Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, October 29, 1904, Page 9

BY: CHAPTER VI.—(Continued). They had been sauntering from the ecurate’s lodging to Anchor Cottage, and there, leaning upon the fence and smoking a long pipe, was the redoubt- able Weasel, apparently in an unusu- ally amicable frame of mind. He actually touched his cap, and said with quite a grace: “Good day to you, Mr. Leife, sir, and Mr. Ruffidge, too. A fine day for a swim, sir.” _ And he looked at the curate with a smile that made him clench his fists. “John Broad,” he said, mastering his anger and speaking quite deliberately, “I warn you to be careful. Who and what you are I don’t yet know, and if I find you at your games again the king’s judges shall know it too.” At the first part of this speech Wea- sel John looked down as if in sudden fear or confusion. Then his dark cheek flushed an angry red, and his eyes grew bright and hard as he an- swered “If we meet again—aye, and I ask nothing better—look out for yourself when we do; and you, too, you red- headed lickspitile. Look out, both of you!” And he turned on his heels and walked indoors, muttering as he went. CHAPTER VII. in September the vicarage visitor from Early opened its doors to a London. This was Nellie Champion, the only child of the vicar’s eldest brother, a surgeon in Westminster. She had been unlucky enough to break her left arm, and, although the injury had been most successfully treated, ther general health had suffered. So it was arranged that she should leave the schoolroom for a time and spend a couple of months in the country. The vicar gladly received her into his house. Besides being naturally very fond of children, he had a strong sense of family obligations, and was ready to do a great deal for any one who could boast the name of Cham- pion. Mrs. Champion, as she was general- ly called at the vicarage; was rather upset at the idea of a big, spoiled tom- boy of thirteen upsetting everything, putting her and the maids at defiance, and probably tumbling over a cliff and getting drowned. However, seeing the matter was practically settled, she, like a wise woman, held her tongue and only occasionally shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. On the other hand, she took care to have the spare room specially pre- pared, with new curtains and bed- hangings, and on the night of the child’s arrival, a great bow] of flowers on the table. She had not seen her guest for seven or eight years, and it was an agreeable surprise when the chaise rolled up to the door and a slim, childish-looking figure sprang out and into her arms, without a trace of shyness, but also without any signs of forwardness, and exclaimed, as she gave her a hearty kiss: “You must be my Aunt ma’am.” To the vicar his niece’s arrival was a welcome diversion. He was natural- ly of a cheerful, lively disposition, and the sound of a child’s light footstep and the ring of her laugh made music in his ears. She, for her part, was de- lighted with everything. “Uncle Hervey,” she wrote home, “is very learned and can read _ books ‘backwards or upside down just as eas- ily as we can read ordinary writing. He is also good and very pius, but he is exceedingly kind and never scolds. Aunt Lucy is very kind, to, but she thas a very ankshus nature, and she often says I did not close my eyes last night for thinking about something (I mean she did not).” It was the little Londoner's first in- troduction to the sea, and she lost her heart to it at once. Bathing was not then the fashion it has since become, and in any case it was rather late in the year, but the child was constantly on the beach, and spent half the day dabbling bare-legged in the water and hunting among the pools at low tide for seaweed, shrimps, little crabs, and all the delightful wonders of shore life. In the villages, too, she soon made fherself at home. “The poor people are very nice,” ne said, in another of her artless epis- tles home. “I run in and out of the cottages like a little dog (Aunt Lucy has a butiful one—a real terier; it is called Rex), and they all make a bob and smile and say, ‘Good morning, missy.’ They also make a very delish- us cake, with plums and some sweet- stuff on the top.” Indeed, the child was a welcome vis- itor, and small wonder. For she was pretty, and fearless, and merry; very affectionate, but desperately fond of mischief. She had, moreover, a very happy knack of making kind little speeches, in a natural, impulsive way that to most people was quite irresist- ible. She would scamper down the village street, Rex berking in front like a herald, her eager little face turned hither and thither with a pleas. Lucy, B. PAUL NEUMAN. ant word, or at least a bright smile, for every one she met. Lessons she detested, but she loved wh&t she called “helping” in the kitchen, and as for the chickens, ducklings and little pigs, they were serious rivals of the sea in her affections. She and the curate were soon fast friends. As it happened, Mr. Leife had lost a younger sister of whom he was passionately fond, and this pretty, gay little city maid seemed just to slip into an empty corner in his heart. He took her for long walks, scrambled up the hills behind her, taught her the Latin names of the wild flowers, and laughed at her wry faces and evident belief that he made up the long words on the spur of the moment. Then he often invited her to tea, and very proud she was to be installed at the tea board, pouring out the curate’s dish and making belief to great strict- ness in the matter of sugar. Before she had been very long at Chidley she became acquainted with at least one of the Anchor Cottage tenants. She was walking with Mr. Leife one afternoon along the beach at Whayre, just in front of the liitle houses, when they heard a loud hail, and saw a big, red-haired man letting himself down from the platform of rock on which they stood. “ah,” said Mr. Leife, “this is Rut- fidge, the man I’ve told you about. He'd be one of the salt of the earth if only he could learn how to forgive.” “Beg pardon, Mr. Leife,” said the man, as he overtook them \“for inter- rupting you and the young, lady.” And he saluted her in true naval style. “Qh, never mind that, Ruffidge,” said the curate; “Miss Champion will forgive you, though,” he added, look- ing the other full in the face, with a a meaning smile. her it’s a thing you don’t find it easy to do.” “All except one, sir, and him a— well—a bad-minded, cruel-hearted, treacherous villain—begging the young Jady’s pardon for the language—and good reason you—well—good reason you have to know it.” “It’s occurred to me _ sometime: said the curate, thoughtfully, “that he may have been doing a little smug- gling on his own account that night, and thought I was there for a spoil- sport.* “Yes, and nearly—well—nearly kill- ed that poor silly lad, to say nothing of leaving you to drown, the—the mur- derous ruffian.” ; “Ah, well, I'm watching him pretty sharply, and I mean to. But what is it you wanted to say?” “Why, sir, I heard this morning that Butier’s girl has fallen sick; they don’t know what is the matter; but } she can’t take her food and she’s—well —all of a—a shiver one minute, and like—like fire the next. I promised them I’d let you know at once.” “Thank you Ruffidge,” said the curate. “I'll go and see her this morn- ing, and if she’s still bad I'll get Dr. Catell to go round. I'm very glad you told me.” “Oh, that’s all right, sir,” mumbled Ruffidge, rather awkwardly. “I've nothing much to do, you know.” CHAPTER VIII. One bright morning towards the end of September Nell was coming back from Cliffe, where she had been leay- ing a message from Mrs. Champion. It was early in the morning, and, as there was no answer to take back, she was free till dinner. By this time she knew her way about in every direc- tion, and even Aunt Lucy had relaxed her vigilance and recognized that this very independent young person was quite able to take care of herself. The sea lay blue and shimmering in the sunshine, and she suddenly remem- bered that it would be just about low water, and that there were some love- ly pools near the Cruddle. The thought of these pools decided her, and crossing a field that stood a few feet above the beach she’reached the rough steps that led down to the shingle. As she began the descent she hap- | pened to turn her head and caught sight of the entrance to the old quar- ry. In the blazing sunlight the deep excavation looked black and formida- ble, but her attention was riveted on a strange figure immediately in front of it. A big, rough-looking boy, capless and coatless, was kneeling in front ofa large bowlder, waving his arms in the air and bowing his head. or two he rose up and, began to dance round the stone, at first slowly, with clumsy, grotesque movements. Grad- ually they grew faster and his ges- tures wilder, until, just as she felt sure he must inevitably ‘trip, he sud- denly dropped on the ground as though exhausted. At first she thought it must be some kind of game, but—matter-of-fact little body as she was—there was some- thing in the whole performance that impressed her and checked her first impulse, which was to go across and ask the boy what it all meant. Instead, after waiting a minute or “T was just telling | i | | carefully. 5 |ed her acquaintance In a minute two to see whether he would resume | his antics, she ran down to the beach and was soon balancing herself far out on the slippery rocks. Absorbed in this fascinating pursuit, she forgot ‘| all about the curious performance till it occurred tovyher that it must be nearly dinner time. As she turned toward the beach she was astonished to see a few yards off the lad of whose eccentric behavior she had so recently been a witness. She was still more surprised to find that, so far from being a stranger, he was actually Phil, the vicarage boy of all work. With his coat and cap on she recognized him at once. She knew that he was half-witted, but she knew also that he was devoted to animals and could do with them more than any one she had ever seen. Once or twice he had shown her how he coaxed the wild birds to feed from his hand, and had tried to teach her some of his calls. So, in spite of his infirmity, she both liked and ad- mired him, and he followed her with a secret, dumb devotion of which she had not the smallest idea. He was now standing’ in his usual shambling attitude, his head held down, his right hand in his jacket pocket. When she looked toward him, with a nod and a smile, he touched his cap and return- ed an answering smile, but made no move to come nearer. Nell, however, was not shy. “Come here, pleage, Phil,” she said, “and let me hold your arm. These stones are so slippery, I’ve nearly been down several times.” The boy came near to her and held out his left hand, still keeping the other in his pocket. “What were you doing over there?” she asked, as they slowly made their way back. Phil blushed scarlet and hung hts head like a little child in disgrace. “Tell me, Phil,” she urged, coaxing- ly. “I won’t tell any one else if you don’t want me to.” “I was praying.” “Praying?” she repeated, astonished and a little shocked, for such al fresco | devotions struck her as highly irregu- lar. “But you were dancing round a stone. What was that’ for?” “To please him,” whispered the boy. “Please whom?” cried Nell, her fore- head puckered intno ridges. “Him,” said Phil, and there was a kind of awe and rapture in his low voice. “Do you mean ?” asked the girl, dropping her voice, too, and hesitating. “Ah!” exclaimed the lad, and looked down towards his pocket. Then, with a sudden burst of confidnee, he whis- pered: “Y’ye got him in here.” “Don’t be wicked, Phil!” cried Nell, indignantly, pulling away her hand from his arm. He looked at her as if bewildered, and his eyes filled with tears, but he said not a word. Then her heart smote her, for she remembered that he was not “right.” “E dqn’t mean that,” she said, “but I can’t understand what you mean. What have you got iv your pocket. Phil flung himself down on a rock and his face had set into the hard, dull expression it usually wore. Now, at the friendly tone, he looked up at her and the cloud lifted. “See!” he cried. “I'll show you.” As he spoke he drew his hand out of pocket and opened it wide, resting it upon his knee. Eagerly Nell stooped down, and there, lying in his open palm, she saw a little green lizard, its sinuous body sparkling, as if powdered with gold, and its tiny eye looking forth, glitter- ing and fearless. “Oh, the little beauty!” cried Nell, in a rapture, and put out one finger cau- iously to stroke it, but like a flash of ightning it had vanished. _ Phil laughed and drew off his coat After a minute’s search he held out his hand, and there nestled the lizard once more. “He loves me and I love him,” he said. “He does whatever I ask him.” “Nonsense!” was on the tip of her; tongue, but she held it back. “Are you not afraid of losing it?” she asked. He shook his head with a smile full of mystery. “No,” he answered; “the bad man stamped on him and flung him in the sea—I saw him. But up on the hills I found him again, waiting for me.” “Who is the bad man?” The boy’s face grew dark as he pointed toward Whayre. “Over there,” he whispered. “I hate him, and he’”—he looked down at the lizard—“he hates him, too. Some day —" he broke off abruptly. “Good- night, good-night.” “Good-night,” repeated Nell, with a laugh. “Why, it’s early morning.” But the lad was already running up the hillside, with his coat over one arm, the other hand held close to his ear, and his head a little on that side, as if he were listening. Once he stop- ped, looked back, and waved his hand to her; then sprang up, agile as a goat. CHAPTER IX. It was not long before Nell improv- with Ruffidge. The story of the quarrel had excited her interest, and the lonely cottage perched on its little tableland of rock fairly fascinated her. There was gen- erally something to repay a visit, for it was a common saying among the vil- lagers that you could not pass without seeing one or other of the tenants. On the present occasion she had a special object in view, for young But- tel, the housemaid’s sweetheart, had brought word that Wealsel John had been fastening a board with a name over his door. Hitherto both cotttges had been known as Anchor Cottage, the name which Ruffidge had painted over his entrance. As soon as she reached the spur of rock she saw that the report was true. Over the door of the Weasel’s side was a rough board, and painted on it in large, straggling letters, the legend: “THE BILGE.” The artist was not visible, nor was his neighbor, but just as Nell was turning away Ruffidge’s cat, a discreet tabby of years, rose from her doorstep, yawned, stretched herself, and strolled out through the half-open gate on to the path in front. Now Nell was, as usual, accompanied by Rex, the vicar- age terrier, a wiry brown Yorkshire past his prime, but still given, upon occasion, to making a great display of juvenility. He now threw one quick glance up at his young mistress, whom he had already learned to respect, and then made a dart in pursuit of the tabby. Finding her retreat to her own garden cut off, puss rushed under the neighboring gate. Rex knew perfectly well that gar- den hunting usually meant a shower of stones, but his ancient blood was up, and he scampered across the little patch, barking loudly and showing his teeth in a most ferocious and most suggestive manner. Suddenly the door flew open and the Weasel, stunt- ed, 'thick-set and savage-looking as ever, pounced forth, seized the ason- ished Rex by the nape of his neck, and flung him down, yelping with fright, on to the shingle below. At the same moment the cat sprang through the open door. Burning with indignation, Nell sprang down, picked up the terrier, who was more frightened than hurt, and came with flashing eyes and lips compressed, determined to let the cruel man know exactly what she thought of him. But she found she had been anticipated. Ruffidge has opened his door and was now standing by the fence that divided the gardens, loudly upbraiding his graceless neigh- : bor. “You ought to be—well—ashamed of—of—of yourself,” he stammered. “As likely as not you may have done the poor beast an—well—an injury for life, and him Dr. Champion’s favorite dog.” “TI hope I've broken his mangy neck, as I'll break yours one of these fine days,” shouted Broad. “What have you done with my—my —my cat?” “The ugly baggage is in here, and Tl put her in the fire unless you come and take her away.” Very slowly and awkwardly Ruffidge got over the fence. “Not that way, you clumsy fool,” screamed the little man; “don’t you know the use of a gate?” And without waiting for an answer he rushed indoors, whence, a mo- ment later rushed the cat, followed im- mediately by a well-aimed bucket of dirty water, which not only soused her tabbyship, but liberally splashed her master. “What do you--you—m—mean that?” he spluttered. “Tl soon show you what I mean if you don’t get back to your own sty,” said Broad, pulling out a long, keen knife. “I’m not—not afraid of you or your knife,” said Ruffidge, “but I'll not save the hangman his—well—his proper work.” And, as awkwardly as before, he me- climbed the fence. But Nell’s wrath was still unassuaged, and the sight of Rex, who studiously made the very worst of himself, gave her an unnatur- al courage. ’ Still holding him in her arms, she pushed open the little gate and boldly walked up to the evil-looking little ms he stood there by the fence, watching her with bent brows and beady eyes. She came right in front of him. “You are a bad, wicked, cruel, cow- ardly man,” she said, her breath com- ing in quick, short pants. “Well, youre no coward, anyway; that I will say for you—and I’m no bad judge. Go over there and talk to Mr. Ruffidge. He’s a good, kind, dear Christian man, isn’t he?’ rg And he grinned horribly. “He isn’t cruel like you, and I shall go and talk to him,” said Nell, but the thought that her adversary was laugh- ing at her made her self-conscious, and she felt a sudden inclination to turn and run. Pride, however, and the dog in her arms, saved the situa- tion. She turned her back on Weasel John and walked down the path with all the dignity she could muster. “Good night, missy,” she heard him call after her. My compliments to Mr. Ruffidge, and I hope his tabby won't take cold.” She turned to fire her last shot, but the Weasel had disappeared, and the door was slammed to. Ruffidge, however, was waiting to welcome her, and seemed to feel much honored by her appearance in his par- lor. i. “You see, miss,” he explained, “not being a—well—a married man, my lit- tle cabin isn’t very ship-shape, but it’s clean, for I had a—well—a good moth- er, Who taught me to love soap and water. Here’s a chair you can see your face in.” “Ig your cat in here?” asked Nell, jooking suspiciously at the artful Rex, who, while still counterfeiting utter prostration, kept one eye alert for objects of interest. “No, miss; she scuttled out into the pushes at the back. She won’t come in until she’s licked herself all over half a dozen times at the very least.” “why do you let that horrid man live next door to you?” she inquired, as she accepted the glass of milk her host produced from a cupboard. “Why, you see, miss,” he replied, shutting the cupboard door with great care and deliberation, “it’s this way. J-—well—in fact, I can’t help it.” “Jf I were you,” remarked the young by place too hot for him.” “Ah, miss,” he said, shaking his head Sadly, “you don’t know the—well—the vermin, begging your pardon for the word. He has the ’vantage of me, and he knows it, for he doesn’t care what he says or does. As the vicar read the other Sunday, he neither fears God nor regards man—I thought of him when I heard the words read—so he can—well—do a score of things that I can’t and mustn't.” “Are you so very good, then?” asked Nell, with just a touch of impatience in her voice. * “I suppose I’m just about as good as —well—as most people; but as for him’—he jerked his hand toward The Bilge—“I’ll have him on the hip before I’ve done with him.” “I hope you will, and soon, too,” she said, fervently, as, setting down the reluctant terrier, she wished Ruffidge “good-bye,” and resumed her inter rupted visit to the beach. (To Be Continued.) QUAKER CITY BEGGARS. Have a New Way of Stopping the Pe- destrians. One of the professional beggars whose “lay” is along Broad _ street, from Chestnut to South, has evolved a new style of approach which is bring- ing him in large returns. He studies the feet of passersby, and when he sees a man coming along in new shoes or in shoes that have been recently shined, he takes a stand directly in the way of his intended victim and sfares hard at those same shoes. Of course, the pedestrian stops short and looks down at his feet to see what is the matter with them. Then the beg- gar remarks, as if to himself, but in a tone which you may wager the vic- tim hears well enough: “My! I wish I had a pair of shoes as good as them is!” Thus the beggar has accomplished two things. He has forced the pedes- trian to stop and pay attention, which’ is half of the professional beggar’s' game in every case, and he has se-i cured a fine intreduction for a “touch.”! There is usually a nickel in it at any; rate, and sometimes there is a pair o! shoes, which can be conveniently: hocked, For, of course, in this particular beggar’s role, there is no use save for the very worst shoes imaginable— Philadelphia Press. ‘ ON THE HIGH SEAS. Merchant Vessels Typify Advance To- ward Universal Peace. Notwithstanding peace tribunals, war remains the ultimate resort of nad tional disagreement. The motive of it, however, is no longer for the subjuga- tion of races or the possession of thrones, but the protection or exten- sion of commerce. Hence as we pass’ the threshold of the age of commerce we may remark, as not without a sig- nificant bearing upon the future, that, monsters as are our battleships, the leviathans of the deep are our mer- chantmen, competing, not with torpe- does and shells, but in speed, capacity and economy. If some there are who’ say the bat- tleship has reached its highest devel- opment, to give place to fleets of} smaller craft, no voice is heard ven- turing the same opinion of our mer- chantmen. Hence it is oyr merchant vessels rather than our battleships which typi- fy an advance in the direction of uni- versal peace and civilization—Four- Track News. SHOE AND GLOVE TREES. Low Prices Bring Them Into Univer- sal Favor. The popular prices at which the wooden forms to be inserted in shoes and gloves when not in use are nowa- days offered are causing their wide- spread adoption. It is estimated that the life or durability of foot and hand- wear is doubly prolonged through the use of these trees, which not only as- sist in conserving the shape, but ad- mit of an airing and drying process not otherwise available. Only recently have members of the gentler sex cottoned to the idea that trees are clever inventions. Shoe trees, accurately fashioned after the model last, may be purchased at de- partment stores from half a dollar up- ward. Modeled glove trees, adjusta- ble to an extensive series of sizes, can be had at retail for prices ranging up to $3.50.—New York Press. A Shrewd Young Lady. ‘ The election was several weeks dis- tant, but, taking time by the forelock, | I proposed to a certain young lady that | we make a bet of several kisses on the result. I was rather amazed at my audacity, and was half inclined to fear that she would call her father to help me on my way to the street, and I was, therefore, very much surprised to hear her say: “T will take your bet; but as the election doesn’t come off for some time, I suppose that it would be more business-like if we made a deposit, or put up a forfeit, or whatever you men call it.” The deposit was made.—Judge. Could Read Between the Lines. “What are the powers that be, pa?” “The powers that be, my son, are the United States, Japan and Great Britain.” “Isn’t Russia one?” “No, my boy. Russia is one of the powers that has been.”—Chicago Jour- nal. * Defined. Knicker—Is your wife one of fash. ion’s butterflies? Bocker—No. From the way she gets ! through the clothes she must be a’ | moth.—Judge. _ atte eet lady, viciously, “I would make the Pittsburg Concern to Furnish 200 Flat Cars. Washington, Oct. 26.—The Panama canal commission yesterday awarded to the Standard Steel Company of Pittsburg the contract for furnishing 200 flat cars to be delivered at New York city at $875 each. The contract for the steel dump cars will not be awarded at present. No contract has yet been made for furnishing hydrants and valves. The Bucyrue Company of Milwaukee was awarded the contract for furnishing the steam shovels at $117,750. MRS. LONGSTREET GETS POST. Widow of General Made Postmistress at Gainesville, Ga. Washington, Oct. 26. — President Roosevelt yesterday directed the ap- pointment of Mrs. James Longstreet to be postmistress at Gainesville, Ga., to succeed Col. Henry P. Farrow, who was removed on the report of an in- spector that Col. Farrow is not a rest- dent of the communityin which the postoffice is situated. Mrs. Longstreet is the widow of Gen. James Long- street. MUST SHOW PAPERS. Right of Minnesota Chinamen to Re- main Hére Will Be Tested. Washington, Oct. 26 —Immigration Inspectors Morse and Forbes, with headquarters at Minneapolis, have been ordered by Commissioner of Im- migration Sargeant to examine regis- tration papers of all Chinese living in Minnesota. There are about 500 resid- ing in the state. If the papers are not found to be correct, or the Chinam sn have not got proper registration pa- pers, they will be immediately de- ported. FIRED INTO TRAIN. Passengers on the Erie Road Have Narrow Escape From Death. Indianapolis, Oct. 26.—As the north- bound train on the Lake Erie & West- ern railroad was passing out of the city limits at 7:30 last night it was fired upon by concealed vandals and several passengers in the forward coach barely escaped death. Investi- gation showed that a number of shots were fired, as several windows were shattered. No clew to the perpe- trators has been d vered. THE MARKETS. Latest Quotations From Grain and Live Stock Centers. St. Paul, Oct. 26. — Wheat — No.1 Northern, $1.21@ ; No. 2 Northern, $1.16 1-2@1.18 1-2; No. 3, $1.07@1.14. Corn—-No. 3 yellow, 55c. Oats—No. 2 white, 29 1-2 , Oct. 26—Wheat — No. ; No. 1 Northern, $1.19 3-8 @1.20 3-8; No. ‘orthern, $1.14 7-8@ 1.15 7-8. Oats—No. 3 white, 28 1-8¢c. Duluth, Oct. 26. —- Wheat — No. 1 hard, $1.22; » 1 Northern, $1.20; No. 2 Northern, $1.13; flax, $1.141-2; oats, 29¢; rye, 79. Milwaukee, Occ 26.—Wheat — No. 1. Northern, No. 2 Northern, $1.12@1.17. 0. 1, 84@841-2c. Barley. Oats—Standard, 311-2@ Corn—No. 3, 58@59e. Chicago, Oct. 26. -- Wheat — No. 2 red, $1.19@1.21; No. 3 red, $1.15@1.18; No. 2 hard, $1.14@1.16; No. 3 hard, $1.05@1.12; No. 1 Northern, $1.18@ 1.20; No. 2 Northern, $1.14 @ 1.16. Corn — No. 2, 541-4@541-2c. Oats— No. 2, 29 1-2c. Sioux City, Iowa, Oct. 26. — Cattle |—Beeves, $3.50@5.75; cows, bulls and mixed, $2.20@3.25; stockers and feed- ers, $2.75@3.70; calves and yearlings, $2.50 @ 8.25. Hogs — Bulk, $5.12 1-2 @5.15. Chieago, Oct. 26. — Cattle—Good to prime steers, $5.50@6.95; stockers and feeders, $2@4; cows, $2.25 @ 4.50; heifers, $2@5; calves, $3@7.50. Hogs —-Mixed and butchers, $5@5.55; bulk of sales, $5.15@5.30. to choice wethers, $3.50@4. native lambs, $3.50@6; Western lambs, $4 @5.60. South St. Paul, Oct. 26. — Cattle — Good to choice steers, good to choice cows and } @3.25; butcher bulls, $2 $2 @ 5; good to choice stock steers, $2.50 @ 3.10; good to choice stock cows and heifers, $1.50@2.25; good to choice milch cows, $30@40. Hogs— Range price, $4.80@5.15; bulk, $4.90 @5. Sheep — Good to choice lamb $4.65 @ 5; fair to good, $4.25 @ 4.6 good to choice yearling wethers, $3.40 @ 3.85; good to choice ewes, $3.30 @ 3.50. $5 @ 5 Verndale Man hurt. Helena, Mont., Oct. 26.— W. C. Murphy of Verndale, Minn., lost his right foot by falling from a moving Northern Pacific freight near Bonita. The young man was beating his way and thinks he went to sleep and rolled off, the wheels passing over one leg. He was taken to Missoula for .treat- | ment. Fire at Milroy. Milroy, Minn., Oct. 26. — Nelson Bros.’ independent elevator and grain house burned yesterday at a loss of $10,000. Insurance on grain, $3,000; on house, $2,500. Killed From Ambush. Sparta, Tenn., Oct. 26—Near Wall- ing, in White county, City Marshal L. Hambred and his eighteen-year-old son were shot from ambush and killed. Thomas Chism is under arrest on the charge of doing the shooting. s Japs Sail to Enter Army. San Francisco, Oct. 26—The Pacific Mail steamer China sailed yesterday for Honolulu and the Orient with 415 passengers, including 145 Japanese, a number of whom are returning home to enter the army. © CANAL BOARD LETS CONTRACT.” Sheep — Good * tA EAN