Lakeland Evening Telegram Newspaper, April 15, 1915, Page 6

Sandford’s Agreement (Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.) “Any kicks this morning, Miss Lori- mer?” inquired Henry Sandford, presi- dent for the time of the Montana Eagle Gold Mining company, as he sat down at the mahogany desk in the office of the big city building. “Half a dozen,” answered Miss Lorl- mer, laughing. “Say, Mr. Sandford, it certainly does seem to be getting a bit warm in these parts. That clergyman from Boston has been writing in want- ing to know whether the mine's ev started operations, or ever going to.” “Well, I'l write him later, an- swered the president absently. “If necessary we'll declare a ten per cent dividend for his benefit.” “And that old lady from Philadel- phia, who says she’s invested every- thing—' “Pshaw! We needn't notice her till sne writes that she's coming to inter- view me Then we'll send her a divi- dena too Applications still piling in?” ‘Twelve thousand dollars since Sat- urday.’ “Whoop!” ejaculated the president. “Say, Miss Lorimer, there certainly are a lot of suckers in the world, ain't there? 1 wonder how many's been born since we shut up shop on Satur- day night?” “Just 2,400’ answered the secretary, | after a short compilation upon her pad. “That ought to mean something for us,” commented the president. Nevertheless he was anxious that morning. He had promoted many dubi- ous concerns during the past year or two, aided by a “sucker list” for which he had paid the sum of three thousand dollars. The mohey had come rolling in from all parts of the country; clergymen, widows and fools had con- 1 tributed largely on the promise a hundred per cent dividend annually. ‘Whenever any applicant became too “Well, I'li Write Him Later.” troublesome Sandford cleared himself and allayed suspicions by “declaring a dividend.” But he had reason to sus- pect that the federal officers were in- vestigating him, and he was pondering the advisability of departing for cool- er climes. Miss Lorimer had been with him for six months. She had come to him a simple girl, innocent of his methods of “finance.” He had corrupted her, he had taught her to believe that his methods of “business” were those uni- versally followed in the financial world. He did not know the revolt that had taken place within her, nor that she needed her salary of fifteen dollars urgently to support her widowed mother. Sandford had begun to think Miss Hilda Lorimer had the best business head of any woman whom he had known. And something as close to love as his selfish nature would admit had been growing up in him. In fact, he had once or twice made tintative overtures to her. She had repulsed them with the easy way and the smile that covered such a multi- tude of regrets. If she had faced the problem of her manner of living she might have done what her instinct prompted her—Ileft the office. But she dared not face it, for there was noth- ing saved; and so she left the re- sponsibility with her employer and tried to forget. At lunch time Sandford went up to her. “Come, Miss Hilda, when is it going to be?” he asked. “What is that, Mr. Sandford?” “Say! You know what I've been driving at for the past three months. 1 mean honest now—a diamond ring and a nice little flat somewhere.” She laughed, evaded him, and put on | “We'll talk it over some her hat. time,” she said evasively. Yet when he had gone she confessed to herself that she did like Harry Sand- Tommy's Costly Vietory. Mrs. Bacon—“What's the matter are badly swollen.” Mrs “You see, they offered 2 prize at his school for the bov who would ring in the greatest number of dead wasps. and Tommy won.” Not So as to Be Noticed. “Pa, when you say vou're laying for a person it means you have a grudge against him. doesn't it?” “Generally, my son” “Well. has the hen & grudge against the farmer, pa?’—Bog ton Trauscript. ford. And she felt, with a woman' intuition, that he was the victim of eir- cumstances. She knew that his father had disowned him when he was a boy, that he had run away, returning home to find his father dead and his mother, turned out of the home by a greedy landlord, gone for ever from the little village where he was born. ‘If he had had different opportunities. . . . When he came back from lunch Hil- da Lorimer was bending over her work very attentively. “Well, any more suckers come in?” he asked. % * When she did not answer him he looked at her attentively. To his amazement he saw that there were tears in her eyes. | “Why—what's wrong?” he inquired. I The girl looked up at him. “Every- | thing,” she answered briefly. She could i no longer fight down her rising indig- nation. “The business, Mr. Sandford.” “Say! Turning pious?” “No, but listen, Mr. Sandford. I'll tell you why I couldn’t listen to—what you said. I couldn’t marry & man who —who did these things. I'll marry you if you'll do—do something else, some- thing honest, and give back these peo- i ple’s money to them.” Sandford whistled. “That's a stiff “price,” he said. He tried to sneer, but something in the girl's earnestness awoke a responsiveness in his own heart. “That little old lady from Philadel- | phia, Mrs. Burton, was in while you were at lunch,” said the girl. “It nearly broke my heart. Because, you see, | she wasn’t angry. She has such faith in you. She says she invested in your stock because she knew you had a good honest name. And—she's com- ing back at four o’clock to see you.” “Thunder!” ejaculated Sandford.' “Tell her I've gone to Oshkosh to see my parents.” i “Well, it comes to this,” said the girl deflantly. “I just can't stand for | this business any longer. Won't you— : won't you give her back her money, at | any rate? You see, she—she reminds me of my own mother, and—and she | reminds me of what your mother ought | to have been.” Sandford felt a flush of shame creeg, | up his face. He turned his head away. | But the girl still stood beside him, | waiting for his decision. “I'll give her back her money, if you'll stay,” he said. “That isn’t enough. I can’t stay un- less—" “Now, my girl, do you think I'm go- ing to sacrifice all the money that's come in these last three months?" he demanded resentfully. “Why, those suckers don’t know how to take care of their money. They’re not fit to have money, Miss Lorimer. If I didn't ease them of it somebody else would. Now | see here, it you’ll marry me I'll quit | the game, but I won't give biick the money. What sort of a fool would I be it 1 did that?” | “Then I can* | girl, “Will you give me till tomorrow to think it over? And will you marry me atonce if I agree? Mind, I don't prom- ise. I want to think about it.” She nodded; she could not,speak, and went back to her desk. And in the silence of that afternoon both had forgotten all about the little old, lady until her bonnet appeared inside the office at a few minutes after four, Sandford, looking at her, felt a sud- { den contraction of his heart. Some- how she brought back vividly to his mind his home days; his father, harsh and unkind; his mother, loving but helplesd in the face of the stern man who, annoyed by some boyish failing, had roughly turned the thirteen-year- + old child out of his home. He had not meant what he said, but Harry had seized the opportunity to leave a place that had been more a prison than a home to him. He had not wanted to see the old lady, but, now that he saw her in front of him, he rose to his feet, swallow- ing hard. “Well, Mrs. Burton, I am glad to see you,” he said. “We have had several letters from you about your stock, and 1 am sorry that there has been some delay in replying to them. However, we are going to declare a dividend next week of ten per cent, and later we shall have another, and—how much was Mrs. Burton’s investment, Miss Lorimer?” But the old lady was still standing before him, looking keenly into his face. Suddenly she cried: “Harry!" He knew her. He knew his mother, after all those years. He had changed more than she; but she had known him first by virtue of the love that every mother bears toward the child that she has borne. A moment, and her arms were about his neck; and she was clinging to him and kissing him as though he were a little boy once more. “0, it I had known it was you!” she ' led incoherently. “It was your name | that made me invest, Harry, but I | never thought that it could be my own | boy. Iam so proud of you, my dear, to | see you so prosperous and—and so | handsome, Harry! Didn’t they tell you I had moved to Philadelphia when I married Mr. Burton? But I never for- got you, and after he died last year I tried so hard to find you. And now I have found you and you must come | home.” “Will you take two children, moth- ?" he asked. She shot her keen look at Miss Lori- mer, who was crying frankly over her ! typewriter.’ “This is Hilda, my future wife,” said | Sandford. i ay—I can't,” said the |er Dai'y Thought. Trust men and they will be true to you; treat them greatly, and they will show themselves great—Emerson. We Conquered Nature. “Yes, gentlemen,” said the geolo- gist, “the ground we walk on was | once under water.” “Well,” replied the patriotic young man of the party, “t simply goes to show that you can't heold this country down.” First Gold Found In California. The first discovery of gold in Call- fornia was made in 1848 by James Marshall, who happened to pick up & glittering nugget in the bed of & stream. Since that time the state has yielded more than one and ofie-half bil- lion dollars in gold. Marshall died & Ppoor man. Mlll. horses, more horses ISR Kathrya Jarboe 25e5e5e5252525¢ The Frank A. Munsey Co.) | T 2525052¢ (Copyright, Under the yellow August sunlight the flelds lay deserted; here a scythe ' leaning against a half-completed stack, | there a sickle rusting on the stubble. The twilight fell upon deserted! hearths where women, with trembling | fingers, cooked their scanty meals. ! The round, full moon looked down upon scattered homes where only the children slept, where the women wept ! and shuddered and waited. For the men had marched away un- der the brilliant, flaunting colors. None had been too old to go, none too young. Theirilips had shouted the raucous notes, the valiant words— Honneur, Patrie, Gloire—but every eye was wet, every heart heavy with despair and terror. Bibl had watched them go, the tiny staff in his clenched fingers beating | time to the brave music, to the hur- | rying feet, but, in the nameless ter- ror that had descerided upon the land, he clung to the old grandmother's hand and, when all were fone—fa- ther, uncle, brother—he flung himself sobbing upon the ground. The wom- | an, left alone in the world save for | the small grandchild, watched with eyes too old for tears until there was no longer even a cloud of dust upon the horizon; then she turned and hob- ' bled into the empty house, leaving the child still lying there upon the lonely road. Before the hearth she sat, seeing , |3 the long procession of all the others who, under that same tricolor, had marched out, away from her life, never to return. Hours later, when ' Bibi came in, his little tragedy all for- gotten, his face reflecting onmly the ' golden glory of the summer day, he | found her sitting there, dry-eyed, her shriveled lips muttering prayers for those already dead, for those about to die. Into her shaking hands he thrust 5 his offering—a nosegay of bluets, the \ golor of the sky, of fleld-poppies, a flame of red, and mullein, white with the dust of the road—the tricolor that ' had taken from them grandfather, father, husband and sons. ; A choking sob slipped across her lips and she flung the flowers from her on to the hearth, where the red petals of the poppies lay in mimicry of the fire that might never again blaze thereon. Days passed; only a few—Bibi could not count them, Mere Craquette would not. The heavy-headed blades of grain lay prone upon the ground, ungarnered by the hands that were too tiny, the hands that were too old. There were others, of course, in that deserted land, as lonely as these two, but there were no other quite so ! helpless—a child of six, a grandam of ; eighty-six. Indoors, the woman could only sit and pray. Out of doors, the child played“with his flowers—bluets, bits of the sky, popples, red as blood, and mullein, a dried and ghastly white. The short-lived poppies drooped and fell to the earth, the mullein crumbled to dust, only the bluets were left. And then there dawned the day of horror. For. hours of light and dark- ness the roar of cannon had filled the universe, for hours of light and dark- ness the grandmother had knelt quiv- I ering and trembling before the cruci- fix. At daybreak the low horizon stretched—a long line of fire and smoke; flames licking up the parched | fields with the hovels that stood in their midst, black smoke creeping like a pall across the sky. In the gray light before the sun had risen Mere Craquette stood in the doorway and watched the oncoming devastation, a foeman that feet, how- ever young and agile,” might not out- distance, that no human hand might stay. Clutching Bibi by the wrist, she re-entered the house and closed the door. Better to die crouched before the cross, with suppliant hands upon its succoring feet, than to be caught creeping and crawling through the flelds of matted grain. For a little time Bibl lay quiet in her arms, listening to the ever-in- creasing roar, watching the light that even now was redder than any rays of sunlight that had ever flooded the windows of his home. Soon, though, he grew restless and slipped away from the feeble hands that, with the passing of all things earthly, had al- most forgotten to hold him. Out of doors the horizon was still only a line of red and black, and Bibi could not know that it was a score of miles nearer to his home than it had been a short hour before. Here and there above the broken grain there waved a tiny flag of blue. Upon his baby lips l fragments of “Honneur, Gloire, Patrie,” | he ran to and fro gathering his be- loved bluets. Tired, stified by the heat, the source of which he could not understand, he sat down at the edge of the road. And | now\there was a new sound in the airl —not the deadly roar of the cannon that had thundered for two whole days, not the rush of flame, but a steady, rhythmic throb that, with ev- ery instant, grew nearer and louder. | Bibi's mind, already confused by the | difictit breaths he drew, could not| Varied Menu. The chorus girl dines one day om & erust and the next on a crustaceam~— New York Evening Mail. ] Unbusinesslike Transaction. Probably the smallest money order ever sen' ‘rom tonton, Ga.. was sent recently. A man walked into the post office, asking for 2 mo~ay order for three cents, which he owed to his society. and he said he would have to send a money order, as him three cents, ana it took a two cent stamp to send the order. ! vand fare better. 1 sorting to dessert is to enable one to | When it would be impossible to roam he saw, rushing iown upon n all fe he had ever seen and, mounted them, men, different from any men he bad ever beheld. , Did he 00k for.the tricolor? Did be know that only. under the tricolor might [“en’s found? Hizgh above his yelbw head held the biuets. Perhaps it was only fate, perhaps 't was the God to whom the grandmere's prayers were rising, but the man who saw the baby hands and the blue coru- ers was the man of war. A sud- word and there was a sudden halt of all the pounding hoofs. Bending down from his horse, the man of war took the blossoms, and on his lips was & word the childish ears had never beard spoken in a tongue he could not understand: “Kaiserblumen!” “Honneur, Patrie, Gloire.” The va- liant words rested curiously upon the baby lips, but in an instant the intel- lect before which the entire world was trembling understood. Honor—Glory— Fatherland—the same in every heart— for which every man must lay down his life, whatever helpless atom be might leave behind him. There were orders quick and clear and then the pounding hoofs passed on, but sround the flelds of Mere Craquette was a double cordon cam-] posed of the flower of the army, the emperor’s personal staff. It was theirs | to obey, whether it might be a phalanx of fellow creatures that was to be mowed down, whether it might be a conflagration lighted by their own torches that was to’be stayed. The August moon was well past the full, only a little crescent of gold that ! persons in the waiting room stared | Holt without loss of time. 5 v the .Clure Newspa o ht, 1915, by the M L b paper Syndicate.) p trom the box oF her seat for the owing Saturday- Mary Anzne turnec fice after securi;lg" on the fol ; .nnsllll:e:'ould have left the fover -;!;‘fi gone out for the pleasant Ja”m through the shops but for the fact ihe her attention Wwas attracted ulw o poor little woman who stood forl ‘cr k holding a tiny infant in her 4:':[: The woman had been arguing qui 31 with the boxoffice man, hut (o n ":l'LIm sorry, madam, but infants in arms are not allowed in the theater. It is against the laws of the ho‘useA There was finality in the young 's voice. mgl:h her usual impulsiveness .\Iars Anne approached the woman an made inquiry. “] can't go in with 'im and paid my way in from Bexhill - triends are up there now. Th ! wondering what's ‘appened to me. | “Couldn’t 1 take care of the h:lhyl while you go up and see the pflntu-! mime? 1 have the whole afternoon | tree. Do let me.” | Mary Anne saw the woman through | the d;wrwny. then turned with her charge, wondering what her impulsive pature had got her into this time. Mary Anne lived in the suhurbs.{ herself. She remembered the huze; open fires that she had seen in the Liverpool station when she had come | in the morning to business. She soon arrived beside the warm fire without mishap. She had not been comfortably ensconced there for a pal- [ try five minutes before the infant | showed most positive signs of dissatis- I faction with Mary Anne's treatment He wailed softly at first but | *\ et T've My | be | of him. or, more truthfully, glared at Mary | . Anne, while one or two men walked disgustedly out of the station The girl was distracted She wished she had never wanted to see | “Jack and the Becnstalk.” She pined for knowledge of the care of infants and determined to study up Doctor The fact @ee | the baby let slip the bottle his moth- Watched the Oncoming Devastation. neceded by a few hours the rising of the sun. It looked down upon a scorched and smoldering territory. To the north, to the south, to the east &and west it stretched, but in the cen- ter “stood Bibi's home, the small thatched cottage, surrounded by 1its field of grain, trampled, perhaps, & lit- tla under the feet of its zealous de- | fenders—fallen here and there—but sneltering everywhere clusters of blos- soms blue as heaven itself, Bibi's blu- iets, the’ “Kaiserblumen” beloved by lthe man of war. iM_AKEs ATTACK ON DESSERT | Ohio Newspaper Classes It Among the Undesirable Superfiuities of Human Life. A man has come to this country from abroad to advocate vegetarian- ism. He is a hale and hearty fellow who has never practiced anything but vegetarianism. It is a good thing and we are in favor of everybddy not eating any meat who doesn't want it. . But there are other reforms just as good. We might discard the dessert The reason for re- eat more than he ought to eat. For instance, after eating roast beef, po- tatoes and bread, can a man resist a piece of ple? Morally he ought to, but physically he couldn't. Eating too much is materialism in its worst form, and it does more to blunt the senses and to squelch noble aspiration than any of the other habits, and the dessert is its guardian angel. So dessert is a superfluity, if one has had enough of the piece de resistance et cetera, and the super- fluities are the danger points of life. More than enough is a moral, social, physical {ll. Socrates was against the dessert when he prayed: “O God, grant me what I need and no more."— Ohio State Journal. Squirrel Wisdom. The squirrel knows better than to depend on luck from day to dav to bring him his food in the season when that food is to be found only in stor- age, says the Cleveland Plain Dealer. The squirrel has a lesson to teach his proud but shortersighted brother of the human race. All the fall the bushy- tailed fellow, what time he could spare from eluding the guns of hunters licensed by laws gathered nuts from tree and ground and put them away safely for the winter use. He knew, somehow, that a long season was at hand when nuts could not be found, at large in search of provender. Goat Is Regimental Pet, | The everyday goat is resvonsible for | the nickname of the Royal Welsh fu- sileers—the “Nanny Goats.” A goat is the regimental mascot and is led at: the head of the column. On St Da- vid's day, in the officers’ mess, the goat, escortea by drums and fife, is marched around the table. ———— Credit Belonge to Labor. If we rightly estimate things, what in them is purely owing to nature and what to labor, we shall find that nine- ty-nine parts of a hundred are wholly to be put on the account of the labor. —Locke ! titlously watching Mary Anne's fran- : know just where to look.” {used regularly icents a cubic inch er had given Mary Anne brought a | deep flush to the girl's cheeks. A young man, who had been surrep- 3 tic efforts to pacify the baby came | over and picked jip the fallen bottle | and presented it to her. “Is there anythirg T can do for‘ you?' he asked, and he seemed 8o likely to know more than she did about infants that Mary Annesmiled gratetully. “There may be a pin stick- ing him—have you looked?" “No-0,” said Mary Anne. “I didn’t “Great Scott! Who dressed your baby? Let me have a look?" He took the baby from Miss Anne's arms very firmly but gently and Mary Anne heaved a sigh of relfef. The young man certainly knew how to handle a baby. “No doubt you have several of your own?" she vouched only half aloud. FNo—not guilty. 1 am a doctor. That i8 why 1 had the temerity to offer my assistance. There seems noth- ing wrong with the kiddie. Wouldn't he take his milk?" | “No.” Mary Anne said with a wist- | ful smile that sent a wave of peculiar | emotion over the yvoung man. “He | didn't seem to want it." ! “Maybe you gave it to him tco hat,” suggested the doctor. “Hot! Tt was stone cold.” gazed fearfully at the baby. “Cold milk for an infant! a fine mother,” mented. “But T am not his mother,” protest- | ' eG Mary Anne with a rush of color to | . her cheeks. “I don't know a thing about babies.” “Quite unnecessary information,” laughed the doctor, somehow very much relieved that Marv Anne was not the infant’s mother. He had been wondering how s0 neat and dainty a girl could take such wretched care of a baby. | Mary Anne told him of her adven- | ture with a shy smile. She marveled how the baby had become wonderfully contented in the doctor's arms “I suppose you wouldn't mind show- ing me the number of your seat for Saturday?” Doctor Cosgrove asked tentatively as they went toward the theater with the sleeping baby. “I have been intending to see ‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’ " His guilty expression told Mary | Anne that the pantomime had never | entered his head before. “My seat is No. 14.D" quickly. Mary Anne blus 7o She You are | the doctor com- she said | ed hotly and Doe ¥ Io ter when the little mother of the in. fant came beaming from the thea. ter. “Your misses has been a wish 1 could give her as piness as she has given rme today “I think you have done more-. us,” the man said quickly glance at Mary Anpe. ‘misses’—at present,” he added, and went over to the boxoffice to 499 it he could secure No, 13-p i The smile in his eyes to her side told Mary had been snuccesstyl, smiled. She is not my | as he returned | Anne that he and she, too, e - Greatest Fault, @ greatest of faults is to be sclous of none.—Thomas Carlvlemn- ——— ——— Expensive Wood, One of the most expe wood woods box. 1 for woog quoted at foup d about 31309 | feet € in an es ustry in the v wood, the favorite Carving. It has been ar by the thous and board — How Ivy Benefits w, T extensive . ¥ dnwiu‘ them, B et » PEPPDIBDEBBIH DO OB BB I PP DD PP PP o P bebds O PEDE BEE Do grged WHO GETS THE MONEY YOU EARN? DO YOU Ggy DOES SOMEBODY ELSE WHO DOES NOT EARN IT? YOUR “EARNING POWER’ CANNOT LAST RLWays, WHILE YOUARE MAKING MONEY BANK IT AND g py FOROLD AGE. JUST £O A LITTLE THINKING. RANK_WITH US. WE PAY5 PER CENT INTEREST ON TIME DEPogTg ‘American State B:nk ‘BE AN AMERICAN PNE OF us.” e e e s e e 55 EAASRARAMRE"++ 14 444545 Flour! Flour! CHEAP - Now is the Time to Ly In a Supply 423 & Bt v © s T T Sacks Best Plain Flour Sacks Best Plain Flour Sacks Best Plain Flour Srif-Rising Flour E. 6. TWLEDLLL PHONE 59 We Know Not What’s Before Us But you'il know that you hs ¢ A Load of Good Sound Lu " !¢t wagol behind you, when perched ¢n you homeward bound, after havin: Loaded in our Yards WE SELL THE BEST Lakeland Manufacturing Compa0! LAKELAND, FLA. PHONE 76 g Where He Drew ™ the trial of persons Charles Lambre! that ‘he “should Iike ¥ nner- for success, shall 4o all fn not secure it, and trust to Test—Admiral Farragut, ait with thex. for the solemnly. “Yes, | 0%/ thing but a hen or 2