Evening Star Newspaper, January 22, 1898, Page 19

THE EVENING STAR, "SATURDAY, JANUARY 22, 1898-24 PAGES GAME TO THE FINISH Young Englishmen on the Range Are a Preity Nervy Lot. TWO FNCOUNTERS WITH BAD MEN In Each Case the Tenderfoot Came Out Victorious. es OF RANCH LIFE —————— STORIES Written for The Evening Star. HEN I WAS A BOY back in Michigan,” said John Lane, a Wyoming ranch own- er, at the Ebbitt House, to a Star man the other day, “there was a maxim that the grown folks used to drum into the heads of children as soon as the young ‘uns began to think for themselves. It was this: “Love God, hate the devii and fight the British” “Now, I have never revised a particle of my early-formed notions on the question of how we stand, and how we ought to stand, With the people of Great Britain as a whole peopie, and I'd a bit rather give ‘em a welt than not if the necessity fo: my chiming in with the rest of the boys over some big is- sue between this country and Engiand ever arose. But, since I got out into the cattle country, twenty and more years ago, and began to run against the slews of young Englishmen scattered throughout all the ranges and mixed in with all the outfits, I've arrived at the conclusion that the in- dividual Englishman is a pretty hard nut to crack when it comes to any sort of a scrap, for money, marbles, chalk or blood, and that he’s a pretty decent sort of a chap, too, in the bergain; and I have, therefore, @ good deal more respect for the individual Englishman than you people back here in the east. who don’t have any show to speak of to get a line on his almost invariable S «Sa man. I've seen young Eng- in some pretty tight places out in and I never knew one of low at any stage of the A man can’t help but admire the game. sullen tenacity and even the bulldog feroc- ity of those British cow punchers when they think they are getting the worst of it. Not So Very Green. “Just after the round-up on my ranch three years ago a young fellow turred up at the outfit, looking pretty seedy, as ‘was only natural after his hoofing it sixty miles over the trail from the railroad. I knew he was an Englishman before’ he ned his head—a middle-sized young . pink and white of skin, and of that deceptive sort of build, characteristic of a gcod many Englishmen, I've noticed, that leaves you to guess whether the |mus- cles beneath their baggy clothes are Ike a weman’s or as hard as lignum vitae. This was a quiet sort of young fellow, but what he did y he said in the dialect that the cockne pesn't know how to use. He was about twenty-three, ard an educated man. I didn't try to dig much out of him. for the private affairs of the men I hire I consider are none of my business, and this young chap, whose name was Hamilton, simply told me that he had been in ‘the States’ only a couple of months, 1 that the week before he had blown last of the wad he had come out to Stat with against the Cheyenne bauks. He told me he could ride Pretty nearly anything with hair and hoofs, I gave him a job. “f told him to run out to the pen and take a look at the bunch of spare riding cattle, and pick out one that suited his eye. and he started for the pen. I had a of greaser dog-robbers working around my living quarters, and both of "em had got drunk a few days before, and stayed drunk in spite of my banging their heads together two or three times a day. I had ordered them off the ranch, and they Were outside the back door of my shack, packing up their saddle traps, when youag Hemilton passed by them, on his way to “What's That You Said!” the herse pen. The two greasers, about a quarter drunk and ugly, made some sort ©f crock in their pidgin Spanish about the young Englishman's plaid fore-and-aft cap. The young fellow wasn’t any shy on knowledge of Spanish, and he rounded on them. I was at the window, unseen, of the back room on the second floor of my shack, and took the thing in. I say, you two,” said Hamilton, ‘what's that you sald?” ‘The greasers both looked at him impu- dently, and went through the pantomi ne ef pulling fore-and-aft caps down over ir ears from before and behind. vened Things Up. “The English chap was at them with a leap. The greasers were pretty quick on their feet too, and in hte same instant they were side by side, with their knives in their feet, too, and in the same instant down simultaneously they were not buried in the young Englishman's body, as I felt certain they would be. The wrists of both Mexicans struck with full force the short cudgel that Hamilton suddenly held out horizontally before him with both hands to ward off the blows, and the sharpness with hich their wrists struck the cudgel i the knives from their hands. Be- y had time to recover themselves Britisher dropped bis cudgel and 1 both of the greasers by their right ne with each hand. I could see at he didn’t need any help, and that his muscles were like steel. He gave a peculiar sort of twist on the wrists of the two men he thus held as in a vise, and I heard a couple of sharp cracks. He had brokea the right arms of both of them. He released their wrists, and their arms dropped limp at their sides. Then the pink-and-white young Englishman, who wasn't more than five feet six and had as mild a looking countenance as any of my little girls, told the greasers in short ani sharp Spanish that the sert of cap he vore was his own c—d business, and Rone of theirs, and continued on his way out to the horse corral. He punched cattle on my range as long as he wanted the job, and all of the boys felt pretty sore when he announced that he was going to quit and go back to England. A Man With » Past. “When I was running a sheep ranch in Idah ten years ago I had a herder named rieff, a Scotch-Englishman, about thirty years oid or thereabouts, and a man who wouldn't say a word in a year unless some asked him a question. He was a Lig. dark fellow, end also a man of edu- cation. One day, when he rolled up his sieves at a shearing, I noticed the word ‘Outcast’ tattooed in’ blue letters on his right forearm. He caught me sizing up the word, and pulled his sleeve down hur- riedly, but without any look of humiliation. I've since been told that Australian con- victs formerly had the word ‘Outcast’ tat- tooed on their arms in this way, but, even had I known that Moncrieff was an ex- convict from Australia, it wouldn't have mattered any, for he was on the level with me, the best herder I had, and I liked the one day I was in Pocatello on when I met Moncrieff on the main street. His bunch had drifted within a few miles of the town, and he had taken advantage of the opportunity to run into Pocatello to write and post a few letters. I took him around and bought him some gear that he needed, and we had a few drinks between times. Finally we wound up for a last drink in Jim Boardman’s saloon. Propped up teeter-wise in a chair against the wall at the back of the saloon a man was asleep. When we had had our drink, Boardman jerked his thumb in the direction of the sleepirg man. ““Sonk Little, on a drunk,’ said he to us in a half whisper, ‘and uglier’n the devil. Better step out light and not wake him up." A Notorious Bad Man, “Sonk Little was the bad man of Poca- tello at that time. He was the proprie- tor of the leading faro layout of the town, and had a record for killing. I had never met him, but only knew him by sight. Moncrieff, my herder, had never heard of him, and probably didn’t care to hear of him. Anyhow, just as the two of us turned to go out Boardman let a whisky bottle fall to the floor and the nolse woke Little up. He sprang to his feet and glared around with bloodshot eyes like a wild man. I was walking out a bit ahead of Moncrieff, and so Little did not see me. But he saw my herder, and he yelled at him. “Come beck here, ye d—d sheep stam- peder, and put me to sleep ag’in, now you've woke me up, ye hear me!’ he A Bad Man Worsted. shouted at Moncrieff, and when this herd- er of mine wheeled around with a queer Hght in his big black eyes and faced the bad man I saw trouble ahead, and said quietly to the Englishman, ‘Come on out of that, or that devil'll plug you.” “No he won't,” said Moncrieff quietly to me. Then he faced Little again. He scanned the bad man’s make-up from his head to his heels. “Put you to sleep, you dirty sot?’ he drawled at Little. ‘It strikes me that a first-rate waking up is what you need more than anything else, you foul-mouthed loafer. Come over to me, right here, at ence, and turn around with your back to me. I'm gotng to kick you awake.’ Broke His Jaw. “Well, the gall of that proposition, ad- dressed to the most dangerous man in the territory of Idaho, was surely some- thing flerce. Little looked at the herder with his mouth wide open, too amazed for a half minute to speak. Then he opened up. He let out a volley of profanity such as I never heard equaled for ingenious combinations, and reached for his guns at the same instant. Wherever Moncrieff learned this Indian dodge I don’t know, but when he made for Little like a streak of light he did the thing circuitously, hop- ping from side to side and bobbing the up- per half of his body up and down like a jumping jack, so that Little's bead on him was never exact for the fraction of a sec- ond, and his two bullets only bored holes in the front windows. Before he could fire again Moncrieff had him by the throat with both hands and was choking the life out of him, when the bad man, still clutch- ing both of his guns, tried vainly to let the daylight into the herder while in that position. Then Moncrieff let his sinewy hands jump suddenly down so that they pinned Little's arms at his side, and I had no troubie then in wrenching the bad man’s guns from his hands. The tirade of frightful curses went right on as soon as Little’s throat was released. Then the thing happened that shows the fellows across the water to be the original cusses at times, anyhow. That herder of mine suddenly let go of the bad man’s arms and planted his open left hand, palm downward, on Little's forehead. This done, all in a flash he grabbed the strong, protruding chin with his right hand. Then he gave a sudden wrench, there wes a howl of pain, and Little's jaw was broken and hanging loose. Moncrieff spat down the man’s throat, gave him a shove into the chair from which he had Jumped a few seconds before with evil in his heart and joined me at the front of the saloon. He went back to the sheep range and two months later was found frozen stiff, with five bullets in his body, most of them hav- ing entered him at the back. Sonk Little, who was afterward hung for rustling, prob- ably knew now ihe bullets got there.” —_>—__ TWIN TO THE HATCHET sTory, A Very Old Fable of the Truthful: of Confactus. From Little Men and Women. A very pretty story is told of the child- hood of the great Chinese sage, Confucius, who, it will be remembered, lived nearly 3,000 years ago, and, for his time, was con- sidered a wonderfully wise man. Here is the story: One day, when he was only six, the little Confucius was sitting in the garden alone with his book and his pet kitten. Just the other side of a low hedge which grew be- tween the family garden and that of the servants he saw the little child of the gar- dener kicking up its heels in the middle of the grass plat where its mother had left it. The little Confucius watched the pretty child a few minutes, then returned to his book. But all at once, as he glanced to- ward the baby again, he saw it making with all of its tiny speed for a huge china basin full of water, which was always kept there from which to water the flowers. In the space of a moment the little one crept to the very edge, spied its own face in the water, and popped heels over head into the basin before Confucius had time to realize the danger! He sprang over the low hedge screaming for help. The little head was still above water, but in an instant sank, and only a tiny arm and the ght dress were to be seen. The boy, still screaming, ran round and round the basin, bending as far as he could over the top, trying in vain to catch the little hand. Then he stretched out both arms toward the setting sun as if asking help, and suddenly a thought came to him as if in answer. Gathering up some big stones lying beside the path, he dashed them with all his might against the china basin, which broke at once in pieces like so much glass. The water ran out in streams, and in a moment the child was safe, cry- ing, to be sure, but only from fright. ‘The iittie Confucius was leading him to his mother’s house when he met his own father, coming to look for him. The boy had never been scolded in his life, but when he thought all at once how costly the great china bas:n which he had broken must have been, his heart misgave him; but he told what he had done, and in- stead of being reprimanded, he found him- self in his father’s arms, and his father said, “I praise you, my child.’ Tais boy afterward became the great phil- osopher and moral teacher of his people, honored by them through more than twen- ty-eight centuries. z Good Boys at Yale. From the Springfield Republican. The regular army officer, Li¢utenant Mur- ray, who is stationed at Yale University, announces that after four years as a cadet, more years as an instructor at West Point, and twenty-five years in the army, he finds it a constant source of won- der how such a number of young men as are congregated at Yale, “with so little to restrain them other than their own sense of manliness and honor, should be} so remarkably well behaved.” He can “hardly conceive of a more exemplary set of zone ba vag Heed will greatly ase Dr. Dw! reassure many. fon and doting mammas. FORTUNES IN MINING Lots of Colorado Men Have Struck It Rich. SENATOR JONES AND HIS SUCCESSES He Thinks Alaska is a Great Place for Young Men. GOLDEN HUE OF PROMISE (Copyright, 1806, by Frank G. Carpenter.) Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. DENVER, January 14, 1896. HELD $25,000 worth of solid gold in my two hands to- day. It was all I could lift, and when I @ropped it down upon the floor ft fell with a lead-like thud. The gold was in the shape of three bricks of about the size of the red clay bricks used for building. It was a part of the bullion in the vault of the mint here at Denver, and {t formed gbout one-tenth of the gold which the mint now has on hand. One of these gold bricks was of a light yellow. Colonel Puckett, the chief of the mint, said that it had some silver in it. Another was Garker in shade, and this I was told was gold gotten out by the new process of goid reduction, and the third was yellower than any golden eagle. It was almost entirely pure and will have to be much alloyed be- fore it can be used for coinage. Colorado is now producing more gold than ever. The excitement about the Klondike has turned the eyes of the people to Alas- ka, but the miners out here are digging away and saying nothing. The officials of the mint tell me that they are receiving more of the precious metals than at any time inthe history of the mint. Mr. David Moffat, the mining king, who has now, it is said, a bigger income per month from his gold Interests than President McKinley gets in a year from Uncle Sam, estimates that Colorado has produced something like $22,000,000 worth of gold during the past twelve months, and he tells me that Crip- ple Creek alone is turning out something like $1,000,000 in gold.a month. The big mines there show no signs of giving out, and new ones have been opened. The big Cripple Creek mines are operated on a business basis. They are as economically managed as the department stores and as systematically worked as are great munu- Senator Jones, facturing institutions. The old gold camps are being reprospected and new discoveries are being made. Said Mr. Moffat to me: “I think the people are making a mistake in rushing to the Klondike. We have a Klondike here in the Rockies, which will pay better than that of Alaska. There are plenty of chances for young men out here. Only the smallest part of Colorado has been prospected, and there are gold fields in all parts of the Rockies which will pay for investigation, As for me, Colorado is good enough, and I don't care to go to any land where it fs all ice three-fourths of the year and where you can’t get much to eat during the remainder.” Senator Jones on Gold Mining. Senator John P. Jones, the mining mil- lonaire of Nevada, does not agree with Mr. Moffat as to Klondike. Jones is, you know, one of the most famous miners of the world, and has made a half dozen big fortunes out of gold and silver ore. It was during a ride with him in a sleeping car the other day that I asked him his opinion of the Klondike. He replied: “Tha gold discoveries of Alaska are the most wonderful that have ever been made. ‘The discoveries of Australia and California were nothing to them. When I was nine- teen years old I went out to California: I Started in at placer mining and from that day to this have been more or less interest- ed in mines. I went to California in 1849, and was there during the early gold excite- ment. The country was filled up within a very short time, and you would meet a- score of miners during a half day’s march no matter in what part of the Rockies you went to prospect. The news of successes spread very fast, and the man who had made a find of $5,000 in placer mining was known everywhere. There were thousands and tens of thousands mining, and the dis- coveries were comparatively few. Up in Alaska there are only a few thousand men at work, and they can labor only a small part of the year. Still they are turning out enormous amounts of gold. I know of dozens of men who have made fortunes, and I judge that the amount of gold there must be beyond conception enormous. I shall not be surprised if $150,000,000 worth of gold is taken out of the Klondike next will be more than 100,000 men there by the middle of the summer, and Re plenty peeoons for all.” “Do you tnink the discoveri - fined to the Klondike?” I anced peices No, indeed,” was the reply. “I believe there !s just as much gold in Alaska as there is in British Columbia. The Yukon river is 2,300 miles long, and there Is gold all along it. The sands of the Alaski ~ lands contain gold, and I am told Sone find color in almost any dirt you wash. You see, the forces of nature have been at work during the ages in Alaska to produce placer gold. It is my bellef that most of the placer gold is found in the troughs of glaciers. We used to think that the gold in the mother lode of Call- fornia wes in the bed of an ancient river, which in some way had been ele- vated above the surrounding country. I lleve it was the trough of a lacier, whi had. ground its wayna there, rubbing and grinding the gold out of Now in Alaska there are a hundred glaciers to every one further south in the Rocky mountains, and the gold has been ground out by them. I think quartz mining will be successfully carried on in Alaska and that stamping mills will be put up within a xe time after the discovery of the mines.” Advice to Young Men. * “Then you would advise a young man to go to Alaska?” “I most certainly should,” replied Senator Jones, “I would go myself, but I am too old now to do much in mining in its first stages, and it is not a’ necessity with me. I can't see where the young man of today has much chance outside of Alaska. The money has all gone into the hands of bank- ers and capitalists, and there is little chance for energy unaided by capital. In Alaska every man has a chance to make a fortune.” ace think of the hardships, senator,” “The hardships are greatly overesti- mated,” was the reply, “The conditions will ali be chan; next year, You will be able to get to the Klondike by railroad by the latter part of the summer. Good hotels will be built, and you will find just as good cities there as anywhere. I have spent my life iu the mining I know wi! plied Senator Jones. “But I am one of the owners of the Treadwell mine. This is, you know, near Jungau, where the ships stop on their way. to” Sitka, It is on Douglas Isiand, and, Js in, one of the most wobderfyl gold mines of the world. The ore ig. of a very low grade. It does not average than $3 per ton, and the mine has fever_paid less than half a million dollars a year.” “How did you come’to gét it, senator?” “The mine was originally discovered by a French Canadian, 10 came down from Sitka to prospect for, gold. He learned of this mine through hig brother-in-law, who was an Indian, and er locating it he soid it to a man named oi for a few e hundred dollars. ll organized a company to develop » and it was in this way that I e interested in it. We first put up a the ore, and when wj we put in other ip mills, so that now we have some of the best mining ma- chinery in the world'right‘there. The ore is so close to the sed that it can be han- dled very cheaply.” How He Made $10,000,000. “You were interested in the famous Com- stock mines, were you not, Senator Jones?’ I asked. 4 “Yes,” replied the millionaire miner. “I was considerably interested in the Com- stock. I took about $40,000,000 worth of gold and silver out of those mines, and I got $4,000,000 out In one month. Those were very valuable mines, indeed. They are working some of them still. I person- ally superintended my works there up until my election to the United States Senate.” “Senator, you have made an enormous amount of money in mines. How do you do it, «nd what do you do with all the money?” “Those are rather leading questions,” re- Flied Senator Jones. “Still, I can tell you one thing. I have never hoarded money. I Lave given away a great deal, and have made and lost a half dozen fortunes. I be- Heve that money was made to use, and I think the man who piles it up and will not let it go until he has two dollars security for every one he puts out is nothing more than a pawnbroker on a big scale. As to bow to succeed in mining, I don’t think any one can tell. The judging a mine is to a large extent a matter of intuition and ex- perience. You learn after a time to know @ good thing when you see it, and still there is a great deal of guesswork about it, after all. As for me, I have never been afraid to back my judgment, and though 1 have made some mistakes, I have been, on the whole, right successful. I believe, you Know, in plenty of money. I believe that a large circulating medium brings good times, and that the more you restrict the currency the greater the distress among beth capitalists and laborers.’ “I am told here that Stratton, the car- benter of Colorado Springs, who struck it rich at Cripple Creek, is making other good hits right along. For twenty-five years luck went against kim. Now he don’t seem able to make a mistake. His big mine, “The Independence,” continues to grow richer. No one but Stratton knows what its output ts, but the general belief is that the mine produces somewhere between one and two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of gold a year. For a time he took out a thousand dollars a day, and I am told that the mine is growing better as it goes further down. Stratton has refused seven million dollars for the property, and he sticks to his old idea that the gold is better where it is than in his pockets. He says that Mother Earth is the best banker that he knows; the gold is there, and that he can get it out when he wants it. You may have heard that Stratton recently gave Tabor fifteen thousand dollars, and told him to go out into the mountains and sec if he could not strike another fortune. Well, that statement seems to,be true. Tabor has left Denver, and is now prospecting in the Rockies. As far’as can learn, the sum was a strafghiout gift from Stratton, and it was coupled wtth no provision that if Tabor struck it ri¢h He was to divide with Stratton. anes Will Tabor's,.Luck Turn? It may be that the’ day will come when Tabor will again be rith anti Stratton again be poor. Tabor's ltick runs in streaks. Like Stratton, the first part of his life was unsuccessful, Then: Dame Fortune smiled, and pure luck made’ him‘ rich beyond the dreams of avarice. Tabor did not get much gray matter by inherHance. His brains are meager. He ‘balf starved. in Maine, and when he first came tg, Colorado and opened his little store near the present site of Leadville his wife had té wash for the miners and take botfrders'to frighten the wolf from the: door Then some miners whom he had grub-staked struck the Little Pittsburg, which was soon yielding $8,000 a day. Tabor and others got possession of the mine. The stock soon sold so that the mine was worth $7,000,000, and Tabor in four months jumped from a cracker ped- dler to a millionaire. He made a big for- tune out of the Matchless, which he got for a song. The. Erin gave him more money, and for a time it seemed as if he could touch nothing without finding it turn to silver or gold under his fingers. Almost every one has read the ups and downs of Tabor’s romance. The story is iP mill to test ‘ouma it would pay Senator Wolcott. fuller of adventures than one of the old yellow-back novels. You know how, when he became a multi-millionaire, he was not suited with new clothes alone, but wanted a new wife as well. He divorced the good old woman who had worked for him and made his fortune and picked up a dashing young widow, with cheeks iike a peach and with eyes which had a brighter sparkle than any of his gold-when it flowed from the smelters. I will not tell the disgraceful story of that divorce suit as it was brought out in the courts of Colorado. 1 saw Tabor after it was over, when he brought the dashing young widow..to Washington city to be married. The wedding took place at Willard’s Hotel, with a dinner fit for a Lucullus in a room that was almost walled ard celled with roses, though the time was midwinter. A celebrated priest’ performed the ceremony. President Arthur was at the wedding and gave a rose to the bride. The event was the talk of the capital, and both before and after it Senator Tabor shone in the brief sunshine of his own no- torlety. He even exhibited to the news- paper correspondents the embroidered night shirts which he had made for the occasion, ’ D. H. Moffat. whispering that the best of them had cost The riage him $200 apiece. ‘was hardly 4 18 chatting the other day with a member of the Colorado legislature. He recalled the time when Tabor was buying votes right end left in order to be elected to the United States Senate. This was just at about the time that Mrs. Humphrey Ward's novel was creating a sensation, and one of the politicians asked Tabor if he had yet seen “Robert Elsmere,” referring, of course, to the novel. “Elsmere? Etsmere?” said Tabor. “No, 1 have not seen him. From what part of the state does he come. How much will it cost to get his vote anyhow?” Tabor’s Opera House here has long passed out of his hands, and also the Tabor block. His opera house in Leadville is no longer his, and I am not sure that his picture ts still left on the drop curtam. It was there for a time, at any rate, and the way in which it was put there forms the subject of the story I heard yesterday. It was when the building had been completed and the artist was painting the drop curtain that Tabor came in. As he watched the progress of the work, he asked the artist: “Whose Picture is that which you're painting in the center of that curtain?” “Shakespeare,” replied the artist. “Who is Shakspeer?” asked the future senator. “Why,” said the artist, “he is the man who has written the greatest of plays—the Bard of Avon, you know. “Shakspeer?” sald Tabor. “Seems to me I've heard the name somewhere. But what in thunder has Shakspeer done for Lead- ville!” “Nothing that I know of,” said the art- ist.” “Then paint that picture out and put me in.” And that is the way Tabor’s picture came to be on the drop curtain. ‘Tom Bowen euchered Tabor out of his long term in the Senate. He used Tahor’s mon- ey and arranged it so that Tabor only got thirty days, while he got six years. Bow- en came out of the Senate poor, and for a time after he got back to Colorado was al- most on his uppers. Then he struck a good mine at Summitville, about twelve miles from Del Norte, in the southern pert of the state. He sold this property for something like $200,000. When he was paid his wife insisted that he put $30,000 into a house in Pueblo and that this be left in her name. She also made him promise that he would settle enough on her to make them both comfortable for the balance of their days, and that he would not enter politics again until he had made a strike of at least half a million dollars. To all of these condi- tions Bowen agreed. He has, I am told, built the house and made the settlement He has still the senatorial bee tn his bo: net and he makes no bones of his great desire to go back Washington. ERA’ G, CARPENTER. ——_+> BOTHERSOME HILLMEN. THOSE They Are Uneasy Neighbors for the British in India. From the Army and Navy Journal. The country of the Mohmands, to which attention has been called by the frontier troubles in India, is described as being ex- ceedingly dreary; the eye is everywhere met by dry ravines between long rows of rocky hills and crags, scantily clothed with coarse grass, scrub-wood and the dwarf palm. In summer great want of water ts felt, and the desert tracts radiate an in- tolerable heat; this, coupled with the un- healthiness of the river lowlands, probably accounts for the inferior physique of the Mohmands to the surrounding tribes. The first occasion on which the British govern- ment came into contact with the Mohmand tribe was during the first war in Afghanis- tan, in 1838-42, During the early years of British rule in the Peshawar valley the Mohmands gave more trouble than almost any other tribe. During the Sepoy outbreak the Mohmands continued their raids, but did nothing of a more formidable nature. The Afridis derive their importance from their geographical position, which gives them command of the Khyber and Kohat roads. They were first encountered by British troops in 1839, when Col. Wade, with’ a contingent of Sikh troops, forced the Khy- ber pass. There was difficulty with them again in 1854, and from that time onward they were continually raiding and being fined or blockaded, though, as one com- missioner remarked, ‘getting fines out of Afridis is like getting blood out of a stone.” During the mutiny the Afridis also did not take advantage of their opportunity, In February, 1851, all the Khyber clans finally ratified the agreement with the British government to keep the Khyber open, the terms of which have now been seriously broken for the first time. The trouble with the Afridis is traced to the policy of bribing them to make them keep the peace, instead of punishing them for breaking it. A native paper at Lahore, India, recently published an interview with the amir’s mir munshi, who was visiting the city. The causes for the late conflicts between British Indian troops and the Afghan tribes on the northern frontier of British India is stated by an officer of the Amir of Afghan- igtan to be the desire to increase the “waz- ifa,” as the mullahs and chiefs call the largess which the Indian government pays to them for keeping the peace. The size of the “wazifa” is a matter of pride with them, as well as a source of income. Their methods of bringing about a “rising” are described as follows: First, they rouse their friends and trust- worthy disciples, and as soon as they have collected a gathering of 300 or 400 they attack and take a post, and send word to the surrounding villagers that they must now ether fight together with them against their enemy or be killed in a quarrel that is not theirs; and thus obliged the poor vil- lagers, nelens volens, take up arms and follow them. Following this method, the chief by and by finds himself at the head of thousands of armed followers, enough, he feels satisfied, to make his own terms with the government.. Another reason that the amir’s officer gave was the interference with the tribal and other customs by po- litical officers. The remedy proposed was that the government should never allow any “wazifa” or largess to those chiefs or mullahs who have once opposed them in the field, so that it may be known among them that those who act_treacherously are never rewarded. An English paper, commenting upon the foregoing statement, says: There is a grain of truth in this criti- cism of the unwisdom of the government policy in paying blackmail, and also, we believe, in relation to the political officers. But, as a whole, of course, these views must be taken, not as the opinions which Afghan officials actually hold, but as those which they wish us to believe that they hold. A Hindu, who was interviewed, stated that India was in a state of chronic revolt, and it required but little agitation to set the whole peninsula in a blaze and sweep away English rule, like the chaff before the wind. The priests are waiting, with im- patience and suppressed rage, for a suitable moment to begin the agitation. The edu- cated Hindus appreciate the advantages of British rule, and this native said: “Today, if the English wanted to leave our land, on our knees must we implore them to remain, for India without the Eng- lish, means disorder or chaos.” Nature is on the side of the natives, who believe in India for the Indians; for the children of English settlers die under the Indian sun, and on the Ganges and Indus there is no European in its third generation. ——+o+___ Silent 50 Years; Now Cannot Speak. From the New York World. Miss Experience Guilford of Blue Hill, Me., made a vow more than half a century ago that if she were not allowed to marry the man of her choice she would not speak @ word to any one though she lived to be fifty years old. Her father, and then her mother, dfed, and her home was changed several times, but throughout all this per- jod she kept her word. The fifty years’ silence was to have come to an end one day last week. The day was named for a re- union of the family. Three generations have grown up during these fifty years. Miss Guilford, dressed in garments she had WITH AN EYE TO TIPS The One Thing a Restaurant Waiter Never Forgets. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE CLASS Many Obsequious, Some Haughty and Others Too Friendly. ——.+ -— FEEL THEIR IMPORTANCE Se Se Written for The Evening Star. ERELY TO tackle elementarily the subject, “Types of Wastington Wait- ers,” is worse than to attempt in a bro- chure a complete de- scription of a con- gress of nations; for the Washington waiter is typical. The Washington waiter, whether server of victual and drink in pillared dining hall or simple carrier of food in a humble “Beef And—,” has absorbed the Washing- ton atmosphere. In pillared dining hall he is an integral part of the life of statesman- ship which floats around him. He is satu- rated with the low-hummed table talk of ten who talk louder in the building of the great white dome, and his “manner” is formed by the grace of women who actually do know how to eat olives. The coffee-a: sinker thruster in the Beef And— is no less molded by the outcroppings of the peculiar Washington spirit that drift with- in his zone, and he is as different from his contemporaneous Beef And— waiter in New York as he could possibly be, even laying aside natural differences arising from the color of his skin. Of course, in Washington the waiter question is a matter of the white and the black, intermediate hues being given due and necessary consideration. But the genu- inely characteristic waiter of Washington is the waiter whose ancestry, in total or in part, is Ethiopian. And there are many varieties of him, all adjusted to his relative highness or lowness of station, but all in- digenously Washingtonesque. He 1s prince and pauper, and everything else between. And he is variously admirable, endurable, objectionable and intolerable. The Obsequious Waiter. Perhaps the least liked type of the Wash- ington waiter—the walter in the hotel din- ing room or the cafe where men and women assemble as much from gregarious- ness as from hunger or thirst—is the ob- sequicus waiter. The obsequlous Washing- ton waiter ig a nuisance so frequent and unforgivable that it is a wonder he was not long ago jammed into the realm of things that were. But he makes so com- plete a hit with himself that there seems little possibility of his effacement. Of course, his service is supremely excellent. Therein les the trouble. He converts you into a feeding Mogul, and bows down and worships you—with a mortal eye, of course, to that moment when, after the demi-tasse, you call for your hat and stick. It is quite impossible for him to sufficiently abase him- self before you. The worst of it is, he hovers so near to you that it might be fancied he was a huge humming bird, and you find it out of the question to tell’ him to go away. You picture the expression of grief on his coun- tenance should you say anything so cruel to him. He watches you eat—waiches every mouthful—and, though his aspect is perfectly and entirely reverential, you yet feel that he is mentally comparing your table manners, your savoir faire, with that of the bearded young legation che you Saw go out as you came in. You make a trifling slip with your fork, and slightly soll the spotless tablec! and you involuntarily glance up to ascer- tain if your humming-bird waiter has cb- served you—though you know he has. You evince a momentary hesitancy as to how to handle your celery—and you feel that your obseguious waiter interds to make a Psychological moment of your decision. He watches your disposition of the contents of each plate like a hawk, in order to pounce upon the table to remove the emptied dish. He asks you if the steak is tender enough with his head so close to your ear that you feel his breath upon your face. All the time, you are saying to yourself, “Well, this fellow is @ blasted auisance, and I would he were 800 miles the other side of Jericho—but he must, of course, be heavily tipped.” You feel that you could not mus- ter up courage to reach the door in safety, when the tremendous moment of your de- parture arrived, did you not hand your ob- sequious waiter a tip three times the size of any tip you ever gave before in your life. And even after you have given him this tip of unusual size, he receives it with @ look into his palm so dubious that you feel that, on the whole, there must be something small and stingy in your nature. ‘There is urgent need for the suppress‘on of the obsequious waiter by strong, husky men. ‘Wants to Be Friendly. And then, the confidential waiter. He ornaments with his presence less gilded and less carpet-muffied institutions, but he abides, im af his bland garrulousness, in pretty pretentious places, for all that. After you have been at one of these places half a dozen times or so, seating yourselt on each occasion at the confidential wait- er’s table, he begins to know you pretty well, and he begins to take a very great in the manner of the obsequious waiter, but from a purely per- sonal standpoint. He extends to you not only the salutation of the day, but he re- marks upon the weether, and ielis you that you don’t look very wel around the eyes. “Ke-ind o’ ‘spepsuh, suh, Ah reckon.” your fidential waiter civilly, and because of this your confidential ‘waiter drifts into the queer belief that you want to be chummy and talkative with him. “Sunt'nly +m a-havin’ uh queeah ol’ time down ‘in Cuba, sub, u-m-h. Ah‘nt theh, suh?” You reply to the extent of ten or fifteen -words, smilingly, and then cast Worse trouble all the time, until your con- fidential waiter has finally fet it quite in- teresting to you to hear, upon you dozenth visit or so, all about the condition of his rising family, the likelihood of an addition theretc, etc. Wherefore, out of mere seif- protection, you are obliged to abandon that table and that hosteiry, perhaps to find worse trouble. Feels His Importance. Worse trouble might mean that you would happen upon the surly walter. The suriy waiter abounds in several of Washington's most notable restaurants, and he is sur Probably, for the reason that he has been a waiter in these notable Washington res- taurants for a good many years, generally, and consequently feels himself more {m- portant to them than the knives and forks. He can netther be cajoled nor conciliated. Take him as he stands. If you don’t Iii him, 9 somewhere else. He'll take your order after a while, when he ts ready. When he does approach your table and in- clines his ear, his attitude is tinctured both with suspicion and indifference. Your or- der being given, he makes no reply, but walks away from the table. leaving you in doubt as to whether he has really got the order right or not. (Ordinarily, you find that he has not, but by that time you are so afraid of him that you make no com- plaint.) He remains away from you a very great length of time after he has taken your order—remains entirely away from your vicinity, in orfer to make it impossible for you to inquire, without yelling, whep you may reasonably expect to be served. Should he accidentally drift in your di tion, and you should direct this inquiry at him with all humility, he flattens you out wit! “Ohduh be suhv'd, suh, wen it’s dun radey.” Gets No Tips. When you rise, and look at your over- coat, and then look expectantly at the surly waiter, lie thinks over the proposition for a moment, apparently, and then, as a man granting a concession, he helps you on with the overcoat. He also considers, obvious- ly, whether he will hand you your hat or not. Of course, you do not tip the surly waiter, for you are so mad clean through that your meal doesn’t set right. As you go out, your mind is employed in wonder- ing whether your surly waiter has made it a life principle never to accept a tip un- der any conditions, and therefore acts ac- cordingly, or whether he has generated some secret grievance against you in par- ticular. Of the surly waiter, of whom it has already been said that he is too numer- ous to mention in this town, it only further needs to be said that he requires severe kicking, and then complete extinction. The blundering waiter is to be found here in no greater numbers than elsewhere, but he is with us, all the same. There are two sorts of him. The first is the genuine paretic, whose memory seems to be disaj pearing at a gallop, as you perceive every time he attends yo nd who is pitiably sorry and repentant when you tell him that he hasn't served you right. The second is the careless attendant who hates you, any- how, and imposes upon you out of pure in- different dislike, and when he is called to account for his weird departures from your directions, impudently maintains that he is right and that you are absolutely wrong. “Yo, all did’n’ ohduh no line’ace puhta- tuhs f'um me, suh—did’n’ say nothin’ "bout no line’ace putatuhs,” and he stands and glares at you in a fashion that makes you remember suddenly that the implement used at parlor socials {s also sald to be oc- casionally carried in common life, and you subside. You'd very much rather have dealings with the blundering waiter, who, when he brings you a totally wrong order, oes all to pieces with remorse, thus: eecAh. suntnly ahm sovhy, suh, "deed is; Ah dun thought yo’ all sak etc. Makes Odtoas Comparisons. In Washington, more than in any other city in the United States, is the waiter who thinks, and shows that he thinks, that you ar> a pretty poor lot compared to some other people he waits on—‘membuhs,” for instance. He gives you the second table of childhood all over again, and he does it wittPa vengeance. He might be termed the exclusive waiter, and he always waits in excivsive places. Into one of these you, an ordinary, plain citizen, wander, filled with light and hope and hunger, and prob- ably quite little degree of pride fitting your station; and you emerge feeling like what Chuck Conners calls “tirty cents.” On entering the establishment you don't feel particularly embarrassed or discum- fited at finding yourself in the society cf a few men whose names the newspapers have made; but after the exclusive waiters have ignored you quite completely for fif- teen minutes or #0, and cast sundry glances upon you as an intruder into the company of the great, you become either embarrassed or mad—most hkely the lat- ter. When the exclusive waiter finally does approach you, examining you as he approaches as you would examine some- thing in a glass case at the National Mu- seum—only then do you begin to perceive the exclusive waiter’s actual haughtiness. And when he has patronized you through- out your meal, often quite utterly abandon- ing you to a marooned fate for long periods of time when you want to give an addi- tional order, you do not love the world as yeu did before. > So He Could Stay at Home, From the Chicago Post. “I would go with you to the end of the earth,” he asserted passionately. “Not with me you wouldn't,” she replied coldly. “Why rot?” he demanded. “For two reasons,” she answered. “One is that I'm not going, and the other is that there isn't any.” When one meets the prosaic new woman one has to be careful what he says. —_——_-oo. ‘The Humorous Crocodile. From Fliegende Biatter.