Lakeland Evening Telegram Newspaper, April 12, 1915, Page 7

PP DT » Professions hiropractor ?’m Attendanos Building Between Park orium. OFFICE HOURS. 1:30 to § p. m. ) 8. M. 8:00 p. . 300 49 LA Free. and 0 e Phone 240 Black 1. HEATH, D, C. UGH D. VIA. D. G, of Chiropratic. Over Post mm.wxl.s.-llll i to 8 D. I g and Ex-Facuity .mem- the Paimer School of hc. Consultation and alysis free at office. H. D. MEND! ULTING ENGINEERS 12-215 Drane Bullding Fla. Land Examinstions and hgne nartbwork Specialists, phone, 278 Black. ne, 278 Blue, BARAH B. O0STEOPATH nex, Door South of First National- Bank ILakeland, Florids _W. R. GROOVER ICIAN AND SURGEON and 4. Kentucky Buildina 1akeland, Florida DR. W. B. MOON ICIAN AND SURGEON Telephone 350 0 11, 2 to 4, evenings 7 to 8 Over Postoffice [Takeland, Florida Law Office of A x'.'mmon Bryant T ERICKSON 7. C. WILLIAMS E. W. THOMSON , Depositions attended. s Edwin Spencer, J¢ ERS & SPENCER ttorneys at Law, Bryant Building B. H. HARNLY te, Live Stock and General AUCTIONEER Sales Manager L REALTY AUCTION CO. n Lot sales & Specialty ndo Bidg. Lakeland, Fla PES TUCKER, JR. LAWYER p Bldg, Lakeland, Florida [E BLANTON ORNEY AT LAW e in Munn Bullding eland = Florida RICHARD LEFFERS ICIAN AND SURGEON 2-3, Skipper Building Over Postofloe .......-. PRESTON, LAWYER tairs East of Court House BARTOW, FLA. on of Titles and Rem Xe te Law a Specialty ANK H. THOMPSON NOTARY PUBLIC Dickson Building phone 402. Res. 312 Red ttention to drafting legal papers. ge licenses and abstracts turnished RMAN WATSON, M. D. prgan-Groover Bldg. 8: Office 351; R.ndl.'lll Red eland, Floride J. H. PETERSON TORNEY AT LAW Dickson Building in all courts. Homestead. located and contested blished 1n July, 1900 IR. W. 8. IRVIN DENTIST and 15 Kentucky Building 1114 Snitarium 1) HARDIN BLD j ter in the troublesome g o T ""leflk." announced Ivan, pointing the village plainly visible over the I.nhrmm;; miles. Tek! What a world of lwlod. memories rose within meb!m‘b longed, yet dreaded, to be Was Katrina stil there? How ?:urled she Peelu me? Angd Paul—ah, yes, Paul! I shuddered at the thought ol.l Mm.. But I must get to my destina- tion; I must know the facts—the truth. As Ivan lashed up the horse it oc- | curred to me that I had not known | Ppeace of mind for a quarter of a cen- tury. Often had I wished to make the trip, but a flourishing business had | required almost constant attention. Settling back In the robes, I thought, | The landscape h; 2o rt:eenth buildings ough the line of telegra, along the roadside wasgnel:: p;‘lxes: round the bend the horse floundered to his shoulders in a mudhole; the | tarantass keeled t . l.lll;hted to assist Ivan. t was then I caught sight of | Cossack guardhouse, hl:h up :a:e :;:: l hill. Again I shuddered, Originally constructed from bricks | of baked clay and quartz sand, during | the Tatar invasion in Catherine's | time, it had later been used ag a shel- ! milita ! of two hundred years ago. r::n:':; i were the ruins of the officers’ quar- ters, and beyond, those of the men. But the old guardhouse, partially built into the solid, frowning rock, had resisted the ravages of time. It was within the grim walls that I had seen the last of Paul previous to my depar- | ture for America. ; Again 1 let Ivan talk. With much crossing, he told me of its history; of | the scenes, brutal and cruel, that had | taken place there! of the ghost that | made his home in the building, and | how everyone shunned the very hill. Even the priests were afraid of it, he said. I laughed to myself. for I had been there many times, and Paul had been there once—just once. On a sudden impulse I determined to 8o there before going to the village. Ivan paled at the thought; not for a million rubles would he accompany me. Tremblingly, he agreed to wait for me, and I ascended the steep hill. Paul and I had been boys of an age. We had many quarrels and always hated each other with an intensity that almost amounted to affection. Perhaps the expression sounds strwnge; it {8 not—that is, to my mind. Both sons of comparatively rich parents, we had been orphaned about the same time. He did me many in- juries, petty meannesses of boyhood, and I retaliated in like manner. No, not in like manner; for my brain was qQuicker than his and more fertile in devising subtle revenges, as you will see, But these are small things; little nothings of no consequence compared with the cause of my great hatred— Katrina, the starosta’s daughter. Katrina of the Golden Hair, I called her; for all the other girls were dark, and Katrina—ah! who can describe Katrina? That she could prefer Paul never once entered my mind. 1 was far cleverer, far better set-up. But there {8 no accounting for a woman's choice. Paul won; he and my Katrina were engaged. At first I set about for revenge, but goon realized that nothing I could do in the way of retaliation could make up for that. Katrina his, Paul could | afford to laugh at me. Finally, I could stand it no longer; 1 made up my mind to leave for America, where I had relatives. Setting my affairs in order, I sold out my interests, houses, mill and land. Paul was away on a trip at the time, so I did not hurry, but sent my bag- gage ahead to Karnoul, where it would await my arrival. On the day of my departure, I drove over to a neighbor- ing village, Putaski, transacted my business, and in the afternoon drove back along the road below the guard- house. The trip that had taken Paul away had been to a remote district on the Manchurian border, and as the way lay across the foothills, the road being rough, it had necessitated travel by foot. Paul was not expected back for at least ten days morc; $0 you may judge, then, of my astonishment at meeting him on the road 1 do not knc " at the time— the skein of “1 i of Hi hted, and at the si2 A f:y:il::il emile my blood set itself on fire. We were alone absolutely alone eserted road = onOtlhio‘tlrse he struggled with all h:z might. His strength was no mu{rh fo mine, and soon I had him trussed up like a fowl Then I carried ouse. 5 Fastened to the walls were strong chains, ending in rings for the 'hand; and feet, collars for the neck an for the waist h":‘:'one of these chains, the broad him up to the guard | lowed a 1 secured band round his waist. § 'l:::l. Withdrawing my handkerchief from his mouth, for there Was nodfea; of his cries being hean:.‘a:.dfll dhi:m;- in causing him physica ‘(’::tecl unheeding his prc;lle:::;lons, y 1 left him. ts and pleadings, n“]‘:. the village all was commotioa over my departure. b Came''s W-r! Camels are fit 77 five scars, aud th to decline at twen though they live fo! forty years. Kerosene Found Effective. ed 0D have been carrl l:mr:‘:ed:es for insects w:i‘c: - such forest przducu as raflroad g ood products handles. With hardw i o erpost found that beetles it has beed :.rm;a and linseed ofl are effective repellents agalnst these imsects. ty-five years, ¢ thirty-five and -ty It was an hour or more before I suc- Ceeded in getting rid of my friends. At last I entereq my home for the last time, made certain preparations and emerged with a parcel under my arm. This I placed under the seat of the vehicle in which I would drive to Karnoul, arrangements having been made to send the conveyance back. Farewells said, amid the cheers of my friends—and every person in the vil- i‘nlge Was my friend—I took my depar- re. Katrina, I did not call upon, she waved her handkerchief frotlh:“t:: window. This act I pretended not to See. An howr's fast drivigg and I was fn sight of the guardhouse. Paul brightened as I entered. “I was atraid you meant to leave me here all night for a joke,” he said, a trifle nervously, 1 thought. “l am even now on my way to Kar- noul. T called to bid you good-by,” I said simply, There was a narrow billet of wood which I had carried to the place long before for a seat. This I picked up and ad not altered; no ' Placed upright within bare reach of marked progress, . ¥ captive. On the top I placed the | loaf of black bread from the parcel. “Why did you return so soon?” I asked him. “My business took a shorter time a strange look. “And the road you traversed is a | dangerous one,” I observed smilingly. “What do you mean? he asked quickly. “That you will not be missed.” “Alexis! Surely you are not going to leave me here? No one has been here for fifty years; none will come. I shall die,” Paul moaned. I folded my arms over my chest and laughed. “This loaf of bread is the artistic touch to my joke, Paul. It is food. | You will be hungry. Don’t devour it all in a day, for there will be none left for the dreary days to come when you vill hope for rescue; hope, when in your heart you will know that there can be no hope. “First, you will pick off a corner of the bread; then, when hunger grips, a little more. Soon all will be gone, and you will die. I shall never return. Good-by, Paul.” As I made my way back to the horse his voice came to me. “Alexis! For pity's sake, Alexis!” This, with variations, I heard until halfway down the hill, when the sounds became like whispers, and long ere I reached the road all was silent, though I knew he was still calling. Twenty-five years had passed since all this had happened. I would look at the guardhouse, then proceed to the village, posing as a traveler unmtil I could hear of Katrina. As I approached the place my fear of recognition vanished. None would know me, I had changed so greatly. Even my voice was different. I would just peep in before returning to the waiting Ivan. As I stepped inside something caught my eye. I stopped abruptly; my heart started tapping in my ears. Perspiration broke from me. 1 was afraid. Then, as the truth flashed upon me, I shrank back and clutched at the wall for support. Under the iron waistband to which I had fastened Paul lay a pile of bones, while shreds of clothing humg from the chains. There was no need to look at the buttons, the little personal art- cles from the pockets; that was un- necessary; I knew them at once for Paul's. I shivered. Paul must have reached out for the loaf and in his fright knocked over the insecurely placed log, the action caus- ing the bread to roll out of his reach. Yes, that was it. Naturully, the bread had long ago disappeared—the rats had seen to that. And the file—tho strong filew-1 had imbeddéd i th@ loaf—the file with which he was to release himself—lay on the floor, a good two feet out of his reach! “What is it? Did you see the ghost?” Ivan asked on my return, starting as he saw my face. “Yes—that's it—the ghost,” I stam- mered. “Drive back to Karnoul. Iam not going to Ragorsk.” 1 dared not ask him of Katrina. Miles Here and There. In England a mile means the fa- miliar 1,760 yards, but in Iceland it means 2,240 yards, and in the High- lands it may mean the old Scots mile of 1976 yards. In Switzerland the | hardy mountaineers think 9,153 the proper thing, even when, as generally is, it is very much uphill. The Swiss is the longest mile of all, being fol- the Vienna post mile of rds. The Flemish mile is 6,869 vards, the Prussian 8,237 yards, | and in Denmark they walk 8,244 yards and call it a stroll of a mile. The Turks are satisfied with 1,826 yards | and the Italians shorten the distance of a mile to 1768 Effective. An frascible Irish colonel was lead- Ing a regiment on a long and difficult march. Fagged and worn out, they balted for a rest by the wayside. When it became necessary to move om, the ! colonel gave the order, but the weary men remained stretched upon the ground. He repeated the order per- amptorily, and still there was no mo- tion. By this time his temper was at a white heat, and he thundered out: “]f you don’'t get up and start at )nce, I'll march the regiment off ue eave every d—d one of you behind. They started at obce. Placing Both of Them. was simply & question of verso- -nmvuu us,” said the oldest in- Babitant. *He sald I was a liar, and I sald he was ope” “Humph!” re- joined the village postmaster. “That's the first time I ever hear of either of you telling the truth.” B ly. Many Sources of Pager Supp News print paper has been made by the forest gervice laboratory from 34 different woods, and & number com- pare favorably with standard spruce pulp paper. REFORM AT SEAGLIFF By HAROLD CARTER. (Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.) The whole trouble arose when Aunt Lily, who'd always been a Democrat, got the post office away from Sol Rogers, Republican. Who'd be postmistress of a fourth- class post office like' that of Seacliff, with nothing but the value of the post- age stamps for pay, unless there was something higher than money in the profession? Read the postal cards? Open letters that aren’'t properly sealed? Well, all I can say is, show me the woman who wouldn’t, or the man either. Besides, in these days. with morals and everything else de- caying, who's going to look after the community unless it's some God-fear- ing, respectable person like Aunt Lily —or me? My name is Miss Sarah Twist, and ''T am thirty years old. I have always | disdained men, though having had sev- | eral suitors, and having many yet that ! would like to be. I say this to prove 0 one side and l!than expected,” he replied, giving me /| I am a respectable maiden woman. | Naturally, Aunt Lily asked me to help ! in the post office. | Well, T had always had my suspi- | cions of that old Gregory Pratt, who | used to run down for Sundays with | the Schoflelds. That day when Mr. Schofleld had been called away and Mr. Pratt came down, pretending not | to know that Mrs. Schofield would be alone—well, the minute I saw them walking down the street together I voiced my suspicions to Aunt Lily. Naturally, in view of the bad char- acter of most city folks I kept my eyes peeled, as the saying is. So, when a postal card came from George Blenkinsop, who was at Harvard, an- nouncing that he was going to come down to Seacliff for a week, I was suspicious. It was the middle of the term. Why, then, should George Blenkinsop leave his studies unless he had been turned out of college? And now ensued the most remarkable display of corruption and debauchery that has ever been known in Seacliff. First was a letter from Gregory Pratt addressed to Mrs. Schofield. Oh, it was shameful, shameful! It began “My darling Anne,” and it announced that he was coming down the very first time Mr. Schofleld would not be there, to try and persuade her to elope with him to China, where they would have an humble cottage among the roses and be happy for ever more. Next, a letter from George Blenkin- sop to his mother—he had gone back to Harvard—announcing that he had left college and married a vaudeville actress, who was going to get a di- vorce from her third husband. Finally, there was a letter from lit- tle Mrs. Wrenn to Mrs. Schofield, ask- ing her advice as to the best quick poison that would get rid of an un- desirable husband without leaving any trace behind it. Aunt Lily and I stared at the let- ters. We didn't know what it was our duty to do. We talked it over for a long time, | and at last decided to write anony- mous letters to each of the parties con- cerned. The letter to Mrs. Schofleld ran like this: “You wicked woman; I have my eyes on you, and if you don’t send that old Pratt about his business instead of going to China, your husband will hear of it.” Belng anonymous, I felt that I could express my real feelings better. Then I told George Blenkinsop that the police were watching him, and un- less he separated from that vaudeville actress at once, he would be arrested for bigamy. And I wrote to little Mrs. Wrenn, who was intending to come down to her cottage a little later, say- ing that if anything happened to Mr. Wrenn all the slow poison in the world wouldn’t save her from the elec- tric chair. And then I felt I'd done my duty. 5 Well, August came along, and then —what do you suppose happened? It was Sunday, and of course the post of- fice was closed.. Aunt Lily and I had been entertaining some of our friends and telling them of the flendish con- trivances going on in Seacliff, when ' suddenly in there walked Mrs. Blenk- insop, Mrs. Schofield, that Wrenn hussy and George Blenkinsop. My! You could have knocked me down with a feather! And all their faces had the same satirical look I had no- ticed before. “Well, Miss Twist,” sald Mrs. Blenk- insop, “you will be glad to hear that Mr. Pratt—you remember Mr. Pratt? —has gone to China to take up a posi- |t|on as banker there. Yes, and he's gone alone!™ The brazen vixen! I had hardly caught my breath to murmur some- | | thing when Mrs. Blenkinsop spoke up. | | “I thought you'd like to be one of | the first of our friends to know that | George is going to be married,” she ! sald. “Such a nice woman, Miss | Twist; not an actress or anything common {ike that. You know George | has such an aversion for the stage.” ‘r Then little Mrs. Wrenn said: “By | the way, Miss Twist, can you recom- mend to me a really good poison for getting rid of the miserable rats? Our 1 house is overrun with them, and Mr. Wrenn thinks you might know of one, seeing that the post office suffers in | the same way.” l And, before I had managed to an- swer a wosd the four got up and left me. They were outside before I re- alized they had been referring to me when they spoke of rats, or I'd bave given them a lesson how to insult a lady. Hibernation. All sleep is phenomenal, but the sleep which endures the winter through with some warm-blooded ani mals which find themselves suddenly surrounded by frigid weather, and when all functions that make for tie | best of life are as if they had never | been, is most curious While it hl mainly explicable it is none the less astonishing. Every man is as Heaven made him, and sometimes a great deal worse— | | Cynical Comment. Jervantes. 3 FROM A FAR COUNTRY By ALLAN INGLIS. FEPEE0E 4000040040000 (Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.) The prison gates closed behind Lar rimore. He was free. Nobody had come to meet him except the report- ers, but that caused Larrimore no dis- tress. Of course Laura would not have come to the prison gates. She had pride, and, though he had been unjustly condemned, Laura was not going to publish her shame before the eyes of the newspaper men. Larrimore had done no wrong. True, he had beggared a few score of ‘women and trusting men who had put their all in his wildcat scheme, but then everybody did things like that every day in the course of business. The five years in the penitentiary that he had served had been a gross injus- tice. Larrimore felt no de'ndldon.i He meant to repeat his trick, but | more craftily, in order to secure the funds to start things going again. Still, he was thinking, as he sat in ! the train, a lot of things which dis- tressed him; and yet he could not shake them out of his mind. He had gone to the metropolis twenty years before, a gawky farmer boy, to make his fortune. He had become wealthy in an incredibly short space of time, for Larrimore was quick to adapt | himself to the dubious ways of finance. ‘ In ten years ke was married and had & house on the avenue. He had married the daughter of his employer. He had not loved Laura exactly, but she had thought he had. After his marriage he seldom went home. He made his old mother an adequate allowance, but he had not seen her for three years before he was sentenced. With his connections he could not afford to have it known that his mother was an {lliterate old woman. Laura had never seen her; Larrimore had been ashamed to let her know. . Still there had been trying episodes, which, as a man of the world, he had found difficult to explain to his wife. For instance, old Mrs. Larrimore's letters. The old woman had been growing lonely. She wanted to come to town and live with her son. Of course that was impossible, and he had told his mother so frankly. But Laura had seen one of the fll-spelled letters, and Larrimore had been ashamed. “You see, she never could learn to spell very well,” he explained to his wife. “We are of good family, but mother was always the dunce at school.” The look in his wife's eyes when he apologized for his mother had vague- | ly annoyed Larrimore. After his conviction Laura had come to see him regularly each thmi months. Three months before his sen- tence expired she had told him thlt! she thought it would be no use their | living together. The house had been | 80ld, and she was living then in & boarding-house. Larrimore had mnot answered her, because he meant to £0 to her as soon as he came out of prison and explain that he would be & rich man again within a year, and that he could provide her with every luxury. That would alter his wife's decision, he knew. Nevertheless, when he got out of the train he was dissatisfied with him- | self. Something of consclence had begun to prick the thick skin of the man. When he called at the boarding- bouse: he- discovered, tp his dismay, tHaYEA"WItd Fad gonie away. A letter was handed to him, and the door closed on him. Larrimore did not mind the closing of the door; he went into the park and read the letter. “I am leaving you for ever, Henry,” his wife had written, “because I can- not live with you again. For years I have borne your callousness, but my eyes have been opened. You are the mort selfish, worthless man that ever lived. 1 am going to the last place on earth where you will think of look- ing for me.” The letter was “Laura.” None of us is so bad but sooner or later the day comes when we see our- selves in the mirror of our souls. Lar- rimore said afterward that it was the reading of this letter which shook down the palace of his colossal self- conceit. He sat for hours in the park, dazed with the hideous self-rev- elation. And, like the prodigal in the para- ble, except that the more loving par- ent remained alive to him, Larrimore said: “T will mother.” The following morning he took the l train out to the little village where his mother lived. And as he dismount- ed upon the platform a great terror came over him that his pilgrimage was vain, and his mother dead. He hurried up the well-remembered street. He reached the little cottage. The place was occupied. He knocked. An old woman with white hair came to the door and peered at him with her dimming eyes. And Larrimore gasped out his repentance and fell upon the floor before her. “Mother, I am going to take care of you,” he said at length, rising “We two will live here together, and—" The door opened softly, and Larri- more, looking up, saw Laura standing before him. One glance at him, one incredulous look, and the two children were kneeling In each other’s arms at | the white-haired woman's feet. For sometimes in the game of life hearts are trumps after all. signed simply grise and go unto my Valusble Soet, When the chimneys of the royal mint at Berlin are cleaned about one 1Ilounnd dol'ars worth of gold is tak- | sa from the Famous Cennaught Rangers. The Connaught rangers were orig- inally called the “Devil's Own" be- cause of their rsscality, but their su- perd fighting in the Peninsular war changed the term from ome of re- proach to ome of honor. At Fuentes 'Onoro and at Badajos they fought with amazing fury. E Convenience To The Public:— It is our desire to call your attention to the convenience that we can extend to you in a banking way and also the ad- vantages of using the check book instead of the pocketbook. Nine-tenths of the business of the world today is done by check. Why? Because it is the most practical and it is the one safe way! Are you utilizing a checkbook to paid by check? Think this over. Our bank’s advantages for your account are many. Yours very truly, Ml bt s e cibiasaal pay all bills that can be { FIRST NATIONALBANK & L3 THIS BANK IS A MEMBER OF THE FEDERAL RESERVE SYSTEM. The Financial Crisis Over We are now in shape to give you the be nefit of our Low Expenses. Let us wire your House and save you money, Lower Insur- ance, Cleanliness and Convenience are the results. T. L. CARDWELL Phone 397 With Lakeland Sheet Metal Works TR ELECTRIC @ (IT WILL PAY YOU TO CONSULT US ON THE ELECTRIC WIRING IN YOUR HOUSE OR STORE We Are Electrical Experts FLORIDAELECTRIC&MACHINERY Co THE ELECTRIC STORE Phonel48 Kibler Hotel Bldg. SwerererErerrrea EL EC TRIC SSrSrerrararrrary Send your Palm Beach Suits to the Steam Laundry We are prepared to handle them in the proper way, and our price is 50 cents a suit. The Lakeland Steam Laundry R. W. WEAVER, Prop. Must Little Homeless Children Suffer In Florida? WE DO NOT BELIEVE that the good people of Flor- ida realize that there are right now in our State Hundreds of littde children in real need—some absolutely homeless— that just must be cared for. We feel sure—that they do not know that there are hun- dreds of worthy mothers in Florida who are just struggling to keep their little ones alive—and at home. We just cannot believe—that with these facts true—and every orphanage in Florida crowded to the doors—that the people of Florida will let our great work which has cared for 850 of these little ones this year alone—go down for lack of funds to keep it up. Your immediate help—is tl; needed—right now—Please send what you can to—d‘:;:ti R. V. Covington, Treasurer of The Children’s Home Society of Florida Florida’s Greatest Charity 361 St. James Bldg. JACKSON'VILLE, FLA.