Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, September 14, 1901, Page 6

AA Fatales em n iharriage. CHAPTER NIL. Philip Grayson’s Will. The funeral was over more than 4 ‘week—all that remained of the import- ant and powerful millionaire had been laid in the vault of Greenwood Ceme- tery, long since prepared for the Gray- sons, and with it had been, apparently, laid away the secret of the sudden and mysterious blow that had stricken to 4eath the new-made bridegroom. The verdict at the coroner's inquest ‘had been “Murder—by some person unknown.” And, like so many myste- rious murders, the affair seemed likely to remain a mystery until the day when all secrets shall be revealed. The ex- eitement gradually died away, and, ex- cept by the family and immediate friends, was soon forgotten. Mrs. Martin was, indeed, as anxious @s ever—if possible, more so—to fix the | guilt on Shirley Austin, and, through | him, to implicate Clarice; but Detect- | ave Hantlin was quietly, but obstinate- ly and persistently, following up eve elue that seemed likely to lead him to | @he criminal. But he maintained an absolute silence; and, as for the lady, another subject divided, at least equal- ly, her attention, and this was the di: positicn of the property left by her brother. That he had made a will some years previous to his death, she, of course, Knew very well; but his marriage had | rendered that worthless, except as in- | dicating his wishes. “She will have her widow's third, of ‘course,’ Mrs. Martin reflected, envying | Clarice even that piece of gocd luck, “and, out of such wealth as Philip's, that alone would be a fortune for her, ‘bat what can’t be helped must be borne 4@s well as possible. I am lucky to get eff so well. Robert and myself are the only heirs to the rest, and we will be rich—rich! Oh, what joy, after the life | ef pinching and patching and manag- ing that I have led! Thank goodness, | ft will be all settled soon, and I suppose } ft {s as well to hear the will read, use- tess though it is now.” And Kate Martin consulted the law- yer's letter in her hand, in which Mr. , Baldwin had bidden her to the reading } ef Philip Grayson’s will, which was to take place at his late residerce. “To-day at 12 o'clock, and it now 9,” she said, looking at her watch. “I! will go alone. Robert has received a | i similar summons, buf I will mect him there. As to the girls, I will not take them. What would be the use, poor | things? Only to disappoint them in | ease they ere not named in the will. : Besides—bless their pretty faces!—they will have plenty from me now. and no longer shall they have to wear out their bright eyes meking over old gowns that are fitter for the rug bag than for stwo young and charming sirls!” Hl Her face was quite winning and wo- | manlike while these thoughts of her | @aughters passed through her mind; {| and with that pleasant look on it, Mrs. Martin hurried away to give orders for | the day to the maid-of-all-work, and, | afterward, to prepare herself for the visit to Mrs. Grayson’s. When she reappeared, the, bereaved @ister was arrayed in heavy mourning; but a liberal supply of jet trimmings giinting and glittering here and there, | revieved the somber effect of paramat- ta end crape, and Kate Martin knew that she had seldom in her life looked | more elegant or attractive. Her thoughts were full of Philip, and whe felt that she had never so dearly loved him. Was he not the occasion of that rich and becoming garb, and was | whe not to inherit nearly a quarter of a million—perhaps more—in consequence | ef his death? What heart could fail to | everfiow with love and tender appreci- | tion at such a time? | “Bertha, love,” she said, kissing her | eldest daughter good-bye, “I will leave | the house in your charge; you will take | good care of everything. The sick gen- | tleman {s doing well, and will soon be | able to relieve us of further charge of him.” “Oh, no, mamma!” exclaimed Bertha, | coloring brightly. | She was not yet aware that their sick | guest was Shirley Austin, and her | mother had caréfullv concealed the fact | from her. She chose for the present to ‘keep thet circumstance a secret from all except herself and Detective Hant- Un, und she was so occupicd with that thought as te leave unncticed Bertha’s agitation and the vivid blush that turned the girl’s frerl, young face into the color of a rose. “T mean,” continued the daughter, in corfusion—“of course the gentleman is better—much better. But it will be a Jong while, mamma dear, before he will be well enough to leave us.” “That remains to be seen. However, take care of him for the present. He's | getting on marvellously well, and that | Naylor is quite wonderful as a nurse. The doctor will be here this morning, too,” she added. “But there, I must be off, Bertha, or I shall be late.” And Mrs. Martin hurried away. A carriage—the best ‘the livery stable ould furnish—was waiting for her, and as she settled herself into it and felt herself driven rapidly away, her mind was divided between a sense of luxury and conjecture as to the former ac- quaintance between Shirley Austin and fhis physician, Dr. Bethune. She had reached no satisfactory con- clusion on the subject when she arrived at her destination. The door was open, ed by Susan, her special favorite among \the vants of the house, and she was at once shown into the recep- tion room; but on the way she con- trived to ask a question er two: “How have things been going, Susan, eince the funeral?” “Well, ma’am, the missus do seem to bear up uncommon well, an’ she’s very i | Mowbr: | fully, in cne corner of the room. | presence of ELIZABETH CAMPBELL. ae there’s been no end of sewing an’ the like to do. But the mistress of the house is Mrs. Mowbray, the new mis- sus’ mother, if T may be allowed to speak my mind.” “Oh, indeed, Susan, is Mrs. Mowbray staying here, then?” asked Mrs. Mar- tin, with a feeling that this was almost more than could be borne. “To be sure, ma’am—she’s here en- tirely an’ altogether, an’ the father the same! Sure, they've just walked in an’ taken possession of the place.” Mrs. Martin felt choking with rage, but she managed to overcome it and answer, carelessly: “It won't be for long, Susan. I can change all that.” And by this time she wes at the door of the geception room, and conscious that Mrs. Mowbray herself had risen to receive her, and was condescending- ly inviting her to sit down. Tt is the small things in life that most severely try female patience. It required all Kate Martin’s mastery of herself to reply civilly to Hetty but she did it. The two la- lies bowed amiably and smilingly, and and proceeded to talk about the weath- er. Mrs. Mowbray, indeed, not realizing how bitterly the other woman felt to- ward her, was polite and pleasant in perfect good faith, and, admiring Mrs. Martin and her becoming mourning, frankly told her so, Mrs. Martin responded by compli- menting Clare’s proved appearance, and, indeed, the poor, invalid scarcely looked like the same woman. Like a faded Slower, withering for warmth and showers, Mrs. Mowbray had fairly bloomed in the sunshine and balmy breath of prosperity. And jin this trame of mind the two ladies continued to talk to each othe until they were summoned to the libra- ry, in which apartment the reading of the will was to take place. Each person named in the document had been summoned by Lawyer Bald- win, and when Mrs. Mowbray and Kate I think | Martin entered, they found assembled there Dr. Sprague, the testator’s family physician; Carl, the Swiss valet; Mar- tha Dodge, cook; William Forbes, coachman; Mr. Mowbray (who was not named in the will, but was present by courtesy, on acccunt of his relation- ship to the lady of the house), and Rob- ert Grayson, the latter pale and calm, very sad-looking, and dressed simply in ; & complete suit of mourning. My The servants were standing respect- Mow- bray was seated close by Robert Gray- son, with whom he had been trying to ‘ hold some conversation, but, receiving only monysyllabic answers, he had at last given up the effort. Dr. Sprague was sitting apart from the others, looking straight into the depths of his hat, which he was holding gravely in front of him. At the entrance of the two ladies, all ; three gentlemen rose And saluted them. Mowbray then began talking, in a low tone, to his wife. Dr. Sprague sat down beside Mrs. Martin, occasionally exchanging some commonplace remark, and Robert resumed his seat and his former preoccupied appearance. Some few minutes passed very slow- ly, when the door again opened, and Mr. Baldwin entered, conducting the wicowed bride, who leaned heavily on his arm. She looked up and acknowledged the the others by a slight, graceful inclination of the head, which included, in its general salutation, ev- ery one in the room. Mr. Baldwin then led her toward the ‘head of the apartment, and handed her to a large easy chair which he had drawn toward the table, and when she was seated he sat down himself at the other side of the table, and began sort- ing the papers that were laid upon it. Every eye was fixed, with varying feelings on the part of the beholder, upon Clarice. She looked more beautiful than ever. Her face, though pale as a snowdrift, showed no sickly pallor. If she looked fragile, it was the fragility of an ex- quisite fiower, perfect, though delicate. Her lovely mouth had the pink hue of health; her large eyes, though they had wept floods of tears, were still lus- trous as diamonds, end the dark circles about them only added to their bril- liance, and deepened the color of the glossy lashes and brows. The shining coil of hair was heaped like a mass of glistening gold about the beautiful head, and the severe costume of dead-black showed to pegfection ev- ery line of the lithe, slender figure.’ There was but one pair of eyes of all those bent upon her that bestowed re- luctant admiration, and that admira- tion was, perhaps, most flattering of all, since it came from the one woman in the world who hated her, and who would gladly have seen her stricken dead. “How more than mortal beautiful that girl is!” thought Kate Martin, grinding her teeth with envy and jeal- ousy, as her gaze was fixed on Clarice; “and that saint-like expression—artful little hussy!—how it always takes the men! No wonder poor Philip lost his head, as well as his big heart, after they were once engaged! There's even Robert, forgetful of his early love, looks ready to drop at her feet! Oh, no man could resist her beauty and that angelic look! But I hold the power to wring your heart, fair lady, and to make those fine eyes of yours dull with weeping; and I'll do it, too! That she loved Shirley Austin there’s no manner of doubt, and she’s the kind that loves once and forever. Why doesn't that stupid detective send and have the fel- low arrested? The weapon with which the deed was done is in his possession, and part of the stolen property found on the wretch’s person. What more quiet. The French maid is more im- portant than ever, an’ she do be with ‘madam,’ as she calls Mrs. Grayson, all the time. To be sure, she’s a fine @eamstrees, the French woman, and can he want?” These reflections were abruptly ter- minated by the voice of Lawyer Bald- win, addressing all present: “I bold the will of Mr. Philip Gray- mother on her im- ! son, executed by me, and signed by him, about three years ago. I desire to read it aloud, that his heirs may know the terms of it, and be somewhat guided by the wishes of the deceased, which cannot now, as here expressed, be enforced by law, the present instru- ment being made valueless by Mr. Grayson’s subsequent marriage. But I think I am right in my conjecture that the heir or heirs of Mr, Philip Gray- son’s wealth will desire to carry out certain bequests herein specified.” A murmur of approbation answered these words. Mr. Baldwin proceeded to read the will, which, skipping legal formalities, was in substance as follows: To his attached friend, Dr. Sprague, Mr. Grayson bequeathed $10,000; to Carl, his valet, $5,000; to Martha Dodge, cook, $3,000; to William Forbes, coachman, $3,000; to each of his nieces, Bertha and Letty Martin, $20,000; to his afflicted brother, Robert Grayson, $50,000; to various religious and benev- olent societies, each specified by name, $10,000 each. The balance, including houses, silver, diamonds, and every kind of property, to his dear sister Kate, widcw of James Martin. de- ceased, for the term of her natural life, and at her death to be evenly divided among her children and grandchildren. A ery of irrepressible joy broke from the lips of Kate Martin. In the depth of her delight she forgot that subse- quent events had rendered this magni- ficent—this glorious and just and gen- erous—will so much waste paper. When that reflection flashed upon her, it seemed for a moment or two as if her heart would die within her, the reaction was so great. But she was 2 plucky woman, and with all her strength she struggled for composure. Oh, if that blow which killed Prilip had only been struck the night before the bridal, instead of an hour after! But things might have been worse. The bridegroom might have lived to make a new will—to bequeath all—with an oid man’s infatuation, to the youngs wife who had supplanted old friends and relatives. All wa3 not lost. She must be composed and grateful that matters were not worse yet than they were. Mr. Baldwin began to speak again, and at first his words seemed confused and meaningless to Mrs. Martin; then came a wild ringing in her ears, and a thought that the whole universe had turned upside down. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have to read the only legal will of my client—the last will and testament of Philip Grayson—the former will having been read for such reasons as I have already given.” “What last will? What do you mean, sir?’ gasped Kate Martin, hardly con- scious that the words had escaped her lips. “A will prepared by me, according to my client's directions, and duly signed | by him, and witnessed by his valet, Carl, and his coachman, William.” The room seemed turning round with Mrs. Martin—the light turned into darkness; the ringing in her cars con- tinued, increased, but through it all she heard and understood the lawyer's voice as it went on, each word sound- ing like the reading of her death war- rant. “I, Philip Grayson, heing of sound mind and body, declare this to be my last will and testament: I hereby r2- voke all former wills by me made and signed, and give and bequeath to my dear and beloved wife, Clarice Grayson, nee Mowbray, everything of which I die peescssed, desiring orly that sne will carry out such special bequests to servants and others (specified in my former will) as may seem good to her. Once more I name my darling wife as sole heir to every kind of property now belonging to me, or to which I may hereafter kecome entitled, and I make put one proviso to this heirship—name- ly, that she, my wife, Clarice, shall re- main single all her life, for my sake, living and dying an honorable widow. If, however, in defiance of my wish in this respect, my wif2 should at any future time marry again, I revoke all the aforesaid disposition of my proper- ty, leaving it as it may then stand to be equally divided between my brother Robert and my sister Kate, subject only to such special bequests as are mentionned in my previous will, and at their death the whole to be equally di- vided among their descendants.” Mr. Baldwin ceased speaking, folded the will and laid it on the table. Then, turning to Clarice. he said, bowing pro- foundly annd with much feeling: “Madam, I congratulate you.” Clarice had been as pale as marble while the second will had been read, but at the clause forbidding her mar- riage as a possible contingency, a wave of indignannt color had spread over her face and threat, and Ler lustrous eyes emitted a single brief flash of an- ger. The next moment she was quite self- possessed, and ready to respond, with becoming ease and calmness, to the lawyer's words of congratulation. But a commotion at the further end of the room prevented_her. There was a sti- fled ery—something between a moan and a gasping sigh—and a graceful, black-robed figure swayed forward and slipped heavily to the floor. * For the first and only time in her life, Kate Martin had fainted. CHAPTER XIV. The Schemer Overreaches Herself. It was fully ten minutes before Mrs. | Martin recovered from her swoon, and when she was at ‘ength able to sit up on the lounge where they had placed her, che was still so overcome that a burst of hysterical tears came to her relief cre she could find voice enough to speak, “My girls—my rcer, dear children— my poor Bertha and Letty!” she wailed, piteously. “My pocr, impover- ished children, your uncle forgot us he- fore he died! Oh, what will tecome of you—what can your wretched mother do for you?” Tears and sobs, sincere and heartfelt, choked her utterance, and she wrung her hands wildly in the depth of her despair. Mrs. Mowbray, who, with all her silli- ness, was not heartless, and was ever ready to sympathize with maternal grief, shed a few tears from sympathy, and strove to comfort Mrs. Martin ac- cording to her ability. “It isn’t Clare’s fault, Mrs. Martin; she is not to blame thet Mr. Grayson loved her beyond any one else in the world, and, besides, there’s Scripture for it, too—a man should leave every- thing to his wife, and cleave to her til! death part them! I don’t know if that is the exact words, but I know I’ve got the idea right. Ard Clare’s the most generous girl in the world. Now that she knows what Mr. Grayson wished in regard to your daughters, I’m afiite sure they will never want so long ac she has the mean: to carry out his in- tentions. You know the ;will said as much as that. Come, now, my dear, be comforted,” and she patted Mrs. Mar- tin on the shoulder. But to the afflicted woman, so sud- denly, as it were, cast to earth from the very pinnacle of bope annd expect- ation, Mrs. Mowbray’s. touch burned like fire, and every word stabbed. Turn- ing, with ill-cone: sled impatience, she shook off Mrs. Mowbray’s hand, and, making a last effort to compose and control herself, she rose and was about to leave the room, when ske found her- self face to face with Clarice, pale, beautiful and calm. “My mother says no more than I will make good, Mrs. Martin,”’ said Clarice, in a voice clear and distinct to all in the room. “It is sufficient for me to know my kusband’s wishes. I will car- ry them out implicitly in every in- stance.” Mrs. Martin met the sweet, grave look of the deep violet eyes, and knew that Clare would be true to every word she now spoke. She had purposely spoken in the presence of witnesses, but Mrs. Martin felt, instinctively, that ev- ery word would be strictly adhered to, though no ears save her own had heard them. But she only hated the beauti- ful bride more bitterly for having thus the power to shower benefits or with- hold them at pleasure Her very fin gers ached to do some thing desperate. She woulé have liked to strike Clarice then and there: the impatient temper that had often ruined her best plans at the very moment of success tempted her strongly to give the rein to her hate and envy, but, with an almost su- perhuman etfort, she refrained. “I can scarcely expect Philip Gray- son’s widow to treat us with more con- sideration and generosity than Philip Greyson has shown,” she said, with a sneer. And then, with a quick, con:prehens- ive bow+to every one, the disappointed woman hurried from the room and from the house. Her carriage was still standing at the door, and she flung open the door, hurried into it, and, with an imperious voice, bade the man drive her home. Alone with her old wild thcughts, she raved like ore in delirium—at one mo- ment weeping and wringing her hands, then silent, in a kind of stony despair, then awakened again by some sharp steb of remembrance that caused her to burst out into frantic hate against the successful gir! wno had triumphed over her in every way. “Surely, she was born to good luck. A crime rids her of a husband she weuld have hated, and leaves her mis- tress of the wealth he toiled a life-time to gain. She has parsed unscathed threveb circumstances suspicious enough to have hanged any other wo- man.” “Her Iover returns in time to reap the benefit of all the good fortune that fate showers upon her, and what though he may be arrested for murder, she will spend helf of Philip's wealth to save Shirley Austin; and, despite all I can do, they will he haypy. Before the year’s mourning has expired she will have married him. Ha! Surely, there is something I have forgotten— ha, ha, haf She cannct marry him, or if she does, every dollar of Philip's wealth comes to me—to me end Rob- ert!” A shrill, wilé@ lavzh of triumph brok2 from Mrs. Martin’s lips. Had not the carriage been driven nfuriously,' rat- tling noisily over the hard street, the coachman on the box must have heard it and thought she was going mad. But the new train of thought soon quieted her. The tears fled from her eyes; the color came back to her face, and again she was the hard, dangerous woman, that, in moments of emergen- vy, she could become. “She will marry him,” she thought. “Yes, she is mad with love for that man, and if the price was life itself, she will marry Shirley Austin. She is young, enthusiastic, and at the worst, Ithink, the law would give her one- third of Philip’s estate, wil! or no will. All is not lost yet. must meet 4s soon as he can leave the house. Feol that I have been to have lost my head! Already I have over- reached myself. i have betrayed Shir- ley to the detective, but, like a wise fortunate—how fortunate! I begin to agree with Hantlin. I don’t think Aus- tin committed the murder at all. But whether or no, he must meet Clarice at If there is an estrangement, it once. must be made up.immediately. I can’t take any active part in it. She would instantly suspect my motives. But I ean pave the way for these ardent young lovers to come together again and meke up their little quarrel. Ah, here I am at home again! I must see the interesting patient at once.” She paid the coachman, and, in the renewed exhilaration of hope, gave him a good-sized piece of silver for himself; and then she smilingly hast- ened into the houte and received an ac- count of all that nad happenend from Bertha, wno met her at the parlor door. The doctor had called, Bertha told her, but had remained for a moment only, as the patient was asleep. “Then he will come again?” inquired Mrs Martin. “Yes, ‘mamma, so he said.’ ” “Come and tell me the moment he fs kere, dear, and don’t let me be dis- turbed in the meantime. I am going to my room to lie Gcwn. But remember— ihe moment Dr. Rethune comes you ar? to call me. He is, on no account, tg go into Shir—into the sick gentleman’s recm until I have s-en kim first.” “Yes, mamma, dear—certainly,” re~ turned Bertha,’ wonderingly. “But won't you tell me anythiag—" “Not at present, dear,” Mrs. Martin returned, with unusual preemptoriness. “T must lie down and rest myself, child. Can't you see that I am quite wern out?” But, notwithstanding this extreme fatigue, Mrs. Mactin remained in her own room just long enough to exchange her street costume for a house dress, and then tc bathe her tear-stained face in cologne and water, Having thus refreshed herself, she took a key from her private drawer and hasteped along the hall toward the room which she had devoted to the use of Shirley Austin. But, inetead of pausing at the door, she entered a amall apartruent next to She and Austin | it, and locked hertelf into it. She then eppreacked 2 Jarge closet on the side Basy Come, Easy Go. The man who creeps along, bent over, of the room next to the sick man, and, ! with his spinal column feeling in a con- turning the handle softly, entered it. The closet was used as a wardrobe, and contained a Jarge number of dress- es, hanging upon pegs, belonging to herself and her daughters. e Mrs. Martin carefully pushed aside the skirts and revealed the wall at the back—or, to be more correct, where the wall had been. The boarding and plaster had been dition to snap like a pipestem at any minute, would readily give a great deal {to get out of Iris dilemma, and yet this is only the commonest form by which lumbago seizes on and twists out of ‘shape the muscles of the back. This is commonly known as backache, a crick in the back, but by whatever name ft may be known, and however bad it may be, 10 minutes’ vigorous rubbing so carefully removed that nothing re-| with St. Jacob’s Oil on the afflicted mained for a space of about three feet each way, but a thin layer of mortar, papered on the other side. Se thin wa: it that the device was a rather risky, one, and the inventor was aware that any erticle of furniture in Austin’s reem moved roughly against that part of the wall, might at any mo- ment knock a hole through it, and so iay bare her careful and skilful device at eavesdcopvirg. But Mrs. Martin was accustomed to taking risks, and from the first ste had cetermined, by any means, to find ewt the secret of the former acquaintance between Shirley Austin and Francis Bethune. More than ever was site now determined to do so, since every cirevmstance she could Tearn regarding Clarice’s lover might be turned to account. Having pushed aside the dresses, Mrs. Martin crouched down «mtil her ear was on a level with the thinnest part of the partition, and then she dis- tinctly heard the voices of Shirley and the nurse, though both spoke carefully and in a low tone. Austin inquired whether the physi- cian had yet made his daily visit, and Naylor, the nurse, replied that Dr. Bethune had already called, and weuld call again; and then, as silence was resumed, the listener heard @ long, Iew sigh, which she knew came from the sick man's lps. “It is all right; I cam hear the faint- est sound,” she thought. “To-day they will speak of the secret—whatever it may be—that binds them together. Te would kave spok2n yesterday if the doctor would have allowed him. How I feared that I might have lost this con- versation durigg my absence! A spe- cial Providence must have sent the troublesome fellow to sleep when Dr. Bethune called—Hark! is that the bell?” She glided from: the closet and from the room, closing and locking the door after her, and had just time to reach her own apartment whem a gentle tap; tap, sounded or the acor. (To Be Continued.) Get Their Fingers Clipped: The finger-clipping fool is still abroad’ in the land, and all the local cigar dealers are on the lookout for him: They try to keep him from indulging in his painful and gory amusement, but rarely with success. This particular kind of idiot fre quents the biggest cigar store in town, where customers are in the habit of clipping off the ends of their cigars in a machine made expressly for the pur- pose, and in which a powerful spring drives a blade across an opening in the surface big enoggh to hold the end of a cigar. Pressure on the surface re- leases the spring. The opening is large enough to admit the end of a man’s little finger, and many men cannot keep their little fin- gers out of it. They stick them in the opening. “just to se if the blade will jump over before they can pull it out.” The blade always moves more quick- ly than the finger and snips off the ex- treme tip, making a painful wound that bleeds freely. Cigar dealers say customers appar- ently sane, do that every day. The dealers can’t account for it—New York Mail and Express. His Defense Sufficient. One of the best defenses in court was that of Jacob Simms, a young man who lives at No. 156 West Twenty-second street, who was charged with assault- ing a Harlem man. “I certainly did beat him, judge, but he only got what was coming to him. The-other night I went to call on a girl, This man and another girl were also there. Finally, a theater party was proposed, and we all’ went to the rlem opera house. “I stepped up to the box office to get two tickets for my friend and myself, when he whispers to me: ‘buy four, and I’ll pay you later.’ “I did; and after the show bought a supper for the crowd. He never said a word about paying me back. I asked him for his business address, and he gave me a wrong one; tut I found him this evening and he refused to pay up. Naturally, I thrashed him.” “You did perfectly right, under the cirenmstances,” said Magistrate Poole: “You ane discharged.”—New York World: . The First Savings Bank. In the year 1799 the door of the: first savings bank in: the: United Kingdor was opened in the: vestry of the parish chureh at Wendover, im Buckingham - shire. The reetor, Rev. John Smith, with a few of the church wardens, agreed to receive weekly any sunr not less than 2d, from any poor parishioners who were: able and willing to save from their earnings: , that if the sunr deposited were left un- til the following Christmas, a bonus of ts would be added to: the amount, This local and philanthropic effort was followed in 1810 by the first so- called “Bank of Savings,” opened and condueted om something like: business lines. This was started by a Scotch clergyman, and from this unpretentious rural hank may be said to have sprung the system of trustee savings: banks, Distingue. “She comes of a grand old family, I believe?” “Yes, very! An ancestor of hers was beheaded in the tower during the reign of the Fourth Edward.” “How perfectly devely!”—Detroit Journal. Respeettfully Decline}, “My boy, no cigarettes! If yeu must smoke, smoke cigars.” “But, father, I can’t afford it.” “You can use mine.” “I value my friends too highly for that.”—Detroit Free Press, Adversity. Sweet, indeed, are the uses of ad- versity; but, as far as our own expert- ence goes, we find they clog on the stomach rather more quickly than the genesal run of sweets.—Detroit Jour. nal, : ~~ the conditions being 4 part will drive out the trouble and com- pletely restore. It is a thing so easily caught, it may be wondered at Why there is not more of it, but because it is so easily cured by St. Jacob’s Oil may be the very reason we hear so Little of it. A True Prophecy. Nabb—I believe Madam DeTouch caw foretell one’s fortune accurately. Dabb—Nonsense. Nabb—But she said a cold; haughty man would cross my path. Dabb—Well, as I left her apartments the iceman entered.—Pittsburg Dis- patch. A Sure Thing. Promoter—Now, in case goes up, you win. Financier—Yes; down? Promoter—Then I win. You see’ this is a sure thing; one or the other of us is sure to win.”—Ohio State Journal: the: stock but in case it goes Forestry is not the planting of trees for ornament or for shade. It is the science of raising crops of trees for profit on waste land—land that is too hilly, teo rocky or too steep for cultiva- tion. On sueh land, and including el vated and exposed situations, the pine will reach merchantable size in eighty years, and by its growth earn an aver- age net revenue of 3 per cent. But this is too long for individuals to wait for a erop, and the state should buy such tracts and keep them permanently in vevenue-yielding coniferous fore: —C. C. Andrews. Unneseceary Alarm. Mr. Fijit—Here comes a fellow who is likely to throw something at you. Mrs. Fijit—Goodness, me, Randolph! Let’s leaye the theater at once. What is he likely to throw? Mr. Fijit—His voice. He is a ventril- oquist,. dear.”—Ohio State Journal. He Was Satisfied. “fT never axed Providence ter do much fer me,” said the aged colored philoso- pher. “En after-a long en wearisome life er trouble I ain’t got nuttin’ ‘cept de rheumatism, one, wife, ten chillun en a mortgage on de house.’"—Atlanta Constitution. Ladies Can Wear Shoes One size smaller after using Allen's Foot-Ease, a powder. It makes tight or new shoes easy. Cures swollen, hot, sweating, aching feet, ingrowing nails, corns and bunions. All druggists and shoe stores, 25c. Trial package FREE by mail. Address Allen S. Olmsted, Le Roy, N. Y. & Wild Goose. “Say, daddy, I notice in the paper that Chicago university is giving away ten LL. D. and ten D. D. degrees. What do those D.’s mean?” “Where does this happen?” “At the University of Chicago.” “Then they must mean dollars.”— Cleveland Piain Dealer. Piso's Cure is the vost medicine we ever used for all affections of the throat and lungs.—Wm O. Expsxwy, Vanburen, Ind.. Feb. 10. 1960. A Close Call. “Don't you talk to your husband over the ’phone?”” “Never. When I have anything of importance to say to my husband I want to: get near him.”—Boston Jour- nal. Out of Place. Cholly—t get such frightful headaches lately. Doctor thinks, perhaps, there's some foreign substance in my bwain. Miss Peppery—Ah! An idea, perhaps. —Philadelphia Press. Dropsy treated free by Dr. H. H. Green’s Bons, of Atianta,Ga. The greatest dropsy specialists.in the world. Read their adver tisement in another column of this paper. Improving. @acon—Is your wife improving in her cooking? Egbert—Oh, yes! When I first began to.eat her foed I had to have a doctor; now I just have to take some little thing for digestion which I have in the /House:— Yonkers Statesman. Fact and Fashion. “These trousers are very much worr | this: season,” said the tailor, displaying: his goods. “So are the ones I have on,” replied: the poet, sadly.—Fun. Ht Catarrh Cure ie a constitutional cure. Price, 75c. An Insinuation. | Willie—Paw, is the devil every place? Father—Yes; every place, my son: j BOW. don’t bother me any more. | Willie—I won't, paw; but ain't, yow | afraid to go out after night?—Ohio |, State Journal. Half an houris all the time required to dye with PUTNAM FADELESS DYES. Sold by druggists, 10c. per package. Proof. He—What makes you think, dear, that I don’t love you any more? She (pouting)—You haven't kissed me any more to-night than, yom ever did. Don’t ache, use Hamlin’s Wiaard Oil, Rheumatism, neuralgia and all pain banished by it. See your druggist. A veman can generally manage t2 ery a little more beccmingly in a new dress than in an nold one, The man who indulges in self-praise adds nothing to his reputation. Hunger is sure to come to those whe sit down and wait, re PISO'S enon RE ERE ALL ELS C cu ig ru “ ee