Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, January 11, 1902, Page 2

= 0000000000000 0-0 TOSS SEC CSC CCCE CCC TEES Rickerby’s Folly By TOM GALLON Cocoa reer rrr errno 0-0-0-0-:0-0-0-0-0-0:0-0-0 0-0-0-:00-00000000 CHAPTER IX. (Continued,) In the center of the room stood the girl, clasped close in the arms of a tall man, to whom she was speaking as & woman speaks only to the man she loves above all the world. And—most appalling thing of all—she called this man Gilbert Rickerby! “You will not lavgh at me because I call this place, to which I have come to meet you, the world of dreams, wiil you?” asked the girl, looking up, wist fully nto the face of the man. “Think how tong we have waited; think how often, in my dreams, I have dreamed of you—poor Gilbert Rickerby—doomed to wander ov the earth, loving me, yet never secing me, never holding me in your ar Oh, there is nothing to laugh at in that, is there?” “Indeed, my sweet, I am nearer to tears than to laughter,” replied the man. “How can I bear the thought of meeting y ike this, after all these years, Olive He held her closer in his arms and stared, hungrily, into her innoce upturned face. “Look into my eyes, and listen to what I have to say to you. So—I am not laughing, dear Olive; I am in deadly earnest. You have been told that this old lover of Gilbert Rickerby, is dead?” he replied, quite calmly, and smiled up into his eager eyes. “But that is nothing at all; for death has not divided us; I have been able, mer- cifully, to come back to you, to meet you again. Why should we grieve, or trouble about that? Oh, if you knew all the dark and wandering ways 1 have come through, since I fell asleep, to find you, you would be glad, as I am. Still he held her close; still he tried to show her what he really was, and that this was no dream-world wherein they met, but a world of flesh and blood and strife and danger. He knew that he could do nothing to help her, or to @et her away from that dreadful place, while she held to that strange belief of hers; he wanted to call her back to the vital present, and to show her where they stood and what terrors lay before their feet. For all the impression, he might as well have cried to the angels. “Indeed—indeed, I am glad,” he said. “But I want you to sce that this is but a dream of yours, from which you have now happily awakened. I want you to know that we are united, not in a mere dream sense, but in reality; that we are living flesh and blogd, man and and that the world is here be- to be conquered. Look into my voice, and when 1 tell you that Gilbert Rickerby is not dead, that that is all a mistake, that he étands before you now, with his arms out you; that he is your living She seemed to ponder his words for @ mcement, andthen, suddenly, put up he: and thrust him away, cov- ered her face with her hands and he- gan to ery softly, like a child in pain. ‘Oh—my dream—my dream!” she whispered, brokenly. “Is it to be shat- tered, like all the rest? Have I come through so much pain and weariness to fini him; and now he does not know me? I dreamed that we had left the world behind; that we stood alone in the World of Dreams, and that all the sorrow and the waiting were ended. Oh—my dream—my dream!” He saw what he inust do; he stepped forward hurriedly and put his arms again about the weeping little figure. “Indeed—I was wrong, sweetheart,” he e@aid; “I had no right to say such @ thing at all. Call it the World of Dreams, if you wi eall it what you ike, so that you iet me hold you like this—so ihat I know you are safe.” ‘Yet, under his breath, he muttered, softl “Oh, heavens! to find her like this! She seemed comforted with that, gradually raised her head, and looked at his again, with something of the old confidence. Ursula Sewell, listening and watching like someone in a dream, h ‘d the strange thing this man the girl called Gilbert Rickerby had to say next. “Now, I want you to do something for me, dear Olive—something to please me,” he said. “It is necessary that you should go away from here; that you should go away in the night-time, when your dreams come to you. There are those who would do me harm if they could—those who would take you from me.” “Ah—no—no!” she cried, clinging to him. “They shall not do that. But do you think they can reach us here—now that we have got beyond them—far away from them?” “I fear they can,” he said, sadly. “And so I want you to do what I ask— just as you used to do a long while ago whern—when we were in that—that oth- || e> world.” He knew that it was neces- sary to humor the idea in her mind if he was to get her to do what he want- ed. “I will do it, gladly—whatever it is!” she said, quickly. “That's a dear girl!” he cried. “I want you to go away from this place— to go away with a good friend of mine, who will take care of you until I can come to you. Remember, if you remain here, they will keep you from me—will find means to separate us. Will you do what I ask?” She looked at him in bewilderment. “J—I do not understand,” she said, nervously. “How can they come here? How can anyone divide us ever again?” “Believe me, dear Olive, when I say that they will. Come, now, in that dth- rc world you say we have left behind, you always believed in me, always let metake the lead in everything, did you not? Will you let me take the lead now?” “That—other—world!” she repeated, slowly. “When was it—where was it? How long ago it all seems! Shall we ever go back to it—you and I, Gilbert?” “Piease God, some day!” he replied, fervently. “And we will go back to it together, my dearest!” “Together! Yes; we will never be separated any more—never any more!” she said. “Not if I can unravel this thing and bring you back to life and earth, and all things we love together,’ he mut- tered to himself. “So, now you will do what I ask you; you will go away with this friend of mine, and wait until I come to you—eh?” he asked, aloud. “Yes; gladly,” she replied. Ursula Sewell saw the man run across the room to another door, and to speak sharply to someone on the other side; the next moment a little man, bald- headed and meek of aspect, came out and stood blinking his weak eyes in the light. He made an awkward bow in the direction of the young girl; but she tcoi. not the faintest notice of him. “Now, Reeks,” said Gilbert, hurried- ly, “what am I to do?” He waved one hand, despairingly, towards the girl. “You see her here; you may have heard something of what she has said. The terrors of this place—the shock of meeting me, when she supposed me to be dead—her wanderings during that night, about this horrible house—all these things havc brought about this madness you see. She dreams that I am dead, and that she has met me in another world. Heaven bless her, she is true to me, even when her mind ts clouded. But what am I to do? I must get her out of this place at once; you will take charge of her?” Ursula Sewell saw that the little man stood stillin perplexity, an slowly and doubtfully shook his head. “So far as I am concerned,” he replied, “I would take the young lady and give her all the protection she needs. But, my dear sir—you don’t know Mrs, R.!"" “But surely your wife, in such a case as this, would not refuse to grant shel- ter to a young girl who needs it so sore- ly?” cried Gilbert. “I assure you, Mr. Rickerby, that Mrs. R. labors under the delusion that every female between the ages of six- teen and sixty has but to look upon me to fall'a captive to iny charms. Ab- surd, isn’t it? Now, as a matter of fact, I am not that kind of man at all; I worship the sex, it is true, but my wor- ship is embodied in Mrs. R., only she won't believe it.” “But surely, under the circumctances, you can persuade her. Tell her what you like; tell her the whole story, if you will; tell her that this young lady is lil and in danger; take her my as- surances that I will be at your house within twenty-four hours to explain matters myself.” While Mr. Reeks was still hesitating, a ery from Gilbert caused him to raise his head; (he saw that another woman had entered the room, and was stand- ing, looking quictly at the little group. “You needn't be alarmed,” said the women, quietly. “I followed this girl to-night to discover where she went— and what she did. I followed her be- cause I hated her.” “Hated her?” echoed Gilbert, staring at her curiously. “Yes—hated her!” she repeated. “I believed that she stood in my way—nev- er mind how. But I have seen to-night something I never thought to see; I have seen a love, greater than anything of which I have read, or heard, or dreamed. Oh, yes—I know my ‘hands are not clean in this business; I want to get this girl out of my way. But, as truly as I believe that there is some brighter world above us—some such world as that of which she speaks—so truly will I help her, and help you, if you will let me.” “Who are you?” wonder, “I came here to find a man who has wronged me—Nugent Leathwood,” she replied. “But never mind about that; I'll fight my own battles, and I'll fight them my own way.” In a curious, half- ashamed fashion, this passionate crea- ture dropped an arm around the shoul- asked Gilbert, in | ders of the girl who stood beside her. “Trust me,” she said, “and I'll not play you or this baby, false. Let me take her back to her room now; let me give her the rest she needs; and to-morrow night, at any time you like, she shall be ready for you. And so surely as I know her to be something better than I can ever hope to be, so surely will I bring her out of this place to you! I would get her out if twenty men barred the way and tried to hold me back!” Wondering a little, yet strangely be- lieving in her, they named a time and rlace for the following night; and the woman turned, still with her arm about the girl, and went towards the door. “Come,” she said, gently—“I am most unhappy myself; we may comfort each cther. Come!” Looking back, when she got to the door, she said to Gilbert: “You need not fear that I shall betray you. I don’t know whether Gilbert Rickerby is alive or dead; that is noth- ing to me. Only I—I was once like this girl; and a man dealt hardly with me. You don’t look the sort to deal hardly with a woman—and so I'll help you.” Olive seemed to yield readily to that stronger arm about her; together they cisappeared through the door; leaving the two men standing looking after her. CHAPTER X. Anthony Tazgett Takes Shoes When a man has been cast upon a rough world, at a moment when he is totally unprepared to battle with it, he is the more grateful foc any unexpected haven of rest which may be offered to on His him, even temporarily. So with Mr., he had: Anthony Tagegett, tragedian; been brought down es low as a man can well be brought, and, having been offered temporary shelter in Rickerby’s Folly, was in no hurry to leave a place which, to him, at least, had nothing of terror about it. Nugent Leathwood, for his part, had but one desire in his mind at that time; to keep everyone quiet and to prevent awkward questions being asked. This man—Anthony Taggett—and his wife, had come most strangely to the place, demanding to see Gilbert Rickerby; and although Gilbert Rickerby was, as far as the world was concerned, de- cently buried and done with, Leath- wood had always a dreadful fear knocking at his heart that some.man or woman might start up out of the past to show forth the fraud of the thing; that, of all the doors he had so careful- ly closed, one might be left sufficiently open to let in suspicion. Thus it was that he allowed Taggett and his wife to remain there for a few days, until— as Mr. Taggett expressed it—“they had time to grasp the situation and ‘ook about them.” Truth to tell, Anthony Taggett was in no hurry to grasp the situation, be- yond seeing pretty clearly that he was comfortable where he was, and could go and come as he liked. For this feel- ing one must not be too ready to blame bim; he had had a hard struggle with the world, and fought his way pretty cheerfully, ali things considered; small wonder that he was giad to rest for a little time by the wayside, and contem- plate, with that serenity which was alike a part of the man and his profes- sion, the past—big with failures—and the future—equally big with hope. Per- haps she showed pretty clearly what his feelings were on that matter in a conversation with Mrs. Taggett on the morning of that eventful day which brought Mr. George Reeks to Ricker- by’s Folly. “My love, we are, in a certain sense, in clover. We toil not, neither do we spin; and although there is nothing particularly glorious about our rai- ment’—he held out the skirts of his shabby coat and inspected them nar- rowly—‘‘that is a matter which may be remedied in the near future. More than all, my dear Medora, this pause in our affairs gives us opportunity to think— *o plan for ourselves, as we never yet had an opportunity for planning any- thing.” “Yes—that’s all very wel!, Anthony,” responded Mrs. Taggett, “but you must not forget that we are living in a strange man’s house, and on charity.” “Charity, Medora!” Mr, Taggett ap- peared much pained at the employing of such a word in connection with him- self. “There is no question of charity; the man who condescends to act for a space as my host, receives in return the benefit of such views of life and men and manners as I care to give him—’ “And which generally send him to sleep,” interpolated Mrs. Taggett, with a laugh. “That is his fault, and not mine,” said Taggett, severely. “And you must re- member, Medora, that in this world each man grasps for himself the chance that fickle Fortune offers him; this is our chance; we rest, after unmerited privations; we fill ourselves with the fruits of the earth—and no payment asked, which is a «onsideration—and we store our minds with those glorious sit- uations which will, in the near future, cause a dull world to gasp and rub its eyes. In a word, Medora, the whvie plan of my proposed drama is changed; the lift-boy is a thing of the past; the pantechicon goes by the board, and the first act opens in a double house, with a murder in the back drawing room, and the villain drinking himself to death from remorse in the conservatory and dying in toiures un a wicker chair." (Double set, my love, with passage down the center and _ practicable doors.”’) “Well, I’m sure, Anthony, I hope something will be done with the drama one of these days. When I married you—five years ago—your first act started outide a village public house; then, during the honeymoon, you got inside the public house, with real beer, drawn by the barmaid; a little later, and we got up the village street, and started al! over again, at the black- smith’s, with a real horse and a forge, and real sparks going up the chimne: incidental music to suggest the ‘Har- monious Blacksmith.’ Then we became aristocratic; and we opened with a dance at the old manor-house on the hill, with the squire cursing his son (real curses!) and the girl who loved him weeping in the firelight; snow ef- fect outside. In fact, Anthony, we’ve gradually got everywhere with that drama of yours; and yet, if I may say so, we've never got anywhere at all.” “Medora, I have come to the conclu- sion that the goés have gifted me with too much imagination. If you laugh, I hear, or seem to hear immediately, an echoing laugh above us from the gal- lery; if you weep, I hear a sob from a portly lady in the pit in sheer sympa- thy. My own phreses are attuned to suit the better parts of ihe house, In a word, Medora, we are not real save nen we are hungry and cold; for the rest we are but puppets, as this ac- cursed profession has taught us to be. I believe T made lceve to you in attitudes and rehearsed my speeches beforehand, end even took my cue from you, as I have done so often off the stage.” Mrs. Taggett sighed. “I'm afraid it's true,” she said. “But still, Anthony, unreal as it is, I always feel I want to get back to it—want to smell the old, musty smell, and shiver in the cold draughts. I wisk we could get out ot this place and make a. start some- where.” “My love, I am already on the look- out for a company which requires a leading man—prepared to do anything from Hamlet to the Pantaloon; and whose wife is prepared to take even a subordinate part, so that she may be near him. In fact, my love, with the desire to. keep my eyes open for any~ thing that may be going, I was about to take a strool beyond te confines of the place which shelters us, And if I find a man who wants a drama, and wants it at once, he shall find me, for my part, so full of ideas, that I shall be prepared to suggest thiags which will make his fortune in something less than a monts, Medora—farewell!” Mr. Anthony Taggett put on his hat, very much on one side, and started out. He crossed the garden and opened the gate, and stepped forth ‘into the street, rurning, not into the arms of an anx- ious manager, but into those of a tall and somewhat ungainly youth,-clad, as to the outer garment, in a long New- market coat, reaching almost to his heels. This gentleman demanded, with some bitterness, where Mr. Taggett kept his eyes. Without deigring to answer so ri- diculous a question, Anthony Taggett frowned severely and went on his way, but stopped in a moment when he found that the ungainly one was com- ing hard after him. Mr, Taggett, an- ticlpating an assault, faced about and put himself ‘n an attitude of defense. “Come on. sir!” he cried. ‘Come one —come all—and Britons strike home!” Here he lunged at the young man, who seemed much surprised at his behavior. “Ere, cheese it!” exclaimed the youth “If you’re a-doin’ it to keep yersel. warm, all right; on’y it ain’t pretty. I wanted to ’ave a word with you.” Mr. Taggett immediately lowered his arms and became dignified; folding his arms, he nodded to the young man to proceed. “I was mistaken, sir,” he said. “T should think you was,” replied the other. “But I seed you come out of that ’ouse, an’ I thought maybe you could give me a little information about the folks inside of it. I’m a good deal interested in the people in that ‘ouse.” “Indeed?” said Mr. Taggett, glanc- ing at his companion, and mentally fit- ting him with a red wig and a smock frock and putting him on as the comic countryman. “In what way?” “It’s a bit cold, talking in the street— ain’t it?” returned the youth, insinuat- ingly. Suppose we was to step round the, corner and see what they keep there, eh?” “E perceive, sir,” said Mr. Taggett, smiling genially, “that you are a young man with a fine eyes for the true in- wardness of things. Curiously enough, this is about the hour at which I gen- erally slake a thirst which has ere now proved expensive. Do not be alarmed, hewever,” he added, as the face of the youth grew suddenly grave. “I have reduced it to a mere matter of pence— through sheer necessity.” Reassured, the gentleman of the New- market coat Idd the way into side <treet aud i'to a small bar which opened conveniently at a corner. There, after imbibing }ert of a glass of hot spirits, the spirits of Mr. Taggett rose somewhet, and he tecame communi- eative. “I drink to you, sir,” he said, as a sort of afterthcught. “Thanks. I spotted you w’en I saw you comin’ out of that ‘ouse yesterday, with an old gent with a sort of twist in ‘is legs.” ‘Ah, my honest friend, Cornelius Vee- vers,” broke in Mr. Taggett. “A strange creature—yet with his good points. In the matter of liquor, I find that his tastes agree with mine admir- ably. But he has queer notions in his head—very queer notions, my young friend.” ““Ow’'s that?” asked the other, indif- ferently. Mr. Taggett leaned tovard him and lowered hist voice to a confidential whispsr. “He believes, my dear sir, that that house, from which T have just come, is haunted—or part of it, at least. Think of that—for a sane man!” The ungainly ycuth suddenly became deeply interested. “I’ve ‘eard about that from a gocd many people,” he said, nodding his head, sagely. “It’s been put about that ghosts walk there—and jights are seen—ard all that kind of thing; take my tip, it’s a fake.” “Personally,” said Mr. Taggett, slow- ly and thoughtfully, “I do not believe in such things. But perhaps there is a reason for my excellent friend, Vee- vers, taking a melancholy interest in- such things. He told me yesterday, ovey a friendly giass (and in this very houge, by the way,) that he had once lost dear son. Probably the unhappy fate—whatever it may have been—of that youth has preyed upon his mind. One can never tell.” The gentleman in the Newmarket coat was listening eagerly. ‘You don’t ’appen to know the name or age of that son, do you?” he asked. “I ’ave reason for askin’; I’m not sure that I don’t know something about 'im.” “Really?” Mr. Taggett smiled delight- edly. “This is very wonderful! I can- not say what the age of the son might have been; but have a feeling he prob- ably ran away to sea, or something of the kind, in beyhood’s hour, and never returned. You will find that is what usually happens. On the stage and in books he returns, after a space of years, and catches his aged father to his breast.” “IT wish I knew something more about *im,” went on the other, speaking as if to himself. “And—now I come to think of it, he informed me, in a burst of confidence, that he had not seen his son since early childhood; I believe he said that he had separated from the mother, and had returned to find the boy gone.” The youth emptied his glass of spirits at a gulp and put on his hat firmly. “I'm glad I’’ad this 'ere talk with you,” he saic. “I'm a-goin’ back to the ’ouse with you now, I am that son!” Anthony Taggett stared at him in amazement, and yet with a growing de- light; already he saw himself in the very center of ‘he floor, introducing this wandering son to the father who had hungered s* long for him, and striking an attitude expressive of as many emotions as possible, while they embraced. In his excitement he quite forgot to finish his liquor; instead, he literally dragged him from the place. “Come!” he said; “there is not a mo- ment to be lost! Think, my young friend, think how this old man, fast tottering toward the confines of the tomb, has hungered and yearned for his lost offspring! Do not keep Lim waiting a moment longer than can be avoided! Come!” ‘They hurried out together, and atmost ran around the corner to the gate in the wall of Rickerby’s Folly. The im- perious ringing of Mr. Taggett at the bell brought out Cornelius Veevers, ap- parently in no pleasant humor; he stood holding the gate and looking up and down, with an ill-favored grin up- on his face, , “Well, anyone’d think you wanted to raise the dead!”” he snarled, savage- ly. “Nay, friend Veevers, not to raise the dead, but to bring back to you one who was never dead at all—one who has wandered, far too long, an outcast from his own fireside—an alien from his father’s love. Cornelius Veevers, be- hold your son!” Mr. Taggett stepped back and strucx an attitude, with one rand thrust in the breast of his waist- coat, Cornelius eyed the youth in the New- market up and down; seemed rather amused than otherwise by his appear- ance. “There's a good many’ people ‘appening along these days,” he ob- served. “But, if a man ’as an idea 'e telongs to me, I ain’t the kind to say ‘im nay, or to dispute things. I dare- say the mother knows more about it | than I do; you’d better "have a word with ‘er. A He stepped back and made way for therm: to pass. As they went through the garden together they saw, at the very door of the house, old Jemima, standing in her useual listless attitude, looking out at them. ere is Mrs.. V.,”" said Cornelius; you'd better speak to ‘er.” The gentleman in the Newmarket coat had probably not reckoned on finding so many relatives at once; he appeared to hang back a little. But Cornelius, imperiously beckoning to Je- mima, the youth had nothing for it but to step forwerd, somewhat sheep- ishly, and hold out his hahd. “Ow are you—mother?” he asked. The old woman stopped and looked at him; then glanced at Cornelius. Cornelius came to the reecue—evident- ly enjoying the situation a little. “It’s that boy of yours come back ‘ome.” he shouted; for the old lady was usually supposed to be somewhat deaf. Jemima looked at Cornelius again, and then, without the faintest trace of emotion in her face, looked at the long, ungainly figure before her. “Ah! ’e’s a growin’ lad, ain’t ’e?” she said; and, witnout another word, turncd into the’ house and disappeared, lez.ving the three men looking helpless- ly at each other. ‘Tis but h2r manner—a desire to hide the love she feels for you,” said Mr. Taggett. “She does it pretty well,” retorted the youth, in an aggrieved tone, and with a resentful glance in the direction the old woman had taken. Under his preath he muttered: “Never mind; you've done what you wanted to do, Mr. ’Ubbard. Now keep your eyes open.” (To Be Continued.) The Red Paint. . “Such a joke on Mr. Gayboy! We were out on the balcony between the darces, and he got the sleeve of his coat all over red paint from one of the posts that were just painted.” Maud—And did you go near the post? “No. Why?” “Because you have red paint all over the back of your waist.’—Harlem Life. She Did. “ll get even wid ’em for dischargin’ me!” mumbled the cook lady, lifting up the register and dropping a pair of her old shoes Gown the hot-air pipe, just before she went away. ‘And those old shoes avenged her for nearly a week before the family found out what was the matter.—Chicago Tribune. Most Important. City Magnate—Of course I don’t wish to stand in the way of my daughter's happiness, but I know so little of you, Mr. Hawkins. What is your vocation? Mr. Hawkins (airily)—Oh, I write— er—poetry, novels—er—plays, and that sort of things. City Magnate—Indced! Most interest- ing. And how dc you live?—London Punch. His Turn Next. Kind Gentleman—Why are you cry- ing, my little man? Little Boy—Because my maw is lick- in’ my little brother for sumthin’ wot T done. Kind Gentleman—What a conscien- tious little gentleman. Little Boy—But my little brother'll tell her it wuz me, and then I'll ketch it. Boo-hoo!—Ohio State Journal. France Lowers Rates for ’Phones. ‘The minister of police and telegraphs, M. Millerand, announces a general res duction in the price of telephone ser- vice throughout France. In Paris the rates are reduced froin $80 to $60 per year from January. Another reform is the reducing of the charge for pneumatic-transmitted mes- sages, from 10 to 6 cents.—New York World. A Pecuniary Fatigne. “Don’t forget,” said the willing work- er, “that money talks.” “Yes,” answered Senator Sorghum, a little glumly, ‘but I can’t help wish- ing that you boys would select another phonograph occasionally.” —Washing- ton Star. As Mr. C. Understands. Mrs. Crimsonbeak—Before she was married, I understand, she used to dance for money. Mr. Crimsonbeak—And now, I under- stand, if she don’t get money, she makes her husband dance.—Yonkers Statesman. His Market Was Brooklyn. “No, sir!” exclaimed the loud-voiced drummer, in the smoker. “I’m proud to say that no house in the country has more men pushing its line of goods than ours.” “What do you sell?” asked a curious one... “Baby carriages.”—Syracuse Herald. ‘ ‘Wunted to Try It. Farmer--Yes; I work from daylight to dark. City Man—You’re not troubled with ennui, are you? Farmer—No; I’ve heard of the blamed“thing, and sometimes I feel as if I'd like to have a little of it, for a change—New Orleans ‘Times-Demo- erat. They Cost Money. She—Do you find golf a very difficult game? He—Oh, no! Not after you've ac- quired a little knowledge. She—What do you consider the most difficult things to acquire? He—The sticks and the balls.—Phila- delphia Press. The Rough End of It. Harriet—I coasider football entirsly too boisterous a game. Harry—Oh, goodness, Harriet, you just ought to be around when the men who lose money on it talk over their bets.—Detroit Free Press. The Greatest Achievement. “True greatness,” says the Manay- unk philosopher, “is based upon the ability to make other people share the good opinion you have of yourself.”— Philadelphia Record. Ruin Ahead. Mamma—No, dear; you can’t go out this weather. Now, if you'll only prom- ise not to ask me to let you play out- doors, I'll get any toy you want. Tommy—All right, ma; get me a bow and arrow.—Philadelphia Press. ey Washington Chat. Special Correspondence. Gov. Leslie M. Shaw, who will be the next secretary of the treasury, had lunch with the president Saturday, and discussed the policy he will pursue when he assumes charge of the treas- ury department. He will relieve Secre- tary Gage on the 25th inst. Before vis- iting the White House Gov. Shaw had a long conference with Secretary Gage, when the retiring and incoming secre- taries went over the details of the de- partment over which Gov. Shaw will soon have control. In the evening after the conference Gov. Shaw dined with Secretary Gage. Although Gov. Shaw will not discuss the policy which will govern him in the administration of the treasury depart- ment, it is knowa that he is a conserv- ative man, and it is declared that the business world reed have no fear that he will do anything to disturb the mon- ey situation. When leaving the White House, Gov. Shaw said: “I am not prepared to talk of finan- cial subjects. I am not giving consid- eration to changes of any character ‘n the treasury department, and, in fact, there is little prospect that there will be any. I shall leave Washington on Monday night, and will not return until a day or two before I assume charge of the department. “I would like to stay long enough to put at rest all stories of prospective up- heavals in the department. I shall as- sume charge with the old force in the harness, and unless something happens to change my plans, it will remain as it now is during ray term of office.” Gov. Shaw deprecates the use of some forrral remarks he made last summer as representing his financial views. He declined positively to discuss the finan- cial situation, ani said that if he had anything to communicate to the public he will do it by means of a signed state- ment. Representative T. Marshall has been busy during the holiday season looking after the postal affairs of North Dako- ta. There are several vacancice in presidential offices in the state, for which Mr. Marshall will soon name postmasters. He kas recommended the appointraent of Frederick Johuson for postmaster at Leeds, and it is under- stood he will soon recommend Gilbert Helgoland for pcstmaster at Towner. The new postmaster at Bismarck will not be named for several weeks. Another riatter which is engaging the attention of Mr. Marshall is in relation to the establishment of a railway mail service between Jamestown and Leeds, on the Jamestown & Northern road. The distance between the points named is more thin 100 miles, and mail is sup- plied the offices along that road by star and pouch route service. Mr. Marshall has recomm2nded the establishment of a railway mail service between James- town and Leeds, with the appointment of a clerk to distribute mail on the proposed route. It is hoped that affirm- ative action will soon be taken. Little interest is manifested in North Dakota in the rural free delivery ser- vice. Orders have just been issued, on the recommendation of Mr. Marshall, for the establishment of a service at various points in the state on Feb. 1 and March 1. Mr. Marshall is endeav- oring to arous2 interest in rural free delivery by addressing letters to per- sons in the state, calling attention to the merits of the service. He desires to have filed a sufficient rumber of ap- plications for the service as will justify the department in sending a special agent to North Dakota ia the spring. Interest is aroused in a statement, just made by Chairman Hull of the house military committee, in which he expressed opposition, to the establish- ment of large camps of military in- struction, as proposed by Secretary Root. There is a great deal of interest in this question, and there is no doubt that congress will take affirmative ac- tion on the recommendations made by the war boards now on a tour of invest- igation of military posts in the United States. Mr. Hull's objection has reference, particularly, to the idea of Secretary Roct that the military camps should be established on a large scale, and that the state militia should take part in the armual manevvers in conjunction with the regular troops. Mr. Hull re- gards this suggestion as impractical, saying that, to be of value, the national guard should spend at least six weeks each year in drill and maneuvering, and that this would be impossible, as the men could not afford to lose so much time. Tf congress prozeeds in establishing | camps of instruction on the theory that other means should be provided for re- organizing and strengthening the na- tional guard than annual military ma- neuvers, such action would, no doubt, be favorable to the proposition of Rep- |resentative Stevens of Minn-sota and Esch of Wisconsin, that several camps should be establishel at different points, instead of four, as proposed by Secre- tary Root . A bill providing for ratification of the treaty with the Indians at Fort Totten, N. D., will be presented next week by Representative Marshall. This treaty was negotiated with the Indians some time ago. Before it becomes effective it must be ratified by congress. It pro- vides for a cession to the government of a large tract of Indian lands in North Dakota, which it is proposed to oven to settlement. The Indlans will be paid $340,000 for the land. Rural free delivery will be established at Mapleton, Blue Earth county, Min- nesota, on Feb. 1. The service wiil cov- + er an area of 104 square miles with a population of 2,027. Adam Lortz, F. M. Fish, A. W. Krengle and R. C. Taylor have been appointed carriers. Re One of the best likenesses of President Roosevelt is a vignette made at the bureau of engraving and printing. In future years, after the death of Col. Roosevelt, it may be placed upon a cur- rency of the United States. It is con- trary to custom to place the portrait of a living president upon the notes of * Uncle Sam. A collection of vignettes has been made, and a handsomely- framed portrait of all the presidents ras been sent to the White House. The cngraving of Pres‘dent Roosevelt's was — made from a selected portrait, after all | available portraits ef him had been in- ted. : (| | | re Cee er ens