Evening Star Newspaper, February 29, 1896, Page 17

EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 29, 1896—TWENTY-FO A NEW MONTE CRISTO seem queer, but I was-angry with the par- Bon for having ‘stood out there in the dark, close against me, and given me my chance. 1 called him all the names I could lay my tongue to for his foolishness. I was just as angry with myself, though for no sen- withstanding that for four years the crops have falled, and there has been consid- erable famine. This: demonetization of sil- ver acts as a protective tariff for Mexico. It ker s out foreign goods which are sold Ee (Copyright, 1896, by Bact eller, Johnson & Bacheller ) PART I. As I passed the vicarage I thought that it looked a likely place. I walked on a few yards, and then it seemed to me a pity not to see if the place was as good as it looked. So I went back and asked at the back door If they could give me a job of work. ‘The kitchen maid said there was no work for me, and she was not inclined to talk. But she fetched me some bread and cheese, and I had a chance to look round. I marked the scullery window; it was out of sight of the road, fastened with the usual simple catch, with no bars or shutters. A regular invitation a window like that is. It seemed to me a one-man job, and just as good that night as any other night. So that night, by 10:30, I was in the shrub- bery of the vicarage garden, smoking my pipe and watching the house. There was only one light; it was in the study window downstairs. At 11 o'clock that light went out and another appeared in the upstairs window. “That's all right,” I said to my- self. “Parson's finished writing his sermon and gone up to bed.” When the whole house was dark I went round it once or twice, just to see how things lay. I couldn't find any- thing better than the scullery window, but I Had a Chance to Look Around. that was quite good enough. I was impa- tient to begin I did not consider it safe to start work until 12:10. The window gave | Mm= more trouble than I had expected; the catch was very stiff, and I had nothing but my pocketknife to force it back with. How- ever, I got it back at last and opened the window very slowly, an inch at a time, mak- ing no noise. Then I got in. I no sooner got my feet down on the | scullery floor than I was knocked headlong and found a thirteen-stone weight on my chest. I asked it, speaking under difficul- ties, to get off again. I was a bit dazed, for I had come dewn hard and bumped my head, but I saw the only thing to do was to sham drunk, and I spoke thickly. I undid one end of my collar, pulled my hair over my forehead, hung my lower lip, and put on a bleary stare. By the time that man had got off my chest, struck a match on the heel of his boot and lit the candle" be- hind him I icoked a complete drunk if ever any man did. I could see now that the man who had knocked me c¥er was Rev. William Lake himself. And the more I looked at him the more I felt sorry tnat I had ever come. “Well,” he sai ‘ou dirty little ginger- headed, two-penny-half-penny scoundrel, what are you doing her I hiccoaghed and ans “Thor thish s Willetsh red: er twenny ri’? he said. “I heard you the house an hour ago—or I shouldn't e been here waiting for you. Besides, ken men don’t open windows that way. You're not drunk. Drop it.” I thought about it for a moment and saw that there was a good deal in what he said. &. I dropped it. I fastened my collar again, sat up and pelied off my “Very well,” I sala, move now?” I suppose he saw my hand slipping round, for he said quickly: “Have you any weap- po Pp. ‘then what's the Bless you, no! I only- Before I could finish he was sitting on me sgain. I tried a smash at him, but he caught my wrist and nigh broke it. After that I didn't try again. It wasn't only that he was bigger, heavier and stronger than | Sudden: most men; he was quick as light and you could never tell from his eye what he was going to do rext. He went all over me carefully, and took my knife and the shooter and my jemmy. Then I saw that the game was up. “What a silly little liar you are!” he said. As I have said, I saw that it was all up, and I couldn’t make it any worse. I was | @ good deal disappointed. and I had been | roughly handled, and altogether I was not | in the sweetest temper. So I spoke out. I| said that I did not want any (adjective omitted) preaching from a_ (substantive omitted) like himself. All I asked was what his (adjective omitted) move was. “If you swear any more,” he said, “I shall be compelled to cause you considerable physical pain.” I had a bumped head and a barked el- bow. I was fairly copped, and my temper got the better of me again. It was foolish of me, but I may have thought that he, be- ing a parson, would not actually strike me. Anyhow, I said that if he wanted to know what he was I could tell him. I did tell him in a few words. I omit the words. Never in my life have I had such a thrashing as I got then. He hit only with the open hand; if he'd have used his fists | he'd have killed me. There was no getting | way from kim, and no giving him any- thing back. It was ding-dong all over my face and head until I dropped fm a heap, bleeding like a pig and nearly sick. It finished me. “You're boss,” I said. “You can give your orders. I only wanted to see.” He stood there smiling, as if he had Father enjoyed himself. “Pick up your boots,” he said, “and put them on.” On entering the window I had my boots hanging round = neck by the laces; they had fallen off when he first knocked me While I was putting them on he over. Before I Could Finish He Was Sittin, on Me Again. turned back his cuffs and washed his hands at the sink. When he had finished he Pointed to the sink. “There you are,” he said. Pair damages.” I was bleeding from my nose, and from a cut lip, but the cold water soon stopped that. When I had finished he asked me if I was all right. “Pretty well,” I said. “I'm a bit shaky that's all. You gave me a good @oing.” “Take a candle, then, and go in front of “You can re- | me a thrashing and then you give me sup- me into the study. I expect you know the way.” Of course, I did. Show me the out- side of any house, and the inside is no puz- zle to me. He picked up my knife, the revolver and the small jimmy, and followed me into the study. He lit the lamp, gave me the knife back again, and locked the revolver and the jimmy away in a drawer. “And now,” he said, “won't you sit down He spoke to me as if I were a lady visitor. I sat dewn, and he, taking a chair opposite me, begen to fill a little old clay Pipe. really can't make this out,” he said, “you're so small and clumsy. You've got @ nasty temper, but you're not very plucky. What on earth made you think of trying to be a burglar?” “I don’t know,” I said. “But there's one thing I'd like to ask you, and no disre- spect. What made you think of being a parson—a man of your build and strength, and so handy with your fists? I ask par- don, but you might have done better.” He didn’t seem to take that as cheek at all. For a moment he didn’t answer, and sat sucking his little clay. Then he sighed and said: “I have sometimes thought so elf. But it is quite certain that you ht have done better. How did you come to this?” “I had no bringing up, and I read penny treshy novels.” He tapped his foot impatiently on the carpet. “Well, well—go on.” “Then I was led away by bad compan- ions, and took to drink and gambling, and not knowing what it was to have a moth- er’s tender—" He got up and interrupted me. “Now drcp all that,” he said. “I want facts; tell me the story of your life. How did you come to this = PARTIE Partly from admiring the man, and part- ly from whim, I did tell him the story, and told him the plain truth, too. It was pretty strong, but I left nothing out, and he never stopped me. When I had finished, he thank- ed me. “Then,” he said, “coming of decent peo- ple, and with a fair education and a good chance in life, you none the less have Leen from your earliest boyhood just about as bad as you are now—bad all through—al- ways bad.” “That is about the mark,” I answered. Then I thought to myself that it would be one of two things—elther he would take me out and hand me over to the police, or eise he would ask me to join him in prayer. 1 expected the latter. He did neither. He walked up and down the room, with his hands bekind him, saying to himself: “And I preach sermons — sermons — sermons!" he smiled again in that queer way of his. “You've kept me up very late,” he} sald, “and in consequence I've become un- commonly hungry. What do you say? Will you come and help me to get some supper? Very well, then, come quietly. I don’t want to wake the rest of the house.” So I went with him into the kitchen and carried things from there into the study. He laid the table—clean white cloth, silver forks and everything of the best. There was a cold game pie, a ripe stilton and a “Now, then,” he said, “what's amus- ing you?” bottle of Burgundy. I never had a better supper in my life. He passed me anything I wanted and filled my glass. For the life of me, I couldn't help grinning. “Now, then,” he said, “what's amusing you “I was only thinking, that’s all. It seems @ queer way for a parson like you to treat a chap like me. I come here to crack this crib, you fairly get me, and no word about the police—néver a word. First you give per.” “Well, you can’t deny fhat you wanted both of them badly. What else should a parson have done? What did you expect— tell me honestly. “Speaking honestly, I expected more talk —more parson talk, you know.” nd what do you mean by that?” “Why, the sort of thing I was always hearing when I was a boy—about the sin- fulness of it, and repenting, and hell.” “Do you think it would do you any good if I talked like that?” - “Well, no." “Nor do L” He changed the subject then, and told me there was a good chance for work at Enton mills. They were short- handed there for the moment, and he could give me a line to the foreman. “You tell me,” he said, “that you are interested in machines, and know a Httle about them; that might help you. If you can do any- | thing at all special—anything, for instance in the way of repairs, when some trifle goes wrong—they’ll soon find it out. Smart men that go there stop and work their way up. It's the rarest thing for them to be short- handed—in fact, you're in luck.” I thanked him, of course. I had meant, if he let me off, to go on to Enton. But { had no intention of going near the mills or getting regular work of any kind. How- ever, I did not want to annoy him by tell- ing him that I preferred my own way of living, especially as he seemed 60 pleased with his idea about the mills. After sup- per he sat down and wrote a line or two to the foreman, whom he seemed to know well. As he was writing it the clock struck three. ‘You will start at once,” he said, ‘s0 as to be there early. You won't be able to work that day, after being up all night, pe en is the next day. It's you should appl: T; everything's filled up." pply early, before an! him again, and asked hi put me on the right road. What imental was to get him out into the dark. He came out of the house with me, showed me which turn to take, and said good-bye. “Come and see me again; I have much to say to you when the right time comes.” I thanked him and said good-bye. I walked until I heard his front door shut, and then I ran just about as hard as I could. I passed one policeman, and he tried to stop me, but I dodged him and got away. I was on the outskirts of the vil- lage then, and once it him, I had a lonely country road and nothing to fear. You see, while I was on my back I had noticed the parson’s watch chain. I took care not to look at it again, but kept it in my memory. While he was saying good- bye to me in the dark I got an easy chance. The parson’s gold watch and chain were in my trousers pocket, and he never had the least notion when I took them. My notion was now to get on to Enton about 5, and take a workingman’s train on to Waterloo. I chickled to myself. He'd called me a ginger-headed scoundrel, stopped me swear- ing, spoiled my little game, and given me a thrashing, but I had the better of him in the end. There were his watch and chain in my pocket, and in less than four hours I should be handing them over to Ike and getting three or four sovereigns for them. As I walked along it gradually began to grow light, and somehow or other I lost my spirits. I stopped chuckling; the more I thought about the neat way that I had scored off that parson the less I felt in- clined to laugh about that or anything else. I got angry about nothing. It may sible reason. Then I began to get nervous and took fancies, thought I heard steps coming after Me, and imagined there was @ policeman waiting to catch me behind every big tree I passed. I didn’t enjoy that walk. I wished to heaven that parson had taken me out by the scruff of my neck and handed me over to the police when he first caught me, though I don’t know why I wished it. “Who wants his blooming tiek- er?” I said out loud, pulling it out of my pocket. “Strike me if E won’t pitch it over the hedge and be done with it!"" But I didn't. I pulled myself together, and argued with myself. “If you can afford to throw money away,” I said to myself, “that's the first I’ve heard of it. You just plug on until you get to Enton Station, and don’t give way to such silliness.” It’s easier to argue with yourself than it is to make yourself see the force of it. I went on, but I couldn’t stop thinking. I wished I had never come near the vicarage. I wished I had got my shooter out and finished the par- son on sight. I wished I had never been born; I wished I was dead. The further I went the more down-hearted I got. I had never felt anything like it before. At last I had done my nine miles and stood outside Enton Station. I stood there for about a minute, and then I made up my mind. “I chuck this,” I said, “and take that forsaken ticker back to the parson again.” I was as tired as a dog when I got to the station; but as soon as I had made up my mind that seemed to pass off. I made my way back a good deal quicker than I haa ccme. The sun shone and the birds sang, and you could see we were in for a rare fine day. I met some workingmen on the road, and passed a good morning to them. I could have said good morning to the very Policeman that I had dodged a few hours before, and not been afraid of him. I felt afraid of nothing, and up to fighting any man of my own weight. As I drew near the vicarage I didn’t feel auite so chirpy. I had a nasty job before me, But I made up my mind to go through with it. They told me the vicar had break- fasted early and was in his study, and would see me there. The vicar was standing up when I went in, with his hands in his breeches pockets, I Pat the Watch and Chain on the Table. and that curious smile on his face. He look- ed a fine man. “Good morning,” he said. back.” I put the watch and chain on the table. “I_I_I've done a d—d dirty trick, and I'm ashamed of myself.” “Ah!” he sald; “this is good. This is a “You're soon ent on with what I suppose some people would have called parson talk, and I had that feeling in my throat as if I were swallowing eggs whole until I could stand it no longer. But I needn't go into tha An hour afterward I was on my way again to Enton Mills—and he with me. (The end.) a a REFINEMENT OF CRUELTY. He Had Fun With a Man Who Invent- ed a Filter. From the Chicago Post. The man who had invented a filter was enthusiastic. He had visions of great wealth, and he never wearied of expuciat- ing upon the merits of his invention. On the other hand his indolent friend did not care a continental for the filter or its mer- its. Still he looked at the two glass globes with a show of interest, and listened pa- tiently to what the inventor had to say. “It speaks for itself,’ said the inventor. “All that one has to do is to look at the water in those two globes to be convinced.” The water in one was clear, while that In the other was of almost inky blackness, and the indolent friend examined both with apparent interest. “Ah, yes,” he said at last. ‘This is not the filter itself.” “Oh, no,” replied the inventor. “It is merely designed to show the merits of the filter.” “Of course,” said the indolent friend. “I ought to have known that without asking. The waler in one of these globes has not been filtered, and the water in the other one has been run through your invention.” “That's it, exactly.” “Ah, yes,” and the indolent friend made a closer inspection of both globes. Then he asked in his exasperating way: ‘Which one of them holds the filtered water?” The inventor nearly exploded with wrath as he put his hand on the one containing the clear water. “Yes, yes, of course,” said the indolent friend apologetically. “Why don’t you label it?” ——— THE WILDCAT’S PAW. A Pleasing Little Story Straight From Montana. From the Anaconda Standard. What is by long odds the best hunting story of the season comes from St. Regis, and the section foreman, Nels Thompson, who looks after the Snake track at that place,is the hero. It is probably the first case of its kind on record and establishes an in- teresting precedent in the killing of wild- cats. Last Thursday morning as Thompson and his gang of Scandinavians were pumping their handcar along the track on their way to their work, which that day was along the clay bluffs east of St. Regis, they were startled by the angry snarling of a wildcat ahead of them. They slowed up the car as they rounded the bluff, and a strange sight greeted their eyes. The morning was bit- terly cold and a fringe of ice bordered the banks of the St. Regis river, which rushed along just below the track. Broken ice and a wet trail up the bank showed that the cat had swam through the icy stream and ex- Plained his present predicament. For he certainly was in the gravest predicament in which ever a wildcat found himself. He was fastened firmly to one of the steel rails by one forefoot. The supposition is that the cat had come through the river and leaped up the track embankment. His last jump brought one of his wet forefeet upon the rail, and it froze to the steel. There he was, held as fast as if in the jaws of a trap. The ground show- ed that he had struggled to free himself, but his efforts had been in vain. A blow from a crowbar cracked his skull and the victim of cold water was dead. It required a strong pull to detach the frozen foot from the rail, and when it did come patches of skin still adhered to the steel. —_+e+_____ Puzzle Picture. From Life. MILLIONS WN MEXICAN HINES How His Youth Was Passed in Washington. FORTUNE MADE AND LOST (Copyrighted, 1896, by Frank G. Carpenter.) T=: STORY OF GOV- ernor Shepherd’s ca- reer is most interest- ing. I chatted with him about it last night. Said he: “I was born here in Washington. My fa- ther died when I was eleven years old. He left some property, but, owing to bad administration, my mother got none of it, and she had to open a ding house to pay her expenses. When I was twelve I began my life work as a carpenter's apprentice, and I learned two trades within the next six years. I did not like carpenter work, and I gave it up because one of my employers could not appreciate my ability. At least I thought he did not. You see, I got up early every morning to make the fires for mother. One morning she was not well, and I had to also get the breakfast. The result was that I did not get started to work until about 7:30 o'clock, It was nearly a mile from the lumber yard to the house which we were building. I had to carry a lot of boards on my back from the yard to the house. This took me some time, and it was 8 o'clock be- fore I got there. I went to work at once nailing on clapboards. I remember I was on the ladder pounding away when my em- ployer screeched out, scolding me for being so late. He said that I was lazy, and would never amount to anything. He said it, too, in such a way that it made me angry, and I threw the hatchet at him, and told him I would haye nothing more to do with his work.” “Did you hit him?” I asked. “No,” replied Governor Shepherd, “but I stopped work. The hatchet came very near him, and I don’t think he wanted to hold me. The result was that I left carpenter work. The next thing I got into was a plumbing establishment. I learned the trade and soon became a partner in the business. I after- ward bought out my other partner. I then turned my attention to building houses and investing In real estate. It was not hard to make money then, it seemed to me, and the day I was thirty-five | had made about $2%%),- 000, and had an income of about $50,000 a year.” = The Making of Washington. “How did you happen to take charge of the improvement of Washington?” I asked. “It came from the talk of moving the capital west to St. Louis. I was interest- ed in Washington city and I wanted the 2 t here. You can hardly appre- ciate the condition of this eclty at that time. It had a bad reputation in many parts of the no: The people were dis- gusted with the disloyalty that existed here during the -var., After the war end- ed we had a carnet bag government, and negroes were employed in cleaning’ the gutters with knives, ten men not doing the work of one man, and each getting $2 a day. The streets were mud holes and all sorts of dirt was thrown out into them. The government was paying no taxes to speak of, and in seventy years out of about sixteen million dollars which was spent for the improvement of the capital, Uncle Sem had paid less than three mil- lions. This was the case, notwithstanding that the government had agreed at the time they made Washington the capital city to pay its share of the taxes. It had received the fee simple title to all the streets for nothing, and it had gotten every alternate lot, receiving all told about 66 per cent of the property of Washington. I thought that the government ought to pay at least half the taxes, and that it ought to aid in the improvement of the city. I did not think the capital ought to be moved and I devoted myself to keeping it here and to its improvement. In order to do this a resolution for a new government had to be pushed through.Congress. We organized a committee for the purpose, and we spent a great deal of money. We finally succeeded, and Washington, for a time, had a territorial government with a board of public works appointed by the President. Gen. Grant was then in the White House. He made me the chief of this board and we began our work of im- proving the streets. We kept it up sev- eral years, spending all told more than $25,000,000, and making Washington the beautiful city it is. The Ruin of Shepherd. “In the meantime my ‘business went to Pieces, and I awoke to find that I had about $2,000,000 of assets and $1,500,000 of indebt- edness. My creditors allowed me to. work my way out, but I saw that it would be an awful job for me to make a second for- tune in Washington. I had failed, and a man who is down cannot easily command the hearty support of his friends. I had good friends, but I concluded that I would gO eewhere and strike out anew. “How old were you , ee ca y then, governor?” I “1 was then forty-thr "3 of . was the reply, -'Y ‘uree years of age, {Just about this time’ I was in New York city, and I heard there:of the Batopilas mines of Mexico. The; belonged to Wells, Fargo & Co., and w joffered for sale. I was given an option og them at $1,000,000. I knew nothing about ining, but I took a mining engineer and thers and went to Mexico. The engineer’meported the mines very valuable, and the result was that I organized 4 company and bought them for 000,000. en took -$150, id Mexico to work them, */0™ and went to Brigands and olutions. “How about the safety of Mexico, gov- ernor? Can Americans go there and mine without danger of losing their lives?” “Of course they can,” was the reply. “Property and life are as safe in most parts of Mexico as they are in the United States. President Diaz has a good government, and the day of revolutions seems to have passed away. Now and then there is a little scare on the frontier, but such so-called revolu- tions amount to nothing. Take that of 1894. It consisted of a conspiracy which was thade up by some men at El Paso to rob one of our trains, About forty vaga- boads on the American side of the line united with forty vagabonds on the Mex- {can side and planned to rob us. We got a telegram from tie bank at Chihuahua not to send out the train, and when the rob- bers appeared they failed to find our men, and dispersed. Their band was spoken of as that of a revolution. President Diaz sent some of his soldiers up to the mine, and they cleaned out the robbers.” Mexico Has Good Times. “How are times in Mexico, governor? Has not the demonetization of silver in- jured the country?” “I think not,” replied Gov. Shepherd. “Mexico is Nery prosperous, and that not- Gov. Shepherd's Career as Told by at goid prices by making them too expen- sive, and the result is that the Mexicans are establishing all kinds of factories. It is the same in Japan, and will be the same in China. The Japanese are now making most of their own cottons and China is establishing cotton mills. We are, I think, likely re Sh ourselves if we keep tabiteh present policy. We are trying to establis! free trake, and, by our demonetization of silver, are not only admitting the goods of the silver nations free, but are forcing them to keep out our goods by the protec- tion of gold. They have the cheapest labor in the world, and they are manufacturing on a silver basis. They are selling on a gold basis, and they will in time be the richest people of the world.”” Garfield and the De Golyer Pavement. “Governor Shepherd,” said I, ‘‘you were in charge of the government work of Wash- ington at the time of the famous scandal regarding~the De Golyer pavement. Was Garfield really interested in it? “Garfield had no money, interest in the matter, I am surc,” replied Gov. Shepherd. “He was, however, one of the most foolish men as to such things that I have ever known. He was so innocent that he did not realize how other men might use him tc accomplish their ends. This was the case with the De Golyer business. Some sharp fellows from Chicago wanted to in- duce Congress to adopt the De Golyer pevement. They secured the services of Col. Dick Parsons of Cleveland, and through him got the aid of Garfield. Gar- field came with these men to see me about my recommending the resolution to Con- gress. He was at this time the head of the appropriations committee of the House. refused to grant his request, but asked him to wait a minute after the other men had left. I then showed him how his ac- ticn in this matter would look. Said I: ‘Here you are, the head of the committee on appropriations, and I am in charge of the public works. These men expect to make money out of their pavement, and you come with them and ask me to recom- mend that it be adopted. Don't you see that if there should be an investigation they wjll say that you and I are getting some money out of the business and that yea wil probably be charged with corrup- tion?” “Garfleld was thunderstruck,” Governor Skepherd went on. “He threw up his hands and told me that he saw that he had made a great mistake. He had had no idea of there being anything wrong in the matter. Shortly after this the investi- gation occurred. Senator Thurman exam- ined me. He asked me who had approach- ed me on behalf of the contractors, and if any Congressmen had attempted to in- fluence me. I replied that it might be so, that I had many Congressmen among my callers, and that they wanted everything under the sun. He then asked me if Gen- eral Garfield had not called upon ine. I replied that I could not remember all of my callers, that every man in Congress, it scemed to me, had been at my office with an ax to grind for himself or his friends, and that the only man whom I could re- member who had not so appeared was the honorable Senator himself. This compli- ment was so broad that it tickled old Sen- ator Thurman. He laughed and turned tho examination, much to my relief, to other subjec’ FRANK G. CARPENTER. TAXES ON PLAYING CARDS. Clubs in Paris Distressed Greatly by the Action of the Government. From the New York Sun. The baccarat and piquet players in Paris- fan clubs are reported to be greatly dis- tressed over tha determination of the French government to enforce the new tax of 2% francs on each pack of cards. The tax has the effect of rendering a game of cards urduly costly, and the Jockey Club, the Rue Royale and other leading clubs where the play is high are seriously con- sidering the advisability of abandoning the cistom, consecrated -by tradition, of using a new pack for each,deal. Two years ago the French revenue officers discovered somewhere in the neighborhood of Bor- deaux a factory which made a specialty of cleaning and burnishing up old playing cards, which were sold at a greatly re- duced price by the small cafes and liquor shops. The owners of the factory were convicted on the charge of defrauding the state. : Pushes prosecutions have been rare in the nited States for the reason that the in- ternal revenue tex cn playing cards was repealed many years ago and revived only recently. During war times the tax on curds was regulated by their value, being gauged as follows: Packs of cards not ex- ceeding 18 cents in value, 2 cents tax; packs not exceeding 25 cents, 4 cents; packs of cards worth between 25 cents and 50 cents, 10 cents a pack; packs worth be- tween 50 cents and $1, 15 cents, and an additional tax on the highest grade of cards at 5 cents for every 50 cents in the value of a pack over $1. Thus a pack of is of ornate and elaborate design worth would pay a tax to the government of thirty cents. The Wilson bill revived the tax on playing cards as an item of revenue under section 72 of the internal revenue ciauses as follows: There shall be levied, collected and paid by adhesive stamps a tax of two cents on every pack of cards containing not more ee fifty-four cards manufactured and sold. it is a custom of card players in clubs and elsewhere to change with each game the pack of cards, in compliance with the old saying that “‘a new pack is fairest to all.” Especially In poker, any mark on a card as the result of handling will so iden- tify it as to give the holder an advantage and to deprive the game of at least a part of its uncertainty. The rule is therefore followed sometimes of taking a new pack for each game, and the cards once used are, in mest clubs, a perquisite for resale by the employees. The French tax on play- ing cards of fifty cents a pack (two francs and a half) ts, of course, almost prohib- itory, for this amounts to more than the value of the cards, whereas the American tax on playing cards has been but a frac- tion of their value. TROLLEY CARS IN ROME. How They Are Equipped to Mount the Hills of the iternal City. From the Buffalo Commercial. The eternal city, “Rome of Caesar, Rome of Peter,” has been invaded again, this time by the trolley car. The road connects the main railway station with the center of the city. It starts from the Piazza S. Sil- vestro and goes up the Vio di Capo de Cese and then through the Ludovistan Quarter to the Plazza di Termini. It is a double track and is nearly two miles long. The power station is located on the slope of the Sabine Hills, and the electricity is generated from turbines placed in the waterfalls about eighteen miles out of the city. Power is conveyed to the city by four large cables that run into a transformer hceuse near the Porta Pia. The cars, like all rolling stock on European trolley lines, are model vehicles. They are flooded with light at night, and instead of signaling the conductor when one wants the car to stop, all he has to do is to press a button on the seat behind him. Some of the hills on the line are so steep that special brakes are necessary. Both hand and feet brakes are used, one acting on the wheels directly and the other on the rails. In addition there is an electric emer- gency brake, which will stop the car in a few yards, even when going quickly down hill. The principle of it consists in short- circuiting the motors, which are then driven as dynamos by the momentum of the car, which is thus rapidly stopped. An American company strung the over- head wires and equipped the cars. ——_+-e+_____ Oxygen in Drinks. From London Publif Opinion. Beverages are now aerated with oxygen in Germany, .nd soli in bottles or syphons like lemonade. Oxygen gas is, of course, a medicine of considerable value in cases of @iabetes, anaemia and some diseases of the respiratory organs. It may not be out of place to mention here that helium, the new gas, long recognized in the sun, has been found in the mineral waters of Wildbad, in the Black Forest, and also in another spa near Carterets, in the Pyrenees. : ————_-e+______ Somewhat Similar. From the Indianapolis Journal. Wickwire—‘Sometimes I think it would be a good idea if a man could be treated like a horse—shot when he gets too old to work.” Yabsley—“It is pretty near that way now. Bee @ man gets too old to work he is for finest food. recommend the Royal Baking Powder as superior to all others. It is indispensable —United Cooks and Pastry Cooks Asso’n of the United States. MALVERN’S ERUDITE SHOAT. Perhaps the Most Cultured Creature in the Whole State of Arkansns. From the Chicago Times-Herald. “Speaking of pork,” said Bissell Wilson, distric®passenger agent of the Missouri Pa- cific railway, inserting a conversational jim- my into a discussion between two board of trade men. “Speaking of pork, did you ever meet that educated pig at Malvern? No? Well, there’s one joy and delight coming to you. That pig is beyond all cavil and argu- ment the most accomplished animal in the state of Arkansas. You may tell your sto- ries of intelligent dogs and wise mules, but this brown shoat of Malvern has the general information of a university post-graduate. T met him in a casual way myself, though I've heard of men who traveled all the way from Memphis to see him. What is his specialty? Telling time. “Malvern, you know, is where the Hot Springs Short Line meets the Iron Mountain road. I stood on the platform one morning waiting for the Springs train. I saw this hard-looking pig projecting around the right of way in a desultory manner, and while I was idly watching him he surprised me by sitting down, lifting his nose toward heav- €n and howling in the most frightful man- rer. I never heard such a horrible piercing song, and he wouldn't let up. He kept it going as steadily as if he were doing piece Why don't you unload your Winchester into the critter?” I asked of a hunter—a native—who was standing on the platform. “Because I'm not ripe for the hereafter,’ he replied. ‘The citizens would surely lynch any one who tried to bushwhack that hog. I remember one stranger, eight or ten years ®go, started in to chunk him with pieces of coal. The townfolk run the tourist clear yonder to that bend in the track. He may be on the run yet. He had hit a good gait when last seen.” “Why do the natives set such a store by @ nuisance?’ I pursued. “ ‘He ain't regarded in that light, stranger. So far from being regarded as objectionable, that swine is the object around which civic pride swings and rattles. We set our waich- es by that hog, and town clocks in Malvern are a useless luxury with Rodney—that’s his mame—on earth. You see, it’s like this. Twelve years ago Rodney, then a common erdinary-looking pig, with no indication of his brain power, walked down the right of way just as the train stopped. The porter in the buffet car dumped his refuse food out beyond the water tank, just as he had for months before. Rodney happened down there and got a square meal. Next day he came again. At first he got but one feed per day. Then he began to consider, and to lay for all the trains. It took him two months to differentiate between the local and through trains, but at last he got ‘em all fixed, and you couldn’t drive him there now before the regular train time. Three times a day—in the morning, at about 2 o'clock in the afternoon and again at 6—he's Johnny on the spot, as these traveling men say. Once a porter focled him—he threw the stuff out on the wrong side of the train, and Rod- ney run him up a telegraph pole. It took the whole train crew to keep the pig at bay until the porter could get into the train. as then they haven't tried any tricks on fi ; ‘But why does he make such an infernal noise about it? I asked. “That's where his value as a time-telling institution comes in. If the train is on time he ain't saying a word, but if it's a minute overdue he raises his voice and he keeps it up till he hears the engine. So Malvern peo- ple know the time whether the trains are on schedule time or not. Of course, it’s monot- onous sometimes, when they are three or four hours off their time, but the town has to stand it until the delayed train comes or another one is due from the other way.” “ ‘But,’ I objected, ‘when the time is changed in the spring and fall, it must throw the pig off his reckoning.’ “Don't believe it, stranger. The critter can do anything but talk, and he gets his tip on the changes hearing the station men discussing the new time card. Rodney is never wrong.’ ” He Telephoned to His Dog. From the Tacoma Ledger. A good many stories are told of the strange uses of the long-distance telephone. The day the line was opened to Merrill, Wis., a Chicago man hunting in the north- ern woods came into town and learned of the innovation. He went into one of the “sound-proof” booths and had himself put into communication with his family. As they had a telephone at the house, the task was small one. He chatted with his wife, told her a fish story at which she might smile without embarrassing him, since he could not cee the sign of incredul- ity; talked with his boy and girl, and then called for “Gyp.” “Gyp” was a sctter, a great family pet, which had been left behind because of an accident which rendered him lame. “Gyp” was called to the telephone, and he stood on a chair, his fore feet on the back, and his mistress held the transmitter to his ear. “Hello, ‘Gyp!” called the master from Merrill. And the dog in Chicago pricked up his ears and whined. The master whistled cheerlly, and the setter barked directly into the receiver. He knew his master’s voice and the whistle as well, and the mas- ter cheered him by ready laughter at the prompt and eager reply. It was worth the $2.40 it cost. ———~-+e-+_____ Story About a Snake. From the New Orleans Times-Democrat. “Talk about quickness of visio! said the rounder yesterday, “I doubt if there is any- thing alive which has such remarkable eye- sight as an ordinary blue runner snake. You know that I am a pretty good shot with a rifle. Well, the other day, I was roaming about the fields, when I saw a blue runner stretched out at the base of a small tree. He saw me also, but did not move, although I could see his eyes glisten in the sunlight. I raised the gun, drew a deliberate bead*on his head, and fired. He was still there when the smoke cleared away, but I had not touched him. I fired again and again, and then grew tired. I realized that he saw the bullets and simply dodged them, and escaped. Just then a man came across the field, and I called him to ask him to attract the attention of the snake for a moment. The moment I observed that the runner had taken in the situation, and was not looking at me, I fired and killed him. Now, to show you that he had dodged the balls, I found every bullet that had left my gun in a space the size of a button just behind the place his head had occupied. Quick? Why a blue runner can see a streak of lightning before it pierces the clouds.” ———— Ready to Hear It. From Harlem Life. Old Washington Heights—“And so you, a son of the revolution, ‘want to take our daughter from us. You want to take her = us, suddenly, without a word of warn- ing?” Young Harlemite—“Not at all, sir. If there is anything about her you warn me against I'm willing to liste: want to! 4. “Yues; but ‘ow shall I ever get my bak n.”” loon back?” Proved Case. From the Chicago Tribune. “You'll have to be a little more particular in your choice of words,” said the city edi- tor, looking over the new reporter's copy. “Here you say ‘the failure of a large con- signment of vegetable ivory to arrive on time has seriously embarrassed Mr. Stone- king, proprietor of the button factory. > thirty-five employes and no work for them.’ What evidence have you that this Sete peed has ‘em! ed’ Mr. Stone- “He—er—doesn’t seem to know what do with his hands,” repited the new porter. ———e—— He Knew It All the Time. From the Cape Girardeau (Md.) Democrat. They were talking about the various methods of celebrating the passing of the old year and the coming of the new. “Did you ever dance the old year out and the new year in?” he asked. “Yes, indeed, scores of times,” was the reply. And then she was sorry she spoke, 20 z First Count the Cost. From St. Paul's. 1, “I say, Jacky, let's run and fasten your balloon to his pig tail.” 2 “Oh, wot a lark!” 8. “Ain't "ee just a-goin’ up?” 4