Evening Star Newspaper, September 15, 1894, Page 17

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 1894—EIGHTEEN PAGES. 17 THE CORRECT THING What Fashion Decrees for Men's Wear This Fall. ne ee THECUTAWAY AND THE PRINCE ALBERT Some Things the Well-Dressed Man Will Avoid. HATS, CUFFS AND NECKWEAR fees tee Si arin EN'S FASHIONS as frequent varied changes as those of their fair rel- atives, and great is the anxiety of the masculine mind at this season of the year, for the fall and winter styles are just out, and it behooves the _ self-respecting citizen to clothe him- self in a manner un- tinged by the suspicion of being “out of date.” For eve-y-day wear, the sack coat and the cutaway are still favorites, but just at Present the younger generation monopolize the sack, and older men confine themselves to the cutaway. The latter In black, with @ black vest, should be worn with trousers of gray, showing a very narrow stripe; and having a decided crease, which should be pressed at teast once a week. Men under thirty-five wear the double- breasted sack of rough, plain cloth, the same color being used for the entire suit. Coats are shorter than they were last sea- son, and pocket flaps are small or dis- pensed with entirely, silk bindings being used in their place. Favored materials are Worsted serze, basket worsted and diagonal cassimere. As for color, black is considered the most stylish. Single-breast-d sack coats are cut sharp- ly away in front and closed with three but- tons. The top pocket, instead of having the flap, which, last year, was such a conspicu- vus feature, is bound with silk braid. For formal use, vests are cut from the SS fame niece as the coat, and are made with five or six buttons, notched collars and a full opening at the chest. Fancy vestings are shown in large varieties, for the most part in dark grounds relieved by figures, dots and ficral designs. Coat sle2\es are of moderate fullness, and are made as straight as practicable, the rounded or curved elbow being altogether obsolete. A_new method of cutting trousers has been discovered, by which bagging at the knees Is effectvally prevented. All trousers will, this season, be made after the new system. They are large at the hips and slope down with almost straight seams to the bottom. Should the width be nineteen inches at the knees, it will be seventeen inches or even less at the feet. This en- ables the legs to fall in perpendicular lines, and so prevents the knees from bunching. The trousers Invariabiy mateh the coat and vest unless the latter be black, in which case the trousers are gray. The black cutaway may be used for any formal oceas: taking place before 6 o'clock in the ‘afternoon. The tails of this coat reach fully to the kneos, and the vest is just a trife lower than it was last year. With the black cutaway rather dark-stripel trousers ar2 worn, the stripe being v narrow and the color gray or biue gra: Cassimere ond worsted are about the only stuffs used for this style. For day time festivities, such as wed- , etc., the Prince Albert Ia the correct thing, the waist following the lines of the figure and the skirt reaching below the knees. With this coat the only hat possible is a silk one. Dress sults are of worsted? cheviot, twill- ea worsted and crepe for young men, and of stately broadcloth for the older mem- bers of society. No material change has ween mad+ in this costume. Much uncer- tainty has pre ed respecting the prop¢r wrap to i over an evening s Many men of acknowledged taste ind in dark bl:2 or black ulsters, but the par excellence is the Invern With silk-lined cape. Uniess one lesires to be considered hop lessly pl n, he should conscienti Il overcoat,” as that g: Production of “read avold the ter ment is the exclu: made emporfums.” “Top coat” is the only name by which fashion recognizes that very necessary acquisition. AML these coats are jong-reaching below tite Knee. Ulste: we also | ture. collars, and straight sides, with a very slight bell-shaped skirt. Perhaps the greatest change is notice- able in the styles of head coverings. Silk hats sell for six and eight dollars, and at least one should be in the possession of every man of fashion. The brim is al- most a semi-circle, with a decided tendency to bell, in the hat. Crowns are fully half an inch lower than heretofore. The derby has a lower crown and a wider ribbon. In color nothing but black is allowable after midday. Soft hats will be very deservedly populur, and black, golden brown and gray the favored colors. Delicately striped shirts in blue, pink or black may be worn with a sack during busi- ness hours, but for all other occasions im- maculate white linen must be donned. Cuffs have a decided lengthwise crease, the =— effect being extremely unfashion- able. Collars are a comfortable height, and gen- erally have square or rounded corners, these being better liked than the flaps. If his lordship wishes to be at all stylish his hesiery must be black, and of bal- briggan, merino or silk, preferably the lat- ter. Suspenders are of silk and very plain, with simple catches and buck! The goid- chased silver and “novelties” in general are eschewed by the fashionable. In neckwear the correct colors are black, blue and a dark shade of red. The old- fashioned stock, which has been revived, is made of black satin, and must go twice around the collar, and then tied by the wearer himself. Four-in-hands have wide ends and are in black and dark blue, with small dots, circles or triangles in white. The least suspicion of a stripe ts regard: as the worst of bad taste. Handkerchtefs are large, and all white, with a hem two inches deep. Street gloves show no change -from last season's styles. Evening gloves are pearl, with black or self-colored stitching. Scarfpins are rapidly falling into disfavor. Cuff buttons are linked, perfectiy simple in design and exclusively of gold or pearl. One ring only is allowed, and that should be_a seal. Watchchains are mere strings of gol the fob and seal being left for the elderly man of family. Studs are very small, always of gold, and limited in number to two. Canes are of natural wood, straight,with a right angle handle, and very slight silver trimmings. Umbrellas are a trifle smaller than they were last season, and have either a natural wood or silver handle. The newest fad in shoes is enameled grain leather. It is an English conceit, and has the same finish as patent leather, but is tougher and proof against cracking. Toes are longer and sharper than ever. Laced shoes are the only ones worn by a well- dressed man. B. V. KING. ne THE IRREPRESSIBLE WOMAN. She is Entering Into All Sorts of Fields of Business. From the New York Telegram. Women are steadily extending their field of labor and securing positions in the mos: masculine character of service. Each ycar sees them engaged in occupations that had been corsidered as possible only for men to perform. In Nebraska a woman owns and personally operates a traveling steam thrashing machine cutfit and goes about the country with it and makes her own con- tracts. There are two woman captains on steamboats or the Mississippi river, each holding a United States marine license as captain. One owns her own beat; the other is owned by a company of merchants. ‘There is another captain of a steamer on Puget sound. There are three women pilots on the Mis- sissippl river, all holding licenses. In a shingle saw mill in Washington state two women work on the shingle machines, and at another mill in the same locality a wo- man runs the dummy engine that hauls the immense logs into the mill yard. In Chica- so a woman is engineer of a steam laundry plant, having control of the large engine and considerable machinery, Another Chi- cago worran is engineer of the entire plant— engine, steam heat, eleyator power and wa- ter system—in/one of the sky scraper build- down town, and a woman runs an ele- vator in a hotel there. One of the great manufactories of house- hold furniture in Grand Rapids, Mich., em- ploys a we s chief designer of ar furniture She employs ants. Ano’ sition in the two « rw employ a wo- man artist te ate ornamental paintings. on the es they make. A woman is steward and purser of-a steamer ning between Grand al Wom’n who own mat. abies in western citic women farmers and: women cattle ra are numerous in-adl western states- ‘There are also many women engased. In. fryit-cul- One of the finest vineyards in Towg is owned and managed by @ woman ex-school teacher. The Cry of the Li From Puck. First Workman—“What makes sure we have lost the strike?" Second Workman—“The walking delegate aid this morning that we would ‘fight ft out to the bitter end.’ you so aven and Chicago. .}, and A WESTERN ROMANCE Written Exclusively for The Evening Star. “Hi, there, sawbones! You all air wanted over to the Long Horn. The stray that rounded thar this mornin’ air breathin’ short. Pizened, they say. Better go a runnin’ ‘The postmaster, as well as the only doc- tor in the little Kansas town, was distrib- vting the lately arrived mail when the cow puncher dashed in with his call for a phy- sician’s services. “Dump the mail, doc,” called out one of the group of loungers in the front of the small store room, which, with the saloon, was the favorite loafing place of the cow men, thé post office portion being defined ry @ row of packing cases set on end. “Dump the mail, an’ git a move on you. We ain't goin’ hongry fer no letters, an’ mebbe so the stray air worth savin’. “It stands in need of savin’ grace, too,” broke in Billy-be-dam—his name was Van Dam, and ne was fond of reciting his right and title to belong to New York's four hundred, but his choice of language of the expletive kind at once established the ap- Propriateness of the change. “An’ you'd better take Ole Orthodoxy of the Cross an’ Crown range along, fer if he’s got a dead cinch on facts this here veal ca’f ain't in no ways bound ter glory hallelujy, fer they do say it ain't branded.” Billy-be-dam was a boaster and a born coward, but so insignificant and powerless for actual harm that his sneering observa- tions were seldom noticed; hence he was utterly unprepared for the commotion his slurring remarks raised. In a second six hands were on as many hip pockets, and as the doctor slipped out of the back door, medicine case in hand, he saw the craven cow camp member of New York’s four hundred gazing in trembling horror down tne barrel of Pinto Dan’s 44, he having been quicker than the other five. “Now, you close that dea! right here or I shall close it fer you,” growled Pinto Dan, and the other five fell back, satisfied that the business would be properly attended te. “If so it ain’t a enquirin’ too deep into fambly affairs, I'd like to know who growed you up to kick a woman that’s down, »r to say mean things about a nore innercent ittle kid what kain’t stand up agin you.” Dan’s towering figure and gav- age manner intimidated Billy to the verge of paralyzation, and he sank back against the wall, feebly remonatrating that infants born out of wedlock or dying unbaptized were, according to the te@eMings of his uth, condemned to torment, and that ‘Ole Orthodoxy preached ‘a ‘sermon onl: last Sunday, when he sald the same thing.” ‘This stammering explanatfon of ancient theories only added fuel to the flame, and, evidently fearing that shooting was too good for the shrinking coward, Dan caught hir- by one shoukler and shook him till Fis spurs jingled, then flung him. fn a corner and turned ine batteries of his big voice lo»se on him. “When I git tired of ornamentin’ this here room with your ole carcass I'll shore give you warnin’,” continued his tormentor, as he playfully twirled his gun in close prox- imity to the terrified man’s nose. “Your religious views needs revisin’, an’ I ain’t shore that it gin't my duty to shoot you up a whole lot by way of warnin’ of you to begin. If this here veal ca’f air ’lopin’ to everlastin’ perdition along of bein’ so mis- fortunate as to te born of lust an’ sin, which I take it, it kain’t in no ways he'p, what sort of a sideshow, with bloomin’ red hot trimmin’s, do you s'pose is bein’ set up fer to entertain us ol’ sots? Thare’s brands an’ brands, but there ain't no mistakin’ yours. Nobody won't never take you fer no maverick; the devil's took good care of that. Now git, an’ do it a-runnin’.” The terrified cowpuncher obeyed literally. He had been taught his lesson. Like hun- dreds of other men whose own low moral standard blinds their perceptions to any purity of purpose in others, he had attempt- ed to measure his fellowmen in his own half bushel and found them too big for it. It is true that cow punchers, as a class, are neither educated nor refined. The English language Is not concise enough for them, so they speak a jargon of their own that would set a purist crazy. They abjure forks and are afraid of a napkin. The reg- ulation cowpuncher would probally put his feet on his hostess’ prettiest sofa pil- low, smoke in her reception room, spit on her Persian rugs, and swear at her trouble- Some tidies, but he would not stare a pretty woman out of countenance, nor accost her without warrant, and it is altugether prob- able that there would ensue a knock-down argument between him and the first man he caught annoying a woman thus, though beta were strangers to him, In those vast expanses of country given up to cowmen a woman's face is seldom seen, and “women are jewelry” in cowboy parlance. Th? woman who goes among them, be she Magdalene or Mary, is sure of kind treatment according to the cowboy code, which, though rude, is always sin- cere. Hence the controversy over the un- fortunate creature who had landed in the town that morning alone, friendless and penr.iless, with a sick baby in her arms. The man that Dan had been scoring had raarked her arrival, and, with a dozen oth- ers, had at once leaped at the conclusion that she and unwedded sorrow were com- panion: ‘an Dam's mistake lay in giv- ing voice to his opinion, which is contrary to cowboy ethics. They never indulge in anything that savors of street corner “mashing” or theater entrance gossip. It is only a tenderfoot or imbecilé who breaks over these unwritten laws of cowpuncher etiquette, and one infraction usually suf- fices to teach the transgressor his lesson, “I allows it’s about second drink time,” observed Pinto Dan, lazily, as he watched his victim’s retreat, “an’ I moves that w adjourn this here meetin’ to the Round Up, and the cowboy congress forthwith adjourn- ed to meet at the saloon. The Long Horn, toward which the doctor wended his way, was the one poor excuse for a hotel in the little cow town. He en- tered the parlor, which was on the second floor, where he found a lot of hysterical women, wildly anxious to be of some assist- ance, but actually doing more harm than good. They fell back as he entered the room, and he saw the strange woman whose arrival had set the tongues of the town to wagsing. She sat in a low chair by the epen window. Her wan, white face was Leautiful and refined, despite its pinched a pained expression. Her bosom was bare, and a curl from the end of the coil of heavy black hair had slipped down, just achirg the head of the baby, which she was frantically urging to nurse. The child's lips were blue, and as she pressed them apart disclosed tight-set pearly teeth. “Mamma’s precious little one must be hu she urged with pathetic tender- ness. “Louie! Louie, little man! Look up at mamma; just once, darling!” The agonized tones fell on deaf ears. Then, with a startled upsweep of her mournful dark eyes, she :-ied out bitterly, “He won’t look at me. My God, will he ‘never open his eyes again?” Hugging the limp form close to her breast, she sprang to her feet and started nervously down the room, meeting the doctor almost at the door. “Let me take the child,” he said, reach- ing out his hands. “No, uo! he is mine; all mine. You shall not touch him,” she cried angrily. “Eyery- body tries to get,him away from me, but I wiH not give him up. There, there, dar- ling,” she crooned soothingly in the dulled ears as she laid her face caressingly against the child’s. Mamma‘will shield you from harm,” and she began to hum a cradle song as she paced the length of the narrow room, while the curious, frightened women hud- died in a corner, mentally characterizing her as “crazy as a loon.” an The doctor was nonplussed for a moment, then he said gently, “Perhaps I can do something for your baby, “Oh, you must. be the doctor they sent for. Why didn't you say so at once? You must pardon my abruptness; my baby 1s so very iM, and I—I am so nervous,” and she looser.ed “her clasp that he might see the She watched his face anxiously as rs on the tiny wrist. He en at a glance that human skill was powerless, but had not the heart to tell the mother so just them. He took the little one from her unresisting arms and placed it on a shawl on ¢he piano, child he la cha % “He was 5} ich pylp and.¢ so hard,.anda Re hon on “ Ruan ald I would give him-sisne splint ft wabia Gut and help him. She sail she bad some, atid insisted that T should try it, 69 f did.’ |. “How much aid you giye him “AML she gave me; a piece a3 big as -a peppercorn, I gucss.”” _ ‘ab “Good heavens! Why, : opium would kill a man. Did’you et rid of the'child?” ‘The doctar’ was act- ually brutal fn kis astonishment. > <f rid of him?” she echoet piteously, as she sat. up that much, crude Sane to j 1. she caught .the little foygn_in her arms and hugged it to her hear}, ,“Kill my baby? the one thing that holds Edo this farce called life. Louie, look up afgnamma just once precious, and let yous, BRetty eyes tell her that you don’t belieVe,the foul slander. Louie! Oh, my darling, just one little look or mamma's heart wi ak.” The tender, agoni: Pierce the deadened white lids swept up eyes £0 like his mott. fable sweetness pa: features, then, with ing, Yluttering sigh and an almost impe! ble thrill, the little form straightened ouf;tn her arms and the child was dead. Instead of the outburst of frenzied grief naturally expected, tl Yother stood gazing at the lifeless form, td the doctor saw steal over her countennge an expression of peaceful resignation that he could not com- prehend. Without sob'or moan the great tears that gathered in her eyes dropped on the dead baby’s face. Alarmed at last, he touched her, and she responded instantly. “You may take him now, doctor; he will never need mamma again. Where his little feet now wander she cannot guide them. Hunger and cold cannot reach him, af there shall be no more pain—except for mi she murmured drearily, as she pressed a long kiss on the still smiling mouth; then she laid the child in the doctor’s arms. He straightened the little form out upon the piano, and turning to Mrs. White, the landlady, who had just come in, followed by two or three women, he bade them array the child for burial -As the month was June and the weather oppressively hot, he felt the necessity for haste. Before leaving, however, he drew the landlady to one side and asked her what she knew of the wo- man. She replied that she had asked her ro questions. ‘She was'a woman and in trouble, and I didn't need to know nothing more,” was her sturdy response. It was enough. Western etiquette never questioned the unfortunate— never attempted to analyze grief. They were drafts honored on sight. Fraud was sometimes practiced, but western heart and hospitality argued that it was better to lend the helping hand to ten impostors than to risk passing, like the Levite, on the other side of one deserving of succor. Blasting winds and consuming drouth often devas- tate and destroy the result of a whole year's labor, Texas fever kills the cattle and the scab lays low the sheep profits, but the milk of human kindness instead of souring seems to raire purer and richer cream than ever for the vicissitudes through which the tried hearts pacs. The doctor knew that in Mrs. White’s house the desolate stranger would find shelter, and telling her that he would make all the burial arrangements, he left the Long Horn on his errand. Being him- self the coroner and a law to himself, he felt that an inquest was unnecessary. Just across the street from the Long Horn was the one salon in the town, kept by an Irishman, Dennis O'Brian. O'Brian was one of those characters peculiar to the west, between whom and his former life everybody knew a stone wall n dropped. The whyfor nobody questioned. Nobody really cared to know, And then safety lay on the side of silence, because O'Brian was quick and true at the trigger. Nobody knew that he had any notches on his gun barrel, and certainly he had never evinced any bloodthirsty designs in his few ronthe’ residence in the obscure frontier cow town; but on the few occasions when he was matched with the crack shots his steady hand and unerring aim had dis- played skill beyond the best of them. He was a saloon keeper, but so far as correct- ness of habits was concerned he might have been a Sunday school superintendent. He was strictly temperate and never played any of the games of chance that were on night and day in the Roynd Up. He never had been known to tou tobacco in any form, and his language Was absolutely free of profane or slang ‘embellishments. He was a big, handsome féfiow, with the face of a man not yet in middle age, and his mouth, expressive as a Woman’s,was shaded by a heavy black mustiche, in striking con- trast with the masses-of waving snow white hair above dark eyes, in which a sor- row seemed ever presen} Children adored him, and theirs was the only companionship he ever sought. With mén and women he was generally reserved; though always gen- fal and compantonable:to a certain limit. It was in the bar rcom.of the saloon own- ed by O'Brian, which was always fuil of loafers, thatthe doctor made his way. He was overwhelmed with questions. “Has the kid shore'engugh gone over the range, doc.?” asked Waquwero Jack. s. ; the child ts owt og its mis “D'ye reckon It wer @ maverick?” called Foker Dave, as he put‘ down his empty glass and ordered “more of the same.” “I don’t Know, Dave, and I know you don’t care,” replied the doctor. “The mother loved the child whether born in or out of wedlock. It is dead, its mother penniless. Who will help her in her hour of trouble?” Poker Dave lowered his half emptied glass and dashing the remainder of the beer on the floor dropped a gold dollar in the drip- ing receptacle. ad ain't very flush, pards. This here's a ‘relict of other days’ as poets stacks it up, but the perceedin’s been’ somewhat sudden, I ain't no chance to draw on my bank ac- count. Here you sots, chip in!” and he passed the beer mug around the room. They “chipped in” right royally. Gold, sil- ver and greenbacks, not one in the crowd failed to add his mite. The last piece laid on the heaped Ane was a silver dollar, Sa ick, and had a big hole in it. “It’s shore all I got, pards,” said B'Jo, flushing, strangely, as Poker Dave held it up gingerly between his fingers, and the boys set up the laugh. “I reckon it ain’t much good, but it he’ps all the same. I—I've hed it a mighty long spell’s what makes it so black. I don’t spose you all’ll believe me, but I had a wife ence, back on earth, a—a real good woman, an’ a kid got big ‘nuff to call me daddy. It’s a fact pards,” he said earnestly, as he saw the incredulous looks about him, “an’ thet lid cut his teeth on this here cart wheel. Him an’ his ma is planted in the same grave long of the fever. I kinder keep the tin long of the kid. I wouldn't never stake it ner change it fer likker, cause ever time I'd tech it I'd see the little kid's purty face, nd it seems like a part of him. But—oh, ell, tain’t no use to go on keepin’ it, and B'Jo dashed out doors, ‘where nobody would ree his tears. Nobody said anything, but Cactus Bill took the bent, blackened coin from Dave's fingers and a shining yellow half eagle took its place in the glass. A day or two later the doctor stumbled over B’Jo in a drunken stupor in the shade of the saloon, and hang- ing over his heart from.a leather string was a silver dollar full of dents, as though made by a child’s first teeth, ‘When the glass would hoid no more, Dave poured the princely collection into the doc- tor’s hat, and a cabinet worker, who w: deep in the mysteries of a game of “draw,” flung his cards aside and offered to make a coffin. O'Brian stood in his billiard room door looking up at the parlor windows of the Long Horn, and mechanically added a gold double eagle to the pile in the doctor’s hat. He could se the little form stretched out on the piano, and he could see, too, the bowed head of the mother, as she sat mo- tionless beside her dead. The utter desola- tion of the mourner touched him. “Come, boys, vamoose” he said, perempto- rily, turning on the crowd. “Bein’ as this alr onreg’lar an’ permiscus sudden I appints myse’f a investigatin’ com- mittee to enquire why for you evicts this here crowd, which air qufet an’ still able to bay fer the drinks rnd flon't give ‘em no show for to talk baek? asked Big Mike, surlily. “Faith, an’ whose béss%f this shebin, T'a like to know?” demag@ed O'Brian, sternly. “I said vamoose, and T?meant it. Why should we add to th rt break of that poor creature up therd! Wy’ clacking billiard balls, and your senseless mouthering and singing? Now, line ou!" £ When O'Brian adopt@d hat tone it meant as much as a fusilia¢@® from any other ae gun, so the sakjop emptied, double quick. “Here, doc, take twesd with you,” sald Dennis, when the lagtrdoafer had gone. “Maybe they. will cot opr poor mother gtones seemed to Ing, for the heavy ym the big brown A smile of inef- ore, the pinched a bit" And into the doctpr's arms he piled a load of flowers, Whith he hastily cut from the handsomely t%oming plants in the big south windawief the bar room. They had been his, gpegjal. pride, but he sacrificed every blossom. “If there shduld be arfthing’ else 1 can do, be’sure to let metknow,” and the key clicked in the.latch as the doctor left with his burden of: blossoms: and «money. Just 2s the sum was slipping down behind. the western sand hills the people gathered ir the-cramped. little, parlor;half curious, hut altogether .avmpathetic, and: listened to | the itwerant preacher read-the burial sery- ice. Tyue Christian that he was, he had not asked fov-marringe certificate nor.bap- |. Uisma},.resisters The women, with an eye to ‘the’ conventionalitieg, had arrayed. the |. other in black, and, covered with her. veil, beside. the coffin, -her head. bowed, mn her-hands, -a picture of dasolation. “For I am-a-stranger with thee and a sojpurier,” read the burial service. .“Qh, Spare me a little, that. I may recover my Strength before <i 6° hence,” droned the preacher. = 3 " v4 “Good Lord; spare her,” said a votce soft- , and there was comfort in the motherly tpand laid upon the tight-clinched ones un- jer the, veil, - “Ivet as the’dctor WH about td enter the rlor Mrs. White beckoned him into the all. “I got her to talk a little,” she whis- pered, fot that I cared, but I reckoned maybe she might have some folks some- where that ought to know about her. The poor thing was married fast enough. Her husband was a Catholic, and a wholesale liquor man in Chicago. Her folks was orthodoxys, and all of her folks and his'n Was opposed to the mixin’ of religions. So they jist naturally got married anyhow, and was throwed overboard by all their folks. They went to boardin’, When they had been married atout six months her husband was called suddenly east on bus- iness, or rather on his father’s business, for they was in together, and she never heard from him after. When her money finally give out and she was most crazy with 5 $0444404060604064004R oT « United States Academy ” Tledicine and Surgery Worry she swallowed her pride and went to his father. He told her that her husband was tired of her and had gone to Europe to get rid of her. She didn't believe it, but what could she do? Most crazy, she went out to service, for her folks wouldn't recog- nize her when they learned her condition, Finally she had to go to the hospital, and her beby was born there seven months after her husband left her. She appealed to both her father and his after the baby came. His father said they'd take the boy and pay her a lot of money if she'd never claim it, and her folks said that if she'd get rid of the beby she might come home. She kept the kid, of course. She got money enough together to go to a ranch in Col lo, where she was to be housekeeper, when the baby took sick on the cars. It was eighteen month- old.” “And what is her name?” irs. White looked at the doctor blankly. “Well, I'm blessed if I ever thought of askin’ her name!” When they entered the parlor at last the services were over, and the people were in- dulging in the barbarous custom of filing by the dead to take a last look. No sculp- tured cherub was ever more beautiful to look upon than the little waif as it lay in @reamless sleep. Some mother had arrang- ed the tiny form in en embroidered robe, and in the dimpled hands were some pansies. Indeed, the coffin was almost buried under the flowers that Dennis had furnished. As the last weeping woman left the room, Mrs. White entered with Dennis, who had volunteered to take the coffin in his buggy to the cemetery, his being the only light vehicle in the country. Touch- ing the mother, the preacher asked her if she would like to take a farewell look at her child. Without a word she lifted her veil slightly, and leaning over pressed a long kiss on the marble face, and when she stepped back a single tear was shining on the little one’s cheek. “Ask her what name shall be put on the head board?” whispered Dennis to the doc- tor, as he picked up a narrow pine slab and took out his pencil. Great drops of sweat stood on his brow, and his eyes were full of tears. The doctor asked the woman the chiid’s name. i “Louis O'Briai she answered, in a sweet tremulous tone. With an inarticulate ery Dennis dropped the slab, and leaning toward her across the dead child, said un- steadily: “And your name—” As Dennis spoke she threw back her vell and over her face there swept an expression of joy and bewilderment, not unmixed with terror. Just an instant she hesitated, then laying her trembling hands in his, held out to her over the coffin and the flowers, asked gently: “Need I “Bu tell you?” ‘Loutse, he—" ‘My poor persecuted darling! They have lied to me criminally. They wrote to me in London, where I was calleé on urgent bus- iness for the firm, that you were dead. That you died suddenly of maliznant fever two weeks after my departure. When I came back after a year of restless wander- ing they showed me a grave with your name on the stone I had ordered in Rome. And—the—boy—Holy Mother, forgive th for I had not even heard of his existence. “And now you come too late! Oh, my baby, my baby!” The fountains were opened at last, and clasped in her husband’s arms she sobbed out her story of sorrow and bitterness, de- cepuion and privation, and Dennis learned how his father had duped them both and kept from his wife the letters and money which he had sent in his father's care until informed of her death. As an incentive xo get him out of the country O'Brian senior had promised to look after his son's wife. Dennis had thus no reason to doubt the crushing tidirgs that followed him so quickly, Half-crazed with grief he follow- ed advice of his parents to remain abroad for a year. When he returned his wife's people had left the city, so there was no one to undeceive him, the rest of the deception was easy to accomplish. To get away from all reminder of his sorrow he drifted west. As the sunset gun boomed forth its so- norous goodnight from the fort nearby Dennis O'Brian and his wife turned away from the mound of flowers which hid from sight their child’s grave and walked arm in arm past the groups of gossiping men and women, back to the Long Horn, which Mrs. White and some of the other women il hastily arranged in gala attire for em. “There's the baby's death between them aud real hearty happiness just now,” said Mrs. White, as she ripped up her best sheet to make curtains for the parlor win- » “but it stands to reason that it's drawed ‘em closer together. they shall have one real home comin’ cy sakes! Talk about ange!s unawares. Here, Mrs. Williams, you put this up. I've got to round up that greaser cook or he'll Fave red pepper in the white cake and for- git to put the sody in the cornbread. Good land, there they come,” and with her mouth full of pins, her heart boilmg over with’ rough tenderness, Mrs. White bustled be- low to take the young stranger in her moth- erly arms, before introducing her right and left to the denizens of the town, who were there in forc2 to welcome her, so closely are joy and grief akin. Poker Dave, lounging against the closed dcor of the Round Up, observed, reflec- tively, to B’Jo. “It wer'n't a maverick, after al “That it wer'n't,” echoed B'Jo, as he fingered a battered silver dollar, and gazed furtively at the crowd around the doors of the Long Hern. “It were shore enough braided.” Pinto Dan coming round the corner just then caught the drift of their observations, and as he looked across at O’Brian’s silver hair and the sad, sweet face of the woman at his side, he added earnestly: iene pards, and the brand were burned leep. — What a Baby Can Do. From the Philadelphia Press, It can wear out a pair of kid shoes in less than twenty-four hours. It can simultaneously occupy both sides of the largest bed made. It can make itself look like a fiend just when its mother wants to show It off. It can go from the furthest end of the nursery to the top of the stairs quicker than its mother can step into the next room and back again. It can cause its father to be insulted by every third-rate lodging-house keeper in a seaside resort, who “never takes children,” which in nine cases out of ten is fortunate for the children. These are some of the things a baby can do, But there are other things as well. A baby can make the commenest house the brightest spot on earth. It can lighten the burdens of a loving mother’s life by adding to them. It can flatten its dirty little face aginst the window pane in such a way that the tired father can see it as a picture be- fore he rounds the correr. Yes, babies are great institutions, particularly one’s own baby. a Lord Denman and His Hatter. From the London This old story is told of the Inte Lord Den- ran, who, (n being reminded by a west-end hatter that a small eccount was “overdue,” visited the shop and gave the manager a legal reply to the request for payment. “You state,” he said, sclemnly, as he stood over him, shaking his finger at him as though warning him to be careful, “that this account ts overdue. Remember that a bill of exchange or bill of acceptance may become overdue, but a tradesman’s account never. A gentleman pays when he thinks he will, or when he has the money. But, to show that no ill-feeling exists, I will pay the aceount and take another hat.” -@e-- Did Her Best. From-the fndiatspotis Journal. ‘This is the message the telegraph messen- ger handed to him: : ‘Come down as Soon as you car. I am dying. KATE.” i Eight houys later he arrived at the sum- mer hotel, to be met on the piazza by Kate herself. “Why—what did you mean by sending me such @ mes 2” "he asked. “Oh,” she gurgled, “I wanted to say that I was dying to see you, but my ten words rau out, and Lhad to stop.” al I 807-809-811 14th St. N. aa ” i] al ” ie] 4 tf we ult” Nervous 1. pernaps ‘that Debility Ptoitt: —. =~ Soe at —— among man- ‘aud € meng . = ple.” Three fourths of the chromic in 4 Which make life miserable « ” Hf The Young, =, trees tsnmrance >¢ ance of youthful spirits, have been’ unfortus 4 nate, and find t ives in danger of ie] their health and empbittering their lives. | ot 4 Hall Diseases of a Special rf 4 VARICOCELE ad 544445440045 Washington, D. C. A PERMANENT INSTITUTION FOR THE SCIENTIFIO TREATMENT AND CURE OF Nervous, Mental and Special Diseases. $O464404450+008 0000004 00404400 +08 | W., Bet. H and I Sts., The Middle Aged, +, tality weakened hy the traces of old pialuts which unk ited reiciane bad ed, but which time has brought find com: ‘per: aps reli buck at a period when they are noying. The Old, ste, comfort, but find “thelr bodies hey pains eo time when ft strength for the active duties of life—will Sind it to their advantage to consult us. OUR CURES ARE THOROUCH AND PERMANENT. Nature, Privately, Safe! and Permanently Cured. Positively “cured by @ mew and never-failing method, and guarantee given in every case treated. a I REMARKABLE CURES = +} WE MAKE NO EXPERIMENTS OR FAILURES. rd NOSTRUMS OR “CURE geal and, express, bat where possible, one personal interview ts pre- Sundays, 10 to 2 Saturday evening unt 9, WE USE NO PATEN’ 94 OWN MEIIT »¢ ARE Ue | i P: treated by ferred. CURABLE CA’ . OFFICE HOURS: 9 t Fourteenth Street Cable Cars pass the door. 3 and correspo > Moweeeesy ie+ees ee EE TET SURES AAS 7 Cases jeace SACREDLY CONFIDENTIAL. $4 packed free from observation to any part of the United States, 4 wore a “ALLS”: WE TREAT EACH CASE ON ITS EPARATELY THE REMEDIES WHICH IL IN ANY CASE WHERE WE HAVE | cal Treatment sent SSE eee aaa2ens 6s The Money That Circulates Fastest. From the Pittsburg Dispatch. “Helio! that’s bogus,” said a ticket agent, passing back a well-worn nickel. The coin looked to me exactly hike the regular thing, and 1 was curious to know Now the ticket man could tell it on sight. “Ob, it’s easy enough,” he said. “Feel it.” 1 felt it. 1 couldn't feel anyching but the price of one beer in it. Then I tock out another nickel and felt that. They looked alike, only the spurious coin was more worn than the genuine. “That's because they circulate faster than good ones,” said the ticket man. “Counterfeit bills and counterfeit coin,” continued the philosopher, “are apt to wear out quickly. You see, people always, and, very naturally, want to get rid of them. Some man got that nickel you just gave me, don’t you know, and he shoved it out immediately, the fellow who got it passed it on as soon as possible, and the next fel- low beught something with it, and so on un- til you got it and 1 shoved it back on you, see? Now you know it is counterfeit, you'll natura.ly get rid of it the first chance you get, probably on a horse car conductor; he'll give it in change to some woman, and she'll put it off so quick your head’ll swim. ‘There are so many cf these bad nickels and so little thought of it that they ‘go.’ It takes bad money to circulate rapidly.” ———__+e-+_—___ Aluminum Threads in Cloth. From the New York Sun, Some new textile fabrics are now being produced, the novel feature of which con- sists in weaving or interwining threads of aluminum, or alloys of it, with the mate- rial used, in sume cases employing that metal alone, for the purpose of making the cloth. Gold and silver threads have been employed in the manufacture of fancy cloths, as is well known, but only or prin- cipally for the purpose of ornament and not as a means of insuring greater strength and durability. The present invention pro- vides a practically non-oxidizable, inexpen- sive metal that can be utilized in quanti- ties in cheap cloth, and which can be washed without fear of injury. It is claim- ed that cloth made wholly or partly of this material will be free from chemical action, as few substances affect it. An attractive luster is obtained, which renders the fabric very ornamental, and there is the addition: al advantage of the metal being equally applicable to the finest fabrics and to the heaviest. The wire or threads can be drawn of any degree of fineness, so that it may be employed in combination with silk, linen and the like—it may also be drawn round, flat or in any other form conven- tent for weaving. — ee A Real Veteran. From the Chicago Record. “Yes, sir, I'm a veteran of the army, I am. It’s well I remember them awful days nigh the valley of the Cumberland and the long and dreary marches, with when the wag- nothink to eat, it gins was slow. I've been comrade, and no mistake.” SS @ pension’ ‘Pension! Lawsy, no! It was Coxey’s army I was with, and the gov’ment thrun us down fur walkin’ on the grass at Wash- ——- — +00 ‘Women in Medical Colleges. From the New York Times. The erection of a faculty for medicine for women in St. Petersburg is now insured, the superior council having approved of the plan which has been made by the ministry for instruction. There has already existed one medical college for women in St. Peters- burg, but this was closed ten years ago at the instance of the authorities. That a new move is now being made in the same direc- tion is, it is considered, principally due to the exertions of Prince Wilkowskij, who, at the Chicago exhibition, delivered an ad- dress touching upon this subject which at- tracted much attention. The ministry for instrucjion has also decreed that married Women will not be allowed to study at the Russian universities. oe “Pole on Whist.” From the London Star. One of the most versatile men of the cen- tury is Mr. William Pole, who is about to publish a new volume on “The Evolution of Whist.” Born even before Waterloo, he has been by turns a university professor, a con- sulting engineer, an examiner in music, an orgarist and a delightful player of whist. Just half a century ago he published a treatise on the steam engine, which had the effect of making him professor of civil enginecring at Bombay. On returning to Lordon he settled down into a steady prac- tice, but the desire-to impart his knowl- edge to others became too strong, and for eight years he lectured on his favorite theme at Gower street. He has served either as a private member or as the secre- tary 0“ many royal commissions, including those cn iron armor, Whitworth guns, rail- ways, water supply, river pollution and science museums. Moreover, he is largely ruzporsible for the great development of the railway system of Japan. Acream of tartar baking pow- der. Highest of ali in leavening strength,—Lates! United States Governmen Food Keport. Royal Baking Powder Ca, 106 Waibds, N.Y. o call and exan.ine finest stablein this or 4 ° * $L Bet. :6thand makw4 SPOS POSE COE: sel2-tf SOSSOCOOE DOOD OREO LOSOOSOC® $When Purchasing $ A Mattress } Insist on having THE “S. & B. REVERSIBLE” MATTRESS. It has COTTON FILLING ON BOTH SIDES. This means twice the serv- ice as is in the “one-sided” mat- tress. IT COSTS NO MORE. As all first-class dealers sell the “S. & B. REVERSIBLE” there ts Bo trouble is obtaining it. t7'See that “S & BB.” ts nStinemetz 5 1237 PA. AVE. Ee ie Our New Home, 1214 F st., ts not te ready for business, Bat while we're tere st Gur eld store we're going to of S to bu; $ Wire Wire Upholstered s (slightly damaged). cTs. UP 40 per cent off on ail Tt OLSTERING for a few days only. Window Shades regdy to put up, made of good materials, st and clastic, and M -order Shades Very moderate prices. Estimates free, The Houghton 316 OTH AND 1710 147A ST. 9 sole Tien’s & Youths’ iDerbies, $1.50. 4, Snow, OF, he eaime derby, being one - $1.90—we srve yon 40. fe = Fou better hate for else. Reon rep ids. ‘Willett & Ruoff, 1905 Pa. Ave. Ione Semon Nem eM R.& G. Corsets, $1 * Inst on sale—50 doz, Pine “R. * * ° & G.” Extra Long Watst Cor- °° More money invested in ‘eor- Y three other cornet or dcpartinents in the city. Whelan’s, 1003 F, Have you visited SCHMID, THE BIRD MAN? There’s lots to be seen—birds and anima!s of all kinds. “vite Free. Either store, rm Nkv AVR, weil 6x. weld At Ramsay’s x gall die Seok ttarradted for sae pean . st. nw, :