Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 February 1916 — Page 3

THE UTILE GENTLEMAN

By GEORGE MUNSON.

"Nurse, I believe I am the patient for Room 7 V ” There was an immediate pause in all the activities of the ward as the little man who had spoken these words stood at the door and looked smilingly toward Miss Rensham, the night superintendent. ’ He had the most charming and the most intellectual face that Miss Rensham had ever seen. He was about eight and twenty years of age. The forehead betokened thoughtfulness, the head was fine in the best sense of the word. But the stature was only five feet, and the body was misshapen. The doctors had told the nurses of the forthcoming operation. It was the most rdmantic thing that had ever happened in the hospital. When the little gentleman was safely in bed the night superintendent talked with his special nurse. Miss Ray. "It wrings my heart,” she said. “I’d like to see—O, I’d Just like to see the woman who’s going to let him suffer like that for her.” 1 "But she doesn’t know,” answered Miss Ray. "Of course she knows. He’s trying to hide it, to shield her. She must be a worthless woman. Why, he is a dear —just a little dear!” Miss Rensham dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. Miss Ray sniffed and blinked. Both women felt touched at the thought of the little cripple who was to be made straight by the most delicate operation in the world, in order that he might feel v

"I Believe I Am the Patient for Room 7.”

free to ask the woman he loved to marry him. Edith Carstairs was a noted beauty. Everyone had heard of her, but no one in the hospital had seen her. It was the general opinion that she was heartless. Any woman must be heartless who would allow her lover-to undergo so terrible an operation, followed by the six weeks in plaster, before she would listen to his suit. *-The next morning was an agonizing one at the hospital. The patients might have complained of neglect for the first time in their lives within that institution. There was not a nurse stole down to the operating room, whenever the chance occurred, to gather the news fqpm Fritz, the anesthetic room orderly: “The surgeons haven’t finished, miss.” *' • 0 Five hours after the* little gentleman was carried away they carried hack a limp, tightly bound,' unconscious body, exhaling ether, with the white mask of ether anesthesia upon the features. An hour afterward Nurse Ray was seated by the little gentleman’s bedside, listening to his muttered words about Edith Carstaii’s, as he slowly came back to consciousness. “He shall not marry her!" said Nurse Ray to Nurse Rensham indignantly, the next morning. “At least, she ought to have been here today.’’ “She doesn’t know!” The other looked at her scornfully. “Of course she knows. She’B waiting to learn the result of the operation.’’ She came that afternoon/ a tall, proud-looking beauty, asking for the little gentleman. She had just learned, she said, that he had undergone an operation. She did not know what it was. He was a friend of hers—she was distressed. Nurse Rehsham took her apart. Women can be qrueler to each other than men when it is needful, and Nurse Rensham thought Edith Carstairs was a hypocrite. She broke the news to her with a few burning words that made Edith Carstairs gasp, and -then shook her into passionate sobbing. f • She had not known, she had not dreamed, she said. She did not know that the little gentleman had ever cared for her like that. Thentirse was half convinced, almost convinced when she took Miss Carstairs to the iittle gentleman’s bedside for a moment and saw her kneel and press his white hand to her lips. But she wab hot sure. “He shall never marry her until I know," Nurse Rensham said. The little gentleman was the dearest patient they had ever had in the hospital. He never complained, 4 though the pain of the cranmed post- *~ ~ - -it >

tlon ate into flesh and muscle and sinew. After five weeks the surgeon began to talk of taking off the bandages and uncasing him. ~ "Nobody knows whether it has been successful,” he told Miss Carstairs, who had been a regular visitor. The two had been loverlike enough, but Nurse Rensham was> still scornful. "She thinks he will get well —she’s waiting,” she told herself bitterly. The morning when the bandages were to bl removed arrived, Nurse Rensham had said nothing to Miss Carstairs; she met her at the door. "Will you come in here a moment, please,” she said, motioning to her to enter the drug room. There she told her. The operation had failed. The little gentleman would be more hopelessly crippled than before. The nurse’s face was white and resolute. Her eyes gleamed vindictively. "Now let me see what mettle you are made of!” she seemed to say. Edith Carstairs gasped and reeled back against the wall. Then she turned and ran swiftly down the passage toward the elevator. But Nurse Rensham caught her before she could enter. "I knew what you were made of, you worthless woman!” she hissed. “You couldn’t bear to have the love of a good man because he was crooked in body. You have turned from him now that you know he will always be thus.” Edith Carstairs straightened herself and looked at the nurse with a new dignity. “I ran away because the blow stunned me!” she answered. "It was not because I cared for myself. I cared for him. Can’t you understand, can’t you realize that a woman who loves a man wilL never dare to look upon him in his soul’s agony, because she cannot bear it on his account?” “No, I can’t!” answered Nurse Rensham. "Then come with me!” cried Edith Carstairs fiercely. She seized the nurse by the arm and almost dragged her into the little gentleman’s room. “Tell them!” she cried. "Tell them now, because they doubted my love and loyalty. Tell them! See!” She was thrusting something fiercely upon her finger. It was a wedding ring. She stood up bravely by the bedside, confronting all the nurses in the room. "I am his wife!” she cried. “I married him before he came here — and I did not know he was to come. Now, will you-believe?” The little gentleman sat up in bed and drew her to him. "What is all this about, Edith?” he asked wonderingly. "Do you know the doctors say I am cured, that I am to get up tomorrow and shall be straight as any man for the rest of my life?” Edith Carstairs collapsed across the bed in a dead faint. The little gentleman, still holding her in his strong arms, looked anxiously into her white face. He was not thinking of Nurse Rensham then; and she was sobbing her heart out in her own room, alone. (Copyright, 1916, by W. G. Chapman.)

EARTHWORM PLAYS AT NIGHT

He Is All Stomach, and His Only Aim In Life Is to Eat, for He's Always Hungry. Midnight is the favorite play hour for earthworms. To catch a glimpse of them in the daytime, you’ll have to dig in the earth, which Is their home, or watch for them after a heavy rain, when they can be found on top of the ground. But go out any warm night with a lantern, lie close to the ground on a lawn or terrace and you’ll aee them in abundance, the Philadelphia North American says. Probably you’fe regarded the earthworm merely as ts good fish bait and have never taken the trouble to learn his habits. When he’s prowling around at night he’s usually enjoying a feast on decaying leaves, grasses or animal matter. Before daybreak he’s back In the ground, burrowing his way in search of more food. His alimentary canal extends from one tip of his body to the. other, so it’s little wonder he’s always hungry. He has neither ears nor eyes, yet he’s sensitive to light and he knows when night comes Just as other creatures with eyes. Another interesting fact is his method of laying eggs. He grows a band around his body like a belt, in whioh he deposits the eggs. Then he gradually works his way through this belt until he slips it off, when It closes up and forms a capsule to protect the eggs until they are hatched. Vegetable growers sometimes regard the earthworm as a nuisance. They should be thankful, however, that those of North America are not so large as those in South Africa, where there are earthworms four and five feet long and as thick as a man’s finger.

Moderation the Proper Thing;

Peoples that work little do not afford an inspiring example in morals, culture, nianner of living and progress. On the other hand, peoples or classes that work too much and too hard achieve little or no development, but persist in a dead level of humdrum existence In which there is more shadow than sunshine and virtually no advancement. It Is in the' more civilized countries where a happy;mean has been struck that you find work approximating its genuine basis and reward. Among such peoples it would be as absurd to rail against work as to lift one’s indignation against the air, the water, the sky and all things that are good and wholesome. tn '

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

BIRDS IN CEMETERIES

AUDUBON SOCIETIES INTERESTED IN BIG PROJECT. Idea la to Have Burial Grounds Converted Into Sanctuaries Where Feathered Friends of Humanity Ma)r Find Refuge. More than a million acres of land will be added to the bird reservations in the TJnited States if the National Association of Audubon societies, with headquarters in New York, succeeds in its campaign to have all- the cemeteries of the country converted into bird sanctuaries. The plan includes not only the forty-eight burial grounds of New York city, but all cemeteries down to the lonely graveyard of the smallest hamlet. “While the average visitor to cemeteries is frequently impressed with the song of birds,” said T. Gilbert Pearson, secretary of the association, who has brought forward this plan, "this is due rather to the usual quiet and perhaps to the receptive mood of the person. The number of birds is really small compared to what it would be were but a little effort made. Much has been done to drive birds away from cemeteries. Frequently, there is not a yard of underbrush where a thrasher or vireo can build its nest. There are no pools or other means for the birds to slake their thirst. Tree surgery has closed the cavities whence titmouse, wren or bluebird formerly issued to console the lonely visitor. Fruit-bearing trees have been removed and there is an absence of berry-bearing shrubs, such as birds enjoy.” - The association, in addition to the above needs, is urging the exclusion of gunners and cats from the cemeteries, the latter through the use of catproof fences. The placing of bird boxes in trees is recommended, as well as the construction of fountains or other drinking places for the birds. Ebod in the way of growing blackberries, strawberries or mulberries is suggested, while many cemeteries are said to have ample waste space where buckwheat and other small grain could be planted without detracting from the beauty of the landscape. The supplying of food in other ways as well as the provisions for nest-build-ing are among other suggestions contained in a circular just issued by the association which, Mr. Pearson says, he will mail to all persons interested in having their city cemetery converted into a bird sanctuary. In Indianapolis thousands of birds find refuge in Crown Hill cemetery and birds of some varieties which generally go South in the fall spend the winter there.

Crossbred Yaks to Feed Alaskans.

No breed of dairy or beef cattle has as yet been found hardy enough to stand the winters in the interior of Alaska without excessive expense for food and protection against cold. As a result milk sells for 50 cents a quart and the beef that is consumed in the country consists almost wholly of cold storage meat brought from the outside. The Journal of Heredity says that the Alaska Experiment station has undertaken to relieve this situation by crossing the hardy Scotch Galloway cattle with the yak, an Asiatic ox much used by Mongolians, Tibetans, etc., for milk and meat as Well as work. The yak. pastures through the winter under the open sky in Siberia and obtains feed from last year’s grass dug from under the snow. Crosses of the yak with domestic cattle are common in Asia and highly successful.

Bear Caught In City.

A fat black bear, weighing nearly 400 pounds, was trapped and killed on the edge of the city limits near Cowen park, according to a dispatch from Seattle, and about one and a half miles from the university. The downfall of bruin was brought about by two unknown men, who sold the bear while it was In the trap to A. Lampaert, a butcher of Redmond, for S2O. According to the men who trapped the animal, It had established Its headquarters on the hill near the Cowen Park ravine, and had apparently decided to spend the winter there. The bear was in prime condition and had evidently found the back yards of Cowen Park residents fine foraging grounds.

Missed Big “Successes.”

The death Of George Edwardes recalls how he sold “Dorothy” for a song, and how a song—“ Queen of My Heart"—made a fortune for the piece. The death of Lewis Waller recalls the case of “Monsieur Beaucaire.” That play, when “tried on the dog” at Liverpool, was a dead failure. The “dog’s” verdict was wrong. Produced as a mere stop-gap at the Comedy, “Beaucaire’’ proved a big and instant success, It ran for some 400 times, and had the crowning triumph of a royal command performance at Sandringham.

That's What.

“What is a military attache, father?” “A military attache is an official who has to be recalled as soon aa he is caught doing what he is paid to do."

Conceited.

J “What is a self-made man, father?” “A self-made man, my bey, is one who thinira that the Creator could not possibly have produced such a wonder ful being as he is."

FRIENDSHIP THAT RINGS TRUE

Always a Condition That Requires Thorough Understanding and Complete Sympathy. Some acquaintances will never ripen into true friendship because the common bond of union, the thorough understanding and the complete sympathy are lacking. An acquaintance begun in childhood will ripen into friendship if the children develop mutual interest in a common cause of .study or pleasure. If dissimilar tastes and unlike impulses develop the children will grow apart, since each of us tends toyaibd certain centers of association. Money cannot buy us friends. It often purchases apparent friendship, but when the wealth goes that which, posed as friendship vanishes also. Friendship must be distinguished from that sentimental feeling which is so common among young girls. This ridiculous fascination, which expresses itself in extravagant terms of endearment, is very fickle. As soon as it finds faults in one idol it transfers its affection to another. Youth has yet to learn that perfection in human nature does not exist. The sensible man or woman does not set" up an ideal of friendship so high that It must be shattered. Friends influence us for good or evil. Unfortunately we can guide the formation of our friendships only to a very limited extent, either for ourselves or sos our children. Friendship springs up and grows naturally; it cannot be planted at will. Foolish friendships are often formed in youth. It is useless to talk against them, since young people always resent criticism of their friends. We must simply tolerate them and trust to the awakening of common sense to prove all frivolous friendships false and unworthy.—Philadelphia Inquirer.

Odd Mall Service.

A novel mail service is to be put into operation on the Magdalena river, in the Republic of Colombia, seasleds having been planned to ply between Bogota and the coast. By the water route the distance between the two points is more than 800 miles. It is expected that it will be covered at an average speed of nearly forty miles an hour. Tests were recently made otTthe Hudson river, near New York, with an , oddly designed craft which has been built especially for this service. It is a broad-bpamed glider, equipped with a high-power motor, and driven by two aerial propellers mounted at the stern. It is capable of carrying a number of passengers, and when loaded draws only five inches of water. While traveling at its maximum speed, however, the sled requires only one inch of water, for it skims along barely cutting the surface. Its slight draft is made necessary by the shallowness of the river on which it is to operate.

Wire in Great Demand.

Particularly for the transmission of high potential currents the steelaluminum. wire has been found most desirable aften ten years’ experience, during which time, it is stated, two alone are making use of 70,000,000 pounds of conductor of this character. The aluminum has great efficiency, together with lightness, while the steel imparts strength, so that it Is possible to maintain reasonably long spans, which is not so with the conductor made alone of aluminum. The simplest form of the steelaluminum cable is that to which six aluminum strands are laid around a central steel wire, all of the seven strands being of the same size. Larger areas usually have the single steel wire replaced by a seven-wire steel cable of the same area, the ratio of steel to aluminum being the same in both cases.

“City Healthier Than Farm.”

“The sanitary conditions in the farmers’ homes of Massachusetts and New York state are not what they should be," Dr. Harvey W. Wiley declared in an address before several hundred farmers from all over the state in Horticultural hall, assembled for the Massachusetts state board of agricultural’s annual meeting. “In New York and Massachusetts particularly, the city is a healthier place to live than the country,” Doctor Wiley said. “The cities of New York and Massachusetts are taking better care of their citizens than the country is, and I am inclined to believe that the unfavorable situation In the rural sections is due more to lack of sanitary conveniences and appliances than it is to the effect of the climate or of a deficient diet."

Thieves Leave Sacred Records.

All but three of the 75 talking-ma-chine records of the Birdsboro High school were stolen by a thief, who forced an entrance into the building, turned on a light and tried out all the records, it is believed. Thuml* marks on the three Ijßft behind showed they were tested too. The selections rejected were “Lead Kindly Light.” “Jesus, Lover of My Soul” and "Nearer, My God to Thee.” Most of the records stolen were ragtime and marches. —Reading Dispatch to Philadelphia North American.

Old Hand at the Pump.

•1 omnfl in reply to your advertisement for a young man to pump the organ,” said the applicant. “Have yon had any experience in ♦hat line?” asked the church organist. “Yon bet I have,” replied the applicant “I worked for a milkman two years.”

Old Slave Mart New Orleans

YOU are a lover of the quaint, the picturesque, the old, or you would not find yourself in the old slave mart of Le Vieux Carre de New Orleans on a glowering day, when the storm clouds overhanging the East are sending out streaks of lightning. Presently you pass through an ornate entrance to the ground floor of a huge old wrinkled building, peeling off for its final plunge into oblivion. It is the historic Hotel St. Louis, erected In 1836. Don Pedro, emperor of Brazil, and afterward his grandson, were its guests. Here banqueted statesmen, princes and famous men, and here, before the changing of the tides, were sittings of legislative bodies, says the Kansas City Star. As you stand in the listening silence, in the dampness of mold and decay, you unconsciously visualize the life of a long-gone yesterday. Now suddenly you start, disturbed by an impression of sound down a long, dark, dusty passageway. It is only the rain seeping in, drip, drip, every spatter echoiflfe hollowly in the emptiness. Again you drift back to your dreams, and again your nerves twang, this time at the scuttle of a rat in the broken wainscoting behind an old slave block, showing the crumbling, though quite distinguishable, name of a famous auctioneer of ante-bellum days. Beyond the block and the mart about it your searching eyes find a wide expanse of earth and cement floor bordered by rows of cells almost wholly stripped of bars, where slaves were held before their appearance npon the block to be sold to the highest bidder. With a swift intake of breath you reach the rusty gratings and peer into the dusky interior. You catch a whiff of chill, earthy air and the plaintive slight turn of your imagination to people the prison with soft-eyed patient slaves awaiting orders with the stolidity and obedience that was part of their nature. You see the old and the young, the strong and the weak, and all the various types, from a

coarse Herculean African to a slender, clear-eyed octoroon. The octoroon holds your attention. She Is young and strong and will sell for several thousand dollars. In a moment she stands on the block and the voice of the auctioneer leaps out like a whip lash: “Gentlemen, this Is a likely wench. What am I bid for her?” There follows a rapid, sing-song recital of the girl’s salable points, ending with scarcely a noticeable break in the crisp, persuasive challenge: “What am I bid?” Bidding for the Slaves. A prosperous looking planter strides forward and touches her arms appraisingly, then his hand falls unabashed to her strong bare ankles. He steps back obviously pleased, calling out with assumed Indifference: “One thousand dollars!" Higher the bids go, higher and higffer; voices rise and fall, rise and soar and swell, until at last the hammer falls, the babble subsides and the octoroon steps down to her new master. As by no volition of your own, your mind slips back to the cells and to a buxom, kind-faced mammy, created and endowed to nurse the offspring of white mothers. She will bring but a jmodest price in the mart, for there are many of her kind. Here is a young quadroon, there a gray old Creole darky, somewhere else a very black and strapping half-grown negress. You sense their speaking voices, deep and melodious, a Jargon of French and Spanish inlaid with many little English words. Suddenly, in the cells occupied by the men, the coarser blacks break out in a burst of wild, weird song, cut through by the tamtam of a drum made of a gourd covered with sheepskin. A tail and sinewy negro rises and steps out quickly to the center of the floor and dances with rolling eyes and gaping mouth to the time of the primitive drum. - Nov, a bat fiuttere out of the shadows and brushes your /ace, while yon stir out of cramping muaclas with a muttered word of relief. Drip, drip, drip, the rain seeps in, steadily, now, like a dock ticking. You mount a flight of broad and creaking walnut stairs and pause at the first landing to view a pink and

lilac tracery on the wall which once represented a painting of De Soto’s first view of the Mississippi. Led by the Chatelaine. You glance at two holes high up tn the outer wall which show the light like a pair of prying eyes under shaggy brows, then you take a bracing breath and go on. *But you halt abruptly at the sound of an opening door and the echo of slow and dragging feet coming nearer and nearer. In a moment a woman short and heavy of build, with the mingled air of graciousness and reserve, is before you. She is the chatelaine. You know it before she says "Entrez!” in her charming throaty French. She has oh a skirt of faded crimson and blue, with a basquelike bodice of luminous green. She wears a cap of soiled D’Alencon lace, and a fine odd brooch of jet as sparkling black as her deepset eyes. Instinctively you drop a silver piece into the bag which dangles with a bunch of keys from her ample waist, and follow her shuffling lead. To the accompaniment of her explanatory and also rapid French, you are. shown salons with cracked and sunken marble fireplaces, salons with vanished onyx floors, once pressed by the satin-clad feet of many beautiful women, mildewed mirrors made In the days of the first empire, crystal chandeliers with broken pear-shaped prisms, and walls from which priceless frescoes aCtd friezes and medalliortb have been removed, bits of bronze from an old balustrade, the battered fragments of a fountain. When you have looked into countless chambers and heard the history of each, you come upon a half-open door which reveals a scene of homely comfort. Here lives the chatelaine, alone, save for A white cockatoo, a fffirffry ar ' A a. tnrtnise shell cat. There’s one old mended antique chair upholstered in gay colored chintz, a spindle-legged table rich with carving and black with age, a shelf set with a row of clean blue dishes and shining pots and pdns. A kettle singing over the fire gives out the appetizing smell

THE HOTEL ST LOUIS

of a shrimp pot-pourri. On the broad window ledge is a box of kitchen bouquet; basil, ebeval. coriander, and on the odd little balcony jutting out from it a sweet box garden of petunias, cypress vines and myrtle. Above It a freighted clothesline flaps in the wind and rain. Here you say “B’soir," and insist that you can find your way without further guidance. You retrace your steps, halting now and then to be certain of your direction, and come at last to view the ruin of a fine old tapestry. On you go to the great ground floor and linger a moment for one last look at the slave mart. Then your feet find the quiet street and a cool, mist-driven wind smites your face refreshingly. You swing back easily to the present and everyday realities, but the old Hotel St. Louis is graven upon your heart. It will slip into your thoughts again and again no matter where yon may be. At the theater perhaps, at the dance, In the busy, noisy rounds of life rather than in the silences, you will remember, you will re-see it, re-live it. And you will hear the sound of rain seeping in—drip, drip, drip—the plaintive chirp of a cricket and the scatter of a rat in the broken wainscoting,

Ah a way to beat lawyers who thrive on long-drawn-out will contests we recommend the last will and testament of a Los Angeles man who died leaving an estate of SIIO,OOO. This was his will, fourteen words in all: - 7 "I direct that all my property be distributed according to the laws of California." As an example of multum in parvo this will is entitled to rank as a classic. Maybe this man’s will was superfluous, but he had the fun of making a will, which is all "the satisfaction that many of them get out. of it.'

I thought you werw to sail for Europe yesterday. , Reginald—That was me-aw-inten-tiori, doncher know, but I-aw-changed me mind at the lawst moment Evelyn—Glad to hear it, and \ hop* you got a better one in the change.

Short and Sweet.

What She Hoped.