Evening Star Newspaper, August 5, 1893, Page 7

THE SEASON’S FAD. A Woman of Fashion Must Have Her Shoulders Appear Broad. A STUNNING EFFECT. Gowns That Are Fearfully and Wonderfully Made. A FEATHERED BEAUTY. New York, Augast 4, 1898. SRELY BY THE width of your shoul- ders can your status as a woman of fash- fon be decided. You may be short or tall, thin or plump, long waisted or otherwise, young or old, but you must be as broad across your shoulders as your @ressmaker can make you. To this end crinoline and haircloth, ruffles and ribbons, lace and fringe, puffs and bretelles, all contrib- 5 ute, and when the gown fearfully and wonderfully made {s on you, how do you look? It makes @ differ- ence who Is observing you as to bow that question is answered. Your dressmaker, your vis-a-vis In the opera box, your dis- couraged imitator in the parquet will tell you you look absolutely lovely. Your gen- tlemen friends will echo this, no doubt, they are bound to think you lovely in any guise, but the artist and the lover of the natural and simple, the respecter of the human form divine, ‘will turn away speech- less. the fact being that you are altogether stunning. That 0 effec like to achieve, and nothing that fashion has pa Bee to =e calculated to help in bringing it about ‘The very square shoulder effects—which the profane observer must be excused for calling a bald-faced imitation of a police- man’s uniform—are indebted to much tient padding and building up on crinoline or other foundations. The real flesh and blood shoulder is left far beneath the structure, and nature’s pretty curve is wholly obliterated. Perhaps, in view of the independent ition of 'womankind in these days of their intellectual and in- dustrial proegress it is fitting that they should go about looking as if they carried a ship on their shoulders. This very latest fad is relieved of the numerous gathers, plaits and shirrs in sleeves and bretell the stiff foundation enabling the archit to lay on the dress goods and trimming quite smoothly. In the case of a decollette costume the extra width of shoulder can be secured by wings of lace on @ proper foundation or by bows of ribbon which sim- ulate the wings of a butterfly. As the sleeves diminish in size these wing- ef- fects are a necessity to maintain the vast area between shoulder and shoulder. The wings are a very practical conceit, at all events, whether they are copied from the wings of the god Mercury, and so stand for vigilance, or from those of a butterfly who lives the life of a rover and symbolizes Pleasure. Vigilance is not wholly out of Place either when you consider what a (roman undertakes who foliows the fash- ns. Each of the five examples of current fash- fonable attire set before you in the artist’ sketches shows a met of adorning th shoulders by building up, widening or drap- ing to increase their apparent size. In the case of the initial picture it is accomplished by means of & short (Ty ER retelles edged with passementerie. Then the sleeves, which below are a long Wide at Shoulders and Skirt Hem. tight cuff, fintshed at the wrist by a band of velvet, have a huge balloon puff at the shoulders. The waist itself in this costume is round and quite full, hooks in the center and is confined by a folded belt of velvet. ‘The skirt is of the umbrella pattern, all its Seams being finished with passementerie and ornamented around the bottom with a band of lavender veivet, edged top and bot- tom with the same’ passementerie. As Sketched, the costume is composed of fig- ured cream-colored silk shot in lavender d green and trimmed with lavender vel- Vet and tinsel passementerie. ‘The next picture presents a natty walk- Ing dress, composed of woolen crej id of the same shade ing a few gold threads. reli skirt ts four yards in with silk, and the bottom is garnished with four rows of braid. With the costume 1s worn a sleeveless Jacket, made of the same material. It 1s tight fitting, ts slashed around the bottom and edged down front and around the tabs with one row of braid. The blouse is fasi foned of pink and yellow changeable silk, with a yoke of white surah and a standing collar of white moire ribbon. The change- able stik is gathered to the surah yoke and forms a full puff in the front and back and over th alder, under which the top of the jacket is hidden. The jacket hooks in the front. The puff ts held in place in the front by two buttons and a slender gold chain, or two buttons and a cord loop. All this makes a simple and pretty costume, without exaggeratisa anywhere, yet with allowance made for Jushion’s decrees as to wide skirts and saulders. The picture which follows is merely a very pretty de- vice of enhancement, being a collarette of black ostrich tips. Tt is sewed to a black satin foundation and around the neck there is a ruching of tiny tips, and the two long ends may either hang down in front or be taken eround to the back and held in place with a ring. The feathers on the hat should 01 md with those of the collarette for the sake of harmony. Feathered Beauty. Fodiices are now most often seen round at the waist and generally a plain piping of the material is used a3 a finish. The waist fs carried to its ful! length, and this ts cer- tainly. 2 more becoming fashion than the Ide which shortened the fig- nee oe epee il waist look thick and large an of bodices totally different to t and materi skirts ther of silk or satin now have deep der frilis of cream lace, supplemented with frills and collar of the | sux above. i Eecgaline, und th | ‘rimmed with e j aro Cape-Like Gi this yoke fashion are much more becomin; than those with frills from the neck, whicl utterly conceal the outline of neck and shoulders. The little zouaye jackets without sleeves have become very popular, and they certainly make a charming Anish’ to = lant own, and are much worn over cottons and foulards. The newest have frilled revers, one in memory being of black moire and sat- in stripe, or could be made in black silk striped with jet or let in with lace insertion. Fancy Paisley material is also attractive, oF plece guipure laid over colored shot silk. The circular belk skirt of the costume in the fourth illustration is made of foulard, and ‘ished with a deep fiounce of dotted silk tulle, headed with zig-zag lines of wide jet passementerie. The waist has a pointed yoke of pleated tulle with standing collar of the same. The yoke is finished with a cape garniture of black tulle embroidered with jet and wired at the edge. Around the waist there is a pointed die. The sleeves have a bell puff of pleated tulle and a cuff of black tulle embroidered with jet to correspond with the collar. The waist closes at the side, one side of the cape being loose from shoulder to fron’ Where it hooks. The last costume sketch: is of dark blue batiste figured with white, and has a plastron of white mull or The skirt is three and a half yards wide, and has a panel of the same stuff as the plastron at elther side of the front. If the material is not wide enough, a sufficient number of narrower breadths must be taken in order to thi uired width. The round waist hooks im the front and the ‘With Lace-Draped Shoulders. lastron comes over. It has only one seam the back and one dart in either front. The plastron has a pleat down the center adorned with tiny gold buttons. A full flounce of black lace forms the wide col- lar, which partly hides the plastron, and ppears in the belt in the it and the ck. The lace is not cut away, but forms a point in back. The gira wide and inted at the top in front, but narrows ward the back, where the point is corres- pondingly shorter. The wing-like ornaments for shoulders which have already been mentioned are also seen with long sleeves and high necks, and are made by stiff pleated velvet or by Pleated lace over a stiff foundation. The Velvet Is sometimes ornamented by jet sim- ulating spots on the butterfly’ ‘Though the newest capes droop the shoulders, it is so very littl wings remain unruffied, so to speak. When bretelles are used to heighten the effect of width—and when are they not—this sume butterfly or wing style is the one most uscd. In light or thin materials frills, gathers and shirrs do the work; in heavy goods velvet and silk which are’pleated wing style. So it ts, too, with the epaulettes. Even the fichu of lace or muslin is made to do tl same sevice by spreading {t across the bust till the lace-trimmed edge meets the top of the sleeve where the fullness of the lace makes the airy, just-poised-for-a-flight ef- fect so much desired. It is too tancalizing, dear girls. Your adorers know that your virtues fit you for flight into the ether above, at any moment, and this outward semblance of an inward grace, met at every step and in every assemblage, makes that flight too threatening. Be as broad-chested and sturdy of lung as you will, but don’t cultivate wings so assiduously. coe THE SUMMER TRESSES. Laxity in the Manner of Twisting snd Coiling. In the matter of locks, there 1s consider- able latitude allowed the summer girl. She may twine her hair after her own fashion and no one may object. The back of the crown still continues to be the favorite place for the coils and puffs to cluster. An Elaborate Cotffare. Once in a while an elaborate colffure is Teared at the top, but these are rare in the warm season of the year. Even the pins and other ornaments of winter sre largely discarded, and lighter ways of bear- ing the burden of tresses are devised. The simple coil always revives with the summer and the forehead curls are often neatly pruned back. Frizzing and curling and waving are largely discontinued, and she Whose locks wave naturally is‘ most vied. ‘This colffure of the summer often arranged. one of the most elaborate les, and is not one to be jut’ for dressy occasions it is beautiful and becoming to almost any face. The hair must be divided at the crown, two-thirds falling to the back and the other third used for the arrangement at the top. After the two-thirds have been securely fastened at the crown they are wound Into the rather pecullar arrangement that {s shown. The top third is loosely twisted and les in a long, narrow loop the top of the head, from which rises the high puff at the center. If the hatr refuses to stand up, it may be twisted loosely about @ small shell band. oo ——____ Thetr Values. From the Detroit Free Press. ‘The visitor in town was asking his host about the people they saw passing the win- dow. “Who 1s that ordinary-looking man with the handsome women?” asked the visitor | as a couple went by. 's Mr. Dt tnoneyed aristoc- laughed the visitor. ‘No, not exactly. You see, that isn't her name. She's his wife and I call her that as ja joke 3 THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D.°0.) SATURDAY, THE GOWN OF A WEEK. One That Blended With the Sad Sea Waves. The simple in gowning—does it give prom- ise of a speedy return? We have seen a Suggestion of such promise in the baby gown of the sultry weather, with its neat, any gown but this. There mystery about the whole proceeding. Her dress is is of that in the wave takes on In a tempest, and she has trimmed it with delicate mauve braid. The skirt opens over a petticoat of mauve and is trimmed at Peg foot and up the cuts the basque coat—a Storm Color and Manav rather unusual sight this season—hangs over. It is cor ndingly slashed, headed with big vel uttons. A short double cape, also divided, hangs over large leg of muttons of mauve silk. A PERFECT TOILET. More Attention to Minor Details Re- quired in the Mourning Tints. Black and white now reposed against the rock, with white at its feet. Just be- fore bright pihk had shone forth and, a little before that, old rose. The rock was ® peculiar color, a rich brown, and was a favorite stopping place on the shore. The girls liked it because it brought out the color in their dresses so prettily and be- cause the shadow of it softened the tints of their complexion; the men, because it was 30 sheltered and afforded such a de- lightful opportunity to lazily stretch at the feet of their lady loves, in the cool white of their summer wardrobe. This time, as I said, it was black and white. Not black and white in checks, for that {s no longer so popular as of yore. The black and whites are now speckled or run with fine threads, one color mergin, into the other. The black organdies an batistes are often sprayed with white blos- soms, but, on the whole, the set pattern prevails. black and white is not cor- ect unless carried to the smallest detail of dress. The white shoes must be trimmed and tied with black, the black fan must ‘Written for The Evening Star. “SWALLOWED BY NIGHT.” BY RICHARD DOWLING. UT YOU MUST not go. You must not go, Bred," cried the girl, throwing her arms round the that dreadful scene between you and Joe in the High street yesterday to meet him on the pler at 11 in the night! Do grant my first re- quest and break the appointment. If any- thing should hap- en to you it would kill me.” “Happen to me!” said young Carring- ton. “What can happen? I am not afraid of any man in Filixfield. I tell you, Nan- nie, he wrote in such a way I could not refuse. I promised, and if I did not go he'd say I was afraid.” “He will kill you, my Fred. Oh, my love, he will Kill you. He is desperate, and when I told him yesterday I could not marry him, and that I was engaged to you, and that father knew of it, I thought at first he was going to strike me, and then I thought he was going to die.” Young Carrington took his sweetheart in his arms and kissed and tried to reassure her, but she would not be comforted. “Why, on the pler, and at 11 o'clock? And this night without a moon, and no one ever there at such a time?” she asked, with a moan. “I do not know, Nannie, dear, but I am able to take care'ot myself I am as good & man as he, anyway, I shall be on my guard, darling, for your sake.” he wrung her hands, and wept, and sobbed. After many vain uttempis to soothe her he tore himself away and left her weeping in the drawing room. He set off that August night at a quick ce to keep his appointment with Joe ger, cousin to himself, and cousin also to Nannie Wilton, the girl he had just left, the richest and most charming girl within miles of Filixfield, In Sussex. Without meeting a soul Carrington reach- ed the sea end of the pler. Here he found lego Bolger, the man he » in spite of his sweet- Just at that moment a third man, Dun- ford, sauntered from the town to the shore end of the pier, and sitting on the parapet, S.quarter of @ mile from Carrington, an er, Ut his pipe. The man on the parapet smoked the first half of his pipe in anything but peace. He and pained by loud voices. was distur! One he recognized as Fred Carrington’s, son of James Carrington of the saw mills, and the other as that of Joe Bolger, cashier and accountant of the Filixfield brewery, in which Dunford himself was brewer. The gousins were of an age, about twenty-five; Dunford ten years older. At length, to Dunford’ fell, and after a quarter of an hour foot- gteps grated on the gravel, and he could dimly make out the figure of a man, It was Carrington. As he Dunford sal hat! quarreling with Bolger agai Carrington, who had not noticed Dunford, started, turned and stood in front of the sitting man. The latter continued, in a tone of expostulation: “Your rows with Bolger will have a bad end; either of You two will say or do something there will no getting over.” “What business is that of yours?” said Carrington sharply. “For shame!" said Dunford. “It's bad enough when neighbors fall out, but you and Joe Bolger are cousins. Last night in the High street you and he ail but came to blows, and here you are tonight at 12 o'clock, in the pitch dark, on the sea end of the pier, bellowing and roaring at one be painted in white, the plumage of the Black and White. white hat must be both black and white. A black, with shadowy white dots, has a deep ruffle of white lace, crossed with three narrow folds of black velvet, with an occasional bow added. A lace bib fal loosely from the bodice and lace ruffi droop, beneath the black ruffles at the shoulder. From black bows at the same ta band is carried down each side of ruffie and three bows, from the bust downward, slant into a V at the waist “ A LACE ARRANGEMENT. Let me tell you about a lacy gown, I beg of you. But, you s have heard 80 much about lace gowns, and have seen so many of them, that we are positively sick of them. We have seen lace in every conceivable spot—on shoulder, hips, feet, bodice and yoke. We have seen it on parasols and hats, in the dainty meshes of the handkerchief and the bit of a boot that covers the foot. We have seen it in plain bands, in insertion, in ruffies, in puffs and deep falls. You can tell us’ nothing new about the arrangement of lace on a gown. But, will you lsten if I speak to you of the very slight cost at which a simple gown was made up, even though it contain- ed yards and yards of lace? It was only a blue xingham, a gingham you might curl your lip at the sight of were it not for the clearness of the azure tint. The lace that trimmed it was insertion, and cost Just 15 cents a yard. Don't turn away; it Was pretty, in spite of the price, and I assure you asa wonderful bargain. Enough was bought for five rows on the skirt, at distances that narrowed as the bands rose. There were only two on the waist—one on the neck and another a few A Blue Gingham. inches below. But, for all that, the bodice was by no means’ bare. The delicate fall of lace thai rted at the shoulder and fell thickly at sides, and that was carried around on the bust in front, almost hid the pretty blue that shone out beneath, FOR A DRINK IN FEVERS Use Horsford’s Acid Phosphate. another like bulls.” “Bellowing and roaring,” repeated Car- rington, in the tone of one made uneasy by the words, and changing his manner from indignation to scorn. “Bellowing and roar- ing, with George Dunford listening, playing eayesdropper in the dark.” ‘Eavesdropping with the whole length of the pler between you two and me!” cried Dunford, with a good-humored laugh. gory qu are beside yourself with rai against Bolger you wouldn't say such foolish thing. T recognized your voices, but could not distinguish a word. Let me tell you that the sea end of the pier at mid- night is not the place for family differences and that the tone for the discussion of family differences 1s not a shout.” “That's true,” sald Carrington. He | changed his manner onco more, now speak- ing as though ashamed of his former heat, and anxious to make amends. "So you didn’t catch a word “Not a syllable, There was the length of {he pier and the wash of the half ebb in the river and the break of the waves on the sand. Where's Bolger? He, ought to be coming back. It's very late." “Yes, it's late,” said Carrington, lacont- cally. “I'm glad you didn’t hear what pass- ed. There will be no more rows between Joe and me.” said Dunford. “Every “That's good new: one in the town thinks It such a pity you two young fellows should fall out over some wretched family affair.” Carrington started slightly, and looked at the speaker. The expression of neither man's face could be seen. “How did you know the quarrel between Bolger and me Was connected with the family? Did Joe| you?" “Not he. Although he and I are both in the brewery there is no friendship between us, and he does not confide in me. No one cares much about Bolger, but all regret that you, Carrington, are making a fool of vayenelt. “Well, it was and it wasn’t a fami! affair between Joe and me. sear “By the way, what's keeping him? He's a long time.” “Yes, and he'll be longer.” “What do you mean?” asked Dunford, uneasily. ang duerely that, I don’t believe Joe is in y great hurry this way just now. hight," and he walked of” igiageee he? What can he “Well, but where is be doing all this time?” called Duntord mes eee “Don't know, I'm sure. Gone for a swim, perhaps. He was in his flannels, andthe plent is warm,” called out Carrington, ‘as oward the t : eared in the darkness. = SOW" melee e manner and Voice of Carri Dunford uncomfortable. “I'l smoke nae er pipe here, and say good night to Bolger ag he passes back,” thought the brewer. “Their quarreling out there, and Carrin ton’s strange answers, and’ the other fat low not turning up would keep me tossin, and tumbling ti morning if I'went to bed ow."* The two young men were powerfull; made, and when bad blood broke out be- tween them, people feared physical vio- lence, for Bolger was overbearing, insolent, ruthless, and Carrington quick and unac: customed to Injuries. At last Dunford’s plpe was done, and he got up feeling downright alarmed, for no one had passed, and it was long after mid- night. T suppose, thought he, “Bolger will call me a prying busybody, but I must see him before I go home.” With quick steps he strode through the thick darkness to the sea end of the pier. Not @ soul here! Nothing but the pall of night overhead, the hard, firm stones under- foot, and the dimly phosphorescent pulsing sea beneath! No boat was ever about at this time of night, and tide. Even if by some miracle a boat had chanced to pass, Bolger could Rot get aboard; from the pier to the water was more than twenty feet, with no ladder or stairs. Any man in the afar Ses Saris, bios st hour would be carriel away oy th Current, ike a cork in a mill Face. Carried out to seal Out to death! There was for such a man but a single hope. me who knew the place, and had not been maimed. or stunned, and who was, moreover, a good swimmer, might, if he struck out vigorously, reden the’ Black Bank. ‘Quarter of a mile from the ‘mouth of the river Filice, with the skeleton of a wrecked schooner on it, lay a sandbank. At the present state of tide that bank would be just above water. ‘There was no other Testing place for man between where Dun- ford stood and the coast of France! If Bolger had fallen in the water he might be on the Black Bank. If he was not on the Black Bank he must be dead. Bolger Was a powerful swimmer, and there lay his one chance of life. Dunford made a trumpet of his hands, and bending his body over the water, oncslack Bank, ahoy “Blac! 7 10} He took down his hands and turned his head, listening with all his faculties. He heard only the wash of the swift current in the Filice and the break of the wavelets on the shore. No response. he muttered. “And is Fred Carrington he did not finish the word. Could it be that under intolerable provo- cation Carrington had stunned Bolger and flung him into the sea? Carrington’s strange manner, his anger at the suggestion that evil might come between him and his cousin, his anxiety to know if Dunford had overheard what pass- ed, his saying that Bolger would not be back soon, his sinister suggestion that his cousin had gone for a swim, all pointed to hideous fears. “ cried Dunford, as he Dr. C. H. 8. Davis, Meriden, Conn., eae “Because she’s worth ten of him.” e ‘used it a8 a pleasant and cooling drink in fevers and have been very much pleased with it” ‘Good _heav turned away. “It has ended even worse than I dreaded: Carrington has murdered his cousin,’ AUGUST 5, Dunford set off toward the town at a quick walk. rok over a t 1a i ake TRY trom ant uty pierhead Dunford’s intention was to the town. Bi a hup- fared yards, 9, ramultuous ‘Questions ‘and “As he dropped fato'a walk be , “Suppose Bolger reached the is now on it and could not or would not answer my hail! Instead of striking into {he yown he bas tened along by the river to where his own punt lay moored. With and Setting board, opened’ the padlock of thé al 1 Shain treed the oars, let go and shoved out into stream. Turning the punt’s head to the open ses, Nop est ae ae iver. The tide was . The boat flew. He shot down along the pier, and in & few minutes was in the open water of the channel. It was still pitch dark, but the phospho; rescence of the sea showed up the bluff of the pier. Keeping the plier dead aft, he rowed at racing pace for a few minutes, eased and looked over his shoulder. Right ahead, just above the phosphorescent water, a ragged tech blotted the black sky. That was the skeleton of the wreck. He pulled a few strokes more and ran aground. Jumping into the shallow water he drew the punt up and upon the Black Bank, the only land between Filix- field and France. iaBolger' he veailed, tn a strong volce here, Bolge He stood listening, with the water wash- his feet. an ford. T have the punt to rington is very sorry. Answer, like & good fellow." Not @ sound but the sounds of the sea. Anis deep in the water he began to walk along the inner side of the Bank. A swimmer might faint in the shallow water after getting pou. ‘The night was too dark to see a floating or partly submerged body; it would be best to wade up and down the whole length of the bank ‘Who could tell the moment his foot might touch something. He shuddered and kept on. He was careful not to raise his feet high, lest in putting them down he might 5 on something. For all the world he woul not feel anything but sand under his foot. Up and down that strip of lonely sand he waded In the we'rd dartness, but never to his feet came stay or ‘The Black Bank at hundred yards by, t nty. On the outer lige the wreck, a black line shoulder high above the sand, with stripped ribs standing higher against smooth blind darkness of the sk ing,” thought Dunford, “ne would stru gle'to the wreck. He s1ay be lying uncon. Scious close to It.” The vesuvians in nis matchbox were rse~| less. There was nothing ‘ur it but to go down on his knees and feel about the o! schooner with his hands. It took a long time to crawl round the wreck. When the circult was made !un- ford had nothing for nis toll but brutses, cut hands, and the certaiac that the body of Bolger, his unpopular cotleaxue at the brewery, tad Leen carrie] out into the c?an- nel, and that Carrington, his ‘rlepd, was responsible for the dead man's death! Dunford launched the punt, scrambled in, and began pulling back over the slacking tide. He had mils certata of Bolger's fate, his death, bis Jesth by violence, bis death oy violease at the hands of Carrington, ani Carrincton was his friend! What in tne namo uf heaven must e do? He must not keep to himself what he knew; could he deliver up his friend to the ngman? He tried to deaien thought by grinding the chafed flesh of his hands on tne sculls. ‘The pain of uis han.is was cnly an ex: ation, He thrust 13 buraing hands into the water to cool tham. He scoopal wy water and fun; »ver hig face, Lis his throat. With ‘lerce resoluteness he drove his mind on the points of the allem- ma. Were tnere only these two poin' these two coucses? At last ha thought i @ third. It was desperate, but it waa best. “Het what may come of it come, Til do it." "he mutte What may come of it there is no telling, another murder—or suicide. He pulled doggedly until he reached a land- ing plac Ing fast the punt, he as- cended the slip to the quay. He struck into the town. Not @ soul was abroad, not a sound stirred the air save the distant, faint wash of the wavelets on funds, It was dark as a grave. No burned in any window of the streets, “Black enough to hide the crime” he thought, with a shudder. “I wonder what Carrington is 4oing? I wonder how his night's work sits on him? I wonder is he in bed or thinking of sleep? 1 wonder has he got back to his sane min and does he feel the blast of his deed When I get round the corner I shall be in sight of his place—of his bed room. Great heavens! can a man go to bed and sleep fiith the tingling of such work still in his ands ?” As Dunford turned into the High street and looked towards the house where Car- Fington, lived his eye canght one bright spot in the long line of black. A light in Carrington’s chamber! “I knew no man could sleep after such work,” whispered Dunford. The lighted window was on the first floor. Dunford drew neat, stooped down, picked up a pebble and flung It against the glass. “I am the only one who knows he was VS with iger on the fee tonight. When he sees me will he blow out my brains or his own?” A man's shadow fell on the blind, the light in the room was put out, the blind was pulled up, the window raised and Carring- fon thrust his body dim and broad and black between Dunford and the night sky. ‘What's that? Who's there?” asked Fington, in a sharp, eager whisper. “3. whispered back Dunford. “Who are you? I can’t see you.” “Dunford.” Bolger never came ashore. I Went to the pier ahead. He wasn't there. I pulled out to the Black Bank. He isn't there. Where is he?” “I can’t tell you. What do you mean by coming here, and to me at such an hour? What do you mean by asking me about im 2" ‘If I didn't come to you I should have ne to the pollee.”” The police! Oh, for God's sake, not to the police tonight.” whispered Carrington, in a tone of entreaty. ‘I have no choic ‘Why? What do you know? Why should you 0 to the police?” “I told you { was on the plier and heard you two ee “Heard us two! But you said you aid not earSavestrop! ahi ting, “Eavesdrop! You and he were shouting. Eavesdrop! You two were roaring like mad men.” “And you did not catch our words?” ‘No. I told you no before."* “And you did not steal upon us and listen to what was sald when we lowered our voices? when the quarrelling ceased?” “How dare you ask? I told you I heard no words! But you were on the pler with him, quarreling with him, and he wasn't on the pler when I got to the end, and he isn't on the Black Bank, and—and he is ead.’ “Great heavens, {t cannot be! How do you know he is dead? How are you sure?” “How else can it be? I come first tu you. When I am finished with you I am going straight to the police; if you and I cannot find Bolger.” “To the police, not now; not yet. You mustn't go to the police,” w Car. rington, hoarsely. “Besides, you don’t know anything.” “I suspet more than enough, and I will tell the police my suspicions.” ot tonight? Walt a few hours.” il go to them from where I stand.” Wait til “ whispered Carring- ‘Ni “Then stay where you are a moment, I'll go down to you.” withdrew from’ the window. rg Dunford did not want to be alone with Carrington in the open air, in the dark, where help was not at hand. Carrington was an athlete and Dunford ten years glider and inferior physically. If Cafring- ton turned on him the struggle would @ short one; the issue a foregone conclu- sion. Carrington could bi Dunford's back across his knee. ‘The front door opened ,and Carrington stepped out, closing the door behind him softly, lowering the latch with his key to prevent the click. “Where are you going?” asked Dunford, in a low voice. Let us walk down to the beach. I don't wan't to be overheard.” “No,” said Dunford.’ “I am not going to the beach with you—now. This place will suit_me better.” ‘What if it won't suit me?’ enathen, the police will sult me, Carrington, . 2 “The police! The police! The police! Why are you harping on the You say you do not know anything. BALE “I know somet 1S, BN sus ore. ‘They were walking slowly along the dark, silent street. é Carrington tried to take vunford’s arm. Dunford shook himself free. He was on the defensive. Carrington swore under his breath. “Tam not going further than the end of this street with you, Carrington. If be- eae = = est you do not satisfy me about Bolger, I'll inform.” “If you swear not to tell a soul I'll tell as “That would be a monstrous thing to promise in the face of what I fear.” “What do you fear?’ That Bolger is dead, and that you harm- ed him. Nothing but the sight of him will satisfy me he is alive. I came to ask you if you could satisfy me that Bolger is alive. If you can't or won't I am going to th Bolice when we reach the end of the street. That I swear, I won't swear the blind oath you ask for. ice’ 1898-SIXTEEN PAGES) “And if I do satisty on we ae ee 8 ij E re bie Luisi not ure that bound by. Bat 1 “will keep it on the condition stipu- “What is that? I have fofgotten the condition.” “That you convince me Bolger is alive and ig not badly injured. That you ex- oe the manner of disappearance, in at “Oh, yes! He had boat in ‘the early dark, and made on the seaward face of the wreck. his clothes in her and pulled the other boat back in his flannels. As goon as he and I finished our walk he dived off, to swim to the Black Bank, unmoor his boat, pull out to sea, and ‘as best he could. When you ‘said he was dead I thought you knew he had been drowned. I did not want him to be pursued ton! cused me of murderii there would be & search or pursuit. ft is an awful affair. It will break his father’s heart. | tried to persuade him from bolting, but he would Rot listen to me. Are you satisfied now?” “Well,” eaid Dunford, “on what you say T'll wait till morning.” tnAnd how will you confirm my account en?” “If his boat {s missing and his accounts are wrong I shall hold my tongue. Good Next day Bolger and his boat were miss- ing, and his accounts were found to be wrong. Months after an undated letter game from him with the Truxillo postmark. It was addressed to Miss Wilton, a name Yaleh ot that time had become. obsolete, @ person who once bore it being known as Mrs. Carrington. re Cementing the Russian Empire. From the Omaha Bee. The Czar of Russia shows undoubted sa- aged! —— the best physical means to together his vast Pushed the tran: southeastward until it has almost the frontiers of British India and China, the two powers most likely to dispute with him the acquisition of further dominion in Central Having thus assured thi mony of the Russian position in the south- east he has undertaken a more stupendous work in beginning the construction of an unbroken line of railway to connect Eu- ropean Russia with a port on ocean. The whole length of or main Siberian line is 4800 miles. The estimated cost is $200,000,00. The is now progressing ‘from both toward the center, is to be completed in bout ten years. There will then be stretch of railway, all located upon Rus- ping, tergtory, about 6.000 miles tn bh, holding us sia firmly together with a continuous it, and if you ac- # bana of steel. Until the run- ing north and south %o connect the ero Americas shall have been built there will be nothing on earth to rival this stretch eastern and western way across the Russian empire. A Hangaroo H Ho spies a fine animal, And joyfully murmurs, Now this grave kangaroo is astonished, but cute, With his tail for a prop he inspects the new rute. There was a long pai in which Car- re a pause, t g 5g 8 if is For some years there had been talk of locating the much discussed permanent seat of government the Potomac rij and. thie loestion, os det Ht of jand on each side of the tol. “Their fame does not rest iy on their land holdings. Mr. Burns a quarrel with President Washington ‘s to have stood up before the fai cry with demotmatic tres Sak me i has him a niche in hist roll to the celebras a4 fly and, owing to his lange possessions the new city. he became aman of considers able consequence, although, if the truth was known, he would have died richer if he had had Washington 5 la tion THE ARIZONA KICKER. ‘The Editor Acknowledges a Snub from Mres Col. de Verde. 3 EERE aut She stopped and loosened the pins - tiently from her golden hair, which about her like a sunset cloud. 3 a4 gl only ‘3 ——_— that he saw Ned going into Annie's house and Wondered When it would be announced. Sul. I only consented to write to him my ~ She paused and gazed into the depth of the mirror with eyes. “Then when he left I went out for walk,” she went on. “I had to think it all over alone. Why dia I hai to meet An- nie, and why did she smile in that madden- ing way and say that she would have some- thing to tell me soon! When I came to my- self I had walked miles, and had reached papa’s office. Then an idea struck me.” She sank down in a heap and sobbed wildly. “O, why did I do it? I was mad, but I just rushed in and wrote Hal a note perce his, too—it made it look so hatefully ess like. But I did not think of that. I was only anxious that our it be peguaced Sey ttc baar sees for the typewriter stared so. I wonder she was ever in love, and if she writes her love letters on the machine?’ She laughed hysterically. “And now, after all,” she moaned, “here is Ned's letter saying that he cannot bear this estrangement and asking me to be his shall be buried with me,” she cried. “and, O! by this time Hal has seen him and asked for his congratulations.” There was a step on the soft carpet, but SS a ae ‘Then a cheery voice “All in the dark, daughter? Here is some- for you—you wrote it at my office estate Hiatal tater Eateeest next im writes an letter I would advise her to address it be fore she drops it in the box.” Re t ._ Yes, = ter to Hal. and she was saved? She flung Sama Pare vette oak “0, ve yor 1 Re 8 a in w And the canary sang until he ‘almost broke his heart for Brought Up in a Sheep Pasture. From the New York Tribune. “I asked for turkey, Mrs. Codhooker,” said the Chicago boarder in deliberate tones. “And you received it, sir,” answered the landlady calmly. “I gave you the érum- stick myself.” “Then, madam, this turkey was @ mon- strosity.” “sir?” “It had four legs ana a beard.” ou are insulti sir.’ et aN jer biandly, “smells as sw other name, and sheep is sheep though it be called roast turkey. You have smoth- ered three slices of mutton under gravy, Sreasing and turkey bones, and think thet I don’t know Harlem goat from Rhode Is- Jand turkey. Madam, T have too much re; spect for my sense of taste it longer at your table. I bid you good tS ‘The Chi boarder arose, placed his gross napkin ring in his coat tail pocket with a dignified wave of his hand and left the room. There was an appalled silence around the table. Even the landlady ap- peared much disturbed. “Perhaps,” nape the hall bed room boarder at length in the gentle tones of compromise, “perhaps this turkey was brought, up in @ sheep pasture. Who —-+oo___ She Was Undeceived. Prunella Citee—“I used to think that if there was any honesty In men It was to be found among farmers. I don't any more.” A. Kawler—“What shattered your agri- cultural idol? Prunella Citee—“I spent four weeks in the country this summer with a. family that promised to give us perfectly pure A. Kawler—“Didn't they?” Prunella Citee—“No; the brazen things tered the cows right before my face SE gradually dawned upon the populace In- habsing this plateau that we knew the difference between standing up to a dish fried bacon and sitting down to « course dinner, and they crowded beck give us room. As editor, there is no doubt of our ‘ard McAllister and attem; to hurt our jeclings. ‘Buch was’ the case last Priday evening when Mrs. place gave a feft us out in the cold. s i get away! Yest ig Col. de Verde was taken to un arrest. We have known for that he was “wanted” there. colonel conspired with his wife water down our social al felt it our duty to send a his location. We are not We have provides ours e ve ourself talled coat, white vest, biled other juncts. We have reed ape e —~ 78 removed and ti triet brought ‘We know when the salad sfoua be wen ittem| to snub us may Considered « blow at : be certain to result in disanter' to the anubt i a3? to i Hi thing nowadays,” said a professional snake- handler the other day, after reading the ae+ count of “Dot” Sonwell’s mishap, “and the danger about the work ts just sufficient to that they can always be depended upon. They are a treacherous set, and more so when they have the poisonous fangs in their mouth. They know right away when these fangs bave been extracted. | seem to lose their pride and ferocity they will try to sneak away rather than to offer defiance. I have known the fiercest @iamond-back ever brought from Fleriéa: the cool down as tame as a lamb when its son fank was taken out. of snakes handled by charmers on the gags are harmless so far as poisoning any is concerned. It should be # crime, to let those with the fangs in be exhil Yhat are the secrets of snake charms ing? Oh, well, they are simp! than ‘most people imagine. In the Reet Dlsce the snake to be handled. Ss eerged With food so that it is sleepy and drowsy. Then it is either drugged so that its are dazed and quiet. Sometimes they put in boxes containing ice and the puts them into a semi-torpid condition. either case the snake is very gentle only half in possession of its senses. the snake charmer uses certain motions in handling the reptile, and by dint of Gex- terity and strength the snake is easily from hand to hand and allowed coll its slimy length over arms, I body. ‘The exhibitor, however, must be con« stantly on the alert. When the snake be- Comes too, lively it Is time to replace it the box. The hand must always ereap. at certain places where the head can be ded and held from the body. This is the lest thing the charmer has to learn, but it comes with practice. If handling @& reptile with the potsonous fangs in one must be strong and in perfect health. Any Rervousness or temerity might cost him his life. The ‘and movements must be recise and accurate. There ls no room foP esitancy or uncertainty, and the strain on one's system during the performencs ia it. ye charmer is ly toying fexth—ond death in one of its most hernie ble forms.” - _—___+2- her. Why They Hate Each 01 A porter in a big uptown hotel escorted through Central Park yesterday « stalwart sailor friend whose cap proclaimed him « member of the Miantonomoh’s crew, AS they gazed at the shaggy horned rhinoceros the landsman said to his companion: that lubbering beast has mong Beri cee be never indulges tn more (hag horns daily.” “then they visited the el it house the mood. ; sailor was in a thoughtful y P<.Tom, why do all hotel porters hate lee ts?" “Wasn't aware they did” replied Tom. “What are you driving at?” “Because, you see, the elephant always carries his own trunk.”—New York Timese To Prevent the hardening of the subcutaneous tissues of the scalp and the obliteration of the bait follicles, which cause Lalduess, use Hal's Hair Ror Dewar.