Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, July 12, 1902, Page 2

—E CHAPTER XXI. A Find. David did not appear in the least sur- @rised; indeed, he was long since past What emotion. Before the bottom of the mystery was reached a great many more strange things were sure to hap- pen. “So you bought that cigar case your- elf?" he said. “Indeed, I did," Ruth answered, ea- rgerly. “Of course, I have long known you by name, and I have read pretty well all your tales. I—I liked your work @o much.” David was flattered. The shy, sweet dmiratian of Ruth’s eyes touched him. “and J was very glad to meet you,” YRuth went on. “You see, we all liked your stories. And we knew one or two speople who had met you, and, gradual- ty, you became quite like a friend of vours—Enid and Chris and myself, you understand. Then, a week or two ago, XE came down to Brighton with my uncle to settle all about taking the house feere. And I happened to be in Lock- fbart’s, buying something, when you en- --fered and asked to see the cigar case. I Tetegnized you from your photograph, .amd — was interested. Of course, I @kought no more of it at the time, until Enid came up to London and told me all about the synopsis and how strange- fy the heroine's case in your proposed story was like hers. Enid wondered thow you were going to get the girl out ef her difficulty, and I jokingly sug- gested that she had better ask you. She accepted the idea quite seriously, Say- {mg that if you had a real, plausible way «ut of the trouble you might help her. And gradually our scheme was evolved. You were not to know, because of the possible danger to yourself.” “At the hands of Reginald Henson, of Sourse?"” “Yes. Our scheme took a long time, “But we got it worked at last. We de- sided on the telephone, because we thought that we could not be traced that way, never imagining for a mo- gsent that you could get the number of your caller over the trunk line. Enid game up to town and worked the tele- hone, Chris was in No. 218, and I Recast the money.” “You placed that cigar case on my Woorstep?” “Yes; I was wound up for anything. Et was I whom you saw riding the bicy- ele through Old Steine; it was I who @ropped the card of instructions. It geems a shameful thing to say and do mow, but I—well, I enjoyed it at the ®ime. And I did it for the sake of my friends. Do I look like that sort of a girl, Mr. Ste21?” David glanced into the beautifully- @hy eyes, with just the suggestion of faughter in them. “You ic all that is loyal, and good wend true!” he exclaimed. “And I don’t think I ever admired you quite as much as { do at this moment.” Ruth laughed and looked down. There -was something in David’s glance that €hrilled her and gave her a sense of fkappiness she would have found it hard to describe. “{ am so glad you do not despise me,” @he whispered. <“Despise you!” David cried. “Why? ¥f you only knew how I, well, how I foved you! Don’t be angry. I mean word that I say; my feelings for are as pure as your own heart. If could care for me as you do for hose oth I should have a friend, in- deed.” “You have made me care for you very wnuch, indeed, Mr. Steel,” Ruth whis- pered. “Call me David. . . . How nice ‘way plain name sounds from your lips. ®uth and David. But I must hold my- @sif in hand for the present. Still, I am glad you like me.” “Well, you have been so good and kind. We have done you a great deal af injury, and you never blamed us. And ‘yeu are just the man I have always pictured as the man I could love. . - David!" <Well, it was only one little kiss, and Fm sure nobody saw us, dear. And, fater on, when you are my wife—” “Don't you think we had better keep te business for the present?” Ruth said, emurely. “Perhaps. There ts one point you qmust clear up before we go any fur- ‘her. How did youemanage to furnish ‘those two big dining rooms exactly a@ltke?” “Why, the furniture is there. At the ‘top of the house, in a large attic, all the furniture is stored.” “But the agent told me itehad been wemoved.” “He was wrong. You can’t expect the egent to recollect everything about a frouse. The place belonged to a lady, swhom we may call Mrs. Margaret Hen- @on, at one time. When the home meheme fell through she sold one house @s {t was. In the other she stored the furniture. Enid knew all this, of course. We managed to get a latchkey to fit No. 18, and Enid and a man did the rest. Bier idea was to keep you in the dark @s much as possible. After the inter- -wfew the furniture was put bacl: again, anid there you are.” Diplomatic and clever, and decidedly eriginal, not to say feminine. In the Hight of recently-acquired knowledge I ean quite see why your friends desired to preserve their secret. But they need ot have taken all those precautions. Bfad they written—” “They dared not. They were fearful @s to what would become of the reply.” “But they might have come to me apenly.” “Again they dared not, for your sake. ‘You know a great deal, David; but there is darkness, and trouble and wick- edness yet that I dare not speak of. And you are in danger. Already Reg- @maid Henson has shown you what he «ean do.” . “And vet he doesn’t know every- | By fred aM, dahite Blind thing.” David smiled. “He may have stabbed me in the back, but he is quite ignorant as to what advice I gave to Enid Henson, which brings me back to the cigar case. You saw me looking at it in Lockhart’s? Go on.” < “Yes, I watched you with a great deal of curiosity. Finally, you went off out of the shop, saying that you could not afford to buy the cigar case, and I thought no more of the matter for a time. Then I found out all about your private affairs. Oh, I am ashamed al- most, to go on!” The dainty little face grew crimson; the hand in David’s trembled. “But we were desperate. And, after all, we were doing no harm. It was just then that the idea of the cigar case came into my mind. We knew that if we could only get you to take that mon- ey it would only be as a loan. I sug- gested the gift of the case as a memen- to of the occasion. I purchased that case with my own money, and I placed it, with its contents, on the doorstep of your house.” “Did you watch it all the time?” “No, I didn’t. But I was satisfied that nobody passed, and I was suffi- ciently near to hear your door open a the appointed hour. Of course, we had carefully rehearsed the telephone con- versation, and I knew exactly what to do.” David sat very thoughtfully for a long time. “The case must have been changed,” he said. “It is very difficult to say how, but there is no other logical solu- tion of the matter. At about half-past twelve on that eventful night, you placed on my doorstep a gun-metal ci- gar case, mounted in diamonds, that you had purchased from Bockhart’s?” “Yes; and the very one that you ad- mired. Of that I am certain.” “Very well. I take that case with me to 218 Brunswick Square, and I bring it back again. Did I take it with me or not? Anyhow, it was found on the floor beside the body. It never passed out of my possession, to my knowledge. Next day I leave it at the office of Messrs. Mossa and Mack, and it gets in to the hands of the police,” < “If I could only see my way to help ou.” ‘The change was made the day you bought the case. By the way, what time was it?” “T can’t tell the exact time,” Ruth re- plied. “It was on the morning of the night of your adventure.” “And you kept it by you all the time.” “Yes. It was in a little box sealed with yellow wax and tied with a yellow string. I went to 219 after I had made the purchase. My uncle was there, and he was using the back sitting room as an office. He had brought a lot of pa- pers with him, to go through.” “Ah! Did you put your package down?” “Just for a moment on the table. But surely my uncle would not—” “One moment, please. Was, anybody with your uncle at the time? Ruth gave a sudden cry. “How senseless of me to forget,” she cried. “My uncle was down merely for the day, and, as he was very busy, he sent for Reginald Henson to help him. T did not imagine that Mr. Henson would know anything. But even now I cannot see what—” “Again let me interrupt you. leave the room at all?” “Yes. It is all coming back to me now. My uncle’s medicine was locked up in my bag. He asked me to go for it, and I went, leaving my purchase on the table. It’s all coming back to me now. . - When I returned Mr, Henson was quite alone, as somebody had called to see my uncle. Mr. Hen- son seemed surprised to see me back so soon, and as I entered he crushed some- thing up into his hand and dropped it into the waste paper basket. But my parcel was quite intact.” “Yellow wax, yellow string and all?” “Yes, so far as I remember. It was Mr. Henson who reminded my uncle about his medicine.” “And when you were away the change was made. jtrange that your uncle should be so friendly with both Henson and Bell. Have they ever met under your roof?” “No,” replied Ruth. “Henson has al- ways alluded to Bell as a lost man. He professes to be deeply sorry for him, but he has declined to meet him. Where are you going?” “T am going with you to see if we can find anything in the waste paper basket at No. 219. Bell tells me that your ser- vants have instructions to touch no pa- pers, and I know that the back room of your house is used as a kind of office. I want, if pogsible, to find the paper that Henson tried to hide on the day you bought the cigar case.” The basket proved to be a large one, and was partially filled with letters that had never been opened—begging letters, Ruth said. For half an hour David was engaged in smoothing out crumpled sheets of paper, until at length his search was rewarded. He held a pack- et of note paper, the usual Six sheets, one inside the other, that generally go to correspondence sheets of good quali- ty. It was crushed up, but Steel flat- tened it,out and held it up for Ruth’s inspection. : “Now, here is a find!” he cried. ‘Look at the address in green on the top: ‘15, Downend Terrace.’ Five sheets of my own best note paper, printed especially for myself, in this basket! Originally this was a block of six sheets, but the one has be2n written upon/and the oth- ers crushed up like this. eyond doubt, the paper was stolen from my study. And what's this?” He held up the thick paper to the light. At the foot of the top sheet was plainly indented in outline the initials, Ba rae - “My own cipher,” David went on. Did you “Scrawled in so boldly as to mark the under sheet of paper. Almost invaria- bly I use initfals instead of my full “And what is to be done now?” Ruth asked. “Find the letter forged over what looks like a genuine cipher,” David said, grimly, see CHAPTER XXII. ’ “The Light That Failed.” Bell followed Dr. Cross into the hos- pital with a sense of familiar pleasure. The cool, sweet smell of the place, the decorous silence, the order of it all ap- pealed to him strongly. It was as the old war horse who sniffs the battle from afar, And the battle with death was ever a joy to Bell. “This is all contrary to regulations, of course,” he suggested. “Well, it is,” Cross admitted. “But I am an enthusiast, and doesn’t often get a chance of chatting with a brilliant, erratic star like yourself. Besides, our man is not in the hospital proper. He is in a kind of annex by my own quar- ters, and he scoffs the suggestion of be- ing nursed.” Bell nodded, understanding perfectly. He came at length to a brillantly-light- ed room, where a dark man, with an exceedingly high forehead and wonder- fully piercing eyes was sitting up in bed. The dark eyes lighted with pleas- ure us they fell upon Bell’s queer, shambling figure and white hair. “The labor we delight in physics pain,” he greeted with a/laugh and a groan. , “It’s worth a badly-twisted shoulder to have the pleasure of seeing Hatherly Bell again. My dear fellow, how are you?” The voice was low and pleasant. There was no trace of insanity about the speaker. Bell shook the proffered hand. For rome little time the conver- sation proceeded smoothly enough. The stranger was a good talker. His re- marks were keen and to the point. “T hope you will be comfortable here,” Bell suggested. A fain’t, subtle change came over the other’s face. “All but one thing,” he whispered. “Don't make a fuss about it, because Cross is very kind. But I can’t stand the electric light. It reminds me of the gieat tragedy of my life. But for the electric light I should be a free man with a good practice to-day.” “So you ure harping on thet string again,” Bell said coldly. “I fancied that I had argued you out of that. You know perfectly well that it is all imag- ination, Heritege.” Heritage passed his left hand across his eyes in a confused kind of way. “When you look at one like that I fancy so,” he said. “When I was un- der your hands I was forgetting all about it. And now it has all come back again. Did I tell you all about it, Cross?” Bell gave Cross a significant glance, and the latter shook his head. “Well, it was this way,” Heritage be- gan, eagerly. His eyes were gleaming now, his whole aspect was changed. “T was poor and struggling, but I had a grand future before me. There was a patient of mine, a rich man, who had a deadly throat trouble. And he was going to leave me all his money if IT cured him. He told me he had made a ‘vill to that effect, and he had done so. And I was in direct straits for some ready cash. When I came to operate I used an electric light, a powerful light —you know what I mean. The opera- tion failed and my patient died. The operation failed because the electric light went out at a critical time. “People said it was a great misfortune for me, because I was on the threshold of a new discovery which would have made my name. Nothing of the kind. I deliberately cut the positive wire of the electric light so that I should fail, ard so that my patient should die and I might get all his money at once. Aud he did die and nobody suspected me— nobody could have found me out. Then I went mad and they put me under Bell's care. I should have got well, only he gave up his practice and drifted into the world again. My good, ind friend Reginald Henson heard of my ease; he interested some people in me and placed me where I am at present.” “So Reginald Henson knows all about it?” Bell asked, drily. “My dear fellow, he is the best friend I have in the world. He was interesi- ed in my case. I have gone over it with him a hundred times. I showed him exactly how it was done. And row you know why I loathe the electric light. When it shines in my eyes it maddens me; it brings back to me the recollection of that dreadful time, it causes me to—”" “Heritage,” Bell said, sternly, “close your eyes at once, and be silent.” The patient obeyed instantly. He had not forgotten the old habit of obedience When he opened his eyes again at length he looked around him in a fool- ish, shame-faced manner, ¢ , “II am afraid I have been rambl- ing,” he muttered. “Pray don’t notice me, Bell; if you are as good a fellow as you used to be, come and see me again. I’m tired now.” Bell gave the desired assurance, and he and Cross left the room together. “Any sort of truth in what he had been saying?” asked the latter. “Very little,” Bell replied. ‘‘Heritage is an exceedingly clever fellow who has not yet recovered from a bad breakdown some years ago. I had nearly cured him at one time, but ke seems to have lapsed into bad ways again. Some day, when I have time, I shall.take up his case once more,” “Did he operate, throat cure?” “ “Exactly. He was on the verge of discovering some way of operating for throat cases with complete success. You can imagine how excited he was over his discovery. Uufortunately the patient he experimented on died under the operation, not because the lignt went out or any nonsense of that kind, but from failure of the heart’s action owing to excitement. Heritage had had no sleep for a fortnight, and he broke down altogether. For months he was really mad, and when his senses came back to him he had that halluci- nation. Some day it ‘will go, and some day Heritage will take up the dropped threads of his discovery and the world will be all the better for. it. And now, or try some new will you do me a favor?” “J will do anything that lies in my power.” “Then be good enough to let me have a peep at the man who was found half-murdered in my friend David Steel’s conservatory. I’m interested in that case.” smug, plausible Pharisee, the friend of Cross hesitated for a moment. “All right,” he said.’ “There can’t be any harm in that. Come this way.” Bell strolled along! with the air of a men moved’ by no more than ordinary curiosity. But from the first he made up his mind not to lose this opportuni- ty. He had not the remotest idea what he expected to find, but he had a pretty good idea that he was on the verge of an important discovery. He came at length to the bedside of the mysterious stranger. The man was lying on his back in a state of coma, his breath came heavily between his parted lips. Bell bent low, partly to examine the patient, partly to hide his face from Cross. If Bell had made any discovery he kept the fact rigidly to himself. “Looks very young,” he muttered. “But then, he ‘s one of those men who never grow any hair on their faces. Young as he looks, I should judge him to be at least forty-five, and if I am not mistaken, he has heard the chimes at , raidnight or later. I’m quite satisfied.” “It’s more than I am,” Cross said, when, at length, he and his visitor were standing outside together. “Look here, Bell, you’re a great friend of Steel's, whom I believe to be a very good fellow. I don’t want to get him into any harm, Lut a day or two ago I found this letter in a pocket book tn a belt worn by our queer patient. Steel says the fellow is a perfect stranger to him, and I believe that statement. But what about this letter? I ought to have sent it to the police, but I didn’t. Read it.” And Cross proceeded to take a letter from his pocket. It was on thick paper; the stamped address given was “‘15, Downend Terrace.”” There was no head- ing, merely the words: “Certainly, with pleasure I shall be home; in fact I am home every night until 12:30, and you may call any time up until then. If you knock quietly on the door I shall hear you.—D. S.” “What do you make of it?” Cross asked. “Tt looks as if your patient had called at Steel’s house by appointment,” Bell admitted. “Here is an invitation, un- doubtedly in Steel’s handwriting. Sub- sequently the poor fellow is found in Steel’s house, nearly murdered, and yet Steel declares solemnly that the man is a perfect stranger to him. It is a bad business, but I assure you that Steel is the soul of honor. Cross, would you be so good as to let me have that letter for two or three days?” ‘ “Very well,” Cross said, after a little hesitation. ‘“‘Good-night.” Bell went on his way homeward with ' plenty of food for thought. He stopped just for a moment to light a cigar. “Getting towards the light,’ "he mut- tered, “getting along. The light is not going to fail, after all. Reginald Henson would say if he only knew that I had been to the hospital | end recognized our mutual friend Van Sreck there!” CHAPTER XXIII Indiseretion. The expression on Henson’s usually benign countenance would have startled such of his friends and admirers as re- garded him as a shining light and bright example. The smug satisfaction, the unctious sweetness of the expansive blue eyes were gone. A murderous gleam shone there instead. His lips were set and rigid, the strong hand seemed to be strangling the bed clothes. It wanted no effort of imagination to picture Henson as the murderer stoop- ing over his prey. The man had dis- carded his mask altogether. “Oh!” he said, between his teeth, “you are a clever fellow. You would have made an excellent detective. And so you have found out where Van Sneck is?” “I have already told you,” Littimer said, doggedly. “How many days have you been hanging aiput Brighton?” “Two or three. I came when I heard that Chris was ill. I didn’t care to come near the house, at least, not too near, for fear of being seen. But I pumped the doctor. Then he told me that Chris was dead, and I risked it all to see the last of her.” “Yes, yes,” Henson said, testily; “but what has this to do with Van Sneck?” “I was looking for Van Sneck. I found that he had been here. I discovered that he had left his rooms and had not returned to them. Then it occurred to me to try the hospital. I pretended that I was in search of some missing rela- tive, and they showed me three cases ¢f bad accidents, the victims of which had not been identified. And the third was | Van Sneck.” Littimer told his story with just the suggestion of triumph in his voice. Hen- son was watching him with the keenest possible interest. “Do you know how Van Sneck got there?” he asked. Littimer nodded. Evidently he had heard most of the story. Henson was silent for some little time. He was working out something in his mind. His smile was not a pleasant one; it was nothing like his bland platform smile, for instance. “Give me that black book,” he said. “Do you know how to work a tele- phone?” “I daresay I could learn. It doesn’t look hard.” “Well, that :s an extension telephone on the table yonder, worked in connec- tion with the main instrument in the li- lrary. I like to have my own tele- phone, as it :s of the greatest assistance té me. Turn that handle two’ or three times and put that receiver to your ear. When the exchange answers tell them to put you on 0,017 Gerrard.” Littimer obeyed, mechanically, but though he rang and rang, no answer came. With a snarling curse Henson dragged himself out of bed and crossed the room with limbs that shook under him. git He twirled the handle around pas- stonately. “You always were a fool!” he growled, “and you always will be.” Still no reply came. Henson whirled again, but could elicit no response. He Ficked the instrument over and danced around it impotently. Littimer had nev- er seen him in such a reging fury be- fore. The language of the man was an outrage, filthy, revolting, profane. No yelling, drunken Hooligan could have been more fluent, more luridly offens- “Go on,” Littimer said, bitterly. ‘I like to hear you. I like to hear the I wonder what | {the good and pious, going on like this. I'd give five years of my life to have just a handful of your future constitu- | ents here for a moment.” Henson paused sudderly and request- oe that Littimer should help him into ed “I can afford to speak freely before you,” he said. “Say a word against me and I'll crush you. Put out a hand to , injure me and I'll wipe you off the face (of the earth. It’s absolutely impera- tive that I should send an important . telephone message to London at once, and here the machine has broken down, and no chance of its being repaired for a day or two. Curse the telephone!” He lay back on his bed utterly ex- ; hausted by his fit of passion. One of | the white bandages about his throat had started, and a little stream of blood trickel down his chest. Littimer waited for the next move. He watched the erimson fluid trickle over Henson’s sleeping jacket. He could have watchod the big scoundrel bleeding to death with the greatest pleasure. “What was Van Sneck doing here?” The voice camc clear end sharp from ; the bed, Littimer responded to it as a cowed hound does to a sud¢en yet not quite unexpectet lash from a hunts- man's whip. His manliness was of small account when Henson was con- verned. For years he had come to hell | like this. Yet the question startled him | and took him entirely by surprise. | “He was looking for the lost Rem- | brandt.” f But Littimer’s surprise was nothing to Henson’s amazement. He lay flat on his back so that his face could not be seen. From the expression of it he had obtained a totally unexpected-reply to | his question. He was so amazed that he had no words for the moment. But his quick intelligence and amazing cun- ring grasped the possibilities of the s.tuation. Littimer was in possession of information to which he was a | Stranger. Except in a vague way, he ‘had not the remotest idea what Littl- mer was talking about. But the young- | er man must not know that “So Van Sneck told you so?” he |asked, “What a fool he must have been! And why should he have come seeking for the Rembrandt in Bright- cn?” “Because suppose.” i: “It isn’t here, because it doesn’t ex- The thing was destroyed by acci- he knows it was here, 1 ‘ist. ‘dent by the police when they raided ; Van Sneck’s lodzings, years ago.” “Van Sneck toli me that he had act- ually seen the picture in Brighton.” (To be Continued: American “Prudishness.” In the face of foreign criticism, and | in the face of one’s own dismay at ex- isting conditions with regard to divorce, | we still sympathize with the retort ad- ministered to an alien critic of our peo- | ple, who had deqjared, in private con- versation, that Americans seemed to be afflicted with the disease of prudish- ness. The answer was somewhat in these words (the incident occurred sev- eral years ago:) “Yes, probably it is true that Americans are prudish; but, considering the revelations that have | recently taken place concerning certain circles in London, and considering the ‘ condition of a good part of the Parisian | stage and of French literature, I, for one, am willing that we should pay that | price for the knowledge that, on the | whole, Americans are the decentest peo- ple, in regard to the relations of the sexes, on the face of the globe.”"—Cen- tury. | “Axed His Pardin.” Ex-Gov. Hoge Tyler of Virginia, whose term expired in December last, was especially enerous in granting | pardons. From many of them he de- rived much pleasure in the gratitude of the unfortunates, and often received material for aa amusing story. One of these he tells was of a negro from Richmond, convicted of some slight of- ferse, who had convinced the governor that he had been sufficiently punished, and who was, accordingly, granted a pardon. The pardoned man’s young- er brother heard of his release before the ex-convict could reach home, and rushed to tell their mother the good news. | “Oh! mammie!” he cried. “Bob's dun j got out, and ’s mos’ heah now.” “Bless de Lud!” exclaimed the moth- er; “but how’d he git out? He ain’t dun busted out, is he?” { “Naw, mammie! De guy’nor jist sint down and axed his pardir, an’ told him to go home.”—New York Times. Compelled to Give Up Plan. The Fifth avenue restaurant which started out with the rule that in the room in which meals were served a la carte only men in evening clothes should be served, has been compelled to give up that plan. New Yorkers are patient, and will tolerate almost any- thing to get wnat pleases them; but this latest device to gain for a restau- rant the badge of exclusiveness was not a success. The certain failure of the plan was assured through the fact that no other restaurant manager had never made such ar effort. So those men who had been in the habit of dining wherever they pleased without being compelled to dress in any particular way, object- ed so forcibly that thé rule was abro- gated._New York Evening Post. A Case of Vice Versa. When Archbishop Patrick J. Ryan of Philadelphia, wh? had been appointed a member of the board of Indian commis- sioners by the president, was a very young priest, he was stationed at a parish in St. Louis where Archbishop Kendrick presided over the diocese. The latter lived in a very small, unpreten- tious house, scarcely in keeping with his position in the church. One day when Father Ryan was pass- ing the house of the archbishop, accom- panied by a Chicago priest, who was visiting the Mound City, he pointed out the house as the residence of the head of the local church. The Chicago priest said, with surprise: “Why, you should see the splendid residence we have in Chicago for our archbishop!” - “Yés,” responied Father Ryan, “but you should see the splendid archbishop we have in St. Louis for our residence.” —New York Times. Not College-Bred. Mrs. Blusterby—Mrs. De Boaster says that no man can be a tleman unless he has a college educatit Mr. Blusterby—Well, that only proves that women who have college educa- tions are not necessarily ladies.—-Puck, Place for the Incubator. Under most circumstances a small building out of doors is the best place in which to, locate the incubator dur- ing the time it is to be in operation. This place is necessary as a safe- guard against fire. There might be times when it would be more advan- tageously located in the house were it not for the danger from fire. The objection to an outer building, how- ever, lies in the fact that the temper- ature is very changeable uniess the building is exceptionally well built. Where a good many chicks are to be raised or where several incubators are to be kept in service for some months at a time a building construct- ed partly below ground is best. We have seen such houses that had been constructed at a moderate cost. The lower walls went five or six feet be- low the surface of the ground, and consisted of concrete to the thick- ness of a foot or more. In such cases the floor was of concrete and the sec- ond floor of boards was only a short distance above the ground. The up per portion of such buildiag can be used for the storage of f and the like. The lower part, in which are placed the incubators, can be kept at a very even temperature. The cellar of the residence is hardly the place for incubators, on account of the dampness of the cellars as ordinarily constructed, and the danger of fires above mentioned. Cornish and Indian Games. The Indian Game has many fine qualities to recommend it to the breed- er, and for many years past has been one of the most popular of fowls. In plumage the male is green-black with- out penciling; the wings, chestnut, with bay and metallic black wing bar; the feathers of the neck hackle are short and hard, green-black, with del- icate crimson-brown shafts. The plu- mage of the hen is very difficult to ob- ornish Indian Game hen. tain in accord with the standard, and should be a combination of nut-brown and green-black throughout, green predominating. Along the breastbone of both male and female the feathers part and allow the skin to show just at or above the upper part of the keel- bone. This is a distinctive feature of the breed, and shows from the time the chicks shed the down. Strength of Ancestry. To have a strong breed of fowls we must have birds bred up from strong ancestors. In our present knowledge of the different breeds we cannot tell just what the comparisons, between the different breeds are in this re- spect. Doubtless as time goes on we will have tests to discover these rela- tive facts. There is a strong impres- sion that one breed is much stronger than another breed, but we have no definite data to back up these rather vague impressions. In a small way we can tell something about the strength of ancestry in individual strains. Thus, if we have had in our flocks rather weak birds and have permitted them to reproduce them- selves and have seen the same weak- ness in their progeny we know that the proper strength is lacking for the development of a proper strain of val- uable birds. The best we can do is to watch these birds and weed them out of the flock. If we cure a sick bird, that bird should never again be permitted to lay eggs for hatching purposes, The very fact that she has been sick makes it probable that she lacks in hardiness. _ Turkeys with Cramped Feet. From Farmers’ Review: My young turkeys have cramped feet. Can you tell me the cause and remedy for 4it?—A Subscriber. * * * Doubt- less the cause is the cold and damp weather we have been having. Per- haps the poults have been permitted to lie in damp places and have thus become afflicted with something after the nature of rheumatism. We have had chicks affected that way by the causes named. In case of chicks we have found that taking them into the house where it was warm and dry in- sured a cure in a few days. Doubtless. the same will be true of the poults. Feeding Chicks. From Farmers’ Review: After chicks are hatched I do not feed them anything for 36 hours nor do I give them any water. After that I feed and water them. I feed and water four times a day w! 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