Greencastle Herald, Greencastle, Putnam County, 7 January 1922 — Page 2

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THE CREEHCASTLE HERALD

SATURDAY, JANUARY 7. 1922

The HERALD

•BUraa m 8*eoad Claw aaaJl mattai p* th* Graaacastl* Ind, poatofflca Jkarivj J. Arnokl Prepriatei PUBLISHED EVERY AFTERNOON ■ suuUair al 17 and ly U. Jata a«a Straai, Craen-aatla, ind rEl,EPBONK U i 'asda of Thanaa Carat of Tkanka art charr«al>la at a ra« of 90c aadlt.

ubitaartaa. AC #oituar»» ara chargaabla at tba abta of II for aaca obif nry. Adillaaaa. cbarga of be a litw ta aaada tat { »fl poatry

-r -

Y.A1Y or ArrUMATlOX.

Watiirr K'nioial t«> \<*vr Aivlln.s'ion or lower aniimis It not *> i? It** ue» liltuale :r m»rl:r lj ■ ■ troo tba aativa i*nc. No niii walisi ever (io.ibt* that. (Vir «lenih i Hto in loologic.al aarC* ia Tory Kiri* 1 avftn with a!) the ‘ara to hni(al« 'l>e iia*oral environuicut of e«ch :t»* The sa’iio Jsw fcohis as io loan. The <h a rat ter* ho hits developed tn any onn lo:iilit> make h!m atijitaied io that phii'e t.erf 'o no other. Nature ia not ni,< h n atapid worl.niuii as to ■oahe l ue>p differeneea for no ptl»l>ose. The only way '<> rurvive in a umt climate is to find out what Is Injurious and then Riiaril ;.%iwt>3l ii ihal Is, tr> to ircltate ibt: normal e\islronmont. ft hits hern discovered that most •f the past mortality was due to infections, and therefore modern sanitation stepped tn to reduce the death rata to a point but very little different from tiin; »t. home. As a matter of fact the dostth rate of Arnericnns In the Philippines should be far less 'ban fn th I nited States if the ofB «ials *lo their duty by the sick— - md tbhm hom.y as soon as It is found that recovery is not probable in the tropics. Washburn shows that the sick snd Aeath rates of Ainerie-.tr. steadily decrease year by year of nsider. e. end calls it acclimation. It is probably flic survival of the most r* t•nt—the o: tiers went home or di ■! He also thinRS that tin lar-at death rwe in campaigns is innltablc 'tid larari&bla. but it does uot seem io have resulted from the late .l.»;»aue>** invasion of Matn huria at least so fnr as we have heard. When it does occur In the troplis It Is pnrliy due to * xpoaure or climatic adversities, which in 1>.* avoided In garrison life. He eor.- • Indes that tropical sieKness is par ly duo to immorality and failure to observe rules of health. Both ai - ► ations will he resented by many tru n who have come horn** mote or 1* s*-- t wrecked in health In spit: of thei*morality and < are.—American M- ditine.

Itnbbit's It* ftis* - troru Mux. That the instinct of at If-prev . atlon is no confined to thr human race is evident from many Instances tn tbu experience of luinw ; s in he north woods, s;.. s tho St. Paul Despatch. tri-orge Brown, n trapper in the Tnhquainenon Klvcr countr.. i> - latrs the fact that whil > .-'-ated in hi. tent one evening at dusk, there wr." a sudden commotion th" eprr; me, ntid In poppi 1 a rabbit. Behind ti a rabbit In hot pursuit, catne another snlmal, wl lch fairly -.hot down the snow incline into tin n This . aicial proved to I o a lynx. For a nionicm It did not dawn upen the lynx that It had been < aught In a suare. and tin a it jumped to the opposite side of the tent and to .an to claw the canvas and snarl. By this time the trapper had grabbed a club and was ou his feet. The light that followed was lively and how he managed to doily-- the lj nx and ah o hit It In the semi-darkness is. lie uays. a mystery, but it was not lung before the lynx was stretched out lifeless. The hunter came out of the encounter wi'h a few scratch u and In the meantime the rabbit es< uped. (■■-owing Tomato Ph.iit* The largest tomato plants in the world are found in Falifornia. one grower has three plants which have reached a length of thirty feet In three months from the 'ime the seeds were planted, says What to flat, they had climbed to the top of a twenty foot trellis. When they reached this remarkable height they grew backward until they attained a keagib of thirty feet. They have no special care or cultivation and have had no protection from the weather; yet in spite of every disadvantage ihey kept ou growing fiulting in the most astonishing fashion. The trunks are one and a half Inches In dlamet"r, the foliage thic.’. snd luxuilant. Knormous quantities •? tomatoes have been picked from these three plants, ,-nd the fruit Is of juutisua 1 size, pie ‘“.sing fine flavor

Saloons Closed on I’mJ Hay. In Norway on pay days saloon* are closed and savi . s banks open wntll midnight. Servant girl* hire for half a - ear at a time by cottra' at public registry office* There n* a talegniph box on every stree car. One writes the niemage puts ou 'he sight number of stamps and drops 1 In tin* box. Farmers can hot row money from the government at 3 *»or cent. There are practically no ilUtera'en. The average wage euruiogH are $88 a year. There are more reindeer than hor"'s. more vhei p than cow-

The Doll

u «V 1 " —»« ~»Q lie had more tin roldiers than he war able to count, he had a drum and a bat and ball, a fire engine with real liells on it. marbles and a black lamb I but made a loud ' baa" when he w agged its hesd. But he didn't have a dull. Ever since be could remember Norman had wanted a doll. From Die time when be saw. the lltt <“ girl in the train bugging tbe baby to her be wanted to have one for bis own. lie bad been with bis Aunt Martha at the time, and bad naked: "What is that, tisu t a really baby. Is It?” "It's a doll." she had replied, and ( be had said no more at the time. But i later, when tbe family was alt assem- f bled he had remarked with irrelevancy: I "Mother, I wisht 1 hud a doll.” "O. little sissy, little girl boy!" his; aunt had returned. "The idea of aboy wanting a doll. They're only for girls.” And she bad laughed, at him. ; Norman hated to be laughed at worse _ than be bated anything else except to be called a little sissy, and be said no more about the doll. But the fact that be said nothing did uot prevent his thinking about it. When he went over to the park where (he children played he would look wistfully at the little girls wiib dolls, and wonder why dolls weren't made for boys. too. One day lie thought that if he had a doll nobody would need to know, he could go back behind the bushes where there wasn't anybody, and play to his heart's content. But how could he get a doll? He would have to ask for it, and then they would all know. Norman was out In the front yard, playing store with red sand and pebbles and grass, and a beautiful pair of scales that his father had broug.it him the night before. He had weighed out and measured innumerable tiny packages of sugar and coffee, tyinc ihem up in great leaves from the maple tree under which be was playing. He had delivered to many par'•els to his mother in the kitchen that -he said she wouldn’t need anything more from the store for two weeks. Then he decided to take s-otne ri* and some dandelion slems, over to the neighbor's house. She must need something from the store. He craw ed through a hole under the hedg< and started around to the back porch next door. Half way around he stopped in amazement. There was a strange little girl sitting there, a little girl with tight pigtails and a pretty blue dress, He turned to go back, then he thought that she would be a good one to buy at his store. He hurried on down the walk,' and when he was quite near her he hailed: "Missis! Want anything from the groceries to-day? Uot fine things today. lady!” The little girl held up her finger warningly, ami beckoned him to come closer. "Sh!” she said in a loud whisper. "The baby's asleep there; you’ll wok*her up if you talk so loud, and it took me so long to rock her to sleep today; sh<- isn't feeling good.” She pointed with a plump forefinger to a pillow on the chair behind her. Norman approached on tiptoe, went up the steps of the porch, and over to the rocker. There, sound asleep, was the most beautiful doll he had ever imagined. She bad tight sunny little curls all over her head, her cheeks were as pink as the lovely ribbon at her throat and she had such a pretty dimple in her chin. Norman drew in his breath sharply with delight. That was a doll! He turned to the little girl and asked in a low voice, so as not to disturb the sleeper, “Where doesn't she feel good?” "1 don't know, ’zactly,” returned the dollle's mother. "But she didn't want to go to sleep a hit, and I had to walk up and down, and rock her and every time 1 thought she was asleep and went to put her to bed, she cried.” "Boor doll!” commented Norman softly. "Oh. you mustn’t say doll! She’s a baby, and her name's Ruth. My name s Bessie. What is your name?” "My name Is Norman ('.ray. I live over there; where do you live? I never saw you before.” "I live in the city. I just came here to see my Aunt Beatrice. Do you— Oh! I’ve been talking too loud, .ind I’ve waked up the baby.” Bessie leaned over and picked up the doll, carried it to her breast and began to croon gently, "Hushaby, Baby, Hushaby, Baby!" The doll's eyes closed again, and Norman thought she was asleep. "Let’s play house," he suggested. "You can be mother and I’ll he father, and we can both take care of the baby." Norman longed to lay his hands upon the doll, but somehow he didn't like to ask. He was afraid that Bessie would think he was a Assy boy. The doll seemed to snuggle right into Bessie's neck, and Norman suddenly felt lonesome. It was almost as though he was jealous of Bessie. "Yes," the little girl answered bis question. "I like to play house. Where will we play?" "Let’s go over on that porch. Nobody lives there, and we can have our house all to ourselves.” Norman pointed to a new house across the street "You stay here and mind the baby,” ordered Bessie, "and I’ll fo in and get her -Mothes. She’s only got her night gown on now, and she might get col*i If took her ovor Mat way. 1 coutrtn * bcinc her carriage v 1th ue. so I’ll have to c 1 it/ her,"'

It w»« on the tip of Norniar.'* tongue lu t-av : "Oh. let nit- carry her i.tr you," but ljt-,sie didn't give him a « hatM-e.' 1 for, with a final warning nut t» make any noise or to touch the baby. -He disappeared in the doorway. The hoy viooii absolutely still watching the doll after she had gone. It was the first time he had ever been m> i-io«e to a doll, and they were Inlinite'.y lovelier dose at hand than from a distance. He put out bis hand, the temptation to touch the velvety cheek 1 ' was too strong. Then he - upped. Suppose she sbou d waks • iti and began to cry. Bessie would know that he had disobeyed, and she might not be willing to play with him after that. lie deliberately turned his back on Ruth: it was easier no; to touch if he did not see (be doll vine, so wonderful, before him. When Bessie came out she carried a w hole armful of clothes, which she transferred to Norman. Then she returned and a moment later brought out a miniature blanket, which she hollowed in the curve of her arms. Into the hollos went the baby, and Bessie tucked the edges of the cover well around her. At the last moment Norman remembered bis express wagon; it Would be fine tu carry the clothes in that, and afterward it would make a good bed for the baby. lie ran home and soon came back with U. Then the little family went to take up its quarters on the piazza across the stre-t. A pile of hoards in the corner made a good (lining room table, the express wagon by the steps was the b* droom and under it Bessie‘carefully folded the baby's wardrobe, “it’s night time now," Norman said, "and we've all go* to sleep while the baby does. That step is your bed, and this is mine.” He stretched himself out on the bottom step, and Bessie lay down on th* step next to the top, where the baby's bed stood. She pushed the wagon back and forth a few times, explaining that the baby always had to have the cradle rocked before she would sleep. Then tbe whole family slept Tt was only a moment that Norman was quiet. After that he opened first one eye and then the other, yawned mightily and sat up. "My goodness' It's morning!” he exclaimed. "Mother! Get up! It's time for breakfast.” Bessie sat up, and rubbed her eyes "So it is!” site cried. "It must be & o’clock.” "It's time to dress the baby, isn't it?" asked Norman. Bessieaitodded her head. "I'll do it now,” she said. She lifted tbe doll from her bed, the doll's eyes opened wide, and for the first time Norman saw that they were a deep, pure blue. That was just die right color for eyes to be. The nightgown came off, and Norman had a fleeting glimpse of a plump, pink bodybefore Bessie had slipped some dainty white clothes over the curly head. Norman thought that nothing was ever so lovely as the doll when she was all dressed. She had tiny red shoes and socks, a white dress with red bows on the shoulders and a red sash. Bessie tied a mite cf a red bowon the side of her head, and, as a finishing touch, she printed a sounding kiss on the doll's chubby face. Norman had stood watching in sile.ice. Now he spoke. "What are we going to have for breakfast, mother?” he asked. “Eggs.” replied Bessie, of course, and coffee and bread. But 1 have to make the beus before I make the breakfast. Papa, will you hold the baby and I’ll make them now." Would he hold the baby! Would he! He held out his arms In silence. He was too happy to speak. "Y'ou can take her for a little walk, and bo careful not to let her fall, she might be killed,” warned tbe little mother. She snuggled the baby under her chin for a moment, kiased her, and held her out to Norman. The doll rested awkwardly in his unaccustomed arms. "She doesn’t know me yet," he apologized to Bessie, as he walked down the path. He held the doll pressed tight against him. Somehow she didn't fit the way she did into Bessie’s neck. He lifted her a trifle higher, so that the doll’s cheek rested against his own. It wasn’t warm and responsive as he had expected to find it—it w-as only cold and stiff. She didn't cuddle at all. The tighter he held her the more uncomfortable it was. Something was wrong. He looked into the doll’s eyes and smiled reassuringly, but there was no friendly glance in reply. Suddenly he wished that Bessie would come and take her. It was so much nicer to watch Bessie love the baby than to love her himself. He turned hack to the house and walked very quickly, he who had strolled bo slowly away a few minutes before, it seemed to him that he had gone a great distance. He stumbled up the steps. Bessie had just finished mak ing up the cradle, and was looking down at him. He held forth the doll very gently, but very decisively. "Take the baby, mother, and kiss her.” he said. "Babies like It better to be with their mothers. And it looks nicer, too. I'll go to market and buy tbe breakfast, and you can stay and mind her." Bessie took the doll and brought it up to her breast. She belonged there, she curb ed up softly, and Bessie leaned over and kissed her again. Norman watched her with a feeling different from any he had ever had before. Dolls were b&uttful and lovely—when little girls had them. But they weren’t even nice when you had one yourself. He was grow ing up to be a man. "I'll go and get the breakfast,” he repeated; “maybe mother will give me some cookies. I’ll ask her.” Norman tent down the steps and across the street to procure some breakfast for and the baby.— Dorothy Biddle,

Which Was the Rich Man?

Anthony Forrest, returning to his suburban home after a long and tiring day in the city, was conscious of an unusual sense of weariness and depression. There was no particular reason for it. for thougn the day had been well occupied. Ms events had matched smoothly, and all his undertaking seemed to promise success. New contracts had been signed that

•“rt! did l.e t.'! what pass'd j tt-i-tf- relitlve T» -our own firm?” "O!.. ves: ot- t -rt. me we had be* n | pracilcally wiped out, but I was uot in tho east t tit-prised." "Was he?" . ■ "llargreaves? 1 don’t know. T did | no; inquire. He understood that my j J firm could t-o Maud ag tinsi tb( S'-udi- . i- _ l

Chumming With An Apache

verw. day which would'bring his fti tn ictdfoh* very front rank in their owti particular line, and which would practically stamp out tbe slight opposition w hi< h they bad been doing their best to get rid of for some time. Curiously enough, the man who the signing of the contracts would most seriously affect, had traveled by the same train, and alighted with Forrest at Wimbledon station. Forrest lived at tbe farside of Wimbledon Common, in a palatial home which had little of Suburbia about it: the other man. Paul Cbavasse. lived not. far from the station, in one of a row of neat villas. The reluctance was on Forrest's side, for he knew perfectly well that what had happened that day at tt dirt tors’ meeting in tbe Cannon Street Hotel would mean the practical extinction of the smsller man. He assumed that Chavasse was in ignorance of the prospect in front of hint, otherwise bis greeting would hardly have been so friendly. Forrest wits the older naan and a typical city magnate, large, important, breathing efficiency and success at every pore. The other was a tall, spare man. about forty-six, but looking older, with a face of singular refinement and delicacy, and a smile which invariably won him a place in people’s hearts. Forrest, on the other band, seldom smiled. His fat-e was somewhat heavy and forbidding, though he had good features and a certain dignity just perhaps bordering on pomposity. "Ah, good evening, Mr. Chavasse.” he observed, raising his hat with a slightly punctilious air. “Good evening. You ore walking home; may I have the pleasure of taking the same path? I always have a good walk before dinner, and that is the advantage you have in the breadth of the common to cross." "It is not so good on a Winter morning with the wind due northeast," observed Forrest grimly, but did not say that he would be pleased to have a companion on his walk. Chavasse observed the lack of cordiality in Forrest’s manner, but did not suffer it to damp his spirits, which were very good. Contrary to all Forrest’s ideas of the man, he had veryfew cares, he took life simply and easily, and had not worn his powers threadbare with the strife of competition. “It is a privilege to live out her*especially at the opening of the year," observed Chavasse, breathing the delicious airs of April with a keen enjoyment. "It is fairly good as far as it goes, but I should like to go further out Into the real country. If I could sell my house without dropping too much over It. 1 shouldn’t hesitate a mo ment.” "But it is a beautiful place, and so secluded. It, seems to me you could hardly do better even in t he' country.” Forrest shrugged his shoulders. "After all, it is London, and when n man has been grubbing in that unholy city all day he wants to get clean away.” "I suppose you feel it so." said Chavasse with a slight wonder in his eyes. “Would you propose to retire from active city life altogether then?" Anthony Forrest looked surprised. "Not at all. Retirement is a fatal take for a man, almost at any age. It has shortened more lives than any known disease. No, I shall never retire from city life.” "You like it?” Forrest shrugged his shoulder--. “It has bocomo a second nature. What about you?” Chavasse smiled. ”0b, I am cast in a different mold. I am naturally attached to the country in which 1 was born and if I could afford it I should live there entirely. But I like London, and city life within moderation. The strain of big responsibilities, however, is irksome, and quickly depresses me. 1 have just had what I consider to be a stroke of un commonly good luck this very afternoon.” ”Ab, what is thnt*" inquired Forrest quickly. “I have had the offer of an excellent situation, which will give me a comfortable salary and commit me u* nothing except so many hours of honest work in a day. I shall have no hand nor any stake in the enterprises which will come and go, and be settled without my knowledge or Interference I have accepted It; subject to my wife’s ratification of my promise.” "May I inquire, without seeming rude, where the situation is, ami what is its nature?” inquired Anthony Forrest, still with the same appearance of eager interest. "Why, certaiwly. it is wi'b Messrs. Hargreaves & Butler. In Ensteheap you, of course, know the firm.” “I do; you surprise me very much. They are very exclusive. It is sm lion or to be associated with them, i saw Mr. Hargreaves this morning at a directors’ meeting in the Cannon Street Hotel." "He came to be rftre'tly front that," observed Cba itrse. with a nuMJe.

iTte. and. far a-; tno inembt :•» of I it are loneerned. the dissolution willj I uot make much dlfferem e.” J "You knew this, yet you were | friendly to me. Chavasse. I could hare | prevent.- ! what happened to-day." "Ye., out why should you have prei vented it? You pursue one policy. I another. That we see from entirely I different standpoints need not make tih enemies.” "You seem to know a!! about my policy.” said Anothony Forrest drily. "Would you mind defining it?” "You are a born financier. Mr. Forrest. and one in actual being likewise. Surely that explains everything.” "And your own policy?" Chavasse smiled again, and gave h's shoulders a small, good-natured shrug. "Mine is simple, too. though to you ii might seem complex, or even incomprehensible. I want peace to live. I have a soul as well as a body, and 1 have ton much respect for my soul to throw myself absolutely into the torlex.” Hut it is a man’s duty to do his utmost viterever he is plated. You have it family. I understand," said Forrest quickly. •'Three, till grown up and launched, two of them married, the other going to be next month. None of them are rich, nor ever will he. but they are contented with simple things. There is only myself and my wife now to be considered, and I am certain this news I convey to iter this evening will make her very happy,” "Yet you step from a responsible to a subordinate position! Will jou tell me how much Hargreaves ottered you? I don't put these questions out of vulgar curiosity, hut rather because you i interest me. I have never met anyone i holding quite these views. They are a little unusual.” "Not so rare as you wotrtd think." j said Chavasse. "Hargreaves offered I me five hundred pound, a year, without any prospect of a rise, lie ^as j i perfectly clear on that point. There I will he no speculation or possibility j about it; that is why it recommends , itself to me.” "Five hundred a year! It Is not j much. Can you live comfortably on i | that? I spend in my family not much j short of five thousand, and do not”-— j he hesitated a moment, and then added with bitterness, “do not get ver much happiness, and certainly re peace out of it.” "YVe shall save on five hundred, : have something to give away,” plied Chavasse. "It is all a matti individual taste, of what constitutes one’s ideas of the actual necessities of life.” "To-morrow is Sunday, Chavasse; may 1 take the liberty of inviting myself to your house, about four o’clock in the afternoon, to a t up of tea?" "Most certainly. It will givo us the greatest pleasure, more especially as none of the children will be with us to-morrow, through an usual combination of circumstances. Sunday is their day. They come early and leave late; all of them and the ’in-laws’ seem to find the old nest as acceptable as our own children. Thank God, we are all very happy together. It is my dear wife that has done that. She is the home-maker. I must go back to her now, and rejoice her soul with my news.” They stood still, neither noting that they had arrived at the moment of the imposing gateway of Tudor Lodge, the residence of Anthony; Forrest. A carriage swept through the gates in front of them, and a handsome, j richly dressed woman gave a sllghtly superdlious bow, as both men raised their hats. "That is my wife. Chavasse. and she is, unfortunately for me. not a homemaker. I have had many ambitions In my life, and have realized a goodly share of them, but I realize at this moment that, as far as personal happiness is concerned, the unambitious man is miles ahead of me. 1 would give the half of my ineotne now for jour quiet peace of mind.” Chavasse was at a loss what to say to this strange speech. He merely looked sympathetic and shook very warmly the hand offered to him. Then he retraced his steps somewhat slowly across the common. He was not so absorbed but that simple things on the way gave him a particular joy; a little clump of yolden bloom on a sheltered breadth of gorse. the ambitious fern fronds bursting into newness of life, the unblown tluffo dills in a neighbor’s garden -when he reached the little suburban terrace all these thing.-; were observed, and added to the sum of his content. A sweet and still youthful face above the window blind at the sitting-:ootu window brightened at his coming, and w beu she opened the door, and he closed It again quickly, be suddenly took her in bis arms, "Why, Paul, whence this- this most loverlike manner?" she asked, with a little smile of coquetry that was whol- ! ly sweet. "Bless my Lucy," he said, in rnth-i a fu!! though quiet ' oice, and altno;. irutn di; ;e:y repented in a mu-.ir.r voice the words he* hud read that very 'uti.nlng at.fare. 1 * prayers bt lore in o', ihr house: people shall divel! in u poavr 'b c ua b! Tilt ion. and in sue d-.-t .‘ins,tel 'ti quiet 're*:!ag places" gain "Bieseed a**» ye th; -. • i,t. title j ; ,\:ft " '.tatbl I.y'all, in k.;l* \ At V. !y .

Never go chnnanifng with tm Apache. Y'ou sroPs a? such strat'ge advice? Well, 1 might bare nuileil at it out e my self. But * e are "l

of circumstance, anu I tenderfoot then, anyway.

rreav. f - ;

This is

how I chummed It with mj little lu-

dian:

I was swinging tuy red-auil'L.t clubs under the pepper-tree ;<■ the hack of the railroad station. Tills I did because I bud a theory that exercise was good lor n uihu living on a desert. The lazy Mexicans, and tro-t of the Americans thereabo its. had no ruddy glow on their faces. I hej v.cte all sallow. What I wanted wa*- a rud-

dy glow.

My rcd-and-blne clubs circled about very prettily thai day, and the ruudy glow came: also a dripping epidermis

in the

ont of here, or 111 take a stlelt

you!"

Then arose a yieat howl froai Ta,',, ' end fie kept on howttng until Apache woman came over the aai),-.. from tbe wickiups and gathered hia up in iter urir«. She was his inothcSite eyed me suspiciously and walked awa; with bet highly demonstratit,

burden.

Of course ! regretted my hut lat.. k-i.-.h*' and wanted the little i>t;i(>, ; - back again. It was so lonely there u ft the desert. The wires wailed so heartbrokenly, while the sun b»at down . MV fiercely in the daytime and the coyote, yelled so dolefully at night. How h* had crept into my heart, to he sure; ft was fcterul days before "re vreiou satisfactory term* again. Tiitis kiatiitti to he a white man. He waned to make "talk marks” oc “puppet" with a feather I sometimes used t q.dil pen. fie ii remarked- and i wanted to spe-tk with his fins r. \Ve| I did manage to teach him a few letters from a railroad posrer. and I - 1 learned to drawl out “T-a-d-s” in „ droll way. YY’ith perseverance tp w.j> realiy startling, ! afterward toe him in an uncertain way through page or two of ‘I’aD you sre the fa; ox." and so on, wherefore Ins lu Mi-

ami a big desire to sit down

shadt of the pepper-tree and b’"'’- I was glad.

• I’ll l*e w-'ite want, heap sure,” hdeclared in bis bullfrog voice, aft* ,» had accomplished this womlerf

tobacco smoke. The tres was a small one. When the station tank ran over which wag not often, its roots recoLe.t a little moisture. So it grow, slowly. Ah soon as I dropped my clubs ti .squeal of disg is! vreut UP from * mifv. here. and. u» 1 turned about. 1 -:iw ■j small, brown head dart behind a cactur.- i.ied rock. 1 said noih’ng, but leaned ba.-U on my scat, pulled ray sombrero down oxer my face, and shammed sleep, with one half-closed eye on the rot V. and the hiu t r<< tus-shrubs. No use. Y’ou can not get an Apache out. o. s little that. way. Next day, with rny beautiful cv i-ci-e theory still bristling in my brain, I turned quickly, xvbile in the midst of my club-swinging, and sow the wideopen eyes and gaping mouth of tin cunningest little savage I hail ever beheld. He sprang about and lied he hind the rock, bn' not too quickly for me to read "XXX Family Flour" in large red letters on his back. His one short garment was a cotton sack, with holes cut through it for his head and arms. "Come, Tads.” I cried, christening hint in that lleetitg second with c ntt t* that stuck to him all his life, "o of that!" And I jumped behind t’ (K-U, swinging an open hand thai • riot grasp the Hour-sack, as I find tied it should. x here was the wee savage? : ike a lizard, lie had darn-d from somewhere In that little patch -i.-ks and cactus, though there did appear to be cover enough there nnceiil a jack-rabbit. Ue spines must scratch him,” 1 ht, as 1 looked at the prickly t . ,s; but I did not know then how Apaches put up xvlth small irritations. Not wanting to give the boy unnecessary torture, I went In- to my clubs Throwing my eyes abo^ '• caught another fleeting glimpse t < brown head as It dodged behind the

rock.

Tads must have been disappointed next day, for there wits no club-swing-ing under the pepper-tree. The duties of telegraph agent lay too heavily upon the desert. I saw Tads s'eal away from his lair about txvo hours after my usual exercise time and walk down the sanddrifts with a dejected air. his one garment (lapping in the hot wind. A wild nature like his was proof against such snares as the toothsome confection, the golden orange, or the mealy peanut I found that out. by trial in the course of the next week. But an old jack-knife won him over. That was something bis Apache mind could grasp. It was a greater delight to him than the red-.ind-blue clubs. Sworn friends from that day were Tads and I. His talk v as a ridiculous mixture of English, Spanish and Apache, and his voice was very throty. But I understood him. Indianlike. he said little, it was, therefore, easy to get along with him. He would sit for hours on a high stool, listening to the "tunk-tunk-tunk” of my sound-, er. The telegraph was an awful mystery to him at first, nmd it squelched his imagination; but he solved the problem at last. A man away off over the mountains spoke with bis finger to me and I spoke hack to him.

feat.

Great distress racked Tad s sou! ot* tbe fan I day xthen the wickiups irei taken down unci the tribe mounted i mustiitigs to go over the bills. Tbe Apaches had to saarch all over tts station to find Tad*. At hist, tit* > baufi <1 him forth from under my bunl screaming like mad. Of no avail tret his screams, of no ax ail was his er> Me yantt-r stay xxld him! Me yanu be v.’ite m. ns’'* Apache p:ipa« are unbending an Apache mammas are inexora>b)e. Awu-, they whisked Tads, leaving behir., him i t iiderfooL with a queer feelin, in his throat. — "Well, the boy has the instincts c* a xvbite man," 1 said, ior 1 was proti of what I funi ieo I had made of bln "and he’ll be a shining light anion/ those devilish people of his. If we hat a few more like him to put among them, file Apache question would settle itself, nid we could set our so'diers to hoeing com.'’ Then I to d up the restless life of city man, and big and busy railroac office claimed a good share of my at tontion for the next ten years. Y'es. i was fully that long before I again set foot upon the desert. Our trap stopped at the old station. How th-pepper-tree had grown, to be sure. Itits shade sat a cavalry sergeant wit;a half-dozen of his men about him and in their midst were three Indiat. prisoner*, who were being taken t the fort to be rhor. They were fierce-looking fellow/ those three savage*. There was one. the youngest, who was a perfet ’ demon, the soldiers said. ‘‘‘Killed three xvom-n and two babies down at Mustang Wash la" "I’.esday," said tbe sergeant to nitust after one of th*-m had given hln ts breakfast, too. He’s a young one, t.ot more than seventeen, ! shoiilo say; but he’s the worst red devil i ever saw." Gazing at the boy captive, a strange feeling stole over me. The stolid face xvas oddly familiar. “His name? Blessed if I know,” said the sergeant; "what do you cal yourself, young one?” he asked, giving hint a not too delicate poke with tin toe o? bis boot. 'Me? Why, my name’s Tads!” grunted the boy. “Talks pretty good English for a wild devil who ha« been over tbe Mexican border so long, doesn't be asked the ? rgeant, turning to me. But I said nothing.—Frank Bailey Millard.

The Era of the Waterfalls. One of the most notable things in the rapid march of mechanical sclenc is the increasing use of waterfalls fo

the production of electric power. Tltiis going on in all parte of the wor I. and has resulted in an enormous in crease in the money value of the falls. Some one has estimated that Niagara Falls, as a producer of power, L worth $1,000,000,000. Waterfalls an now driving tram-cars, lighting cities running ractories, Irrigating farms am performing innumerable other setvicee, often at a distance of muu'miles from the source of power. Italy

1 hat was his idea of It. and it was not I abounding with waterfalls on tin-

such a bad one. either. The hum tnings of tbe wires overhead were the voices of people with poudrous lingers, but they were not of this world. How the coxvboys laughed when they saxv Tads and me in the station. "That tenderfoot’s a queer one,”

they said of me.

The despised Apache could not crawl into thoir hearts—no, not even If he were a nix-year-old. "He’ll steal everything the tenderfoo’s got,” they pleasantly averred.

But he did not.

When Tads left the station of an evening, his little brown feet patter.-.i straight over the roods to the wiek’upc. a half-mile away. In time h<- wore

a narrow trail over to the hums.

"Bitty veil." was what Tads wou.d grunt to rue every day when lie came shj-ly into the office and I greeted hit with a friendly "How-de-do?" Tina he v ould slit jg his shoulders in a xv„,v that wrinkled the three X’s Into such bewildering fold- >bat you could not haxe read them up't-*-s you had knot- n

what they v. t-re beforehand

One dav w-uile la- we- lilt tum -c, khout tbe Place. tut !,;,<■ q ;I tly

hiim-e/. he upse

Jars.

'['ails,” i tried, angrily, 11u c», breath v.-f,« hot upon me was Irritating enough, let a I ore- apt fit riel. “yuu’Te a "tile beast! *■

to

bu-tory

slopes of the Alps and the Apennines is among the leaders in this advam •- In India it is proposed to derive 50 01M 1 horse-power from tho Doogh Saga River, at a point where its waters descend about il.bOO feet.

Apple Trees In Tub*. In Germany dwarf standard pea: and apple trees about four feet tall and pyramidal in form are grown in smali tubs for decoration. The tree* bear from ten fo thirty peats or apples which, when nourished with muriate of potash, -ire highly colored and effective both in the blossom and the fruit.

Looked Like a FakeTommy What did you think of th* play "Julius Caesar,” last night? Hilly—Oh, gee! It was a fake. "Why so?” "’Cause, when they killed Julius Caesar and the curtain went down, he (cues ou: and bows to the audience H" wasn’t dead at all!" Old Moneybags is afrtjji; tha 1 piiuce he bought for his daughter <• a bogus one ” “Why so?’’ "When it came to settling up he asked for the pirate's debts, and the [ fellow told him be hadn’t any,”