Greencastle Herald, Greencastle, Putnam County, 15 January 1920 — Page 4

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ViiL CRtENCASVLt HERALI

THURSDAY, JANUARY 15, 1920.

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Leave It to Friends for Advice Strangers for Charity Jictionary for Sympathy. Relatives for Nothing. Evens & Moffett for Service.

OILS

GASOLINE

| if You Had to Live Over Again

PILLD MICE. In 'ths Oitirlct of Zabern—1.3,'l\000 Were Cauaht in 14 Days. fir. A E Urchin state* cuncernlns tl.e field mice of Germany that in ]t'"2 In the district of Zaberu 1,570,. CW were caught In fourteen day ■ Uurlns the same time in the district <f Nldtia 5!>(l,427 were caught, and '.a that of I’tzn ich 271,941. In the autumn of 1856 there were > many voles In one district between Ihl.'.rt fetid Go'ha that about 12,000 i . s of Inmfhal tn lie replouglmd bed, is. of the destruction of the first cr On use-ingle large estate near lit' i l ti^d sold to a Drcslau fertili/fac. t'liy at .. inig (nearly oiu--fiii;rth cent) per dot in Some of ti e vol# catchers caaght 1.400 to t.otiO m-r day. 14 t!:- '-miner of ISfil In li - borbood of Alsheim, in Rhenish Hesse, 40'),ri22 were caught. Th-’ local th'-ir rapt m i l,ouie 1 imiier, the Frenrh nahiral. Isp. writi g of the same species, sacs that the 1 n.ile gives birth to front friir tini'-s a year and the ntulUpllca. t *11 is Ip 1 t times that "v: ade flr.trtct have been reduced tn destl. tution by this scourge. In 1816 and 1S17 the one department of Vendee, < ;.p(‘ric-n , 'ei! a loss estimated at near, ly. tCdO.uuo, caused entirely by G. oo anlmala T 1 • common meadow mouse ot the tlnili-d .tales 1* one of tne most ptoItflc of our species. Kstimating the normal Increase at six young, with four litters In a season, and assuming that tl ere were no checks upon tlie iiicroue. the results are appalling A single pair and their progeny 1* five Keasoiiii would amount to neany I.noo.oon individuals. This calculation Is in ,er the mark, since It I* based on the assumption that the young do not breed until about a year old The animals, however, mature v ry rapidly, and the spring younc undoubted!; bre -d in the fall Of the same year.

ACCIDENT FAKERS. Insurance Companies Are Suspicious of all Injuries to the Knee. “Acridoit Insurance companies ere ' . all accidents mvnlvii injury to t ib knee j jt u on hi t - that the accident In:, i m -luly relir-- " The speaker, a surgeon, frowned and •went on: 'JTbcri: aie men who make a llv. ' t cl from city to city; they Insure in » yiolicie ., it,i n, with a fuae Injury, tney pren ■< d to collect dues “An accident faker—for so we call t fce ' tn flip out at will. He purpoM-ly stumbl over an open trap or acme I out deftly, raises a big holler si> i to se -ip a lot of wltnc es and then 1 bobble home. “He doesn't notify his insuranr* j r- aip.in -s t;ll the next day. My th i bis r.i.'-o is so. swollen that an accur. . h!o examination of It is Impossible'. ! Wa cam i tl-ose l viig a,.lf.8ll^ying knees or not. K we jiay Ute man his money and he 1 k \ ru'v*p i.stlire'7 here v as one man—he Is In Jail | now—who tn nine years collected <>v. I cr$ll."*'h in accident pollcic with tin- 1 In Ip ol a knee that he could ^:p out ! a* easily as 1 slip my ham! out of my i glove.”

NOT 1 OR—As we are closing up our retail tiu.s iinjs wp desire that all 1h- • knowing themselves to be in-(’(-'•t' I to u» by book account or note

ietMc.

(Kemp's Balsam WiiiSiQPTH^ Couch

“So far as the world goes my husband has justified hie early promise. He has achieved success. He commands respect. He started high in church and in society, and is held up as a model of morality for young men to copy. He is particularly gracious and courteous to women, and it is often all that I can do to keep from shrieking with cynical laughter when somebody says to me that she envies mo being married to a man so gentle and so tender to women, a man with whom knighthood Is always in flower. "To such tributes to my husband I mal: some silly conventions 1 reply, bu* if 1 would I could tel! her that my lord and master never waste-.; his court-- y on so valueless a creature as bis wife, and that I should drop dead with surprise If he even treated me with common politeness in the privacy of the family circle. “I suppose that my husband i-s, as <h« Is esteemed, a good man, -bui he might break every one of the Ten Commandments into smithereens every day of his life and be a better husband. I know that he takes credit to himself for being too much of a gentleman ever to strike a woman, and yet I should rather have had my body battered black and blue than to have my heart pierced to the quick as he has done It thousands and thousands of times. "As I said I went Into married life, thinking It was to be always pink lined, with the love and tenderness of a man to keep me safe and sheltered from every harm. 1 was very young, very affectionate, very sensitive, and I had been brought up in a family who were very devoted to each other, and peculiarly tactful in dealing with othe,rs. I had never been used to family spats, or heard my mother* nic father say an unkind thing to eac'j other. “.Itidg'’, then, of my horror, when, before our honeymoon had ended, my husband turned upon me suddenly, and swore at me because I accidentally spilled a few drops of coffee on his coat in handing it to him. 1 think when I die that If my body shall be cut open you will find that oath seared on my heart, as if It had been branded there with a white het iron. 1 know that at it something went out of me —my youth, ray joyous confidence for the future, and that my poor little pink chiffons of romance shrivelled up and perished in a pinch of dust. “That oath was the beginning. 1 have teen sworn at, cursed, gibed at, made the butt of my husband’s sar oastu. Spoken to as no man would dar • to speak to any woman who had an able-bodied brother to defend her, . r who was an employee v ho could got up and leave. 1 have grown accustomed to hearing my opinions derided. to being told to shut up. that I don't know what 1 am talking about, and to having a tempest of reproaches ; oured out upon my head for every trivial thing that goes wrong in the house).old, whether I am to blame for it or not “You have seen a dog that has been so beaten and kicked that he cowers every time any one makes a gesture towards him. 1 have long fallen into tnat mental attitude, and every time my husband speaks to me I cringe because I know that he Is going to say * imethlt •• , or im I some fault with me. "He has a temper that Is wild and furious. Abroad he Is bound »o control It. At home be lets down the flood gates, and it sweeps over me All of my married life 1 have gone in terror of this temper. 1 have spent all the wit and ingenuity I possess In trying to keep everything hidden out of sight that could posalbly vex him. I have exhausted all of my diplomacy in attempting to keep him mollified 1 have watched, trembling for the signs of a gathering storm in his moods and felt myseli happy when he would deign to be even ordinarily civil and agreeable. “That * ich a man should b. a mouu:n< nt of selfishness goes without saying. f rom the litst of our married life my !:ii!-band has simply never considered me at all in any way. He pays the family bills with grumbling and groaning, and bitter relteciions on the way that I manage, but he never gives me a p* nuy for myself to do with as i choose. He never gives me a birthday present, or brings me any gift when lie goes away from home, and when 1 have to have a new dress or hat, he makes so many scathing remarks about womens exfav agance that It takes weeks for me to suniraon up enough courage to auk him for the money. “I have stood all of this because 1 v as at first too sorely wounded m my love and In my pride to resent the way 1 was treated, and also because 1 was under the mistaken belief that by forboarance and gentleness I could cure my husband of his faults. “I know better now. I know that the only argument that a brute can understand is brutality, and that the only way to deal with a bully is to make him afraid of you. “If 1 had to live my married live over again, the first time my husband swore at me 1 should not go off and weep my heart out as I did. I should t iru on him and tell him that 1 w as a lady, even if I bad the misfortune tn ho his wife, and that as long as I siayed uniter his roof I should lake precious good care to see tiiat he treated me with the polltene* s and respect due to one. When 1 think what 1 have stood for from him I do not blame him for despising me. 1 am filled with contempt for myself. “Nor should 1 again spend my life In walking upon eggs in his presence, for fear something might happen to vex him. On the contrary, 1 should cultivate a vixenish temper of my own that would make him stand In awe of my tantrums, and be afraid of rousing me. I ehould make him consider me and do his share of th* sacrificing, and I am sure that he would care more for me than he does for It Is my observation that the more a man does for his wife the better ne ioves her Furthermore, I should refuse to go -a a beggar to him for every cent oi more/ I should demand a fair divide

c7 the family rc-ourres, and by- my independence I should win his respect, and have, at least, the satisfaction of seme good clothes, which would bo seme consolation, anyhow. “It Is a great misfortune to belong to the station of life in which It is not de rigeur to throw the coffee pot at your husband’s head," eighed the second woman. "It would save many a divorce," replied the first woman, emphatically.

Cmtc of the Eyes Never rub the eyes, for this practice causes Inflammation ot the liris, and however beautiful the expression, If the eyes are red or without lashes they lose' thekr charm. When a foreign substance gets into the eye, do not irritate it by trying to force it out. Keep the eye closed for a few moments or until the object is removed by the tears which will flow. If the wind has reddened the eyelids, wash them in slightly salted warm water. Veils, especially dotted ones, are very injurious to the eyes. They should, therefore, only be used during the winter a« a protection against cold. Late hours and artificial light redden and fatigue the eyes. Lamps should be supplied with shades. It is dangerous to gaze at the sun or electric light. Gas light, candles, ordinary lamps should be shaded by screens. Reflections of light on whilte walls, or on long stretches of dusty road or on snow, are very fatiguing to the eyes when not protected by dark glasses. However strong the eyes may be, give them a little rest after a few hours' continuous gaze. Never force them to gaze at minute objects wben they are weak. Neither read, write nor sew when the light Is dim During all continuous work, elose the eyes from time to time at intervals.

New Needle Work The most popular needlework of the moment is without doubt the tapestry done in the manner of the Gobelins work. Easy to do, it Is yet wonderfully effective, and when the designs and wools for a piece of work are carefully chosen, a beautiful result Is obtained. At the Royal School of Art Needlework in South Kensington, you find a variety of designs. The instructions for working Gobelins tapestry, by band are simple to carry out, and you use coarse canvas and thick wool, or fine canvas and thin wool. The wool must not be worked tightly, but should he loose and regular In case the warp of the canvas should be drawn together In the working, or the finished work will look uneven ami cannot afterwards be made right by stretching or Ironing.

Hot Fruit Salad Melt two heaping tableapoonfuls of hutter in a small saucepan, add four heaping tablespoonfuls of sugar, a quarter of a cupful of water, and a quarter of a cupful of strained lemon Juice; allow to cook for five minutes, then add two and a half cupfuls of mixed fruit, apples, cherries, pineapple, bananas, figs and pearlies; when hot serve with whipped cream sweetened and flavored with vanilla extract.

Baked Apples and Baisins Try this for an entree or desert; Wash as many apples as desired and stick with cloves. Mace over each about one teaspoonful of sugar, add six or seven raisins for each apple prepared, and then about half a cup ot water. Replenish water If It should boil out. After apples are soft cleat through, lift them. Make a white sauce by stirring In about one-fourth cup cf thickening to the water and boiling over the fire for a minute.

A French Egg Dish For eggs as a French chef prepares them, fry half a small onion sliced. In butter until It Is golden brown. Then turn in a cupful of tomatoes, seasoned with butter, salt and pepper, and rook for ten minutes Turn the mixture into n widebottom saucepan ami drop into eggs that have not had the yolks broken Cook them slowly, lifting them from the bottom of the dish with a fork, not stirring them as In scrambling.

Pineapple Pie One cup finely chopped pineapple, one and one-half teacups of sugar one-half cup of cream, yolks of four eggs, one cracker rolled fine, one teaspoonful of buttei. 1 se the Whites ot the four eggs for meringue.

SQUASH A I,A GREEK—-Take two or three medium sized white or yellow crook neck squashes; from each cut off an inch from the stem end, then with a spoon carefully scoop out all the seeds, leaving a hollow center. Take a pound and a half of freshly chopped beef; add to tt one cupful of dry bread crumbs, one cupful of chopped raw tomato pulp (drained as dry as possible), one Ic.'npoouful and a half of salt, one-third of a teaspoonful of pepper, one tablespoonful of chopped onion. Mix well and till the squashes with this. Replace the covers and steam until the squash arc barely tender enough to pierce with a straw, then shift to a baking pan and hake in a hot oven for fifteen minutes. Serve with a good tomato sauce. DEVI LED W HITE H AIT—Wash the whitebait thoroughly and drain ( n a soft cloth. Dip thorn in milk, then roll in flour and try, about a ■alf cupful at a time. In deep, smoking hot fat. Drain on soft paper and sprinkle with cayenne, then send at once to the table.

A broom when not In nee should always he placed In a holder to fit it. Those who wish to make one should place two large screws into the wall, about two inches apart. Drop the broom between these, handle downward, and it will wear a very long Cm*.

Married Life, Second Year “HERE, LET'S IXX)K at this!” Warren paused before a large white stone front apartment house. There was the usual sign, "Apartments to Let. Superintendent Within." They went through the long tiled corridor, with its arttfleial marble walls. In the rear waj a switchboard, before which lollol a colored bov In brans buttons. "Wed like to look at some apart* meats nere.” "Yes, sir. I’ll get the superintendent." pulling out a cord and Inserting it in one of the holes above. “Hello! Some one to look at apartments." In a few moments the superintendent came up from the basement. “What apartments have you?" asked Warren. “We’ve three vacant now—two on tbe third and one on the eighth in front." lie showed them a third floor apartment first. The rooms were small and badly lighted and overlooked a narrow court. The floors had been freshly varnished; an odor of paint and turpentine filled the place. “This won't do,” announced Warren after a hasty glance around. “We want more air and light. Let's see the one In front.” “Now this is more like It,” raid Warren. “What’s the rent here?" "$1,100 a year.” Helen glanced at Warren with a little gesture of despair. “Have you no front apartments for less than that?" he asked. “No, ?tr. All these front ones ate the same, but if you come In now, jo.i get the rent free tl'.l October first.” Warren shrugged his shoulders. “That wouldn't be any Inducement. We've a lease where we are until then. Who are the agents for this house?” “Clyne & Johnson.” "And I suppose If one got dowr. to husiness they'd make a shave on that rent for a two-years' lease?” The man shook his head. "I'm afraid not, sir. We've no trouble In getting our prices, and this is the only front ope that's vacant.’’ When a few moments later they left the building, Helen said anxiously, “Don't you see dear, that was over $10!) a month. I’m afraid we can’t get anything for $70 that’s anywhere near as coed as what wo have." “That's absurd. We've only looked at. one place. And I'm not going to ewelter through another Summer In that apartment, you ran depend on that. We'll get something with well ventilated outside rooms, if we havo to go out to the Rronx. Here, well try this one," stopping before a homo in which a colored boy stood in the door. ''They haven't so many brass buttons on tbfir darkey and I'll wager they’re not asking so much for their flats.’’ “Anv elx-room front apartments here?" “Yessir.” “How much are they?" "I don’t know, sir, the janitor ain't here, but I can show 'em to you.” He took them up to a front apartment on the top floor. But this was a much less attractive house than the other. The woodwork was cheaper, the mantles and fixtures garish in design, and the hideout; wall papers spoke o* the rharacter of former tenants. "Oh, Warren," whispered Helen, “we couldn't stand this at any price." “Well, you’ve got good air here and a rood view of the river, this overtops the house across the way. You can paper to suit yourself." “OH, yes, I know, but the wookwork and tbe mantels and the whole atmosphere of the house! Did you notlee the halls ns wc eame up?" “Well, you can't get everything. What we're loohing for is cool, wollventlleted rooms." “But Warren, just look—look at this bathroom,” opening the door and showing the small tub and cheap tarnished fittings. The boy who had gone to answer the elt ■ ator bell came bark now and stood at tho door. "So you don't know the reht here?” asked Warren attain. "No. sir I don't knows exactly, but I thinks It's around $75.” "Seventy-five dollars for that place!” Helen exclaimed when they reached the Ftreet. "And our beautifully fitted apartment for $70! Oh, Warren, how can you think of such a thing?" “But our apartment Is jammed a-rslnst a brick wall, and It’s been hottee than Hades. What we’re after now Ik more air—even If we have to take lets style with it” Although their apartment had been v *ry warm this Summer tt was In an excellent house and beautifully app dnted nnd finished. Ami Helen wanted to stay—she shrank from the thought of leaving. To her tt meant so much more than Just "an apartment." It was there she had come as a bride, and there Winifred had been born- no other place could ever mean so much. They went from place to place until Helen was almost worn out But they could find nothing within thetr price that, was anyways near as attractive us their own apartment. "Dear, I’m so tired,” said Helen flnnlly. “I don’t believe t can do any more today.” “Nonsense, wo haven’t done much. You’ll have plenty of time to rest. We’re up hero now. and we ought to sec what's here. It's not an easy thing for me to take an afternoon off. Here, this place seems promising— let's have a look at It.”

Uuhhcr Gloves Decause your rubber glove has a rent in It do not cast It aside a« useless. It i« easy to mend such a tear or cut with a bit of adhesive plaster. Select a piece of the plaster a little longer than the cut, place It on ihe under side of the glove nnd carefully bring the edges of the tear together, holding the sides In place and pressing the plaster and the glove together firmly. The sticky side of the plaster Is laid next to the glove This will hold the rubber fast and It will wear for many days in spite of the unfortu n ate rant

THE REWARD. Homeward through the murk and gloom of a November evening, through the dank night air and gathering fog, along greasy pavements and over slippery crossings, across the great bridge with the yawning darkness on either side, and down tbe mean streets of southern London, wearily but steadily Mary MacAllister bent her way. Three years of hard work as a typist In a city office, three years of lonely struggle’ with fortune had robbed Mary's cheek of the bloom it boasted when she was nineteen, but still she strode on her way, morning and evening, backward and forward, to and from tbe city, where her work lay, a brave, earnest-minded, steady-eyed woman, a typical figure of London’s women workers. Sometimes for a moment her mind would stray from the dark, close office to the glorious fields and hedgerows which from babyhood she had looked ; upon as hers In time to come. Now and again as she ate her solitary meal In her poor little room In the shabby 1 house In a third-rate street Just beyond "the Elephant,” the memory of the plenty In the old days brought a shadow for a moment, and then the memory of Dick—her Dick—would chase the little cloud away. If Dick could be brave and go away to Africa to win a fortune for her, she would be brave, too. Dick had faced the crash, which four years ago had ruined alike his father and hers, quietly and uncomplainingly. She had refused his offer to release her from her engagement to him, and with mutual I protes’ations of love and fidelity they | had parted—he to seek wealth across i the seas, she to earn her living as best 1 she could In the great world of London. Many a letter from Dick lay carefully folded In her little workbox. J They told of progress, slow but sure, j until—until eighteen months before, ! when the black cloud of war lowered, j and ruin had for the second time in I his young life stopped at Dick Herrick's door. With the first cla r h of arms his employment ceased, the land he had in- ! vested hit* savings in was seized by the Doers, while he himself was com- \ mandeered and Imprisoned as the result of his refusing to fight against his own countrymen. Since then— since she had lived at her present ' address—no news had come to lighten her sorrow, to relieve her anxiety. ****** On her doorstep she met her land- I lady, Mrs. Bird, who had been shop- j ping round the corner. Mrs. Bird was well meaning, bm rather massive, and sometimes more than aggressive. “You are late this evening,” Mrs. Bird asserted, tartly. "Yes—I—1—nm, rather,” nervously | responded Mary: “I was a little behind at the office, and I’ve walked.” “Walked, a night like this! Then you’d no business. S'pose you caught | cold and got laid up?” “The buses were full, and I—I I couldn’t afford a cab, you know,” Mary I answered, smiling gently. “No, in course, though you might do that a night like this if you didn’t go saddlin’ yourself with that foreign fiddler man upstairs.” Mrs. Bird closed the door with an angry little bang as she followed Mary Into the passage. "Oh. hush, please, Mrs. Rlrd; think how 111 the poor fellow has been.” “Ill—course be has, and you, with all you can do tn keep yourself, must ■ go nnd look after him. Nonsense. | that’s what I call It! What do we pay i rates for. and keep up that there pal- | ace round the corner for, If It ain’t for such as him?" “But, you don't understand, Mrs Bird: he Is not a common man; he Is an artist and a gentleman, tt would I kill him to he sent to such a place— I know—rl feel It—just as it would kill me to he sent there. Our cruel fogs have brought him to d--ath’s door, and as he has lain Insensible—up there—delirious, raving—his tongue has told me the tale of h's sunny : home away yonder in Italy, of the poverty which drove him here to earn i his bread, of his music, which is like j life to him. And now—now he Is bet- | ter, be patient still for a little longer. I will give him all the attention I can, and save you as much as possible. The money that Is owing you I will pay, gladly, willingly, a little at a time. See, here Is some that I have earned working late. Take It, and let me have my own way, won’t you? Ah, you will! Thank you, Mrs. Bird! As I tend him and help him, poor fellow, so I pray that a woman’s hand may help the man I love should he need It.” She turned slowly and mounted tho stairs. • ••••• “You are better—ah. I’m so glad. Now, He still, or l shall be angry?” "Angry, you, cara mia! Ah, but no —how can an angel be angry?” Mary smiled “Your Illness has not i made you forget your compliments,” she said lightly. Mary MacAllister had stolen Into the sick man’s room, after taking off her hat and Jacket, and had found him up and dressed and sitting in front of the fire. The firelight shone on his handsome face, so drawn and pale, on his hands, so thin and white Mrs. Bird had during the day given off some of “her views," and Carlo Terrlnl knew for the first time what Mary MacAllister had done for him In the hour of his extremity. "Compliments! What words of mine j can be called compliments, after what yon have done for me?" Mary started. "You know?” “Yes, the good Signora Bird has told me.” '*Th<sn she ought not to have done jo. It is nothing—nothing, I repeat.

And yon must not think of H again, or ’’ She paused and the man looked at her inquiringly. "Or what, Mees MaoAlleester?” "Or 1 shall not be able to come and see you—or—or help you any more. "But," said Carlo, weakly, “1—I do not anderstand. It Is but tho truth. You have saved my life, mia cara mia, 1 must thank you—I must pour out my gratitude to you—from my

soul.”

He stood, exhausted for a moment, and then went on excitedly: "1—l have been thinking of you, longing to see you—take your little hand—so— and kiss It, and let fall my tears as of blood, on it You have saved my life—you have done more—you have inspired me—I have been dreaming a picture of you, as I lay watching the fire, a vision of goodness, so high, so pure, so true, and the melody eame. I heard, somewhere—away, up above me, In God's air, a host chanting your praises; the music they sang was the melody my soul has sought so long. I put it In my work. That work at last will be complete. It will triumph, for none can resist such music as this.” He rose abruptly, with sudden strength. Then he staggered across the room to where a violin lay In Its case. Mary MacAllister uttered a cry, and laid a restraining hand on his

arm.

The violinist took up his Instrument and crept back to his chair. He seated himself and began to play. The girl, seeing remonstrance useless, quietly dropped Into a seat and listened. For a few moments she heard only music she had heard him play before, in days when he was well. Then suddenly her lips parted, and she sat breathless. From the Instrument poured a melody almost unearthly. The man played as If inspired. It was as if voices from another world were speaking. On. on he went— from a paean of praise to a frenzy of passion, from a hurricane of hope to a dirge of despair. And then on again, higher and higher, faster and faster, the liquid melody poured from the violin, with one great overpowering chord of grandeur, the music stopped and the how fell from his nerveless hand, while the musician sank back panHng. exhausted, but triumphant, in his

chair.

So engrossed had be been with his beloved music, so enraptured had been the girl with the marvellous strains that Carlo Terrlnl had evoked, that neither had heard the footsteps that had mounted the stairs, nor seen tho form that now stood In the doorway. Gently tho girl chided the poor violinist for his great exertion, sweetly she b-de him good night and rest, slowly 'je turned from k:m to the door. For e. moment she gazed, as if looking on the dead, then with a cry of passionate gladness she flew to the outstretched arms, crying "Dick!" Downstairs In Mrs. Bird’s front parlor Dick Herrick’s story was soon told. After months of imprisonment at Watervaal he had recovered his liberty, but not his rights. The Dutchman who had sold him the land w-as now In possession of It again, and was disputing his title. Too poor to take the necessary legal action to recover, ho had returned to England as pour as he left it four years before. The next morning Mary, dressed for the city, paid her usual visit to Carlo Terrini before going. She found him very ill. He confessed that he had not been to bed. He had been working all through the long night, writing the music he had composed and played to her Into his opera. “But now, now you have finished,” she pleaded, “you will sleep—and

rest?”

"Tes, cara mia, I will rest—soon —I promise you.” and as the door closed behind her. he added, with a

wan smile, “forever.”

Two hours after she bad gone Carlo Terrini let himself out of the hou^e without a sound and ma .a h!s way to a West End music firm, the head of which was a compatriot of his. After a few minutes talk he persuaded him to listen to the opera, which ho played through without a break. Astonished and delighted, the p«t> Usher Instantly concluded a bargain with him, and Carlo Terrini crept home and fell exhausted on the bed, from which he never rose again. A few hours before he died he gave a letter, sealed, to Mary MacAllister. and whispered her to keep It till he was dead. The day after he was laid to rest Mary MacAllister. remembering the letter, opened ft and read the last words of her dead friend. He had given her the opera which she had Inspired, and which had cost

him his life,

• • • * * *

Two years later Mary Herrick looked down Into the face of her first born. With the money which had poured In on her H<e a golden stre-i-i from Carlo Terrlni's work her busband had fought and won his cause sml was now on his way to becoming a South African millionaire. Wiih opulence around her, a child she adored, and a husband she worshlpp.-d at her side, there was yet a wistful sadness tn her look as she gazed as her little one. Her husband caught her glance, and laid his hand gently

on her shoulder.

“You have something to ask me?"

he said, gently.

"Yes. a little favor, dear." she hest.

tated.

"What could I refuse you? Tell

roe ”

"Let our little one be namedCarlo." \our wish Is mine, dearest. Wb-it better name than the name of that noble soul to whom we owe our all , " —Tamdon Tlt-ElU.

B »

CO0-CK1 a&OQ-O-CC- dOCHtC-OOCVOC « CKH> Henry Helped CSKHKH3<HKKH38KKKKrOCKto “My husband is the greatest, help around tbe house!" declared the bride, proudly and a bit loftily. “Just think: The other day when the table belt was out of order he fixed it himself, and we didn’t have to call in an electrician and pay him a hundred dollar* au hour!" "You poor child!" cried ttie matron who had been married for some time. "What a horrible life stretches out before you! And you are so young,

too!"

"Well, I declare!” sniffed tbe bride. "Yee, and you'll do worse than that!” placidly pronounced the lady who had been married long. "You wdl be hurling your hands heavenward and demanding to be told why suih a fate has been wished upon you! However. it's a failure not uncommon to bridegrooms, this desire to be helpful about the home, and perhaps he'd outgrow it. it may be your blessed good fortune to have him develop into one of those men who wouldn't drive a tack to save the house from tustant collapse, and who wouldn't notice if you kept the washboiler on lop of tho piano and served dinner on oilcloth!" "I think you are crazy!" said the

bride.

"That’s the fate of alt truth tellerR," commented the other. "Why, don't y-uu know that you actually lose money by having a man useful about the house? 1 suppose that when your Arthur fixed that table bell you are chortling about he spent two hours and a half on the job, and you had to roll up the dining-room rug. move all the furniture, incidentally smashing the nut. crystal bowl on the sideboard which jiggled off, and you had to walk four miles aud a quarter bringing him ttiu hammer, the sewing machine screwdriver, some nails, a file, Ihe picture wire and a coal shovel ’’ "No, indeed; Arthur didn't ask for a coal shovel at all!" interrupted iho bride, with very (link rh. eks. "1 don't see how you knew he wanted the oilier things, tho!" “They always want nil tirade 1 *!’’ said the long married lady, "it does not in the hast matter whether a husband is repairing 1 lie Johnnie's toy engine, puttin'; a new rcller on the icebox or fixing a door lock—he always has to have i.io.-e things and the stepladdcr bosh. I'* never by any chance use ; the H'Pladdcr, but he likes io have it handy to look at. It seems to lend him mor.d support, too. Whan he gets to the point in his repair work where ho lias got to vent his helpless rage at inanimate ihings either by sweari . , or nz making people step around lively, li* always yells for somebody to brina him the stcpladder! "He feels busier and more fftectivr, too, if he can spill a pint ot tacks and | a pound of nails all over the I'oor, and a box of those horrible two prosed brads makes him delirious with delight. I remember that 1 used to extract brads from Jimmie in Ins creeping days for weeks and weeks after the fulber had been a help around Hie house and repaired everything. Jimmy got so be thought they grew on him naturally, ami ha objected in surprise at their removal. "Besides, when a man repairs anything it upsets the household machinery lor so long and mrkes thin s i.i inconvenient! I remember jusi a woii ’Jhe time we found the draiu . :n the laundry tubs frozen and tlio w. dice woman due next day. 1 was going downstairs to fix it wben Henry Ic-tp-ed to his feet and told me t > 1» fled. He said that he'd have that pip* thawed out iu a jiffy by using hi* gasoline blow torch he loves to play

w ith.

"The cook and 1 found the blow torch hidden benealh ml the porch furniture in the storeroom and th<n there was no gasoline, so Jimmie had to run five blocks and bring tom*'When Henry filled the How torch some fluid must have run or U aked out, because when ho brought the mutch near the thing burst uflo a \ esuvius of flame and scorched olf nil his eyebrows and the cook s hack hair and 1 ruined a blanket extinguishing them. “Henry emerged from the ci.titlr .ratloa and he said he was going to maifl' that Idauicd torch work or die, so h" took it out on the back steps and caught a cold that lasted six weeksHe finally made the Instrument be have and then ho began thawing th* pipe. When the time arrived that called him to Ids office he had s*d firo to the wood casing twice and melted one pipe completely, and 1 believe the plumber's hill was sixteen dodats, amt we lo. t cu; jguuu 111 the bargain, because she disliked lu* v ' ing her Uaj s work Interfered with in the least. The laundry was a chaos ot plumbers' tools and pipes unJ w i- s *nd things for a week i.ml completely unavailable. The next time in my career when the laundry tubs froze 1 knew bette 1 * Hian to wail In Henry's direction—1 I toured some hot water and salt down the pities and adjusted the difficultyI could t< ll you mary more Mlfet' 1 ' log tales, but tills ought to he enough >f you have a grain of human iutclht!' *.nt e in your makeup!” .goodness!” gasped the b.’id 1 '- It is!" oh, do you .lupposo I •'d*^ Lave a chance to encourage my hu* >and to lie helpless about home?" A woman s^ya there is no pleas’ire in suffering if she has to do it in ndyuce.