Evening Star Newspaper, April 25, 1896, Page 17

—— THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, APRIL 25,’ 1896—-TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. , “THE SUPERINTENDENT'S EX- BY OPIE READ. , by Bacheller, Johnson & Bacheller.) PART L At a siaall town on a railway running through Kentucky an express company had been robbed of five thousand dellars. The loss of the morey was insignificant when simply viewed as the removal of so many pieces of paper bearing the portrait of a uisted American, but the necessity “We want that hoss thief.” to hold uy some one in the glaring light of the law as a dazzling example was a mo- mentous ccnsideration. It may be observ- ed th: a great corporation never knows an an individual, but regards him an “example;” indeed, the closest hip and services that have en- hrough m: ears can be forgot- by a great institution when It sets out to lish example. And I have often nder some one has not taken up of professional example, to ace to prison, for a rea- y, to show to the world that t cerporation is determined to en- Well, five thousand dollars » night from the express of- The safe was blown bled for three days in and the agent, lay in his room time I was operat- y in Louisville (truly . | must say), and the ndent of the express com- great man was he. ive, portly, with ani- an engine within him. s private apartment he uir and, looking at me a an a why now, sir, that I have found ) my advantage to think I sec." 1 after a short pause he what we have ‘ou what We want Springdale nas kel at me as if he ex- nishment, but I and ‘he con- ago he came to strictly sober, There is no bank ous occasions he th larg? sums good family, and during her has been cashier of to show simply “in his chair, stroked his looked at me, and I i hear the great engine Ith pumping within him. “I author- last = ent on, “and t the town e physician is unable not the blow on the , but he agrees that what do you want me to e answered. “There nilar cases, you un- I believe we could convict testimony of the physician " eireun ry for us to have an . yet I should like stion whether or not he be over particular, but. ant him to make a conf rifle soft-hearted, you ke to know.” want to know?” I many aut he quickly replied, we are illing for nt and act accord. part of the coun- bac ly ed, and if jd brought to ve—well, it would be you know.” to be put into the te n his confidence and fession out of him.” old scheme,” I was bold told you are a most dis- t I am determined upon i I am willing to pay handsomely rvices, and if you succeed the bunt of compensation shall be doubled.” This, of cc interested me, and dur- ing more than an hour we daid our plans and talked them over, and when I left him = with these words: “You may depend hat I shali do my duty.” evening officer conducted me the main strect of Springdale. The of the handcuffs upon my wrists nt the eyes of the corner loungers, and 2 a crowd was following us and occa- jy L heard the remark: “Got him all haven't they?’ I neard the words ef, I bet you,” and as unimpul- as I am I turned around to confront a tled face. The officer, who knew noth- of the superintendent's scsheme—who was proud to be made so important—gave k, and the mob applauded him. By ne we reached the jail the alr was full of “horse thief.” I had no sooner been shoved through the deor into the corridor than the words “hang him” smote my ears like a blow from a mallet, for I knew the abhorrence in which my countrymen held the stealing of a horse; that, charged with any other crime, a man might hope for some sort of a hearing, but that to be sus- pected of horse theft was more than likely to mean deaf ears and quick action. The mob was now fierce. The jailer, a fat and hvmorous old fellow, stepped opt. I stood in the corridor just behind him. Near me stood a maa holding a key waiting to show me to my quarters. “Be said the jailer, want? “You know “what do you what we want, Buck,” re- Piied a lank fellow who had assumed com- mand outside. “We want that hoss thief! “Bill, there ain't no hoss thief here!” “Tell that up at Bear Waller an’ up the right fork of Big Sandy, but don’t tell it to us. That feller stole the Widder Cage's hess, and we want him.” “Who 5 “Why, Ab, And I saw him nod at @ fellow standing near, and the light held a an upper window fell upon his moitled ‘ace. “How do you kno “Why, MeGee he was with 1ow, Ab?" the jailer ask2d. lowed he was the man, the fellers that got atter “Where's McGee? Let him identify him. And If he's the mon, I'll agree to hang him if, and then eat a foot of the Tope. boys, you are wrong this time. You @ fellers out of here all right nough, but you'd make a mistake this time, and {t ain't exactly right to make such mistakes. I ricolleet they hung the Wrong man over at Hover not long ago, and it caused a good deal of talk and some {ll feelin’, so I advise you to Be more par- Ucular. Now, if rou want to know right bas i tell you what the man fs charged wit “Out with it" the leader oried. Why, they do say that he killed a man.” The light was still held at the window, and I caw the eager and expectant coun- tenance of the leader droop to disappoint- ment. is that, straight?” e pul uckat out of a well.” “All right, then,” said the leader, turn- ing about. “There air occasions when a feller’s got a right to kill a man, but no- body ever had a right to steal a hoss. Boys, let's go down to Tobe’s grocery. I understand they are goin’ to cut a water- millon, knock a nail keg in the head and wring a dishrag down there pretty soon. Come on.” The jailer, his fat sides shaking, stepped beck and closed the door, and the man with the key motioned me to follow him. As the turrkey was fumbling with the lock, I heard the nervous pacing, to and fro, of a man inside the cell, and whea I sicpped in he turned about, looked at me, and, withdrawing his brief attention, with * contemptuous bat of his eyes, said to the Jailer: “Buck, you've been acquainted with me lcng enough to know that I don’t want to be shut in here with a horse thief.” “Oh, you heard them fellers, did you? Of course, you don’t want to be shut up with a hoss thief—don’t want to be shut up art all for that matter, Jimmie—but there are some things we can’t help, and bein’ shut up with the first feller that comes along is sometimes one of them. Tom, stick that candle up there over the door ard leave it there till it burns out so these here gertlemen can see how to entertain h other. That's all right; it'll stick. Well, good night. Glad we've got room enough in there for th of you, and if ycu don’t find bedclothes enough, shout for more. In fact, whatever you don't see in the dark, ask for." The shooting of the bolt sent a chill througeh me, and my fellow prisoner, notic- ing my momentary distress, gave’ me a Kindly look. “You are not used to it,” he sald. “They may be lying about you as res are about me. It's an easy thing to oO” “And sometimes a hard thing to dis- prove,” I replied, sitting down on my bunk, opposite his own. He made no reply, but turned about and resumed his pacing up and down the cell. I was careful not to let him catch me gazing at him, but I sat there, studying him closely. And surely I was never impressed more deeply by the bearing and the countenance of a man. There was something about him that was more than graceful,an attraction new to me, unexpected, surprising. I had seen studied suggestions of it on the stage—the hand- some, brave, reckless gambler. His fei tures were not regular, his nose was faulty his chin weak, and yet as a whole his face was strikingly picturesque. He must have been about twenty-five years of age. The flickering of the light told me that the candle vas dying. Had he been walk- ing so long in silence, and had I in silence been studying him so long? “We'll scon be in the dark,” I said. “T hate the dark. But it is in keeping with this miserable hole. Here a sunbeam would He Made No Reply. be like a bri a den of vice “Yes,” he replied, pausing to look at me. “Were you ever on the stage?” I asked. 0. There goes the light. . Blackness fell abcut us. I heard him stretch himself upon his bed. I lay down to ponder over him, to speculate upon his character. I wonder. if he were really guilty. Before seeing him I would have staked anything upon my belief in his guilt. but now I was uncertain. Time and again I turned over, striving to force my- self to sleep. And I muttered charges of weakness against myself. He had-done a rare thing—had won my friendship. PART IL. Long before the sun came up, but when the misty dawn-light began, like a thin fog, to stream down from a high and narrow window, my fellow prisoner arose and re- sumed his walk. And with a strange im- patience I waited to see if daylight would confirm the impression that had come upon me as the dying candle rays were flitting upon the gloomy walls. But before the day was strcng there came footsteps down the corridors. The slide window in the door was opened, and the thick votce of the fat jailer was poured in upon us. dl “Boys, stirring about already? Don’t be- lieve it’s a good plan to stir about much before you eat a bite. Had an uncle that broke a colt before breakfast and aged so fast afterward that he died at ninety. Bring the wedding breakfast this way, Nick. Our cook got married tris morning while the water was boiling. Hah, how's our hoss- thief this mornin’? Came in one of bein’ a nightmare yistidy evenin’, eh? Yes, sir durin’ the off season of the year, when the beys ain't got much to do, they'd as soon hang a man as not. But they don’t mean no particular harm by it.” ‘Thus he talked, while the turnkey “spread” our breakfast, and he stood there, his great round face filling the window, until breakfast was cleared, +nd even then he hung about until it grew 1 sht enough for me to see him wink. And tuis he did several times, slyly looking at me, and then at In his juint” was legible the fact that he had been intrusted with the secret of my mission, and I cannot say that it was an agreeable discovery. I fancied that I could already see unconscious be- trayal stewing through his hanging jowl, and, hardened as I was, I must have blushed, for I grew sick at the thought of standing exposed before that young fellow, meeting the contemptuous look of hig mel- ancholy eyes. Then the daylight had con- firmed the impression left by the dying can- dle. ‘The day wore along, and our acquaintance made but slow progress. I waited for his advances," but he made none. When not walking, he sat where the light was strong- est, reading a lead-colored pamphlet. ‘What are you reading?” I asked. ‘A fool thing.” “Who wrote it?” “A fool.” “Ah, I didn't know that a piece of my work’ had found its way into this place.” He laughed. “I suppose it might just as well have been yours, but it happens to be mine—an amateur play printed at my own expense.” “Has it been played?” “Yes; had a one-night run in the church for the benefit of the same.” “Was It a success?” “Quite. Respect for the church debt for- bade anyone's leaving the house, although there was a good deal of tittering when the moon got out of order, burned the ne- gro's fingers and fell down.” “What's the name of the piece?” “The Detective.’ I suppose you make him a hero.” “No; a _black-hearted viliain,” “Seryed him right,” I replied; and it was well that he did not look up, for I felt a slow shiver creeping over me. At night another candle was placed above the door, and sitting in its yellow glow he grew more inclined to talk seriously of him- self. He had been well educated, had tried to do a number of things, had done {ll— had fatied as a country éditor, had learned telegraphy, end at last had settled down to a lonely midnight luncheon in the way- side office of an express company. I was sorry for him, for I knew that hidden somewhere a success might le waiting for him, as it does for many of us; but ah how long it lies waiting, and how rusty it has grown when sometime we find jt! His features, now that I had become better ac- quainted with them, were weaker, and this increased my pity; but I wag resolved to do my duty, I would win him if I could. The days pass-d and he called me Dick. We had read the same books. In our ad- miration for the same book or poem Hes the firat tottering of maay & downfall. i a gimilar taste we recognize our secon self, and shrewdness shut its eyes and dreams. ~ We talked about books, and those of hi favorites that I bad not seen I pretende to love. It was night, and the candle was burning above the door. “A man must jive with one self and write with another,” he said, “We all have two sélves,” I replied. ‘“T know that I have. One self does wrong, and the other self, which is a sort of in- dulgent parent, suffers over it.” He looked at me and was silent. A shad- ow fell gcrost his ‘oh ue looked up at the candle and said: “We'll soon be in the dark,” “We are always in the dark,” I answered. “In darkness while we are doing, and onl: step out into the light long enough to loo! -naired child, strayed into ———— back and find that we did a wrong while in the dark. I would give half my life if I could recall one dark night.” He leaned toward me. ‘What happen- ed?” he hoarsely asked. don’t know but I might as well tell you. A trouble aired is lighter for the air- ing. It is the secret trouble that eats the heart. I am here suspected of a crime.” “Yes?” he said, eagerly. “But there is no direct proof against me. Come closer. That fat jailer might be out there.” He did not get up; he scrambled across the flocr and sat down near me. “I had been out of employment a long time,” I went on, speaking lew, “and was forced to quit the city. I wandered about doing odd jobs, desperate, hating the world. Well, one day, not long ago, I came into a neighborhood not far-from here. 1 stopped at a farmer's house and asked for some- thing to eat. He received me into his house, placed a chair at his table and treat- ed me as his guest. A rainstorm came up and he insisted upon my remaining over night with him. Just before bedtime a hired man came in to receive his wages, and I saw tke old man take out his wallet, and when he had unwound a string, laying it carefully across his knee, I caught sight of a fifty-dollar note. Soon afterward I was shcwn to a room just above. And I lay there thinking of that money. At first I turned over with a shucder. And then the weary miles I had walked stretched out be- fcre me. I could see the dust in the road— and the heat danced on the hilliop, and in the glimmer I saw that old man’s money. I turned over again—not with a shudder, but with a mere shiver—and I saw myself treading that dry road; and I saw a railway train sweeping past, and I caught sight of two men as they tipped their glases. They saw me, and one ef them shouted: ‘Not for you, poor fool. I rob the poor, but you haven't sense enough to rob even the rich when they spread their money before your very eyes.’ It sapmed that the train slack- ed long enough for the scoundrel thus to tantalize me, and then it thundered on, the two scoundrels tipping their glasses again. I got out of bed, tiptoed to the head of the stairway and listened. I heard the ticking of the clock. I stepped back and dressed myself. Then I trod softly downstairs. In the room a light was burning dimly. The old man and his wife were sound asleep. His trousers were under his pillow. Slowly I pulled them away, and without noise I got out. Then I ran for a mile at least, and then I stopped and thrust my hand into the pocket—and there was the wallet. The moment I touched it I would have giv- en half my life never to have seen it. But repentance was now too late. I could have taken the money back—in fact, I was al- most decided upon this risk, when my blood shot through me at the barking of a dog—and dropping the trousers, but grip- ping the money, I leaped over a fence and ran flercely into the woods. Well, I went to a town, tricked myself out in new cloth had my beard shaved off, and was ready to take a railway train and tip glasses with some other scoundrel when I was arrested. I said I was suspected of the crime, and that is the case, for that blessed old farmer was not certain that I was the man. And here I have told you all about it. But I trust you—I don’t know why, but I do.” ‘The candlewick fell and the cell was black, Haines said not a word. I heard him scramble to his feet, and then with a sigh he lay down heavily upon his bunk. And so long a silence followed that I thought him asleep, when he began to mutter something and I heard him repeat my own words: “A trouble aired is lighter for the airing. “I hope you don’t think any less of me? I remarked. “No, I am sorry for you—sorry that your better self yielded. But don’t you think they will convict you?” , Lam afraid so.” if they do, are you going to make a confession?’ ‘No. I have confessed to you, and that was cooling to m conscience. There is bravado tn conf ing to the world, but confessing to a friend is a simple virtue. I listened with my head off the pillow, and he muttered something, but I did not understand him. ‘There is one thing I am glad of,” said I. “What is that “The fact that I have no near- relatives to be disgraced.” 7 “That's fortunate,” he replied. I waited for him to say more, but he was silent, though I knew that he was not is Trousers Were Under His Pillow. asleep, for I heard him turn over time and again. 1 was now almost out of patience. I had made my confession. Why didn’t he make his? I felt that I had won his con- fidence; I knew that he admired my tastes, because they agreed with his own. | had given to him the most pronounced of all flattery—I imitated his accent and his man- nerisms. I was growing weary of my con- tract. Confinement was telling on my nerves. Inwardly I cursed the superin- tendent and all his senseless whims. I con- demned the undertaking as a most foolish experiment, without the possibility of a compensating result. But the superintend- ent’s promise came back to me. My affairs had been running behindhand. I was in need of money. Yes, I would stick it out. Haines began to mutter, “Talking to me?” I asked. “No, wasn’t saying anything. By the way—and you will please pardon me for such a question—but if they should send you to the penitentiary, how long do you suppose it would be for?” “Not so loud,” I cautioned. “There are no other prisoners on this floor. How lIcng do you suppose it would be for?” “Ten years at least.” “That long? Terrible to think of. But I suppose robbery fs different from theft or embezzlement. After all, if a man goes to the penitentiary it doesn’t make much dif- ference for how long. The mere sentence is enough to break his heart."’ “Yes, but time may heal a broken heart.” “Not time done in a penitentiary. Was he laughing at me? I listened, and I thought I heard him titter, but it might have been the ripple of a suppressed sob. “I wonder what time it is?” said he, turning over wearily. “Must be nearly day. You seem more than usually distressed. “I am. My heart has been growing heavier since you told me your stor; “Don’t think of me, my dear boy, yourself.” “I am thinking of myself, and that’s what makes my heart so heavy." For a few mo- “Vm going to tell you something.” ments he was silent, and then he continued: d you say there is rt of bravado in ontéesing t ie Work #P to “Joa; and ine church, early in the begin- ning, ge in man the zeerning, eo ect Hey. confessehis érrors to in- vidual, In my case religion plays no part, told you of my depravity and my heart peome lghter. *Poan't, Dick, I am too wretched. Ang now I am going tell you something—but it's daylight, and our fat friend is com- ing.” Suppose we go to sl PART Il. During all that day we talked in closest sympathy, but I was afraid to remind him of his resolve to confes: to it; indeod, at no Nor did he refer time, when sunlight fell into the cell, he ped a joke at our condition, but I knew that this was broad- day banter, and that the ghost would re- turn at night. That afzernoon hf&.sister. came from Louisville. On a chaf& brought for her by the jailer's wife, sh t inside the cell, and, looking at her, X2eould have fancied that she was a part of fhe noon hour. She wept at first, but she w cheerful when I assured her that herebfother would prove his innocence. “Oh, I know that,” of what shame it ts 4 here so long. And y! thing, either, have yt makes people so met She remained with the ght was surely %@ne when she went away; and the hours Were slow and long before the candle Was Dut above the door. But the old fellow dame with it after a Stretched-out season, “Boys,” he said, filling the window with his face, “I've a litle piece of news for you. The grand jury met today and court will be in session before the week's out, and, consequently, you'll have a h in’ pretty soon. But don’t git skeered, for the foreman of the jury is a hoss doctor, and the judge owns a livery stable. This might not seem to make any difference, but it do, for I want to tell you that a fell that knows how to handle a hoss knows how to handle a man. , ‘Well, I must leave you now,” he con- tinued. “Pardon me for not spendin’ more time with you, but they keep me on the Se these day: 1 e was gone at last. Haines was cing the flocr. Would he wait for the psy! the candle? I said nothing, but sat on my bunk waiting. - “The candle burns longer night,” he said. darkne: “Yes; for it seems to me that we are sleepy, and it wants to tantalize u “I'm not sle-py," he replied, quickly. He sat down. I said nothing. “I'm not sleepy —I can’t sleep until I have told you some thing. I’m going to throw off all resery and talk to you as I would to myself. My father is cashier of a bank. He is one of the most lovable of men, but he is weak, always itching to better his condition in life, living in the midst of money, daily noting its power, counting the wealth of other men. In such an attosphere it was but natural that he should feel the clamp placed upon him by a moderate income. He had a brother, much older than himself, and this brother was slowly dying. The brother had money, say, ten thousand dol- lars, and it had been given out that the e said; “but think keep him shut up haven't done any- I don’t see what until evening, and an usual to- He was waiting for the her that her prove his innocence larger part of this money was to fall to my father. But the brother continued to linger, though his hour was surely near. Just after hearing, one day, that his broth- or could not survive another night, m: father saw a grand opportunity to invest five thousand dollars. The return would be quick. He would use the bank’s money, and, even should the investment fail, he could soon replace the amount from’ his brother's estate. The investment was made —and lost—and the brother grew better. In despair me to see me. I thought of mother ter when I told him that T would risk rything to save him. In the expr office, during the tobacco sea- son, there w, constantly a large amount of money in the company’s safe. I would take five thousand dollars and wait for the brother to die. Well, took that amount, and father was saved. But the brother continued to improve 1 it was drawing near the time when I might expect a call from the company’s inspector. I had no means of raising the money—I was not in- ve, so l was y opel Pd to ort to an old nd Knocked ss with an iron bar. There scattered all about the room when the town officer and the night watch- 1 in, atd the supposition was that the ri e to gather it up was made it wa thousand dollars were missing. And the day after 1 was arrested the brother died. Father came, heart-broken, to see me the day you were put in here, and his plan was to buy off the express mpany, but I urged him to attempt it, knowing that they wouid rather send a man to the peni- tentiary than to compromise amount of money. But we were agreed on one point, that, no matter done with me, the money should be returred. Father and yourself ones that know the truth. ter will always believe me innocent. I have one strong hope,” he went on, after a short pause, “I don’t think that the doctor who examined me is over-scrupulous, and, if worked skillfully, I think that we might buy him. You see, I am determined to take every advantage that a thief’s shrewdness can suggest. I may deserve to go to the penitentiary, but I am not enough of a Christian to suffer willingly. There, the candie’s gone.” I lay down to think. I had won my fight and my reward was sure. “What do you think of it all when I bad thought that he asleep. “A sad case,” I answered, pitying his frailty. The son had irherited the weak- ness of the father. “And do you think that if we buy the doctor they can convict me? The fact is, I did hit myself a terrific blew.” “They will if they can,” I answered. “TI now that. Good night,” he added, “I think I ca. sleep now. Long before day I was up and dressed, with a few words scribbled to the superin- tendent, asking to be released at once; and when the fat jailer came I gave him the note. 1 that but five he only Mother and sis- " he asked must be During the day we talked of books, though with a lessened irterest on my part. “You don’t appear to be well,” he said. “Brocding has worn my spirits away,” I answered. “But you shouldn’t lose hope. Something tells me that before long we shall be to- gether, free and happy, ready to serve man because we have violated his laws. We will go out west, where generosity gilds a fault, and live a buoyant life. And now, even if we are condemned, let us romise to join each other after our time is served. Will you promise that?” “Yes.” : “Give me your hand.” We shook Fands, and he walked up and down the cell, with a smile parting his ips. “I think more of you than any fellow I ever met, Dick. In fact, you are the only real companion I have ever known. You stimulate my mind—make me feel that I can do good in the world. I hope they won't separate us—hope ‘that if they send us to prison they will send us together. It is awful to be companionless. Dick, you don’t look well. You mustn't get ill, but if you do I! nurse you—tkey mustn’t take you out of here.” The fat jailer appeared. “I have a piece of news,” he said. ‘The doctor has been called out of town for a few, days, and the grand jury will skip your case, Haines, un- til _he comes back. So you'll have a few days morc of rest. Saw the foreman of the grand jury, Haines, and I told him to treat you like a blooded hoss, and if he can make up his mind to do that you are all right. But I haven't got such good news for you,” he added, speaking to me; and Haines wheeled about and looked at him. “What about me?” I geked ‘s eu they are goin’ to take you over into Gusper county.” “Nol” Haines cried, grasping my arm. “That's the orders,” said jailer, “T told them that they’d better let him stay & Uttle longer now thai he'd got so well of juainted and so well liked, but they ‘lowe ley did, that they believed not—said that posstply he mout come ag’in after the crops vc ‘Don’t tantalize him,” I cried, alarmed at the poor fellow’s distress. “Bless you, I don’t want to worry him. Neyer want to pester a body. ‘Well, come Haines gave me his hand; his lips were trembling, He said not a word, but as passed out he gave me a quick look, an that | 2 MAYOR OF ST. CHARLES, nen turned back to the door. going through the corridor the to pum my way. Ah, the glory of the sunshine and the thrill of the sweet air. I stood near a gar- den where flowers nodded, feeling that I had been’ snatched from a loathsome ‘dream. And J thought of that poor fellow who must pay for his father’s greed. How harder than a rock is human justice; but we must be just or man’s law becomes a laughable failure. I turned away, toward the railway station, and the sight of the express office smote me with sadnegs. “Poor, loyal and generous fool,’*I said. The train came. And the wheels kept re- peating something—they always do. And what was it? “Remember your promise, re- member your promise.” Yes, I would re- member it. 1 had accomplished my mission and now for the reward, The superintendent was in his office waiting for me that evening. A check book lay in front of him. allel strove me, but I shut him up and went “Na Haines cried, grasping my arm. And is in- “Ah, captain, I am glad to see you. what do you say?” And instantly I replied necent. Turn him out. He gave me a blank look and shoved the check book from him, “Innocent!” “As a lamb. “The man Turn him out.” I stalked eWay, poor, but with a smile in my heart. I was a Har, but I was a man. The money was mysteriously returned. Haines found the success lying down the read, waiting, and he found it before it had gathered rust. He is an evangelist, telling his story to the world; and his sis- ter—she’s my wife. . The End. es = PRESENCE OF MIND. Served Him Pretty W but More of It Would Have Been Useful. From the San Francisco Examiner. “It's a great thing, presence of mind, and I always regret that somehow I don’t think of the right thing until the wrong time.” The speaker was a man whose mustache and hair showed the winter of life was near, His eye was plercing, not shifty, and his clothing and adornments betokened comfortable circumstances “I was guard on the Big Bend stage had been a gambler for twenty years. knew all the tricks, and had played ev ame in all sorts of ways and with every id of device. It was just such a I I night as this, the entlest of bre . the moon so bright could read by it, and the road through the woods was as a white riobon. We w re bowling along quietiy enough up a grade, When at a fittle turn we met two horsem coming at a slashing gallop. They threw their horses back on their haunches and we were held up. engers, driver and all were stood a row, and one of the bandits guarded while his partner, Pete, he called him, Was soon at work on the box. I suspected the driver of connivance,for when we heard the horses he said it was a courier coming: he knew of the trip, and so threw me off my guard. I was put in a line alongside the reinsman. and while I had both eyes on the guard and his partner, not a move of that rascally driver escaped me. “Of cour: we all had our minds in the air, d right here let me explain a little point. Did you ever see a poker hold-out? it's an ingenious contrivance which fits be- neath your clothing with an down the sleeve of your e So regulated that by a pressure of the el- bow the clip at the end is at the wrist to grip a card or out of sight up in the arms. It is @ handy affair not to be caught with, too, for it is prima facie evidence, and hanging’s too little for a man who's known to be ready to play with the contrivance about him. When I quit the game I had a set of ‘em; I took "em from a fellow from the bay who came up to earn an honest dol- lar. I wouldn’t sell ‘em or give ‘em away; some one might think T used such things arm extending on the inside, myself. So I just quietly worked a patent. I got a pair of single-shot derringers, which would He in the crook of my arm, and not rest hard, and I fastened ‘em to either clip of them hold-outs. Of course, when my hands was up, the derring lay snug against my forearm. I had practiced with gm lots, and knew just how to cramp my, elbows drop my arms a little, and have the little barkers in my hands. “I was gradually letting my hands down once; that is, 1 was testing the thing, when the guard called me up sharp, fearing some- thing, and made me move away a mite from the line, where he could watch me particular and keep the passengers covered as well. He ordered everybody to keep still, for there was a little bit of sobbing by an in the party, and a sniveling drummer was bemoaning his fate. Pete Was not doing good business with the box, though, for he was clubbing away with a hammer, but not making any headway at opening ‘the little safe. ‘Suddenly the opening came. The guard Was getting impatient, and cursing Pete, when with a smash the hinges broke. Pete ave an exclamation, and the guard turned his head—only for a second, though, but that was enough, for I had heen watching him, and it was no great thing to take ad-- vi ntage of the chance. “Like a flash my arms had dropped, and those little 38-caliber pops were In my hands. With my right I dropped the guard, the bullet going through his head. I shot the fellow at the box with my left hand. I never was as good a shot with my left as with my right, and, in addition, he was three times as far ‘away. So, instead of hitting him in the head, as I tried, I only got him in the body. “As he turned and rew his gun I cried to the people to drop, for I knew there would be some lively shooting. I didn’t take time to reach for my owff gun, but threw myself on the dead robber, catching this bullet as I went down, “I had the gun of the dead one up in a moment, and was able to kill ‘Pete’ before any of the passengers were hit. I have kicked myself a hundred times when I re- member my absolute lack of self-possesslon, It would have been just as easy for a man with presence of mind to have turned the trick with two shots, using the left on thi close party, and saved the wound, but t couldn't think fast enough. ——+or Unsatisfied. From the Christian Advocate. Elsie (petulantly)—““Mamma, I don't like these toys.” Mamma—"Why, Elsie, you said just now you were pleased with them.” Elsie (pensively)—Sometimes I even like what pleases me.” don't His Method of Charging. From ‘ruth, “Twa dollars for pullin’ a tooth! Mon, on! an’ it didna tak’ you twa meenits by e clock.” “I know, but I don’t work by the clock, I work by how long it feels, “Oy, aye! Then ye must be chargin’ for aboot twa days!’ The following long and explicit letter f A. A, Benuett tells its own story. Read it: Bon, Mayor's Office, City of St. Charles, Dl, March 4, 1896. Walls, Richardson & Burlington, Vt. tlemen: I take much pleasure in being able to add | te to the great mass of testimonials in praise of Paine’s celery compound. In November last I found myself much run down by overwork. For several weeks I bad been obliged to work eighteen hours daily out of the , und was in consequence in a state of and nervous ex At the sugges- tion of a friend I commenced the use of Painc's cdery compound, with the result that my strength has steadily improved, and I fird myself in fur better health than I have known for years. I belleve also that It has enabled me to escape my periodfeal attack of rbeumatisin, as every Seanen since that time with the advent of the cold, dump weather, I Lave suffered severely from that Gisease in a chroule form. So far this winter I have escaped without a single twinge of my old cemy. I very cheerfully recommend It to any one in similar peed, in the full bellef that tt will be helpful in every case. Very sincerely yours, A. A. BENNETT, physical thor of the Thousands Whom Paine’s Celery Compound Has Cured, If we all led out-of-door lves, went to bi® at sundown, and hud no consuming cares nor hard Werk to bring down the health, there might not be the urgent necessity that now exists for taking this best of pring reinedies—Paine's celery com- pound. But as the great majority of lives are ordered— with too much work, wuch anxiety, too Ittle sleep, by the time wiuter is over the drain on the nervous energy has become excessive, the nerves are in sad ned of being strengthened, and the blood of being purified. Paine’s celery comjx great modern necessity. Paine’s celery compound will bring back nerve strength and replace poor, thin, pale blood with a ruddy, bealth-making stream. It 16 the one great practical remedy by all physicians, It a aay that feeling of utter exhaustion that 6 so common in the spring, but no I gerously significant because It Is so coum, too nd absolutely me is this advocated makes people well. It is thousand times mupe- tior to all the ordinary sarsaparillas, nervines and tonies ever mude. Paine's celery compound is the one real spring remedy known tc that never fuils to beneftt, vel Get Paine’s celery compound, and ouly Pal ery compound if sou wish to be well. ee = A TENNESSEE RUGBY. How the Author of “Tom Brewn” Started a Co-Operative Colony. From the New York Herald. The recent death of Thomas Hughes re- calls to mind the noble purpose and the eventual failure of one of his darling schemes—the establishment in America of a co-operative and semi-socialistic colony which should afford an asylum for English | gentlemen who were unable to get along in their own country, and should attract like- minded people of all nationalities. He first conceived his plan in 1880. He | immediately went to work and organized a company in Boston, which was entitled “The Board of Aid to Land Ownership.” Of this board Mr. Hughes was chairma A large tract of land, extending over more | than fifty thousand acres, was purchased in east Tennessee. The building of a town, to be known as Rugby, was commenc September of that year. It was formally opened on October 5, the inaugural address being made by Mr. Hughes. Mr. Hughes said that the gates of the colony would stand wide open to the entry | of industry and intelligence from every | quarter, and that while in its beginning it | was necessarily English, “we hope that this will very soon cease to be so.” ] “In one word,” concluded Mr. Hughes, | “our aim and hope are to plant on these highlands a community of gentlemen and ladies, not that artificial class which goes by these grand names, both in Burope and here, the joint product of feudalism and wealth, but a society in which the hum- biest members who live as we hope most, if not all of them will, to some extent by the labor of their own ‘hands, will be of such strain and culture that they shall be able J’ in | to meet princes in the gate without er | rassment and without self-assertion, should any such strange persons present them- selves before the gate tower of Rugby in the new world.” Nevertheless, it was primarily for the re- lef of tha sons of the impoverished gentry of England that the colony was started. What shall we do with our sons? is a more important question among English people than among Americans. The super- stition of classes still holds in the older country. There are the aristocracy, the up- per middle class, or untitled gentry, the middle class or bourgeoise, and the various gtades of the lower classes. The aristocracy has sufficient power to lock after itself in all save a very few cases. The members of the working classes can, as a rule, place their children in at least as good a position as they are in | made to the New York emigration the problem assumes its most serious as- pect. ‘The members of this class usually marry early and have large families. They are satisfied with none but a high standard of living. They leave little property behind them, and this dwindles to infinitesimal portions when divided up. Their sons have to face the world with expensive tastes and with only a limited field in which they are willing or able to work. To prevent the inconventence of the first alternative and the horrors of tne second, | good Thomas Hughes founded his new Rugby. He hoped that it would be the in- {tative to the establishment of a series of colonies of similar aim. To these colonies the surplus members of the English higher middie class would gradually be drafted away. So enthusiastic was Mr. Hughes’ belief in the eventual success of his scheme that he took over to live in the colons aged mother, who was three years older than | the century, and placed it under the direc- | tion of hie son, Mr. W. Hastings Hughes, For a time everything went swimmingly, Then came a hard winter and the failure of the crops. In June, 1882, an appeal was commis- sioners for one or two hundred families to be selected from the German immigrants. This was the first public avowal of dis- | tress, It is true the community still strug- gied bravely on. So late as INS4 Mr. Hughes, on a flying trip to America, stop: ped off for a few days at Rugby, and wag pleased to find that his mother, then eighty= seven years of age, had been restored to | health by the vigorous climate of 1 |see. But this nese as the sole drop of comfort | in his visit. The experiment, as a whole, Was a failure. A few months afterward i¢ | Was practically abandoned, and Rugby, Tenn., became only one of many south? | western hamlets with nothing to distin« | evish it from its neighbors save a jarger proportion than usual of people of Wnglish birth, . ———+-e-+—____ An Apology. From Our Boys and Girls, A man who has @ reputation for being very careless as to his totlet was elected tuwn clerk in one of the small towns in this State some time ago, and the local paper thought it would be a good joke to an- nounce that “Mr. Makeup will wash himself before he arsumes the office of town olerk.” On reading the notice Mr. Makeup was furious, and demended a retraction, which the paper accordingly made the following day, in this fashion: “Mr. Makeup ce pe us to deny that he will wash himself before he assumes the office of town clerk.” themselves. It is when you come to the children’ of the upper middle classes that And still Mr. Makeup was not pleased, How hard it is to satisfy some people! be} oes 2s < 2g o fd AE EE 2 388 EY S20 psock? ZB Esch? Bevexkey yscss. Ze SEess FessQeebabsSukecose asses BSEREBERSSZSEELSED SE aa ECE THE NATIONAL GUARD. Comparison by Diagram of the Forces of Various States. From the New York Times. The War Depsrtment has prepared a dia- gram showing the relative strength of the state organizations of the National Guard of the country. The comparison is the re- sult of a compilation of reports in the mili- tary Information division, and shows graph- ically the forces which might be depended upen in time of trouble to form the great body of soldiery of which the regular army would be the nucleus. New York, of course, heads the list, with its 12,901 mén; Pennsylvania comes next, with 8,482; Oklahoma is last, with 153 men. The total strength of the country is 115,- 662, and from this force, taking advantage of all the young and able-bodied men who may be depended upon for military service, it fs possible to mass an army of nearly 10,000,000—0,467,694, to be exact. The diagram shows at a glance how the militia force of any state compares with that of any other, ‘i SUOOST AA wsUe a 1000 ee at, ee 5 es UTIRINOT ee PUR Ae | 1) 059 00 AL me |OSST ——e 1A 07 es PLT A —— EU DHT — TUT — NT KOS ON