Orland Zenith, Volume 2, Number 26, Orland, Steuben County, 2 August 1901 — Page 7

INDIANA INCIDENTS. RECORD OF EVENTS OF THE PAST WEEK. Elopers Win Race from Yount; Worn* an’. Rather Two Yoons Gamblers Killed—Riot in an Indianapolis Park —Town Marshal as Pistol Target. An exciting elopement occurred at Mew Ross, Arthur McLaughlin escaping with his sweetheart, Effie Tipton. The bride’s father. Wilson Tipton, a wealthy farmer, had forbidden McLaughlin to come to his house because the young man treated him to a loaded cigar. The girl met him clandestinely, however, and an elopement was planned from the band concert ft New Ross. A wild chase of over ten miles followed, Tipton finally taking the road for Crawfordsviile at a cross road, while the lovers went on to Ladoga, where they were married. They took a train for Chicago, to remain until Tipton cools down. lie threatens vengeance against every one connected with the runaway.

Crap Game Costa Two Lives. Two young men were killed, a third llangr»e»usJx rujureci.Mua two others badly hurt while playing craps in the shadow of a box car on a switch oli.the Union tracks at Indianapolis. An engine shunted a train into the other end of the switch and the impact drove the car behind which they were playing Over the gamblers. William Westling was killed outright, Harry Armstrader suffered the loss of both legs and an arm, and died shortly after; Pay Pierson had both arms and one foot mashed, and is in a very precarious condition; John Anderson was badly cut and bruised; about the head, and John Mc'Graw lost one finger. All were between 17 and 20 years of age.

Shot in a 'iiot by Boys. y While 10,000 p rsons were crowded under the trees fat Fairview Park, Indianapolis, a riot iroke out between the “Buugaloos,” a local crowd of white boys, and some colored boys. The whites chased the colored boy into the main pavilion, and when, the officers of the park protected them the Bnngaloos" fired several shots and stoned and clubbed the crowd. The officers were powerless for Hwo hours and telephoned to the Governor for a company of militia. Failing to get the Governor, fifteen policemen were asked for and sent out, Charles Daniels, a bystander, was shot through the neck.

Attempts to Kill a Marshal. As a result; it is thought, of his vigorous campaign against the use of cigarcts an attempt was made to assassinate j Thomas Collins, the town marshal, at Flora. As he was patrolling the business district a shot waS*fired at him from across the street. He hurried across the street, but the wound-be assassin had escaped. Collins recently issued an orde6 that any person found smoking cigartK« 0/1 nj.t'n r< t . }<m 1 Co It vul J arrested, and much dissatisfaction has been expressed over the action. He believes that one of several young men who have opposed the order fired the shot.

State News m Brief. LaGrange County has only sunt nine persons to the insane hospital since Jan. 1. David Ray, 76, near Crawfordsville, cut his throat and n rists, but will recover. Graduates of the old Roanoke Seminary. Huntington, will hold a reunion Aug. 29. W. A. Harris, Anderson, caught his foot in a fx'og and it was ground off by a switch engine. Samuel Mace and Samuel Wilson were .injured by the fall of a bridge near Brazil. Mace may die. Harry L. Waldon, Wawaka, stepped in front of a Lake Shore train and was instantly killed. He was divorced a few weeks ago and was despondent. Howard McGaughey, in the Jeffersonville reformatory, was about to be released by the board, but tobacco was found on him, and be will have to slay three months longer. Frank Reed, the aeronaut, made a trial ascension with a new balloon at Marion and the cut-off of the paraehute failed to work. He was suspended 3,000 feet in the air for two hours, when the hat air escaped from the balloon and lie returned to the earth safely. John A. Hinsey, former president of the endowment rank, K. of P.. whose resignation has been accepted by the supreme lodge, was at one time marshal of Laporte, where he gained notoriety over the escape of a crook who was charged with robbing a safe of $9,000, State W. C. T. XL, in session at Lake Winona, elected these officers: President, Mrs. Mattie Gibson, Jonesboro; vicepresidents, Mrs. Jennie Erwin, Bourbon, and Mrs. A. H. Daifb, Goshen; secretary, Mrs. Julia Overman. Marion: treasurer. Mrs. M. A. Tompkins, Elkhart. Louis Roehrie, 30, and Wilhelmina Rouff, 60, were married in Columbus. They were to marry three years ago, and the bride gave Roehrie $900 with which to get a license. He and the money both disappeared for a time, but he returned and they patched up their difficulties. The 17-raonths-old child of Mr. and ■si Sidney Mew- of Goshen was riding ■ cab. propelled by the nurse, when from the carrying

\Viiy He, Got Well. The Man with a Clear Conscience bought a pairoif tan shoes with the advent of spring, and, while going home in the street car-, conjured up a mental photograph of himself strolling along the sandy beach of a summer resort with his pedal extremities encased in his new purchase. That night he was taken ill. For four days he contemplated his new shoes with his head on a downy pillow. When he recovered the Man said: “There was only one thing that worried me while I was sick. I couldn’t shoes out of vnrr ’ iad.

Only Requires Nerve. The Forest and Stream says, that nearly every pne has a fear of wild animals. and yet no wild animal will tight unless wounded or out off from all apparent avenues of escape. All animals will try and escape if given a chance. This fear is kept up by all sorts of bear, wolf and snake stories, most of whi«b ar-* magnified to make heroes of hunters. There is more danger from natural causes in a visit to wild animal haunts than from the animals. There is more danger of slipping off a precipice or falling into a river than from being hurt by a bear or a wolf. Manymore people have been killed by lightning than have been,run over by stampeding buffalo herds, or killed by wounded grizzly bears; or by all the other animals of the prairie put together. One might almost say that more people have.been struck by falling meteorites than have been killed by panthers or wolves. And yet from day to day the newspapers continue to print bear stories, catamount stories, and wolf stories, and probably they will do so until long after the last bear, catamount and wolf shall have disappeared from the land.

You make it up with Julia, and marry her, us you're bound to do. Of qourse you will manage all her money when you are her husband, as you will be. Now you know all.” "But I don’t know all,” I replied; "and I insist upon doing so before I make up my mind what to do.” For two hours I was busy with his accounts. Once or twice he tried to slink out of the room: but that, I would not sutler. At length the ornamental clock on his chimney piece struck eleven, and he made another effort to beat a retreat. "Do not go away till everything is clear,” I said; “is this all?” "All?” ht repeated; “isn't it enough?" “Between three and four thousand pounds deficient!” I answered; “itIs quite enough.” “Enough to make me a felon,” he said, "if Julia chooses to prosecute me.” “I think it is highly probable,” I replied; “though I know' nothing of the law." “Then you see clearly, Martin, thefe is no alternative but 1 or you to marry her, and keep our secret. I have reckoned upon this for years, and your mother and I have been of one mind in bringing it about. If you marry Julia, her affairs go direct from my hands to yours, and we are all safe. If you break with her she will leave us, and demand an account of my guardian Y m l r tnamc and ipine will be branded in our own island.” “That is very clear,” I said sullenly. "Your mother Would not survive it!” he continued, with a solemn accent. “Oh! I have been threatened with that already,” I exclaimed, very bitterly, “Pray does my mother know of this disgraceful business?” “Heaven forbid!" he, cried. “Your mother’is a good woman. Martin; as sim’ple as a dove. You ought to think of her before you consign ns all to shame. Poor Mary! My poor, poor love! 1 believe she cares enough for me still to break her heart over it.” ' , "Then i am to be your scapegoat,” I said. ’ ■ TYpu are my son." he answered; “and religion itself teaches us that the sins of the fathers are visited on the children. I leave the matter in your hands. But only answer one question; Could you show your face amongst your own friends if this were known?” I knew very well I could not. My father a fraudulent steward of Julia's property! Then farewell for ever to all that hadimade my . life happy. 1 saw there was no escape from it—I must marry Julia. “Well,” I said at last, “as you say, the matter is in my hands now; and I must make the best of it. Good night, sir.” (To be continued.)

CHAPTER rX. My father stood motionless - for a moment. Then slowly he sank i no a chair. "I am a ruined and disgr*e< 1 man,’.’ he said, without looking up; “i you have broken off your marriage w lx Julia, I shall never raise my head ag in.”' “But why?” - I asked uneassi ' t “Come down into my consulting .room,” he said. X went on before hit, carrying the lamp, and turning rourt! once or twice saw his face look gr«h, and the expression of it vacant and tripWed. His consulting room was a lu.vurio.4s, room, elegantly furnished. He sank down into an easy chair, shivering as it we were in the depth of winter. “Martin. X am a ruined min!” he said, tor the second time. “But how?” I asked again, impatiently. “I dare not tell you,” he criifa, leaning his head upon his desk and sotting. How white his hair was! and how aged he looked! My heart softened and warmed to him as it h&d not done for aars “Father!” X said, “if yof can "T ■*■»<>_ you can trust me. If yov ruined and os» S raced I shall l e the * as your son.” '»*,,• - —*4 ■ * “That’s trrie,” be answered, k tfue! It will hung disgrace on yy your mother, shall be forces Guernsey, where she has lived . life; and it will be the death 1, Martin, you must save us all by 11 it up with- Julia.” e “But why?” I demanded, one* “X must know what you mean.”/© “Mean?” he said, turnng upc grily, “you blockhead! mear less you marry Julia I slall ha an account of her propety; a: „„ not make all square, not if I r. Stick and atone I possess” I sat silent for a time tryi ™ in this piece of informtion. ™ been Julia’s guardian eve sin tfl left an orphan, ten yearsold; y»J never known that there ad wo J formal and legal settlemet of when she was of age. Or ft had no blot upon itt it -as S .post honored names in e is if this came to light, tin tbjp,. would be dark indeed. ere “Can you tell me all alit it “It would take a lougime ki "and it would be ■ deucof n C€

CHAPTER IX. I toot care not to reach home before the hour when Julia usually went to bed. It was quite -sain to think of sleep that night. I had soon worked myself up into that state of nervous, restless agitation when one cannot remain quietly in a root*. About one o'clock I opened my door as softly as possible and stole silently downstairs. Madam was my favorite mare, firstrate at a gallop when she was in good temper, but apt to turn vicious now and then. She was in good temper to-night, and pricked up her ears and whinnied when I unlocked the stable door. In a few minutes we were going up the , Grange road at a moderate pace till we reached the open country. It was a cool, quiet night in May. A ’ few of the larger fixed stars twinkled palely in the sky, hut the smaller ones were drowned in the full moonlight. I turned off the road to get nearer the sea. and rode along sandy lanes, with banks ef tuyf jns/cad . ..J hedge rows, whirl were covered - thickly with pale primroses, shining with the same hue as the" moon above them. Now and then I came in full sight of the sea. glittering in the silvery light. I crossed the head of a gorge, and stopped for a while to gaze down it, till my flesh crept. It was-nfft more than a few yards in breadth, but it was of unknown depth, aud the rocks stood above it with a thick, heavy blackness. The tide was rushing into its narrow channel with a thunder which throbbed like a pulse: yet in the intervals of, its pulsation I could catch the thin, prattling tinkle of a brook running merrily down the gorge to plunge headlmig into the sea.

"That’s not true/’ she said sharply. “I’ve known you all your life, and you could not hide such a thing from your mother and me. You are only laughing at me, Martin.” “Heaven knows I'm not laughing,” I answered solemnly; “it’s ©o laughing matter, Julia, there is a girl I love better than you, even now.” The color and the smile faded out of her face, leaving it ashy pale. Her lips parted once or twice, but her voice-failed her. Then she broke out into a short hysterical laugh. "Yen are talking nonsense, dear Martin,” she gasped; “you ought not! I am not very strong. Tell me it is a joke." "I cannot,” I replied, painfully and Sorrowfully; “it is the truth, though I would almost rather face death than own it. I love you dearly,- Julia; but I love another woman better.” There was dead silence in the room after those words. I could not hear Julia breathe or move, and I could not look at htjr. My eyes were turned towards the window and the islands across the sea, purple and hazy in the distance. "Leave me!” she said, after a very long stillness; “go away, Martin.” “I cannot leave*you alone,” I exclaimed; “no, I will not, Julia. Let me tell you more; let me explain it all. You ought to know everything now." "Go away!” she repeated, in a mechanical way. I hesitated still, seeing her white and trembling, with her eyes glassy and fixed. But she motioned me from her towards the door, and her pale lips parted again to reiterate her command.

Was I sorry or glad? I could not tell. It was a reprieve; but then 1 knew positively it was nothing more than a reprieve. The sentence must be executed. Julia came to me, bent her cheek towards me. and I kissed it. That was our usual salutation when our morning's interview was ended. “I am going down to the new i»u~” she said. "I lost a good deni timiv yesterday aurt v make up for it to-day. Shall you be passing by at any tnrrv, Martin?” “Yes—no—I cannot tell exactly,” I stammered. “If you are passing, come in for a few minutes,” she answered; “I have a thousand things to speak to you about.” I was not overworked that morning. The convulsions of Mrs. I,ihou’s baby were not at all serious. So I had plenty of time to call upon Julia at the new house; but 1 could not summon sufficient courage. The morning slipped away whilst I was loitering about Fort George, and chatting carelessly with the officers quartered there. I went down reluctantly at length to the new house; but it was at almost the last hour. Doggedly, but aick at heart with myself and all the world, I went down to meet my doom. Julia was sitting alone in the drawing room, which overlooked the harbor and the group of islands across the channel. There was no fear of interruption. It was an understood thing that at present only Julia’s most intimate friends had been admitted into our new house, and .then by special invitation alone. There was a very happy, very placid expression on her face. Every harsh line

As the sun rose, Sark looked very near, and the sea. a plain of silvhry blue, Seemed solid and firm enough to afford me a road across to it. A white mist lay like a huge snowdrift in hazy, broad curves over the Havre Gosselin, with sharp peaks of cliffs piercing through. Olivia was sleeping yonder behind that veil of shining mist; and dear as Guernsey was to me. she was a hundred-fold dearer. But my night's ride had not made my day's task any easier for me. No new' light had dawned upon my difficulty. There was no loophole for me to escape from the most painfnl and perplexing strait I had ever been in. How was 1 to break- it to Julia? and when? It was quite plain to me that the sooner it was over the better it would be for myself, and perhaps the better for her. How T lav iwopnioir's calls? I resolved to have it over as soon as breakfa.-t was finished. Yet when breakfast cam» 1 was listening intently for some summons which would give me an hour’s grace from fulfilling my own determination. I prolonged my meal, keeping my mother in her place at the table; for she had never given up her office of pouring out my ter and coffee. I finished at last and still no urgent message had come for me. My mother left us together alone, as her custom was. for what time I had to spare—a variable quantity always with me. Now was the dce.i led nioment. But how was 1 to begin? Jnlia was so calm and unsuspecting. In what words could I convey my fatal mealing most geptly to her? My head throb; -d, and I could not raise my eyes to her face. Yet it must be done. “Dear Julia,” 1 said, in as firm a voice as I could command. “Yes, Martin.” But just then Grace, the housemaid, knocked emphatically at the door, and after a due pause entered with a smiling, significant face, yet with an apologetic courtesy. "If you please. Dr. Martin." she said, “I’m very sorry, but Mrs. Lihou’s baby is taken with convulsion fits; and they want you to go as fast as ever yon can, piease, sir.”

seemed softened, and a pleased smile played about her Ups. Her dress was one of those simple, fresh, clean muslin gowns, with knots of ribbon about it, which make a plain woman almost pretty, and a pretty woman bewitching. "I am very glad you are come, my dear Martin,” she said softly. I dared not dally another moment. I must take my plunge at once into the icy-cold waters. "I have something of importance to say to you, dear cousin,” I began, I sat down on the broad window sill, instead of on the chair close to hers. She looked up at that, and fixed iter eyes upon me keenly. I had often ’quailed before .1 ulia’s gaze as a boy, but never as 1 did now. “Well! what is it?” she asked curtly. The incisiveness of her tone brought life into me, as a probe sometimes brings a patient out of stupor. “Julia,” I said, "are you quite sure you love me enough to be happy with me as my Wife?” “I know you well enough to be as happy as the day is long with you,” she replied;'Hire color rushing to her face. "Yon do not often look as if you lovad me,” I said at last. "That is only my way,” she answered "I can’t be soft and purring like many women. 1 don’t care tn»be always kissing aud hanging about anybody. But if you are afraid T don’t love you enoughwell! I wHl ask you what you think in ten yoars’ time.” "What would you say if I told you I had once loved a girl better than I do you?” I asked.

How I crossed that room I do not know; but the moment after I had closed the door I heard the key turn in the lock. I dared not quit the house and leave Letalone in such a state; and I longed ardently to hear the clocks chime five, and the sound of Johanna’s coach wheels on the roughly paved street. That was one of the longest halt hours in my life. I stood at the street door watching and waiting, and nodding to people who passed by, and who simpered at me in the most inane fashion. The fools! 1 called them to myself. At length Johanna turned the corner, and her pony carriage came rattling cheerfully over the large round stones. I ran to meet her. “For heaven's sake go to Julia!" I cried. “I have told her.” “And what does she say?” asked Johanna. “Not a word, not a syllable,” I replied, “except to bid me go away. She has locked frerstQf the drawing room." ram you had better go n j to . gether," she said, “and leave me tiTdeai with her. Don't come in, and then I can say you are not here.” A friend of mine lived in the opposite house, and though I knew he was not at home, I Knocked at his door and asked permission to rest for a whiie. The windows looked Into the street, and there I sat watching the door of our new house, for Johanna and Julia to come out. At length Julia appeared, her face completely hidden behind a veil. Johanna helped her into the low carnage, as it she had been an invalid. Than they drove off, and were soon out of ay sight. By this time bur dinner hour was near, and I knew ray mother would be looking out for us both. I was thankful to find at the table a visitor, one of my father's patients, a widow, with a high color, a loud voice and boisterous spirits, whd kept up a rattle of ‘ conversation with Dr. Dobree. My mother glanced anxiously ttt me. but she could say little. “Where is Julia?" she had inquired, as we sat down to dinner without her. “Julia?” I said absently; "oh! she is gone to the Vale, with Johanna Carey.” “Will she come back to-night?" asked my mother. “Not to-night,” I said aloud; bat to myself I added,' “nor for many nights to

- i v 1 Jhe fioctor’5 fjiletnma

■By Hesba Stretton

come; never, most probably, whilst I am under this roof. We have been building our house upon the sand, and the floods have come, and the winds hafe blown, and the house has fallen; but ray mother knows nothing of the catastrophe yet.”, She read trouble in my face, a-, cleanly as one sees a thunder cloud in the sky, and she could not rest till she bad fathomed it. I went up into my own room, where I should be alone to thifrk over things. I heard her tapping li/htly at the door. She was not in the habit of leaving her guests, and I was prprised and perplexed at seeing her. a, “Your father and Mrs. are having a game of chess,” she skid, “We can be alone together half an tour. And now tell me what is the mattef? There is something going wrong with you,” She sank down weariediy into a chair, and I knelt down beside her. 1 , ft was almost harder to tell her thit to tell Julia; bnt.it was worse than fseless to put off the evil moment.

“Mother, I am not going to njarry my cousin, for I love somebody elf. and I told Julia so this afternoon. It brokpn off for good now.” She gave me no answer, and I looked up into her dear face v in alarm. It had grown rigid, and a peculiar blue tinge of pallor was spreading over'it. Per head had fallen back against the clair. It was several minutes before she oreathed freely and naturally. Then she did not look at me, but lifted, up her ey»s to the pale evening sky, and her Ups quivered with agitation. 1 “Martin, it will be the deatl of me,” she said; and a few tears stole imi her cheeks, which I wiped away. “It shall not be the death you,” I exclaimed. “If Julia is willing t<~ marry me, knowing the whole truth,.! am ready, to marry her for your sake, mother. I would do anything for yourssake; But Johanna said she ought to be to d, and I think it was right myself.” i “Who is it, who can it be That you love?” • ’ “Mbther,” I said, “I wishijl had told you before, but I did not kn.ty that I loved the girl as I do till I qa vSier yesterday in Sark." “That girl!” she cried. “One of the Olliviers! Oh, Martin, yon m i*! marry in your own class.” "Tiiat was a mistake,” I rfuswered. “Her Christian name is Olivia I do not know what her surname' is.” “Not know even her name.'* she exclaimed. .. %'• ‘ Listen, mother, I said; and then I told her all I knew about Oliyia. “Oh, Martin, Martin!” wailed my poor mother, breaking down again suddenly. "I did so long to see you in a home of your own! And Julia was so generous, never looking as if all (he money was hers, and you without a pe3«! What is to become of you now. my t»y I wish .1 had been dead and in my jra»e before this had happened!” t “Hush, mother!” I said, keeling down again beside her and kissing he f > tenderly;- “it is still in Julia’s haids. If she will marry me, I shall m.irrj ,1k r“’ “But then you will not ueSappy?” she said, with fresh sobs. It was impossible for contradict that. I felt that no oSsery would be equal to that of losing oBria. But I did my best to comfort my ait:u v by promising to see Julia the nltt iy and renew my engagement, if possi; le. "Pray, may I be infontjjal a- to what is the matter now?” broky in a satirical, cutting voice—the voice of m father. It roused us both —my mother t< her usual mood of gentle submission, an i me to the chronic state of irritation whi'll his presence always provoked in mo. “Not much, sir.” I ans-v red coldly; “only my marriage with my oiisin Julia is broken off.” ! “Broken off!" he ejaculated, ‘(broken off!” I