Evening Star Newspaper, January 18, 1896, Page 20

“20° . THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JANUARY 18 , 1896—-TWENTY-FOUR “PAGES, (Continued from Friday’s Star.) PART IIL. As he rose and fell on his broncho’s + steady gallop, he took off his hat and let the wind stir his hair. Riding thus, ex- alted thus, one nigit he shaped a desper- ate resolution; be determined to call on her, just as he would on a girl at Viroquy with wlom he was on the same intimacy of foeting. He was as good as any class, he was not e@s good as she was, for he lacked her sweetness apd purity of heart, and because she lived in a great house and wore beau- tiful garments did not shut him off from calling upon her. But week after week went by without his daring to make his resolution good. He determined many times to ask permission to call, but somehow he never did. He seemed to see her rather less than at first, and on her part there was a change. She seemed to have lost her first eager and frank curiosity about him, and did not al- ways smile now when she met him. Then, again, he could not in working d-ess ask to call; it would seem so incon- gruous to stand before her to make such a request, covered with perspiration and dust. It was hard to be dignified under such circumstances; he must be washed and dressed properly. In the meantime, the men had discovered how matters stood, and some of them made very free with the whole situation. ‘Two of them especially hated him. These two men had drifted to the farm from the mines somewhere, and were rough, hard characters. They would have corie to blows with him, only they knew something of the power lying coiled in his Jong arms. Gne day he overheard one of the men speakiug of Edith, and his tone stopped the blood in Arthur’s heart. When he walked among the group of men, his face was white and set. “You take tnat back,” he said, in a low voice. “You take that back, or I'll kill you right where you stand.” “Do him up, Tim,” shouted the other ruffian, but Tim hesitated. “I'll do him, then,” said the other man; “I owe him one myself.” He caught up a strip of board which was lying on the ground near, but one of the Norwegian workmen put his foot on it, and before he could command his weapon Arthur brought a pail which he held in his right hand down upon his opponent’s head. The man fell as if dead, and the pail shat- tered Into its original staves. Arthur turned then to face Tim, his hands doubled into mauls, but the other men interfered and the encounter was over. Arthur waited to see if the fallen man could rise, and then turned away reeling and breathless. For an hour after his hands shook so that he could not go on with his work. At first he determined to go to Richards, the foreman, and demand the discharge of the two tramps, but as he thought of the explanations necessary, he gave it up as im- possible. He almost wept with shame and despair at thought of her name mixed in the tumult. He had meant to kill when he struck, and the nervors prostration which followed showed him how far he had gone. He had | not had a fight since he was thirteen years of age, and now everything seemed lost. He went to see the man just before going to supper, and found him in his, barracks, sit- ting near a pail of cold water, from which he was splashing his head at intervals. He looked up as Arthur entered, but went calmly on with his ministrations; after a pause he said: “That was a h—Il of a lick you gave me, young feller; brought the blood out of my ears.” “I meant to kill you,” was Arthur's grim reply. oT cnow you did. If that d—d Norse hadn't put his foot on that board you'd be Arthur Brought a Pail Bown Upon His Opponent’s Head. doin’ this.” He lifted a handful of water to his swollen and aching head. “What did you go to that board for? Why didn’t you stand up like a man?” “Because you were swinging that bucket.” . bosh! You were a coward as well as a blackguard. The man looked up with a gleam in his eye: “See here, young feller—if this head—” Arthur's face darkened and the man stop- ped sFort. “Now, listen. Dan Williams, I want to tell you something. I’m not going to report this. I'm going t> let you stay here till you're well, and then I want this thing set- tled with Richards looking on; when I get through with you then you'll want a cot in cme hospital.” The man’s eyes suddenly fell and Arthur turned toward the door. At the doorway he turned and a terrible look came into his face. “And more than that, if you say an- other word about—her, I'l brain you, sick or well!” As he talked the old, wild fury returned and he came back and faced the wounded man. “Now, what do you propose to do*” he demanded, his hands elinching. ‘The other man looked at him with a curi- ous frown upon his face. “I ain't a d— fool!” he curtly answered, and sopped his handkerchief In the water again. The rage went out of Arthur's eyes, and he almost smiled, so much did that familiar e convey with its subtle inflections. It mning and candid and chivalrous all at once. It acknowledged defeat and guilt embodied a certain pride in the victor. Well, that settles that,” said Arthur. “One thing more, I don’t want you to say what made the row between us.” All Tight, pard, only you'd better see winapi In spite of his care, the matter came to the ears of Richards, who laughed over it, and told bis wife, who stared blankly. “Good land, wken did it happen?” ‘A couple of days ago.” ‘Wal, there! I thought there was a nig- | wi in the fence. Dan had a head on him ike a bushel basket. What was it about?” ‘Something Tim said about Edith. wanto know! Wal, wal! An’ here they've been going about as peaceful as two kittens ever sence.” “Of course! They pitched in and settled it man fashion; they ain’t a couple of wo- men, who go around sniffin’ and spittin’ at each other,” said Richards, with brutal reasm; “as near as I can learn, Tim and an came at him at once.” “They're a nice pair of tramps!” said Brs. Richards, indignantly, “I told you When they came they’d make trouble.” “I told you the cow’d eat up the grind- stone,” said Richards, walking away. more Mrs. Richards thought of it, the firer it all appeared to her, She was deeply engaged row on S>thur’s side, and was very eager to-25 something to help on in-his “sparking,” as she called it. She seized the first opportunity to tell Edith. “Een't s’pose you heard of the little ; ffacas we had t’other day,” she began in what she intended to be a delicately indirect way. Edith was sitting in the cart, and Mrs, Richards stood at the wheel. “Why, no, what was it?” “Mr. Ramsey come mighty near gettin’ killed.” She enjoyed deeply the dramatic pallor and distortion of the girl's face. “Why—why—what do you mean?” “Wal, if he hadn’t a lammed one feller with a bucket he’d a been laid out sure, so Richards says; as it is, it's the other feller that has the head.” She laughed to see the girl’s face change. “Then—Mr. Ramsey isn’t hurt?” ‘Not a scratch! The funny part of it is, tkey’ve been going around here for a week, quiet as you please; I wouldn’t have known anything about it only for Richards.” “Oh, isn’t it dreadful?” said the girl. “Ye ‘tis!’ the elder woman readily agreed, “but why don’t you ask what it was all about?” “Oh, I don’t want to know anything More gbout it, it’s too terrible.” Mrs. Richards was approaching the cli- max. “It was all about you.” The girl could not realize what part she should have with a disgraceful row in the barn yard. “Yes, these men—they’re regular tramps, I told Richards so the first time I set eyes on 'em—they made a little free with your name, and Art ke overheard them and he | She Seized the First Opportunity to Tell Edith. went for "em, and they both came at him, two to one, and he lammed both in a min- ute—so Hichards says. Now, I call that splendid, don’t you? A young feller that'll stand up for his girl agin two big tramps—” The major had been motioning for Edith to drive on down toward the gate, and she seized the chance for escape. Her lips quivered with shame and anger. It seemed as if she had been splashed with mire. “Oh, the vulgar creatures,” she said in her throat, her tceth shut tight. “There, isn't that a fine field?” asked the major, as he pointed to the cabbages. “There is a chance for an American {mitator of Mcnet, those purple-brown deeps, and those gray-blue—pink pearl tints—What’s the mat- ter, my dear?” he broke off to ask, “are you ‘No, no, only let’s go home,” she said, the tears coming into her eyes. He got in hastily. “My dear, you are really ill; what's the matter? Has your old enemy, the head- ache—" He put his arm about her tenderly. “No, no! I'm sick of this place—I wish I'd never seen it! How could those dreadful men fight over me? It’s horrible!” The major whistled. “Oh, ho! that’s got around to you, has it? I didn’t know it until yesterday. I was hoping it wouldn’t reach you at all. I wouldn’t mind it, my dear. It's the shadow every lovely woman throws, no matter where she walks—it’s only your shadow that has passed over the ‘muck.’” “But I can’t even bear that, it seems like a part of me—what do you suppose they said of me?” she asked in morbid curiosity. “Now, now, dearest! To know that would be stepping into the muck after your shadow. The talk of such men is unim- aginable to you.” ‘ou don’t mean Mr. Ramsey?” “No; Mr. Ramsey ts a different sort of a man. Mr. Ramsey is fine and clean, and I don’t suppose anything else would have brought him to blows with those men.” They sat looking straight forward. it's horrible! herrible!” Her uncle tightened his arm about her. “I suppose the knowledge of such lower deeps must come to you some day, but don’t seek it now; I’ve told you all you ought to know.” “Ramsey meant well,” he went on, after a silence, “but such things do little good, not enough to pay for the outlay of seif-respect. He can’t control their talk when he’s out of hearing. “But I supposed that if a woman was— good—I_ mean—I didn’t know that men talked in that way about girls like me. How could they?” The abyss still fascinated her. : “My dear, these men are only half-civil- ized. They have all the passions of animals, and all the vices of men. Ramsey was too hot-headed. Their words do not count; they weren’t worth whipping.” There was a little silence; they were near- ing the mountains again, and both raised their eyes to the peaks, deeply shadowed in tyrian purple. “I know how you feel, I think,” the major went on, “but the best thing to do is to for- get it. To walk into a gang of rough men like that is foolish, and dangerous, too, for the ruffian is generally the best man physi- cally, I’m sorry to say.” “It was brave, though, don’t you think 80?” she asked. He looked at her quickly. “Oh, yes, it was brave, and very youthful.” She smiled a little for the first time. “I guess I like youth.” “In that case I'll have to promote him for it,” he said, with a smile, that made her look away toward the mountains again. PART Iv. Saulisbury took a Sudden turn to friend- limess and defended the action when the major related the story that night at the dinner table and they were seated over their walnuts and cigars. He was dining with the Savlisburys. “It’s uncommon plucky, that’s what I think, d’ye kneow. Ry fcove, I didn’t think “Oh, common plucky.” the young deg had it in him, really. He did one fellow up with a bucket, they say, and met the other fellow with his left. Where did the young beggar get his science?” “At college, ‘I suppose.” “Well, the young dog seems to have made some use of his chaunce,” said Saul- isbury, who had dramatized the matter in his own way and saw Ramsey doing the two rren up in accordance with Queensbury haut like self, do ye kneow; they're forty years apiece and as hard ds fron.” Mrs. Saulisbury looked up from her wal- nuts. “Sam is ready to carry the olive-club to Mr. Ramsey; ‘the poor beggar,’ as he has called him all aicng, will be a gentle- man from this time forward.” After the major had gone Saulisbury said: “There's one g the major was careful not to mention, my deah. Why should this young fellow be going about defending the good name of his niece? Do ye kneow, my deah? I fancy the young idiot is in love with her!’ ‘ell, suppose he is@ “But, my deah, in England, ye kneow, it wouldn't mattah—it would be a case of |-bopeless- déyotion—but, as I understand things heah, it may become awkward. Don’t ye think so, love?” “It depends upon the young man. Edith could worse than marry .a good, clean, wholesome fellow like that.’’ “Good gracious! You don’t allow your mind to go that far?” “Why certainly! I'd much rather she’d marry a strong young workingman than some burnt-out third gerieration wreck of her own set in the city.” “But the fellow has no means.” “He has muscle and brains, and, besides, she has something of her own.” Saulisbury filled his pipe slowly. “Luckily it’s all theory on our part; the contingence isn’t hyah, isn’t likely to arrive, in fact.” “Don’t be too sure. If I can read a girl's heart in the lines of her face she’s got where principalities and powers are of small account.” “Really?” “Sure as shooting,” she smilingly said. Saulisbury mused and puffed. ‘In that case, we will have to turn in and give the fellow what you Americans call a boost.” “That's right,” his wife replied, slangtly. Edith went to her room that night with a mind whirling in dizzying circles, whose motion she could not check. It was terrible to have it all come in this way. She knew Arthur cared for her—she had known it from the first, but with the happy indifference of youth she had not looked forward to the end of the summer. The sure outccme of passion had kept itself somewhere in a golden glimmer on the lower sweep of the river. She wished for some one to go to for ad- vice. Mrs. Thayer, she knew, would ex- claim in horror over the matter. The major had hinted the course she -would have to take, which was to show Arthur he had no connection with her life—if she could. But deep in her heart she knew she could rot do that. Suddenly a thought came to her which made her flush until the dew of shame stood upon her forehead. He had never Lr to see her, she had always been to see = Z She knew that this was true. She did not attempt to conceal it from herself now. The charm of those rides with her uncle was the chance of seeing Arthur. The sweet, never wearying charm that made this summer one of perfect happiness, that had almost made her forget her city ways and friends, that had made her brown and strong with the soil and wind—was the contact with the robust and clean and wholesome young man—a sturdy figure with brown throat and bare strong arms. Then her self-accusation came back. She had gone down into the field to see him, perhaps the very man who was with him nen was one of those whom he had pun- ished. Her little hands had clutched. “I’ll never go out there again. I'll never see him again, never!” she said, with her teeth shut tight Mre. Thayer did not take any very great interest in the matter until Mrs. Saulisbury held a session with her. Then she sputter- ed in deep indignation. “Why, how dare he make love to my niece?’ Why, the presumptuous thing! Why, the idea—he’s a workingman.” Mrs. Saulisbury remained quiet. She was the only person who could manage Mrs. Thayer. “Yes'm, that’s bred man, and——' “College-bred! These nasty, little west- ern colleges—what do they amount to? Why, he curries our horses.” Mrs. Saulisbury was amused. “I know that is an enormity, but I heard the major tell of currying horses once.” “That was in the army—anyhow, it doesn’t matter. Edith can simply ignore the whole thing.” “I hope she can; but I doubt it very much.” “What do you mean?” ‘I mean that Edith is interested in him.” “I don’t believe it! Why, it is impossible! You're crazy, Jeannette.” “He’s very handsome, in a way." “He’s red and big-jointed, and he’s a mudsill,” Mrs. Thayer gasped, returning to her original charge. Mrs. Saulisbury laughed, being malevolent enough to enjoy the whole situation. “Well, I _wouldn’t try to do anything about it, Charlotte,” she said. “You remember the fate of the Brookses, who tried to force Maud to give up her clerk. If this is a case of true love, you might as well surrender gracefully.” “But I can’t do that. I’m responsible for I'll go right straight and ask her.” “Charlotte,” Mrs. Saulisbury’s voice rang with a stern note, “don’t you presume to do such a thing. You will precipitate ev- erything. The girl don’t know her own mind, and if you go up there and attack this young man, you'll tip the whole dish over. Sit down, now, and be reasonable. Leave her alone for a while. Let her think it over alone.” This good counsel prevailed, and the other woman settled into a calmer state. “Well, it’s a dieadful thing, anyhow.” “Perfectly dreadful! but you mustn’t take a conventional view of it. You must re- member, a good, clean and healthy man should come first as a husband, and this young man i: clean and healthy, and I must admit he seems a gentleman, as far a3 I can see. Besides, you can’t do any- thing by storming up to that poor girl. Let her alone for a few. days.’ Following this suggestion, no one alluded to the fight, or appeared to notice Edith’s changed moods. But the younger woman could not forbear giving her an occasional ona of wordless sympathy as she passed er. It was pitiful to see the tumult and fear and responsibility of the world coming upon this dainty, simple-hearted girl. Life had been so strajghtforward before. No toil, no problems, no choosing one’s for oneself. Meanwhile, Arthur was longing to see Edith once more, and wondered why she had stopped coming. The major came up on Friday and Sat- urday, but came alone, and that left only the hope of seeing Edith at church, and the young fellow worked on with. that to nerve his arm. The family respected his departure on Sunday. They plainly felt his depression, and sympathized with it. “Walk home with her—I would,” said Mrs. Richards, as he went through the kitchen. “So would I. Dang me if I’d stand off,” Richards started to say, but Arthur did not true. But he’s a college- things stop to listen. As he rode down to the city, he recov- ered, naturally, a little of his buoyancy. Sleep had rested his body and cleared his mind for action: He sat in his usual place at the back of the church, and his heart throbbed pain- fully as he saw her moving up the aisle, a miracle of lage, and coolness, and frag- rant linen, enveloping her - fresh, young form, so erect and graceful and slender. Then his heart bowed down before her, not because’she was above him in a so- cial class—he did not admit that—but be- cause he was a lover, and she was his ideal. He was cast down as suddenly as he !had been exalted, by her failure to look cautiously around, as was he® custom, in order to bow to him. | though he felt foolish and boyish in doing so. She approached him with her eyes | cast down, but as she passed she flashed an appealing, mystical look at him, and flushed a radiant pink, then slipped out of the side door. She left him stunned and smarting for a moment. He mounted his horse and rode away towards the mountains, his thoughts busy with that strange look of hers. He what her first recoiling perception told him. ue appealed to him, and she trusted in im. Then something strong and masterful rose in him. He lifted his hig brown fist in the air in a resolution which. was like that of Napoledn when he entered Russia. He turned and rode furiously back toward the town. As he walked up the gravel path to the Thayer house it seemed like-a castle to him. The great granite portico, the curv- ing flight of steps, the splendor of the Blass ‘above the qpor, all impressed .him with the terrible gulf between his fortune and hers. « He was met at the door by the girl from the table. He greeted her as his equal, end said: “Is Miss Newell at home?’ The girl smiled with perfect knowledge and sympathy. She was on his side, and she knew, besides, how much it meant to fave the hired man come in at the front cor... : He stood at the door as they came out,- came to understand and to believe ai last |" He entered without fiirther words, end followed her into the tion room, which was the most id thom he ‘had ever rug, than his year's pay. “Just take a seat here}’and Pll announce you,” said the girl, who,was almost trem- bling with eagerness to explode her torpedo of news. : ‘Don't disturb them; ({{1l wait.” But she had whisked out of the room. She had plans of her own (perhaps revenges of her own.) Arthur listened—he could not help it. He heard the girl’s clear, distinct voice; the open door conveyed every word 10 him, “It’s Mr. Ramsey, mgigm, to see Miss Newell!” ‘The young man’s strained ears heard the sudden pause on the click of knives and plates. He divined the gasps of astonish-. Irent which Mrs. Thayer's first words in- dicated. “Well, I declare! Now, major, you see what I told you “The plucky young dog!’ said Saulisbury, in sincere admiration. ~ Mrs. Thayer went on: “Now, Mr. Thayer, this is the result of treating your servants as equals.” 5 The major laughed. “My dear, you’re a little precipitate. It may be a ie. The young man may be here to tell.me one of the colts is sick.” | “You don’t believe any such thing! You heard what the girl said—Look at Edith:” There was a sudden pushing and scraping of chairs. Arthur rose, tense-terrified. There was a little flurry of voices. . “Here, give her some wine! the poor thing! No wonder—” there was a slight pause, “She's all right,” said the major. “Just a little surprised, that’s all.” There was a little, inarticulate murmur from the girl, and then another pause. “By Jove, this is getting dramatic,” said Saulisbury. “Be quiet, Sam,” said his wife. “I won't have any of your scoffing. I’m glad there is some sincerity of emotion left in our city girls.” Mrs. Thayer broke in: “Major, you go right out there and send that impudent creature away. It’s disgraceful!” Arthur turned cold and hard as a statue of granite. His heart rose with a murder- ous slow swell. He held his breath while the calm, amused voice of the major replied: “But, see here, my dear, it’s none of my brsiness. Mr. Ramsey has a perfect right to call— “H’yah! h'yah!” called Saulisbury, in a chuckle. “I like him, and, besides, I rather imag- ine Edith has given him the right to call.” The anger died out of Arthur's heart, and the warm blood spouted once mare through his tingling body. Tears came to his eyes, and he could have embraced his defender, ‘sNothing like consistency, majah,” said Saulisbury. “Sam, will you be quiet?’ The major went on: imagine the whole matter is for Edith to decide. It’s really very simple. Let her send word to him that she does not care to see him, and he'll go away—no doubt of it.” “Why, of course!” said Mrs. Thayer. “Edith, just tell Mary to say to Mr. What’s-His-Name.” Again that creeping thrill came into the young man’s hair. His world seemed bal- anced on a needle point. Then a chair was pushed back slowly. There was another little flurry. Again the The Cling of Her Arms About His Neck. blood poured over him like a splash of warm water, leaving him cold and wet. “Edith!” called the astonished, startled voice of Mrs. Thayer. “What are you going to do?” “I'm going to see him,” said the girl's firm voice. There was a soft clapping of two pairs of hands. As she came through the portieres Edith walked like a princess! There was amazing resolution 1p her back-flung head. She wore the look of one who sets sails into un- known seas. Some way—somehow, through a mist of light and a blur of sound, he met her—and the cling of armé about’ his neck moved him to tears. No word was uttered, called from the doorway: “Mr. Ramsey, Mrs. Thayer wants to know if you won't come and have some dinner!” (The end.) —_—_—_. What Do You Suppose He Didt From the Detroit Free Press. “What did you buy this piece of music for?” asked Mr. Darley, crossly, as he took up a sheet from the piano. x! “I bought it ior a song,” replied Mrs. Darley, sweetly. —_—__+e+____ In Court Circles. From the Catholle Register. He—“Oh, yes, when I was in London I was enthusiastically received in court cir- cles.”” ' She (simply)}—“What was the charge against you?” —EE When the Tabie Isn’t in the Right Place. From Fliegende Blatter. till the major af! “At your commend, baron!” BOSOSSOHOSOHGOHOHE HOO LOOSHSGHOTSHDDOSONGHSHHOHHOHHHHHHSSSGO ‘ The Best. - the best. Oy BD a =--and the rest. What’s the root--- eoosceeocrese ~The ~ Rest. There are two kinds of sarsaparilla: The best The trouble is they look alike. And when the rest dress like the best, who’s to tell them apart? Well, “the tree is known by its fruit.” That’s an old test and a safe one. the tree the deeper the root. That’s another test. the record of these sarsaparillas? The one with the deepest root is Ayer’s. The one with the richest fruit---that, too, is Sarsaparilla has a record of half a century of cures; a record of many medals and awards ating in the medal of the Chicago World’s Fair, which, admitting Ayer’s Sarsaparilla as the best, shut its doors against the rest. honor than the medal; to be the only Sarsaparilla admitted as an exhibit at the World’s Fair. If you want to get the best sarsaparilla of your drug- gist here’s an infallible rule: you'll get Ayer’s. Ask for Ayer’s Still have doubts? Send for the “Curebook.‘ It kills doubts and cures doubters. «: J. C. Ayer Co., Lowell, Mass, That was greater Ask for the best and The Test. And the taller Ayer’s. Ayer’s QSOS OGSOIOSHOOOGSOHHHOHOSHOH OSS -culmin-= € and you'll get COSHOOSSENHDOHHGDOHOSOOHHOGOOHS BBD: SSS So HILDERBRAND’S LUCK. A Trifling Accident That Came Be- tween Him and Millions. From the St. Louis Globe-Democrat. Mining camps are replete with interesting stories of prospectors who have struck it rich and of those who, after years of un- successful effort, find themselves “dead broke” in their old age because luck was against them. “While everybody believes more or less in the existence of that some- thing known as ‘luck,’ said Jean Decker, formerly a resident of the Black Hills, and one of the pioneers of that region, “the prospector, who climbs over mountains and trails along streams winding their Revion way through tortuous gulches, | more an anybody, is a believer that ‘luck’ shapes the destinies of all men. He will tell you frank- ly that he believes in luck, and is always prepared with what he considers irrefutable arguments in support of his belief. If argu- ments fail to convince, he is ready to relate experiences by the score, experiences of his own and of others, to prove that ‘luck’ is be- bind all success or failure, and that ‘luck, good or bad, is responsible for the success or failure of all undertakings. “L, F. Hilderbrand, a little, wiry, French: man, who drives an express wagon in Dead- wood, is a firm believer in ‘luck,’ for the greater number of the many years that cause his curly beard and hair to be so lib- erally besprinkled with silver have been spent in the mountains of the west. It is ‘Juck’ that is responsible for the fact that he ig now driving a dray instead of living a life of ease and enjoying the luxuries and com- forts that the possession of unlimited means make possible. Had ‘luck’ not been against him he would now be Mr. Hilderbrand, and not ‘Hilderbrand, the drayman.’ It was ‘lack’ that caused him, more than thirty years ago, to stumble against a mountain side in Montana, and it was the same ‘luck’ that caused him to chip off a piece from a huge boulder he found there, to find that he had ‘struck it rich,’ for the boulder was quartz, and so rich in gold that it fairly made his eyes pop and his heart beat with a rapidity that threatened serfous results to its outer covering. He soon got over his excitement, and. with the prospector’s in- stinct, began to look for the lead from which the boulder had sloughed off. ‘Luck’ was still with him,for he traced the lead and at once began to open it. He had a partner, and the two worked hard, for, although quartz mining was then merely ‘an experi- ment in Montana, they knew the time was coming when placer mining would end and quartz mining would receive the attention of men anxious for a quick way of increas- ing their wealth. “They were poor, and their supply of ‘grub’ was limited, but they knew that there were plenty of men in the territory who would gladly ‘stake’ them as soon as they learned of ths richness of their find. So far all of their ‘luck’ had been of the quality de- scribed as ‘good,’ but a change was to come, and that soon. Their ‘luck’ was destined to undergo a change. In an unfortunate mo- ment they undertook to roll out of the way the great boulder which had guided them to where fortune was awaiting them. Whether it was this or something else that caused their good ‘luck’ to change is not known, but Hilderbrand believes that the attempt to hange the location of the boulder offended the geni that for years had guarded the hid. den treasures of the mountain, for the boul- der rdiled over on to the arm of his partner and so badly crushed it that it became use- less. Being without money, they had to leave the place,Hilderbrand going to French Gulch to seek employment in the placer mines there, while his partner went to Helena to obtain surgical assistance. “Years passed on and Hilderbrand began to think less of the ‘find,’ and when the stampede for Deadwood began he was one of the first to join the rush, and ‘luck’ of the good kind aided him to locate a paying claim in that part of the city which was once known as Elizabethtown. After the claim had been worked out he again drifted west, and was one of the pioneers in the Coeur d’Alene mountains. Bad ‘luck’ again became his companion, and he drifted from one place to another, until finally he found himself once more in Montana, and one day he stood once more gazing on the boulder of rich quartz on which he had feasted his eyes years before. The beulder had the familiar appearance of an -dd friend, but its sur- roundings had so changed that Hilderbrand was bewildered. “In place of the modest little tunnel he had helped to dig over a quarter of a cen- tury before, he found a monster hoisting plant raising rich ore from a shaft hundreds of feet in depth, while in the gulch thun- dered and roared a monster stamp mill. The boulder had been removed, and it occupied a place of honor in front of a splendid build- ing. Surrountied by an iron railing, from which dangled signs cautioning trespassers to beware, the boulder stood an object of Veneration and curiosity, for it told to the world that-it was the identical rock that had led to the discovery of the famous Drum Lummon mine, one of the richest gold producers in the United States. “Hilderbrand attempted to touch the boul- der, but a burly watchman ordered him off. Finally eloquence prevailed, @nd the man whose ‘luck’ had been his ruin was permit- ted to place his hand on the boulder and run his fingers over the spot which marked the Place from which he had chipped off a sam- ple years before. “Sometimes Hilderbrand tells the story, and always winds it up by laying his hands over his heart and looking far away, and saying, ‘Oh, I feel so pinch here,’ indicating that portion of his anatomy covered by his hands, ‘w’en I come back and see de mill and de mine, and tink of de time w’en I find de boulder and den tink what might ‘ave been if luck had been wid me h’instead of de h’ole man Cruse ———-e+_ ADULTERATED BOOTS. They Are Provided With a Sole of Sugar and Shavings. From the New York World. We have had adulterated milk, adulter- ated beer, adulterated whisky, adulterated cigars, adulterated sugar, adulterated cof- fee and adulterated tea. Now we have adulterated boots, One of the consequences of adulterated boots is sore throats. At first thought there does not appear to be any good reason why boots should be adulterated. The cost of adulteration would seem to be as great as that of the genuine leather. Perhaps the .dulteration is done merely through force of unconscious imi- tation. When adulteration is so general it is diificult to avoid the nabit, even in the bootmaking business. The adviteration in bootmaking consists of a kind of sponge diaphragm of shavings and sugar, inserted between the inner and outer sole. By this clever device, it is said, the manufacturers save a great deal in leather in the long run. The shoes so adul- terated are sold at a low price. It is safe to say that the purchasers little dream as they walk about in their new footgear that they are constantly treading on shavings and sugar. There appears to be some reason for ihe shavings, but the layman will lift his eyes én surprise when he reads about the sugar. No information can be here given as to why sugar is used as a means of adulter- ating boots, as the information is not at Hand. It would not be st-ange if the su- gar used was itself adulterated, as the makers who are dishonest cnough to palm off bogus shoes on unsuspecting buyers would not hesitate to employ adulterated sugar for the purpose. We should then have a curious condition of affairs, boots adulterated with adulterated sugar. The spongy diaphragm of sugar and shavings, once damp, never gets dry. As a result, the persons who wear the boots are usually afflicted wity colds or sore throats or rheumatism. “Very undesirable boots,” you will say at once; yet, how is a man to protect himself? What assurance have you now, as you read this, that the soles of your shoes are not stuffed with sugar and shavings? It would bardly do to rip the shoes apart for the purpose of sat- tsfying the mind that your shoes are not adulterated. Possibly it might be advis- able to obiain a written guarantee from your shoe Gealer that your shoes are posi- tively pure and unadulterated; but guaran- tees, like promises, are often made only to be broken. The only thing left, then, is to single out a shoe dealer distinguished for his probity and trust to his honor that Le is selling you a sole that is pure. ee ALU They Are the Lig! f All Caskets, but Their Cost is High. From the New York World. Aluminum coffins are the latest, and the New York, Pittsburg and St. Louis under- takers carry them in stock. They are made of uniform width, square ends and vertical sides and ends, such being the accepted shape of the modern burial casket. They are finished with a heavy molding around the bottom and at the upper edge, and with pilasters at the corners and with a round molded top. They are provided with ex- tension bar handles. Aluminum caskets are not covered, but finished with a metal surface burnished. They are lined in the same manner. The non-corrosive qualities of aluminum as well as the lightness of the caskets recommend them. A six-foot aluminum coffin weighs but 100 pounds, an oak casket of the same size 190 pounds, a cloth casket with metal lining about 175 pounds. Other metallic caskets weigh from 450 to 0 pounds. Aluminum coffins are not likely to become Popular among the poor, as their cost ranges from $400 to $750. “Bigland has been thrown out of work, hasn’t be?” “Well, his pay has been stopped, if that is what you mean.” FUN WITH THE CHRISTIANS. e. From Life. =| a & ‘ © Ay. a4 Pep re re OM Tnes t ha