Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, August 31, 1901, Page 6

7 » frerself these questions. <@ound my feelings. CHAPTER IX. (Continued.) “I have been in bed, my dear, and* sasleep,”” was the answer, with a pleas- ant smile, “and I don’t wonder that you vare surprised. I am more than sur- prised myself. But I have much to say to your mamma, and I think you had ‘Better leave us alone for a while. First, dhowever, tell me—is the wedding over? ‘our Uncle Philip is married, of course. And how did it all go off?” “Horrible! horrible!” the two girls f—urst out, incoherently. ‘“‘Poor, poor Wnele Philip! The most cruel and cow- ardiy murder!” “Murder!” echoed Robert Grayson, starting up, while an expression of the atmost horror overspread his face. ‘What do you say? What is the mean- img of such terrible words?” “Go away, girls! How imprudent and @elfish of you to think only of your own grief! Leave your uncle with me, and I will break to him the news gent- ty. Go!” Somewhat crestfallen at this rebuke, Letty and Bertha left the room togeth- ar. CHAPTER X. The St ‘Mrs. Martin scarcely knew whether to be grateful or the reverse at the un- @uarded words which had ‘fallen from the lips of her daughters. The surpris- ‘mg change in Robert had startled her es much as it had amazed her. How great was the charge? she asked herself. How was his recollection in regard to recent events? Was his memory clear in regard to the hints and suggestions she had of late been making to him? And if so, what might the result be? He would look upon her as little better than his brother’s mur- erer, for, most surely, she had repeat- ‘edly urged him to commit that murder by {nflaming his insane anger against Philip. Her heart turned cold as she asked To betray her ¢rue feelings to an unreasoning lunatic was a very different affair to finding rer wicked heart laid bare to the un- @erstanding of a sane man, and thar an her own brother, and the only be- ken Deer. ‘mg for whom she had some lingering | fespect and awe left in her worldly, ruel nature. She quailed beneath his steady, quiet glance as she turned to meet it, when ie door had-closed after Bertha and Letty. But she saw nothing in his face to indicate that he regarded her either ‘with horror or contempt, and, in the riefest words, she told him of all that | mad occurred since that morning. Robert Grayson was distressed be- yond expression at the story of his ‘brother's tragic death. He pressed his ands to his temples and seemed hardly able to endure the shocking tidings; ‘but Mrs. Martin's keen eye perceived at | ence that it was a true and natural grief that agitated him, and not, as she almost wished, the frenzy of a return- ing madness. “And now,” she hastened to add, “tell me why you were not at the church, | Robert, and also—” She paused, uncertain how to pro- ceed; but her brother completed the » @entence for her. “Also, how I seem to have regained ™my reason, which must have been - s@tray these many years,” he continued, » #m a sad tone. “That is what you would wish to say, Kate, but that you fear to Don’t be alarmed, “Gear; that you will never do, and 1 frnow it. But how to explain the change g@hat has occurred in my condition, is MYbeyond my power, Kate. xanow, and no more: I seem to have »mwakened from a nightmare too horri- ‘Ble to look back upon. been insanity or delirium, and it must have continued for years—for long, long -years—for I find myself an old man. -But the cause of it I krow not, and I sGon’t want to know. ‘but terrible recollection of great hate ‘against Philip, but why I do not know. For long years back my memory seems a blank. The first thing’ that comes miearly to me is hearing, some time ago, that Philip was about to be married. “That news filled me with rage end an- wer; but why it should have done so I cannot tell. “I remember being so wildly excitea a@hat I could not sleep, and that night 1 took a large dose of laudanum to end +my misery, I think. But it did not kill me. Perhaps my diseased brain re- quired it. Anyway, when I awoke, 1 ‘felt a sense of quiet and peace, that Was -as delightful as it was new and strange. “Every night since I have been in the ¢habit of taking onium in some form. Perhaps it is the right medicine for my »malady. Certainly it has acted as such, for what would have killed 2 sane or ‘well man has apparently quieted and ~@ured my poor, crazy brain, “This morning I had—or thought I -fad—a recurrence of the old excitement, . I took what I thought was a small dose ef the laudanum to quiet my nerves, and then I lay down to rest for a few miuutes. I must have taken a larger dose than I supposed. I went off into .@ profound sleep, and knew no more mntil I awoke, a little while ago.” Mrs. Martin listened, with every ap- ypearance or intense interest, and when Robert concluded, her exclamation, -“Extraordinary—most extraordinary!” was spoken with the utmost sincerity. “fit Is, indeed, dear Kate. But, thank God, it is also a happy and welcome miracle—for such I almost think it. And now I must try and make good use ef the reason which heaven has granted me.” And, rising, he went toward the moor as he spoke. “Where are you going, Robert?” Mrs, Martin exclaimed. “I am going to PLilip’s house. That “e the right place for me at present. Au..i1 the energy I possess shall be ‘a.one effort—that of discover- 4ng the moster who has caused his Say aothing to dissuade me, Al Fatal. won iharriage. This much I ; It must have ; I have a half real | | | | —— } i i ELIZABETH CAMPBELL. Care Kate. I feel that my reason has been restored to me for this purpose, if for nothing else, and I consecrate my life to the work.” Bit Mrs. Martin had no thought ot staying him, or arguing against his cx- pressed intentions. She was, indeed, too perplexed and bewildered to know what to do or say, and, in silence, she followed her brother to the street door, and stood watching him until he had turned the corner of the next street ana vanished from her sight. “A miracle, indeed!" she murmured, in an awe-struck voice. “No wonder he calls it so. He is sane—absclutely sane —self-reliant and self-controlled, too; but what may be the effect of seeing Philip? Will it upset Robert’s reason again, or is the change a permanent one? I scarcely know what to think or what to wish; but Robert has always been fond of me, and for so many years a mere tool in my hands. It cannot be that I am going to lose control of him now, just when I need all the power 1 possess in every direction? But is he, indeed, sane? Is not this, rather a new phase of madness, and I am deceived by a clever piece of acting? Robert is, perhaps, the murderer, after all, and all this is assumed to conceal his crime. | But no, that is impossible. There is too | much method in it for‘ madness—Ah!” | It was only Bertha, who had softly | stolen to her mother’s side and placed her hand on her mother’s shoulder; but | Mrs. Martin was decidedly unnervea, for she started violently and uttered an exclamation of positive alarm. “Is it you, child? How you frighten- ;ed me!” “Dear mamma, no wonder you are ‘nervous and easily startled. I’m so sor- ry I spoke suddenly to Uncle Robert! Forgive me!” and the affectionate girl | drew her mother’s face close to her own | and kissed it. ; Mrs. Martin returned the caress with | unusual tenderness. She was devotedly fond of Bertha, and she felt almost des- olate in her own wickedness at that | moment. | Her daughter’s fresh, innocent face | was no rebuke to her; but Bertha’s evi- | dent love and belief in her was like | balm to her disturbed spirit. It both | soothed and stimulated her, for in al | her worldly schemes, in all her daring | ventures, whether wicked or merely ambitious, she always justified her ac- _ tions by the reflection that verything was for the sake of her children, whom she loved more than herself. | “Never mind, darling! There is no | need to worry yourself. No harm was done. Your uncle seems strangely | calm and quite—master of himself. He has gone to poor Philip's house, for he feels that he ought to be there.” | She uttered the last words slowly, and in an absent-minded manner, for her attention was suddenly attracted by an approaching figure, whose actions were sufficiently strange to justify Bertha’s | wondering gaze, as well as her own. The figure was that of a young man | who had come into view just as Robert Grayson had turned the corner, and al- | though she had seen him from the mo- ment he first came into the street, Mrs. Martin had hardly been conscious of his | présence till, on a nearer approach, h> | began wildly throwing his arms about | and talking aloud. | “What can be the matter with him?” j said Bertha. ‘He doesn’t look as if he | had been drinking. Oh, dear me!—but |no! It’s impossible!” | The last words were spoken in a tone | of such evident bewilderment that Mrs. | Martin turned and looked sharply at ‘her daughter. To her utter surprise, Bertha was blushing brightly as a rose, | | while the girl’s gaze remained fixed up- on the stranger, as if fascinated. “What in the world is the matter?” | asked Mrs. Martin. Do you know the i young man, Bertha?” “No, mamma—at least, not that I am aware of—I mean—I don’t know who he is, or if I ever saw him before, but it | not, it was some one—oh, So much like | him” “When, child? Where? How strange you talk! And what are you blushing up in that way for?? You look as if you had been guilty of some serious fault.” “No, no, dear mamma—no serious | taut, if fault at all. Please don’t be | angry with me, and I’ll tell you all | about it.” | Before Mrs. Martin could make any ‘reply, the cause of their remarks had come so near them, still gesticulating wildly, that the mother and daughter retreated from the open door into the hall. The young man paused directly in front of them, and Mrs. Martin then observed that he gave no sign of being under the influence of liquor, although his actions, at a distance, might easily have suggested such an explanation of them. He was pale, almost to lividness, ex- cept in each thin cheek, where burned the hectic flush of fever. His eyes were wild and glassy, his parted lips parched and livid, and his rich, dark hair tan- gled and tossed wildly from his brow. His hat was gone and his coat was torn open, his cravat untied and his col- lar was loose, leaving his massive, mar- blelike throat bare to the chilly evening breeze. ¥ Although he had paused right at their | door, and was, apparently, looking | straight at Bertha and her mother, it was evident that he was quite uncon- scious of their presence. “Strange! The young man’s face is bac en ie ee } | n forward face downward, straight across | ice—r worse! it will drive you mada!” the threshold of the door, his head fall- ing almost at the feet of Bertha and | mrs. Mrs. Martin. “Oh, mamma, mamma!” cried the startled girl. ‘‘What shall we do?” have the poor fellow removed to a hos- pital,” Mrs. Martin returned, in a mat- ter-of-fact tone. “Either he is crazy or suffering from the delirium of fever, Even in this quiet street,, it is a wonder that he hasn’t collected a crowd about him before now. The kindest thing that can be done for him is to give him in charge at once.” % “No, no! I entreat of you, mamma, don’t do that!”” Bertha Martin cried out, in imploring tones. “I am sure now it is he, and fate has sent him here.. Oh, mamma, help me to raise him and take him in, and then let me go for a doc- tor!” ¥ “Are you going crazy, my child?” ex- claimed Mrs. Martin. “No; but I think I shall if you re- fuse me!" Bertha answered, passionate- ly, as she knelt beside the prostrate fig- ure and tried to raise it. “Oh, do help me, mamma?” Mrs. Martin stooped over the young man, and together they raised him and drew him along the hall toward the par- lor. He was not insensible, and he ac- companied them under the compelling influence of Bertha’s strong will, which he seemed to feel, although neither hearing br understanding a word that was spoken- Mrs. Martin and Bertha led him to a lounge, on which he sank the moment they withdrew their hold upon him; and, without giving her mother time to object, Bertha fled from the room, pausing a moment at the door to call back that she was going for a physi- cian who lived but a few yards away. Mrs. Martin looked after her daugh- ter with a look of almost comic des- pair. “What has come over the girl?” she said, aloud. “One might almost think her uncle’s malady had transferred it- | self to her.” ‘Then she directed her attention to the mysterious cause of her daughter’s in- explicable behavior. He was sitting motionless as a statue on the lounge where he had droppea | down; his hands, lightly clasped, fell listlessly before him; his head was | sunk upon his breast, and his eyes, evi- dently seeing nothing, gazed straight out before him. “Poor young man! How handsome he | must be when he is well!” thought Mrs. Martin. “And how very ill he must be! Good heavens—if it should be some contagious fever! What madness of me to listen to Bertha’s folly! It may not be too late yet!” And, starting up, she approached the window to look for a policeman. AS she did so, she heard the loud and pen- etrating voice of a newsboy calling an extra in the street, and the familiar name caught her attention for a mo- ment, causing her to forget what she had risen for. “Horrible murder of the rich million- aire, Philip Grayson—full particulars!” That name seemed potent to attract the attention of the other occupant of the room, too. He started to his feet, a look of bright intelligence in his face for an instant, and in that instant Mrs. Martin recognized him. “Philip Grayson!” he said. “Her hus- pand—aha! Dead—dead—dead!” “So!” murmured Kate Martin. “I know you now, Shirley Austin—and Philip Grayson’s murderer!” CHAPTER XI. Clarice Mowbray’s Miniature. No. words could do justice to Mrs. Martin's feelings when she realized thar Shirley Austin was, indeed, the person to whom she had, at her daughter Ber- tha’s entreaty, given shelter beneath her roof. It was neither regret nor horror that possessed her when she recognized in the sick stranger the man whom she | was determined to believe the murderer of Philip Grayson. Far from being shocked or pained by the discovery, her heart was filled with fierce exultation. That Clarice was, personally, guilty of her husband's death, or that there could be grounds sufficient for placing her under suspi- cion of it, Mrs. Martin had by this time, dismissed from her mind. It was evident to the dullest compre- hension Clarice could not have used the stiletto herself without having on her costume unmistakable evidences of the crime. Even feather-brained Mrs. Mow- bray had possessed wit enough to point out that circumstance; but there was evidence enough to implicate Clarice by means of Shirley Austin, and Mrs, Martin was determined that the suspi- cion should fall upon the bride—at least sufficient to taint her good name, and so leave an eternal stain upon it. “Fate has sent him here, truly!” she thought, repeating the words of her daughter, without knowing what Ber- tha had meant by them, “and I will takeepains to turn his coming to my advantage.” She had been closely watching young Austin while these thoughts had beem passing through her mind with light- ning-like rapidity, and she saw that, after uttering the few words forced from him by the newsboy’s cry in the street, Shirley had dropped down again —his face once more a blank, his eyes vacant and his lips murmuring inaudt- bly, wholly unconscious of everthing about him. “He must have possessed himself of the stiletto in the church,” she thought, “and then, inquiring his way to Philip Grayson’s house, must have watched his opportunity and killed him. The theft of the watch amd other things must have been dore by Clarice or the French maid, Leonce, to give reason for the crime. Between them, they con- cealed the murderer until a favorable moment arrived for letting him out of the house; but what could have caused his present condition? Horror and des- pair at his crime, no doubt, for, of familiar to me, too,” Mrs. Martin said, }course, the young man is no common in a low tone. “Where have I seen him before?” As if the sound of her voice had set his thoughts going again, the stranger flung his arms about his head and cried | out, in a loud voice: | “Why, let the stricken deer go weep The hart ungalled play; | For some must laugh, while some must weep— So runs the world away!" murderer, and committed the desperate act on the impulse of the moment, mad- dened by jealousy and disappointment. Ah, Madam Clarice, and brilliant Mrs. Mowbray, and you, too, my poor, infat- uated brother, it would have been bet- lover yet lived, been allowed to reach their destination! you all from that which nothing in this world can now undq—death! A Ia the fervor of her excited feelings, Martin uttered the last words aloud, and the horrible thought was de- licious to her cruel mind, for her hate of Clarice was becoming almost a ma- “Send for the police, I suppose, and | nia, and for the poor bride’s sufferings, she would have been willing to give pain to herself. 4 Further reflection on the subject was, however, for the present, cut short by the entrance of Bertha and the physi- cian. The doctor for whom the girl had set out in quest, and who had occasionally been called in for Robert Grayson, was not at home, and Bertha had hastened onward until she came to a house on which she saw a sign announcing that “Dr. Francis Bethune” was at home, within certain given hours. He proved to be at home now, and he at once ac- companied her. A single glance served to inform Mrs. Martin that the young man who now entered with Bertha was not the cus- tomary everyday repository of a cer- tain number of medicinal prescriptions, and just brains enough to feel pulses with a grand pretense of doing some- thing extraordinary. She greeted him, therefore, with that mingled respect and admiration which she knew so well how to blend harmo- niously, and her quick eye made a mental inventory of him. He was tall, but well developed and well proportioned. His face was pale and firm; his mouth, large and shapely, with fine, white teeth, contrasting sharply with the red and healthy lips. He had no beard at all, not even a moustache, probably because it would have deen-of an objectionable color, for his thick, wavy hair was as tawny as a lion’s mane. With such a complexion and hair, it was natural to look for blue eyes; and on first meeting Francis Bethune, the observer was made aware, almost with a shock, that his eyes were dark as midnight, with a singular glow that gave them a tawny color, which again made one think of the hue of a lion; but this time, of a lion’s eyes. His manner was somewhat abrupt, indicating that his time was valuable, and not to-be frittered away by femi- nine nonsense. “This young lady tells me that a sick man requires my services immediate- ly,” he said, having acknowledged Mrs. Martin’s salutation with brief civility. “This is the young man,” that lady returned, with equal brevity, indicating young Austin, with a slight wave of the hand. “He is an entire stranger; and before we proceed further, I beg you | will tell me whether he is suffering from any contagious disease. Because, in that case, I cannot—even at my daughter’s entreaty—permit him to re- main here.” Dr. Bethune had already reached the sofa on which Shirley, unconscious of his surroundings, and still muttering wildly to himself, was seated. As the physician took the patient’s hand and placed his fingers upon the pulse, Shirley raised his head and gazed fixedly into the newcomer’s face. It was evident enough that the uncon- scious gazer neither saw nor recognized the new face, but the effect upon the doctor was startling. He colored vio- lently, and an irrepressible exclamation of surprise escaped him. Almost on the instant he was master of himself and the sudden flush had re- ceded, leaving him paler than before. But, quickly as he had regained his self-possession, the momentary loss of it had been noticed by Mrs. Martin, and even by Bertha. For nearly a minute he held Shirley’s hand, while he timed the pulsation at the wrist by a small gold watch which he had drawn from his pocket. At the end of that minute he replaced the watch and turned to Mrs. Martin. “There is no danger of contagion, madam,” he said, addressing her, and glancing toward Bertha. “This gentle- man is suffering from malarial fever— probably a relapse of that troublesome malady, for the appearance and general condition indicate that he has been for some time an invalid. The illness has reached a critical stage and has devel- oped delirium, and the patient should be put to bed at once and placed in charge of a professional nurse. If you desire it, I can relieve you of all trouble on the subject by having the gentleman at once removed to a hospital—” “By no means!” Mrs. Martin here in- terrupted. It didn’t suit her designs at all that Shirley should be removed from her constant observation just when his presence might prove useful in so many ways to her various plans. “In the name of Christian charity, I desire to care for this young man, since he fell down at our very feet. He is an utter stranger, it is true; but all the more for that reason his case calls for pity and kindness-” “Very well. Since you so decide, I will assist him to a room where he can be put to bed.” “Put him in my room, mamma, dear, please do!” Bertha exclaimed, in tones of entreaty. “I can room with Letty, you know. Indeed, I would much pre- fer it.” “Very well, my dear; it shall ‘be as you say,” Mrs. Martin acquiesced. “This way, Dr. Bethune, if you please.” And she turned to leave the room. The doctor had already taken Shir- ley’s arm and gently raised him from the sofa. The poor fellow, although in- capable of originating any course of action for himself, was blindly obedient to the will of another; and, supportea by the dector, slowly followed Mrs. Martin into the hall, and up a long, nar- row stairway leading to the second floor. The room usually occupied by Bertha was soon reached, and, being already in. perfect order, was immediately given. up to the use of the invalid. Mrs. Martin, with an appearance cf truly-genuine care and gentleness, fold- ed down the bed clothing, laid back the snowy sheets and shook up and patted the pillows. Theh, as she left the room, she paused at the threshold. tu say: “Please ring for anything you may require, Dr. Bethune. I will give of- ders for the servants to attend the bel, And when you have put him to bed, let me know at once all that should be done for the patient.” It would have saved | tenderness as “Thank you, ma’am; T’ll lose no time in doing so,” replied the doctor. ter for all of you had my letters to Miss | He hastily turned the key in the lock Mowbray, warning her that her young | and assisted to undress Shirley and put with as much care and if the young man had been his own brother, “This doctor knows, his patient,” him to bed, felon’s death on the scaffosd for Shirley | thought Mrs. Mattin, as she lingered And with the words, he flung himself | Austin! It wil! kill you, beautiful Clar- | outside the door. “ere was recogni- tion, of a startling nature, too, in the look he gave, as they were brought face to face. What can it mean? I must know; but how shall I manage to find out? It won’t do to ask that tawny- haired young Scotchman; and it woula only put him on his guard, and already caution and reticence are written on his face. I must be careful not to betray even that I have any curiosity on the subject. And Bertha, too; what is the secret of her extraordinary irterest in Shirley Austin? Some girlish nonsense, no doubt, for she doesn’t even know who he fs. But there’s no need of any mystery there. I have but to put the question to her at any moment, and the dear child will tell me everything. That matter will keep, therefore. I must have all my wits about me to see through the Scotchmen.” At that moment there was a sound of hurried movements inside the room, a chair was pushed aside. There was a “flop,” as of a heap of clothes thrown on the floor; and, fering that the door might be thrown open, revealing her in the attitude of a listener, Mrs. Martin skimmed along the hall, and tripped down stairs as lightly as any girl in her teens. Neither Bertha nor Letty was in the parlor when she reached it, and glad of a moment to think in quiet, she sat down until the doctor should leave Shirley. She would gladly have been an invisible witness inside of that room, but, failing that, she occupied herself with imagining the glances of intelligence that would dart from the clever young doctor's eyes to the face of patient. “Are they enemies?” she asked her- self. “If so, the doctor has it all his own way now. With @ pinch of poison he can send Shirley Austin cut of the way, and no one be any wiser. But, somehow, it was not like hate, that quick glance of recognition that came into the young Scotchman’s face—more. likely they Have been rivals for some woman’s heart. That eternal Clarice: Have those eyes of hers lit a fire in that young doctor’s Heart, too? But, hark! The door opens: and closes—1 hear his footsteps on. the stair—he is coming here!” With the words, sHe rose and wert te the door, and at that moment Dr. Be- thune entered. “Tow is your patient, now, sir?” she hastened to ask, seating herself on the sofa, and motioning the gentleman to a seat beside her. (To Be Continued: Taken at His Word. The celebrated French poet, Saint Foix, who, in spite of his large income, was always in debt, sat one day in a barber shop, waiting to be shaved. He was lathered, when the door opened, and a tradesman entered, who hap- pened to be one: of. the: poet’s largest creditors. No sooner did this man see Saint Foix than he angrily demanded his moncy. The poet, composedly, begged him not to muke a scene. “Won't you wait: for the money until I am shaved?” = “Certainly,” said the other;. pleased at the prospect. Saint Felix then made the barber a witness of the agreement, and immedi- ately took a towel, wiped the lather froin his face, and left the shop. He were a beard to the end of his life, —Tit-Bits. Horticulture. “I took the manuscript of my ‘Ol4 Oak Tree’ down to that. irritable edit- or.” “What did he say?” “Advised me to cut it down 1 thought he was making jokes at my ex- pense, and told him he didn’t know his business.’ ’ “What happened then?” “There was a storm, and’ yow could see the leaves of my ‘Old Oak Tree’ strewn from the sanctum tothe street.” —Chicago News. An Incorrigible Soak. “You are in rags, and the saloonkeep- er wears diamonds,” urged the temper- ance advecate. “Don’t you: see that you are helping him and hurting your- self? Don’t youisee that he has all the advantage?” “Yees,” repliedithe weary one, doubt- fully; “I see the advantage, all right. “Good!” said’ the temperance advo- cate. “And now what is it?’” “He gets his drinks at the: winolesale price.”"—Chicago. Post: Had His: Money on Her. The mermaids: watched the fim keels off Newport, and marvelled. much that one should be-so»far in the: rear of the others. “That’s the: Boston boat,.” remarked Neptune,’ who: had his money on her, “She’s pointing now.” “It’s time she was pointing,” replied one of the mermaids; “for the last three hours site’s: been: setting.”—New York Marine Journal. The Sweet Thing’s Way. “When you: see: a girl ostentatiously removing: a: fieck: off dust from a young man’s coat,’ ’said the observant man, “you may rest assured tinat she is his, and she wants everyone tw know it.” “Yes, and after marrige,” remarked the Benedick, ‘“‘stte: nermoves the ‘dust’ from his; clothes: unestentatiowsly, to prove hissis: hers:’’—Philadelphia Press. Thoughtless: Woman. Mr. Krusty—Well, tt's too lete now. Why did'nt: you conne to my office when you were down town to-day and tell me all this? Mrs; Krusty—Why, I didn’t think to stop at your office. Mr. Krusty-—That’s just tke you. If you, would enly step to think occasion- ally, perhaps: you would have thought to. stop.—Philadetphia Press. Extinguished, Thewgh. Nell—You, surely, don’t; think Jenk- ins’ wife pretty? Belle—Certainly not. “But you told May Sowers that she was just lovely.” “That was because May was an ol@ flame of Jenkins’ "Philadelphia Ree- ora. Low Grade of Intelligence. “It’s astonishing, Jim Bangs, that you don’t know enough to come home be- fore daylight! Why can’t you imitate the moon?” “Wha’s matter wiz moon?” “Why, the moon knows enough to drop out of sight when it's full.”—Bos- fournal, . ton 7 Capital ~ Gossip BITS OF NEWS GATHERED AT ST. PAUL. (Spects? Correspondenve:) A clash between the state board of contrel and the regents of the state university is expected to follow the bout between the beard of control and the normal schooi regents, which ha® resulted in the board of control's shut- ting off supplies from the mermal re- gents. It is stated on gned' authority that the board of control! does not intend to leave the university regents in peaceful possession of the university, but that it will assert its right under the law to assume financial control! of the institu- tion. It does not regard as legal the regents making contracts and ordering supplies. The university regents are quoted as being opposed to surrendering any of their authority and being determined to resist any attempt off the board of control to hold the purse strings. The board of control is expected to decide on a course of; action very soon. The members of the board refuse to make any statement of their intentions. President Ankeny of the state normal board has made a request to'the state auditor to hurry’ the payment of the money due to the contractors con- structing the state normal: school at Duluth. He was: informed: by. Deputy Auditor Iverson that the voucher for $7,000 sent to the auditing department: by the resident director at Duluth had been returned to him with the request that it be sent to the auditing depart- ment through the board of control. Mr. Ankeny was also informed that the: rule would apply to:all vouchers here- after. The point was raised’ by President Ankeny that the matter of paying for the state normal schcol'at Duluth was not a part of the business of the state board of control, as the appropriation was made and the contracts were let’ before the board of control law took effect. Mr. Ankeny also suggested that the auditor, to be ccnsistent, should hold up the vouchers of the board of! regents of the state university. ee Minnesota farmers are realizing more» the importance of discussion of farm methods, according to a:report by Supt. O. C. Gregg at the annual meeting of the board of managers<of the farmers’ institute. The attendance of approxi- mately 20,000 had established anew record, Stress was laid upon the importance - of an interchange of institute instruct- ors with other states, a plan started by Minnesota two years ago. The workers were placed in new fields, where. they could advance new ideas. The plan was especially successful in the department of domestic animals. Supt. Gregg, whose home is in. Lyon county, where he has an extensive farm, said that the farmers had been surprised agreeably by the wheat and oat yield. ‘Oats has done-exceptional- ly well,” he said, ‘and while the crop will not be up to the standard, a:com- fortable profit will be shown. The straw has been light, but the grain is heavy and the farmers will get. little- short of a full crop. Wheat is not turn- ing out as badly as the people have been led to believe. Of course much of it will not grade No. 1, yet the yield per acre will be fair. tee It is estimatea that seven-eighths-ot: the soap used in the state institutions- will be made at the Rochester: asylum, The asylum has had‘a plant for some time which furnished all the soap need- ed at the asylum, andisome of.the out+ put was sold. The members of the: board :ofrcontrob have decided that the plant can be utilized to a largerrextent, and con- tracts for the supply.of soap needed at state institutions the. coming. three months were let to.the-asylum. Con- tracts were let to outside concerns-for toilet and other varieties ofrsoap nes: made at the asylum: plant. The board figures: on extending the. manufacturing idea to. include. other: articles than soap, Clothing and shoes: will probably be manufactured at the state institutions. if a saving. can: bs» made. The report on, the lacemaking: at: Rochester is very.favorables The -lace- is readily sold om, the market. The women at the asylum become interest- ed in the work and very little material. is destroyed or injured. Auditor Dunn,of;St. Paul:held imBa- midji the most; successful sale of state: land in his estimation that has: ever been held in, the-nertheastern part: of the state. It did not bring as.large an amount: of money as-other sales, but, consider- ing the price per acre for purely wiid! agricultural land in.a pine country. and that the bidders. were.almost: exclusive- ly homesteaders whe@,desire to increase the extent of their farms, the.sale was a very creditable showing to, the. new gounty of Beltrami. Some land without timber sold as-high as $30 ner acre, and |, the average price was about $5. The first payment amounted to. $5,080 and about 3,000. acres were sol: tet Arvangemeniks have deen, conrpleted for the trip af the Third regiment, N. G. S. M., to the Pan-American expo- sition at Buffalo. Coh C, A. Van Duzee has been working Om the detatls of the trip for two months and its success is mow assured. . %he troops will leave St. Paul on a special train Sunday Morning, Sept. 8, ‘and will arrive in Buffalo Tuesday forenoon. Reterning, the command will leave Buffalo so as to arrive in St. Paul late Sunday, Sept. 15. The regi- ment is composed of two companies and band from Duluth, and one com~- pany each from Anoka, Zumbrota, St. Paul, Brainerd, Princeton, Oliviq and Morris, There will be an average attendance of thirty-five per company, but owing to the fact that there will be a short~ age of officers one company may be broken up and the members assigned te other companies,