Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 34, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 November 1901 — Page 2

The Doctor's Dilemma

CHAPTER XXVIII— (Continued.) “My daughter,” he said, “I bade you laaye even your duty in my keeping. Now X summon you to fulfill it. Your duty Bes yonder, by your husband's side in fcis agony of death." “I will go,” I whispered, my lips scarcely moving to pronounce the words, so stiff and cold they felt. “Good!” he said, “you have chosen the better part. Come! The good God will protect you.” He drew my hand through his arm and led me to the low doorway. The inner room, as I entered, was very dark with the overhanging eaves, and my •yes, contracted by the strong sunlight, could discern but little in the gloom. Tardif was kneeling beside a low bed, bathbag my husband's forehead. He made iway for me, and I felt him touch my hand with his lips as I took his place. Richard's sunken, haggard, dying, with filmy dawned gradually out wf the dim twilight, line after line, until 'lt lay sharp and distinct under my gaze. The poor, miserable face! the restless, jdreary, dying eyes! “Where is Olivia?” he muttered, in a (hoarse and labored voice. “I am here, Richard,” I answered, fallItag on my knees where Tardif had been 'kneeling, and putting my hand in his; '“look at me. I am Olivia.” “You are mine, you know,” he said, his Hfaigers closing round my wrist with a igrasp as weak as a very young child’s; ‘“she is my wife. Monsieur le Cure.” “Yes,” I sobbed, “I am your wife, ißichard.” “Do they hear it?” he asked, in a whis(per. “We hear it,” answered Tardif.

A strange, spasmodic smile flitted •cross his ghastly face, a look of triumph and success. His lingers tightened over my hand, and I left it passively in their elasn. “Mine!” he murmured. “Olivia,” he said, after a long pause, and in a stronger voice, ‘‘you always ■poke the truth to me. This priest and lis follower have been trying to frighten lie into repentance, as if I were an old woman. They say I am near dying. Tell aae, is it true?” “Richard,” I said, “it is true.” His lips closed after a cry, and seemed •s if they would never open again. He ■hut his eyes weariedly. Feebly and titlully came his gasps for breath, and he •waned at times. But still his fingers fteld me fast, though the slightest effort «f mine would have set me free. I left aiy hand in his cold grasp, and spoke to fcim whenever he moaned. There was long silence. I could hear the chirping of the sparrows in the thatched roof. Monsieur Laurentie and Tardif stood at the foot of the bed, looking down upon us both, but I only saw their shadows falling across us. My eyes were fastened upon the face 1 should ■oon see no more. The little light there was seemed to be fading away from it, leaving it all dark and blank. “Olivia!” he cried, once again, in a tone of mingled anger and entreaty. “I am here,” I answered, laying my •ther hand upon his, which was at last relaxing its hold and falling away helplessly. But where was he? Where was the voice which half a minute ago called Olivia? Where was the life gone that had grasped my hand? He had not heard my answer, or felt my touch upon his cold fingers. Tardif lifted me gently from my place beside him, and carried me away into the •pen air, under the overshadowing eaves.

CHAPTER XXIX. The unbroken monotony of Ville-en-fcois closed over me again. A week has glided by—a full week. I am seated at the window of the salon, gasping in a breath of fresh air—such a cool, balmy breeze as blows over the summer Bea to the cliffs of Sark. Monsieur Laurentie, under the shelter of a huge red umbrella, is choosing the ripest cluster of grapes for our supper this evening. All the street is as still as at midnight. Suddenly there breaks upon us the harsh, metallic clang of well-shod horse hoofs ■pon the stony roadway—the cracking •f a postillion’s whip—the clatter of an approaching carriage. Pierre, who has been basking idly under the window, jumps to his feet, shouting, “It is Monsieur the Bishop!’’ Minima claps her hands and cries, “The Prince, Aunt Nelly, the Prince!” Monsieur Laurentie walks slowly down to the gate, his cotton umbrella spread aver him like a giant fungus. It is certainly not the Prince; for an elderly, {White-haired man, older than Monsieur (Laurentie, but with a more imposing and (■lately presence,* steps out of the car*t«e, and they salute one another with

By Hesba Stretton

great ceremony. They entered the house and came directly to the salon. 1 was making my escape by another door, when Monsieur Laurentie called to me. “Behold a friend for you, madamc," he said, “a friend from England. Monsieur, this is my beloved English child.” “You do not know who 1 am, my dear?” The English voice and words went straight to my heart. “No,” I answered, “but you are come to me from Dr. Martin Dobree.” “Very true,” he said, “I am his friend s father—Dr. John Senior’s father. Martin has sent me to you,- He wished Miss Johanna Carey to accompany me, but we were afraid of the fever for her. I am an old physician, and feel at home with diseases and contagion. But we cannot allow you to remain in this unhealthy village; that is out of the question. I am come to carry you away, in spite of this old cure.” Monsieur Laureiftie was listening eagerly, and watching Dr. Senior’s lips, as if he could catch the meaning of his words by sight, if not by hearing. “But where am I to go?” I asked. “1 have no money, and cannot get any until I have written to Melbouprne, and have an answer. I have no means of proving who I am.” “Leave all that to us, my dear girl,” answered Dr. Senior, cordially. “I have already spoken of your affairs to an old friend of mine, who is an excellent lawyer. I am come to offer myself to you in place of your guardians on the other side of the world.” I moved a little nearer to Monsieur Laurentie, and put my hand through his arm. He folded his own thin, brown hand over it caressingly, and looked down

“I CAME UPON A GRAVE.”

at me, with something like tears glistening in his eyes. “Is it all settled?” he asked, “is monsieur come to rob me of my English daughter? She will go away now to her own island, and forget Ville-en-bois and her poor old French father!” “Never! never!” I answered vehemently, “I shall not forget you as long as 1 live. Besides, I mean to come back very often; every year if 1 can. I almost wish I could stay here altogether; but you know that is impossible, monsieur. Is it not quite impossible?” “Quite impossible!” he repeated, somewhat sadly, “madame is too rich now; she will have many good friends.” “Not one better than you,” I said, “not one more dear than you. Yes, lam rich; and I have been planning something to do for Ville-en-bois. Would you like the church enlarged and beautified, Monsieur le Cure?” “It is large enough and fine enough already,” he answered. “Shall I put some painted windows and marble images into it?” I asked. “No, no, madame,” he replied, “let it remain as it is during my short lifetime.” “I thought so,” 1 said, “but I believe I have discovered what Monsieur le Cure would approve. It is truly English. There is no sentiment, no romance about it. Cannot you guess what it is, my wise and learned monsieur?” “No, no, madame,” he answered, smiling in spite of his sadness. “Listen, dear monsieur,” I continued; “if this village is unhealthy for me, it is unhealthy for you and your people. I)r. Martin told Tardif there would always be fever here, as long as there are no drains and no pure water. Very well; now lam rich I shall have it drained, precise# like the best English towns; and therjwshall be a fountain in the middle of the vfllage, where all the people can go to draw good water. I shall come back next year to see how it has been done. There is my secret plan for Ville-en-bois.” The next morning I took a last solitary walk till I came upon a grave. It was my farewell to the wrecked romance of my married life. Monsieur Laurentie accompanied us on our journey, as far as the cross at the entrance to the valley. He parted with us there; and when I stood up in the carriage to look back once more at him, I saw his black-robed figure kneeling on the white steps of the Calvary, and the sun shining upon his silvery head. For the third time I landed in England. When I set foot upon its shores first 1 was worse than friendless, with foes of my own household surrounding me; the second time I was utterly alone, in daily terror, in poverty, with a dreary lifelong future stretching before me. Now every want of mine was anticipated, every step directed, as if I were a child again, and my father himself was caring for me. How many friends, good and tried and true, could I count! All the rough patha were made smooth for me. I soon learned to laugh at the dismay which had filled me upon my entrance

Into my new sphere. It would have beea difficult to resist the cordiality with which I was adopted into the household. Dr. Senior treated me as his daughter; Dr. John was as much at home with me aa if I had been his sister. Minima, too, became perfectly reconciled to her new position. , I saw little of Martin. He had been afraid I should feel myself bound to him; and the very fact that he had once told me he loved me had made it more difficult to him to say so a second time. H« would not have any love from me as a duty. If I did not love him fully, with my whole heart, choosing him after knowing others with whom I could compare him, he would not receive any lesser gift from- me. “What will you do, Olivia?” asked Dr. John one day. “What can I do?” I said. “Go to him,” he urged; “he is alone. I saw him a moment ago, looking out at us from the drawing room window. God bless himl Olivia, my dear girl, go to him.” “Oh, Jack!” I cried, “I cannot.” “I don’t see why you cannot,” he answered gaily. “You are trembling, and your face goes from white to red, and then white again; “but you have not lost the use of your limbs, or your tongue. If you take my arm, it will not be very difficult to cross the lawn. Come; he is the best fellow living, and worth walking a dozen yards for.” I believe I should have run away, but I heard Minima’s voice behind me, calling shrilly to Dr. John, and I could not bear to face him again. Taking my courage in both hands, I stepped quickly across the floor, for if I had hesitated longer my heart would have failed me. Scarcely a moment had passed since Jack left me, and Martin had not turned his head, yet it seemed an age. “Martin,” I whispered, as I stood close behind him, “how could you be so foolish as to send Dr. John to me?”

We were married as soon as the season was over, when Martin’s fashionable patients were all going away from town. Ours was a very quiet wedding, for I had no friends on my side, and Martin’s cousin Julia could not come, for she had a baby very young, and Captain Carey could not leave them. Johanna Carey and Minima were my bridesmaids, and Jack was Martin’s groomsman. On our way home from Switzerland, in the early autumn, we went down from Paris to Falaise, and through Noireau to Ville-en-bois. The next stage of our homeward journey was Guernsey. Martin was welcomed with almost as much enthusiasm in St. Peter-port as I had been in little Ville-en-bois. My eyes were dazzled with the sunshine, and dim with tears, when I first caught sight of the little cottage of Tardif, who was stretching out his nets on the stone causeway under the windows. Martin called to him, and he flung down his nets and ran to meet us. “We are come to spend the day with you, Tardif,” I cried, when he was within hearing of my voice. “It will be a day from heaven,” he said, takiag off his fisherman’s cap, and looking round at the blue sky with its sunflecked clouds, and the sea with its scattered islets. It was like a day from heaven. We wandered about the cliffs, visiting every spot which was most memorable to either of us, and Tardif rowed us in his boat past the entrance of the Gouliot Caves. He was very quiet, but he listened to our free talk together, for I could not think of good old Tardif as any stranger; and he seemed to watch us both, with a faroff, faithful, quiet look upon his face. Sometimes I fancied he did not hear what we were saying, and again his eyes would brighten with a sudden gleam, as if his whole soul and heart shone through them upon us. It was the last day of our holiday, for in the morning we should return to London and to work; but it was such a perfect day as I had never known before. “You are quite happy, Mrs. Martin Dobree?” said Tardif to me, when we were parting from him. “I did not know I could ever be so happy,” I answered. We saw him to the last moment standing on the cliff, and waving his hat to us high above his head. Now and then there came a shout across the water. Before we were quite beyond earshot, we heard Tardif’s voice calling amid the splashing of the waves: “God be with yOu, my friends. Adieu, mam’zelle!” (The end.)

Consumption Can Be Cured.

Reading aloud is recommended by physicians as a benefit to persons affected with any chest complaint The recommendation is made because in all cases of lung trouble it is important for the sufferer to indulge in exercise by which the chest is in part filled by and emptied of air, for the exercise is strengthening to the throat, lungs and muscles of the chest. Reading aloud can be practiced by all, and can be a pleasure and profit to both reader and bearers. In this treatment it is recommended that the rending be deliberate, without being allowed to drag, that the enunciation be clear, the body be lipid in an easy, unstrained, upright position, so that the chest shall have free play, and that the breathing be as deep as possible, without undue effort.

Regarded as an Evil in Austria.

As a result of a report submitted to the Austrian council of agriculture, setting forth that suits cannot be brought to recover lpsses In transactions for the future delivery of grain, the council has unanimously declared itself in favor of prohibiting altogether transactions in grain for future delivery. This information is conveyed in a communication to the State Department from United States Consul Warucr at Leipzig, Germany. Mr. Warner states that the council has petltloped the government to use its influence to suppress this practice altogether in Aus(ro-Hun-gary.

Chances Increased.

A boy baby a month old can expect but 42 years of life. If, however, he lives to 5 years his chances of living have to 51 years and 0 months. Regulation of Price of Medicine. The price of medicine in Prussia la regulated by the state.

WHAT HE SAID.

Correct Interpretation of President McKinley’s Speech at Buffalo. The following extract should be properly read and Intelligently accentuated In order to understand precisely where the late William McKinley stood on the questions of trade extension, reciprocity and tariff revision. In his speech at Buffalo the President said: “By sensible trade arrangements, which will not interrupt our home production, we shall extend the outlets for our increasing surplus. “A system which provides a mutual exchange of commodities is manifestly essential to the continued and healthful growth of our export trade. We must not repose in fancied security that we can .forever sell everything and buy little or nothing. If a thing were possible it would not be best for ua or for those with whom we deal. “We should take from our customers such of their products as we can use without harm to our industries and labor. “Reciprocity is the natural outgrowth of our wonderful industrial development under the domestic policy now firmly established. If perchance some of our tariffs are no longer needed for revenue or to encourage and- protect our industries at home, why should they not be employed to extend and promote our markets abroad?” “By sensible trade arrangements,” said the President. Note the qualification. No trade arrangements can be called sensible other than those “which will not interrupt our home production.” Is there any difficulty in grasping that? What class of commodities should we take from our foreign customers? President McKinley’s answer was: “Such of their products as we can use without harm to our Industries and labor.” Can the meaning of this be misunderstood? Only by those whose selfish interest it Is to misunderstand It. Having plainly stated his idea of the basis on which special trade treaties should be made, the President declared in favor of reciprocity as the “natural outgrowth of our wonderful industrial development under the domestic policy now firmly established”—that is, the policy of protection. Does anybody doubt that that is what the President said and meant?

As to tariff tinkering—did Mr. McKinley favor it? Not at all. “If, perchance”—note that all important If—it should be found that some of the duties on imports were not required either for revenue or for protection, then, and only then, should such duties be removed in the interest of foreign trade extension. Every protectionist agrees that, “if perchance,” etc. But there must be no jumping at conclusions, no taking for granted that protective duties are no longer needed, no surrender of the principle and policy of protection, no blind leap in the dark, no idiotic tumble into the quagmire of free trade. It Is far from clear at the present time that any duty in the Dingley law schedules can be safely modified or removed. It remains to be seen, and the Republican party of protection will see to it at the proper time and in the proper manner.—American Economist.

Retain the ?ngar Tariff. The proposal to remove the duty on imported raw sugar is not to be taken very seriously, and it is improbable that there is any danger threatened to the sugar beet industry, for more reasons than one. In the first place, the Republican party is not likely to reopen the Tariff question for years to come, and the Democrats are not likely to have the power to make a move in that direction for ten years any way, inasmuch as the United Sttaes Senate has a Republican majority that is not liable to be overcome in that time at least. And even when Tariff revision finally does come, it is scarcely possible that the Tariff on sugar will be removed, if for no other reason than that the Federal Treasury can hardly get along without it, yielding as it does an annual revenue of about $00,000,000. Lastly, there is no reason why the sugar duties should ever be abolished, for they afford a means of raising reveuue that is almost •deal. The Tariff on sugar, whether protective or not, is almost the only one that can be justified, for it is almost the only means whereby the propertyless man can be made to contribute to the support of the Federal government without uudue hardship to himself. No man is too poor to pay his mite to the support of his nation’s government. To levy a direct tax upon the poor man Is not feasible. But if he pays indirectly in the form of an enhanced price on the little sugar that he uses, he does not feel it, and in the aggregate a vast sum accrues yearly to Uncle Sam. The principle is not new, by any means. England has had it in practice for a good many years. And there is no reason why it should not be adopted as a part of the permanent fiscal policy of the United States. To be sure, the sugar trust may desire to have it otherwise, and such influence has more than once availed more with Congress than justice or statesmanship should permit, but the fact remains that $60,000,000 cannot so easily be obtained in any other way. Penn Yan (N. Y.) “Democrat.”

Jollying the Farmer. The Louisville Courier-Journal says that the protective tariff has been used to “jolly” the farmer. That Is exactly where the Courier-Journal Is right. If the farmers of this country have ever had occasion to feel Jolly, It Is now, when, under Dingley law protection, money has come rolling In to pay off mortgages, to buy new equipment. Including the latest and most Improved

brands of agricultural machinery anfl to roll up the account at the savings bank. Yes, the farmers of the country, as a general thing, feel pretty jolly just now', and it is the protective tariff which is responsible for It. There is no doubt about that. And the best of it is that the farmers are not the only people who are feeling jolly, but the jolly effects of protection prosperity have been felt by people in all walks of life everywhere throughout the country. As a producer of jollity the protective tariff has few, if any, equals, and we are glad to see that the Louisville Courier-Journal is at last beginning to recognize the fact.

Nontenu! In December, 1898, the President of the United States and the Governor of Alabama were received and entertained at Tuskegee Institute by Booker T. Washington. Nevertheless, the act of the new President of the United States, in receiving and entertaining Booker T. Washington at the White House a few days ago, is being described by many Southern newspapers as “an outrage” and “a declaration of war.” In the view of the Southern newspapers, the President of the United States may dine with a colored man at a colored man’s home and not depart from the strictest lines of propriety; but if he invites the most distinguished colored man In the country to dine with him at the White House he is guilty of an “outrage.” In other words, the President of the United States may accept the hospitality of a colored man, but he may not return it. This is absurd. The President received, consulted, and entertained Booker T. Washington in his character as President of all the people. There w r as no protest when Mr. Washington advised the President to adopt a new policy as to new appointments of white men in the South. There was no protest when such appointments of white men were made in accordance with his advice. The line was drawn only when the President invited Mr. Washington to dine with him.

We are thirty-five years from the end of the Civil War. We are living at a time when it is the duty of the President of the United States to receive hospitably the representatives of all nations—white, black, or yellow—and all races—white, black or yellow—and yet, when the President in the performance of his duty receives hospitably the chosen representative of 8,000,000 native Americans, there are those who pretend to see in this act of official courtesy an “outrage” and a “declaration of war” on some American institution or institutions. Nonsense!—Chicago Inter Ocean.

A Crushing Indictment, The development of the beet sugar industry has been so rapid that we are near to the time when the whole of the hundred million dollars we used to spend abroad for sugar will go into the pockets of our own people. This nation consumes at least one-fourth of the world’s total product; and of the world’s product two-thirds are made from beets and only one-third from cane. If the counsel and the protests of American free traders had been heeded we should now not grow a pound of sugar outside the cane fields of Louisiana. Because the protectionist principle was received and approved by the people we are about to become independent of outside sources for a necessity of existence and to keep huge profits at home. We make the machinery for the sugar mills from iron from our own furnaces; we have diverted from excessive cereal production land and human beings to a more profitable occupation, and we have moved this nation one huge step further toward industrial independence. It would be difficult to frame an Indictment against the American free trade propagandists more crushing than to quote their own declarations and arguments against the tin plate duties and the beet sugar bounties.—The Manufacturer.

The Belt Ko-m the Mill Going.

A Southern View. While we are not in favor of a tariff that protects trusts and builds up monopolies we believe that the interests of the country and specially the Southern Stntes require some protection from the sugar planter of Cuba and his cheaper labor. The efforts of the Northern States to produce beets for sugar have not been successful, but the cane producing regions of the South offer splendid opportunities for those seeking profitable Investment, providing an opportunity is given the planter. But If a reciprocal tariff agreement is made with Cuba the Southern States will be greatly crippled and only the sugar trusts will be the gainer, for while the reduction In price will destroy the sugar cane business of the Sonth, the duty taken off will not go into the people’s pockets but to the Sugar Trust.—Marshall (Texas) Star. It is estimated that the men of Great Britain spent £250,000 a year on silk hats.

JOLLY JOKER.

Crawford—What advantage is there in marrying for money? Crabshaw— Your love lasts longer. Jinks —How much do you think a minister ought to get for marrying a couple? Filkins—Well, if wholly unacquainted with them perhaps he might be let off with six months. She —How beautifully Miss Heavyweight dances! She doesn’t seem to touch the floor sometimes! He (whose feet are still suffering from the last polka with her)—She doesn’t!—Punch. Roderick—The advertisement said it was a great stopping place for the leisure class. Van Albert—Was It so? Roderick—Yes; a dozen tramps stopped at the kitchen every morning.—Chicago News. “Sir, I have come to ask you for your daughter’s hand.” “All right, my boy. I think you’ll find it in the dishwater.” Then the young man left, smiling, knowing that if such was the case he had won a prize.—Commoner. Floorw'alker Good-morning. You wish to do some shopping, I presume? Bride (with hubby)—Y-e-s. Floorwalker —Step into the smoking room and the boy there will give you a check for your husband.—New York Weekly. A Freezer for Mrs. Newife: Mrs. Newife —I acknowledge that I have my faults, and am sometimes cross, Jack, dear, but if I had the last two years of my life to live over again I should marry you just the same. Mr. Newife —I doubt it. —Tit-Bits. “I suffer dreadfully from Insomnia, doctor,” said the patient. “Indeed,” replied the physician; “we’ll soon correct that.” And he did, for this particular physician was able to procure for his patient a situation as nightwatchman. —Pittsburg Chronicle-Telegraph.

Suburbanite —“Why, sir; we everything right here in Lonesomehurst that heart could desire or fancy dictate.” New-Yorker—“And still you come to New York twice a week!” Suburbanite —“Well, yes; but only to buy luxuries and necessities.”—Judge. Mrs. Frills—Now that I have engaged you, Bridget, I am going to begin right away to give you a little training in the art of waiting on guests. You see, my daughter Is coming out next month Bridget—lndade, mum! An’ how long was she sint up for?-Richmond Dispatch. “You pugilists don’t seem to have nearly so much to say as formerly.” “No,” answered the eminent representative of the prize ring; “to tell the truth, we got so interested In listening to these naval gentlemen that we kind of forgot our own affairs.”—Washington Star. Miss Breezy—Yes, I’m engaged to George. It was pretty hard to decide, because I liked Tom quite as well as George, and they’re equally wealthy. Miss Wabash—What finally decided you? Miss Breezy—George promised me the most alimony in case of divorce.—Philadelphia Press. “ Imet Hargus in the street yesterday morning, and he flicked his cigar ashes in my face. I’m writing to him now to tell him what I think about it.” “Why didn’t you tell him what you thought about it then?” “Because I never can express myself with any satisfaction extemporaneously.”—Chicago Tribune. A Grievous Offense: Magistrate—The charge is interfering with an officer. Roundsman McCarty, you will please state exactly what the defendant did. Roundsman McCarty—ol wor passing his fruit shtand, yer anner, an’ Oi shwoiped a banana, when th’ dago troid t’ tek it from me, yer anner.—Leslie’s Weekly. Sunday School Teacher—Faith, children, is believing in the existence of something we can’s see. For example, when you buy bananas, you know that there is a delicious fruit inside the tough skin. Do you understand? Children—Yes. ma’am. Sunday School Teacher —Well, what is faith? Children—Bananas.

Ready for the Rush: They had been drifting about in the open boat seven days, and all were near unto death, when the half-famished sailor In the bow leaped up and cried: “A sail! A sail!” “What, a bargain sale?” shrieked the half-dead woman passenger, as she begun fumbling for her purse.— Baltimore World. Ills One Literary Success: Miss Knlcliel>_Dld you ever go in for literature, Mr. Gay? Mr. Gay-Well-er-not exactly, but once when I was at college I wrote a short story and got one hundred dollars for It. Miss lvulcher— Really? What was It? Mr. Gay—Dear Father, I’m broke. Please send me a hundred.—Philadelphia Tress. The professional liar braced himself when he felt the thrill of a bite along his fishing pole. When the cork went uuder he gave a deft Jerk and landed a minnow about five Inches long. “Shucks!” he muttered with cliugrln, ns he took It off the hook; “I wish that ’un had got away; It would have been so much bigger.”—Ohio State Journal. Pat—l say, Mike, I have a three-pen-ny piece with a hole In It which I cannot get rid of at all —at nil. \Vbat shall I do with it, begorra? Mike-Sure, Pat, you must do the same as I did oncst—on excellent plan was mine. “And phwat was It, at all, Mike?” “Oh, it was fine, Tat, I tell you. That threepenny piece had bothered me a long tolme, entolrely. Nobody would have It, so at last I melted down a sixpence and filled up the hole. Begorrn, It went the very next day, my bhoy.”—London Spare Moments.