Jasper County Democrat, Volume 16, Number 104, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 April 1914 — Page 7

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THE DEMOCRAT’S CLUB RATES.

Hollowing are a few of the special clubbing rates we have in connection with The Democrat, although we oan furnish almost any periodical published at a reduction over publisher’s regular price. The Jasper County Democrat is Included in each combination named below: Twice-a-Week St. Louis Republic 2.00 The Commoner 2.16 Hoard’s Dairyman 2.26 Breeders’ Gazette 2.50 Indianapolis News (6 days). 4.26 Chicago Examiner (6 days) .. 4.00 Chicago Journal (6 days)... 3.60 Chicago Inter-Ocean (6 days) . 4.25 Chicago Inter-Ocean (weekly) 2.00 Chicago Tribune (6 days) ... 4.26 Cincinnati Weekly Enquirer .$2.00

A Clean Start.

“I’d have you know, in.-dam. that my family has a clean record.' “If it hasn't, my dear Mrs. Climber, it ought to have, since i understand your grandmother was a laundress."— Baltimore American.

Lost Enthusiasm.

“Why don’t you work in your'garden and get an appetiteV” “The appearance of the vegetables in my garden,” replied Mr. Crosslots, “discourages an appetite."—Washing ton Star.

They All Do.

“When you were in Japan did you see any of the beautiful girls one hears so much about?” “No. All the Japanese girls 1 saw looked like Japs.” Chicago RecordHerald.

Undisputed Statement.

, “Do you think it hurts y*»r to smoke cigarettes?” “I know it does. My paw caught me smokin' one the other day. and I ain’t got over it yet.”-Detroit Free Press.

Open Defiance.

Teacher—Willie, if you don’t behave, yourself I’ll write a note to your father. Willie —You do. and you'll mike ma jealous.—Boston Transcript.

Oh, Shucks!

Gabe— What happened to Jones, the fellow who had the itching for political office ? Steve —Oh. lie was scratched at the polls.—Cincinnati Enquirer.

Noncommittal.

“Do you propose to marry?" asked Miss Flitters of young Mr. Bainbridge. “Well. L haven’t proposed yet.” re plied he in a tpne which forbade further inquiries.— Puck.

He Knew.

“What’s most liable to get broke about your automobile?" “The owner.” replied Mr. Chuggiua.— Livingston loanee. i Correspondence stationery from 15 cents a box up, in The Democrat’s fancy stationery department.

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Mrs. Wrandall marveled. “Not bo bad as that!” And she was a murderess, a wanton! ‘‘You are hungry. You must be famished.” “No, I am not hungry. I have not thought of food.” She said it in such a way ihat the other knew what her whole mind had been given over to since the night before. A fresh impulse seized her. “You shall have food and a place where you can sleep—and rest,” she said. “Now please don’t say anything more. Ido not want to know too much. The least you say tonight, Ahe better for—for both of us.” With that she devoted all of her attention to the car, increasing the speed considerably. Far ahead she could see twinkling, will-o’-the-wisp lights, the first signs of thickly populated districts. They were still eight or ten miles from the outskirts of the city and the way was arduous. She was conscious of a sudden feeling of fatigue. The chill of the night seemed to have made itself felt with abrupt,

She Sank to the Floor in a Heap.

almost stupefying force. She wondered if she could keep her strength, her courage—her nerves. The girl was English. Mrs. Wrandall was convinced of the fact, almost immediately. Unmistakably English and apparently of the cultivated type. In fact, the peculiarities of speech that determines the London show-girl or music-hall character were wholly lacking. Her voice, her manner, even under such trying conditions, were characteristic of the English woman of cultivation. Despite the dreadful etrain under which she labored, there were evidences of that curious serenity which marks the English woman of the better classes; an inborn composure, a calm orderliness of the emotions. Mrs. Wrandall was conscious of a sense of surprise, of a wonder that increased as her thoughts resolved themselves into something less chaotic than they were at the time of contact with this visible condition. For a mile or more she sent the car along with reckless disregard for comfort or safety. Her mind was groping for something tangible in the way of intentions. What was she to do with this creature? What was to become of her? At what street corner should she turn her adrift? The idea of handing her over to the police did not enter her thoughts for an instant. Somehow she felt that the girl was A stranger to the city. She could not explain the feeling, yet it was with her and very persistent Of course, there was a home of some sort, or lodgings, or friends, but would he girl dare show herself in familiar haunts? j She found herself wondering why. the poor wretch had not made way with herself. Escape seemed out of the question. That must have been clear to her from the beginning, else why was she .going back there to give herself up? What better way oilit of it than self-destruction. She would advise the girl to leave the car when they reached the center of a certain bridge that spanned the river! No one would find her. . . . Even as the thought took shape in her mind, she experienced a great sense of awe, so overwhelming that she pried out with the horror of it. She turned her head for a quick glance at the mute, wretched face showing white above the robe, and her heart ached with sudden pity for her. The thought of that slender, alive thing going down to the icy waters—ser soul turned sick with the dread of it! j In that instant, Sara Wrandall—no philahthropist, no sentimentalist— I made up her mind to give this erring one more than an even chance for salvation. '"be would see her safely across that bridge and many others. God had directed the footsteps of this girl so that she should fall in with the one best qualified to pass judgment on her. It was in that person’s power to. save her or destroy her. The *

The Hollow of Her Hand

by George Barr M c Cutcheon

Author of “Graustark_T “Truxton Kingretc. ILLUSTRATIONS fry ELtfWCET&TDUNG \ COPYRIGHT-1912-BY GEORGE BARR n^CUTCHEJBB COPYRIGHT ,1912.. BY ..~~ ~~ MEAD £>S» COMPAJfY

commandment, “Thou shalt J not kill,” took on a broader meaning as she considered the power that was hers; the power to kill. A great relaxation came over Sara Wrandall. It was as If every nerve, every muscle in her body had reached the snapping point and suddenly had given way. For a moment her hands were weak and powerless; her head fell forward. In an instant she conquered but only partially—the strange feeling of lassitude. Then she realized how tired she was, how fiercely the strain had told on her body and 1 brain, how much she had really suffered. \ Her blurred eyes turned once more for a look at the girl, who sat there, just as she had been sitting for miles, her white face standing out with almost unnatural clearness, and as rigid as that of a sphinx^ The girl spokei “Do they bang women In this country?” Mrs. Wrandall started. “In some of the states,” she replied, and was unable to account for the tfWift impulse to evade.

“But In this state?” persisted the other, almost without a movement of the lips. “They send them to the electric chair—sometimes,” said Mrs. WrandalL There was a long silence between them, broken finally by the girl. "You have been very kind to me, madam. I have no means of expressing my gratitude. I can only say that I shall bless you to my dying hour. May I trouble yon to set me down ht the bridge? I remember crossing one. I shall be able to —” “No!” cried Mrs. Wrandall shrilly, divining the other’s intention at once. “You shall not do that. I, too, thought Of that as a way out of it for you, but —no, it must not be that. Give me a few minutes to think. I will find a way.” The girl turned toward her. Her eyes were burning. “Do you mean that you will help me to get away?” she cried, slowly, incredulously. “Let me think!” “You will lay‘yourself liable —” “Let me think, I say.” “But. I mean to surrender myself tO“r” “An hour ago you meant to but what were you thinking of ten minutes ago? Not surrender. You were thinking of the bridge. Listen to me now: I am sure that I can save you. I do not know all the—all the circumstances connected with your association with —with that man back there at the inn. Twenty-four hours passed before they were able to identify him. It is not unlikely that tomorrow may put them in possession of the name of the woman who went with him to that place. They do not know it tonight, of that I am positive. You covered your trail too well. But you ipust have been seen with him during the day or the night—” The other broke in eagerly: “I don’t believe any one knows that I—that I went out there with him. He arranged it very—carefully. Oh, what a beast he was!” The bitterness of that wail caused the woman beside her to cry out as- if hurt by a sharp, almost unbearable pain. For an instant she seemed about to lose control of herself. The car swerved and came dangerously near leaving the road. A full minute passed before she could trust herself to speak. Then it was with a deep hoarseness in her voice.

“You can tell me about it later on, not now. I don’t want to hear it. Tell me, where do you live?” The girl’s manner changed so absolutely that there could be but one inference; Bhe was acutely suspicious. Her lips tightened and her figure seemed to stiffen in the seat. “Where do you live?” repeated the other sharply. ,f Why should I tell you that? I do not know you. You —” “You are afraid of me?” “Oh, I don’t know what to say, or what to do,” came from the lips of the hunted one. “1 have no friends, nb one to turn to, no one to help me. You —you can’t be so heartless as to lead me, on and then give me up to — God help me, I—l should not be made to suffer for what I have done. If you only knew the circumstances. If you only kiipw—” “Stop!” Cried the other, in agony. The girl was bewildered. “You are so strange. I don’t understand —” “We have but two or three miles to go,” interrupted Mrs. Wrandall. “We must think hard and—rapidly. Ar 6 you willing to Come with me to my hotel? You will be safe there for the present. Tomorrow we can plan something for the future.” “If I can only find a place to rest for a little while,” began the other. “I shall be busy all day, you will not be disturbed. But leave the rest to me. I shall find a way.”

It was nearly three o’clock when she brought the car to a stop in front of % small, exclusive hotel not far from Central park. The street was dark and the vestibule was but dimly lighted. No attendant was in sight. “Slip into this,'* commanded Mrs. Wrandall, beginning to divest herself of her own fur coat. “It will cover your muddy garments. lam quite warmly dressed. Don’t worry. Be quick. For the time being you are my guest here. You ■will not be questioned. No one need know who you are. It will not matter if you look distressed. You have Just heard of the dreadful thing that has happened to me. You—’’ "Happened to yoij?” cried the girl, drawing the coat about her. "A member of my family has died. They know it in the hotel by this time. I was called to the death bed — tonight. That Is all you will have to know.” “Oh, I am sorfy—” “Come, let us go in. When we reach my rooms, you may order food and drink. You must do it, I. Please try to remember that it is I who am suffering, not you.” A sleepy night watchman took them up in the elevator. He was not even interested. Mrs. Wrandall did not speak, but leaned rather heavily on the arm of her companion. The door had no sooner closed behind them when the girl collapsed. She sank to the floor in a heap. “Get up!” commanded her hostess sharply. This was not the time for soft, persuasive words. “Get up at once. You are young and strong. You must show the stuff you are made of now if you ever mean to show it. I cannot help you if you quail.” The girl looked up piteously, and then struggled to her feet. She stood before her protectress, weaving like

“The Black Pile Is Mine, the Gay Pile Is Yours!”

a frail reed in the wind, pallid to the lips. “I beg your pardon,” she murmured. “I wiir not give way like that again. I dare say I am faint. I have had no food, no rest—but never mind that now. Tell me what lam to do. I will try to obey.” “First of all, get out of those muddy, frozen things you have on.” Mrs. Wrandall herself moved stiffly and with unsteady limbs as she began to remove her own outer garments. The girl mechanically followed her example. She was a pitiable object in the strong light of the electrolier. Muddy from head to foot, waterstained and bedraggled, her face streaked with dirt, she was the most unattractive creature one could well imagine.

These women, so strangely thrown together by Fate, maintained an unbroken silence during the long, fumbling process of partial disrobing. They scarcely looked at one another, and yet they were acutely conscious of the Interest each felt In the other. The grateful warmth of the room, the abrupt transition from gloom and cheerlessness to comfortable obscurity, had a more pronounced effect on the stranger than on her hostess. “It is good to feel warm once more,” she said, an odd timidness in her manner. “You are very good to me.” They were sitting in Mrs. Wrandall’s bedchamber, just off the little sitting-room- Three or four trunks stood against the walls. “I dismissed my maid on landing. She robbed me,” said Mrs. Wrandall, voicing the relief that was uppermost in her mind. She opened a closet door and took out a thick eider-down robe, which she tossed across a chair. “Now call up the officp and say that you are speaking for me. Say to them that I must have something to eat, no matter what the hour may be. I will get out some clean underwear for you, and — Oh, yes; if they ask about me, say that lam cold and ill. That la sufficient Here is the bath. Please be as quick about it as possible.” Moving as if in a dream, the girl did as she was told. Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door. A waiter appeared with a tray and Bervice table. He foi|bd Mrs. Wrandall lying back in a cjialr, attended by a slender young woman in a pink eider-dowp dressing-gown, who gave hesitating directions to him. Then he was dismissed with a handsome, tip, produced by the same young woman. “You are not to return for these things,” she said as he went out. In silence’ she ate and drank, her hostess looking on with gloomy interest. It was no shock to Mrs. Wrandall to find that the girl, who- was no more than twenty-two or three, possessed unusual beauty. Her great eyes were blue —the lovely Irish blue —her skin was fair and smooth, her features regular and of the delicate mold that defines the well-bred gentlewomag_at, a glance. Her hair, now in or-

der, was dark and thick and lay softly abont her small ears and neck. She was not surprised, I repeat, for she had never known Cballis Wrandall to show- interest in any but the most attractive of her sex. She found herself smiling bitterly as she looked. But who may know the thoughts of the other occupant of that little sit-ting-room? Who can put herself in the place of that despairing, hunted creatdre who knew that blood was on the hands with which she ate, and whose eyes were filled with visions of the death-chair? V So great was her fatigue that long before she finished the meal her tired lids began to droop, her head to nod in spasmodic surrenders to an overpowering desire for sleep. Suddenly she dropped the fork from her Angers and sank back in the comfortable chair, her head resting against the soft, upholstered back. Her lids fell, her hands dropped to the arms of the chair. A fine line appeared between her dark eyebrows—indicative of pain. For many minutes Sara Wrandall watched the haggardness deepen in the face of the unconscious sleeper. Then, even as she wondered at the act, she went over and took up one of the slim hands in her own. The hand of an aristocrat! It lay limp in hers, and helpless. Long, tapering fingers and delicately pink with the retutn of warmth. Rousin herself from the mute contemplation of her charge, Bhe shook the girl’s shoulder. Instantly she was awake and staring, alarm In her dazed, bewildered eyes. “You must go to bed,” said Mrs. Wrandall quietly. “Don’t be afraid. No one will think of coming here.” The girl rose. As she stood before! her benefactress, she heard her mur-i mur as if from afar-off: “Just about! your size and figure," and wondered not a little. * You may sleep late. I have many things to do and you will not be disturbed. Come, take off your clothes and get into my bed. Tomorrow we will plan further —” “But, madam,” cried the girl, “I cannot take your bed. Where are you to “If I feel like lying down, I shall lie there beside you.” The girl stared. “Lie beside me?” “Yes. Oh, I am not afraid of you, child. You are not a monster. You are just a poor, tired—” “Oh, please don’t! Please!” cried the other, tears rushing to her eyes. She raised Mrs. Wrandali’s hand to her lips and covered it with kisses. Long after she went to sleep, Sara Wrandall stood beside the bed, looking down at the pain-Btricken face, and tried to solve the problem that suddenly had become a part of her very existence. It is not friendship,” she argued, fiercely. “It is not charity, it is not humanity. It’s the debt I owe, that's all. She did the thing for me that I could not have done myself because I loved him. I owe her something for that.” Later on she turned her attention to the trunks. Her decision was made. With ruthless hands she dragged gown after gown from the “innovations” and cast them over chairs, on the floor, across the foot of the bed; smart things from Paris and Vienna; ball gowns, B tea gowns, lingerie, blouses, hats, gloves and all of the countless things that a woman of fashion and means indulges herself in when she goes abroad for that purpose and no other to speak of. From the closets she drew forth New York “tailor-suits” and other garments. Until long after six o’clock she busied herself over this huge pile of costly raiment, portions of which she had worn but once or twice, some not at all, selecting certain dresses, hats, stockings, etc., each of which she laid carelessly aside; an imposing pile of many hues, all bright and gay and glib tering. In another heap she laid the somber things of black; a meager assortment as compared to the other. Then she stood back and surveyed the two heaps with tired eyes, a curious, almost scornful smile on her lips. “There!” she said with a sigh. The black pile is mine, the gay pile is yours,” she went on, turning toward the sleeping girl. “What a travesty!” Then she gathered up the soiled garments her charge had worn and cast them into the bottom of a trunk, which she locked. Laying out a carefully selected assortment of her own garments for the girl’s use when she arose, Mrs. Wrandall sat down beside the bed and waited, knowing that sleep would not come to her. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

State of Ohio, City of Toledo, Lucas, County, ss: Frank J. Cheney makes oath that he is senior partner of the firm of F. .1. Cheney & Co., doing business in the City of Toledo, County and State aforesaid, and that said firm will pay the sum of ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS for each and every case of Catarrh that cannot be cured by the use of HALL’S CATARRH CURE. FRANK J. CHENEY. Sworn to before me and subscribed in my presence, this 6th day of (Seal.) A. W. GLEASON, December, A. D., 1886. Notary Public. Hall's Catarrh Cure is taken internallyand ' acts directly upon the blood 1 and mucous surfaces of the system. Send for testimonials free. F*. J. CHENEY & CO., Toledo, O, Sold by all druggists, 75c. Take Hall’s Family Pills for constipation. Buy your correspondence stationery, engraved and printed calling cards at The Democrat office. We carry the largest stock of this class of goods in Jasper county. Call in and see for yourself.

Lower the Cost of Living, j Don’t Use an Ax! ! By MOS 3. lit lA “p owerkdl ' u indeed is the /VjOa*# empire of habit." Avfo) wrote Publius Synm a lon g about aac\»tsj Habit’s the stuff ~A l life is made of. ' "* Yoii get into the habit of eating three meals a day, of a cold plunge iu the morning, of wearing a favorite ' color, of following the business f routine of the office, of talking about the weather, of being a grouch or an optimist. Yes, life is all a habit. A powerful em- j pire, indeed, is habit r~ —, . Habit automatically delves ! many of our problems. TbeWb- | it of forgetting cures auger and | sorrow. The habit of saving prevents Want and misery. The ■ habit of remembering saves j. waste and inefficiency. EFFICI shoppers get the \ ha bit of following the ads. in . this paper closely and intelli- } gently. They know just where 1 they can buy what they want at any time at tip? lowest prices. INEFFICIENT shoppers, loose ' of habit, look up the ads. only when they want something on the spur of the moment, or they even fail to do that. They lose, as a person' of slovenly habits always loses. Don’t use au ax to lower the cost of living. USE HABIT.

priri D nnl(o JjyU flu The Democrat keeps on 'hand a number of legal blank forms, such as are endorsed by prominent attorneys of Rensselaer, Including the following: Contracts for Sale of Real Estate.. Warranty and Quit Claim Deeds. Cash and Grain Rent Farm Leases. City Property Leases. Notices (cardboard) for posting for Road Supervisor Elections. battel Mortgages. Rlease of Mortgage. Assignment of mortgage. Real Estate Mortgages, long or short form. Special price on quantities of 100 or more made up, of different blanks. Price mailed postpaid to any address (cash with order) for any of the above, two for 6c, or 25c per dozen (except long form Mortgages and Grain Rent Farm Leases, which are 60c per doz. or 6c each.)

WE WANT YOU TO KNOW DEMOCRAT - •' •. I Print* the Best HORSE BILLS AND _ CARDS A Large Selection of HORSE CUTS for Different Classes of Breeding Horses.

| JACK HIGH ROLLER. CERTIFICATE OF ENROLLMENT. Sound PURE BRED Jack No. 1059 (Laws of Indiana, 1913, Chapter 28.) The pedigree of the Jack Hi®h Roller. it No. 2336, American; owned by L. L. Colton; P. 0., Pleasant Ridge, Ind.; County, Jasper; described as * marks, black, with m mealy point's; Breed. « il. Jack; foaled In the year April 1906. has been examined in the office of the Secretary of the Indiana Stallion Enrollment Board, and it is hereby certified that the said Jack Is of PURE BREEDING and is registered in she Standard Jack and Jennet Register of America Stud Book. The above named Jack has been examined by Dr. G. M. Funkhouger, i Lafayette, Ind., a duly qualified licensed veterinarian, and Is certified by affidavit to be free from the transmissible unsoundnesses specified as such In the Indiana Stallion Enrollment Law. f SEAL] CHARLES W. HU KM AN. ■ ' . President. c. m. McConnell. ' . . , Vice-President. Not good unless countersigned by . « DO. THOMPSON, Secretary. Dated at Lafayette, Indiana, this 9tb day of March, 1914. We have bought the above Jack. He is 16 hands high, weighs 1100 pounds, has good large bone and comes to U 3 recommended as a good breeder. He will stand the season of 1914 on the farm occupied by us, 3 1-2 miles east of Rensselaer and 1-4 mile west of Pleasant Ridge, at sls to insure colt to stand and suck. Care will be taken to prevent accident's, but will not be responsible should any occur. Owner parting with mare, service becomes due at once.. Product held good for service fee. LON COLTON. Phone 548-B.