Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, November 3, 1900, Page 2

CES CTE TSE STS SECS TCE FES ES EA SIREN'S VICTIMS By Frances Warner Walker. IBESSECECESSEMESESSESES! CHAPTER XXVII—(Continued.) His face clouded again at her words. “You're a fool, my girl,” he said, gullenly. ‘“You’ve played your part too well to spoil it now. And I might as well tell you, Helen, I've made up my mind to marry Grace. I need her mon- ey. If I might have the money and you, my dear, I'd not be long in mak- ing my choice. Sometimes I am sorry I ever gave you up to any man. If, your husband were out of the way, I believe I'd start fresh again; but as it is, I can help you better as Grace Hawthorne's husband than in any oth- er way; and I think you'll need my help when Harry Reynolds clears the cobwebs from his brain.” An awful weight paralyzed Helen Reynolds’ answer. This was her reward! What else had she hoped? Quietly as Harvey Bar- clay’s answer had been given, she read in it a challenge of defiance, and she was powerléss—powerless to defeat fim in his plans. She had helped him uprear his cas- tle, and now its walls had pinioned her band and foot. “Harvey!” she gasped—‘Harvey,” and, falling on her knees, she grasped fiis hands and held them tightly to her breast, “tell me you were only trying me just now! Tell me that your en- gagement to Grace shall be broken; that you will never make her your wife! Your wife!” she repeated, rising ow, her eyes darkening with thei jealous passion. “I would rather see you dead at my feet!” “If you were free, ma chere,” he an- swered, coolly, “I might understand this scene. As it is, I do but follow the example you have set me.” “If you were free!” These were the words ringing in the wretched wo- man’s ears as she hastened toward her home—the home she had purchased at such a price. And in one of its rooms lay the man who had given her all its splendor. And in her hand, just purchased at the druggist’s, was the medicine on whose administering depended the issues of life or death. And Harvey had just @aid, “If you were free!” CHAPTER XXVIII. Scarcely conscious of the terrible purpose slowly forming itself in her brain, Helen hastened on. Her, home was nearly reached, when, as if he had sprung from the ground at her feet, someone intercepted her further progress. Once more she stood face to face with her old enemy; but this. time not 4m the shadow and concealment of the night and darkness, but in the broad, ‘open glare of day. A defiant challenge was in each pair of eyes as they met, but the woman's were the first to fall. Bold, reckless as she might be, there was that in this ‘man's glance, in this man’s presence, which had the power to cow even her proud spirit into submission. The power he held over her was too terrt- ‘ble to be resisted. He smiled grimly as he noted her whitening face. “I've left you in peace some time, wmy lady,” he said, mockingly. “Did ‘you think you were rid of me forever? and you were going to Europe a while ago? I only heard of it after you had started for New York. I followed you by the next train. I was at the pier to welcome you, to bid you bon voyage;’ but do you know, I fancy, after Mr. Harry Reynolds had heard the few ‘words I had to say to you, you would mot have made the voyage? It was a fucky escape for you, my lady. Next time you propose such a move, per- haps you'll consult with me before you take so bold a step.” Helen drew in her breath with a long, shuddering sigh. So near had she stood to the brink of the precipice of discovery, and so unconscious had she been of her peril! “Let me pass!” she muttered, be- tween her set teeth. “It won’t do for me to be seen talking with you. Peo- ple will wonder.” “I've a few words to say to you yet,” retorted the man. “Walk on; I'll walk beside you! What's to prevent my forcing you to walk beside me always? I'd do it, too,’ "he added, brutally, “it it suited my plans. You think, per- haps, that I’m forgetful of my debt! Don't believe it, my girl! You've ™any years to live yet, and the debt and interest will hold. Oh, I see the fiash in your eyes! It is the old light which used to leap there; but I did not fear it then, Helen Windom; I do not fear it now. I want some money, by- the-by. I’m down on my luck again.” “And so you torture me!” she cried, turning upon him with sudden passion. “And so you would come to me to sup- ply your wretched wants. Well, I can 40 nothing more for you. I have no money! I am powerless to give you any. What is your word worth? You promised to leave me in peace if 1 would supply your pressing needs, and 1 did supply them. I steeped my soul yet further in wickedness and perjury that you might leave me in peace in ine home I have won, in the name 1 have gained, in the atmosphere of re- *pectability I breathe. God knows for long years you have dragged me down, end now again you'd hurl me into those depths of infamy! What's the use of persecuting me? What can you gain by exposing the past? It won’t feather your nest to ruin mine!” “But it'll help pay my debt!” he hissed, betwen his teeth; and now al: his affectation of indifference van- fished in the white heat of anger, the fiercer that it ever ouldered. “Where's Henry George?’ he ques- toned. ‘“‘Where’s the man who aided you in your flight? Tell me where to find him, and, for a time, I'll leave you tn peace, for I’ve sworn to pay the first ii gtallment of my debt to him.” She Icoked up at him scornfully. “I've not sen him’ for six long years. Besides, nothing drove fa from you but your own brutality—your cruelty! Did you think that I would bear it al- ways? Do you think to-day, that it you pull down about me the ruins of the home I have made, you'll be any nearer gaining ‘control of me? You'll be further from it—so far that I will vanish from your life again—this time, forever! What is your hold upon me but the mud your hand can throw up- on the mantle of my respectability: Drag me down into the mud again, and we stand on equal ground. You'd better leave me alone, Tom. You'd better leave me in peace!” He looked at her with a certain ad- miration in the coarseness of his glance. “You're still plucky, Helen,” he said. “You always fought well; but you knew your master, my dear, for all that, and he’s not likely to give up his claim. I think we can leave the fu- ture to take care of itself. It’s the present with which we have to deat. Let's drop generalities. I want mon- ey. How much can you give me?” “None!” she answered, firmly—‘not dollar. My husband is very ill. His father, too, is lying at the point of death. Is this the time when I can de- mand money from them?” “Ah, your husband is ill?” he re- peated, mockingly. “Well, I'll wait un- til he recovers. Meantime, I'll find out if you're deceiving me. But, if you have no money, you have jewels. I'll take those in the interim.” “How much will satisfy you?” she asked, doggedly. “A hundred dollars,” he replied, “un- til your chances of becoming a widow are removed.” “Where can I send it to you?” “Oh, I'll come for it to-night! I'll be here where I leave you now, at nine o'clock.” “No; let me send it to you. I may not be able to leave the house.” “I'll take chances. I may want @ few words with you.” Waiting for no reply, he wheeled and left her, within sight of the spa- cious mansion which hid so ghastly a skeleton within its doors. ' CHAPTER XXIX. In her own room, Grace had heard the closing of the front door behind Helen, as she started on her errand, and, glancing from the window, saw her walking rapidly down the avenue. “Was Harry left alone?” she won- dered. “Poor Harry! Did he guess the secret Helen had betrayed to her last night—guess that his wife’s love never had been his? Was this an add- ed cause for his distrust of Harvey Barclay?” Harvey Barclay! She shuddered as memory conjured up before her mental vision this image which might never- more be banished from her life. She had pledged herself to marry him, to save the name and honor of the man she loved; and to keep back at any cost—even at the cost she paid —the truth which, reaching Edgar Reynolds, would prove his death-blow. Truly, there was sufficient at stake to warrant the sacrifice; and yet, poor child, small as that sacrifice might ap- pear in itself, it was her all! Her very soul recoiled from it. Her lips whitened and her blood chilled as she painted hbr loveless, desolate fu- ture. : And he, whose hand had’ kindled the fire, destructive to her youth, and hope, and happiness, must never know it burned. Only a great pity was in her heart for him, as she watched the wife’s form disappear in the distance. Forgetful for the instant of her own pain, she remembered only the wealth of love he had lavished upon the wo- man whose heart was ice to him. Did he know? Did he suspect? Was this the reason for his sudden illness? And she had left him alone! Was he still unconscious? She must go to him at once! She turned from the window at the thought, and walked rapidly toward the door. There she paused, with her hand on the knob, and, turning back, she fell upon her knees beside a chair. “God give mé strength!” was the voiceless prayer which wafted its way upward to the great white throne. A minute later she stood by Harry Reynolds’ side. At sight of him, the strength for which she had pleaded came to her. She forgot herself and her own needs as she looked down on that white face upon its pillows, marked with so indel- ible an impress of pain. The brown eyes were wide open, but they gazed up unrecognizedly into hers. The shdrt-cropped head moved restlessly from side to side, as though tortured by suffering. A little moment the girl stood there with bursting heart. Then she sank down on her knees beside the couch. and, stooping her head, her lips rested an instant on the low, broad brow. It was at once a kiss of forgiveness and renunciation. At the touch, light as though a fra- grant flower petal had been borne by the summer wind across his fevered temples, Harry moved, and a mo- mentary gleam of intelligence came into his eyes. “Helen!” he murmured—“Helen!” The name cut like a knife as she list- ened. For one mdédment—one_ short moment only, yet long enough to hold a little part of heaven—she had seemed to stand to him in Helen’s place. Already she wes awakened from her dream. } An hour passed, and still she knelt beside him, bathing his forehead and moistening his parched lips with ice. Now and then low, incoherent words escaped him. Once or twice he ap- peared to be struggling with conscious- ness. Once or twice she fancied that love and gratitude were in the glance he turned toward her. ~ e Then the door opened behind her, and Helen entered, She was very pale and her eyes had in them a strange gleam. They rested .upon Grace al- most defiantly. With a swift, nervous motion, she unfastened the strings of her hat and tossed it from her. “Has he spoken?” she asked, indi- cating her husband by a glance. “Only to murmur your name,” Grace answered. “I think once or twice he fancied I was you.” “Better for all of us if his fancy were true!” said Helen; and, as though inspired by some sudden re- solve, she came close to where Grace, risen from her knees, was standing be- side Harry’s couch. “+7, better if you were Harry Reynolds’ wife. List- en, Grace. You learned my secret last night. I was hard, and cold, and. al- most brutal, perhaps, in telling, but suffering isn’t apt to soften such wo- men as I am, and when you told me that you had promised to marry Har- vey Barclay, I suffered in that mo- ment more than you.have suffered in a life-time. I don’t know why I should appeal to you. I never loved you. I’ve nearly hated you, for you have every- thing in the world I most covet, and I have been, for many a day, Harvey Barclay’s game. He tried to blind me to it; but love it not easily blinded, and I loved him, Grace. He is a bad, unscrupulous man, but he is the only thing on earth I ever loved. Swear to me you will not marry him. I can trust your word. Swear it to me, Grace. It is your fortune, not you, he covets. He will make misery of ‘your life, as he has of mine; but I'm not hypocrite enough to plead with you for your own sake. It’s for mine, Grace— for mine! Oh, he is all I have in the world! and if you cast him off, he'll turn to me again. In his soul he cares for me more than for anything save self. Tell me you will give him up. Swear it to me!” “I can’t swear it!” answered the girl, with white, shocked face. ‘I must be his wife now. There is no help for it. I did it for Harry’s sake and yours!” “And if I tell you that your sacrifice was useless? Oh, I see it all—all the treachery by which he has won your promise. 1 can guess it all; but my lips are sealed, I am powerless to un- deceive you. But you will listen to me, Grace? You do not love him. You will give him up when I tell you that he is false dnd cruel?” “I cannot give him up!” repeated the girl. ‘My word is pledged!” “Then break it!” said the older wo- man. ‘Break it, if you have any pity on my soul. Do you know what it is to love as I do? How could you know?” and she laughed a low laugh, terrible to hear. “Had you known, you would have murdered me rather than that I should have stolen from you the love and kisses of him who lies un- conscious beside us.Yes, murdered me, as I could murder the woman whose lips should be upraised to meet Harvey Barclay’s kiss. You tremble and grow white. You think that I am mad! I am not mad! Listen to me, Grace Hawthorne. You shall know all—why I married Harry Reynolds. I did it for Harvey Barclay’s sake. I loved him; but we were poor—wretchedly, miser- ably poor, and he had not the cotirage to work for both. He told me that Harry Reynolds had a large and inde- pendent fortune—a fortune of which I might gain possession by having it set- tled upon me. We did not go beyond that, for we both understood what lay beyond. I was to begin life again with him; we were to go to some distant country and forget all save that we loved and were together. This is no fit story for your pure ears. You see, I make a confession of my own infamy that you may guess at his. It was not wealth, not respectability and grati- fied ambition alone that I had at stake. They were but the stepping-stones to my higher gréed. I loved him, and for his sake I counted a world well lost. And you would steal him from me now —now in the moment when I need him most. But you have heard enough! Your will give him up to-day—to-night —within the hour?” The night had fallen, and the light, turned low, barely showed the two faces each to the other—each white with a ghastly whiteness; but on one was written a purpose born of desper- ation; the other a great horror and a great despair. This was the man who held her in his power—this was the woman for whose sake Harry had bar- tered her pure love. And Harry—ah, could he take up the first stone, when his own garments were soiled with the mud of his dishonor? Was there no purity, no goodness, no honor in the world? With a low cry, which sounded through the quiet room like the de- spairing moan of a broken heart, she pushed past Helen Reynolds’ detain- ing hand and fled, as if pursued by demons, to the purer atmosphere of that portion of the house she might call as yet her own, CHAPTER XXX. Helen listened until the sound of Grace’s footsteps died away. She crouched down on the floor there be- side a chair, and buried her face in its cushions. An hour passed, and except for the muttered, incoherent words with which her husband now and then broke the silence, there was no other sound with- in the room. At last she rose, crossed to the mir- ror, and, turning up the light, careful- ly adjusted her toilet; then, turning to her husband’s side, she stood look- ing dow n upon him. If he should die, her secret would be safe. t “If you were free,” Harvey had said. Oh, God! what was this horrible thought which was taking definite shape in her distracted brain? True, for the honor of his name, his lips might never open to betray her; but ‘at any time he might learn—” She checked the flow of her own thought with a shudder—not to her- self would she admit that he ,»might learn, lest horror should paralyze her strength. She must be catm—she must be able to think clearly, to act collect- edly. As yet she had followed none of the doctor’s minute directions for his pa~ tient. Ringing the bell, she called to Andrew, and bade him lift Harry from the couch to the bed. The young man opened his eyes and spoke to him by name, then closed them again hurried- x Administering the medicine, Helen seated herself in a low chair by his side. Mr. Reynelds was better, Andrew told her. The physicians said there was no present danger, if he were kept quite free from excitement of any kind. The news of Mr. Harry’s illness had/ been carefully concealed from him during the day. The physicians had pretended that they could allow him to see no one. She listened silently to the news the old servant brought. Ordering dinner served in her own room, she forced herself, when it was brought, to swallow a few mouthfuls of food and take a glass of wine. It was past eight o’clock when the service was cleared away, and the doc- tor had not yet returned. It would not do to be absent at the time of his vis- it; and yet, at nine o’clock she must again confront the living spectre of her past. } She started. She had forgotten that she must have ready for him the sum he had required of her. She went to her purse. It contained but twenty dollars. She examined her husband’s clothes. The pockets held forty more. She still lacked forty of the .needed sum. Well, this must satisfy him for to- night. To-morrow she would send him what she now lacked. To-morrow! Oh, if to-morrow were to-day! If this terrible temptation which assailed her in all the might of its silence and its horror were ‘dispeiled by the light of another day! Another half-hour passed. ‘Would the doctor never come? Yes! A knock sounded on the door. She rose and admitted him for whom she had so anxiously waited. He en- tered with many apologies for his en- forced delay. He found his patient improving, he said. Doubtless by tomorrow his youth and splendid strength would have reasserted themselves. Already his eyes showed that his brain was re- ecvering its normal condition. But his examination was close and long. Helen almost shrieked to him to go and leave her to herself as the hands of the clock moved toward nine. If she did not meet Tom Windom at the appointed time and place, what action might he not take? Later she might defy him, but just now each minute was more precious than gold. The hour struck when at last Dr. Hope turned toward her. His keen, professional eye noted her pallor, and the excitement visible in every fea- ture. He bent and let his fingers meet at her wrist. Her pulse was beating high. “Take care, Mrs. Reynolds,” said, warningly, “or you will be my next patient. You must not let anxiety for your husband take this phase. He is doing better than I dared hope. A lit- tle care and nursing, and he will be himself again. Cannot some one take your place to-night? You are too nervous and overstrung.” ‘I would trust no one else,” she an- swered. “J will call early in the morning, then. Good-night!” “Good-night!” she answered, chanically. The door opened and closed. He was gone. She listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps, as she had listen- ed to those of Grace. She waited un- til all was still. The hands of the clock showed ten more minutes gone. Catching up a cloak, she threw it about her and hast- | ened down the stairs. Grace met her in the lower hall. me “Helen!” she cried. “Is Harry worse?” “No. But I must have air,” she an- swered. “I am going into the garden.” And with the last words mingled the sound of the closing of the front door. Once more, with hurrying feet, she went to meet the man whose word was | her only law. Rebel as she would, her rebellion was as hopeless as that of the slave to his master. i i | He but fastened tighter her chains, and she dragged them more hopelessly and more’ heavily than before. But the hour was ripening when she might strike off the fetters he had forged. Had not Harry said: “Tf you were but free!” She reached the place appointed. All was still and deserted. i She softly called his name. No an- swer came. Pacing to and fro, she waited. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed; but no footfall broke the stillness, no sound announced her waiting at an end. Had he come? Had he gone? Vain the questions, save to offer fresh terture to her mind. A half-hour went by, and she knew that she need wait no longer. What- ever his failure to meet her betokened, he would not come now. | Retracing her steps, she hastened | homeward. As she reached the door she paused. Better, perhaps, to turn and flee into the darkness than to enter that house to-night. Her brain seemed on fire; every pulse was surging and throbbing. Her hands and feet were cold as ice. But her hesitation lasted only for the moment. She turned her key in the lock and entered, closing the door noiselessly behind her, and quietly stealing her way up the stairs. Noiselessly she opened the door of her own room, shut and barred it. She dropped the cloak from her shoulders to the floor, where it lay unheeded. fl She walked to the bed and stood | looking down at the young, handsome face, with its lines of restfulness and | suffering softened by a quiet slumber. | But for him—but for his life—her secret would be safe, her lover re- stored to her, her tyrant might be de- i fied. She would have his name, his «yet me see, your salary is $12 and the fortune, and no one could wrest it | from her. She could put the ends of | the earth between Tom Windom and - herself, and by her side—always by her side—would be the man she loved; the man who had whispered in, her ear: “If you were free!” She turned toward the table neat her. On it were the vials of medicine for the sick man. One she took up, and held between her and the light. Its contents were of a light, green- ish hue. On its label was marked “Poison!” The dose prescribed was twenty-five drops. i If ie hand trembled and a hundred fell, was.she responsible? The physi- parend or special. dred make a fatal dose? Merciful heaven! what was she doing—what was she thinking? “She put the bottle down and stag- ered back against the wall, covering i rece with her hands. Who was that spoke? Distinctly a voice sounded in her ear: “If you were free,” it said. “But if not, what then?” she an- swered. And it seemed as if a vision rose be- fore her in reply—a vision of Grace Hawthorne, in her wedding robes and Harvey Barclay by her side—Grace Hawthorne, the woman she hated; Harvey Barclay, the man she loved. A dark, fnalignant cloud swept over the fair beauty of her face; a new resolution marked her mien. Once more she crossed to the table and took the bottle in hand. “It is only an experiment,” she said; “it may not kill.” And she knew not that she spoke the words aloud. Opposite her, the curtains shielding the low window, opening on a balcony, moved. But she paid no heed, as, drop by drop the liquid fell into a glass. A slight sound broke the stillness but she neither heard nor heeded. She fancied it the night breeze among the trees. Then the curtains were slowly part- ed by a stealthy hand; two burning eyes fastened themselves upon her; a man’s face, wearing an ugly smile of triumph, peered in through the aper- ture he made, To Helen Reynolds’ wicked act there was an unexpected witness! (To Be Continued.) The Last of a Banakee Tribe. Mitchell Sabattis, an old Indiar guide of the North woods, is said to have suffered a second stroke of paral. ysis recently, and is fast losing his strength. It is claimed that he is con- siderably over 100 years old, but, as he does not know his age himself, the question has never been settled. Sabattis is one of the St. Frar tribe of Banakee Indians, and the ! full-blooded member of the tribe this country. He is one of the oid landmarks of the days when panthers and moose were quite plentiful, and when wolves ran wild in packs in the Adirondacks. Captain Pete Sabattis and his son, Mitchell, were in the habit of camp. ing summers, but would go into a set- tlement winters, making the Long Lake region their headquarters. And Mitchell is now passing his declining days with his son Harry, at the foot of Mount Sabattis, which was named after him. They gave the lakes, streams, mountains and points in the mcuntains their names.—Adirondanck Enterprise. The Yiddish Stage in England. The prominence given at the present time to everything Yiddish, and espe- cially to the Yiddish theater, reminds the Jewish World that, as long ago as long ago as 1705, a Yiddish troupe ~ players appeared in Berlin. The c. rector of the first company was fined for producing a Purim play in Holy Week, and the secand head of the com- pany was punished for a similar of- fense in 1708. In these two mentioned years Purim occurred during Holy ‘Week. In the last quarter of the eighteenth century Dessau had a reg- | ular Yiddish theater, and the Jewish | opera in the nineties of the eighteenth century, in Amsterdam, had a great reputation. The administrator, Eze- chiel, was known as the Senator, and the prompter was called “Organ Moses,” and the prima donna was a “Fraulein” Schnitzler. The company produced Yiddish translations of the works of Mozart, Saleiri and Ditters- dorf.—London Globe. The Spenker of the House of Com. mons, The speaker of the house of com- mons has nothing to do with the an- pointment of the committees, eithe That duty devolves upon the committee of selection, which is chosen by the house itself from the more experienced members. This com- mittee in turn appoints all the com- mittees authorized by the standing or- ders. There remains to the speaker only the impartial performance of his duties as presiding officer. His depu- ty, who is also chairman of commit- tees of the whole, is chosen the first time the house goes into committee for supply. To aid him in his work by filling his place when weary, the speaker appoints five other members, whom the chairman may call to the table to perform his duties—Ex-Speak- er Reed, in Saturday Evening Post. Miscellany for a Western Editor. A Western editor has received the following unique letter: “Send me a few copies of the paper which had the obituary and verses about the death of my child, a wee" or two ago. You will publish the en- closed clipping about my niece’s mar- riage. And I wish you would mention in your local columns, if it don’t cost me, that I’m going to have a few ex- tra bull calves to sell. Send me a couple of extra copies of the paper this week, but as my time is out, you can stop my paper, as times are too hard to waste money on a newspaper.” Easy to Adjust. “Mr. Scrooge,” said the bookkeeper, “this past week I did the junior ¢lerk’s work as well as my own. This, being pay day, I thought it only right to re- mind, you,” “Very good,” said old Scrooge. clerk's $6.” “Yes, sir,” said the bookkeeper, beaming expectantly. “Then, working half the week for yourself is $6, and the other half for the clerk is $3. Your salary this week will be $9.”—Philadelphia Press. Lucky. “You have a cheerful room in which to work,” said the visitor to the ma- chine typesetter. “Yes, sir,” replied the latter. “Our lines are cast in pleasant places.”— Exchange. cian could vouch for her nervousness the night before. But would a hun- , Paraguay. Many delicious fruits are grown in FREE—A TRIAL BOTTLE. The winning of a million of le froth sickness to health is a noble pur- suit. 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Four flavors:— Lemon, Orange, Raspberry and Straw- berry. At your grocers. 10 cts. Try it today. The Impatience of Grief. “It's too bad you have lost your ca- nary, Millie; but why did you go to the expense of telegraphing your mother about it? Couldn't you have Written, just as well?” “No. I knew that the soone> mam- ma heard of it the sooner she'd be sympathizing with me!’—Chicago ‘Tribune. Carter's Ink is just as cheap as rink and is the bescink made. Always use Carter's. Perils of the Open Mouth. “A physician says that people who sleep with their mouths shut live longest.” * “Well, people who go around with their mouths shut when they’re awake seldom, get killed.”—Indianapolis Jour- nal. TO CURE A COLD IN ONE DAY. Take Laxative BROMO QUININE TABLETS. All druggists refund the money if it fails to cure. E. W. Grove's signature is on the box, 2c. Too Far Behind. Milly—I understand thas Miss Elder- ly is getting to be very fast. Willy—Yes: but she’ll never make up for the time she has lost.—Smart Set. Piso's cure.cannot be too highly spoken of as a cough cure.—S. W. O’Brien, 322 Third Ave. N., Minneapolis, Minn., Jan. 6, 1900. Determination. “Don’t you admire determination in a@ man’s character?” “It all depends on the result,” an- swered Mr. Sirius Barker. “If it brings success, I praise it as splendid perse- verance. If it brings failure, I de- nounce it as confounded obstinacy.”— Washington Star. Some articles must be described: White’s Yucatan needs no description; it’s the real thing. One Thing We Escape. ‘Towson—There’s no use trying being up-to-date in slang. Yorkrode—Why? Towson—There is no Chinese equiva- lent for “trek.”—Baltimore American. Taking Things E You can always tell when a man’s wife is away for the summer by seeing him sitting on the front porch in his shirt sleeves.—New York Press. Fen bebteatlytin Soothing Syrup. ren teething, softens the gums, reduces fn flammation, allays ‘pain.cutes wind collc.’5e a bottle. Trust no profession of love that can- not be honorably made and openly. A good intention never did harm; it was only called a good intention. Asa dressing and color res! Saieee ern BaLsax never falis to satisfy. mre Fe - HixpERoorys, the best cure for corns. 15cts. The pure attracts purity—the low find their level in dirt and dust. PUTNAM FADELESS DYES do not stain the hands or spot the kettle. Only the insignificant find it neces- sary to make pretensions. anftO! FOR OKLAHOMA! acres new lands settlement. Bubscribe for THE KIOWA CHIRP, devoted ts infor: mation about these lands. One year, 91.00. Sing! itaiveted book copy. 10c. Subscribers recetve free {il ono) ’s Manual Address Dick c ‘Morgan's ‘10 Settlers? Guide) with fine sectio % 5 le) arith fine sectional map, $1.00, 5c. Al AS eee Perry, 0. T. The ignorance of a good man is wise ir than the enlightenment of a bad one. lauded nies Holmest is adjudging sometimes very oblivious. rt In a case at the law courts yesterday a witness referred to “following up a clew in the manner of Sherlock Holmes.” “Who is Sherlock Holmes?” Mr. Justice Da: “A person who has been made noto- rious by Conan Doyle,” was the reply. “Who is he?” continued the judge. Then counsel borage’ sits the Bry