The Syracuse and Lake Wawasee Journal, Volume 13, Number 12, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 22 July 1920 — Page 6

Where Wet and Dry Meet I" 1 I I I 1 f a"£'l — ;f jrwTrr: i 71 -■ I RS* ~4> *ffitf£(BM "s|pp s ’ o r Ui ' x t j ’ Mil iOmR Where the flag poles of Canada and 'Alaska meet, showing the United States custom house, made necessary to tenforce the prohibition laws, and to prevent the smuggling of anything over 2.75 per cent

I — , . —— . Two Million Dollar Fire in Brooklyn iB? \^<-’-WlL V •-,< , ■ -1 a l lim ’ dM|2k I » ?>♦z ■ "WB 'BExWtU fcs>-iyXv, <v;<;.. :y^^:; : ;< :<•:• >:.<••<<•<:: ■<<■<:•.< 6»xv.sm A fire that started in the \V. A. Starr lumber yards at Twenty-seventh street and Third avenue, Brooklyn, swept the entire block, burning up eleven dwellings, several warehouses, a factory, and the lumber yard. Five alarms were turned in, and the firemen from all parts of Brooklyn responded. It was only after a hard battle that the flames were kept from spreading to near-by shipyards. Volunteers joined the firemen in fighting the blaze. The loss is estimated at more than two million dollars.

“CHEROKEE BILL” r i > MBHra F' ; I i j “Cherokee Bill,” an Indian-negro, who is reputed to be worth SBO,OOO, (and has been twice listed in the census (as the oldest man in America, has just celebrated his 123 d birthday on his farm in Grand Junction, Colo., according to telegraphic reports. He served In the war of 1812 and later settled down in Colorado, where he had a claim. In 1911 at the age of 114, “Bill” announced to the world that he was retiring. It was rumored at the time that there was 300 pounds of gold, worth between $75,000 and SBO,OOO, secreted about the shack he calls home. NEW VICTORY MEDAL \AFfir < 4*Z SSSmxaisnssß View of the obverse of the new victory medal, designed by James Earl Fraser, and of which nearly 5,000,000 will be distributed to soldiers, sailors and marines, nurses and doctors, who served in the world war. Photographed from the original plaster cast Os clay model. First Prayer in Congress. Jacob’ Douche, a clergyman and writer, on September 7, 1774, made the opening prayer before the Continental congress, then assembled in Carpenter’s hall, Philadelphia. He acted as chaplain to congress for three months after the Declaration of Independence. The Crucial Test. A man Isn’t really henpecked until his wife can make him go upstairs and change his socks after he has put on his hat to go out. —Arkansaw Thomas Eat

Tiger of France Is Honored IR 'BUMMi n| x ; © yY t, ** rn Newspnper Jl^nton. 8888888888 A monument to the beloved Tiger of France, former Premier Clemenceau, will be unveiled at Vendee, the “home town” of the great patriot. It is the work of Slcard, noted sculptor, and shows Clemenceau in the trenches surrounded by his poilus.

“Bulldogging” a Steer i c ft. ’3- JEF “Oklahoma Curry” “bulldogging” a steer during the Wichita Falls roundup. This is a favorite stunt among cowboys. It consists of leaping from their horse and grabbing the steer by the horns, wrestling with him until he falls.

CONDENSATIONS A hymn book in English and Eskimo has been prepared for use in With a population of 1,500,000 in an area of 72,210 square miles Uruguay is the most densely Inhabited South American nation. Hungary grows a wild flower which Is the exact floral Image of a humming bird. The breast is green, the throat yellow, the head and beak almost black. <

"He overcomes a stout enemy that overcomes his own anger.”—Chilo. Boilers of an electric light plant in Spitzbergen have been he^ t insulated to prevent them thawing the always frozen ground and sinking into it. The district of Dundee is the center of the jute Industry in .the United Kingdom and practically all the raw, jute imported into the country, which averages 1,200,000 bales annually, is consumed there. It is the staple Industry of Dundee and employs normally about 35,000 yorkers.

THE SYRACUSE AND LAKE WAWASEE JOURNAL

f 77fe ' -I B MYSTERY S| J B zt HARTLEY A

\ Illustrated fcg IrwinMyerr Copyright

O===============O ' THAT’S DOBSON. Synopsis. — Dr. John Michelson, just beginning his career, becomes resident physician and companion of Homer Sidney at Hartley house, Mr. Sidney is an American, a semlinvalid, old and rich and very desirous to live. Mrs. Sidney is a Spanish woman, dignified and reticent. Jed, the butler, acts like a privileged member of the family. I Hartley house is a fine old Isolated country place, with a murder story, a “haunted pool,” and many watchdogs, and an atmosphere of mystery. The "haunted pool” Is where Richard Dobson, son of a former owner of Hartley house, had killed his brother, Arthur Dobson. Jed begins operations by locking the doctor in his room the very first night. Doctor John fixes his door, so he can’t be locked in. He meets Isobel, daughter of the house and falls in love at first sight. In the night he finds the butler drunk and holding Mrs. Sidney by the wrist. He interferes. Mrs. Sidney makes light of it. John buys a revolver. John overhears Jed telling Mrs. Sidney he will have his way. Inreply she says she will not hesitate to kill him. Mrs. Sidney asks John to consent to the announcement of his engagement to Isobel. The young people consent to the makebelieve engagement. Later they find it is to head off Jed, who would marry Isobel. Jed tries to kill John, but the matter is smoothed over. John, though "engaged" to Isobel, conceals his love. i O ' ■ . . =c CHAPTER IV—Continued. Our charming old gentleman could not go through the entire Institution, and the warden led him to the most accessible parts of the Interesting place. We saw the rattan-chair works and the honor men in the gardens. We also took one glance at a tier of cellhouses and peeped into the dining-hall and into the chapel. The warden would have had us stay to dinner. I had to forbid this. It would have been too much of a physical strain upon Mr. Sidney. I knew that the little diversion was interesting him, and I was glad to have him interested, but I did not want to tax his strength. “I’m the doctor’s servant,” he said. “I'll look into the library if you don’t mind, warden, and then we’ll obey the physician.” Warden Williams led us to the library, which contained a large collection of books. An elderly convict was engaged in cataloguing some new volumes which had just been taken out of boxes. He was interested and paid no attention to us. Mr. Sidney looked at him for a few minutes. “What did you say was his crime?” he asked of the warden. “That’s Dobson,” said Mr. Williams. “You must know his story. He is tt a man who killed his brother. You are living in the Dobson house.” I looked’ at the frail, white-haired man with a sudden shock of interest. This was the man who had created the ghost story at Hartley house. He was fumbling registry cards and writing on them. He was frail and insignificant. He had been once, by legend, a sturdy, muscular, cruel brute. He was now feeble and interested in cataloguing. Mr. Sidney looked about the room. “This does not seem to be so well protected as the other parts of the prison,” he said. “It is not thought necessary,” said the warden. “Escape from here might not be impossible for an agile man. It fTiaiainiiu ‘ ShHi *f‘ I Hl Im ' \ 3X4 11 Msirai. “He Is the Man Who Killed His Brother.” Is not impossible from any part of the prison. It can only be made Improbable. It would be easier rrom here, but still difficult. But this old man would be in a harder prison of deprivation and friendlessness outside than : he is inside.” “Do you mean that he is the man who made the ghost story I bought with my house?” Mr. Sidney asked. , “That’s all there is human of your | ghost story,” said the warden. “It is more than most ghost stories ] lave,” said Mr. Sidney. CHAPTER V. I I could not believe the slightest par- < Icle in the ghost story. I am ration- ; kllstic. But as the legend of the pond i took shape, my imagination began to give substance to its shadows. i Yet the place was genial and cordial, j Mr. Sidney’s joviality was the dom- 1 tnant note in the house. An aging sick , omui sight uaturalbr have been testy, ;

HOUSEj

1 He might have been impatient, have had whims and crochets. He might have been irascible in his demands upon and acceptance of service. But Mr. Sidney was always cordial and considerate. A great deal of the time he spent in bed. When he was not In bed, he sat in a great chair, and very often a yellow Persian cat rested on | his knees. It was a difficult if not I dangerous matter for any one else than 1 Mr. Sidney to touch the cat, named ! Algol. “The Winking Demon,” said Mr. Sidney, fingering the cat’s ruff as it lay on his lap, and purred. I knew just enough of the star Algol and its vari- i ability to understand the whimsicality of an- old man’s naming a cat for the winking sun. Algol in Mr. Sidney’s lap blinked at me, and the old man’s genius for understanding and classification seemed uncanny. Mr. Sidney’s room was of great size. It had two fireplaces and a large cove of windows bulging toward the west. At the smaller of the two fireplaces he had his breakfast. Either at the large fireplace or in the outward bulge of windows, he had his dinner. In spite of the Persian cat, Mr. Sid- , ney had three canaries in the room. Algol respected them after a fashion that I thought uncertain. I have seen a canary sitting* on the cat’s head, but 1 I thought it was a decided case of mis- | placed confidence. Algol wanted that | canary and would continue to want it. j He was deterred from natural action i in the matter by his affection for the strange but kindly master who wanted cats and canaries to live together in ' amity. I know I never fully grasped Mr. ! Sidney’s scheme of life, but I thought i that he found existence ironic. His ' graciousness and his cheerfulness, I thought, represented the garlands of his conquest of morbidity. His per- 1 sonal charm was extraordinary. Every I one in the house felt it. But an aston- ! ishlng thing about Mr. Sidney was an occasional emotion which, as it manl- > fested Itself in his expressions—and that the only fashion I saw it for a long time —was one of savage hate. It was only by coming on him when he was not expecting me that I saw; this. I remember that the first time I saw the expression on his face I was dumfounded. That I was not expected in his room was entirely without intention on my part. People who were acto being with him walked into the room without ceremony. His bedroom and bath were to one side. His living-room he insisted should be open without formality. On the occasion I speak of I had come in quietly, but it was without intention to surprise my patient. He was sitting in his large chair with Algol on his knees. His eyes were closed, and on his.face was an expression of malevolence that was almost demoniac. It, was so startling that the sight of it stopped me in my step and made me feel more than uneasy, almost afraid.’ Mr. Sidney was quiet, except that with one hand he stroked Algol about the head and ears. The caress was almost imperceptible in motion, but Algol was purring so loudly that the sound filled the otherwise quiet room. The malevolence —the malignancy, hatred, concentrated essence of ferocity—in Mr. Sidney’s face would have stopped anyone. To one who had affection for him as I had, it was abhorrent to see him so. It was a confession of something I did not want to know. 1 was in fear that he might hear me and, opening his eyes, find that I had discovered him. I was embarrassed and uncertain what to do. It was a silly predicament, as I saw afterward. My part was quite simple. I should have paid no attention to any such phenomenon as the expression on a man’s face and have acted perfectly naturally. The common-sense thing- —and I consider myself fairly sensible —was apparent afterward. It indicates the astonishing shock of the thing that I was unable to act sensibly. What was the expression in an amiable, charming man’s face, to knock a sensible person .out of all his senses? Here was a dozing man merely toying with a cat’s ears, and the very sight of what was expressed in his face, made me numb. I cannot understand it now, the terrifying sensation being one which disappeared as the recollection of the emotions faded.. What I did was to back toward the door, open it as quietly as I could, back out, and then reenter the room noisily. Mr. Sidney was looking at me smilingly. His charm of manner never seemed more positive find active. “Hello, doctor!” he said. “I needed company and just your company. M you would only drink wine!” A broken pipe in the laundry made it necessary to call a plumber from Hartley, and to get quick, service, it was agreed that we should send a car for the man and his helper. The day was pleasant, and for the sake of the drive I went with the driver. The plumber was a fat man of the comic type. I thought he must be the embodiment of all the plumbers’ jokes. They seemed to have created him; he was the product of the comics. I even asked him if he were sure he had all his tools. I thought he would be sure to send us back for a wrench. He was amiable, laughed at anything or nothing and was saved from being a nuisance only by an abounding animal optimism which was infectious. Driving through the Hartley house grounds, we came to the pool, and the. plumber—named Harkins—chuckled. Thus far, whenever he or something else amused him, he had laughed. Now he chuckled as if in recollection of an

experience richer or deeper than any he had been talking of. “That place is going to l>e remembered by me,” he said. “I have been out here only once since the night 1 made a bet I was not afraid to sit on the bank here for an hour. They’ve got a good many stories of this place in town. I had been drinking a little. I don’t do it steady, but once in a while I get out You’ve got to do it to keep the house going happy. Give the wife something to talk about. My wife would rather scold me than eat, and she Icves her food. “We were at the White Pigeon, having a good time but thinking of going home, when some one started on this Hartley house story. Everybody had something to say, and I said that there was no ghost that could scare me, at least no ghost that ever was within a hundred miles of Hartley. That’s where I made a fool of myself. I’ve got to admit that’s where I made a i fool of myself. “I bet five dollars I would sit an I Hour on the bank at this place. I fori got all about the dogs, or I’d not have i made the bet. Anyway, they didn’t j bother me. We got an automobile and i drove out here. The fellows left me ! at the pool and went a mile back. They were going to take my word for it. I was to stay an hour and then start walking back. At the end of an hour they would start toward me and pick me up. They had beer and sandwiches. I had a couple of bottles and some cheese and crackers. “I wasn’t afraid of that place. I’m not afraid of any place unless I get to thinking about this one. It was along in October. A hoot-owl was somewhere back of me, and there was a whippoorwill up toward the house. “I’m used to hoot-owls and whippoorwills, but I hadn’t drunk more than half a bottle of beer before even these things began to sound different. “The current of the river kept knocking a* the big rock at tbe up end of the pool, and you began to think that things were reaching for you out of | the dark. I’d have given ten dollars to I quit, but I got so that I didn’t want to | move. I felt safer sitting still. “Then I began to hear things that I ' don’t suppose were making a noise at j all. It may be it was rabbits in the : bush. I nearly died when I heard a j cry about fifty feet back of me. I did ! hear that. I guess a ferrety had got a I rabbit. You know how a rabbit cries > | —like a baby. j “I was sitting in the open, and I ' thought I’d feel better if I got my back . jup against something. So I crawled I I over to some bushes and sat down be- J ■ hind them. : “Marbe I had been there a half an | i hour, feeling scary and uncomfortable, ; when I heard a regular yell. There j i wasn’t any fooling about that. It 1 i sounded like some one being hurt but ‘ yelling not so much, because of the i hurt as because he was mad. “You’ve heard fellows talking about | their hair standing on end. I never knew what it really meant before, but i my hair just stoop right up. I felt like some one was’trying to scalp me,' and I was gooseflesh all over. “It had been dark on account of clouds, but just then the moon came out and lighted up the place. There was a man Standing on the edge of the pool, just about where I had been sitting. He was leaning with both hands on a cane and standing perfectly still. He didn’t seem like a man. He looked like one, but you had a feeling that be wasn’t one. “I don’t want ever to be so scared ‘ again. I didn’t know who had yelled, but I thought this man had, and I didn’t think he was a man. I thought ' he was a ghost. I’m not saying what I think now, but if I had to, I’d say that I saw the ghost of this place—and anybody that wants to laugh can laugh. He can come down here at night and get cured of laughing. “I couldn’t move for a while. The man stood still, leaning on his cane. I watched him until I began to feel that. I could use my legs again. I don’t knoiv why I was so scared, but I was. I crawled away through the brush for a hundred feet or so. Then I got up and ran. “I heard that yell behind me again I’ll bet nobody around here ever ran a mile aS fast as I did. I scared the fellows who were waiting for me. They didn’t poke any fun at me. They looked at me arid got that automobile started. I paid the bet, but they didn’t have any laugh on me. There isn’t one of them would come dowm here at night now.” “When w’as this?” I asked. “Four or five years ago,” said the plumber. “Some time in October.” We came to the house, and he went into the laundry to fix the pipes. “It doesn’t look haunted around here.” he said as he perceived the tangible joviality of the place, “but you’ve got to get me out before dark.” That w’as virtually the complete substance of the Hartley house ghost—the picture of a man leaning on a cane by the edge of the river. Romance had to be content with it. «•*•*** One evening in late October, which had turned chill and brought up a high wind, .Mr. Sidney produced a new phenomenon. He had a strange flash of strength. When I went to his room after dinner I found him walking about without help. Ordinarily, if he walked at all, Jed was his strength. “Occasionally I can do it, doctor,” he said. “The strength comes. I usually pay for it next day, however.” “I’d be very careful, then,” I suggested. “Yes, but you do hot know how grateful it is to feel vigor once in a while,” he said, continuing to walk forth and back in the room. I sat down and watched him without ' remonstrating. It was astonishing to 1 see him so agile and strong but I had learned that timid prudence was very ' Ineffective. I had confessed my inabil- 1 Ity to understand him. ' He did not seem to want to continue 1 life for the purpose of preserving its ’ sensations but for the purpose of some ' accomplishment His conditions were : so pleasant that it might be reasonable 1 to desire a prolonging of them. Evi- : dently he was not set upon that. He was ’ not trying to accomplish anything. He ' did nothing. He had no unfinished 1 work. And yet his will to live, I knew, was a will to see the fruit of something. He seemed to have a spiritual 1 incentive: something that had other 1

than a physical Impulse controlled him and gave him resolution. I was marveling at his strange activity when Isobel and Mrs. Sidney came in. Mr. Sidney proposed whist, and we began a game. The wind increased in violence, and the log fire grew in comfort. We had a pleasant game, disturbed for me only by speculations as to the cause of Mr. Sidney’s strange animation and strength. Shortly after ten o’clock the ladies said good night, and Jed came in with a fresh log for the fire. The wind had been increasing in volume, sound and power. I was thinking of bed. “Sit a while longer, doctor,” Mr. Sidney urged. “Jed and I shall be the better for Some other company. This is the sort of night we like to sit up to enjoy. Esthetically one ought to make the most of such a night” Jed went out and presently came in again with two bottles of wine. “What are we drinking tonight. Jed?” Mr. Sidney asked. “I thought the evening suggested a warm sherry,” said Jed. “I think it does,” said Mr. Sidney, “There is body and a live soul in sherry.” “But certainly,” I suggested in alarm, “you will not drink sherry.” “Indeed not,” said Mr. Sidney. “Jed drinks it for me, and I watch him. You must have a glass with him—just one. He’ll have a dozen —I don’t ask you to follow him —but just one.” Jed opened a bottle, and when he offered me a glass I yielded. I wanted to increase the sense of protective comforts against that shrill wind outside. Jed drew a comfortable chair close to the fire and took his wine in large O V? fl * Wi' i ’F s k \ vfc IBM / nt ffli IBKcSKI In ll h'l Ur ilm '/wf'iil I | “What Are We Drinking Tonight, Jed?’’ ) but appreciative gulps. I took mine I In small but appreciative sips. < The I fire roared, and the wind howled. Jed, drinking by gulp**, soon was exhilarated. Mr. Sidney and I had been rational. We had been talking, I recall, of the substitution of a Syrian idea of Immortality, concerned chiefly with precious metals and stones, for the north European idea of Valhalla, when Jed began to sing, and with gusto and affection opened another bottle of wine. The wind grew in violence. “It Is a night for any of the living dead about a place,” I said. “I like a wind that has many voices,” said Mr. Sidney. “It produces certain sensations or emotions that are primitive. It suggests a threat and increases the sense of shelter and comfort. We sit® like peasants about the fireplace and are inclined to legends.” Story ot the Dobson Murder. (TO BE CONTINUED.) HISTORY REVEALED BY NAMES By Them It Is Possible to Ascertain What Races,, Have Inhabited Different Districts. In the earliest dayg of the human family, all known persons, places and groups of human beings must have had names by which they were recognized. The study of these names and their survival in civilization enables us often to ascertain what races inhabited districts now peopled by those of entirely different speech. The names of mountains and rivers in many parts of England, for instance, are Celtic. Ancient local names are, as a rule, purely descriptive. A river is called by some word which merely signifies “the water,” a mountain may have a name which means “the peak,” “the castle,” “the point." English place names generally state; some simple fact, and ofteh denote no more than property ; the name of a town or hamlet being formed by adding “ton” or “ham” to the name of some early landholder. Quite often a bit of even half-hu-morous description will survive in such a name, as when a stony, starved and weedy district is called Stafvacre. ___ Happiness Not Found in Crowds. Contact with great crowds is no guarantee of happiness. Almost every man at some time or another gets the fever for the great city. If he could only mingle with the crowds that throng the streets and rub shoulders with multitudes striving for success or Unlimited pleasures he would be sure to revel in happiness. How rude the awakening must be when he tries it. The great city doesn’t know you have entered it. You may be the oracle of your own town but you may stand on the street of the city and watch the passers-by for hours at a time and no otie will say a word to you. There is no more lonesome feeling in the world than that of feeling yourself alone in the midst of people. It’s a? bad as being thirsty in the middle of the ocean. Crowds do not give happiness. —Exchange. Sometime we may have an Ideal leg-, islature —one that repeal more< laws than it passes, -