Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 262, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 November 1915 — Page 3

A WOMAN'S CHOICE

By MARY BOYNTON CLARK.

Fearfully Miss Clarice bored a hole in the top left-hand corner of the pile of manuscript. When the knife had gone completely through the sheets she inserted *a piece of dainty blue ribbon. She tied the ribbon in a knot. Bhe rolled the manuscript in a wrapper and wrote the address of a famous publishing house. She hurried rather furtively into th street, bought some stamps at the post office, and affixed them. She dropped the package into the box. And she walked homeward in a happy dream. She had sent her first novel to the publishers. She sang as she went about her work that evening. Her mother was surprised at the girl’s happy demeanor.

“I believe it’s going to be Jim Thom after all,” she said to her husband. “He’s a good fellow," answered the farmer slowly. "I guess he’s a little beneath the girl, though. More like me, Jim is. Clarice could get someone better.” “But nobody that loved her more,” answered his wife. Clarice, seated with Jfm in the parlor, was bubbling over with the secret. She was waiting to tell Jim, as soon as he gave her an opening. They were as good as engaged, and everybody knew it. Jim had loved Clarice for years.j He had a substantial farm on the outskirts of the town, he had money in the bank; he was the new type of prosperous, progressive farmer. “Clarice,” he said, as they sat very close together, “when are you going to let me ask you that question?” Clarice looked up at her lover frankly. She was very fond of Jim. But — there was that intangible, elusive

Thrust It Deep Into a Drawer.

“but.” How was she to say to him that she wished he would interest himself in higher things? Jim was speaking before she could begin. “You know, Clarice,” he said, taking her hand, “we’ve been as good as engaged for years. When you came back from high school I was scared for awhile for fear I’d lose you. But you weren’t that kind, Clarice. You don’t forget. And I love you just as much as I’ve always loved you. Won’t jrou say ‘yes,’ dear?” And in another moment even the novel was forgotten in the Joy of knowing that she loved and was loved. “Jim,” she ventured presently, “do you know you never asked to see my —my stories? Jim, don’t you think that, when we are married, you and I ought to share everything together?” Jim laughed and laid his hand upon hers.

“My dear little girl,” he said, “I guess you don’t know much about authors, do you? Remember that fellow that milked the cows for me last summer? He was an author. Went broke, and I kept him —for his work wasn’t worth his board alone, much less his pay—l kept him all summer. He told me a thing or two. There isn’t money in it, and it’s all a swindle anyway. Suppose you do sell some magazine a story? That doesn’t bring in the bread and butter regularly. Of course, you wouldn’t need that, but dpn’t you see, dear, one has to be practical? Now you can do all the writing you want as my wife, and I mean to give you a pretty easy time —only you mustn’t get unpractical, Clarice.” He lowered his voice. “You know, dear, I always think a woman’s task is to keep her house neat, and look after her babies.” Clarice was eminently practical, only not In the same way as Jim. That night she faced the problem with her own frankness. If she could never share those hopes with Jim —and she knew that she could not—she resolved that they should never come between them. She would abandon them. She would take up the part of wife and mother. She would live for Jim. She would be everything to him. And, once the decision was made, it was astonishing how quickly she forgot all about her novel. She had signed it with a pen name. She had given no address. To her it seemed a terrible undertaking, something that was liable to call down on her the scathing ridicule of the publishers, if they knew who she was. No dount, she thought, the novel would And its way quietly Into the waste-basket, and that would be the end of it. ft seemed a foolish little dream of

the past six months later, when she was established as Jim’s wife in his home. Jim was everything to her. He even tried —she could see that —to interest himself in literature. It was so dear of him! And his delight when she whispered to him the momentous secret made her cry for happiness. There would soon be three of them — a little world of three! How weak and vain the old dreams had been! He brought her home some books. “There!” he said, laying them down. “Here’s ‘Ebenezer's Folly.’ They say it’s the talk of the country nowadays. Well read it together. And here’s ‘When We Were Young.’ Everybody’s raving over that, the book-fellow told me in the shop. Why, dear, are you feeling sick?”

“No, its nothing, Jim,” answered Clarice. There, before her, lay her own book. She opened it. It was hers, word for word and she had written it. Giddily she flew upstairs and thrust it deep into a drawer. That evening she turned almost automatically to an inside page of the city weekly. She had never read the “Authors’ Gossip” before. And there, on the top of the page, in huge headlines, was the question: “Who Is the Author of 'When We Were Young’?” “The Publishers’ Statement.”

Clarice devoured the long article that followed. The publishers announced that they tad received the manuscript, written in longhand, and apparently the work of an amateur, six months before. A cursory survey had revealed a novel of an uncommon type. It had been read with an enthusiasm that even the most hardened reader in the firm was not proof against. Its setting of country life, its truth, its fidelity, its scorn of the picturesque had demanded Instant publication. And the reading public had endorsed it by purchasing ninety thousand copies of It. But who was the author? The publishers' statement that they did no v t know was believed to be genuine It was no advertising scheme. Somewhere in America a genius lay hidden, watching with amusement the frantic efforts of the public to discover her identity —for of course it was a woman!

Clarice let the paper fall. She had not the dimmest idea of the value of her book to her. How much was it worth? A hundred dollars? Two hundred? Jim did not need that badly. And to reveal the truth . . . she saT? the slow estrangement that must follow. Simple as she was, she almost Intuitively discerned the results of publicity, her husband’s inability to live the new life that would open before her, her struggle between the old and the new. And Jim was very dear to her. And then . . . she blushed as she thought of that other reason that bound them together in bonds that none might break. “Clarice! Clarice, dear!” She rose from her chair. “Jim dear!” she answered. And what was a wretched old, stupid novel in comparison with Jim? (Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.)

WORST MONTH FOR CHILDREN

Assertion Made That September Is the Most Trying Period That the Teacher Has.

What is the stormiest month of the school year for teacher and pupils? Some will say the month of May, because the children are so eager then to get out of doors after their long winter imprisonment. Others will say February is the hardest month because nature is so unkind at that time that everyone feels irritable. But if you will ask a thoughtful teacher this question, she will say: “The month of September is the most difficult of all, because then the pupils are restless, uncontrolled and mischievous. It is almost impossible to make them do any good work during this month.” The best way to solve the problem is to bring pupils slowly to the full school day within doors. None of them ought to spend more than two hours a day in the schoolhouse during the first week. They may add a half-hour to this each succeeding week until the regulation program is attained. The very young tots should spend not more than an hour and a half in school each day of the first week, and they should be brought more gradually than older pupils to the full school day within doors. Taking the school year as a whole, more work will be accomplished by following this program than if pupils are plunged the first day into a complete schedule of studies. —Prof. M. V. O’Shea in the Mother's Magazine.

Derivation of “Quarter."

The origin of this military term appears to be as follows: A recognized meaning of the Old French word quartier (Latin quartarius) was “peace, friendship,” and “demander quartier” signified “to sue for peace.” No doubt quartier also implied in ah earlier stage of the language (as, curiously enough, it also does today in such locutions as "headquarters" and "married quarters”) some sort of abode. Hence “refuge, shelter,” from which the transition to its derivative sense is easy and obvious. Figuratively it signifies mercy in sparing the life of a fallen or captured enemy on the field of battle, or it may imply clemency on the part of the victor in allowing his foe “quarter” of a specified length of time wherein to make peace with his God before being put to death.

Best Form of Guttapercha.

Guttapercha obtained by French manufacturers from, the leaves of the caoutchouc tree is said to be more durable than that obtained by tapping the trunks.

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

PRINCE LEOPOLD AND HIS STAFF

Prince Leopold of Bavaria, the conqueror of Warsaw, and bis staff watching his troops during the fight to take the Polish capital.

DARING AIR FIGHT

British Aeroplane Eludes Six German Machines. Where Seconds Spell Difference Between Success and Failure —Thrilling Episode Related by an Aeroplane Observer in France. London. —This is an account of how a British aeroplane fought and eluded six German machines. It is taken from the journal of an aeroplane observer at the front. The Kipper and the Mound, pilot and observer of “the old cow,” caused some anxiety at the aerodrome by being late in returning from a reconnoissance. Here is the account of what actually happened, extracted from the Mound with considerable difficulty: “By the time we had gone ten miles into the hostile country three German machines began following us at almost our own height. We were not worried, because they had a good four miles to make up. “In a few minutes the Kipper shouted down the phone: ‘Look out on your left. They are trying to head us off.’ Far below us, but not far in front, two more machines were climbing towards us. “I watched the machines below while the Kipper kept those behind in the corner of his eye. In about twenty minutes we had reached the end cf our course and had completed our observations. All five enemy machines were now fairly close together in a rectangular formation, but had not gained on us. “How we were to get back and outwit the enemy was now our problem. The Kipper swung ‘the old cow’ about twice to give the impression of hesitation. The enemy, although still about two or three miles astern, turned north on the assumption that we must return the way we came. Having diverted their course, we bore east again and gained a couple of miles while the enemy was determining what to do next Keeping to their mass formation, they bore southeast, thinking they had us sure. “Things happen quickly in the air. A few seconds mean hundreds of yards and the difference between success and failure. The Kipper tilted *the old cow’s’ horns in the line the Germans were following. This lost us some ground. The Germans were so Interested ir. this that they did not notice that we were edging off to the north, just enough to insure their crossing us on our flank. In about two minutes they were almost level, but well to the right. “The moment had come for a bold stroke. The Kipper leveled the machine, poised her at a terrific angle and made in a straight line for the nearest German. The whole five tipped in unison. We knew that they would take a good twenty seconds to get under way again. Like a flash the Kipper circled outwards and made off for the lines on a straight course. There was no one to bar the way for the moment. The Germans were outwitted, but started in pursuit. That twenty seconds meantgpialf a mile to us.

“Suddenly above the roar of the engine there was the rattle of a machine gun close up, and a dull thudding tear as some 'shots found the planes. It was so misty it took us a few seconds to spot the new danger. It was an Albatross crossing us about 300 yards above. The Kipper keeled ‘the old cow’ out in an lnßtant and we were soon on a level with the new enemy, who was laboring to pass our front again. We swung towards him and charged. The pilot, who thought he had us on the run, lost his nerve and went into a spinning dive and only came out 3,000 feet below. "We resumed our homeward course without further incident.”

Cop Prefers Shovel.

Logansport, Ind. —“They can talk all they want about the Job of a policeman being a soft thing, but I’ll take a pick and shovel for mine instead of wielding a mace and walking slow around a beat.’' This was the declaration of Joseph Peters after four months’ experience In the local police department. During that time he lost twenty-two pounds.

FUNERAL FOR PET PARROT

Embalmed Bird, in Casket With Silver Plate, Is Buried in Woman’s Family Plot. San Rafael, Gal. —Funeral services over the body of the late "Little Boy Blue,” a pet parrot of Mrs. T. L. Crane, wife of a local garage owner, were held here and interment followed in the Crane family plot in Santa Rosa. “Little Boy Blue” died at the Crane home after a lingering illness. Coroner F. E. Sawyer was called in to take charge of the body, which, followed by an automobile load of mourners, was taken to the morgue and embalmed. A special casket was constructed, lined with silk and fitted with a silver memorial plate. The bird had been in the Crane family for nine years. Mrs. Crane is said to be ill as a result of its taking off.

FORTUNE FALLS TO FIANCEE

Pennsylvania Girl Inherits $2,400,000 After Marrying Another Man. Punxsutawney, Pa. —Mrs. Fred Smith of this city, formerly Miss Mary Hadden, has fallen heir to a fortune estimated at $2,400,000. It was bequeathed her, together with ftis home, by Harry Riams of Buffalo, who died April 26, 1914. Raims and Mrs. Smith, then Miss Hadden, were engaged to be married. The wedding was set for May 30, 1914, but Riams was then dying. His will, which has just been made public, leaves the bulk of his estate to his former sweetheart, but she cannot get possession until she is twentythree, three years from now.

MARRY AFTER FORTY YEARS

Old Sweethearts Meet In Indiana and in a Few Hours Are Engaged. Evansville, Ind. —Joseph Parrott, age fifty, of Wichita, Kan., and Mrs. Penelope Riggs, age fifty, of this city, sweethearts forty years ago, were married at St. James M. E* church in the presence of a number of friends and relatives after a few days’ courtship. Several days ago Parrott came here to visit his old friends after an absence of forty years. He met Mrs. Riggs and in a few hours they were engaged. After spending a few days here, Mr. and Mrs. Parrott will go to Wichita, where they will live.

MRS. M. B. HUMPHREY

Mrs. Humphrey is the wife of Lieutenant Humphrey of the United States marine corps, now on duty in Haiti. Mrs. Humphrey is a bride of a year, and makes her home in New York..

FATE’S QUEER TURNS

Coincidences Which War Has Brought Forth. First Man Bouth Sea Islander Speaks to in London Is Man He Is Looking For—Other Interesting Cases. London. —While E. H. Janes, a prominent resident of Fulham, was at Charing Cross a few days ago he noticed a number of men clad in khaki getting out of the train. He learned they had just arrived from the far off Fiji, where they had given up good situations to offer their services to the motherland in her hour of need. Mr. Janes asked if any of them were from Suva.

“Sure,” replied one of the stalwart young fellows. “I come from Suva.” “Do you know Harry Janes?” Inquired the man from Fulham. “I should think I do. He and I are overseers on the same plantation. I have a letter of introduction to his brother, E. H. Janes, of Fulham.” “You can hand it over now,” said Mr. Janes. Both were amazed to learn that the first man the South Sea Islander had spoken to on reaching London was the very man in all England he wished to see.

This is but one of the extraordinary coincidences which the war has brought forth. A London hospital had another remarkable illustration: A young soldier was severely wounded in the fighting “somewhere in France.” He lost consciousness, and when he regained it he was lying comfortably in a bed in a ward of a large hospital. His first words were — “Where am I?” The nurse told him that he was in London, that during the period of his unconsciousness he had been transported across the channel and that his wounds had been tended. He asked the name of the hospital, the number of the ward, the day of the week and the hour. The nurse told him. “I say, nurse, you might tell my dad I am here.” The nurse looked at him, thinking the poor lad was in a delirium.

“All right, nurse, my dad’s in the next ward now. You know he is the surgeon there and this is his visiting day.” And so it was. The father was in the next ward performing his work, thinking all the time that his son was in France. He did not even know that the boy was wounded, far less that he was being tended a few yards away. Writing from the front to friends at Llangollen, Private S. N. Jones of the motor transport A. S. C. relates a peculiar coincidence concerning himself. He was a driver on the Llangollen-Wrexham motor bus route and enlisted soon after the commencement of hostilities. In France, strange to say, he was drafted to the identical chassis of the motor he had been driving on the Donbigshire route, it having been purchased, with many others, by tjie government

The manager of the road car company has written to Private Jones stating that, if it should be possible, they will repurchase the car after the war and place upon it a plate recording the circumstances related. David Henderson, a Bowhill soldier belonging to the Black Watch, has a remarkable story to tell of how he was able to pay back on the field of battle the services of a man who saved his life in this country in the piping times of peace. About a year ago, when taking part in a regatta at Wemyss, his boat was capsized and he was, thrown into the water. He had been swimming towards the shore for some time when he was picked up in an exhausted condition by a passing boat belonging to Dy« sart.

Strange to say, after a fierce day’s fighting in France, Private Henderson saw a wounded soldier lying in front of the trenches, and on going to his assistance he was struck by something familiar about the wounded man. Henderson then asked his comrade if it was he who had saved “Davie” Henderson from a watery grave at Wemyss the previous summer. "It was,” came the reply. ‘Then I am Davie Henderson,” was the dramatic rejoinder. Henderson then took his wounded comrade by the arm and, under a heavy fire, led him to a place of safety.

USE ABSINTHE IN EXPLOSIVE

French Are Now Utilizing Barred Drink In Manufacture of Guncotton. Paris. —Absinthe, placed under a ban for drinking purposes by the law passed early in the war, is being used in the manufacture of guncotton. A co-operative distillery at Pontolse, which has been extracting alcohol from beet roots for the use of the gov eminent munition factories, found the supply of beet root Insufficient and is now taking over the stocks of absinthe held in warehouses. Government In* spectors watch the transfoimation of the absinthe into alcohol.

Girt of 19 Weds Man 89.

Greenfield, Mo. —“Uncle Matt” McPherson, eighty-nine years old, and one of the pioneer citizens of Dade county, and Miss Clara Burns, nineteen years old, of Hlgginsvllle, Mo., were married at the courthouse here recently. The ceremony, was performed by the Rev. William Shaw cl this city.

Home Town Helps

GOOD TREE FLOWER BASKET Latest Idea in Outdoor Ornament Will Help Enhance Attractiveness of Any Place. A feature which has been termed "The Tree Flower Basket” is one of the latest things presented in the western part of this country for the beautifying of the home property. The owner of the home place knows that almost any kind of flower holders, if they are put to work, serve to add to the appearance of the property. Furthermore, where a novelty, in the way of a flower basket, such as is seen in the accompanying illustration, is erected, it does /more than merely serve to enhance the attractiveness of the place—it adds Individuality to the dwelling. Surely this feature adds the "individual” touch to the home i( adorns. Altogether there are eight trees that

By Nailing a Few Branches of Equal Length Around the Trunk of a Tree, Fastening Them Together With Wire, and Lining With Moss, an Attractive Tree Flower Basket Is Formed.

have been treated in this manner, these running along the parkway beside this home. The idea is especially valuable when used in connection with trees that have tall, plain trunks, for the little baskets serve to break the trunk’s plainness. These baskets are simple in construction and inexpensive. A number of branches are cut in uniform length; palm branches being used in this instance, and the length being 18 inches. These are arranged around the tree about three inches apart and are held in position by wires run around their lower ends, fastening them tightly to the tree. A lining such as moss is then secured for the baskets, after which earth is placed in them. Flowers can then be planted in the earth. While many kinds of flowers may be grown in these baskets, vines and ferns which hang down against the trunk of the tree are very acceptable.—World’s Advance.

How About Your Roof?

A city may have the reputation of being a “clean town,” and its ‘citizens may be prone to boast of this fact, but nearly any “clean town” would lose self-respect if seen as the workers in the upper ozone view it. If your office happens to be located on one of the upper floors of a tall building, take a look at your town and see what you think of it. Look down and see the dirty alleys, roofs littered with everything from old lumber to paper, tin cans and cheap signs. Awful, isn’t it? Now go up and examine your roof. There must be a man higher up, and. too, aviators are a discriminating class. —Building Magazine.

Neighborhood Parks Needed.

All of our cities need more small neighborhood parks. The masses must have breathing places and small parks or squares best meet these requirements. The development of cities should be controlled by the municipalities, and no tract put on the market except a small area for a park is first donated to the city. This is a justifiable hold-up. There should be a neighborhood park within ten minutes brisk walk of every home. All should have an educational value for the district school and general public, therefore each tree or shrub should be labeled with proper and scientific name and country of nativity.

For Next Year’s Garden.

Why not start a good lot of hardy perennials if you have a coldframe in which to winter the plants? Any sort of a crude frame will do; if you haven’t glass covers, boards or mats will do. Nearly all the hardy perennials can be sown at this time and will flower next season; they simply require some very light protection over the winter. This is also the accepted time to sow those two showy biennlalß, the foxglove (Digitalis) and cup and saucer (Campanula). Winter in a frame and set out in very early sprinx.—Harper's Bazar.