The Syracuse Journal, Volume 6, Number 23, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 1 October 1913 — Page 3

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n SYNOPSIS. ‘ George Anderson and wife see a T®" markable looking man come out of tne Clermont hotel, look around furtively, wash his hands In the snow and pass on. Commotion attracts them to the Clermont, Where it is found that the beautiful Miss Edith Challoner has fallen dead. Anderson describes the man he saw wash his hands in the snow. The hotel rhanager declares him to be Orlando Brotherson. Physicians find that Miss Challoner was •tabbed and not shot, which seems to clear Brotherson of suspicion. Gryce, an •Ced detective, and Sweetwater, his assistant. take up the case. Mr. Challoner tolls of a batch of letters found in his daughter's desk, signed “O. B.” All are ■vy letters except one. which shows that the writer was displeased. This letter was signed by Orlando Brotherson. Anderson goes with Sweetwater to identify Brotherson, who Is found in a tenement tinder the name of Dunn. He is an Inventor. Brotherson tells the coroner Challoner repulsed him with scotn when he offered her his love. Sweetwater recalls the mystery of the murder of a washerwoman In which some details were similar to the Challoner affair. Challoner admits his daughter was deeply interested. if not in love with Brotherson. Sweetwater gets lodgings in the same building with Brotherson. He watches the inventor at* work at night and is detected by the latter. The detective moves to a room adjoining Brotherson’s. He bores a hole in the wall to spy on Brotherson. He visits him arid assists the inventor In hfs work. A girl sent by Sweetwater with Edith Challoner’s letters is ordered out by Brotherson. He declares the letters were not written by him. Sweetwater *• unmasked by Brotherson, who declares he recognized him at once. The dlscoverv Is made that the letters •ig-ned “O. B.“ were written by two different men. Sweetwater goes to Derby In search of the second “O. 8.,” whom he expects to locate through one Doris Scott mentioned In the letters. She is found acting as nurse for ’Oswald Brotherson. who is critically sick and calls the name of Edith tn his delirium. Sweetwater comes across a peculiar hut in the woods. He sees a load of boxes marked- “O. Brotherson.” taken Into the hut under the supervision of Doris Scott. CHAPTER XXVlll.—Continued. “I cannot tell; I do not know,” said she. “Nobody knows, not even the doctor, what effect the news we dread to give him will have upon Mr. Brotherson. You will have to wait —we all •hall have to wait the results of that revelation. It cannot be kept from him much longer.” “You have had much to carry for one so young,” was Mr. Challoner’s ■ympathetic remark. “You must let me help you when that awful moment comes. I am at the hotel and shall ■tay there till Mr. Brothersen Is pronounced quite well. I have no other duty now in life but to sustain him through his trouble and then, with what aid he can give, search out and find the cause of my daughter’s death which I will never admit without the fullest proof, to have been qne of suicide.” Doris trembled. “It was not suicide,” she declared, vehemently. “I have always felt sure that it was not; but today I know.” Her hand fell clenched on her breast and her eyes gleamed strangely. Mr. Challoner was himself greatly startled “I’ve not told any one,” she went on, as he stopped, short in the road, in his anxiety to understand her.'“But I will tell you. Only, not here, not with all these people driving past; most of whom know me. Come to the house later —this evening, after Mr. Brotherson’s room is closed for the night. I have a little sitting-room on the other side of the hall where we can talk without being heard. Would you object to doing that?” . “No, not at all,” he assured her. • “Expect me at eight. Will that be too early*” ”N<x no. Oh, how those people ■tared! Let us hasten back or they may connect your name with what we want kept secret." He smiled at her fears, but gave in to her humor; he would see her soon again and possibly learn something which would amply repay him, both for his trouble and his-patience. But when evening came and she turned to face him in that little sit-ting-room where he had quietly followed her, he was conscious of a Change in her manner which forbade these high hopes. ‘T don’t know what you will think of me," she ventured at last, motioning to a chair but not sitting herself “You have had time to think over what I said and probably expect'something real —something you could tell people. But it isn’t like that. It’s a feeling—a belief. I’m so sure—” “Sure of what. Miss Scott?” She gave a glance at the door before stepping up nearer. He had not taken the chair she proffered. “Sure that I have seen the face of the man who murdered her. It was in a dream,” she whisperingly completed, her great eyes misty with awe. “A dream, Miss Scqtt?” He tried to hide his disappointment. "Yes; I knew that it would sound foolish to you; it sounds foolish to me. But listen, sir. Listen to what I have to tell and then you can judge. I was very much agitated yesterday. I had to write a letter at Mr. Brotherson’s dictation —a letter to her. You can understand my horror and the effort I made to hide my emotion. I was quite unnerved. I could not sleep till morning, and then—and then—l saw —I hope I can describe it” Grasping at a nearby chair, she leaned on it for support, closing her eyes to all but that inner vision. A breathless moment followed, then she murmured in strained monotonous ones. , "I see it again—just as I saw it in the early morning—but even more plainly, If sthat is possible. A hall—(I should call it a hall, though 1 don’t remember seeing any place like’it before), with a little staircase at the side, up which there comes a man, who stops just at the top and looks intently my way. There is fierceness tn his sac look which means no «ood to anybody—and as his hand <oes to his overcoat pocket, drawing •Hit something which I cannot de*cribe, but which he handles u if it *erv a utatoL I feel a horrible fear,

and—and—” The child was staggering, and the hand which was free had sought her heart where it lay clenched, the knuckles showing white in the dim light. Mr. Challoner watched her with dilated eyes, the spell under which she spoke falling in some degree upon him. Hadjihe-ffinished? Was this all? No; shX*isspeaking again, but very low, almost in a whisper. “There is music—a crash —but 1 plainly see his other hand approach the object he is holding. He takes something from the end —the object is pointed my way—l am looking into — into —wh,at? I do not know. 1 cannot .even see him now. The space where he stood is empty. Everything fades, and I wake with a loud cry in my ears and a sense of death here.” She had lifted her hand and struck at her heart, opening her eyes as she did so. “Yet it was not I who had been shot,” she added softly. Mr. Challoner shuddered. This was like the reopening of his daughter’s grave. But he had entered upon the scene with a full appreciation of the ordeal awaiting him and he did not lose his calmness, or the control of his judgment. “Be seated, Miss Scott,” he entreated, taking a chair himself. “You have described the spot and some of the circumstances of my daughter’s death as accurately as if you had been there. But you have doubtless read a full account of those details in the possibly seen pictures which wouW make the place quite real to you. The mind is a strange storehouse. We do not always know what lies hidden within it.” “That’s true,” she admitted. “But the man! I had never seen the man, or any picture of him, and his face was clearest of all. I should know it if 1 saw it anywhere. It is imprinted on my memory as plainly as yours. Oh, I hope never to see that man!” Leaning toward her that he might get her full attention, he waited till her eyes met his, then quietly asked: “Have you ever named this man to yourself?” • She started and dropped her eyes. “I do not dare to,” said she. “Why?” “Because I’ve read in the papers that the man who stood there had the same name as—” “Tell me, Miss Scott.” “As Mr. Brotherson’s brother.” “But you do not think it was his brother?” “I do not know.” “You’ve never seen his brother?” “Never.” “Nor his picture?” “No, Mr. Brotherson has none.” “Aren’t they friends? Does he never mention Orlando?” “Very, very rarely. But I’ve no reason to think they are not on good terms. I know they correspond.” “Miss Scott?” “Yes, Mr. Challoner.” “You must not rely too much upon your dream.” Her eyes flashed to his and then fell again. “Dreams are not revelations; they are the reproduction of what already lies hidden in the mind. . I can prove that your dream is such.” “How?” She looked startled. “You speak of seefaig something being leveled at you which made you think of a pistol.” “Yes, I was looking directly into it.” “But my daughter was not shot. She died from a stab.” Doris’ lovely face, with its tender lines and girlish curves, took on a strange look of conviction which deepened, rather than melted under his indulgent, but penetrating gaze., “I know that you think so—but my dream says no. I saw this object. It was pointed directly towards me—©l slid tfWzrx —-——— “It Is He! It Is He!” I above all, I saw his face. It was the ■ 1 face of one whose finger is on the trigger and who means death; and I be- > lieve my dream.” ■ Well, it was useless to reason further. Gentle in all else, she was imi movable so far as this idea was coni cerned and, seeing this, he let the matter go and prepared to take his i leave. > She seemed to be quite ready for ■ this. Anxiety about her patient had regained its place in her mind, and • her glance sped constantly toward the i door. Taking her hand in his, he said some kind words, then crossed to the i door and opened it. Instantly her fini ger flew to her lips and, obedient to • its silent injunction, he took up his I hat In silence, and was . oceedlng ; down the hall, when the bell rang, startling them both and causing him ; to step quickly back. "Who la K?” she asked. Tather’e

INITIALS WMsY* ANNA KATHARINE GBEEN AUTHOR OP “THE LEAVENWORTH CASE* ‘YHE FOIG&EE KAIL THE HOUSE Os IHEWHISPERING PINES ILLUSTRATIONS DY CHARLES .W. ROSSER. k xlxl *y aco

in and visitors seldom come so late.” “Shall I see?” She nodded, looking strangely troubled as the door swung open, revealing the tall, strong figure of a man facing them from the porch. “A stranger,” formed itself upon her lips, and she was -liioving forward, when the man suddenly stepped into the glare of the light, and she stopped, with a murmur of dismay w’hich pierced Mr. Challoner’s heart and prepared him for the words which now fell shudderingly from her lips. “It is he! It is he! I said that I should know him wherever I saw him.” Then with a quiet turn towards the Intruder, “Oh, why, why, did you come here!” CHAPTER XXIX. Do You Know My Brother? Her hands were thrust out to repel, her features were fixed; her beauty something wonderful. Orlando Brotherson, thus met, stared for a moment at the vision before him, then slowly and with effort withdrawing his gaze, he sought the face of Mr. Challoner with the first sigfl of open disturbance that gentieman had ever seen in him. “Am I in Oswald Brotherson’s bouse?” he asked. “I was directed here. But possibly there may be some mistake?” “It is here he lives,” said she, moving back automatically till she stood again by the threshold of the small room in which she had received Mr. Challoner. “Do you wish to see him tonight’ If so, I fear it is impossible. Jle has been very ill and is not allowed to receive visits from strangers." “I am not a stranger,” announced the newcomer, with a smile few could see unmoved, it offered such a con- i trast to his stern and dominating figure. “I thought I heard some words of recognition which would prove your knowledge of that fact.” She did not answer. Her lips had parted, but her thought or at least the expression of her thought hung suspended in the terror of this meeting fbr which she was not at all prepared. He seemed to note this terror, whether or not he understood its cause, and smiled again, as he added: “Mr. Brotherson must have spoken of his brother Orlando. I am he, Miss Scott. Will you let me come in now?” Her eyes sought those of Mr. Challoner, who quietly nodded. Immedi- ! ately she stepped from before the door i which her figure had guarded and, ' motioning him to enter, she begged ■ Mr. Challoner, with an imploring look, i to sustain her in the interview she ; saw before her. He had no desire for | this encounter, especially as Mr. , Brotherson’s glance in his direction | had been anything but conciliatory. | He was quite convinced that nothing was to be gained by it, but he could not resist her appeal, and followed them into the little room whose limited dimensions made the tall Orlando look bigger and stronger and more lordly in his self-confidence than ever. “I am sorry it is so late,” she began, contemplating his intrusive figure with forced composure. “We have to be very quiet in the evenings so as not to disturb your brother’s first sleep which Is of great importance to him.” “Then I’m not to see him tonight?” “I pray you to wait. He’s —he’s been a very sick man.” “Dangerously so?” “Yes." Orlando continued to regard her with a peculiar awakening gaze, showing, Mr. Challoner thought, more interest in her than in his brother, and when he spoke it was mechanically and as if in sole obedience to the proprieties of the occasion. “I did not know he was ill till very | lately; His last letter was a cheerful one, and I supposed that all was right till chance revealed the truth. I came on at once. I was Intending to come anyway I have business here, as you probably know, Miss Scott.” She shook her head. “I. know very little about business,” said she. “My brother has not told you why he expected me?” “He has not even told me that he expected you.” ; “No?” The word was highly expressive; there was surprise in it and a touch of wonder, but more than all. satisfaction, “Oswald was always close-mouthed,” he declared. “It’s a good fault; I’m obliged to the boy ” These last words were uttered with a lightness which imposed upon his two highly agitated hearers, causing Mr. Challoner to frown and Doris to shrink back in indignation at the man who could indulge in a sportive suggestion in presence of such fears. If not of such memories, us the situation evoked. “The hour is late for further conversation. I have a room at the hotel and will return to it at once In the morning I hope to see my brother ” He was going, Doris not knowing what to say, Mr. Challoner not desirous of detaining him, when there came the sound of a little tinkle from the other side of the hall, blanching the young girl’s cheeks and causing Orlando Brotherson’s brows to rise in peculiar satisfaction. “My brother?” he asked. “Yes,” came in faltering reply. “He has heard our voices; I must go to him.” “Say that Orlando wishes him a good night,” smiled her heart’s enemy, with a bow of infinite grace. She shuddered, and was hastening from the room when her glance fell on Mr. Challoner. He was pale and looked greatly disturbed. The prospect of being left atone with a nu.

whom she had herself denounced to him as his daughter’s murderer, might prove a tax to his strength to which she had no right to subject him; Pausing with an appealing air, she made him a slight gesture which he at once understood. “I will accompany you into the hall,” said he. “Then if anything is wrong, you have but to speak my name.” But Orlando Brotherson, displeased by this move, took a step which brought him between the two. “You can hear her from here if she chances to >speak. There’s a point to be settled between us before either of us leave this" house, .and this opportunity is as good as another. Go to my brother, Miss Scott; we will await your return.” A flash from the proud banker’s eye; but no'demur, rather a gesture of consent. Doris, with a look of deep anxiety, sped away, and the two men stood face to face. “Mr. Challoner, do you know my brother?” “I have never seen him." “Do you know him? Does he know you ?” “Not at all. We are strangers.” It was said honestly. They did not know each other. Mr. Challoner was quite correct in his statement. “Men sometimes correspond who do not know each other. You knew that a Brotherson lived here?” “Yes? “And hoped to learn something about me—” “No; my interest was solely with your brother.” “With my brother? With Oswald? SuWj, I ‘ — “What Do You Wish to Ask?” ; What interest can yon have in him i apart from me? Oswald is—*-” Suddenly a thought came—an unimaginable one; one with power to blanch even his hardy cheek and shake a soul unassailable by all small emotions. “Oswald Brotherson!” he repeated; adding in unintelligible tones to himself—“O. B'. The same initials! They are following Up these initials. Poor Oswald!” Then aloud: “It hardly becomes me, perhaps, to question your motives in this attempt at making my brother’s acquaintance. I think I can guess them; but your labor will be wasted. Oswald’s interests do not extend beyond this town; they hardly extend to me. We are strangers, almost. You will learn nothing from him on the subject which naturally engrosses you." Mr. Challoner simply bowed. “I do not feel called upon,” said he, “to explain my reasons for wishing to know your brother. I will simply satisfy you I upon a point which may well rouse I your curiosity. You remember that — that my daughter’s last act was the writing of a letter to a little protegee of hers. Miss Scott was that protegee. In seeking her, I came upon him. Do you require me say more on this subject? Watt till I have seen Mr. Oswald Brotherson and then perhaps 1 can do so.” Receiving no answer to this, Mr. Challoner turned again to the man who was the object of his deepest sus? picions, to find him still in the daze of that unimaginable thought, battling with it, scoffing at it. succumbing to it and all without a word. Mr. Challoner was without ..clue to this struggle, but the might of it and the mystery of it, drove him in extreme agitatation from the room. Though proof was lacking, though proof might never come, nothing could ever alter his belief from this moment on that Doris was right tn Her estimate of this man’s guilt, however unsubstantial her reasoning might appear. How far He might have been carried by this new conviction; whether he would have left the house without seeing Doris again dr exchanging another word with the man whose very presence trifled him, he had no opportunity to show, for before he had ;aken another step, he encountered the hurrying figure of Doris, who was returning to her guests with an air of marked relief. “He does not know that you are here,” she whispered to Mr. Challoner. as she passed him. Then, as she again confronted Orlando who hastened to dismiss his trouble at her approach, she said quite gaily: "Mr. Brotherson heard your voice, and is glad to know that you’re here. He bade me give you this key and say that you would have found things in better shape if he had been in condition to superintend the removal of the boxes to the place he h&d prepared for you before he became 111. I was the one to de .! that,” she added, controUlnc bar aa«>

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sion with manifest effort. "When Mr. Brotherson came to himself he asked if I had heard about any large boxes having arrived at the station shipped to his name. I said that several notices of such had come to the house At which he requested me to see that they were carried at once to the strange looking shed he had put up for him in the woods. I thought that they were for him, and I saw to the thing myself. Two or three others have come since and been taken to the same place. I think you will find nothing broken or disturbed; Mr. Brotherson’s wishes are usually respected." “That is fortunate for me,” was the courteous reply. But Orlando Brotherson was not himself, not at all himself as he bowed a formal adieu and withdrew past the drawn-up sentinel-like ■ figure of Mr. Challoner, without a motion on his part or on the part of that gentleman to lighten an exit which had something in it of doom and dread presage. CHAPTER XXX. Chaos. It is not difficult to understand Mr. Challoner’s feelings or even those of Doris at the moment of Mr. Brotherson’s departure. But why this change in Brotherson himself? Why this sense of something new and terrible rising between him and the suddenly beclouded future? Let us follow him to his lonely hotel room and see if we can solve the puzzle. But first, does he understand his own trouble? He does not seem to. For when, his hat thrown aside, he stops, erect and frowning under the flaring gas jet he had no recollection of lighting, his first act was to lift his hand to his head in a gesture of surprising helplessness for him. w’hile snatches of broken sentences fell frqm his lips among which could be heard: “W’hat has come to me? Undone in an hour! Doubly undone! First by a face and then by this thought which surely the devils have whispered to me. Mr. Challoner and Oswald! What is the link between them? Great God! what is the link? Not myself? Who then or what?” Flinging himself into a chair, he buried his face in his hands. There were two demons to fight—the first in the guise of an angel. Doris! Unknown yesterday, unknown an hour ago; but now! Had there ever been a day—an hour—w r hen she had not been as the very throb of his heart, the light of his eyes, and the crown of all imaginable blisses? This was no passing admiration of youth for a captivating woman. This was not even the love he had given to Edith Challoner. He did not know himself. There was nothing in his whole history to give him an understanding of such feelings as these. He, Brotherson, had never thought much of love. Science had been his mistress; ambition his lodestar. Miss Challoner had roused—well, his pride. He could see that now. The might of this new emotion made plain many things he had passed by as useless, puerile, unworthynof a man of mental caliber and might. He had never loved Edith Challoner at any moment of their acquaintanceship, though he had been sincere in thinking that he did. Doris’ beauty, the hour he had just passed with her, had undeceived him. Did he hail the experience? It was not likely to bring him joy. This young girl whose image floated in light before his eyes, would never love him. She loved his brother. He had heard their names mentioned together before he had been in town an hour, j Oswald, the cleverest man, Doris, the i most beautiful girl in western Penn- j sylvania. He had accepted the gossip then; I he had not seen her and it all seemed |

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Want Large Sum From Tunis

Sons of Gen. Ben Aiad Are Suing Small Country for the Recovery of $73,000,000. A case has begun before the civil tribunal of Tunis which the sons of t’ e late Gen. Ben Aiad (or Ayed) are suing the defendant, the government of the regency, for a fantastic sum of money, something like $73,000,000. The claim has been heard of at intervals for the last half century, js briefly as follows: In 1856 Emperor Napoleon 111. was asked to arbitrate between the bey of Tunis and his favorite, Gen Mahmud Ben Aiad. The bey accused the general of robbing the public treasury. Napoleon 111. consented to be umpire and sentenced Gen. Ben Aiad to refund to the Tunisian government the sum of a half million sterling. As for the final settlement of accounts between the general and the government, that was a matter which the arbitrator left to the Tunis courts to decide. The general retired to Constantinople without calling for a settlement of accounts and nothing was heard of the affair until 1886, when one of his sons sued the Tunis government be- ; fore the Seine tribunal for one and a i half million sterling. I The case was Mxt beard of tour

very natural—hardly worth a mo ment’s thought. But now— And here, the other demon sprang erect and grappled with him before the first one had let go his hold. Oswald and Challoner! There is more than Fate’s caprice in Challoner’s interest in a man he never saw. Had he found the connecting link? Had it been—could it have been Edith? The i preposterous is sometimes true; could it be true in this case? He recalled the letters read to him as hers in that room of bis ia Brooklyn. He had hardly noted them then, he was so sure of their being for- j geries, gotten up by the police to mis- i lead him. Could they have been real. ; the effusions of her mind, the breath- ■ ings of her heart, directed to an ac- j tual O. 8.. and that O. 8., his brother? | Oswald had been east, Oswald had even been in the Berkshires before ! himself. Oswald — Why it was Oswald who had suggested that he should go there —go where she still was. Why this second coincidence, if there were no tie —if the Challoners and Oswald were as far apart as they seemed and as conventionalities would naturally place them. Oswald was a sentimentalist, but very reserved about his' sentimentalities. If these suppositions were true, he had had a sentimentalist’s motive for what he did. As Orlando realized this, he rose from his seat, aghast at the possibilities confronting him from this line of thought. Should he contemplate them? Risk his reason by dwelling on a supposition which might have no foundation in fact? No His brain was too full —his purposes too important for any unnecessary strain to be put upon his faculties. No thinking! investigating first. Mr. Challoner should be able to settle this question. He would see him. Even at this late hour he ought to be able to find him in one of the roortfs below; and, by the force of an irresistible demand, learn in a moment whether he had to do with a mere chimera of his own overwrought fancy, or with a fact which would call into play all the resources of an hitherto unconquered and undaunted nature. There was a wood-fire burning in the sitting-room that night, and around it was grouped a number of men with their papers and pipes. Mr. Brotherson, entering, naturally looked that way for the man he was in search of, and was disappointed not to find him there; but on casting his glances elsewhere, he was relieved to see him standing in one of the windows overlooking the street. His back was to the room and he seemed to be lost in a fit of abstraction. Orlando was. as I have said, an extraordinary specimen of manly vigor in body and in mind, and his presence th any company always attracted attention and roused, if it never satisfied, curiosity. Conversation accordingly ceased as he strode up to Mr. Challoner’s side, so that his words were quite audible as he addressed that gentleman with a somewhat curt: “You see me again, Mr. Challoner May I beg of you a few minutes’ further conversation? I will not detain you long.” The gray head turned, and the many eyes watching showed surprise at the expression of dislike and 'repulsion with which this New York gentleman met the request thus emphatically urged. But his answer was courteous enough. If Mr. Brotherson knew a place where they would be left undisturbed, he would listen to him if ho would be very brief. For reply, the other pointed to a small room quite unoccupied which opened out of the one in which they then stood. Mr. Challoner bowed and I in another moment the door closed up- ■ on them, to the infinite disappointi ment of the men about the hearth. ; “What do you wish to ask?” was Mr. Challoner’s immediate inquiry. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

years ago, when the claim had risen to $60,000,000. Now it is $73,000,000. Turning Down a Lord. Harry Lauder, the Scotch comedian, tells a story of an English nobleman. “His lordship w r as introduced to me at the Tivoli one night,” so the Story begins. “He asked me to dine with him. I accepted, and then he hesitated and said: “ I don't mean at my home, you know. My wife doesn’t approve of — er —music hall people, you know. 1 mean at my club.’ ” ‘At your club?’ said I, with a hor rifled look. ‘Oh, ncd No, thank you, my lord. Tm sorry to have to decline, but the fact is, you know, my wife doesn’t —er —approve of clubmen.’ ” Economy. "It seems strange to me that you should book your passage to Europe on such a slow steamer,” remarked Giver to his friend Grinder; “a lower fare certainly would be no inducement to a man of your means.” “My boy,” replied Grinder, “1 have made my millions by always seeing that I got the full worth of my money. If I can get ten days’ board on the ocean for less money than five would coat, why shouldn’t 1 take ttf

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I Foley Kidney Pilis Relieve I promptly the suffering due to weak, in- ! active kidneys and painful bladder action. They offer a powerful help to nature I in building up the true excreting kidney tissue, in restoring normal action and in regulating bladder irregularities Try them. LAMB MADE ALL THE TROUBLE ) By Comparison, the Lion Was Inoffensive and Mild—“ Butts Like a Battering Ram.” The tidings that a lamb is appearing on the stage in the production of “Joseph and His Brethren” has been noised far and wide. Several corre- . spondents have written to ask why a Jion should not also appear, the pair lying side by side. But that, has already been done, by Lord George Stanger, and thereby hangs a tale. When the sale of the old showman’s menagerie took place, the two animals were put together and bought by Mr. Fred Ginnett, of Dick Turpin fame. By this time the lamb had got pretty long in the tooth, to say the least of it. A few days afterwards an acquaintance asked Mr. Ginnett how the happy pair were getting on. “I wish I had seen them,” said the showman gloomily. “Why, is he savage?” 4 “Savage is not the word for it. He won’t let anyone come near him.” • “Indeed! I thought he looked such a mild old lion —” “Lion? Lion be blowed! It’s the lamb I mean. He butts like a batter-ing-ram.” —London Mail. Practical Educator. A Scotchman who died recently in Australia left a bequest of $150,000 to Aberdeen university. The man went to California in the days of the gold fever and started hIM fortune there. Later he went to Australia and substantially increased it by the sheep industry. As he grew older he became a strong believer in education, and urged all bis Scottish relatives who had sons to send them to the universities, promising to bear the expense. Although uneducated himself as a young man, he learned to write letters with distinction. No Offense Meant. Stude—-1 wonder what makes my hair so thick? > Barber —Perhaps it's this going around with your head so much. I l DIDN’T KNOW That Coffee Was Causing Her Trouble. So common is the Use of coffee as a beverage, many do not know that it is tue cause of many obscure ails which are often attributed to other things. The easiest way to find out for oneself is to quit the coffee for a while, at least, and note results. A Virginia lady found out in this way, and also learned of a. new beverage that is wholesome as well as pleasant to drink. She writes: "I am 40 years old and all my life, up to a year and a half ago, I had been a coffee drinker. “Dyspepsia, severe headaches and heart weakness made me feel sometimes as though I was about to die. After drinking a cup or two of hot coffee, my heart would go like a clock without a pendulum. At other times it would almost stop and I was so nervous I did not like to be alone. <■ “If 1 took a walk for exercise, as soon as I was out .of sight of the house I’d feel as if I was sinking, and this would frighten me terribly. My limbs would utterly refuse to support me, and the pity of it all was, I did not know that coffee was causing the trouble. \ “Reading in the papers that many persons were relieved of such ailments by leaving off coffee and drinking Posturn, 1 got my husband to bring home a package. We made it according to - directions and I liked the first cup. Its rich, snappy flavor was delicious. “1 have been using Postum about eighteen months and to my great joy, digestion is good, my nerves and heart are all right, in fact, I am a well woman once more, thanks to Postum.” Name given by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich. Write for copy of the little book, “The Road to Wellville.” Postum comes in two forms: Regular Postum —must be well boiled. Instant Postum Is a soluble powder. A teaspopnful dissolves quickly in a cup of hot water and, with cream and. sugar, makes a delicious beverage Instantly. Grocers sell both kinds. “There’s a reason” for Postum.