Evening Star Newspaper, February 11, 1923, Page 69

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, FEBRUARY 11, 1923—PART 5. . [ L ATOUFF PUTS IT OVER Bride of 1862, Given in Marriage by Lincoln, Tells of Elopement and White House Visit § T must have been a fortnight or more since 1 had become the owner of this building where we have a top-floor studio be- fore I noticed the slouchy person who seemed to be leaning restful against the brick wall half-way down the basement steps. Having noted him, I remembered that I had seen him there many times, in the same position. And as Inez’ Uncle Nels has agreed to act as rent col- lector and agent for me, 1 asked him about the man. “That hollow-eved person with no chin to speak of and the weary habits,” 1 went on. “Who or what ® n Oh, that one?” says Uncle Nels. “Why, he's the janitor. Been here right along. Trilby May. the back basement with his wife. That big woman." “Oh, yes.” says I. “I've seen her, plenty of times; rolling out the ash cans, sweeping the sidewalk, and cleaning the halls. But where does the man come in? What's his part?” Uncle Nels hunches his shoulders scornful. “Him?" says he. “I dom't &uess he's much good. Just stands around and bosses.” So my first thought Rim his release. but Nels pointed out that was when Uncle the janitor HE DIDNT BY SEWELL FORD She would ¢ made two of Leon, with some to spare. She even had quite a well-developed mustache, and her forearms showed thick and muscular below the rolled-back sleeves. Evidently the job of tossing ash cans around was nothing to her, so the sympathy I had worked up was more or less wasted. Still I was not ready to let off altogether that indifferent shrimp outside. Perhaps if I showed her just how he was imposing on her, and urged her to make him do his part of the work, she would prod him up. 1 once more freed my mind. You shouldnt allow him to put it all on you, Mr. Latou.” I insist ed. “Why, every time I see him he’ doing nothing but loaf here on the stairs. You ought to take him by the ear and lead him to those ash cans tomorrow morning.” But she only stared at me aston- ished, her heavy jaw dropped, and her beady little eyes rolled fearsomely at the door. “Me?' says she. “I—I to give | APPEAR TO RESENT MY SHARPEST WORDS, HIM WITH MY THRE ATS OR TAUNTS. work was done promptly and neatly, and that the wages pald were small, ide from the free rent of the two basement rooms in the rear: Had also suzgested that I might not find any one else who would do as well. 1 decided not to be hasty. But 1 would speak to ‘him about letting Ris wife roll out those heavy cans, and the very next chance 1 had 1 told him almost evervthing that was on my mind. “See here. my man." 1 opened up as T caught him in his usual pose with his shoulder against the wall and one foot on the second step, “what's vour name?" He didn't act a bit startled guilty. Inifact, for a moment or so he continued to stare vaguely up the street. Then. Wwithout shifting his position or lifting a hand toward the greasy old cap he wore, he rolled his shifty, deep-set brown eves until he had g me w careless glance. “Me?” he. “I am TLeon Latoufr says TOW thrown that for a stopped. Leon that's some name (o at vou. and T second 1 was Latouff! Wh good enough for a French movie star. or a poet, or a popular hero. But after 1 had smothered a little gasp and looked him over again 1 got my courage back. He was such an insignificant, spineless appearing shrimp of a man. And it wasn't altogether because of that inadequate chin which seemed to fade so abruptly Into the thin neck. In his whole slouchy frame. from the toed-in feet to the slumped shouldcra, there wasn't a line sug- gesting any more strength or ener- % than he was using now, to prop himeelf against the bricks and soak in some of the winter sunehine that found its way down between the buildings. “Latouff, ch?’ sass [ “From Paris, or the province of Quebec?" “Brockton, Mass. folks come from Canada, Worked in the shoe shop: “That's encouraging,” says 1. least, there has been industry the family at some time.” “Hey?" says he, giving me an- other shifty glance. “You're supposed to be janitor here, aren't vou?’ I went on. “Or did you think you'd been hired to keep the basement steps from cav- ing in? Now listen, Latouff; may- be vou got away with that tired stuff under the former owner, but it doesn't make a hit with me at all” Yes. T put it real plain to him, telling him he ought to be ashamed to make his wife do all the heavy work. T believe T was almost elo- quent over it, and I'm sure I cov- ered the case from all angles. But somehow very little of it seemed to register with Leon Latouff. He still slouched there in the sun, his dull brown eyes fixed vaguely on the street, his hands resting limp in the pockets of his old coat. He didn't appear to resent my sharpest words, and not & squirm did I get out of him wits my threats or taunts. He simply iynored the whole affair, shrugging eme shoulder when I had finished, as much as to sa ‘Thet women! You gotta let ‘em talk.” 8o I saw that I was waating my breath. But T wasn't beaten. No. Before I turned the Latouffs out I weuld have a talk with the wife. And, pushing past Leon, 1 walked through (o thelr dingy quarters in the rear. There I found Mrs. Latouff Busy over & two-burner gas range cesking something in & copper stew-pan —~something that wmelled garlicky and asty. almost though. “at in and | or | have | admit | that | wouldn’t dare do nothing like that. No. Not to Mr. Latouff.” Surely.” says [. “you ycu're afraid of him. She nods vigorousiy. I 4are.” she repeats. “How absurd:" says 1. “Why. don't »ou know vou could turn him over vour knee and spank him ,if necessary™" A panicky shiver shook her huge frame as she waved her hands in pro- test. man,” she almost whispered. “He don’t look so strong. No. But he deep, that one. All the time he thin, thinks. Such thoughts. Ah-h-h:" “Well, what thoughts”' I asked Mrs. Latouff shuddered and shook her great head. “I couldn’t tell.” she. “Nobody could tell, but M touff, and he don’t say much. when he don't stand and thin and reads. Such a reader:” “Yes?" says I. This was getting most mysterious. insignificant man like that work such a spell on a woman who could easil have boxed his ears or throw him through a window? And vet there wa 1o doubt that Mr. Lalouff was a thor- oughly tamed wife. in awe of him. Here was a situation that seemed worth looking into. “He's a great reader. is he?” on. “Well, what's his 1i don't mean La- And he sits interesting. I goes e: what sort |of stuft does he read She drew up her shoulders and spread out her big red hands. “I don't know what.” says she. “Me, I was poor girl and worked in factory— pasting heels. 1 don’t go to school much. But Mr. Latouff. he's got edu- cated. He reads the newspapers. French ones. too. Cuts pieces ‘em.” “Really!” says I Certainly this was an odd way of impressing a wife. What does he do with the pieces he cuts out?” Mrs. Latouff paddled across the | room to the door, peered warily through the hallway toward the steps where her husband was still sunning himself, and then came back. “You— you won't say I told you?” she asked huskily. “Then T “Come." show you. says she. * ok ok ok HROUGH into the furnace room she led me, and there, in a corner which had been partly partitioned off with sides from packing boxes, was a little coop of a place furnished with a rickety table and an old arm- chair. Jt was a snug place. well warmed by the nearby furnace. and an electric drop light had been rigged handily over the table. But the odd part of the den was the wall decora- tions. Every inch of the three sides was covered with pictures and clip- pings cut from newspapers and tacked on. “Quite a gallery,” 1 commented. Then I noticed that the pictures were not the usual sort which are cut out for decorative purposes—not art copies from the rotogravure section, or half-tone of chorus girls, or of so- clety leaders snapped at Palm Beach or Newport. They were all of men. Not of public notables, either. There wasn't one of President Harding, or Chief. Justice Taft, or of Gen. Per- shing, or even of Douglas Sairbanks. No. These were all pictures of no- torious characters—men who had fig- ured prominently in sensational cases during the past five vears. Some of the pictures had been taken from foreign papers and were of men whose names 1 had either forgotten or hadn't heard. With each portrait, too, were tacked up clippings relating 10 the difterent cases. As I glanced through the. collection IT found that each one had to do with wouldn't | “But—but you don’t know that | al- | How could a little. | She was actually | from | disappearance, mostly the latter, They were of men who had dropped out, with a few exceptions, and in every such instance their descriptions were carefully tacked below the pictures ‘That's a queer line” I remarked. “What does he think he is, a detec- tive?” “I dunno,” never talks much “Huh!" says 1. “Seems to have a mania for this sort of thing. May T ask, Mrs. Latouff, has your husband ever been mixed up in anything of the kind. as a witness, or something like that? says Mrs. Latouff. “He out ‘em." * ok ok ok “Him?" says she. No. He's never done anything much. Used to work in a shoe factory before we was mar- ried—in Brockton. But he was kind of sick. So since we come to New York he's always had janitor jobs. And he never goes out anywhere— just stays in the basement and thinks and reads. I RTe Y b AND NOT A SQUIRM DID I GET OUT OF | ot such a {gests. No," | either thrilling life,” T sug- says she. “He don't like it, He says he might as well be a ground mole, a rat. But once {when I was in here whila he was |euttin’ out some pictures he—he—Oh, I shouldn't tell that.” ‘ome on. let's have it" I urged “Well.* says she. after peering out to make sure Latouff was not near, “once he showed me them pictures and says hr)“ sometimes he'sg onnna | be like that- | " says | “How like that”" | “I dunno.” says Mre. Latoutr | he says some day I'll be seein’ |ture in all the paper “That's whale of an ambition,” ! savs 1. “Wants to break into the mys- ry gallery, does he? Just what do | vou think his scheme is? | But that was further than Mrs. |Latouff had thought or been informed. She knew. though. that he was deep, nd she was ready to believe him pable of almost anything. “If he says he will,” she announces solemn, | “he’ll do it. He's like that. Mr. L ltouft. T—1 get afraid of him." | x ox % % HE was so earnest about it that 1 couldn’t help smiling. “1 wouldn't worry,” says J. “T doubt if he has energy enough to do more than talk |about such things. This is as far as he’ll ever get—this collection. Here's his atest addition, I suppose—Dr. Ba- zan?" Mrs. Latouff shook her head. so T |€xplained. *“Why, he's that French doctor who was so careless with his wives” says 1. “I believe they've counted more than a dozen that he's had in as many years, and every one disappeared after a few months. They | think he burned 'em up, or dissolved them in a tank of acid, or something like that. But they're having a time proving anything against him, and all France seems to be excited over the |case A lot has been printed in the New York papers. too. It's the my. tery of the day. See, here are half a dozen pictures of the doctor. Rather an inoffensive looking person, at that, ism't he? Doesh't look as If he had nerve enough to stay out late for dinner. Why, he— Say. do you know, this would pass for a likeness of Mr. Latouft?” She stared at the largest portrait of the group and nodded doubtfully. “A little, it looks like him,” she ad- mits. “The same deep set eyes, same kind of a nose, and a chin just like his,” 1 goes on. “With a pair of spectacles like that on Mr. Latouff, you could hardly tell them apart.” He don't wear giasses, Mr. La- touff.” she protests. nd I—TI'm afraid he comes in here and catches me."” Funny how you can hardly help getting nervous yourself in a case like that. 1 found myself scurrylng out behind Mrs. Latouff and glancing varily toward the basement door. But the deep thinking Leon had not stirred from his position, and he was still slouching against the wall as I went out, a few moments later. * ok K ok T must have been nearly two weeks afterward, and 1 was still trying to make up my mind wheth- er to discharge the Latouffs or let them stay on, when one morning the husky Rosa came up to the top floor and knocked at the studlo door. As T let her in I saw a wild look in her little eves and noticed that her lids were red, as if she had been crying. “Why, Mrs. Latouff!” says I 'What's the matter?” “He—he don’t come back!" she walled. slumping into a chair and covering her face with her red hands. ‘Eh?” says I, puzzled. “Who n't come back?” ‘Mr. Latouft,” says she. or “But his pic- “He— he's « @h-Zibtle-weman, shis Mrs, Latouff. s murder myslery or & mysterious gope!® “Gone?" says I. “Since when?" “Day before yesterday,” she moans. “He never did that before, never. He don't sy he's goin’, and I don't see him when he goes. But at lunch time he ain't there, and his over- coat and hat ain’t on the hook I wait and wait. He don't come to dinner, either. Nor afterwards 1 st up all night, worryin' about him. Then all day I look for him, but it's no good. And now he's been gone two nighta I don't know what T should do, Miss Dodse.” “Are you' sure he hasn't gone somewhere to visit friends?" T asked. “He ain't got friends, him,” says she. “Always he stay by himselr. Do you know what, Miss Dodge? I —1 bet he's gone and done ft." “Done what?’ T demanded. “Like he sald he would,” Got himself in the papers: “But how could he?’ I protested. “Besides, I've seen the newspapers right along and there hasn't been a word about any one of that name having been arrested. Of course, I wasn't looking particularly for a Latouff mystery. Wait, though, T'll %o over the morning edition again. And while she sat there dumbly, | her great shoulders heaving from | suppressed sobs. 1 went carefully | through the columns of crime. No Leon Latouff figured in them, how- |ever. T had given up the search and was about to toss the news- | paper on the table, when a front page picture caught my eye. It had {2 familiar look. And then I remem- bered. Dr. Bazan! Next, under the | big headlines, I read that the notori- ous French wife slayer had been arrested as he was trying to slip ashore from a French line pier. [ | recalled that he had made « sensa- [tional escape from the Paris police | just as he was about to go on trial, |and that he was being hunted for lin every city of Europe. | “Why, this is odd.” says 1 | “You—you find something asks. she t exactly,” says 1 know that Dr. Bazan. looks like Latouff? Well, found, here in New York. husband is missing.” But—but Mr. Latouff, murderer.” she protests. “Of course not.” says I. some way he must | mot it | “You—you asks “I'm not sure” says L “but I'm |Roing to have a try. Here' Go |down and hail a taxi for me. I'll be there in a moment.” “But the o vou who he's been And vour he ain't no “And yet in have—I've can find him. eh”" * o % ox USUAL. I was following a hunch. So. half an hour later. 1 was down at the Tombs try- N to persuade a surly turnkey to take me into the cell where this | mysterious Dr. Bazan was locked up. *Nothin' doing. sister.” says he. No more lady reporter been a dozen here alreadx and all got the gate. en's orders.” “But I'm not a lady reporter.” I insisted. “I know the man. He— he's a friend of mine.” “Yes. thats the tale most of ‘em springs” says he. “Some i< his cousine, some bring him bouques But it don't get by with me. So vou might as well run along, sister.” I was still putting up an argu- ment when a black-whiskered, frock- coated person arrived and announced that he was from the office of the French consul general and must see the prisoner. “I wish to know if he is the true Dr. Bazan." says he, “that I may cable the government.” “I'll see what th' warden grunts the turnkey “If you get in you'll need m suggests to the French official. ure I know who this man is. name is Latouff. and he's a janitor on East 21st street. who has never been nearer Paris than he is now." “Ah, m'seile!” says Frenchy. “Then it must be arrange for you (o come also. I shall demand.” | He did. too. And a great |demander he was. He told warden in two languages that we must go in at once, or the French government would be much annoyed. “Oh. all right.” says the warden. “Ten minutes, then. Take 'em in, Jim?* And when we had been towed through a maze of winding corri- dors and up several flights of iron stairs, we found a thin-faced little man blinking at us through steel- rimmed amber glasses. He seemed to have been waiting expectantly be- hind the barred cell door, and almost beamed as the French official came Up to him. photograph in hand “Yes. yes!" says Frenchy. Bazan.” “Bazan nothing!" says I. pushing in. “Its only Leon Latouff. Isn't that true, Leon?" He drew back startled at sight of me, and scowled. Then he muttered “Je ne comprend.” and turned away “Oh, you don’t, eh?" says I. “Well, I know better. You comprend, all right. So do I. T know that fade- away chin of Jours too well to be mistaken. And I'm wise to just how you've worked this bluff. Got your- self a pair of smoked glasses and then sneaked down to the steamer pler so you'd bé mistaken for Dr. Bazan. Eh? Oh, I've looked over your rogue's gallery newspaper clip- pings, and I've heard about your am- bition to get yourself in print. Well, you've done it. But now: you ought to be satisfied. Your poor wife is about crazy from worry, you know.” All the reply I could get from him was another “Je ne comprend.” “Very well,” says 1. “Then we'll just have to bring Rosa down here. She'll identify you quick enough.” That seemed to be the convincing word. Suddenly he turned, “Rosa!” says he. “She knows, eh? She will see I am of some account. ,Oh, well! Maybe the police have made one big mistake, It was not for me to say. Bring Rosa here. and let her tell them that I am Leon latouff. And ask her to buy all the newsp#pers— all” THINK he would have been ready I to go home at once, but getting out’ of the Tombs isn't so simple as that. In fact, if the early edi- tions of the evening papers hadn't carried stories to the effect that the real Dr. Bazan had been discovered in a suburb of Paris it might have been several days before the Tombs people let Leon loose. As it was, Mrs. Latouff spent the whole day walting around before she and her hubby were finally taken before a police judge and she was allowed to take him home. (Copyright, 1923, by Sewell Fordd they Them's the ward- says, . “I'm His little the “It is * k% ¥ she There's | Indiana Woman, Former Virginian, Says She and Her Lover, Unable to Wed at Harpers Ferry, Went to Executive Mansion Because They "Didn't Know Any Better'—President Summoned Clergyman for Ceremony—Gay Wedding Party Held—Bridgegroom Kept Wife's Promise That He Should Serve in Union Army Event. O have been married in the White House in President Lin- coln’s admmnistration; to have been given away as a bride by the President himself; to have eaten the wedding supper at the great statesman’s table, and to have spent the first night of married life in the executive mansion—all this is a dis- tin¢tion. The unique experience is one that is vividly remembered by Mrs. Elizabeth Chandler, a bride of 1862. who now lives at 2819 East Lynn street, Anderson, Ind. Mrs. Chandler, who is eighty years of age, is believed to be the only liv- ing woman who was married in the White House in Mr. Lincoln's time, and the only woman not of a Presi- dents’ family ever to be married in the President's residence. However, she sees nothing unusual about it all, but recalls the time when she and her youthful suitor, James Henry Chandler, after several months of secret courtship, eloped from their homes near Mount Sidney, Va., and went to Harpers Ferry to be married Upon learning that. on account of local conditions, they could not be married at that place, they took the next stage to Washington. Making their way to the White House, they finally gained admission. told Presi- Gent Lincoln of their disappointment at Harpers Ferry. and were married by a Baptist minister. to whom Mr. Lincoln sent a gently peremptory S. 0. 8. * % ox % OURTIN' in the open wasn't al- lowed very often in Virginia those days. Henry and I had to do our courtin’ on the sly,” said Mrs. Chandler. she began to tell ghe story. “On church nights I would sa that I was going with my Uncle Joe, and Aunt Kit, and Henry would al- ways meet me at the barn gate. He fwould walk with me until we came near the lights of the church, then I would wait at the door and go in with Uncle Joe and Aunt Kit, and after a while Henry would come in by himself. Then, besides these meet- ings. we wrote lots of letters.” “Did you mail vour letters at the office” Mre. Chandler was asked. “Land sakes allve! No,” she quickly replied “That wouldn't have done at all! ‘Old Black Bill’ he carried our letters to us for a long time, but one {day he came to me and said: "Miss zie, you all know if Marse John ever catched me fetching these here letters to vou, he would break my back.’ After that 1 ‘Black Bill' bring the letters to me but he would hide them under a roc near the spring and T would get them there.” “Quite an interesting said the interviewer. “Yes, but Henry and 1 soon got tired of being so secret about everything. %0 we decided to run away and get married.” she replied “You didn’t get much of a chance to get many of vour wedding clothes made, did you?" the eiderly lady was asked “Yes. Aunt Kit helped us a lot. She and Uncle Joe would never tell the folks that Henry walked to and from church with me. She was making the clothes for her daughter to be married in, so she made mine at the same time. We girls were about the same age and the same size and she made the clothes just alike’ Mrs. Chandler told with a hearty chuckle about her mother helping to make the wedding dress that was worn to the White House, the mother thinking all the time she was making the dress for her nlece, Who was to be married. “Mother didn't know making the dress for me.’ tiow did you get awa: next question. “Well. one day one of Henry's neighbors came over and dropped in to see the folks awhile. He said to me. ‘How long since you have been over to visit your Aunt Minnie?' As soon as he said this 1 knew that Henry had sent him after me. T asked him if his horse carried double. and after ha told me that it did, 1 told the folks that T was going to ride with him over to my aunt’s and stay (he rest of the week. We went direct to Mount Sidney, where Henry was waiting for me.” «Well, what did you do about the wed- ! ding clothes?” T interrupted. “Oh! Aunt ‘Kit' had already sent the clothes over there, and 1 was ready to go when the stage left. We never let any one see us together at Mount Sid- ney. In fact, I did not ses Henry until he met the stage at the edge of the town. A young doctor who also wanted to marry me saw me when I got on the astage, but I told him that T was just | going out in the country for a few days. * ok * ¥ HEN ‘we got to Harpers Ferry they told us that we could not got mhrried there. Things were in bad shape at that time. We had gone that far and thought we might as well go ahead, so we took the next stage to ‘Washington.” “How dlid White House ked. *We were just a couple of lreen Vir- ginlans from down in the hills, and didn’t know any better than to go to the White House to get marrled,” 1aughed the old lady. *We asked a man who was coming out of the White House if we could get married there. He =aid that he didn’t know, but he took us to the door where the colored man was standing, and this porter or butler or whatever you call ‘em took us to the President. “rwell, what do you children want?" the President asked us. Henry told him of our disappointment at Harper’s Ferry and that we had come there to get married. Mr. Lincoln turned to me and said, ‘If T help you to be married, will you be willing to give your hus- band to fight for his country? After 1 told him that I would, he motioned to the porter and then Henry and the col- ‘ored fellow went away, leaving me there with Mr. Lincoin, but they soon came back, bringing a man with them who sald he was a Baptist minister.” “Where did you get the license?" Mrs. Chandler was asked. “T 40 not remember. 1 was 80 excited that 1 could nog know-all courtship.” that she was * she said. " was the ou happen to go to the Mrs. chandler was would never let | A RECENT PHOTOGRAPH OF MRS. CHANDLER pened. 1 suppose Henry and the colored man got the license before they came back with the minister. 1 do remem- ber, though, that either Mr. Lincoln or the minister examined the license to see if it was all right.” ‘Do you remember anyth coln said when he gave you away bride?” was the next query to Chandler. “Well, he rang a bell and a number of people came in. Then he said that we were nice looking folks and he didn’t understand why we had to run away to get married.” Mrs. Chandler. with a told about the minister after the wedding that customary for the n bride. “He had whiskers as 1 was there, | through with it a hearty inf Taugh, 5 her lways to kiss the was but 1 thought that might as well go she chuckled. *“Mr. MRS. ELIZABETH CHANDLER AS Sl(-l_l;.) APPEARED FORTY YEARS AGO. Lincoln was standing by the minister when he kissed me, and 1 looked for Mr. Lincoln to say that it was his time next, but he didn't." * ok Kk RS. CHANDLER remembers one of the members of Mr. Lincoln's cabi- net happened to be on hand at the time and acted as best man at the wedding. She cannot now recall the cabinet mem- ber's name. “After the wedding they insisted that we stay there all night. A lady took me to a room and one of the men took Henry to another room. When we got to the room the lady asked me if I had another dress with me, and she seemed to be astonished, but pleased, when I said that I had. She told me that a number of people were coming to the White House to spend the evening, and that 1 had better get my clothes changed, for they would probably want us to come down and foin the party when they heard of the wedding. “Soon after I was ready, the women of the party came to my room and the men went to Henry's room, bringing all kinds of bells and making all kinds of noises. 1 never was o embarrassed in all my life. We had to 50 down with them and play games, and say, some of those young men actually sat in my lap. T don’t know what Henry thought about that. “Later in the evening they gave & supper for us. 1 remember they served some kind of hot punch. It was nearly midnight when they had this supper and after the supper they began to dance. I pretended that I didn't know how to dance, but they made both of us get out on the floor anyway. 1 don’t think they had as much fun as they ex- | green about many other things, we both knew how to dance.” *“There’s a bit of difference in dancing of today, is there not?” gested the listener, should say there is.” admitted. “People don't dance these days. They just go around over the floor, hugging each other. We used to really dance those da; “I suppose you were having the time of your life,” was the querry that caused the sug- she quickly | the elderly lady to recall the departure from the White House. Yes. they were awful kind and all that, but Henry and 1 were not used to so much fuss being made over us, and we were anxious to get a Finally the porter came to us and asked when we would like to go. Henry told him that we would like to go just as soon ds we possibly could. At 4 o'clock he got our things for us and a cab took us to a place where we could start imme- diately on our journey back home. T remember that we went part of the way home on the steamboat.” According to Mrs. Chandler. almost two vears after the wedding before Mr. Chandler entered the army. Mr. Chandler never forgot the kindness of the great statesman. and even though all of his folks were on the side of the south during the war, and the senti- ment of the community was so strong that he had to enlist in the armies of the south, it was not long before he laid down his gun and turned himself over 10 a few Union soldiers, offering to en- list in their army. After a few days of investigation. he was allowed to enlist, it was | and fought under the Stars and Stripes | until the end of the war. being a mem- of New Jersey ber Cavalry. Company A, 1st * % ok % 'TER Mr. Chandle transfer to the northern army Mrs. Chandler did not hear from him for five years. It was not until after the war was over and the hostile spirit and sentiment of the Virginia community was somewhat sub- dued that the man who had dared to fight “against his own family” dared to return home. Had it not been for a certain measure of faith in the make- up of the “White House bride,” Mr. Chandler might have been another “Enoch Arden.” For five years Mrs. Chandier believed her husband to be dead. A young doc- tor who had been an early suitor still held out for the hand of the one whom he thought to be a war widow. How- ever, the vow taken in the White House In the presence of the country's great statesman was a solemn one to the supposed widow. When Mr. Chandler returned he found the home still fur- nished and the wife working for her nelghbors in order to make a living. She was still waiting and sustaining a faint hope for his ultimate return. Soon after the war Mr. and Mrs. Chandler went to Indiana. They reared a family of four children, all of whom make their homes in the Hoosier state. Mr. Chandler died about twenty-five vears ago. Mrs. Chandler lives alone in Anderson, being supported by a pen- sion the government pays to the widow of one of the country’s honored soldiers. In the penslon record is found what probably is the only official record that has been made of Mrs. Chandler's wed- ding in the White House. She has re- ceived letters from many historians or biographers, and even {rom some of the other brides of the White House, asking for detailed information as to her wed- ding, but all these letters have gone un- heeded. Although Mrs. Chandler is more than eighty vears old, she enjoys the best of heaith and gets about on foot. “I keep healthy and strong by walk- ing and not worrying.” she says. “I've gone tarough #1l sorts of experiences and lived here alone all these years, but I don’t allow myself to worry about any- thing. What will be, will be any way; 50 why worry?" “Do vou ever wish that you had mar- red the youns doctor?’ she was asked. “I should say not!” she retorted 9 juat Hency ol Mrs. Chandler, at Eighty, Recalls Unique were in school. He was the only man | ever courted. 1 had some hard times when I tried to court him en the siy. 1 had many hard trials while I did not know where he was for five years, and even though I have lived here alone these many yea 1 haven't a single regret. 1f 1 had my life to live over again, T would go with Henry Chandler to Harpers Ferry or to Washington er any other place in the world to be mar- ried, even if I knew all the same things would happen again.” Useful Powders From Waste Waters. 7THE atomizer has gone into busi- ness for itself and is making bix dividends out of wastes. Such ewil fooking liquid as the greasy waters from fish oil plants, waste sulphite liquors from paper mills, and the waters {n which raw wool has been washed vield wealth when forced through the atomizer. Walter H. Dickerson, 2. member of the New York section of the Ameri- can Chemical Society, gives a de- scription of the recently invented machinery which reduces materials from = liquld 1o a dry powder con- dition. The process is described, briefly, as one of “reducing the material to bha dried to a finely divided state by spraying or atomising: exposing the spray to heated air or gas and quick- 1y effecting the evaporation of the moisture conten: Mr. Dickerson believes that soms day the Chicago river may be run through such a machine, to the gre: er beauty of the stream itself and to good economic advantage. “Indeed,’ this would be entirely pos- sible and advantageous,” said he, “if the waste heat that escapes up the flues of manufaturing plants in the industrial district of Chicago near the river could be utilized for drying operations.” In paper manufacture, chemist have found only about 50 per cent of the wood used in making pulp goes into the paper. The remaining por- tion of the wood passes off in the waste waters from the plant. Analys showed that these waste waters con- tained high proportions of lignin— the adhesive material in wood. This is not required in paper but {s very use- ful for the making of binders—cores for use in making molds used in foundaries, and in making coal briquettes. The spray drying process makes the recovery of the lignin a profitable operation. The waste waters from fish oil plants yield materials good for fer- tilizer and for poultry food. Waste waters from wool cleansing plants give grease, nitrogen and pot- ash. Other industrial uses of the process include a new method of making starch, in that it can be reduced to the form of fine powder through the atomizer and drier cheaper and faster than by old methods of drying. ‘Wastes from the sugar mills of Cuba and Louisiana are being mads into stock foods, and the pineappla juices which herstofore were allowed to run into the ocean from the can- ning plants in Hawaii are now be- ing preserved and converted into fine sugars. In the manufacture of powdered milk one of the difficulties encounter- ed has been that of temperature con- trol. The product often has a burnt or ‘“caramel” tagte. By the spray drying process this has been elimi- nated Neon in Spring Water. [T is but a few years ago that the atmospheric gases argon and neon were discovered, and that helium, an element previously known to exlst only in the sun and certain stars, was found combined with rare minerals on the earth. Since then argon and helium have been discovered in the waters of many mineral springs, and it has been shown that the helium issuing from such springs is probably derived from radium in the roeks Some time ago Charles Moiureu in- formed the French Academy of his discovery of neon in twenty-twe mineral springs whose waters were already known to contaln argon and helium. He believes that neon fis generally present in warm springs. Dancing Stars. 7T HE revelations of the spectroscope which is capable of showing the displacement of stars toward or from the earth, make the starry heavens, to the astronomer’s eye, appear almost s full of mazy motions as is a cloud of gnats dancing in the sunbeams. Every increase in the power of the observing apparatus brings to notice new “spectroscopic binaries,” which are simply double stars that cannet be separately seen, either because of their extreme closeness or because only one of them is = shining body. It is the erratic motions of these ‘wonderful stars that reveal their true character. One is Eta Orionls, which hangs just below the belt of Orion. Sometimes this star is speeding te- ward the earth more than forty miles & second, and a few nights later is hurrying away with a similar velocity. Alcohol and Iron. S a result of the constantly in- creasing demand for wood alcohel, both for fuel and in the arts, there is a renewed activity in the manufag- ture of the finest grades o? iron m this country. For smelting th charcoal is much better than coke. It has always been expensive, however, and has gone entirely out of use in most American furnaces. Now that its by-product, wood alcohel, com- mands a steady market at a good price, charcoal works, or rather wood chemical works, are increasing in numbers, and furnaces are getting &