Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, July 23, 1904, Page 7

+— By Tom Gallon © oo # ScOooooooooooo ae FAA Woman of Cra CHAPTER XIIIl—Continued. “Kind, sweet lady—taken pity on poor old man,” he mumbled. Had him dressed—and washed—though that wasn’t necessary; now she’s going to give him just the little opium he craves for—just enough to keep his poor old body and soul together for a_ little while. He hasn't a friend in the world.” “You had a daughter once; do you remember her?” she asked, abruptly. He started, and looked about him, and then began to shake horribly. ie don’t remember,” he whispered. She was dying—I don’t know whether she flied—or—or what happened.” “She didn’t die; but she was an un- natural sort of child to you, and she wouldn’t give you what you wanted— the opium, you know. Do you remem- ber that?” “Yes—yes, I remember that,” he ex- claimed, eagerly. ‘She was always against it; she never could understand that it was the only thing I had to live for She never gave me money for that.” “No, but I will,” said Joyce. Then, seeing his eager hands stretching out toward her, she shook her head and held up a warning finger. “One one condition, and one only. Keep that condition, and I will see that you're well looked after, and that you have all the opium you want; you can kill yourself with it as rapidly as you like.” “Anything—anything,” he panted, feverish with anxiety. “I will do any- thing you ask.” “Listen to me. This daughter of yours, who never treatd you well, is in England, and she is looking for you. Do you remember that you robbed her of something?” “Only a few papers—not of any worth to anybody,” he stammered. There was another woman—I forget when or where—who gave me opium for them.” “Have you ever seen her since?” asked Joyce, as she thrust her face to- wards him. “T shouldn’t know her if I had,” saia Yarwood. “I’ve forgotten so many things—what can you expect a poor old man like me to remember?” “I want you to remember one thing, and one thing only. You know your own name, I suppose?” “Yes—I remember that; David Yar- wood,” he replied. “Well, Mr. David Yarwood, this daughter of yours is looking for you, as I have said; she can accuse you ot robbing her, and she can put you into a place where you'll get precious little to eat and certainly no opium. I can save you from her.” He began to tremble again, horribly, and finally clung to her, moaning and beseeching that she would help him, and promising anything and _ every- thing in return. Briefly she told him what he was to do. “Tam rich; I will give you anything and everything you want; you shall have a room of your own, and you shall smoke and dream, and smoke again—all day long, and all night, too. In return, I want you to tell every one that I am your daughter—your daugh- ter, Grace Yarwood.” H began to laugh in a childish fash- ion, well pleased at the thought of the glorious life opening before him. “I see—I see,” ’ he cried, eagerly. “It’s a “Yes, if you like—a joke,” she re- plied. “Only remember, the moment you forget that joke I strip you and turn you into the streets again. I am going to take you down into the coun- try, and I am going to take plenty of opium with me.. But you will meet your daughter—your real daughter— down there.” “Oh-—but I can’t do that,” he began; but she checked him “Oh, yes you can; it’s your only chance. When we meet this daughter of yours you will swear that you have never seen her before; you will declare that I am your daughter Grace—and you will stick to it. Once forget—and you knew what will happen.” “I understand—I will be very care- ful. It would never do for me to see her, or for her to see me, unless I had you to help me. It'll be a good joke— to swear that I don’t know her, and that you are my daughter—won’t it?” capital joke—for her,” said Joyce. “Now, you understand what you have to do; you understand, also, that you are not to smoke your filthy stuff here —that I sha’n’t let you have any, in fact, until you have done this for me. To-morrow we go into the country, and then you can smoke to your heart’s content.” A message was brought to her that a gentleman had called to see her— Mr. Stock. She hesitated for a mo- ment, and looked at the queer figure of old Yarwood, mumbling and moaning and crooning to himself; then she re- quested that Mr. Stock should be brought to her there. “T might as well play the game bold- ly, while I am about it,” she thought. “Tf I try to hide him it will only make matters worse; by annexing him like this, I eut the ground from under every one else’s feet.” Mr. Stock came in, pausing a mo- ment at the door to bend himself in that curious fashion he had, and to peer at her over his spectacles. She rose at once and went toward him with EH oonoohooooooooo8eo ; OOOO a smile and with her hand outstretch- ed. “This is very good of you, Stock,” she cried. “Not at all, Miss Yarwood—not at all,” he said. “As a matter of fact, it occurred to me that, as I am not very busy just now I would give myself the pleasure of traveling down with you to Hawley Park when you return; I thought then I might bring my very ordinary common-sense legal mind to bear upon this young cousin of yours, and endeavor to bring him to his senses. After all, he may not have looked at the thing from an ordinary pecuniary standpoint. “It is very good of you—very thoughtful,” she said, gratefully. Her quick mind had shown her in a mo- ment that here was an opportunity to pring things to a head and to demolish all opposition for all time. “I want,” she went on, lowering her voice—“I want to introduce you to some one, Mr. Stock. I should be glad if you would go through the form, at least, of shaking hands with him; he would be gratified.” She indicated the forlorn, trembling figure in the corner of the room, “Certainly, if you wish it,” said Mr. Stock, in some surprise. ‘Who is he?” “My father.” He was advancing toward the old man; but he stopped with a jerk, and faced round upon her. Your father, Miss Yarwood? You told me your father was dead—had died somewhere in Nevada.” In the tense silence which followed, Joyce realized the blunder she had made. She remembered that she had had that question asked before, on the occasion of her first visit to Mr. Stock’s office; it had been easy enough then to state glibly that her father was dead, and was buried in America. Now, with the man actually in the room, something else had to be invented— something which the wretched old man might contradict in a moment. “Well, Mr. Stock,” said Joyce, after a pause, and lowering her eyes modest- ly, “was it likely that I should be proud of a father like that?” “But you told me, Miss Yarwood, a circumstantial story of how your father had given you the papers just before he died; you appeared to be filled with grief at the memory of his death,” said Mr. Stock. “Poor old man—not many’ years to live; dying for want of a little opium. Sweet lady—dear daughter Grace, I mean—going to take care of him—” Old Yarwood was babbling on, with a sort of droning accompaniment to the conversation; the lawyer was watching him intently. “I was wrong, Mr. Stock. I have re- gretted it ever since,” said Joyce. “But my father, after dragging me half over the world, in poverty and misery, had deserted me, and I did not know where he was. So I told that lie, and have regretted it ever since. Yester- day I found my dear father in the streets of London. I am going to take him into the country with me and I shall do my best to reclaim him.” “He'll want some reclaiming,” said Mr. Stock, slowly. “To be candid with you, Miss Yarwood, I am a little dis- appoizted—a little hurt, that you should not have told me the exact truth concerning such a matter as this. I pointed out to you, if you will remem- ber, that had we been able to produce your father, there were many in Eng- land who had known him, and would probably recognize him again. It is unfortunate, to say the least of it.” Into the mind of the lawyer another little drop of suspicion had gone—in- definable, and yet strong. He told ‘himself the next moment that the sus- picion was an unworthy one, and that doubtless this girl had simply been glad to believe, in her own mind, that such a disreputable creature as old David Yarwood was really dead; but still Mr. Stock did not like it. He walk- ' ed across to where Yarwood was seat- ed and touched the man on the shoul- Mr. der. “Come, Mr. Yarwood—I don’t sup- pose you remember me,” he said. “We only met once, and for a few minutes —and the years have changed you.” “All changed—all gone—nothing left but nightmares and horrors, and a dream of the old kind now and then.” 3 changed; nothing left!” “You have some memories still, Mr. Yarwood,” said the lawyer, gently, de- termined to set a trap if he could. “Look up; look round you; who is this lady?” Joyce was standing with her hands clasped behind her; she gripped hold of a chair while she waited for the an- | swer. She saw the dull eyes raised to- ward her; she saw the piteous, trem- pling fingers clutching at the quivering lips; then she saw the ghost of a smile come over the yellow features. “My—my daughter Grace—my dear daughter Grace—who’s going to help a poor old man, and-give him all he wants, and to do for him all that he » ‘The voice died away and finished; the lawyer turned to the girl. “I.think I understand your object, Miss Yar- wood; at the same time I am sorry you did not give me your full confi- dence. I presumé you take your ‘shall be Sinan from me again,” said Joyce. So they journeyed down that after- noon to Hawley Park; they had a car- riage to themselves in the train, and while Joyce and the lawyer sat at one end of it, facing each other, the wreck of David Yarwood crouched in a cor- ner at the opposite end, mumbling and muttering, and nodding and smiling to himself. And Mr. Stock, with one of his more kindly moods upon him, be- gan to be really sorry for this young girl—so patient and so long-suffering, and so greatly oppressed, in spite of all her wealth. He quite made up his mind, in fact, that he would talk seri- ously to young Raymond Hawley, and would, by hook or by crook, bring him to a more proper frame of mind. The poor girl should not be done out of her fortune if he could prevent it. Meanwhile, it behooves us to return to that other amiable personage— Prof. Tapney. Flushed with his great scheme, and yet very wisely refraining from giving any details concerning it to any one, he simply threw out myste- rious hints, to the effect that he had succeeded where more drastic methods had failed; and he boldly asserted that in three days’ time’all would be well, and the matter arranged. ,» ‘Do not mistake me, Mr. Flame,” he said to Enoch, as they all sat on the second night round the camp fire. “Ask Mrs. Tapney if you doubt what I say; but I never really make mistakes, Ask Mrs. Tapney!” The truthful Mrs. Tapney coughed, and then, seeing that they were all looking at her, explained that it was a draught coming through the trees. The professor, a little disconcerted for the moment, went on: “We have had a witness here who, though important, is not absolutely necessary. I assure you that it is on the invitation of this mistaken lady at Hawley Park that Miss Grace Yarwood is to go to assert her claim. As a for- mality we shall, of course, take Mr. Owen Jaggard with us; but I know my- self that he is not at all essential to the scheme. Miss Grace Yarwood is, to all intents and purposes, practically installed in her own house.” “All the same,” said Flame, uneasily, “I would have been glad to have seen the man Jaggard here. It’s easy enough for any oue to make an asser- tion like that, and a promise like that; but why has he gone? Why did he leave directly after that, and fail to keep his promise? The man hasn’t been seen for two days; I don’t like | ad “Depend upon it, my dear Mr. Flame, Mr. Jaggard will appear at the right moment,” said the professor, soothing- ly. “Like myself, he is of a romantic temperament; he desires to come in at the psychological moment and aid us, if necessary. Let me assure you again that all will be well. To-morrow is the third day; and to-morrow we go to the house, and everything is re- stored to Miss Yarwood, as it should be.” The morrow dawned, and still there was no sign from Owen Jaggard. Late in the afternoon the professor gath- ered his forces together; Grace—and Enoch Flame and Mrs. Tapney—the latter as a sort of moral support, if needed, for himself. And together they marched on the stronghold of the enemy. They inquired for Miss Yarwood; for the professor was determined to do things properly up to the finish. And they were requested to step into a room and to wait there; Miss Yar- wood would see them immediately. “What did I tell you?” asked the professor, in triumph. “TI only hope that it will not be too affecting. I am of an emotional nature. My love’— he turned to Mrs. Tapney—“should any one, in a promiscuous fashion, weep upon my shoulder—pass it by, I beg of you.” “Well, just for this once, perhaps,” said Mrs. Tapney, good-naturedly. Those who were te receive the visit- ors were waiting together in an ad- joining room. Mr. Stock had had his interview with Raymond Hawley, but had utterly failed to move him; they were just at the end of an awkward in- terview, in which Joyce had taken part, and to which old Yarwood had been an unknowing witness, when the name of Prof. Tapney was brought up to her. Joyce knew that the supreme moment had arrived. She got to her feet and faced them all. “J believe that the woman—the im- poster who claims this estate in my name—is here; in order that the mat- ter may be cleared up, once and for all, and in order that you may assist me to send her about her business, I will have her brought in here now.” “As you please,” said Mr. Stock, wondering a little what was going to happen. She gave an order to the servant, who retired; directly afterward the folding doors which divided that room from the next were thrown open, and Prof. Tapney, radiant and confident, advanced with Grace upon his arm. And then in a moment two things hap- pened. Raymond started forward, amazedly crying out the girl’s name; but she did not seem to hear him. Instead she stopped and looked straight at the de- plorable figure of old Yarwood, thrust the professor aside and ran straight to it. She fell upon her knees before her father and caught at his -hands and cried out to him: “Qh, heaven—my father—my dear, dear father!” . He raised his eyes and lookeé at her, with fear writ large in every line of his face; raised them higher, and met the cold, calm eyes of Joyce Bland. Reading there what he had to do, he : all, ringing high in the silence. “There’s my daughter—my Grace—my dear child!” He moved across to where Joyce was standing, still keeping his eyes upon her eyes, which compelled him; he clung to her and looked round upon the others. “My dear father,” said Joyce, with a smile, and contrived to kiss him with some show of tenderness before them all. CHAPTER XIV. ES A Small Reception. As they all stood in amazed silence, wondering what was to happen next, Mr. Stock calmly detached himself from the others and crossed the room to where Grace Yarwood was standing. He looked at her in that queer fashion over his spectacles; and his tone was cold and judicial when he spoke. “As the legal adviser of this lady,” he said, with a glance towards where Joyce Bland stood with old Yarwood, “] have a right to speak in this mat- ter. Am I clearl yto understand that you are the person who claims to be Grace Yarwood?” “I am Grace Yarwood,” she cried, passionately. “My father there knows that I am; that woman knows it, also. She stole from me all the proofs that I had—took from my father—” “You say that this—this gentleman is your father?” said Mr. Stock, as calmly as ever, pointing to the trem- bling figure of David Yarwood. “Yes—yes,” cried the girl, distract- edly. “He has been ill a long time; he does not always understand what he is saying. If you will only let me speak to him—quietly and alone—he will understand—he will know who I am.” “T fail to see any reason, Mr. Stock, for prolonging this interview,” broke in Joyce, haughtily.. “We have been subjected to annoyance enough al- ready—my father and I, Cannot this person be sent away, now that she un- derstands that her ridiculous attempt at fraud is understood?” “Grace—won't you tell me what all this means?” asked Raymond Hawley, stepping forward. “Do you really say that you are Grace Yarwood?” “Yes—I am Grace Yarwood,” said the girl, standing before him with bowed head. “I never meant that you should know—until afterwards; I nev- er meant that you should love me— because I was Grace Yarwood—oh, what am I saying? Can’t you under- stand how helpless I am—how impos- sible it is for you to say anything to you?” Raymond Hawley was about to speak agailn, eagerly, when he felt the hand of Mr. Stock on his shoulder, and, meeting that gentleman’s eyes, saw a warning in them to be silent. At the same moment the lawyer spoke, as calmly and coldly as ever, to Grace. “It will, of course, be necessary for me to inquire into this matter,’ he said, quietly. “If you have any proofs —any papers of any kind—I shall be glad to see them. I shall be here for some days. For the present, I think it will be better for you to go. You will quite understand that I am unable se- riously to consider such a claim.as you have made, when the man you call father denies that he knows you, and tells us that the Miss Grace Yarwood we have known is really his daughter.” “But I tell you, sir, that he is—” “It will be better for you to say nothing now,” persisted Mr. Stock. “You, sir,” had better take her away” —he turned to Prof. Tapney—‘and see that she is well cared for.” The suggestion appeared quite an ordinary one; but the remark which the lawyer added in Prof. Tapney’s ear was, to say the least, surprising. “You shall be well rewarded for any trouble you may be put to; you shall be paid for any expenses you may in- cur on her behalf. But don’t tell any one I said so.” With his brain in a whirl, Prof. Tap- ney, assisted by his wife, began to draw the weeping girl from the room; but at the last moment old Enoch Flame strode forward and held up a hand. “Stop!” he exclaimed. “We have come here to-day to see a great wrong righted, and we are not to be thrust out like this. “That man there”—he pointed a stern finger at the trembling David Yarwood—‘“that man watched with me beside the sick bed of the girl you are driving out of the house; that man acknowledged to us both that he—” “Will you be silent!” exclaimed Mr, Stock, quite angrily for him. “TI tell you that, while I do not admit the claim for an instant, I shall feel it my duty to inquire into it. It seems to me to be a preposterous claim—” “Thank you, Mr. Stock,” broke in Joyce, quickly. “But still it must be inquired into. Pray go away now and let*me hear no more about it for the present. Miss Yarwood, take your father away.” - The stern, calm voice of the lawyer had its effect; Enoch Flame, with a helpless gesture, turned away, and followed Grace and the professor and his wife from the room. As Joyce turned away also, young Raymond Hawley. made a movement toward the door through which Grace had disap- peared; but once again the hand of the lawyer detained him. “wait a moment, my impulsive young friend,” said Stock; “I want to talk to you.” “Shall I. wait ‘also, Mr. Stock?” asked Joyce, pausing a moment at the other door, and still keeping a tight suddenly thrust the girl away and | hold on the arm of old Yarwood. staggered to his feet. “Thank you—I think not,” said the ay is ‘is not ing we have to “There | discuss, Miss Yarwood—at present. I shall take the liberty of using the small room which the late John Haw- ley occupied as an office,” he added; it will be handy for me, if I may do so.” “Why, of course, Mr. Stock,” replied Joyce, smilingly. “Come, father.” The bewildered David Yarwood was led away gently enough—until they were out of hearing; then Joyce’s man- ner changed. “Now, hurry up,” she whispered, fiercely. ‘“You’ve done very well, so far, although you did shuffle and trem- ble in a very absurd manner. There'll be no opium for you if you don’t do better in future, and if you don’t get into that muddled brain of yours the one idea, and the one only—that I am your daughter Grace. And mind you get it clearly.” “I will be very careful,” he mutter- ed, humbly. “Only I was afraid, when I saw her; it seemed for a moment that even—even for the opium I couldn’t do it.” “Lucky for you you did!” retorted Joyce, with a laugh. “You don’t want to starve again, I suppose, or sleep un- der arches, or in places like that? Now, Here’s your room; you'll find all your soul craves for in there; I'll lock you in, for fear of accidents; you can smoke and sleep as long as you like.” He was so delighted at the prospect, and so grateful, that he actually kissed her hands, and murmured again and again that be would be faithful to her, and that she was always his daughter Grace—his dear daughter Grace. She laughed, and thrust him into the room and locked the door. (To Be Continued.) SENT BACK FOR “MAMMY.” A Kentucky Bride Unhappy Without Her Old Black Nurse. A beautiful young lady, a member ot one of the richest and most aristocrat- ic families of Henderson, Ky., married a few years ago and went with her husband to New York city to live. The affection between her and the “old black mammy” was very tender, and the separation was hard to bear. After the young wife had settled in the East she determined to have “mammy” come on to visit her and sent the mon- ey for her ticket. Imagine the surprise of the prim New Yorkers when they saw an old colored woman coming through the station gate suddenly pounced upon by an elegantly dressed lady, who threw her arms around the old woman’s neck and kissed her time and again. Drop- ping her bundles, the old woman seat- ed herself upon a truck, and, drawing the lady upon her lap, tenderly stroked her hair and exclaimed: “My God, my baby! I’se so glad to see you, honey.” To her the fine lady was only the little girl, whom she had_ tenderly nursed in sickness and in health, and upon whom she had lavished all the love of her simple heart.—Louisville Courier-Journal. WARTS ARE DANGEROUS. When Irritated They Are Apt to Do velop Blood Poisoning. Dr. W. W. Kean of Philadelphia read before the section of surgery and anat- omy at Atlantic City, N. J., a paper on “The Danger of Allowing Moles and Warts to Remain, Lest They Become Malignant.” He pointed out that many moles and warts are congenital or else, having arisen later, have persist- ed in apparent harmlessness for many years, and that both, in consequence of injury, friction of the clothing, fre- quent scratching or other irritant, may begin to increase in size, and are then already malignant. To wait until they begin to grow is to wait too long. He declared that they should be removed, with the skin in which they grew, be- fore the malignant change occurs— that-is, during the period of quies- cence. Twenty-five cases of malignant development were reported, arising on almost all portions of the body. Among these eleven of the patients are known to have died, sometimes even in spite of multiple operations or even amputations, and several others, which had been lost sight of, in all probability also died.—Philadeiphia Public Ledger. RECORD BAG OF TIGERS. Of Eight Shot, the Longest Measured Eleven Feet Long. Almost a record bag of tigers has just been made by Gen. Sir Birden Blood and a small party of friends in the Nepal Terai. The party consisted of six guns and they shot eight tigers, a bear, several deer and a large number of quail. The largest tiger measured ten feet eight inches from the tip of the nose to the tip of the tail, following all curyes. This is believed to be the largest tiger ever shot in India. Calumet - Baking Powder Perfect in quality. Moderate in price. SUCCESS RECIPES. Twelve Maxims by Which Baron Rothschild Succeeds. The following twelve maxims form part of the will of Mayer Anselim Rothschild, the founder of the great banking house at Frankfort. They are going the rounds in Europe and America: 1. Seriously ponder over and thor- oughly examine any project to which you intend to give your attention. 2. Reflect a long time, then decide promptly. 3. Go ahead. 4. Endure annoyances patiently and fight bravely against obstacles. 5. Consider honor as a sacred duty. 6. Never lie about a business affair. 7. Pay your debt promptly. 8. Learn how to sacrifice money when necessary. 9. Do not trust too much to luck. 10. Spend your time profitably. 11. Do not pretend to be more im- portant than you really are. 12. Never become discouraged, work zealously and you will succeed—New York News. Of Wide Interest. Breed, Wis., July 18.—Special— Charles Y. Peterson, Justice of the Peace for Oconto Co., has delivered a judgment that is of interest to the whole United States. Put briefly, that judgment is, “‘Dodd’s Kidney Pills are the best kidney medicine on the mar- ket to-day.” And Mr. Peterson gives his reason for this judgment. He says: “Last winter I had an aching pain in my back which troubled me very much. In the morning I could hardly straight- en my back. I did not know what it was, but an advertisement led me to try Dodd’s Kidney Pills. After taking one box I can only say they have done more for me than expected, as I feel as well now as ever I did before.” Pain in the back is one of the first symptoms of Kidney disease. If not cured by Dodd’s Kidney Pills it may develop into Bright’s Disease, Dia- betes, Rheumatism or some of the other deadly forms of Kidney Disease. Misunderstood. They were playing a little social game of poker in the parlor, the young ladies. “It is not your turn to bet now, Miss Primleigh,” he remarked; “you have the advantage of not having to bet un- til the others have all said.” “Why so?” she inquired. “Because you have the age on us,” he responded. She was his bitterest enemy from that time on—New Orleans Times- Democrat. Catarrh Cannot Be Cured with LOCAL APPLICATIONS, as they cannot reach the seat of the disease. Catarrh {s a blood or const!- tutional disease, and inorder to cure it you must take internal rented s. Hall's Catarrh Cure is taken in- directly on the blood and mucous ait's Catorrh Cure is not a quack medi- was prescribed by one of the best physicians country for years and is aregular prescription It 1s composed of the best tonics known, combined with the best blood purifiers, acting directiy on the mucous surfaces. The perfec we pnarediea ee what produce sults in curing catarrh. Send for testimonials, free. F.J CE O., |. Toledo. pea CO., Props., Toledo. @, Take Hall’ onsttpation. Easy Method. Young Author—When I write far into the night I find great difficulty in getting to sleep. Friend—Why don’t you read over what you have written?—Princeton Tiger. Living Expenses. First Chappie—Do you think two can live as cheaply as one, old fell? Second Chappie—Not if the girl smokes cigarettes too, yer know.— Puck. Disabled in One Day. Proprietor—The new office boy tele- phones that he is sick.” Stenographer—Sick of work, I guess. —Cincinnati Commercial Tribune. PATENTS. List of Patents Issued Last Week to Northwestern Inventors. Newton Bolton, Minneapolis, Minn., lath stripping machine; Frederick A tigress nine feet one inch, prob-) Clark, Clear Lake, Minn., lamp sup- ably the mate of this tiger, was alse porting bracket; Emil M. Erdman, Ma- shot.—Rochester Herald. Fake Friendship. ss! hear that Samy. is a great friend of yours.” “Well,” laughed Merriman, “as a congratulator Singly has few equals and no superiors. When he comes around to smoke my choice cigars and sample the contents of my sideboard you may know that I’ve had a stroke of good luck. When I get a facer he is never on hand to see what he can da for me.”—Detroit Free Press. “I heard you giggling in the parlor last night,” said the stern parent. “] think you must have been beside your self.” “Oh, no,” said the pretty girl, blush. ing deeply, “I was beside Charlie.”— rion, N. D., stump puller; Frank Lew- is, Neche, N. D., grain separator; Bea- trice Linberg, Faribault, Minn., school loom; John Roos, Duluth, Minn., dis- play rack; James Thompson, Deer River, Minn., self-feeding hammer. Lothrop & Johnson, patent lawyers, 912 and 912 Pioneer Press Bidg., St. Paul. The exchange editor may be a mild- spoken man, but he invariably in- dulges in cutting things. Fate sometimes amuses herself by putting oaks into flower pots and mak- ing dwarfs of them. FITS Rrraes cor sat Creer eae oi PY RAS copuernian cae Ambition is one of Cupid’s men-ate arms. 2 gentleman acting as instructor to the y By + | ‘ é , » | | Fe | —-4 | r | | | | | —T | | e } | Ne , . —+ | | | | or + |