Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, October 5, 1901, Page 6

Al Fatal, orn x lharriage. CHAPTER XVII. (Continued.) “And what do you consider a suitable @ortion, if I may inquire?” sneered Mowbray. “I shall make over by deed of gift to Bertha and Letty the amount named by their uncle, and to Mrs. Martin and Mr. Grayson the sum of $100,000 each.” “What! screamed Mowbray, jump- tmg up and tearing up and down the reom raging like a wild animal. “A quarter of a million or more! Are you mad, girl?—and do you imagine I wiil gtand calmly by and see you give away fm parcels the magnificent fortune I fhave secured for you?” “That you secured for me?” repeated Clarice, in a tone of undisguised con- tempt. “You may, indeed, say so, fath- er, {f ties and treachery can be €alled securing it; but I'm not sure it’s se- cure—nor do I know what to do with ft. My intention is to divide it among those who have the best claim to it, end whatever is left over shall then be made over (v those most nearly related te Mr. Graysun. It was obtained by Bies, and fraud and murder, for if Mr. Grayson had lived I would have left his house on the very day I entered it. @h, would to heaven I had never en- tered ii—never have beheld his face! I was a happy girl until he first saw me, | for nothing could have made me be-| Meve Shirley Austin false; and had he, findeed, been cead, as you have maile me believe among you, I would have maurned him as his widow all my life, s thousand times happier so than the ‘wife of any man on earth, had he made me a queen!” “Den't name that wretch’! Mow- bray cried out, infuriated beyend all control. “Miserable girl, have you no @ense of decency or propriety? Your Sips shou!d be blistered with me to wtter the name of Shirley Austin!” “Yes,” said Clarice, her eyes kind- ‘Wing and her fair cheek flushing with mingled indignation and rage, “his mame should blister my lips with @hame that I could ever have been fatse to him, even believing him dead— with shame that I could so easily have been imposed upon by a money-loving father, and a foolish, doting lover, who was old enough to have been my fath- ert” “At least he knew how to win you!” thundered Mowbray, in his loudest tones. “And if he had lived, poor fel- tow, he would have known how io wake his wife obey him.” “Never, I tell you! I would have Yeft Phitip Grayson within an hour, had mot the assassin’s hand punished him for his treachery and falsehood to me.” “And that assassin was and is Shir- ley Austin!” “It is false!” said Clarice, in a low, Antense voice. She rose and came toward her fath- er; she stood quite close to him, and her eyes met his in a glance of uncon- querable defiance. Her face was pale, but her lips were firm, and her whole appearance was | beautiful, commanding and strong. Mowbray saw that he had no longer @ child, a girl, to deal with, but a wo- man whose whole heart and soul were roused in defense of the man she loved. I¢ Shirley Austin had entered the foom at that moment, Clarice would have placed her hand in his, and would hhave gone with him to the end of the ‘aniverse. Her father saw it, and feit it: and he recognized, as he never had until then, that some strong measure was neces- arf, and must be taken instantly—for ‘Shirley Austin might come at any mo- ment, and, if they met for one brief minute, good-bye forever to Philip Grayson’s wealth and grand house and @ine horses. In that single moment he thought of everything—of the luxuries he had of Bate enjoyed, luxuries that were al- weady necessary, and, as he felt that all this was imperiled, the imminence of his danger steadied his nerves. He had the courage of despair, and he was weady to say or do anything that would @erve forever to keep his daughter and Shirley Austin apart. ‘They looked strongly alike, the fath- er and daughter, as they faced each ther, and his face became as defiant and resolute as hers. “It is false!” Clarice repeated, “and you krow that it is fals “It is true,” declared Mowbray. “I ‘know It to be true. and I can prove it.” A low groan of horror burst from larice’s tips. She became white as amarble, and, staggering backward, she fell into the chair frcm which she had visen. “You can prove it?” she repeated, ir a dying voice. ‘Father, have pity on ane, for God’s sake! Remember, I am your child!” The words came brokenly, almost in- audibly, from her lips in a delirium ot terror. For the first moment she for- got everything but her lover’s danger— his crime, if this was true; for till now mothing but vague suspicions, based on @imost trivial circumstantial evidence, had been hinted at against Austin; and, except that his absence was mys- terious and looked queer, even the mewspapers had ceased to connect his mame with the murder. Mowbray was overjoyed at the suc- cess of his words. He had not counted en overcoming Clarice so easily. “Yes,” he answered, triumphantly. “{ can prove it. Ah, my lady, you can be humble enough when it suits you. Perhaps you had better remember that you are my child. I bave never for- gotten it. I have done the best a fath- er could for a too ungrateful daughte ~ end haa {I not considered your feelinss too much, I would have already de- metnced your lover—wretched crea- ture! unworthy of the name or, crim- mal as he is, he wculc have sought t» profit by his crime so far as to clatia you! But, no! he is a coward, as well s@s an assassin, and is basely hiding @cmewhere to repent of his wickecd- peas!" ELIZABETH CAMPBELL. Lael “There's some mistake, father—it can be explained. You knew Shirley is in- capable of meanness or cowardice. Oh, how cruel you are to accuse him of it! It is not enough that you have robbed him of me, whom he loved more than life, but now you must take away his good name—all that is left to me and to him.” “Stuff and nonsense! Clare, you force me to call you a fool! It is true, Austin came back; but, if he loved you so, Why did he not come sooner? What | is the explanation of his long silence? If he is innocent, why has he never sought you since you were free to prove how unjustly he is suspected, aad to explain all that is mysterious about his long silence? Can you not see that he loves you no more; although, like a dog in the manger, he envied the man who married you, and, in a fit of rage, killed Philip!” “No, no! Stop!” interrupted Claric>. “I will never believe it—it is rot so! There is much that is strange and needs expluining: but Shirley is noble and true. He is incapable of coward- ice or crime, and he leved me “And I can hang him, and I will, if you persist in this madness. Listen. I would have spared you if I could, but you force me to it. I expected to have had to say it at the inquest, and if sus- picion had fallen upon you, a3 it ap- peared likely to do at first, I would have spoken then; but now I must speak, to save you from a danger al- most as great. You remember the weapon with which the murder was done? I saw the jeweled stiletto fall from your veil when Grayson snatched you from Austin’s embrace, and I saw Austin stoop and pick up the weapon with which your husband was killed.” A stifled shriek burst from the lips of Clarice, and she buried her pallid face in her hands. “I don't believe it! murmured. “I can swear to it,” returned Mow- bray. “Think what the effect would be on a jury. Hach! There is some one ‘at the door. Come in!” The door opened softly, and Susan entered. ° “A gentleman—to see Mrs. Grayson,” she said, uncertainly glancing from the father to the daughter. Mr. Mowbray had said nothing about callers, but she felt at once that the announcement she had made was an unfortunate one in her own interests. Mr. Mowbray reached out for the card, but, with a spring like a panther, Clar- ice intercepted it, and read the name: “SHIRLEY AUSTIN.” “My darling, my darling!” she cried, wildly, and pressed the little paste- board messenger to her lips again and again. She had reached the door and wes outside of it before Mowbray caught her in his arms and dragged her back, forcibly, into the room. “Tel! the person who gave you that card that Mrs.Grayson is not at home and will never be at home to him. Do you hear, girl? Tell him that message from your mistress. Go!” Susan waited for no secend bidding. “Father, father!” screamed Clarice, as the door closed after the servant, “let me go! I will see him!” “Then you shall see him next upon the scaffold. I swear it!” Mowbray withdrew his grasp as he spoke, and Clarice fell heavily to the floor. I can’t!” she CHAPTER XVIIT. The French Maid’s Story. When Clarice fell to the floor, at the close of her stormy interview with her father, she had fainted. At the sound of the terrible words: “Then you shall next see him on the scaffold,” a sudden vertigo had seized her. She reeled and put out her hand for suppcrt, at the same moment her father withdrew from her, so that she fell heavily to the floor. Cruel and inexorable though Brian Mowbray had just proved himself, he loved his daughter after his own selfish way, and the sound of her heavy fall, as her head struck the floor, smote him like a blow. He stooyed cver her prostrate figure, raised her in his arms and carried her to the nearest sofa. “Clarice, my child! Clarlice, dear, are you hurt?” he exclaimed, with sudden compunction. But Clarice made no answer, for, stunne.. though she was by the fall, her senses were keenly alert, and her heart, as well as her ears, were intently listening. Susan had already descended ‘the stairs to deliver the message which had been worded by Mowbray, and in a few moments Clarice heard the heavy slam of the front door, and she knew too well who was now forever shut out from her—for Shirley Austin would never return again after receiving that cruel message from her. She started up and darted toward the window, desperate and wild with fear for her lover, and longing to behold him once more, if only for one hopeless moment. She would have called to him, or would even have madly thrown herself from the window to reach his embrace, and this ker father knew quite well. Gently but firmly he caught her in his arms and held her in a strong grasp, for she struggled with all the strength of despair to free herself. “My daughter,” said he, sternly, “why will you’ not listen to reason? The worst is over now; he has gone, and he will not return, fortunately for himself, for if he do2s it will be to his own certain death. So Icng as he keeps away from you he is safe, but I spare his life only on condition of your im- plicit obedieuce to my wishes. You know well that I am not to be trifled with, Clarice; and, after all, it is your own future happiness that I am pro-. tecting, child—for, though you may think me harsh and cruel, you will live to thank me yet for what I am dois. | There, there, cease struggling, Clarice. You wish to be left alone for the pres- ent. I will go.’ * Shirley kept him waiting longer than he had anticipated, and Mowbray had just begun to ask himself if the des- perate lover had taken up a Station at the front door step, to wait there until Clarice should make her appearance, when he caught sight of Austin slowly, dejectedly crossing the street and turn- ing the corner. His walk and general appearance in- dicated so much desolation and disap- pointment that Mowbray cocngratulat- ed himself on having prevented Clarice from obtaining even a momentary glance of her lover. At the same moment he gently re- laxed his grasp and allosved her to free herself. Clarice flew to the window and gazed wildly out up and down the street. But it was too late; there was no trace of him whom her eyes sought. She turned upon her father, her face aflame with anger and indignation. “Your treatment of me is more than cruel—it is monstrous!’ 'she said. “Be- ware, father! You will try my endur- ance too far, and then I shall break through all restraint’!’ As the master of the house—for such Mr. Mowbray was acknowledged to be by every one in it—proceeded leisurely along the wide corridor, he presently met Leonce, the French iraid, at the head of thé stairs leading from the low- er hall, and directed her to go at once to her mistress, who was not well and required her care. She had been the immediate cause of Shirley Austin’s delay in reaching the corner of the street when Mowbray was watching for him. Leonce had over- heard Susan’s message to Shirley, and she had run down stairs and out the area way, where she had intercepted Shirley and whispered to him: “Don’t be discouraged, sir. My mis- tress loves you still, and has always loved you. That message never came from her. I don’t quite understand— but she has been threatened. And there are people who believe you killed Mr. Grayson. You must imagine the rest for yourself. Only be sure of one thing —madame loves you more than ever, and you can win her yet. Take cour- age!” Before Shirley had recovered his breath sufficiently to answer, she had turned and was flying up the area, steps again; but he caught her hand and whispered: “Heaven bless you, whcever you are. Tell her that I love her—that I adore her—that I have never ceased to love her, and never will. But, as to Philip Grayson’s death—-No, say nothing!”” “I will tell her that you are as inno- cent of that crime as she is herself, and that I know it,” Leonce whispered back again; then, wrenching her hand from his grasp, she disappeared, and was the next moment on the inside of the closed door, where, for nearly a minute Shir- ley stood gazing after her, as though she had been an apparition in broad daylight. Leonce hastened at once to her mis- tress, and she was not surprised at Clarice’s agitation and tears. Closing the door carefully, she crossed the room rapidly, and fluag herself at Mrs. Grayson’s feet. “Oh, madame!” she cried, in a low, fervent whisper, “it preaks my heart to see you suffer; but have courage. He knows now that the cruel message Su- san brought was not from you. I told him so. Forgive me if it was forward and mcddlesome, but I told him you loved him still, and would always love him, and he bade me tell you that he had adored you always, and would love you while he lived.” “Oh, you good girl—you good girl! TI shal! love you forever for this kindness. But, hush! No one in this house must know what you have done—it would only bring danger and suffering to the man I love more than my own life—a thousand times.” Leonce colored with pleasure at her mistress ‘affectionate gratitude. “Only forgive me, madame, for what I am forced to do now, and believe me that I am forced by a power beyond my control to act as I do. I am about to leave madame’s service, although heaven knows I would rather imperil my own life than do so.” “To leave me, Leonce—to leave me now, when you have become of such value to me? Impossible! I cannot let you go! You are my only friend in the house.” * “If madam will pardon me for talk- ing so much of myself, and excuse the telling of some painful facts, I will try to explain, and then madam will see that 1 have no choice.” “Rise, Leonce,” said Clarice, kindly, and, pointing to a chair, she bade her maid be seated. “I will listen to you with sympathy as well as with atten- tion. Speak, and don’t be afraid to tell me the whole story of your life. I will not be a hard judge.” Leonce caught her mistress’ siender hand and pressed it to her lips. “Madam is goodness itself,” she said. And then she began her story, in quick, hurried tones, dwelling ‘ittle on any special point in it, but giving it with a swift directness more effective than the most elaborate preparation: “I never knew any parents. I was a foundling, and reared as such. At the age of twelve one of the ladies interest- ed in the institution observed that 1 had small and delicate hands and .a keen sense of touch, and through her influence I was taught the art of mak- ing artificial flowers, and for a time I did well at that work, till a season came when there was a rage for feath- er-trimming—hats, dresses, even the coiffeur were all adorned with feathers. “The establishment in which I was employed wes nearly ruined, and all save the principal +»ands were dis- charged. The lacy who had formerly befriended me offered me a recom- mendation to a friend of hers as lady’s maid, and, notwithstanding my inexpe- rience, Madam Le Roi engaged me, for I was a fine seamstrvss and had a spe- cial gift at hairdressing. “It was while I was returning to my little garret, after making this engage- ment, that an adventure befell me. which has been the source of all the tears I have ever shed. “There was a runaway as I was crossing the boulevard. I was thrown down and actually under the wheels of the carriage, when it was lifted bodily off me, and my deliverer raised me, gasping, unconscious and unhurt, in his arms. A giant he seemed, he was so tall and strong; but, oh, madam, so beautiful! “His name was Antonio; he was Ital- -Frenchwoman, ian by birth, although he might easily have been taken for a Parisian. “I cannot tell how I first knew tnat I loved him; it seemed then as if I had known him and loved him all my life. But he soon knew the state of my heart, for he had experience, though I had none; and, blinded though I was by a girl's first passion, I soon under- stood that he was not a good man. “He made furious, passionate love to me; but he never spoke of marriage till he saw he could only win me by a wedding ring. He found the priest and TI found the ring, for, though he was evidently a gentleman born, and a fine scholar, he was, just then, as poor as myself. But I was not critical. “T remained in my. situation, though I told my mistress that I was married, and showed her my marringe lines. She scolded me roundly; but I had be- come useful to her, so she did not dis- charge me. “I was happy, deliriously happy, for a few short months, and then Antonio disappeared. Day after day I hoped and prayed for his return, but he did not come. Then I mourned him as dead, for I would not believe that he had deserted me. “I grew sick; my health fziled so that I could not attend to my duties, anc my mistress discharged me. Some months of misery followed, until, after weeks of suffering in a public hospital, I was enabled once more to obtain a situation as lady’s maid. My new inis- tress, an Italian lady of 1ank, the Mar- chese del Castellani, was a singularly unprepossessing lady of great wealth, but of a kind and gentle nature. “My mistress loved the child, too: she never tired of gazing on him and holding him in her arms. She would have given half of all her wealth and estates to have had Tonio for her very own. Her husband—the Marquis del Castellani—T had never seen. They were not separated, as I learned from the talk of the other servants, only be- cause the marchesa was infatuated about him. “One day when I eame down to breakfast there was a rumor among the servants that the marquis had re-~ turned, and as soon as I saw the mar- chesa T knew that it was true. She looked radiant. Her pale, sallow face was transfigured by an expression so joyous that she was almost handsome. “IT was seated a room opening off the grand salon, darning a fine lace curtain which a pet dog had torn, when my mistress called tc me: ‘Leonce, come here and bring To- nio!’—for my babe was playing at my feet on the floor while I sewed, and my attention was divided between my work and the cherub who was cooing and smiling up at me. “‘Basta—basta, Teresa! Bid her not bring the brat here; you know I hate children!’ said a voice in Italian. “I only half-understood the foreign words—but the voice! My blood seemed to curdle and grow thick in my veins. I caught up Tonio, clutching him tight- ly, and then I made one step out in the salon and locked at the man who had spoken. Yes; it was my child’s father —Antonio, the Marquis of Castellini! “I did not faint, madam; I did not cry out; I merely stood before him and stared mutely in his face. No sign of recognition there—not even a look that told he had ever seen mé before that instant. “I turned and left the room, my little Tonio clasped to my heart that seemed to have become stone. My mistress only thought I felt wounded at the re- ception given to my child, and when we were next alone, laughingly apologized for her husband's jack of appreciation. She had no suspicion of the truth, and it would have been cruel and useless in me to have enlightened her. “I cast about in my mind for some excuse to leave the house. I believed that I hated the man who bad wronged me, and I felt that I must see him no more. But I soon found that the pow- er, the fascination he possessed over me was greater than ever. “I fled with my child to America. “Away from this terrible man, my horror of him increased to positive de- testation. I no longer loved him, andT felt that if I never saw him again I was safe, and coull defy his power. I have lived in comfort in New Yerk for nearly four years. I casily secured a situation as lady’s maid, and my little Tonio wns cared for by a kind country- woman of my own. “A few months ago my mistress de- cided te go to France, and she was anx ius to have me go with her; but all Paris would not have tempted me to return there, and so we yrarted. “Then fortune favored me, madam, for I entered your service, and here I would have been so ht ppy, so content- ed, but for the sorrows that have over- taken madam, and then—ah, Mon Dieu! I met him again. My evil fate directed me to this house. We met face to face, and I knew that I was in his power again!” “But why leave me, Leonce? You have told me your whole story, my poor girl. There is nothing for me to dis- ecver. You have my pity, my sympathy. You shall also have my help. I will protect you against this monster to the utmost of my ability. You shall even have your child; bring him here; he shall be loved and cared for as he ean not be now; he wiil be the pet of the house. My mother will Ive nim; she has a perfect passion for children.” Leoncg wrung her hands in anguish. “Do not tempt me, madam!” she crice. “Oh, for heaven's sake, do nct tempt me! You don’t know what it costs me to refuse, but { dare not ac- ecpt! You cannot-understand Antonio's power over me. Fle has even planned a bu glary in this house, in which I ar to help him, but withcut me he is pow- erless. I know not what he might com- mand me to do next. The marchesa is dead now, end he has offered to make me his wife and to acknowledge Tonio as his son and heir. You cannot un- derstand what a temptation this is to me ,madam; but I am determined, while I have yet the strength, to run away from it.” “A burglary in this house!” Mrs. Grayson repeated, in utter amazement. “You must be mad or dreaming, Leon- ce. What does the man know of this house?” “He knows that I am here; he knows the wealth of plate and jewels it con- tains; he has been here, madam. It was here in this house that we met face to face.’ ’ . “When?” questioned Clarice, sharp- ly. “Do not ask me,” stammered the growing pale, then blushing with confusion. “Only believe me and let me go.” “Go, then! I have no friend—not | gradually increa: even a servant who loves me!” retorted Clarice, bitterly. “Ant you might do me great service if you only would.” “I will—perhaps I can!” Leonce said, excitedly. ‘Pardon me, madam! Your father has used some threats against Mr. Austin. What is it?’ ’ “He declares that he c..n prove Shir- ley guilty of Mr. Grayson’s death,” re- turned Clarice, becoming pale to the very lips. ‘That ill-fated stilletto—the weapon that killed him—my father de- clares it lropped from my veil in the church, and that Shirley picked it up—” “Never! It is a wicked lie!” cried Le- once. “That stilette I saw in Mr. Gray- sor's hand after he entered the house. (To Be Continued.) STEEL OF MANY KINDS. Severe Tests to Which the Metal Is Now Subjected. It is the popular idea that steel is a hard polished metal like a dagger or a razor, and capable of carrying a cutting edge, but there are steels of various kinds that do not possess the qualities men- tioned. Structural steel, for example, such as beams, girders and rough-rolled bars, generally has a much higher tensile strength, elasticity and tenacity than iron, and yet, in physical constitution and ex- ternal appearance, it differs but slightly from it. .Of two bars, one iron and the other steel, put through the same rolls at the same heat, not even an expert could distinguish one from the other if they were laid side by side. Moreover, careful analysis fails to discover the line of actual departure between steel and iron in the lower grades of each metal, or where the metal commences to be steel, so to speak, and stops being iron. But as between the two metals, and steel, there is a vast difference in their endurance and ability to stand se- vere work, and modern engineers have a | very great advantage over their predeces- sors of half a century ago in the posses- sion of it. In modern open-hearth and other process steels the amount of fa- tigue or continuous resistance to crucial strains of long duration which they will endure is simply astonishing—not labora- tory or test machine strains, but the downright pounding and flogging of daily work, which is far more serious than any testing machine can deliver. This last sets up a certain stress in a straight line, '§ up to failure under it; but the duty imposed upon steel by daily work in a high-speed engine, for example, is not only to resist tensile strains, but torsional and traverse bur- dens at one and the same time.—Scientifie American. iron | SORE DANGERS OF REST. Aunt Anne's Explanation of the Reason Why Her Mistress Could Not See a Visitor. Aunt Anne's “before the war’ mis- tress must have been a weman of iron constitution, to judge by the way she regards with contempt my own physi- cal limitations. Tuesday she held me sternly to the duty of overhauling the pantry and its appurtenances. Wednesday, stiff and sore, I sought again and again the so- lace of the sofa, only to be aroused by callers whom I could not refuse to see. In the afternoon I lay down once more, and, in no very amiable temper, tola Aunt Anne that, no metter who called, I was not to be disturbed. A little later, through the open win- dow, I heard her say to our clergy- man: “No, sir: Miss Carryline ain't feelin’ like seein’ nobody this evenin’. She exerted herself so much this morn- in’ restin’ that it’s’ made her sick,”— Scribner's. Anecdotes. Some stories are told in a book of memoirs ‘that has just been published. One of them concérns a well known bishop. He was starting on a railway journey from Chester station, when the station master came up to him and said, referring to his luggage: “How many articles are there, my lord?” “Thirty-nine,” was the reply. “I can find only sixteen,” answered the station master. “Then,” said the bishop, “you must be a dissent Another amusing story is told which bears upon a case of mistaken identity. A man went up to an acquaintance and began to talk to him. In the course of conversation he said: “T heard your father make dach an excellent speech in the house of lords.” “I am so glad,” was the reply. “We lost him about ten years ago, and I am highly gratified to learn that he has gone to so respectable a place."—Lon- don Globe. Some English A Jealous Wife’s Revenge. A Paris jury has again reaffirmed the jurisprudence which establishes that a jealous wife can shoot down her rival with impunily. Madame Marie Spitz, a woman of forty-three, fired two re- volver shcts at Madame de Pallec, a widow of thirty-one, who had es- tranged her husband's affections. Then believing the shots fatal—she gave her- self up to the police. According to the story told in court by Madame le Pal- lec, the wife displayed no jealousy so Tong as her rival gave her money. The victim said to the jury: “I ask you to set this woman free. If she wishes to kill me, let her do so.” They doubtless would have acouit- ted her without this request.—New York Herald. Unpaid Accounts Drove Her to Sui- cide. Not so very long ago a woman threw herself before a New York Elevated train and was instantly killed. Her sister testified afterward that she was a “fashionable’ ’dressmaker, and had over $15,000 worth of outstanding ac- counts, which she could not collect. The people from whom she bought her goods were persistently asking for their money, but she could not pay them be- cause her customers did not pay her for her work. It so preyed upon her mind that, after weeks of sleepless nights. she determined to kill herself. And she did.—Ladies’ Home Journal. ‘Why He Moves. . “Too bad about young Dr. Bright having to move to some other town just as he's established a nice practice.” “Why Coes he have to move, then “His wife’s sister is going to marry the undertaker.”—Philadelphia Press. His Reason, First Tramp—Why didn’t yer swipe dat feller’s chainless bicycle yer went after last night? * Second Tramp—Well, I found out dere was a chainless dorg in de yard.— Chicago Chronicle, + a | Mental Arithmetic. Johnnie—Paw, how menny weeks is they in a month? Father—Your. Johnnie—An’ how menny weeks is they in a year? Father—Fifty-two. Johnnie—Twelve feurs is forty-eight, an’—say, paw, what becomes uv th’ four weeks left over? Father—You go and tell your mother you want a piece of pie—Ohio State Journal. Opportune. Mrs. Fijit—I honestly believe if I had not reached my husband promptly this morning, he would have choked to death. Mrs. ing? Mrs. Fijit—No; but he was trying to put on a new collar which was a size too small.—Ohio State Journal. Nebb—Dear me! Was he eat- Against Her Rule. “Cholly Dinsmore rroresed to me last night,” confided Miss Bunting to Miss Kilduff. “Did you ask him ff he eould support you in the style to which you had been accustomed?” “O, dear, no! I never ask men who propose to me that question.”—Detroit Free Press. A Fearl Physician. Benton, Ill., Sept. 30th—Much com- ment has been caused by the action of Dr. R. H. Danaway, a physician here, who for over a year past has been rec- ommending Dodd’s Kidney Pills to those of his patients who suffered from Rheumatism, Bright’s Disease, Diabe- tes or other Kidney Troubles. Dr. Dunaway also published an open letter last May stating positively that he himself had heen cured of Diabetes by Dodd’s Kidney Pills, and that, after he concluded he was going to die. He is a well man to-day, and says he feels it his duty to do as he has done and is doing because Dodd’s Kidney Pills saved his life. Get a ‘Where He Was Efficient. “Yor son,” said the teac' missed it on arithmetic.” eee 6 Ni “No good at spelling.” “Yes.” “A dunce in history.” “Yes.” “and there’s no good in fim.” “Professor,” said the farmer, “havé you ever heard that boy cussin’ of & Georgia mule, under a br’ilin’ sun, in @ ten-acre field?”—Atlanta Constitution. Independently Wealthy. “My son-in-law’s rich enough to own a steam yacht.” © “H’'m! My son-in-!aw’s so rich that he doesn't have to own a steam yacht unless he wants to.” PATERTS, List of Patents Issued Last Week to Northwestern Inventors. Joseph Chapman, St. Paul, Minn, toy or game; Anton Goehring, Edgeley, N. D., grain weigher; Charles Haglin, Min- neapolis, Minn., fire-proof flooring; Charles Johnson, Ely, Minn., railway spike; Ole Ness, Zumbrota, Minn., air- brake coupling; Frederick Rauen, St. Paul, Minn., separable hinge; John Tester, Minneapolis, Minn., glass cut- ter. Lothrop & Johnson, patent attorneys, 911 & 212 Pioneer Press Bidg., St. Paul, Minn. A Natural Resentment. Farmer Hornbeak—Josh Hayrake is awfully down on automobiles. One of ‘em run oyer his poor old mother-in- law. Farmer Whiffletree—Kill her? Farmer Hornbeak—No; never hurtr ed her a gol-dinged particle.—Judge. A GREAT COUNTRY The eyes of all America are turned to- ward North Dakota’s magnificent crops, just harvested. Over 80,000,000 bushels of wheat and 19,000,000 bushels of flax, good corn and abundant grasses. Thousands of farmers raised 14 to 18 bushels of flax per acre on new breaking, now bringing them $1.25 a bushel. Think of your get- ting free government land and realizing $25 per acre for the first breaking! There is plenty of good government land left, but it is being taken up fast. Also excellent chances to go into any business in new towns on the “Soo” Line. If you want free land, or are looking for good business locations, write D. W. Casseday, Land Agent, “Soo” Line, Minneapotis,Minn A Reasonable Query. Johnnie—Wuz Samsun strong becoz he had such long hair? Father—Yes, my son. Johnnie—Is that why you are afraid of maw?—Chio State Journal. FITS anently cured. No fits or nervousness nftor 2 Rest day's use of Dr. Kline's Great Nerve Restor er. Send for FREE $2.00 trial bottle and treative. Dr. R. H. Kiive, Ltd., 931 Arch Street, Philadelphia, Pa Tam sure Piso's Cure tor Consumption a my life three years ago.—Mrs. THos. RoBBLNS, Maple Street, Norwich. N. ¥.. Fab. 17. 1900. The Wrong Adjective. Wife—Why don’t you smoke those cigars I gave you at Christmas time? I'm sure they're delightful. Husband—My dear, delightful is not the word. Why experiment with untried rem- edies for pain? Use Wizard Oil at once ~ and be happy. Your druggist has it. Not Entirely Mute. He—What I feel for you, Muriel, I can never tell you in words. True love is silent. Muriel—Oh, no, I assure you. It speaks to papa.—Punch. Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup." For children teething, softens the gums, reduces tn~ flammation, allays pain, cures wind colic, 2c a bottle. A Timely Hint. Every married man should join some good society—the society of his wife and children, for instance.—Chicago News. Sweat or fruit acids will not discolor goods dyed with PUTNAM FADELESS DYES. Sold by druggists, 10c. package. Needed Breaking In. Percy—Your fatuer seems to have & grudge against me. Edith—Have patience, dear. He act- ed the same way toward fingerbowls at ‘first.—Puck, . The Beam and the Mote. Mrs. Dorcas—There can be no excuse for a man who goes fishing on Sunday. Mrs. Cleek—Not in these days, at any vate, when there are so many oppor- tunities to play golf.—Puck. * |