge, holding her in his strong arms as if she had been a baby. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her hand. She hated him! The bridge swayed a little under their united weight They reached the other side and Hendrick dropped his burden and ran back to the car. He leaped to his seat and started the machine across the bridge. Evelyn, hating him with all her heart, saw the bridge quiver under the weight of the big car. She longed to cry out and send him back, but pride stilled the words on her lips. The structure sagged when the car reached the middle. There was a rending crash of timbers, and then a horrible thud from the river beneath. She saw the water boiling up through the jagged remains of the old bridge. The car and its driver had disappeared. Half mad with terror and remorse, the girl ran to the edge of the bank and looked for Hendrick. The car was visible, half balanced on the big stones beneath the bridge. But the broken Umbers of the bridge were heaped ovex it so that atee could see

no sign of the plucky chauffeur who had dared death to carry out her foolish orders. She tossed aside her veil and hat and, crawling out on the jutting end of a girder, she looked down at the fallen motor car. “Hendrick!” she called, and her voice broke into sobs. She fancied that some of the planks around the car moved; then a gloved hand was visible, then a shoulder, and at last Hendrick’s pale face looking up at her from the heaped debris. “Go back!” he ordered hoarsely. For answer Evelyn leaned over the abyss of boiling foam and stretched out a hand. "Let me help you—what can I do?” she called. "Go back!” he repeated. "I am all right.” “You can do nothing alone," she protested. “Keep perfectly quiet and I will go for help—please, please keep still and let me do something for you.” “Very well,” he agreed shortly. “Only make haste and get off that broken girder— go back cautiously, fix your eyes on shore and don’t lose your nerve.” With encouraging words he cheered her way back along the dangerous stringpiece—a way which she had bravely trod a short while before In the great fear that he was forever lost. 1 ' J.

Gaining the river'bank, she tossed her long cloak aside, * sped up the road to the top of Mill Hill, and stumbled through the gate just as Mrs. Beatty came down the drive in her smart runabout. There were hurried exclamations and questions, which Evelyn answered 1 with what calmness she could muster. Then Alice Beatty issued a few orders and in ten minutes several men were racing down the long hill to the broken bridge. Mrs. Beatty and Evelyn followed in the runabout. When they reached the bridge it was to find the flood tearing at the splintered boards. which had imprisoned Hendrick in the fallen motor car. The Beatty servants were quick-witted and trained to meet emergencies. Two of them tossed down a noosed rope to the chauffeur, who slipped it under his arms. Then, by main force they pulled. When Hendrick reached the river bank he promptly lost consciousness. Bigley, the gardener, made a hasty examination and spoke to his mistress. “He’s hurt his head, I think, ma’am. We better be taking him up to the house in the car.” Evelyn turned her head that she might not see Hendrick’s still, white face, stern even in its unconsciousness. Mrs. Beatty leaned forward eagerly, pressed back the heavy locks of brown hair and screamed: • “Why it’s Teddy! Evelyn, I thought you said it was your new chauffeur!” “Why it is—Hendrick —he has only been with us a few months. If it isn’t Hendrick —who is it, Alice?” “My cousin, Teddy Hendrickson,” sobbed Mrs. Beatty, holding Hendrick’s strong hand in both of hers. “He speculated and lost every penny he had. Father offered to help him get back on his feet again, but he refused —said he’d find some way out all by himself —he’s the pluckiest boy alive! Then Teddy disappeared and father has been looking for him high and low ever since.” Evelyn was crying bitterly as they walked back up the hill. It was several hours afterward, when the late chauffeur was lying with bandaged head in the best bedroom of the Beatty home, that Evelyn was admitted to see him. Mrs. Beatty had personally borne her cousin’s request to see Miss Post. The room was bathed in the late afternoon sunlight. Teddy Hendrickson was lying with his dark eyes fixed on the door. A glad look came into his face when Evelyn entered. For a long while they looked at each other. Then the girl’s glance wavered and fell beneath hjs ardent glance. “I’m sorry—l -cannot tell you bow sorry I am to have been the cause of your injuries. It was all my silly willfulness, and I hope you will forgive me.” “Forgive—you?” he breathed quickly. “You must have known it was a privilege to serve you.” “And I am sorry—sorry that I said — that I said you did not know your place—l didn’t understand that it was your better judgment and your courage in rising above your situation that prompted your defiance of my orders.” She held out her hand timidly and Hendrickson covered it in a warm clasp. His dark eyes looked into her blue ones with a strange significance. “I know the place I want to fill, Miss Post,” he said quietly, “and some day I will gain iL"

Italy and Civilization.

The history of Italy is, with the "exception of Grece, the most illustrious in the world. In art, especially painting and sculpture, Italy stands preeminent. In literature her place is,- to say the in the front rank. In science, she has borne a conspicuous position, arid in music her place is easily second,’ if not first In fine, Italia’s story is more brilliant than that of any other country except Greece, and to Greece she is a very close second.

A Triumph Lacking.

The teacher had told the story of David and Goliath. “There wasn’t any baseball in those days,” said the thoughtful boy. “No." ' “It’s a pity—-David ought to h*vd made a great pitcher.*’

The Shame of the Cross

By REV. WM WALLACE KETCHUM Diraaot .i A. PMjul Work Com M-dy BUe laMtute of Chicaao

TEXT—He endured the cross, despising the shame.—Heb. 12:2. The cross, which Christ endured and the shame of which he despised, was

shame of being put to death as a common criminal. For it was as such, you will recall, he was condemned to death, and as such he died in the eyes of the law; though he did nothing worthy of death, and Pilate his judge found in him no fault at all. When we apprehend that Jesus Christ, the Holy One of God, suffered the reproach, the dishonor, the contempt, the infamy and ignominy of a common criminal’s execution, we begin to know a little of the shame of the cross. We understand something of what Paul means when, speaking of Christ becoming obedient unto death, he adds, “even the death of the cross.” But there is a deeper shame than that of which we have spoken. It is the shame that came to him thiough dying; his death identified him with the. result of sin, for death is a consequent of sin. “Wherefore, as by one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin; and so death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned.” So, while Christ suffered the shame of dying the death of a common criminal, it was greater shame for him, the Son of God, in whom was no sin, to die at all. The teaching of the philosophers that death is natural to man, is not the teaching of the Bible. The body is not the prison-house of the soul from which escape is desirable. The body and soul united constitute the complete man. This does not mean that when the dissolution of soul and body takes place, the soul does not survive the body. The Scriptures teach it does; but they also teach that man’s complete personality consists* in the union of both soul and body, and that this will be realized at the resurrection of the just. Death then is not natural, but unnatural. It is the resultant of sin, and so for Christ to die was a disgrace, a reproach, a shame. Death had no dominion over Christ; no claim upon him for he was without sin. “No man,” he said, speaking of his death, “taketh my life from me, but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again.” He alone of all men could say this. Other men die because they must, for "death has passed upon all men.” He became obedient unto death; he yielded up his spirit; that is, he allowed death, the great conqueror of mankind, to overcome him. He suffered its shame. But deep as this shame was, the shame of the cross was still deeper. It was the shame of our sin. For there on the cross, “He bore our sins in his own body;’ - there,- “the Lord laid on hi-m the iniquity of us all;” there, “he suffered for our sin, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God;” there, the holy spotless lamb of God “died for the ungodly.” Thus, "the one who knew no sin,” became identified, not only with the result of sin by death, but with sin, being “made sin for us." It was this, more than anything else, that constituted the shame of the cross of our Lord. Its baseness and dishonor was your sin and mine, which he there put put aWay by the sacrifice of himself. Was it for crimes that I have done. He groaned upon the tree. Amazing pity, grace unknown. And Love beyond degree! I wish we might catch the picture given us of our Lord in the two words “despised” and “endured.” The first word shows him so far above the Rhame of the cross that he, as it were, looked down upon it Literally, the word means “to think down upon;" that is, to think lightly of it. What a wonderful Christ! Because of the joy set before him, he could think lightly of the awful shame of the cross. Truly, our master “came not to be ministered unto, but to minister and to give his life a ransom for many.” The other word, “endured,” pictures him as voluntarily, patiently, suffering on the accursed cross. We see him held there, not by the cruel nails that pierced his hands and feet, but .by his own indomitable will and supreme love for us. Human hands placed him there, but divine love kept him there. Surely, his crucifixion from the human side was murder, for with wicked handa they slew him, but on the divine side it was sacrifice, God giving his son to be the savior of the world and the son giving himself that we might have life through him.

not the idealized and sentimentalized cross of which we hear much today. It was a cross made of roug h- h ewn sticks of timber; an instrument, like the gall .-a s, upon which criminals were executed. . And yet, Christ, we are told; notwithstanding this, despised its shame. What shame? The