Evening Star Newspaper, January 13, 1929, Page 89

"THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JANUARY 13, 1929—PART 7. - Famous Missteps of Justice—The Strange Case of William BY JOSEPH CALLOMB. WILL call this simply the report of an amazing murder, though I am tempted to put it forward as per- haps the most amazing murder in And, what makes its brilliant uniqueness stand out the annals of crime. all the more is its shabby setting and actors, some of them sordid, all of them commonplace in the main. In Shake- speare’ time, even in the pages of the great playwright himself, a story was not considered worth presenting unless 1t had royalty or at least nobility parti- cipating in it. Here Is a true tale of an Edinburgh slum; but I venture to be- lieve that even to on Elizabethan audi- ence it would have haj something to say with its tragedy of blood, its white- hot passions and the warping of the human heart that gives it its outstand- ing place in the records of extraordinary erime. William Shaw had been a soldier most of his adult years, a private and finally a ncn-commissioned officer in the Brit- ish Army, hardened by many years of campaigning in India and Africa. He was a six-footer and the fact that he survived the wars, the fevers, the sav- agery and the jungles, the deserts and the pest holes of his many military campaigns tells something of his vitality and strength. When he finally retired on a pension and came to Edinburgh to live with his daughter he was not con- tent to idle, but worked up a trade as a free-lance locksmith. By nature and from his military life he derived a simple way of looking at human relations. The world was di- vided into two classes of people, those whom you had to obey implicitly and those who had to obey you. The first art of his creed had to be knocked into im with musket butts, fists and courts- martial. For when Shaw first joined the army he had a temper that needed a lot of curbing. It took years before he learned to keep it in check when a mili- tary superior got him angry. He never did learn to swallow resentment when it was a fellow private who roused it. And now that he was back in his native Edinburgh, the years had only added | the character of a military tyrant to the pe;d which all his army years had not u is daughter Catherineé, now a young ‘woman of 19, was the fruit of a hasty marriage into which Shaw had plunged ‘when he was on leave and full of liquor. On his return to Edinburgh Shaw searched and found the offspring of his debauch. She was a slim and pretty thing with her mother’'s wanton eyes and hair, her father's temper eloquent in Ler ripe, sensual lips, and her nature was a fairly even mixture of the worst traits of her parents. She consented to come and live with her father solely because it would cost her no money. Otherwise he was to her only a stranger on whom she had a sort of claim through the accident of birgy. Shaw, on his side, saw in his daugh¥r the image of her mother, a woman of the streets who had trapped: him into marriage. Now, however, that he was a father, he meant to do his duty. He would support her. She did not need to work if she did not want to—and she did not want to work. But she would have to obevuhlm.tm&h x;!rxlers were to be carried out with as little argument as orders were obeyed in the army. il I'r was not long before a pitched bat- tle ensued between father and daugh- ter. They had taken a small four- room flat on the top floor of a wooden itenement in a huge block of other sim- ilar tenements. It was an old house, with cracks in ceiling, walls and floors, wherever or boards could no Jonger withstand the drying and warp- ing of age. In such a house nokher hard to hlzflvfitm p:renq tll‘ achieve, a] ly Shaw nor his dmgh&r cared heard of had won the argument by his daughter the beating of her life. Then he went out on his daily search for locks mend and keys to make. Morrison went into the Shaw flat and found Catherine on the shaking ‘with sobs and rage. One of her pretty blue eyes was almost invisible, so hard had her father hit her. Her face was splotched from blows and weeping, and altogether she was not the pretty sight o | 101 on in the neighbo: room he put his ear to that part of the wall. 2 It was in this. way that he heard Lawson's easy wooing and later his less sentimental interest in what was being kept in the oak-chest. He:even heard Lawson try to open that chest. But Shaw was too good a locksmith and the chest resisted. Then Morrison heard Lawson per- suading Catherine to. steal the key from her father, bring the contents away and take up life with him. “I know horse racing. With a little money to start us,” Lawson was say- ing, “you and I will soon be in clover. In a week I can make a pound for every shilling we start with. Then it will be Monte Carlo and all sorts or nice places for you and me, sweet- heart!” Catherine seemed more than willing to try to make the vision real. “But the old miser has taken good care to hide the keys,” she said. “I don’t know where they are, but they must be in the house.” * ok ok X HILE the two lovers were search- ing for the keys to the chest, Morrison went looking for Shaw. He knew the neighborhood in which the locksmith was plying his trade and found him. “I've no love for you, Shaw,” Morri- son said. “But I'm not so heartless as to want to see you robbed both of your daughter and your hard-earned savings. You're being ‘robbed at this moment. A young thief your Catherine has picked up is in your home. .They've been looking for the keys to your oak chest. If they find them it'll be the last you'll see of your money.and your daughter!” Shaw hurried home. He entered it 50 suddenly that the couple he startled showed every sign of guilt he had ex- pected. Striding over to young Lawson, he put one big hand about the scruft of his neck, the other on his rear and, rugring him to the hall door, threw him across the landing and down a flight of stairs. Then he slammed the door shut and addressed himself to the daughter. He had not much to say, but the interview ended with the young woman prone on the floor of the living room too bat- tered even to sit up. . ‘Then the father opened up his lock- smith kit and began working on the door to his flat. When he got through with it that door was as well secured with locks as the oak chest. His daughter raised her brulsed and tear-stained face and, gathering her- self together, she collected some clothes and made for the door. “Where are you going?” her father demanded. “Where Il never have to look at your hateful old face again!” she cried passionately. “If I come back it'll be ongn !‘gr the pleasure of seeing it in & cof Her father preceded her to the door. “If you leave this house it will have to be by way of the window!” he said. “I've g}l{lt two of my best locks on that door. e keys will never leave my pocket. As for that theif you've picked for a lover, he'll have to prove elf a bet- ter burglar than I'm a th if he wants to see you again!” his worl Slinging king shoulder Shaw left the house and his daughter stayed in it. She spent a hysterical time trying to break open the door. Then she ran to the window. But she was too fond of life to try escape in that direction. * ko ko X kit over his ports which Marrison was glad to share with_the others, the situation in the was no novelty to the neighborhood. At first Morrison had been Catherine’s champion, and the neighborhood, -taking their clue from him, was tempted to call in the law against the I lith. Now Morrison declared that it was the locksmith who was entitled to sym- pathy. Here was a man, Morrison pointed out, who had served England many years as a soldier. He had come home to do his duty by a wastrel of a daughter, who was repaying him by taking up with a thief who had tried to rob the old veteran of his hard-earned savings. If the soldier hept his daugh- ter behind lock and key it was only to keep her from a life as a wanton. It was too bad that occasionally the vet- eran lost his temper and had to beat the m but with the kind of mother she had, how, demanded Morrison, could a father otherwise keep his daugh- ter in the path of virtue? N!me. it was through the window that there came to her could do noth- strategy, however, Shaw was no match for Lawson, in a few days love again laughed at a locksmith—if what brought Lawson back could be called ve. Concealed in a neighboring doorway, Lawson watched the Shaw tenement and saw the locksmith go out on his day’s work. In the window of the Shaw flat he saw Catherine. She saw him. It was not the first time they had com- municated by signs. Lawson had with him two bulky crossed the of which Morrison was so fond, for he was among the men who had shared Chtherine’s favor. “T'll tell your father what I think of him for this!” Morrison said indig- nantly. “Tell it to him with a chair leg or he'll d':r all the talking!” raged the daughter. Feeling it up to his manhood to re- monstrate with Shaw, Morrison waited for the ex-soldier to come home that night. When the two men met before Shaw’s door, Morrison read him an int lecture. He should have taken Catherine's advice more sericus- ly, for Shaw did not like to be lectured jon his duty as a father by a man he suspected was one of his daughter’s lovers. ‘The whole tenement resounded with the roar of resentment Shaw let out. |Then he simply knocked Morrison down. |Catherine heard it from inside their flat and came out to see how Morrison /had championed her. ‘The sight did not arouse her admi- tion, and as Morrison crawled back into_his own flat Catherine’s derisive laughter told him that he could no Jonger count on her favor. ‘To Catherine love was something that troubled men, not her. She had liked scores of men, but had never given away [her heart. She was too fond of herself Yo give any one that. She saw from the ‘way men—and other women—behaved ithat if you loved any one you lost your self-possession; you were at the mercy ©f another; you made sacrifices at the altar of love—and Catherine did not to make sacrifices. * R BUT one Sunday in a dance hall she met a sleek young man by the mame of Lawson. His speech was /&mooth, his hair was glossv, his clothes professionally attractive and the young Bussive. " He Ganccd ingeatiaiingly and sive. He dan tiat] an ‘wooed swiftly. R He told Catherine she was the one ‘woman of his life, and whether she be- lieved it or not it set her heart pound- ing. For the first time in her life Catherine felt she loved some one more than herself. The realization of it left her breathless and robbed her of her sense of self. _ He asked her about her home life eand she told him, hoping be would offer to take her out of it. He did not. He promised to visit ber when 'her father was away. He came the following day, and it was then that !the jealous Morrison next door saw Wwho was his successor. Lawson made the most of his first it. Along with his love-making he showed a strong interest in the eco- momic side of Catherine's home life. ‘What did they live on? he asked. “Father’s pension, and what he makes as a locksmith,” she told him. “Does he spend all he makes?” “No, he’s too stingy. He keeps put~ ting money away for a rainy day. “So? Where does he keep it? “In that oak chest.” ‘The neighbor Morrison worked as a night watchman, and had plenty of ure during the day to spy on Cath- erine. When he saw her come home ¢oward noon with the handsome young Lawson the sight did not make him hl&DS’. e went into his living room and pressed his ear to the fiimsy wall that separated it from the living room of the Shaw flat. Near the fireplace of | the latter the wall was flimsier than elsewhere. Morrison had long before | discovered and whenever he want- od %0 know in detall what was going the nedshbou. who themselves complexities by outraged at Shaw. * x Xk HOWEVER, on the following morning Morrison, who had just lain down to sleep on his return from night duty, was awakened by sounds coming from the Shaw flat, this time more viclent than ever before. He did not have to put his ears to the wall to know that matters had reached a climax on the / of murder. For she had screamed out her accusation in her last words. “You are the cause of my death!” * k¥ % T}Il police of Edinburgh did not have much trouble in catching Shaw. He had tried to escape, but lacked ex- perience and preparation. Once more g:buc sentiment changed in regard to Shaw. It was true that his daughter had been a bad sort, but this brutal murder shocked the community. Shaw was put on trial for the murder of his daughter. The neighbors testi- fied to the many beatings he had given her. Morrison in particular gave the court a clear picture of life on the other side of his living room wall. He told how he was awakened on the morning of the murder by Catherine’s screams; of the sounds of blows and struggling. Catherine had cried out, “You are the cause of death!” Shaw had rushed out of his flat white-faced and had taken the staifs three steps at a time. Morrison had seen blood on his right hand. o ‘The policeman -who .arrested. Shaw found blood on his vest. At the sta- tion house Shaw explained that he had “been in an accident.” At the trial he changed his story to a more plausible one. It was true, he admitted, that the blood on his vest was his daughter’ but he had not used the knife on her. He had beaten her badly. In his rage at her conduct he had drawn blood with his fist. When she cried out that he was the cause of her death, he be- came frightened and ran out for a doctor. The reason he did not get one, he said, was that he became convinced other side. Catherine was mnot crying, but screaming; and her words came cleatly. handbags. With these he street and entered the tenement next to the one where Catherine was im- prisoned. Mounting to the roof, he climbed across until he was directly over the window in which Catherine sat keeping watch on the street. From one bag Lawson took out & stout rope and tied it about an iron stanchion on the roof. The end of the rope he dropped over and Catherine caught hold of it. Down the rope, Lawson climbed and the two lovers were together again. Lawson's immediate ractical one. He had ar’s jimmy and meant to the veteran's oak chest. ‘The couple had flattered themselves when they thought they had outwitted not only the locksmith but the rest of the world. Morrison, the watchman, had been doing some watching on be- half of his own jealousy. While Lawson was on the roof circumventing the lock- smith, Morrison went again in search of Shaw. Again he found him and again Shaw hurried home. His own locks frustrated his catching Lawson in the flat. When the couple heard Shaw’s key, Catherine screamed. Lawson made for the win- dow and by the time Shaw got in Law- son had climbed to the roof. On the floor of the living room lay urglar jimmy. said the locksmith holding it up before Catherine’s face, “will put your lover behind the bars. And as for you—T'll do that for you myself!” As yet he did not lay his hands on her: he was reserving that pleasure to the last. He locked her in again and went to @ neighboring _blacksmith. ‘When h» came back to the house it was with a dozen stout iron bars. Some of these he fastened vertically into the windows of his flat, the rest horizontally. When he got through with his workmanlike job the windows were as secure against escape or inva- sion as those of a substantial prison. Then he gave his daughter the beat- ln%he had promise himself. y this e the neighborhood was interested in the pmceedm? ‘Thanks to the sounds that came out of the flat and still more through the detalied re- gmgnm was a ht a burg- reak open “You are the cause of my death!” Morrison took these words at first for hysteria. But there was such a commotion of blows, struggling, crash- ing of furniture, and then such a sudden cessation of it all that he be- came alarmed. Undecided what to do, he went out on the landing. He was just in time to see Shaw bolt out of his apartment, slamming the door behind him. Mor- rison heard the spring locks snap into place. By the light of the hall kerosene lamp he saw Shaw was ghastly pale. Down the stairs, three steps at a time rushed Shaw. ‘llmd the man’s right hand was stained ved. Catherine’s groans grew feebler, Mor- rison decided to rouse the house. The neighbors could do hothing against the locks Shaw had put on his door and Catherine seemed unable to help them. A policeman was called. He sent for a crowbar and a doctor. Shaw's locks ylelded finally, and the policeman and the neighbors saw at once how justified was their alarm. On the floor, half on the stone of the fireplace, half on the crudely boarded floor, lay Catherine. Protruding from her left bosom was the handle of a kitchen knife. er face was bleeding from savage blows. Her eyes were dim with the last ebbing of life. The policeman knelt by her and raised her to a sitting posiure, If he wanted information from her he would { have to get it soon. “Did your father kill you?” he asked. Breathlessly the roomful of onlookers watched and listened. Catherine was pest speech. But her head dropped for- ‘ward—then hung limp. Was that drop of the head an answer to the policeman’s question or was it only the last of life? ‘There was no doubt in the minds of any one in that room 'that Catherine in her last moment had accused her father she was not so badly hurt as she pre- tended to be. ‘Thinking so, he had turned back to the house. 'By the time he got there THE POLICEMAN KNELT AND RAISED CATHERINE TO A SITTING POSTURE. IF HE WANTED INFOR- MATION FROM HER, HE WOULD HAVE TO GET IT SOON. he saw police hurrying in. He real- ized then that matters were worse than he had thought and there was nothing left him but flight. Now that he knew it was a knife that had caused her death, he protested his innocence. He had used no knife on his daughter, he regnm 3 His lawyer tried to make the most of Shaw’s long service as a soldier for his country. ‘The prosecution countered this by showing how often, in the army, Shaw had been disciplined for his un- governable temper. ‘With this feeble defense overthrown, Shaw's fate was inevitable. It seemed to the judge and the jury a simple case, with no complications. The ring of c! cumstantial evidence was welded, with- out a discernible flaw. The jury found him guilty of murder. The judge pronounced upon him the sentence of death. And the sentence was carried out. Because the case was so simple it aroused comparatively little speculation on the of any one, and when Shaw's body was laid away in its grave SN SRR SRR X SN N 3 N R N N MORRISON PRESSED HIS EAR TO THE FLIMSY WALL OF THE SHAW FLAT. of dishonor whatever memory was as- sociated with the man soon died, too. But about the flat in which tragedy was enacted the story .clung. The house was pointed out, a morbid monument. Several of the tenants moved out. Silence in the flat from which formerly there had come so often the sounds of anger seemed to affect the ;zhers like the hush of a haunted ouse. The landlord was in despair. If he could only rent the accursed flat—at any price—perhaps the curse on the house would eventually lift. He offered the Shaw flat at any rental. Finally he was reduced to offering it rent free to any one who would move in and live | of there. nter by the name of Davitt heard of the offer. He had a wife and two small children to and rent was a serious item in budget. He went to the landlord of the Shaw tene-~ ment and asked to see the flat. On: the floor of the g-ing boards showed dar! stain. It was too grewsome a sight to live with. Courtship BY STEPHEN LEACOCK. Y goodness!” said Edward to [ Angelina as they turned from the crowded street to the little shaded park. 'hat was a clpse shave!” ‘What?” asked the girl. idn’t you? Why, it was the Inspec- tor of Shoes. I was in such a tearing hurry. this morning to get_out and join you that I had no time to black my shoes gmperly. He close as that! 3 “Hush!” whispered Angelina. speak dlu'. for a minute. man us. close to me, I have an idea that he must be one of the new preventive Offi- cers against Premature Courtship.” “Oh, that's all right,” laughed Ed- ward. “I have a license.” “A license!” the girl axclnlmed,dfmc- ting her arm through his, “Why didn't you tell me?” “Well, to tell: the truth” explained Edward, “I only got it properly signed and visa'd yesterday You see, it had been reported that I went to your fams ily’s house three evemn& running, ant so I got a.notice from Visitors’ De- ment to ask whether I had a proper icense. I had, of course, my general Suitable Acquaintance Tag, and I had paid my Ci ’ Tax already, but it had been reported to the department that T'd been three evenings running to a house where there was an unmarried of course, they sent me & kel e sy it Bt Some pose it's say ut some- times it seems terrible to live in this age when everything is so regulated. Did you read that awfully clever novel that ‘came out last week called ‘Wicked Days,’ that.told all about our great- grandfathers’ time when people used to just do almost as they liked?” “No. The book was suppressed, you know, immediately. But I some- thing of it.” “It must have been awfully queer. Anybody could go around anywhere and vuft any house they liked and actually —just think of it!—go and. eat meals in other le’s houses and even in gl:hlh: urants without a Sanitary spector’s Certificate or anything!” Edward shook his head. “Sounds & bit dangerous,” he said. “I'm not sure that I'd like it. Suppose, for instance, that somebody had a cold in the head, you might catch it. Or suppose you found yourself eating in a restaurant perhaps only 6 feet away from a person infected with an infe- riority complex, it might get communi- catedsto you.” He shivered. “Let's sit down,” said Angelina sud- denly. “I want to go on talking, but I don't feel like walking up and down all the time. Here’s a bench. I wonder if we are allowed to sit on it?” “I've got & Sitting License for two in my pocket,” said Edward, “but I'm hanged if I know whether it's been stamped. He took a little bit of Government paper out of his pocket and they. both scrutinized it. “Dear me!” FLOOR OF THE OCEAN. THE new methods of surveying the floor of the ocean by means of sounding devices has at last made it possible to chart the deepest waters in the world. Soundings have been taken as decp as 3,200 fathoms. As one crosses the ocean one sails over moun- tains, valleys and plateaus in remark- able variety. As one sets sail across the Atlantic, for instance, from the eastern shores of the United States he passes first over the “continental slopes,” which extend far out like a great shelf. Be- yond this a vast plain of remarkably uniform depth 1s encountered. It is flat and featureless, interrupted by an occasional rock or perhaps the wreck of some ship. This plain continues on with scarcely a break half way across the Atlantic. A great ridge of moun- tains is now crossed which extends south from Iceland and virtually divides the ocean in two. It is almost exactly parallel with the eastern shores or contour of Europe and Africa. In sev- eral places this ridge rises above the (and only level of the ocean as at the 3 It is estimated that if all the moun- tains on the earth were leveled off and used to fill in the valleys the earth would be covered with a vast plateau, while the oceans would have an average depth of 8,700 feet, “I'll take the place,” said the car- ter, “if you let me tear up these rds and put down new omes.” “And I'll pay for the jub!” the land- lord asserted, eagerly. Davitt came down next day with his tools to tear up the floor. He began with the boards nearest the fireplace, where the widest gap showed. As pried up the first board a musty odor of the past arose. ‘Under the board the dust and fragmentary litter of years was caked. And on top of this lay an envelope, itself covered with dust more recent than elsewhere. Davitt wondered how it could have got there. He stooped, picked up the envelope and found there was a letter inside. “Pather,” it read, “you have kept me from the only man I have ever loved; kept me from him with blows, locks and bars. Since I cannot have him, life is not worth living and I have decided to put an end to an existence which is a burden to me. My death I lay to you. When you read this, consider yourself the inhuman wretch who plunged the knife into the bosom of unhappy g, 'ATHERINE SHAW.” Davitt took the letter to .the police and thereby revealed to the world the amazing tragedy that had been con- cealed in what up to now Edinburgh had thought of as only commonplace. It was easy now to piece together what had transpired on the morning of the tragedy. With more than enough hatred to inspire an ordinary murder Catherine had planned long how to kill her father. Shaw must have had more than a suspicion and was on guard against her. With this simple psychology he could not begin to imagine the grim and devious plot she was hatching single- handed. Once her mind and desperate will were made up, not only Shaw was fooled; Morrison the neighbor, the po- liee, the courts of justice and the ma- chinery of execution were all ol nt tools to her machinations. It was clear now that she had forced the quarrel on the morning of the tragedy. With all the means at her command she maddened the man until };e beat her to the point of bringing lood. When she cried out that he was the cause of her death, she meant the words to be heard. She knew mer cries would waken Morrison. She knew he would report what he heard. The very blood her father drew when he struck her was part of her plan. Clinging to him in her pre- tended struggle she saw to it that her blood should stain him. ‘Then in the midst of her struggles she fell to the floor as if lifeless. She knew that he would rush out in alarm to get a doctor. Her letter was undoubtedly written and dropped between the boards even before the last act of ner violent scene with her father. ‘The moment he lett the house she began to groan, further to alarm those who would be listening on the staircase. ‘Then vibh'wh»u’mu:& have bge“:d:; amazing passion , compot despair of life and hatred of -her ::‘e:: she plunged the knife into her * x %% ‘HE letter, when its full implications became realized, created consterna- the | tlon. . Justice found . itself an accom- of her father Shaw—an plice to the murder Pl wo-nc‘mrm ‘he | funeral. Under Public An Amazing Episode of Love and Crime in the Slums of Edinburgh, Where a Retired Soldier and Locksmith Imprisoned His Daughter and Was Hanged for Her Murder—The Second of a Series of True Detective Stories. would have been excusable in an indi- vidual was unpardonable in an institu- tion that must never do wrong, inno- mui{l or otherwise. William Shaw's body was exhumed from its grave of dishonor. The gov- ernment took charge of the second A great crowd attended, as if the public, too, felt involved in guilt to- the dead. His old regiment sent a squad and gave its former comrade a military funeral. Three volleys were fired over his grave and the flag of his country and the regimental colors were seven times waved in his honor., CL! WERE TOGETHER AGAIN. “HUSH, HUSH! SURELY YOU KNOW ABOUT THE NEW USE-OF- ENDEARING-TERMS-IN-PUBLIC-PLACES - ACT! “I'm afraid it's not been stamped, dear,” said Angelina. “Hush, hush!” said Edward appre- hensively. “Don't say anything like that. Surely you know about the new use of endearing terms in public places act! For goodness sake, be careful!” aioHE shivered with renewed apprehen- n. “Oh, hang it all, anyway!” said An- “There’s a caretaker. Ask can't,” said Edward. “Don’t you see he's got a silence on him?” ‘Then ask that policeman.” ‘Ask the policeman! And get run into court for disturbing the police in the course of their duty! No, thank 1k “Oh, Edward,” interrupted the girl, “of course we can sit down. Don't you remember this is Wednesday morning and under the new decisions of the court people may sit in the parks at any time from 10 am. to 12 noon on ‘Wednesdays?" “Oh, come,” sald Edward. “Hoorah! Let's sit down. Isn't it fine to be free like this?” ‘They poth sat on the bench under the trees. Ange! relief. “We were talking,” she said, “about how restricted everyflam&:l nowadays, and I must say I don’ it. I won- der how it all it “I read a lot of the history of it.” sald Edward, “when I was at college. This present age of restriction lina gave a sigh of|diary BE CAREFUL!” “It began, I understand,” young man, “with the World War and after that it all came along with a rush. Everybody wanted rules and regula- tions for everybody else and everybody got what they wanted.” “It’s all such a nuisance,” sighed An- gelina. “But—you were talking about your new license.” “Yes. I got it made out and sign and visa'd, and it of unlim- the 15th of Angelina lowered her eyes. “It entitles me, among other things,’ the young man went on ardently, “to propose marriage to you, provided, of course, that I comply with the prelimi- nary regulations of proposal of mar- Tiage” The girl was still silent. “I had first to notify the I meant to do it. That I I have their consent.” “I'm so glad,” murmured Angelina. lice that wve done. DOWN THE ROPE LAWSON JIMBE] AND THE LOVERS License the police station.” He took out his watch as he spoke. “It is five minutes | after 12, and you'll have to answer to | a charge of unduly restraining a public | bench.” Edward began to ecry. “Good Heavens!” Angelina exclaimed. i“Do fetch a doctor! I'm afraid he's got an attack of child-mindedness.” i “No, no!” sobbed Edward. “It's not that. But it means that my was made under illegal circumstances, and it's invalid and I'll have to get a new license and try somel else.” “Fetch a perambulater!” “He's got it!” (Copyright, 1920 New Year Salutes. Fl;.ANgE meets the New Year with & lowing cup; to Secotland it brings in the famous hagassis to a tune; in Persla it signifies the rei of all life; China's New Year.sends an old household god to the land of spirits while it establishes another deity on the family hearth. In Ame companied by mt g nity, as the temper of the company demands, another leaf in the book of life turns over. Varying calendars an- nounce the New Year at different times of the year in different parts of the world, but everywhere as the day rolls around it is greeted with an outburst of celebration. St. Sylvestre’s day is & saint's day no one ignores in France. ts come and go throughout the year, observed with more or less devotion by pious people of the nation, but when St. Sylvestre’s eve comes on the last day of the old year, families rich and poor are prepared for its ritual. Eight o'clock on St. Sylvestre’s eve the | 4aies the people to mass for the solemn dedicatory service for ghe coming year. the mass is over gay the crowds press homeward for the feast of the ev A tremendous dinner is 555:‘«1 and around it gather the head of the family, his wife, their children, their children’s ing upon the oldest of the family line, Mouton gigot is the main dish of the dinner (since turkey and chicken are little favored in Pranc wine. On the stroke of midnight, which i approaches near the end of the dinner, the city bursts forth with all the din “Then I had to go before a stipen-| the magistrate a:.d make cath that I considered your mother fit to live with, and that I would com with the 1 Su':g‘l‘ym %lnn‘eur law. It all a&und; complicaf really, Angelina, it was ‘The magistrate was aw- seems | an to have begun bit by bit—first one thing got regulated and then another. The more peop{e”got of it the more they | peraml seemed to want.’ “How stupid!” said Angelina. She reached out and took his hand and then hurriedly dropped it. she exclaimed, “I nearly forgot again.” “It’s all right to take my hand. My new license covers it. Here, hold it if you like. You have to hold it palm up use one of yours and main tain a mean personal distance of 3 But if you stick to that it's all Eve) young men are like that now.” “I wonder why?” said Angelina re- flectively. “They never were in the old “Gracious!” | days. candies and fruits. Germany, whose St. Nicholas is loved . | even more than our Santa Claus, makes there are man: ) tions in the old days under the mon- archy. Students fio:lhl'l umémnd'.'a the