Evening Star Newspaper, February 20, 1897, Page 17

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, FEBRUAKY 4, 1897-24 PAGES. = —=——__ = ae though his state was princely, and hed all} ing # rule for once, even ffionly out of pity ues the exclusiveness which attends princeli-| for a friend stranded on this inhospita%le H | N | course he should adopt. nia ness, it was a condition of things not at all| coast.” = (Ss to the Iking of so companionable a man| Edna blushed when he spoke of the a point MONON ONO MON TINE OWN as Berney. His magnificent plan, which | breaking of rules; then $he lifted her hon- selec ce he ei se ed BAN) 26) Nee Neh gave employment tc an amateur gardener, | est eyes to his and said: THE MUTABLE MANY. BY ROBERT BARR, 1896, by Robert Barr.) OWE MONON WOVE I WOWOWOV BEVIS TA (Copy ris: | of this irresistible panic. He was attack- | ing the wedge at its point, and so was at a | tremendous disadvantage. Chapter XXV. An angry roar, louder than his shout had s he had 1 » to his dangh- | been, called his attention to the fact that to Harney Hope, found | Braunt was making an assault on the peer The big man, using : immense strength mercilessly, was e ng his way through the mass, grasp- Evening Star. i from a) ast Saturday's $ wedge from the rear. his ome © had | very busy, now tbe ey he rearranged | ing the women with both hands by the = froth the whole serv- | shoulders and flinging them with a reck- rks n got their oid s of consequences behind way inch by inch toward Scimmins, trampling down all frantic efforts to escane. to who. crazed by fear, was ahead of him in his “It's every one for himself,” screamed Scimmins. “I have as much right to my you have to yours and back, ye ruffian, or Ah’ll strangle ye when Ah get ma hands on ye. Stand y nere, Mr. Sartwell, an’ catch them whe! i ‘w them t’ ye. The women firs them down past the turn o° the a n’ they'll be safe. Stand ye there; nclusion,. T | Ah'll be at the door this minute. W. who had been thrust | P@¥e them all out in a jiffy. the they | i L met While he shouted Braunt tore his way through the crowd, and at last reached the krot was in the jam where further progress Here ke stood, and by the simple power of his arms lifted girl after irl straight up and hurled them over the of those in front into Sartwell’s . Who pushed them on down the siair: “JESSE! JESSE! LISTEN, THE DEAD MARCH! MY GIRL! THE REAL MARC ehtly were the workmen Yet it could not be de- ¢ who lost in the game of at the more conservative ed were among the most in the factory. They were men ad most to lose by a strike, and had naturally been most reluctant to test the end of which no ee. By and by it began to that the manager must have session a complete and accurate record of every action and speech during the strike, so entirely did his shifting about , which ayed with such coincide with ing the trouble nd hoped had Lee es it seemed a had delth marked the contrast by bringing the degraded and the vated into purposeful Juxtaposition, so that his design in showing that he held the uture of each man in his hand could not be misunderstood by even the most stupid employes. It was a grim obje ly Intended to convey Sart- stion to stick by the men well, who from hfs position could see the fear-demented man pressing the crowd on Braunt and hampering him, “be a man and stand back. Don’t fight. There’s time for all to get out.” “Ah'll crack your skull for ye," shouted Braunt, hoarsely, over his shoulder. “‘Re- member ye've to pass me before ye get to the stair, an’ little good your fightin’ ‘ill do ye.” At last the knot dissolved, as a log jam on a@ river suddenly gives way when the key log is removed. Braunt stood now with his back against the door post, while Sartwell took his place at the tura of the stairs, strenuously flinging torn and ragged items of humanity into safety. Several cf those who had been at the point of the wedge lay at his feet, senseless or dead— there was no time to discover which. New and then a girl he hurled down the stair tottered, fell and lay where she fell. “Why doesn’t some one come to carry those women out?” groaned the manager, who had asked one after another whom he had saved to send help to him. a last ise of i men appeared. men | “It's a bad fire, Mr. Sartwell,” said one. ad sympathized with | «ves, yes, 1 know. Take down two each, cor an oteteeeed | if you can, ‘and send up more men. ‘Tell the alcnnienine ee a to see that the iron doors between and the workman knew he | (2€ bulldings are closed. Are the fremen to submit or to apply for his| «Five engines, sir." office. . “Good! Get down as quick! ri was the evide ! and send up more help 904 ©4" Sp bee Boag in| ““Ye devil! Do yé think to sneak past and Scimmins. “he two | me?” erled Braunt, seizing Scimmins, who “qual in position when the | had at last fought his way through,” although Sctmmins receivel | “Don't waste time with that maa fraunt. if Sartwell © of Sart- than ee os My God, don't you see the flames! The endent of the up- | roof will be in on us in a minute! Fling mployes were | him down here!” “He stays behind me till the last soul's out,” snarled Braunt, between his teeth. Sartwefi said no more. It was no time to argue or expostulate, and Braunt, although pinning Scimmins to the wall behind him, continued to extricate the women as fast as the manager could pass them along. ‘Th: knot was continually forming at the door and was as continually unloosed by the stalwart, indefatigable arms of Braunt. ao are smothering me,” whined Scim mins. “I hope so,” said Braunt. The situation was new hardly io bc borne. The smoke ascending the stairway met the smoke pouring through the door: yet, in spite of the smoke, the room was bright, for a steady column of flame roared up through the shaft, making it hke a blast furnace. “Are they all out?” gasped Sartwell, coughing, for the smoke was choking him. “Ah think so, sir, but Ah'll have a look. Some may be on the floor,” and Braunt as he spoke hurled Scimmins into the room thead of him, pushing the door shut, so that Sartwell would not hear the man if he ied out. The manager, strangling in the smoke, appeared to have forgotten that Scimmins was there. ‘Down on your hands and knees, ye hound, and see if any o' the women ye felled are there!” immins was already on his knees. “There's no one here. Open the door!— open the door!” he cried. ‘aunt opened the door an inch or two. All out, sir!” he shouted. “Thank God for that!’ said Sartwell. “Come down at once. There's not a mo- ment to lege.” Ube do} of the strike humiliation ntle orders of i flouied | ng to He the d to days pourne, when r overturned those he ed bim that at Braun perhar, "aS soon as you are, sir. nager tumbled down the crackling doubting but Braunt followed. » ye crawling serpent, I'm going to e be ull ye’re singed. I saw your terror-stricken man mistook the pur- port of Braunt’s words, and thus lost all ce of lif swear to God I didn’t mean it!” erled. “The Know it. he match dropped before 1 God's truth, it did, Braunt!” tair was | “What! Ye fired th’'works! Ye! With the women here ye tried to starve! Ye open locked by a | dropped the match! Ye crawling, murder- ng humen beings, each wild | ous fle! f d each making es Braunt crouched like a wild beast about to spring, his crooked fingers, like claws, twitching nervously. Breathing in short, quick gasps, for the smoke had him by the throat, his flerce eyes glittering in the | flames with the fearsome light of insanity, he pounced upon his writhing victim and held his struggling figure with arms up- | stretche? above his head. Treading over | the quaking floor, he shouted: “Down, ye craven devil, into the hell ye have made!” The long, quivering shriek of the doom- ed man was swallowed and quenched in the torrent of fire. Braunt stood in the center of the tremb- ling, sagging floor, with his empty hands still above his head, his face upturned, and swaying dimly in the stifling smoke. A fireman's ax crashed in a window; a spurt of water burst through the opening and hissed against the colling. “Jessie! Jessie! Listen! the ‘Dead March!’ My girl! The—real—march!” With a rending crash the floor sank into the furnace. E of burning up * poured and rolled in e if the jam could Id not need the fire 2 erted Sartwell. danger if you keep cool. Al! of you go back to your places. I'll go in vith you and be the last to leave, so there's nothing to fear.” A red tongue of flaine flashed for the twinkling of an eye amid the black smoke, disappearing almost as.soon as it came, but sending a momentary glow like sheet Ughtning ever the rapidly darkening room. It @ brief but ominous reply to Sart- ‘well’s words, and he saw he might as well have spoken to the tempest. He tried to extricate one of the giris, whose wildly staring eyes and pallid lips showed she was being crushed to death, but she was wedged as firmly in the mass as if ce- mented there. Sartwell, with a groan of despair, saw he was powerless in the face Chapter XXVI. Barney Hope drove his tandem up and down the patade, to the glory of East- bourne, but with small satisfaction to him- self. He did not care for the admiration of those who were strangers to him. Al- had apparently miscarried, for no word came from the girl at the school, and, whatever attractions the tandem had for other inhabitants of Eastbourne, it certain- ly seemed that Edna Sartwell did not share them, at least sufficiently to arrange for a drive with the young man and any of her comprnicns who dared to break the rules of the school for the giddy whirl of his lofty vehicle. Barney cursed his luck and also his messenger. He was sure it was Marsten’s fault; some clumsiness on his part had undcubtedly spoiled every- thing. Ncw that Barrey thought over Marsten’s demeanor when he returned he saw—what he should have seen at the time. from the gruffness and shortness of the fellow’s answers—that he had made a mess of it somehow and was ashamed to con- fess his failure. Marsten had merely con- tented himself by saying to Barney that he had delivered the letter unseen and that the girl had en him no message to take back. Barney could get no satisfying par- ticulars from him regarding the incidents of the meeting. Had he talked with her? Of course he had. It was necessary to explain how he came to be there. What had she said? She said very little. Had she seemed angry? She did not seem any tco well pleased. And thus Barney, with industry and persistence, endeavored to draw the truth out of a reluctant man, who appeared only too eager to get away and commune with himself, and who evidently did not appreciate the fact that {t was the duty of a messenger to communicate full particulars of his embassy to his chief. Now that Marsten had so hurriedly gone to London—probably loath to admit his diplomatic failure, yet fearing to be sent on another mission of the sort—Barney was convinced there had been some awkward hitch in the proceedings, which was ali the more annoying as he could not discover what it was, and so he set about to remedy it with that unfailing tact of which ne knew himself to be possessed. For once in his life Barney had to confess that he did not know what to do. He did not care to return to London and admit defeat even to himself. One of his favorite boasts was that he never knew defeat; for where--to use his own language—he could not pull it off himself, Providence seemed always to step in and give him the necessary aid. He began to fear that his customary ¢ curacy in detecting the interposition had for once failed him, for he remembered he had looked on the unexpected advent of Marsten as a distinct manifestation that fortune still favored nim; but, as day after day passed and no answer came to the let- ter he had sent, Barney began to have doubts as to the genuineness of the inter- vention on his occasion. At last, in dee: gloom, he came to the conclusion that 1 under the present circumstances not worth living if it had to be lived in Kast- bourne without knowing a soul, and re- luctantly he determined to return to Lon- don. He ordered out his tandem for a final exhibition, remembering that, even thou, he took no pleasure in it himself, it would be cruel to deprive the loungers ‘along th« parade of their usual delight in watching the elegance of the turnout and his own skill in handling a team placed endwise. After all, the innocent frequenters of Eastbourne were not te blame for what had happened, so why should they be pun- ished unnecessarily—said the ever-just Bar- ney to himself. They should-be allowed to feast their eyes for the last time on the tandem and its master, and heaven help them when he finally departed. Parney mounted his chariot with a sigh; for, aside from the fact that this was in a measure a last act—and last acts always carry a certain amount of pathos with them—it is depressing to have it proven that one is after all under nv special protection, and to have doubt cast on former instances which heretofore have stood unchallenged. Barney drove his spirited horses with perhaps less than his customary dash, a chastened dignity’ taking the place of the exuberant confidence which generally dis- tinguished him. The bracing air, the rapid motion, the feeling of controlling destiny that a man has when he is driving a tan- dem, all failed to raise his spirits, as might have been expected, for the very fact that he was driving alone emphasized his di: appointment, and made this world the hol- low mockery it sometimes seems to the most cheerful of us. Yet how often has it been said, in varying forms, that the dark- est hour is just before the dawn!—and how often will men forget that simple noc- turnal fact!—a defect of memory the more remarkable in a person like Barney, who so frequently had had opportunity, while on his: way home from a post-midnight revel, of verifying the phenomenon. Just when his despair was at its blackest—on the fourth drive down the parade--he was amazed and delighted to see Edna Sartwell coming down one of the side streets all alone. She had a newspaper in her hand, and was looking anxiously, and, as Barney could not fail to see, furtively, up and down the street, apparently expecting to meet some one, yet fearing that her in- tention might be divined. Barney under- stood the whole situation in a flash; she had been afraid to write or had been pri vented from writing, and nad stolen alone from the schcol in the hope of meeting him. Well, they all did it, so far as Bar- ney was concerned; and, in the glow of ex- ultation that came over him at this proof of success, and the assurance that, after all, his luck—or whatever it was—had not deserted him, there was just a faint, an- noying tinge of regret that she was no more proof against his fascinations than all the others had been. Man is but an un- certain creature at best, and never knows just what he does want. A moment be- fore it would have seemed to him that nothing on earth could have given him greater pleasure than a sight of her, and yet, now that he saw ner looking for him, he was actually sorry that she had not been walking unconcernedly along the pavement like those who were strangers to him. However, it must be added in Barney’s favor that this feeling of being perhaps a trifle too much sought after was Lut tran- sitory, and that it did not for a moment interfere with his action. He pulled up his team with a suddenness that caused the front horse to turn round and face its driver, threw the reins to his groom, and jumped down with a grace and celerity He Proposed to the Girl and Was Rejected. as charming in its way as was his driving. The groom disentangled the horses es Par- ney accosted Edna with that urbanity which -was perhaps his distinguishing characteristic. The girl seemed surprised to see him, and was plainly more than a Uttle embarrassed. “I am so glad to meet you,” cried Bar- ney. “Why, the very sight of you makes this dull old Eastbourne smile like a rcse, don’t you know. I haven’t had a soul to speak to for ages, and I began to fear I should lose the use of language. I give you my word, it’s the truth! I do think— that is, I did, until I saw you--that East- bourne is the dullest spot on earth.” “Then why did you come here?” asked the girl. ree “Oh, now, I say, Miss Sartwell, that’s rather too bad! It {s, I assure you. You know I said in my letter I came solely for the pleasure of seeing you.” “So you did. I had forgotten.” “Yes; and you never even answered my note, Miss Sartwell. I call that rather hard, don’t you know.” “You see, Mr. Hope, we are not allowed to write letters from the school; that is one of the strictest rules. “And are you so afraid of breaking a rule as cetera ne 1 ease school De ae light of being there was the breaking o! rules—and of most other things as well. I thought perhaps you would not mind break- “I am afraid I pay too-little attention to the rules after all my pretense of regard for them. I am breaking a rule in being here now; but I was so anxious to see a newspaper that I stole ou} to buy one. That is why I am ‘here, and Elshould not sta = talking to you, but must go back at once.” (Copyright, 1897, by the Backeller Syndicate.) Be I eae Plsse Sect well Protented Such a snowstorm Lakeview had never jarney, “if you ‘ule merely to buy ~ s a paper, surely you will break another, or Suse Bue So) oh a peas keep on fracturing the same one, when you} Mehts ‘ad raged continuously. Every- know how much pleasure it will give me| thing was buried in a blanket of white several feet deep, except the lake. Its glassy surface had been kept free by the to take you for a little drive.” “Oh, I couldn’t think of such a thing, Mr. sweep of the wind; but it had not been very cold, and, except along shore, the ice was Hope—I couldn't, indeed, and you must not ask me! I wanted the paper to see if there was erything more about the fire. I should never have known about it had my father | not thick. not sent me a short telegram that gave no| Bert Hill lived on the shore of the lake particulars: 1 suppose he didinot ‘have time! Gn’ the outskirts of Lakeview. He was a stockily ouilt lad of about fifteen, and very fend of outdoor sports. When not in school he was nearly always, during daylight, to write.” “What fire?” ‘The fire at the works.” ‘Bless me! Has there been a fire?” rowing, fishing, swimming or skating, as the season permitted. His great ambition was to become a newspaper man. There was a village paper in Lakeview, but it “Didn’t you Know? There has been a terrible fire; the east wing is destroyed and was only a weekly, and Bert's ideas ranged above this. two men have lost thelr lives—two of the workmen. There would have been a fright- ful loss of life had it not been for one of the men who fs dead. It is supposed, so the What he had in mind was a place on the staff of sothe big city daily. He felt that if he could only have a start, he was bound to succeed. The previous spring he How a Boy’s Skates Won Him a Place on a Big (ity Paper, papers say, that in trying to save the life of the other he lost his own.”” “Dear me! how perfectly awful! I won- der why Mr. Sartwell didn’t wire me, as nelther father nor Monkton is there. You see, I never read the papers myself—never have any interest in them. If a fellow could only know when there is to be some- thing in them worth while it wouldn't be so bad; but one can't go on buying them every day in the hope there will some time be something in them, don’t you know. Besides, people generally tell me all the news, so I don’t need to read. 1 hear even more than I want to hear without looking at the papers; but, you see, I know: nobody down here, and so am slightly behind in the news of the da: “I must go now,” repeated Edna, who had listened to his remarks with ill-dis- guised. uneasiness. “Oh, but that’s just what you mustn do!” cried Barney, with great eagern: “Have pity, if not on my loneline: least on my hopeless ignorance, don’t you know, in a matter that I, of all others cought to be interested--vitally interested. in. You see, there may be no insurance, and perhaps I'm a beggar—may have to sell my tandem, don't you know; sacrifice my pictures, and all that sort of thing. 1 must hear about the fire, and all about it. It’s of more importance even than the con- dition of the workingman, to me at least, dear as that subject is and—all—inter- woven—as I ma . with my very—ah ng—the wor igman, don’t you know “But,” protested his anxious listener, “I know nothing about the insurance—noth- ing whatever. You should go at once to London by the very first train. There has been an inquest, and I expect to find a re- port of it in this paper. You can buy a paper at the station, and then you will learn everything that is to be known until you reach London.” “I say, Miss S well,” said Barney, in an injured tone, “you surely can’t expect me to understand what's in the paper. I never could, don’t you know. They seem to me to print such rubbish. Now you can expiain it all to me in @ very short time— you always make everything so clear. It you will just step into this cart of mine, I'll drive out of town and around behind the school; then no one will see us, and you can reach there much more quickly than if you walked, don’t you know.” The girl frowned, and Barney saw with surprise that she, perhaps, had, after all, some of her father’s impatience. He felt that he was not progressing quite as fa- vorably as he could wish; but a few words would pu: that right, if he‘could get her to go with him for a driv ‘Mr. Hope,” she said, s 3 you will pardon me if I say that "under the circum- stances, you should be ‘busy in’ London rather than idling at Eastbourne. An un- expected calamity has happened; the busi- s is deranged, and mien ate out of work just now when they neéd it most; yet here you stand idly talking of tandems and driving.” Barney opened his eyés’wide with aston- ishment. Here actually! was‘censure, plain and andisguised. He had ‘never encoun- tered it before from any lady, except, per- haps, from his mothe*—and’ she did not couitt; for, as he knew,"sh would be the first’ to-resent blame placed’ upon him by any’ one else. ee “But—but what cari’ F a0?" stammered the unfortunate young ‘man, with strong. emphasis ‘on the personal pronoun. “I, of course, don’t know; but that is what I should find cut if I were in your place.” = “Nobody pays the least attention to what I say; they never did, and it’s not likely they’re going to begin now. Your father didn’t even take the trouble to telegraph, although he knows I'm here” “He knows you are here?” “Of course. He was coming with me, and both of us were going to call upon you; but, unluckily for me, he couldn't come, and here I am stranded; and I must say, when you talk like that, I think fate is a little hard on me.” As the girl looked at him her expression softened; she felt she had been unfair to him, and she had a keen sense of justice. “I had no intention of saying anything harsh,” she replied. “I merely told you what I thonght any one in your position would do. Don’t you agree with me?” “I always agree with you, Miss Sartwell. I’m rather a blockhead, at best, don’t you know; but 1 usually recognize the right thing when some one points it out to me. That's one great fault I find with myself. I don’t see things till after every one elsé has seen them; then they all seem so plain that I wonder I didn’t notice them before. People are so impatient with a fellow like me that sometimes I feel sorry for myself —I give you my word I do. If they would take a little pains—but then, of course, no one ever cares whether a fellow goes right or wrong. “Oh, yes they do,” cried the girl quickly. “I’m sure I care very much.” “You think you do,” cried Barney deject- edly; “byt you won't even risk a_ slight scolding at the school to give me the ad- vice I need: at the time I need it most. But that’s the way of the world,” continued the ill-used. young man with a deep sigh. ‘‘All I want you to do is to take a short drfye with mé, and tell me what you know of the disaster, and what you think I ought to do under the circumstances. I brought. thjs, turnout from London on purpose to take you out. It isn't as if I were suggest- ing anything clandestine, for I came with your father's approval. I wrote to the mis- tress of the school telling her so, but she answered with a sharp reprimand. “Then L wrote directly to you, but my letter was returned with an intimation that I was trying to do something underhanded. So you see, I made every effort to be Square and honest, but the honest people wouldn’t Kaye it. That’s the sort of con- duct that drives men to crime. Then I took to more questionable methods, and got that young fellow—I forget his name—to carry a letter to-you. That offended you—” “Oh, no.” ~ It’s nice for you to say so,” Barney went on, mournfully, “but I am so used to disappointment that a little extra, more or ‘less, doesn’t matter. I see now that I was wrong to send that letter in the way I did —I always Beé those things after; but I was forced into it. I expect to end up in prison some day, and never realize my crime until the judge sentences me. I suppose I ought to be above the need of an encouraging word now and then, but I don’t seem to “What do you wish me to do,” asked the girl, a shade of perplexity coming over her face. “All I wish is a little straightforward, clearheaded advice. Art beckons me: in one direction, and advises me to leave bus- iness alone. You said just now that my place was at the works, and that I shouldn't be idling here when there was so much to be done. Mr. Sartwell quite evi- dently hopes.I shall keep oft of the way, or he would ‘have told mefof the fire. I seem to be a superfluous mn, not want- ed anywhere—not even by tip police. What do I wish you to do? I wis}lyou to let me take you for a little drivednfo the country, and tell me how I can help''your father at this crists.” i “One is so conspicuoua up there,” she said, glancing with distrust at the waiting tandem. “No; let us walk to the end of the"parade. There we can sit down, and I will tell you all I know about the fire, and, -if my advice is worth anything, you ehall have it. After that you gust let me walk to the school alone.” ~, “ SU. cay es Barney was forced ‘ta: content himself with this, and he reluctantiy érdered''the grcom to take the to the stables: The two walked dlong-the parade ta the’ most sheltered seat, where they sat down together, The young man’s mind was in a. wkirl; the coldness of hisreception si him, and made him fearful of 1 _wha' he had thought, up to that time, was his for the asking, He proposed to the: girl and was-re- Jected. (To be continued.) had graduated from the village school with honors; @uring the summer he had done some odd jobs; but there was no place for him in Lakeview which promised promo- tion in his chosen line. It was in the early part of the evening on the second day of the storm that Bert heard of a bad accident that hag occurred on the railroad line, two miles out of Lake- view. The express going west had en- countered a snowslide in a gorge and been thrown from the track. Several people had been killed and many others seriously hurt. An engine, which happened to be on a sid- ing at Lakeview, was at once dispatched to the place of the disaster with dociors en board. And now, so he heard, they were bringing the dead and the injured into the village on a couple of flat cars. Bert dashed off to the station. Sure enough, there they were, the injured being made as comfortable as possible at houses nearby, the dead intrusted to the under- taker’s care, while the remaining passen- gers were slowly being accommodated with shelter and food by the village folks. Bert was very much interested, and stood lis- tening eagerly to the stories told by the passengers. A stranger was talking to the telegraph operator. “Can’t you get word through?” he was osking. ‘Not a word,” the operator answered. “Why, the railroad people would do any- thing to send a message to the city, but the wires are down. The connection was breken half an hovr before the accident occurred.” When will it be fixed?” ‘ot before morning at the earliest, and perhaps not then. It’s forty miles to the city, and the line runs through a lot of cuts in which the snow is deep. We'll be lucky if the wires are working by noon. The stranger uttered an exclamation of ger and disgust. ‘And there’s no chance of getting a message through in any other way?” The operator smiled. “You see the condi- tion of things,” he said. “How many peo- ple do you think would try driving or tramping through this snow? Why, man, it would be certain death. Berton ‘is the nearest town, and it’s eight miles away.” The stranger turned away, Mt a cigar and began to smoke savagely. Bert ap- proached the operator, who smiled know- ingly as the boy came up. “There, Ber: he said, “there’s one of Four profession, and he’s in a bad fix. He bas an account of the railroad accident, and he can’t get it through to the city. | He's a member of the ‘Cosmos’ sta/f, and was on the train that was wrecked.” Bert was all excitement at once, and he regarded the stranger with curiosity mix- ed with awe. He felt a great sympathy for the man, too, and by and by, pluck- ing up courage, he walked over and spoke to him. “It's hard luck you can’t get your ac- count through,” he said. “Yes,” answered the other moodily. “It’s a splendid ‘story.’ I wouldn’t miss making a ‘scoop’ on it for twenty dollars. But it must be in the office by one-thirty tonight, or the chance is gone.” Bert did not reply, but sat down on the short bench beside the man and cudgeled his brains for a way out of the difficulty. If he could only devise some plan to help the “Cosmos” reporter! All at once he jumped to his feet. “I'll take that message for you, and telegraph it to the city,” he said. The man looked at him keenly. “You will!” he said. “How?” “I'll take it down and across the lake on my skates—or at least, I'll try. I can telegraph it from Pine Bluffs if the wires to the city aren’t down there, to The man slapped him on the” back. “You're a trump, youngster,” he exclaim- ed. “I'll have the story ready in fifteen minutes. How soon can you start?” “As soon as I can get homme and back. That will be about half an hour. It'll take an hour to get to the Bluffs, for I'll prob- ably bave to skate round a lot of thin ice. It's 8 o'clock now. I'll be in the Bluffs by half-past 9.” + “You won't lose by it, if you put the story through for me,”- said the ‘Cosmos’ ae emphatically. “I'll wait for you ere. But Bert thought little of what return he might get for the task. The idea that he was enlisted in the service of the “‘Cos- mos"’—the biggest of the city papers—was reward enough for him. The thought of the possible danger ahead never entered his mind either. Full of his project, he made his arrangements and came back without stopping to explain to anybody, but when he had received the bundle of writ- ten sheets from the “Cosmos” man and was leaving a sudden thought that he could not possibly return till late made him call to the telegraph operator to :end word to his father where he had xone. Final instructions were given him by the newspaper man, also a card, to show to the Bpdrotor = ny — in serrate of money to pay for the telegram. n_min- utes later he had clamped on his skates and was off. The breeze blew directly across the Jake from the northeast. It struck him on his side, and while it did not actually im- pede him, made breathing no easy task. But the ice was firm and green and as smooth as it could be, and ue swung along at @ smart pace, for there was not a bet- ter skater In Lakeview. Five miles were covered in short order. Then he slackened his speed and began to consider what If he went all the way down the lake to opposite Pine Bluffs and cut straight across to the town it would be safest, for he would have thick, smooth {ce for the whole distance; but it wouid also take him longer than to strike diago- nally across the lake from where he then | was. The latter plan would take him over a couple of miles of ice of whien he could not be sure, but he would, thereby, save nearly half an hour of valuable tme pro- vided the ice held. A couple of minates of debate him. The “Cosmos” needed ‘he as a man had called it, as soon a8» He had undertaken to that through quickly. He fel that if a r member of the staff of that paper had the matter in hand he would not weigh his convenience, or even some dange! sainst doing the service speedily He swung around and started out straight course for the town. The was on his back, if he had skated before, now was ringing along at a h made his earlier effort In five minutes he out shelter of the high grow The ice was still firm, but almost t rent under the light which the moo! fonally gave, as it struggled from tween clouds. It had st bite whirlwinds of 1 now and then scurried acros: some reason which he could not at first explain, Bert be to grow uneasy. Je strove in vain to » the from | his mind. The ice loc there | < firm Pi Was no break in it; appare of if you get a package like this, It contains the genuine and capable somehow the in danger. seemed to be 1 long s bearing of it teld h he swept ng and falling with had been on such i at under him in wave there had been m isut re light, ald have eS ON st nit Ike the ng ater of th in jong lake ona just cahn day The n to bear his weigh if he an instant) The -| W, ming ed of his flight alone kept i SHI G PR W. ne akeuet se Woon i A oWD grow vas lite chance land. lake. we de | . oa It cleans everything and | cleans it quickly and cheaply. Largest package—createst economy. THE N. K. FAIRBANK COMPANY, ice tor th was fe. a glance behind to t pened. The ice had broken there, a ‘4 sew ¥. rose, released from his weight. A erin | CUCM | St ceases ee Peeve struck throvgh him, but the fear. merely Z a made him incr his effort knew = that he was going at a tre S rate, de yet it seemed as if the danger ‘ Peet a cai would never be passed. from ues pees em But now, through the darkness, the] While they were discusing the melee tr lights of Pine Bluffs began to twinkle cniy | the school board the head of a big manu a few miles away. F t no le 2 airing bh t . that terrifying rise and fall of seamen ee eee eee SP neath him Kaied with new oe TT d though he was, his “Iw once a pedagogue myself. IT had slacken. He had reached s resolved to do something worth while in 5 =: iss ~ shor ne 5 the business world, and having no capital boa arf, and it was only ; iy es work to puil off his skates. Then, swing-| ©X°¢Pt What was wrapped up in my per- ing them over his should: a strap, he ESeRERL echool 40) eet m starts. £ aded through the snow to the path, some advanced students and had to 1 been partially shoveled. cl skirmish in order to keep up with the pro- nutes later he was at the t cession. One day the whole class was re the wires working stumped by an arithmetical problem, and tnlessiv ll open,” returned the official. ‘Thank goodness!” ejaculated Bert. For a moment he had thought of the awful so was I. In order to gain time for myself I came the old dodge of telling them how much better it would be if they would work out the solution for themselves, and possibility of being stopped here after aii | Save them other day. his work and . He unbuttoned his| “That night. behind locked doors and coat and pulled out the precious manu- 1 blinds, I worked in fear and per- script. “Send that through to the “Cos- ation, m the bottom of my trunk I mos’ ‘as fast as you can, please,” he said, y to the arithmetic, but even with handing {t to the operator. “And here’s| that aid I failed to master the problem my card.” By midnight 1 was desperate. It would The operator glanced at the bit of paste- |" do to let the scholars, the parents board, and then looked curiosly at the | and the whole cruel world know that I was not equal to my position. But {t's not in my make-up to surrender while there's a fighting chance. “At the town ten miles way there was @ loyal and highly educated friend of mine. He would help me and say nothing, It was one of the bitterest January nights I ever knew. But I slipped to the barn, appro- priated a horse, made a ride more notable than many of those immortalized in song or history, froze my ears and toes, and had my vocal powers reduced to a whisper. “But you should have he whis- pered explanation of that problem and my regrets that none of the pupils had mas- tered it.” boy. “Are you one of the ‘Cosmos’ men?” he asked. “I am tonight.” Bert answered promp'ly. “I brought that message across the lake.” The man uttered an ejaculation. “Weil, you newspaper fellows do beat all.” Soon the message was speeding over the wires, and to Bert the clicking of the in- strument was the sweetest sort of music. He leaned on the sill of the office counter antl eagerly listened until the last word had been transmitted. Then he suddenly realized that he had to return that night, and that he should be starting, for he would have to go back by the longer way. As he reached the door of the room the telegraph instrument again began to click, and the operator sang out to him: “Here! Hold on there, ‘Cosmos; they're sending a message to you from the city office.” And Bert halted in surprise. After a minute the operator said: “They say send five hundred words on your trip across the lake.” “How'd they know anything about that?’ asked Bert in wonderment. It was in your account here at the end,” explained the operator. “Don't you re- member?” Bert did not remember, but he understood. The “Cosmos” man had added a line explanatory of how his “story” was to be put on the wires. For a moment the ee ee Jim Duncan Could Talk. From the Detroit Free Press. The crowd had been talking of eloquent speakers, and Ingersolt, Bourke Cockran, Depew, Talmage and other notable orators had in turn been championed by their re- spective admirers. The old cattle man had listened to it all, and when the talk flagged a little he asked If anybody present had ever heard of Jim Duncan. Nobody had. “I never heard any of the fellows you mentioned,” said the cattle man, “but I young aspirant for newspaper honors did | wouldn't be afraid to back Jim against any not know just what to do. Here was his | of ‘em fer persuadin’ ways. Jim Duncan chance, but it was so unexpected that the | Was a talker. I'll tell you what he did one surprise of it bewildered him. But he | time, just asa specimen. There was a fel- managed to answer: “All right. Tell them v 4 Bob Harris moved to Alliance— they shall have it at once.” siurase = that was the name of the town—and he The experience he had so recently been | had a young wife, and seemed to be through was still vividly clear to his | pretty well fixed. One day Harris was mind’s eye, and he gave it in a straight-| killed up town in a row. Some five or eix forward, simple story. The five hundred words were quickly written and dispatch- ed, signed with his name. Then Bert, with a good night to the operator, trudged with a light heart down to the frozen lake. It was a long, hard pull back, for he of us got together and tried to figure it out who was to break the news to his wife. "Squire Irvin, our justice of the peace, was the oldest one among us, and we wanted him to go, but he said he'd rather face a grizzly bear than to take such news as had to make a big detour to avoid the thin | that to a woman. Finally we pitched on ice, and it was 12 o'clock when he reached | Jim Duncan to go and tell her, he bein’ so heme. His father was waiting for him; so | handy with his tongue, and Jim said he was the “Cosmos” man, and ma the words of praise he got for his was willin’ to do his best. He kind of run his fingers through his red hair, hitched up But happy as these made Bert feel, it {his cravat, and went into Mrs, Harris’ was a letter which came a week later that | house, while the rest of us waited at the made his joy the greatest. It was from | corner. Im about fifteen minutes Jim came the maraging editor of the “Cosmos,” and it offered him a chance to work for the paper with the promises if he did well, that he would be regularly enrolled on the staff. Of course, Bert wrote a prompt accept- ance, with his father’s approval, and how much he made of his opportunity is shown by the fact that he now has a responsible place on the “Cosmos” force, and is one of that paper’s most trusted workers. to the door and called Squire Irvin in. We ‘lowed the widow must be cuttin’ up real sharp. In ten minutes more Jim came out to us. How'd she stand it, Jim?” we asked. I guess it’s pretty well smoothed over,’ ys Jim, ‘and Mrs. Duncan and me would like all of you to come in and have some refreshments.” “Jim Duncan shore tongue.” had a persuadin’