Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 175, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 July 1915 — Page 2

A JOINT AGREEMENT

By VICTOR RADCLIFFE.

"So this is the status of the case?” spoke Rodney Blair. "Precisely," responded Rufus Wells briefly. 3 The young man's face was drawn and clouded. He fumbled with his watch chain holding the latest, most expensive watch money could buy. He glanced down at the four-carat diamond ring on his finger and the same look took in the rich texture of his fashionable apparel. “Let me think," he said in a lost, dreamy tone. "Let me think. And I can’t make it up!” he exclaimed with suddenness. "W’hat do you mean by ‘make it up’?” inquired the practical keen-eyed attorney. “Why, I’ve spent rfioney that didn't belong to me, haven't 1? The little estate that should have gone to this poor half orphan girl, Eunice Ball, has been half squandered by me. How do you think I feel—why. I’m a thief, that's what 1 am!” "I know you are an idiot to take this trifling incident this way!’’ retorted the lawyer raspingly. “Trifling! incident!” fairly shouted Rodney, starting up with animation, “why, it’s the very life of that poor creature! See here, I have learned positively that my half uncle, James Ross, led this Miss Lucy Wilson and her helpless, aged mothe*- to believe that they were to inherit his wealth. “Which he left to you. exactly,” nodded Wells —legally. “He evidently changed his mind. You got the ten thousand dollars. It's yours yet—what is left of it.” “Yes,” persisted Rodney, “but I have found out that these Wilson people are very poor. The father is entirely

“The Biggest Fool I Ever Met,” He Soliloquized.

unable to work. The girl is a school teacher, but lost her position two months ago and they are in almost abject poverty. Among the papers of my uncle a codicil to his will was found leaving his estate to Miss Wilson.’’ “But unsigned,” reminded the lawyer. “Yes, that is true.” “And therefore worthless. Don't be a fool, Blair! You are legal heir to the Ross estate. No one can take it away from you.” “No, I'm going to give it away of my own free will,” announced Rodney determinedly. “That’s why I’ve come to you. I want you to sell all the furniture in my bachelor quarters, all the gewgaws I have squandered money on —my automobile, the bonds you bought for me. Take what you can get, only do it quickly. Then I will add what I have in bank and give what is left of the estate to its rightful owner.” Lawyer Wells made a face as though swallowing a bitter pill. “The most extraordinary young man and the biggest fool I ever met,” he soliloquized, as Rodney left the office after placing his diamond ring, watch and some papers of value upon the desk. Rodney Blair was in earnest. Two months previous he had been unexpectedly lifted from a small paying clerkship to what was to him positive affluence. His uncle had left him ten thousand dollars in cash. There was not the trace of an evil streak in his easy-going, harmless nature, but Rodney went mad with delight. He had never had more than a few dollars ahead in all his life and now he imagined himself a Croesus. He furnished up a flat, he hired a servant, he purchased an automobile, he fitted out with an elegant wardrobe. He became the envy of all the youths of the town. There were no champagne suppers nor reckless rioting. Rodney simply spent his money. He distributed generous among needy friends, he gave expensive luncheons and trips to near summer resorts. Quite incidentally had he learned of the existence of the Wilsons and the circumstances surrounding the estate. The result has been shown. He was quick in his convictions, speedy to act. Two days later Rodney took the train for Mayville, the little town where the Wilsons lived. Inquiry he made upon his arrival emphasized his first information that the Wilsons were very poor and very worthy. He saw a local attorney through whom Wells was to transmit the odd six thousand dollars that was left of the legacy. Then he located the home of the Wilsons. It was a wretchedly old and rickety cottage at the edge of the town, but U had clean curtains, its little porch ■ - - 7* '• .

floor was white sad untracked, the flowers about well trained and trimmed. A young girl who moved his fancy mightily sat on the steps reading to a patient-faced old man. A joyous light shone in the eyes of Rodney Blair. What happiness and comfort was he bringing to thdse two unfortunates! It was well worth the sacrifice to see them lifted from hard grinding poverty to a competence. The twain did not see Rodney as he approached. The fair girl concluded her reading and snuggled up affectionately to her father. “I can’t think of anything but our rare good fortune.” Rodney heard her say in a hopeful, happy voice. “Think of it, dear father-twenty dollars a month and board for both of us at the new school post! Oh, how grateful we should be! Life looks all sunshine and roses!” Twenty dollars a month and serenely happy over it! Rodney stole from the spot. What deserving people! What radiant fatth and contentment! Ah, more than ever must he lift those two to their rightful position! He returned to Leighton and the money was sent to the lawyer at Mayville with a full explanation. There came a wire from him the next day: “Miss Wilson refuses to take the money from its rightful owner.” Two words only Rodney telegraphed back: “She must.” Then he tried to forget his brief experience in “The Life.” He succeeded, except for a memory of the sweet, glowing face of the beautiful girl he had seen at Mayville. He secured cheap board, he looked for work. His did position was filled. The only Job he could find was digging a drainage ditch for a farmer at the edge of the village. To digging, honestly and industriously Rodney applied himself. He was whistling cheerily two days later, when, four feet down in the excavation, he looked up in surprise, and dazzling at the Bilvery-toned query: “This is Mr. Blair, I believe?” It was the girl of his dreams. He blushed, he bowed, and looked embarrassed. “I have brought you back your money,” she spoke definitely. “We have*no right to it, but—never, will we forget the kindliness, the most unselfish act that has blessed our lives! There it is.” He put hands steadfastly behind him. “I won’t take it,” he declared, gaining poise now. “Don’t you dare throw it down to me, or I’ll cover it up with the dirt and nobody will get it. Why, that one stolen 6ight I had of you and that dear old father of yours—” “Where? when?” inquired Miss Wilson wonderingly. He did not tell. Amid his new embarrassment Rodney proposed that they go and have a talk with Wells. The latter suggested a division. This Rodney staunchly refused to confirm. Then, in a whisper aside, with a sly wink, the lawyer submitted: “Then make some joint agreement,” and Rodney got a new thought. It was so precious a thought, that it grew into deferring a settlement until he had to go several times to Mayville for a “consultation.” The “joint agreement” materialized, for the last time he left that little village Lucy was his promised wife. (Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.)

Objects to Clock Fiend.

“I don’t care much about hobbies myself,” said a man from the West visiting New York, as he handed back his friend’s album full of postal card atrocities, “though I don’t object to people who have them, so long as they are unobtrusive hobbies. Breeding poultry, for instance, is all right. A collection of shells, or stamps, isn’t out of thf> way, while photographs of beauties, celebrated actresses, etc., are rather enjoyable. But there was a man in my town who had a penchant for clocks. It doesn’t matter what room in his house you entered there was a clock. The clocks were all going, but they did not by any means keep the same time. The consequence was that all through the day and night those clocks were striking or chiming. The echoes in the dark hours were horribly unsettling to hear, and one never knew what time of day it was. He was so enthusiastic about his clocks that his wife, I hear, has sued for separation. I don’t wonder at it I’d sooner have a sunstroke than spend another night with him.”

Austria’s Double-Headed Eagle.

Historians vary greatly in their accounts of the origin of the double-head-ed eagle, which is the principal figure upon the coat-of-arms of Austria-Hun-gary and Russia. According to most heraldic explorers the Holy Roman emperors borrowed the symbol of the double-headed eagle from the Byzantine emperors. When the empire of the East declined it is said that Sigismund joined the eagles together and used them with one body and two heads as a symbol of his sovereignty over the two empires. But other historians declare that the Byzantine emperors had taken the symbol from the Turkish dynasty of the Seljuks. Prof. William Ramsay of Aberdeen, finds that the Seljuk emperors took the symbol, very probably, from the rains of Eyuk, in northern Cappadocia, where it appeared as one of the most important relics of an early civilization. The double-headed eagle descended to Austria-Hungary naturally through the Holy Roman empire.

Strenuous Pupil.

Mrs. A—Does my daughter's piano practice annoy you? * Neighbor—Oh, not at all; but tell me, what does she wear—mittens of boxing gloves?—Life.

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

CRACOW and Types of Polish Peasantry

FOR months war dispatches from Galicia —where vast armies have swayed back and forth, locked in one of the outstanding, titanic struggles of history to decide the fate of empires and of two mighty races —have gripped the popular attention more than the news from any other battle theater. On Galicia’s fields during the past few months have been done such feats at arms as the modern world could not have dreamed of; the strength of great Russia swept over this Austrian crownland, driving its powerful armies over the plain in the North, over the central bills, up the southern slopes of the ragged Carpathians, on their lofty, icy crests, beyond these crests, and hovered over the fertile prairie land of Hungary. Here the wave spent its to then irresistible force, and upon the dreary mountain rocks, above the clouds, amid the ice and snow and chill cold of early spring, the flower of Russian and Austro-German strength began rolling backward toward the north, still locked in continuous, grinding battle, until the foothills were left behind and the terrific contest surged in the direction of Lemberg and the northern plain. The nature of this war theater that has beheld among earth’s sternest, most bitter scenes is Intimately described by William Joseph Showalter in a statement prepared for the National Geographic society. This writer says: Densely Populated Land. “Austrian Poland is practically embraced by the crownland of Galicia. This crownland is almost exactly the size of the state of South Carolina, but it has a population six times as great. If continental United States, exclusive of Alaska, were as densely populated as Galicia we would boast of a population four times as great as that of Russia. And yet Galicia is the poorest of all the provinces of Austria. It lies outside the ramparts of the Carpathians, which rob it of the warm winds that otherwise would come to it from the south, and also

turn back upon it the cold winds of the north. Thus these mountains give Galicia long, cold winters; short, wet springs; hot, blistering summers, and dreary, chilly autumns. “The glory of Poland’s past and the hope of her future are Cracow and Lemberg, for it was the former that was her capital in the yesterday of history and the latter that is her capital today and which would be her capital tomorrow were Polish dreams to come true. In Cracc v, the great city of Poland's past, the royal palace still stands; but it is used as a barracks and not as tho home of a king. The cathedral is now the Valhalla of its departed greatness; for there sleep the kings and the heroes from the Jagellons to Kcsciuszko. Not far away is the Kcsciuszkoberg, one of the most remarkable memorials ever reared by the hand of man —a huge mound cf earth brought by loyal Poles from every battlefield in the world consecrated with Polish blood. “The country around Cracow is flat and is devoted almost wholly to small farming and trucking. The peasants dress in white jackets and blue breeches, and wear jackboots; their womenfolk, with large bright shawls and picturesque headdress, brighten and give spirit to the countryside. Primitive Agriculture. “From Cracow to Lemberg the traveler encounters good land; It is fairly level and entirely innocent of fences, boundary stones marking party lines, and tethers or herdsmen keeping

live stock where it belongs. The same methods of agriculture that we used in the United States before the days of the self-binder and the grain drill are still in force in that region. “It is in Lemberg that the only Polish-dominated legislative assembly in existence holds Its sessions, for Lemberg is the capital of Galicia, and the Poles, both because of their shrewd political ability and their numerical weight, control the Galician legislature in the face of their rivals, the Ruthenians of East Galicia. The city of Lemberg is largely modern —a compact nucleus surrounded by scattering suburbs. “While Galicia is almost wholly an agricultural region, and while a large percentage of that agriculture is carried on in the old-time way, there are some few manufacturing neighborhoods and industrial districts. Distilleries occupy first place among the industries, and there are many beetsugar and tobacco factories. Petroleum springs abound along the Carpathians, and some of the towns in this region grow from small villages to modern Beaumonts between New Year and Christmas. “Galicia has many of the world’s most famous salt mines. Those at Wieliczka have been worked for nearly seven centuries, at one time being a principal source of revenue for the Polish kings. Railroads are not permitted to run near them lest their vibrations result in cave-ins. Within these mines are a labyrinth of salthewn streets and alleys, lined with pillared churches, staircases, restaurants, shrines, and monuments. Austrian Poles Fairly Well Treated. “Austria has never treated her Poles as the Russians and the Prussians have treated theirs. The Poles of Austria are as free to sing their national songs as the people of our own South are free to sing “Dixie.” They are as much at liberty to glorify their past and to speak their native tongue as though they were free and independent. Except that they must pay their taxes to Austria and serve

in Austria’s army they are practically self-governing. “As western Galicia ia the stronghold of the Austrian Pole, so eastern Galicia is the main dwelling place of the Ruthenian. The two races never get along very well together. The peasant population of Austrian Poland eke out a hard existence. In many parts of the country the peasant lives in a log hut covered with straw; he breakfasts, dines, . and makes his supper of porridge, washing it down with bad brandy; and in general lives a life full of want and empty of pleasure. The peasants who farm for the nobles receive no money in payment, but only a share of the crop, often as low a share as one-twelfth, a wage of slow starvar tion.”

Unselfish Enterprise.

"Look here,” said the benevolentlooking man, “you have asked me for work every time I passed this corner for the last three weeks." “Have I?” was the surprised inquiry of Weary William. “Yes, you have, and I have given you money once or twice. Now, what would you do if J offered you work?” “What would I do? I’d take your name an’ address, guv’nor, an* then, if I found anybody that wanted work. I’d sen’ ’im roun* tgr yer. I’m a philanthropist, an’ run a free employment agency.' I don’t get a penny fur my time —only Jest what comes in accidentallike from folks like you.”

SONG SPARROW AN OPTIMIST

Cheery Bird, Permanent Resident, Asks Little for Services, Which Are Valuable. The song sparrow, cheery-voiced forerunner of spring, is the subject of an article by Miss Harriet E. Bancroft, which appears in the Ohio Arbor and Bird Day Manual, issued by the state department of public instruction for use in the schools. In telling about the song sparrow Miss Bancroft says: “There are so many different kinds of small, sober-hued birds, which look alike, and yet are not alike, that you wonder how you are to distinguish this one from the others. Each bird has his recognition mark and song sparrow’s is the spot in the middle of his speckled breast; and while in color he is of the earth, earthy, and bears upon his breast a spot, you must not think that these are the outward signs of an inward blemish, because he hasn’t any. , "There is great variation in the habits of different sparrows with respect to migration. The tree sparrow is with us only In winter, the field sparrow is a summer bird, the whitecrowned migrant; that is, he pays us a short visit in the spring and again in the fall, while on his way to more remote regions; but song sparrow is a permanent resident in nearly all parts of the state. He shares with us the storms as well as the sunshine of the rounded year. “His cone-shaped bill tells you that he is a seed-eating bird and the weeds yield him a plentiful supply of them. He also eats slugs and worms and ground-inhabiting Insects when they are to be had, and his choice of diet makes him a valuable assistant to the farmer. He helps him in his warfare on troublesome weeds and harmful insects. “It is not too much to say that whoevei or whatever helps the farmer to grow better crops, helps the whole world along; but song sparrow’s services do not stop here; his finest is that which he renders to our weary spirits when he cheers them with his song. For all the help he Ogives he asks nothing in return but the privilege of living out his little life unmolested. “It is said that he and his mate will raise three and even four broods in a season, if the weasels, the red squirrels, the cats, the crows, the hawks, the blacksnakes and other ill-disposed creatures do not harry their lowly nest, which distressing occurrence is all too frequent.”

Water for an Army.

One of the numberless tasks of the general staff of a great army is to provide water for the soldiers and the horses. The Scientific American describes some of the methods employed. Only running water is used. In the German army the upstream water is used for drinking, and thp downstream water for watering the horses and for bathing. Suitable signs notify the men which water they may safely drink and which they may use only for bathing. In shallow or narrow streams basins are dug or small dams built, in order to form reservoirs of sufficient size. Steppingstones are put down so that no one need walk through the water, and the banks are shored up with boards to keep them from crumbling into the water. Basins are dug at which to water the horses; when troughs have to be used, they are supported on posts and filled by means of pumps. If water lies at a reasonable depth from the surface —that is, not more than twenty feet—pipes are driven that, according to their size, deliver from four to twenty-five gallons of water a minute. If the water lies very near the surface, a hole is dug, and a cask, the bottom of which has been knocked out, is put into the hole to hold the sides in place and to protect the water from dirt. If the water lies at a greater depth, box sections are driven in, one on top of another, to the required depth.

Modernizing the Roundup.

Each year seems to give the automobile a new hold on life, says the Wall Street Journal. The war brought it to the forefront in a new field. The soldier of the present day seldom makes long forced marches like Sherman’s march to the sea. He travels by motor car. As a result, the automobile casualty list is tremendous; tip average life of a car in the battle line is estimated at 30 days. But it is not only the war zone that has lost part of its picturesqueness through the use of the automobile. The latter has begun to rob the annual cattle roundup of some of its thrills by replacing the horse. This year has seen the übiquitous car with a cowboy at its wheel on our western prairies discouraging the cattle from attempts to escape from the ever narrowing circle in the roundup. Many a st£er which has given a cow horse a run must feel disconcerted when it bucks up against the four-wheeled steed.

“Snow” Burns Boy to Death.

Because he thought the foam on top of a sunken vat of hot calcium was “summer snow," Wallace Taggart, ten years old, son of Thomas Taggart, stepped to his death at the Shelbyville canning factory. He was so badly burned in the poisonous liquid that he died six hours later. Curious about the foam, the boy qsked an employee what it was. "Snow," the employee replied with a ■mile. The trustful child stepped into the foam and sank. His father, working at the factory, pulled him out. —Shelbyville (Ind.) Dispatch Cincinnati Enquirer. i

CLING TO BLEAK LAND

NATIVES OF SHETLAND ISLAND LOV£ THEIR HOME. Have Hard Work to Coax a Living From Almost Barren Rock, But Leave It Unwillingly—Spot Has Figured in History. Fair island, 25 miles south of all the other Shetlands, has had a strange enough pageantry passing over its rocky surface. For not only was it the home of the Piets, and then of the Norse; and for the Norse, the signal beacon to give warning of the coming of the hostile sail; besides that, it supplied a chapter in the romance of the Spanish Armada. For here was wrecked the ship of Don Gomez de Medina, and that noble and his men were for a time most genOtpusly entertained by the islanders, writes Maude Radford Warren in Harper’s Magazine. But time passed, the Spaniards stayed, the meal and the mutton diminished. Then the islanders, wrapped in by the wild storms, unable to get to any other island, fearful of famine, hid their food. The forced guests grew weak, many died of starvation, and some, it is said, were pushed over the tall cliffs into the sea. At last one Andrew Umphrey took the Spaniards away in a ship, and since that day the name of Umphrey has been powerful in the Shetlands. The Fair island people show plain traces of Spanish blood, but they resent the suspicion of it, saying that the Spaniards were isolated when on the island. It is hard to conceive how isolation could well be possible 6n an island two miles square; besides, the Fair island people do not deny that the strange patterns and the lichen dyeing of the stockings and caps and shawls their women knit were taught them by the Spaniards, and indeed the same sort of handicraft is found to this day in country places of Spain. The Fair islanders were great smugglers in the old days, and they are still good bargainers. They are very intelligent, seeming to know instinctively how to read; and not so very long ago they would follow the mail steamers in their light canoeshaped boats, which none but themselves can manage, begging for newspapers and books. One of their terrors is of infectious disease; another is of the dogtax man, against whose coming they are said to hang and drown their dogs; another is of emigration, for they love Fair isle. Yet emigrate they must; about forty-five years ago a hundred of them went, unable longer to coax a living from their bare rock. Their greatest joy is the occasional visits of the minister, more frequently now than in the old days, when, he arrived but once in about two years to marry and christen. He preaches every day of his stay, and they prolong his visit on every possible pretext, using, when all else fails, the solemn prophecy of a storm.

Vicious Wolves in France.

To talk of wolves in France seems absurd —a country that has been settled for 2,000 years, and has a population of 160 to the square mile. Yet in several of the departments tor counties, as we would call them) — notably in the Department of Yonne, in the heart of France —the wolves are extremely bold and enterprising. Two troopers, one day last spring, who were riding in company, came suddenly upon a huge wolf that, without the slightest hesitation, sprang upon the nearest horse. The soldiers dismounted and drew their sabers, expecting the wolf to turn tail, but he’ showed fight and but for the arrival of a farmer with a gun, who shot the animal, the republic might have lost two of her army. The combat would be thought nothing of in Russia, or even in this country, but in France —well, it shows how hard it is for man to exterminate the wild animals that infest the earth.

Beef in Panama.

The beef consumed in the Panama Canal Zone is to be from cattle slaughtered there, instead of dressed beef from the United States. It has been ascertained that a saving of from 10 to 20 per cent can thUB be made. The Canal supply department has already begun killing local cattle, in order to test the quality of meat obtainable, and It has further arranged to purchase cattle in other parts of Central America, and even South America, and bring them to the isthmus for final fattening and slaughter. A cattle buyer, assigned to visit the neighboring countries, will have his purchases brought to the Canal and inspected by a veterinary surgeon to prevent the introduction of diseased cattle. The latter official is already on his way to the isthmus.

Auto Makes Clover Fly.

Coming upon a farmer mowing clover, L. J. Russell, principal of the Towanda schools, heard the man complain how near fagged out were his horses. Professor Russell told him to unhitch and he would finish the mowing with his automobile. Fastening the mower to the professor’s automobile, the machine was sent speeding around and the big field was mowed within ten minutes. The mower was run so fast that the clover was thrown in the air in clouds.—Towanda (Pa.) Dispatch to Philadelphia Record.