The Syracuse and Lake Wawasee Journal, Volume 14, Number 39, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 26 January 1922 — Page 3

The Girl, a Horse flTlfl fl I jOO* FRANCIS LYNDE JL JL Copyricht by Charles Scribner's Sons

BULLERTON AGAIN. Synopsis. — Under his grandfather’s will, Stanford Broughton, society idler, finds his share of the estate, valued at something like Mtfi.OOO, lies in a “safe repository," latitude and longitude described, and that is all. It may be identi•fied by tlie presence nearby of a - brown-haired; blue-eyed girl, a piebald horse, ajnd a dog with a split fa«e, half black and half white. Stanford at j first regards the bequest as a jdke, but after consideration sets out to find his legacy. On his way to Denver Stanford Rears from, a fellow traveler, Charles Bullerton, a mining engineer, a story) having to do with a flooded mine) He has a “hunch” this mine is the “safe repository” of the will. Bullerton refuses -him information. On the station platform at Atr<j>pia, just as the train pulls out, Stanford sees what appear to be the Identical horse and dog described in his grandfather’s will. Impressed, he leaves the train at the next stop,. Angels. Unable to secure a conveyance, Broughton Beir.es a track-inspection car and escapes, leaving the impression on the town marshal. Beasley, that he is demented. Pursued, he abandons the car, which is wrecked, and escapes on foot. In the darkness he is Overtaken by the girl, A the horse aijid the dog. After he explains Jits presence, she invites him to hfyr licme, at the Old Cinnabar mine. Broughton's hosts are Hiram Twombly, caretaker of the mine, and his daughter Jeanie. Stanford does not reveal his identity. Hiram) and Stanford go puttering about) the mine.

CHAPTER VII. Honorable Scars. If I had been what I had invited Jeanie Twojnlily to imagine me : merely an ordinary drifting tourist set afoot in tile ! wilds by circumstances over which’l; had no control, my cue to be on niy way the following morning ) couldn’t h:tvd been delayed much beyond the appOtizing'breakfast to which I sat down! a little, after seven o’clock. But once I had reached the end of the rainbow, and had no intention of moving oil Ijjefore I could have my chance to the pot of gold which is said to be jthe reward of successful rainbow chasers, I was casting about for an exchse to prolong my stay when Twombly, I in -accordance with the bit of talk which I had overheard in the loft chamber, took the matter out of my hands. “When |we was 5 talkin’ about autermobiles and such, las’ night, you let on to me| that you knowed something about machinery,” was the way he began. “If you ain’t in a teftrin’ hurry to be goiiV sojnewheres, maybe 1 could get you tb hang 'round for a spell and show me how to take a steam engine to pieces' so ’t I could clean it up and keep it from goln’ to rack and ruin.” “With all the pleasure imaginable,” I hastened to say. before he could have time to change his mind. While the cerulean-eyed maiden was carrying) the dishes out of the kitchen, the old man donned overalls and a jumper, and a few minutes later I was introduced to the mine—-my mine, if you pleajse—or rather to so much of it as was open to'any visitor other than a submarine diver. My heart! went hot in sympathy for good old Grandfather Jasper. The scoundrels {who had done him up had not been content with merely selling him tho gold brick; they had let him spend thousands more for the pumping after they, themselves, -were well assured that lie was merely throwing money away. ’ I asked paddy what he wished to do with tlie machinery. He said he was afraid) it might be rusting inside, Standing uhused so long, and he wanted to | takfe it apart; especially the ’ steam engine. Sp I told him how to begin, and he fell to work; but in just a few minutes his awkwardness with the tools gave me a tit of the willies. “See here,” I said; “If you’ve got another pair of overalls and a jumper —' J “Sure- pop, I have,” he admitted; and tjjat was how I discovered my first real jpb of honest-to-goodpess work. We, stuck at it until noon, disasHembljing, (and scraping rust, and polishing and) oiling, and incidentally finding the machinery in a great deal better condition than it had any right to be after standing idle for so long a .time. Or course, I -bunged my soft hands all' up, and got as dirty as a pig, and {all that; but that first forenoon is written down in my life as one of the most enjoyable I’ve ever known. And when Daddy Hiram called the noon halt, and we went across to the cabin to wash up for dinner, I was hungry. I think that forenoon measured about the only useful half-day’s work I’d ever done; and the afternoon made it a full day. Say, people—it was great! For the first time in an idle, happy-go-lucky life I had a job with a concrete object in view, and a keen ambition to see it through. I was thirstily%uger to get that machinery In shape abd to start those old hepumps, and’this in spite of Daddy Hi- ' ram’s repeated assurances that it “wouldn’t do no good a-tall.” During a hard-working Interval of two weeks a number of things had happened. One -was a visit from the desperadolsh-lookjng Angefiohn who had; Impressed me with the fact that he belonged to the Ancient and Honorable Order of the Silver Star. I’ll have to tell about that visit, because it proved what a tremendously lucky thing it) was for me that I hiid fallen among friends. . It was this way. On the second day »f my Stay in tl»e bosom of the Twbmbly family I noticed that a battered surveying instrument —a transit which was probably a left-over from the time L when the Cinnabar was a working proposition, with au engineer to figure

out its dips and angles—had been moved from its place in the corner of the living room and was stood upon its three legs at a small, square window t\hlch looked out over the plateaubench of the mountain to the southeastward. Two mornings afterward I found out the why and wherefore of the old transit and its “set up,” as an engineer would say. Daddy,Hiram and I were standing with outbacks to the hearth fire, waiting for breakfast to be put on the table, when Jeanie came in from the kitchen with a great stack of hot batter-cakes. As she darted out again after the coffee and bacon, she paused just a fraction of a second to put her eye to the telescope. I didn’t see what kind of a signal it was that she passed to Daddy Hiram, but whatever its nature, it made him get action in a tearing hurry. “Up into the loft with you, quick, Stannie!” he yipped at me; and as I went stumbling up the ladder in blind obedience I saw him hastily helping his daughter to remove my plate, knife and fork, spoon, coffee cup and chair; in other words, to obliterate swiftly and completely all signs of the presence of a third member of the family. In a minute .or so there wqs a gruff hail from somebody'outdoors and Daddy got up to go and look out. “Why, hello, Ike, you old geezer!” he called. “What under the shinin’ sun fetches you up on old Cinnabar this early in the mornin’? ’Light down and come in; you’re just in the nick o’ time for breakfast.” While I was cudgeling my brain in a vain effort to recall what, if any, memory association there" should be awakened in me by the mention of an “Ike” person, this particular Isaac presented himself at the cabin door and clumped in with the stiff-legged walk of a man who has ridden horseback far and hard. I knew then why I should have been alJe to dig that memory association. This was Mr. Isaac Beasley, my Angelic friend of the overgrown silver star and the unshaven countenance. “Huh!” he grunted, “them griddlecakes shore do look mighty righteous to me ! I been ridin’ sense two hours afore sun-up; wild-goose chase clear over on t'other side o’ Lost mountain. Couple 6’ prospectors blew into Angels day afore yistidday and said they’d seen that con-dummed lunatic that got loose from us and busted up a car f'r the railroad; them yoddleheads said they’d seen him workin’ in the Lost Creek placers.” “A looney?” said Daddy Hiram, as innocent as a two-weeks-old lamb. “Yep; that feller that stole an inspection car and got it smashed up and then took to the hills. You hain’t seen anything of him, have ye?” “Nary a lunatic,” said Daddy Hiram calmly. His breakfast eaten, Friend Isaac showed no disposition to hurry away —much to my chagrin. He took time to smoke a leisurely pipe with Daddy Hiram and to ask a lot of indifferent questions about the drowned mine. “Hain’t heard nothin’ fr’m yer owners yit, have ye, Hiram?” he wanted to know, after —as it seemed to me—the subject had been pretty thoroughly talked to death. I Daddy’s reply, made as to one with whopi the matter had been canvassed before. * “Nothin’ but that clippin’ from some newspaper back East, tellin’ about Mr. Dudley’s passin’ out.” , “Kind-a curious somebody don’t tell ye somethin’, ain’t it?” the marshal put in. “Looks like the heirs ’d be either fishin’ ’r cuttin’ bait on this wiyii ■H CTliil MB “Up in the Loft With You Quick, Stannie!” He Yipped at Me. here Cinnabar layout—not as it’d do ’em any good if they did. Didn’t any letter come with the newspaper piece?” “Nary a pen-scratch.” “Whereabout was the envelope posted?” “Washin’ton.” “Aha!” said Ito myself, “I have you, Cousin Percy! For some reason best known to yourself you didn’t want Daddy Hiram to get hold of Grandfather Jasper’s proper address!” His .pipe smoked out, the marshal prepared to take horse. Daddy went with him to the far side of the dump and the murmur of their voices came to me in diminishing cadences. After a bit Daddy came back and called up to me in the sing-song of the miners after the final blast has been fired: "A-a-l-I over, Stannie. I reckon ye"

can come down now and get you some breakfast.” Jeanie served me in silence when I took my place at table and the good old man stood in the doorway, keeping watch, as I made no doubt, against a possible second-thought return of Friend Isaac, the bristle-bearded. Throughout the working day which followed he never made the slightest reference to the episode of the morning and, truly, I think the whole incident would have been buried in oblivion by th.ose two simple-minded souls if I hadn’t first spoken of it rayself. This I diij in the evening of the same day, when Daddy had gone to make his entirely useless night round of the mine property. As on most evenings, Jeanie sat at her corner of the hearth, knitting, and I was filling a bedtime pipe. “Jeanie,” I broke out, “I wish you’d tell me why you and your father*are so good to me. How do you know that I’m not the crazy criminaOhat other people believe me t<r be? I did steal the car and get it smashed, you know.’’ “You are not a criminal and I am sure you didn’t mean to get the car. smashed. Resides, you had taken shelter under our roof.” “You are true Bedouins,” I laughed. “Is that the code in the West? —your code?—to defend anybody who has eaten salt with you?” “I should think it would be any■body’s code.” “You and your father were expecting this man Beasley to come here looking for me?” “Daddy thought he might just happen along. We are only four miles from Atropia, you know.” “And was that the reason you put the old transit at the window? —so you might watch for him?” “Os course.” By Jove! Another woman, any other woman in the world, I thought, would have let some little shred of sentiment show; she couldn’t have helped it. But this one didn’t. A boy couldn’t have looked me in the eyes any more frankly and squarely than she did when she said “Os course.” Since I had eaten their bread. I was, for so long as I chose to stay, a member of the clan. It was near the end of the fortnight, and Daddy Hiram and I had scoured and rubbed and scraped and reassembled the engine and pumps, and were finishing the cleaning of the boilers. These were pretty badly rusted and scaled, and to do the job properly, we had taken the manhole heads out of the Holes left to give access to the interior of the shells, and had had a good-natured squabble as to which of us should crawl inside to do the scraping; Daddy insisting upon doing it, because as he pointed out, he was the smaller man, and I arguing that I should because I was the younger and stronger. To settle it finally we flipped a coin —one of those inch-wide copper pennies that Daddy carried for a pocketpiece—and I won the toss. The job wasn’t exactly a picnic, but I got along all right until we came to the last of the battery. I found that the repairers had at some past time inserted a couple of extra stay-rods, so that there was little enough room left in the old steel shell for a professional boilermonkey to wriggle about in, to say nothing of a husky young chap who tipped the beam at around a hundred and seventy pounds, stripped. Just the same, I made shift to knock the worst of the scale oft and rattle it down so that it could be washed out from below, and was backing out to make my escape, when I found that one of the extra stay-rods was loose. At my asking, Daddy screwed up the nut on the outside of the boiler head to tighten the rod, and then passed the wrench in to me so that I could screw up the nut on the inside. To this good day I don’t know just what did happen, but I guess the big S-wrench must* have slipped off the nut while I was pulling on it. Anyhow, something hit me a stunning crack over the eye. and I promptly faded out, blink, like a penny candle in a gust of wind. When I came to myself again it was night, and I was lying undressed and in a real bed in a room that was totally unfamiliar. In the looking-glass which hung on the opposite wall I got a glimpse of myself with a regular Turk’s turban of white stuff wound around my head and skew-angled to cover one eye. When I stirred, Jeanie popped in from somewhere to ask what she could do for me. “What was it?” I asked; “an earthquake?” “Daddy says you hit yourself with a wrench. Does it hurt much now?” “Not more than having a sound tooth pulled; no. But I was inside the boiler, wasn’t I? How did you manage to get me out?” She turned her face away and even with one eye I could see that she was trying to hide a smile. “It was funny,” she confessed, “though we were both scared stiff' at the time. Daddy called me and I rt|n over. You were all doubled up inside of the boiler, and there wasn’t room for Daddy to crawl in and straighten you out. And unless you could be straightened out, we couldn’t pull you out.” , ' “I see. What did you do?—send for a boiler-monkey?” “What is a boiler-monkey?’* "It isn’t a ‘what’; it’s a man; usually the littlest man in the shop.” “I was the monkey,” she said. I tried to sit up, but the blinding headache I bad somehow acquired said No. “You crawled Into that rusty old coffin?” She nodded. “Daddy lent me his overalls and jumper. It wasn’t bard; but when I

SYRACUSE AND LAKE WAWASEE JOURNAL

got in and saw how badly you were hurt . . . there wasn’t anything to laugh at, then. Daddy says you’ll be apt to carry the scar as long as you live.” “Honorable scars,” I muttered. “You straightened me around—l’ll believe it if you say so—and then what?” “Then I got out and we pulled you out—Daddy and I. I was glad you didn’t know; that you were past feeling things, I mean. We must have hurt you frightfully. I don’t see how you ever crawled in through that little hole.” “It’s much easier when you’re alive,” J offered. “I’m going to bring you a cup of herb tea, and then I’ll go and lie down for a while.” Since, as I afterward learned, the dose she gave me was some sort of home-brewed sleeping draft, I very nearly slept the clock round. Daddy came in and helped me into my clothes —they were eating their noon meal when I woke up and called—and apart from being still a bit headachey and tottery, I was all right again. But for two whole days they made me sit around and be waited on, hand and foot, and coddled and petted, those two; for their own flesh and blood they couldn’t have done more. CHAPTER VIII. The Laboring Pumps. On the third day after-1 had tried to brain myself in the old boiler I was pretty nearly as good as ever, and my two Good Samaritans reluctantly consented to my going back to work, Jeanie renewing the bandage on my broken head, and laying many injunctions upon Daddy Hiram to send me right back to the cabin if I didn’t behave ; “behaving,” in her use of the word, meaning that I was to take it easy on the job. That sounded mighty good to me, the. way she said it. Most men, I fancy, are only overgrown children in the sense that they like to be fussed over by their womankind. Don’t mistake me, please; I wasn’t in love with her —them Candidly, I don’t think I knew what a real love was. But it was mighty pleasant to live in the same house with her, and to eat her delicious cooking; to be with her every day, and to have those undisturbed evening half-hours with her in front of the fire. If I had had to get out; or if there had been another man . . . but I won’t anticipate. In due time and after we had completely overhauled the rusted and gummed-up machinery, Daddy and I happened upon a day when we were ready to put fire under the boilers and we did it. If I should live to be a hundred years old, I shall never forget the tense, suppressed excitement that gripped me as we brought the wood for tlie furnaces that bright, hot, July morning. By eight o’clock we had ninety pounds of steam pressure on the boilers, but we held off until it had climbed to the regular working pressure of one hundred and twenty. Then I started the pumps; two big centrifugal suctions, mounted on a platform in the shaft mouth and so arranged that they could be lowered to follow the water level down —if it Should go down; pumps that each threw a stream six inches in diameter. After the pumps were started and the indicators showed, or seemed to show, that they were working up to full capacity, I rigged up a measuring gauge; a bit of wood for a float, with a string tied to it, and the string passing over a pulley in the shafthouse roof-beaming with a weight on the end of it. If the water level should go down, the float would sink with it, pulling the weight up. A smooth board, with feet, inches and fractions penciled on it, was stood up beside the weight to answer for a measuring scale. At the end of the hour the float hadn’t moved a hair's breadth; not a hundredth part of an inch, so far as we could see. “I don’t believe the pumps are working!” I exploded. “Surely they’d make some little difference in the level unless that shaft’s got all the underground water in the world to back it up. Those indicators must be out of whack in some way. Where does the discharge water empty itself?” Daddy knew this, too. “Over in the left-hand gulch—into the creek.” “Show me,” I directed. We found the discharge from the pumps a little way below the end of the path; a ten-inch pipe which had been laid underground from the shafthouse, presumably to keep it from freezing in winter. The end of the pipe stuck out over the stream and it was projecting pretty nearly a solid ten-inch jet of water. The pumps were working all right; there was no doubt about that. I dug up enough of my college math to figpre that two sixinch streams would just about fill a ten-inch pipe, and here it was, running full and pouring like another torrent into the gulch. So back we went to the mine buildings.to pile more wood into the furnaces and to resume our watching of the indicator and its pen-cil-marked scale. Noon caught up with u;?, after a while —with nothing doing save that we were rapidly diminishing our woodpile. For a solid week we chopped down trees and split them up, Daddy and I, and kept the fires retiring under the boilers and kept those monster pumps whirring and grinding away at the shaft mouth —night and day, mind you; watch on and watch off. And, right straight through it all, that little indicator weight I had rigged up stood stock still; never moved the width of one of the pencil marks I had drawn on its gauge board. By this time my stubbornness was yielding something to the still more stubborn fact. If all this pumping hadn’t even startel the flood toward its diminution, truly all the waters under the earth must be backing the unfailing well of that drowned shaft. Toward the last I think we kept on more from force of habit than anything else, but at the end of the week I gave in and consented to let the fires die down, though it was like pulling teeth to do it. Something, indeed, I brought out of the overtime work, disappointing as it had been in the major sense; I was muscled up as hard as a keg of nails; as strong as a mule, and the fierce toll of wood-

chopping and boiler-firing had given me an appetite for real work that fairly made me ache when I thought of stopping. We thrashed it out that evening, the three of us before the living room fire, after Daddy and I had finally stopi>ed the pumps and let the steam run dowh., “I reckon you hain’t no call to take it so hard, Stannie,” Daddy said, after I had growled and grouched like a bear with a sore head over our failure. “After all, you must ricollect that it ain’t no skin off ’m you if the old Cinnabar stays right where she is and soaks till kingdom come.” “No skin off of me?” I yelped, with a sort of wild laugh. “Listen—both of you.” and then I told them the entire heart-breaking story of Cousin Percy’s letter and my grandfather’s joke; of my starting out on the fantastic search for the girl, a horse and a dog—a search which would doubtless have failed before it had fairly begun if I hadn’t happened to ride in a Pull.man smoker with the man, Charles Bullerton. I remembered afterward that I had got just that far—to the naming of Bullerton —wheri Barney, the pie-faced collie, got up from his corner of the hearth, stalked to the door and began to growl. The next minute we heard a horse’s sh-r-r-, and Daddy Hiram rose, pushed the dog aside and opened the door. Then Jeanie and I. still sitting before the fire, heard him say gruffly: “Well, hello, Charley Builerton! What in Sam Hill are you doin’ up in this neck o’ woods?” I turned to look at Jeanie—and missed. In the moment when I had glanced aside she had vanished. When Bullerton came in, which was after Daddy Hiram had lighted the lantern and shown him where to put

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I Consented to Let the Fires Die Down. his horse, he didn't seem half as much surprised to find me sitting before the Twombly house fire as I thought he might been. “Well, well! —look who’s here!” he bantered. “How are you, Broughton? This old world isn’t so Infernally big as it might be, after all, Is it? Who would have thought that our next meeting would be in such an out-of-the-way corner of the universe as this! I hope you’ve been Well and chipper, all these weeks.” I said what I was obliged to, and wasn’t any too confoundedly cordial about it, either, I guess. Bullerton drew up a chair and began to talk, much as if we’d invited him to, about his hard-working year in South America; about the fabulously rich mines in that far-away Utopia of the gold-diggers; about his voyage up from the Isthmus; about the oddness of his meeting me on the train, combined more excruciating oddness of his meeting me again, here in the Eastern Timanyonis; things'like that. He was just comfortably surging along in the swing of it when a door opened behind us and he jumped up with another “Well, well, look who’s here!” and when I turned, he was holding Jeanie's two hands in his and braying over her like a wild ass of the plains. And, if you’ll believe me, that girl bad gone and changed her dress! That is what she went to do when she slipped out and left me to stare at her empty chair, after she had heard her father say, “Well, hello, Bullerton !” It was all off with me from that time on. For what was left of the evening, Bullerton played a solo. I got full-up on the performance about nine o’clock, and climbed my ladder and went to bed, muffling my head in the blankets so that I wouldn’t have to lie there and listen to the bagpipe drone of Bullerton’s voice in the room below. I hoped—without the least shadow of reason for the hope, of course—that tlie next morning would show me a hole in the atmosphere in the space that Bullerton had occupied. But there was no such luck. He was present at the breakfast table, as large as life and twice as talkative. I made my escape from the cabin as soon as I could and tramped over to the mine. A glance into the shaft showed the black pool in its depths as placid and untroubled as if we hadn’t just lifted a million or so cubic feet of water out of it by hard labor. In morose discouragement I recalled the few things I had learned about drowned mines while I was knocking about in the Cripple Creek district trying to trace Bullerton. Particularly I remembered my talk with Hilton, the man who had finally put me upon what had proved to be the right track in the tracing job. He had talked quite freely. Sometimes the flood was only the tapping of an underground stream, as when one digs a well; in other cases—and these were most common in the Cripple Creek region—the source of the flood would be found in a buried lake or reservoir, large or not so large, as the luck might have it. If the source were a lake—so Hilton had said —there was little use in trying to pump the mine dry.

Mulling over these discouraging bits

es information, I was naturally, lea back to the Pullman smoking-room talk with Bullerton. I remembered, with a sharp little flick of the memory whip, that he had given an expert opinion, which,, as it seemed, he had backed up a year earlier with a thousand dollars of real money —the deposit in the Omaha bank made to cover my grand; father's bargain binder. What he had said was, “I’m reasonably certain that I discovered away in which that mine can be drained at comparatively small expense.” Had he really discovered a way?— and with no better data than a study of the maps? Staring down at the black pool whicli Daddy and I hadn’t been able to lower by so much as a fraction of an inch in a week’s pumping, 1 doubted it. I was stumbling out toward the engine room with my head down and my hands in my pockets when I heard footsteps coming from the direction of the cabin beyond the dump. Looking out, I saw Bullerton sauntering over toward tlie shaft-house. Though I knew that some sort of a wrangle with him was inevitable, I was [>erfectly willing to postpone it, so I edged into the blacksmith shop and sat down on the anvil, hoping lie might miss me and go away. But there was nothing coming to me on that bet. “I saw your lead when you left the house,” lie began, alter he had found me and had dusted off an empty dynamite box for a seat. “Don't you think you’ve played it rather low down on me?” “How so?” “By taking in my story of this mine when I told it to you without giving me a hint that you were the person most deeply interested —since niy old gentleman was your grandfather!” “It didn’t strike me that way, and it doesn’t yet,” 1 shot back. “I notice you were mighty careful not to tell me the name of your old gentlenuui — -or rather, I should say, you lied about it when I wired you.” “An ordinary business precaution.’.’ he chuckled. “But we needn’t waste our time bickering over what might have been —and wasn't. I have a contract with your grandfather Which is legally binding upon you. as his heir I to this particular piece of proi»erty — | always provided you can prove that you are his heir. What I’m here to say is that I'm ready to carry out iny part of the contract; to unwater this mine. What do you say?” "How are you going to do it?” “That, my young friend, is particularly my own affair.” I felt pretty Scrappy that morning; there is no use in denying it. “No, by Jove! I want you to ! marry me!” (TO BE CONTINUED.) USED ANTS TO FIGHT PESTS Southern Arabs Employed the Method 150 Years Ago in Culture of the Date Palm. Control of destructive insects by the introduction of their natural enemies has become an important technique during the last generation, writes Paul Popence in Science. But if competent observers are to be trusted, the southern Arabs employed the same method more than 150 years ago in tlie culture of the date palm. In his “Relation d’uu Voyage dans I’Yemen” (Paris, 18S0, page 155), P. E. Botta says: “I was able to verify the singular fact previously observed by Forskal, that the date palms in Yemen are attacked by a species of ant which would cause them to perish if each year the growers did not bring from Mie mountains and fasten in the tops of the palms branches of a tree that I did not recognize, which contains the nests of another species of ant which destroys that of the date palm.” P. Forskal was the naturalist of C. Niebuhr’s expedition; his work was published posthumously in 1775. I have not seen ins account to which Botta refers. It would be interesting to know whether the history of economic entomology furnishes any earlier record of the “biological method” of pest con--trol. Wind and Sound. A government scientist gives an interesting explanation of the action of the wind in preventing the spread of sound. It is, he claims, not the wind, as such, that prevents sound from traveling against it, but difference in the strength of the wind. If, for instance, the wind is stronger above than below’, or stronger at one side, its effect will be to tilt the sound waves in one direction or another. Differences of temperature in the air also cause deflection of the waves of sound. Other atmospheric causes exist which deflect sound from a straight course and prevent it from going as far in a certain direction as it may have been expected to go. Some of the sirens in this country, it appears, produce sounds which ought theoretically to be audible at a distance of 1,500 miles, but, in fact, the authorities are satisfied if they are heard only two miles away. The reason for the discrepancy between calculation and experiment was probably atmospheric deflection of the sound. Tree’s Winter Plans. The catalpa tree has away all Its own in getting ready for winter, says the American Forestry Magazine. It places three leaves in a whorl and then at a little distance above there is another whorl so placed that the leaves will cover the spaces between the leaves below. In winter we cannot see tnese leaves, but the leaf scars show where they were and the buds just above add certainty to their location. If we .find a tree with the butfs arranged in this way on the vigorous shoots w’o may be assured it is one of the two species of catalpa. United States Millionaires. There are 20,000 millionaires in the United States, with a family population of 50,000, or one to each 2,100 units of the population, according to an analy« sis of the 1919 lacome tax returns

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ter for a testimonial if you wish, as I cannot say too much about what your medicine has done for me and for my daughter. ” —Mrs. Wm. S. Hughes, * Greenville, Delaware. Mothers and oftentimes grandmothers have taken and have learned the value of Lydia E. Pirikham’s Vegetable Compound. So they recommend the medicine to others. The best test of any medicine is what it has done for others. For nearly fifty years we have published letters from mothers, daughters, and women, young and old, recommending the Vegetable Compound. They know what it did for them and are glad to tell others. In * your own neighborhood are women who know of its great value. Mothers—daughters, why not try it ?

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Fortunate is the liar who loses reputation. MOTHER, QUICK! GIVE CALIFORNIA FIG SYRUP FOR CHILD’S BOWELS Even a sick child loves the “fruity” taste of “California Fig Syrup.” If the little tongue is coated, or if your child is listless, cross, feverish, full of cold, or has colic, a teaspoonful will never fail to open the bowels. In a few hours you can see for yourself how thoroughly it works all the constipation poison, sour bile and waste from the tender, little bowels and gives you a well, playful child again. Millions of mothers keep “California Fig Syrup” handy. They know a teaspoonful today saves a sick child tomorrow. Ask your druggist for genuine “California Fig Syrup” which has directions for babies and children of all ages printed on bottle. Mother! You must say “California” or you may get an imitation fig syrup.—Advertisement. Price tags never accompany real Christmas gifts. Thousands Have Kidney Trouble and Never Suspect It Applicants for Insurance Often Rejected. I - ' Judging from reports from druggists fc-ho are constantly in direct touch with the public, there is one preparation that has been very successful in overcoming these conditions. The mild and healing influence of Dr. Kilmer’s Swamp-Root is soon realized. It stands the highest for its remarkable record of success. An examining physician for one of the prominent' Life Insurance Companies, in an interview on the subject, made the astonishing statement that one reason why so many applicants for insurance are rejected is because kidney trouble is so common to the American people, and the large "majority of those whose applications are declined do not even suspect that they have the disease. Dr. Kilmer’s Swamp Root is on sale at all drug stores in bottles of two sizes, medium and large. However, if you wish first to test this great preparation send ten cents to Dr. Kilmer & Co., Binghamton, N. Y., for a sample bottle. When writing be sure and mention this paper. Advertisement. How to Tell. The way to tell the difference be- x tween a Japanese statesman and a wooden image is to watch for the expression on the wooden image’s face. Children’s handkerchiefs often look hopeless when they come to the laundry. Wash with good soap, rinse fa* water blued with Red Cross Ball Blue. —Advertisement. Nature has done wonders, but It was man who developed 197 varieties of dogs. Act so in the present that you need not fear the future.

Haoo Strong, Htalthif £>••• If they Tire, Itch, ran Smarter Burn, if Sore, WirZrC/rC Irritated, Inflamed ar TO UR LYLj Granulated,useMurine often. Soothes, Refreshes. Safe for Infant or Adult At all Druggists. Write for Free Eye Book. Nariat Eye lastly Ct.. Ckkafs