The evening world. Newspaper, March 2, 1914, Page 15

(Coperight, 1019, by 3, B. Lippincott Company.) CHAPTER I. The “Canuck” That Saved Flour Gold. G far below him. RUMBLING to himself and talking whimstcally to the three horses etringing behind him, Dick Kincaid picked bis way dows the sig- Sag, aidling trail which led from the saddieback between two peaks of the Bitter Root Mountains into the valley which still lay He stopped and peered over the edge of the precipice along which the faint trail ran. “Looks like emoke.” He nodded in satisfaction. “Yes, ‘tis smoke, “Long past dinner time, but then to think about it. Lord, Would get took with me an@ follow nousework.’ SUN talking to himself he resumed the descent, slipping and sliding and gold. You take one ‘canucks’ and he's good if not a better than a an more in- tion and scolding his saddie and pack uthful prospector slid ur down the mountain ere were no footprints in the id @ stillness which impressed @s peculiar pervaded the place. was something which he miseed—what was it? To be eure— dogs! There were no barki: te greet him. It was curious, thought, for these isolated families always had Soph 4 of dogs and no or “Injun” outfit ever kept fewer than six. There were no shrill ‘voloes of children at play, no sound axe or saw or a hamme: ed funny,” he mutte: where there was smoke mest be human beings. He short at some sound ané Hetened attentively. A whimper- ‘mg minor wail reached him faintly, It was unlike any sound he ever had heard, yet ho knew it was a woman's voice, There was something in the oadence which sent a chill over him. He dropped the bridle reins and ly down the ¢rail. Sud- 4 he halted and his lips parted in ®& whispered ejaculation of astonish- ment and horror. He was yo' then, Dick Kincaid, but the sight which met his eyes stayed with hin distinct In every detail, through all Lay nd life. children, boys of eleven and, thirteen or thereabouts, were roast: ind squirrel in the smouldering om! of what had been a cabin, A dead baby lay on a ragged soogan "m partially dug grave. Cross- on the graund beside it was a ‘woman wailing unceasingly as she rocked her gaunt and nearly nuked body to and fro. The eagerness of fe ed animals gileamed in the eyes as they tore the half- equitrel in two, yet ‘h of- fe his share to his mother, who not to see the proffered food. “Just a little piece, mother,” coaxed the elder, and he extended an emaci- a arm from which hung the rags of a tattered shirtsleeve. Both children were dressed in the remnants of copper-riveted overalls and their feet were bound in strips of canvas torn from a “tarp.” Their straight black hair hung over faces sunken and shallow, and from the waist up they were naked. The boy held the food before her as long as he could endure it, then he tore it with his teeth in the feroc- {ty of starvation, it? Can you beat “Can you bei that?” The boys did not hear Kin- caid's shocked exclamation. While he took cold biscuits and bacon from his pack they told him what bad happened—briofly, simply, ttempt to col- ere Jonger, m'sieu, we're 80 weak." elder boy was the spokesman. the strawberries and sarvis-berries won't be ripe for a long time yet. It Wasn't so bad till the cabin burned. We could keep warm. But we went off in the woods to see if we could kill something, and when we came back the cabin was burned and the baby dead. Mother went crazy more than a month ago, I guess it was. She wouldn't let us bury the baby till yesterday, and when we started to dig we found we could only dig a little at a time. We got tired so qutck, and, besides, we had to try and keep a fire, for we have no more matches.” ‘The boy did not ery ae he told the atory nor did his lip so much as quiver at the recollection of their suffe: He made no effort to de- woribe but the hollows in hin cheeks and the dreadful thinness of hie arms and little body told it all more eloquently than words. Kincaid noticed that he had not mentioned his father’s name, so he asked finally: “Where's Dubois? Where's your father? I came to see him. ‘The childish face ha ptantly. “— don't know. He cleaned up the siuiee boxes late last fall after tha first freeze, Mother helped him clean up. He got a lot of gold—the most yet—and fe took it with him and all the horses. He sald he was going out for grub, but he never came back. Then the big snows came in the mountains we knew he couldn't get im. We ate our bacon up first, then the flour gave out and the beans, The baby cried all the time ‘cause ‘twas hungry, Petie and me Wore our shoes out buntin’ through the hills, It was awful, m'atou.”” “He might bave stayed outside longer than he Intended and found he couldn't get in for the snow, or he might bave tried and froze in the ‘pass, It's deep there yet,” was Kin- caid’s evasive reply. “He'll never come back,” said thi elder bor | slowly, “and—he wasn't froge in the pass. It was atill May when Dick Kincatd elimbed out of the ae. wie ihe ng Squaw ing 0 tae nis saddle while the swarthy ede tu the “And ned = in- mantully in ereil *cloee to his They to rest and let Lt ‘The breath when edge of the anows, aad fra time #0 BQuUAWS go to cookin’ whenever they happen I'm hungry! ‘Wish some good-lodkin’ squaw me off, for I eure hates cookin’ and ” “Not much, Luy. Why?” The younger answered for emiling at the shrewdness ‘ot hd “I know. He's goin’ te ane when he's vee" pnagilaed ire was no answering smile uj his brother's face; the gravity of ‘mane hood sat strangely upon it as he an- swered without boastfulness or bite terness, but rather in the tone of one bic speaks of GO EY “I'm goin’ to im, m’sieu, bg do Ti him sure!" Vm led him for a moment from the a! w of his wide- erat yet om and I find it bi ju do, ' in out, I don’t Know as I'll give you ‘away CHAPTER II. The Humor of the Fate Lachesis. LICE FREOFF was dead! Alice Freoff was dead! Dr. Harpe was still numb with the chilling shock of {t. She had not expected it. a result had not entered into her calcu- lations—not until she had seen her best friend slipping into the other world had she considered it; then she had fought frantically to hold her back. Her ef- forts had been useless and with ao frightful clutching er heart she had watched the woman sink. Alexander Freoff was away from home. What would he say when he learned that his wife had died of an operation which he had forbidden Dr. Harpe to attempt? Fear checked the tears of grief with which her cheeks were wet. He was a man of violent temper and he had not liked the intimacy between herself and his wife. He did not like her—Dr. Emma Harpe—and now that iS Alice was dead and the fact that she, as a physician, had blundered was too obvious to be denied the situation held alarming possibilities. Consterna- tion replaced her grief and the tears dried Ld ead cheeks while again 5! the floor. Poste was tired almost to exhaus- tion when she stopped suddenly and flung her shoulder in defiance and self-disgust. “Bab! I'm going t& pieces like a schoolgirl. I myst pull myself together. will tell the tale, and I muat keep my nerve. The doctors will—they must stand by mo!” Dr. Harpe was correct in her sur- mise that her suspense would short. The interview between hi self and the husband of her dead friend was one she was not likely to forget. Then the Coroner, himself a physician, sent for her and she found him waiting at his desk. All the former friendliness was gone from his eyes when he swung in bis office chair and looked at her. “It will not be necessary, I believe, to explain why I have sent for you, Dr. Harpe.” Hie cool, impersonal voico was more ominous, more final than anger, and she found it hard to preserve her elaborate assumption of ease. A dull red mounted slowly to her cheeks and faded, leaving them ashen. “Two doors are open to you. He weighed his words carefully. you remain here, suit will be brought @gainst you by Alexander Freoff: and since, in this case, you have acted in violation of all recognized methods of medical ecience I will not uphold you. As @ matter of fact, immediate action will be taken by the Btate Medical of which I am @ member, to disqualify you. If you leave town within twenty-four hours you will be permitted to go unmolest- ed. This concession I am willing to make, not for your sake, but for the sake of the profession which you ha’ disgraced. You have my ultimatum; you may take your choice.” She gripped the arms of her chair hard, ent from inability to speak. arose uncertainly and said in a voice which was barely audible: “I will go.” And so it happened that while Dr. Emma Hi @ few wondering acquaintances who accompanied her to the station Fissie ‘Tisdale was making preparations for dance which was an event in the embryotic metropolis of Crowheart, several hundred miles away. Crowheart was booming and the news of its prosperity had spread. Settlers were hurrying toward it from the Middle West to take up homesteads and desert claims in the surrounding country, There was no specific reason why the towu should boom, but it did boom in that mya- terious fashion which Far Western towns have, up to @ certain after which the reaction sets in. Crowheart was platted on @ sage- brush “bench” on a spur of a branch railroad, The snow-covered peaks of a lofty range rose skyward in the west. To the north was the solitary butte from which the town received ita name. To the south was a line of dimpled foothills, while eastward stretched a barren vista of cactus, id and sagebrush. The inevitabla ‘Main Street" wan wide and its two business blocks consisted of Soertiery. buildings of log and un- painted pine lumber. The most con- spicuous and pret Crowheart was tl Dilfous in color @ Spartan in ita architecture, located in the centre of Main street on a corn To Dr. Harpe swingin; the high step of the single passenger cattle cara, it looked like ighly colored picture on a drop curtain. @ effect was impressionistic and Dioasre op it Way In he porencus liens of the setting sun, yet It pleased and Twenty-four hours ¢a, @ was saying goodby to e stag®, knuckled hands, too, mance and Thrill of “ta tigg XY rested the eye of the woman whose thoughts had not been conducive to an apprectation of acenery during the Journey past. As she drew a deep breath of the thin, stimulating air, the tension les- sened on her strained nerves. She looked back at the interminable miles over which she had come, the miles which lay between her and the night- mare of disgrace and fallure she had left, and then at the new, unt! fleld before her. The light of new. hope shone in her handsome hasel eyes, and there was fresh life in her as she picked up her started across the railroad track toward the town. “Emma Harpe * ° © Bt. Louis" she wrote boldly upon the bethumbed register of the Terriberry Houne. She was the object of interested lances as she ate her jong, dining-room, for, was Hinsiti ‘thirty, thi something her own thoughts and returned te her room as soon as she had eateo. There she lay down upon the patch- work quilt which covered her bed, with her hands clasped above her head, staring at the ceiling and try- ing to forget the past in conjecturing the future. The clatter of dishes ceased after a time andewith the darkness came the sound of many voices in the hall below. There was laughter and much scurrying to and fro, Then she heard the explanatory tuning of a violin and finally a loud and masterful voice urging the selection of partners for a quadrille. Whoops of exuberance, ghrill feminine laughter, and jocose reonalitie: jouted across the room lowed. T simultaneous with a burst of music, the scuffling of sliding soles and stamping is told her that the dance wus on. ‘While she listened her ear caught a sound which had no part in the rayety below. It came faintly at frat, then louder as a smothered sob became a sharp intake of breath. Dr. Harpe sat up and listened in- tently. The sound was close, appar- ently at the head of the stairs, She was not mistaken, a woman was cry- in she opened the door. crouching figure on the tep step sbrank further into the shadow. “Is that you crying?” ° Another sob was the answer. “What js you? Come in here.” While she struck a match to light M jee lamp the girl obeyed mechan- ically, Dr. Harpe shoved @ chair toward her with her foot. ‘ow what's the trouble?” she de- ree ll A another girl? Th as a rush of tears which the ri ‘covered her face with ber hands hide, “Huh—I hit it, did 17” While she wept softly Dr. Harpe inspected her with deliberation. Sbe was tall and awkward, with long, flat feet and a wide face with high cheek bones that was Scandinavian in ita type. Her straight hair was the drab shade which flaxen hair he- comes before it darkens, and her large mouth had a solemn, unsmiling melancholy, oy She looked like the American: born daughter of Swedish or Nor- wegian emigrants, and her large- bespoke the peasant strain. “Quis It, Niobe, and tell me your me. ‘The girl raised her tearful eyes. “Kunkel—Augusta Kunkel.” py German?” girl nodded. Mise Kunkel"—she sup- pressed a amije—“tell me your onbles and perhaps you'll feo! bet- rr” More tears was the girl's reply. “Look het there was tmpatience in her volce—“there’s no man worth bawling over,” jut—but"’—— wept the girl, “he he'd marry me!” jan't he going to?’ don't know—he's going ® few days and won't talk any more about It. He's waltzed every walts to-night with Essie Tisdale and has not danced once with me.” jo? ~And who's Essie Tisdale?’ “She's the waitress here.” “Downstairs? In this hotel?” Augusta Kunkel nodded. “I don't blame him,” Dr, Harpe re- THE FIRST CARTRIOGE HA ll of the Dash, Roi JAMMED, Diuntly. “I saw her at supper, @ peach!” the belle of Crowheart,” ad- mitted the girl reluctantly. ve bis “And who is he? name?” The girl hesitated, but as though yielding to a stronger wif than her she whimpered: “Symea—Andy P. Symes.” “Why don’t you let Andy P. Symes pited 8 ried go if he wants to? re isn't the only in Crowheart, is be?” “But he promised!” The wrung her hands convulsively. ised aure!"’ eee look of quick suspicion Gashed “cine promised-ob, 1 seel” “ —ol She arose and closed the door. the new plasterer and his wife moved through the figures of the French minuet with the stiff-kneed grace of two self-conscious giraffes, while Mrs, Parrott, a long-limbed lady less, but Percy with a big, white, Hereford-like face, pered wil men, Yet the trained and sensitive ob- eerver would have felt capabilities for boorishness beneath his amiabil- ity, @ lack of sincerity rtial and too ENING me is low, her English ts far better than you might expect, and, best of ‘e tall and slender, If she was all hor rather hope- ty ng clothes on these slim ones and it works wonders. Besides, imitative as a parrot.” He had thrown bis arms aloft in ba “But thi f it! lite ate ae! ol ch The reat of my “It's the lesser of two evils,” ahe bn urged, and in the end he had eald sully: “I guess you're right, Dr. Harpe to Your advice no doubt ta good, though, Uke your icine, @ bitter dove just now, You've done me a favor, I sup- pose, and I'll not forget it.” Whea the door of her office had closed upon hie broad back she had said to horvelf: “Tl eee that you don’t forget it.” And she repeated it again with re- newed satisfaction. She liked the feeling that she already had beoome @ factor in the affaire ef Crowheart and she intended to remain one. The practice of Ip rages art td Fare was frank!: perso gain, No ideals bad influenced her tn the chotce of her profession and her prac- tiee of it had developed no ambition save the aingle one of building up a bank account. The ethical distinction between the trades and profeasion, which te based upon the fact that tho professional man or woman is than sup) to take up his or her life was not too immaculate and of hia blunt fingers showed lack of attention, He was the sort of man bitio' who ts nearly, but not quite, a gen- tleman, The slim little belle .of Crowheart seemed to be everywhere, her youth- ful spirite were unflagging, and her contagious, merry laugh rang out constantly from the centre of lively ler features were delicate ness, was thoughtfulness, as well, blue eyes and innate kindness in its ent! expression. Hor light brown hair was soft and plentiful and added to her stature by its high dressing. She was natural of masner and @raceful with the ease of happy youth and her flushed dheeke were pinker than her simple gown. She hed farther removed from her than any woman in the room and to Dr. Harpe, following her with her eyes, the connection seemed incon- gtuous. “Moses!” she eye that hers hes @ winner nad clothes.” Other eyes than Dr. Hi lowing Essie Tisdale in his muscle to show that be The interview was interrupted by & Ln Lepagers etep little tap upon the belle of Crow’ Btoo ushed: and. radiant on the reshold. down,” she ‘voles. “We want you to come said in her vivacious, “It must be lonely for you up here, and Mr. Symes--he's giving the dance, you know-—he sent me up to She caught sight of the "a te tained face and stepped ‘kly into the room, * “She laid her arm about her shoulder. “Whi the matter?” Augusta Kunkel drew away with frank moeeiby in her brown eyes ered: jothings’ the matter—I'm tired, that's all.” ‘Though she flushed at the rebuff, “I'm sorry, she murmured gently: Gussie.” Turning to Dr. Harpe, she the best time ever!" Dr. Harpe hesitated, for she thought of Alice Freoff, but the violin was ebrieking enticingly and voice of the master of ceremonies in alluring command floated up the stairway: “Choose your partners for a walts, gents!" She jerked her head at Augusta Kunkel. “Come along—don't sit up here and mope.” Andy P. Bymes, waiting in the hall below, was a little pussied by the intentness of the newcomer’s gase as she descended the stairs, but at the 7m he extended a huge hand: 'm glad you decided to join us, “Harpe—Doctor Emma Harpe.” prised amusement was in his tone, “you've come to among us, perhaps? Permit me to welcome you, Dr. Harpe. Wa are to be congratulated. Our nearest phy- sician is sixty miles away, so you will have the field to yourself. You should prosper, Do you come from the Eas? She looked him in the eyes. “Bt. Louis.” “Take your pardners for the walts, genta!” Andy P, Symes held out his arms in smiling invitation while the news flashed around the room that the news comer with the cold, immobtle face, the peculiar pallor of which con- trasted strongly with their own sun- Diistered skins, was a “lady doctor,” who come to live in Crowheart. The abandon, the freedom of it all, pealed strongly to Dr. Harpe. The osphere was congenial, and when done she asked that a fatigued by long journey than she had realized; but, in truth, ehe di sired to familiarise herself with the character of the eons among whom her future work lay. A noisy, heterogeneous pntberteg, it was, boisterous without vulgal '. free without familiarity. Callous- handed ranchers and their faded wives promenaded arm in arm. Sheep-herdera and cow-punchers passed in the figures of the dance eyeing each other in mutual antip- athy. Mr. Percy Parrott, the apright- ly cashier of the new bank, swung the new milliner from South Dakota. in Sylvanus Starr, the gifted editor of the Crowheart Courter, schottisched with Mrs. “Hank” Terriberry, while his no less gifted wife swayed in the arms of the local barber, and his two lovely daughters, Pearline and Planchette, tripped it ly with the “bark of the ite Bile. phant saloon and @ Minneapolis shoe » In the centre foev the hand over fist, Rayment dan door, and when it a an she er of all who , mamselle, give me that pleasure.” And all the roomful stared in mingled astonishment and giee when old Edouard Dubois, the taciturn and Uttle-liked sheepman from the “Lime- stone Rim,” led Easie Tisdale out upon the floor to complete a set, The evening was well Dr. Harpe laid her hand upon the un- painted railing which served as ao banister and turned to look once more at the roomful of hot, eastatio- ally happy dancers before she wert upstairs. “Harpe,” she murmured, and her eyes narrowed, “Harpe, we're going to make good here. We're going to win out. We're going to make money And even with her own boastful words there came a ig Which had ite source in a knowledge her dance with Symes had brought her. Some- thing was dead within her! That something was the epirit of youth, and with it had gone the best Emsa Harpe. CHAPTER Ill. A Mesalliance. WHEART was eurprised of thirst work primarily because he loves both hia profession and the peon's whom it. may benefit, was a distinction which she never had grasped. She practised medicine in the same com- mercial epirit that a cheap drummer builds up a trade, She had no timent regarding {t, none of t! ue dreams of high professional standing attained by meritorious work which inspire those who achieve. It was a business pure and simple; each patient was a customer. Her pose was an air of camarad- erie, of blunt good nature. Her con- epicuous walk was a swaggering stride, while in dress ahe affected the masculine severity of some profes- sional women. Her hair was the dull red that is nearly brown and she simplicity When she unfeminine tout ensemble. Dr, Harpe regarded the wedding as exceedingly opportune for herself, bringing in as it did the the isolated ranches and outly! tricta of the big county, and she meant it to serve as ber real debut in the community. ‘When dls- Siocubaboster would Aled in which he worked, to do his share with drum. As Andy P. Symes pile of champagne cases in the cor- ner. But the reward of patience came to all, and as the violin and guitar tuned unsurpassed created by alkali dust would shortly be assuage’. “Hank” Terri- berry, in whose Symes had placed this porti weddin, entertainment, realizing best, pouring from @ bottle and drinking from « glass is a siow and tedious Linn ied facilitate mat- but not shocked when the ters engagement of Andy P. Bymes to the biacksmith’s sister was announced. It saw no mesalliance in the union, It wes merely unaware that he had been attentive to Augusta Kunkel. Now they were to be married in the long dining-room of the Terriberry House and take the night train for Chicago on their honeymoon. Dr. Harpe, standing at the window of her new office on the second floor of the hotel, smiled to herself as she saw the chairs going inside which @erved equally well for funerals or for social functions, The match, she felt, was really of her making. “You've got to do it,” she had told him, “You've simply got to do it,” He had come to see at Augus- Y tence, be had groaned, “a Kunkel! Perhaps you don't know but I'm one of the Symes of Maine, Great-grand- father a personal friend of Alexander Hamilton's and all that. My family don't expect much of me since I'm the black sheep, but,” @ dull red had surged over his face, “they expect something better of me than a Kun- She had shi 4 her shoulders, “Suit yourself, I'm only telling you how it looks to me. You'll queer your- self forever if you don’t marry her, for this country is still Wester: enough to respect women. You a! just starting in to promote this irri. gation project, and if you succeed you can't tell what the future will hold for you politically; this ts just the sort of thing to bob up and down you, You know I'm right.” “But oks go obviously what he ia," he had groaned miserably, ‘Some day I may want to go home— and think of introducing Augusta Byer? o ing ene “You are wrong ” he re- plied with conviction, “Auguste hes Dossibilities, She has good eyes, her had provided aid to bright, new dish-pans which he filled with wine, also a plentiful supply of bright, new, tin dippers, a take your pardners for a quad- rising from his chair, The questa scrambled for places in the quickly formed seta. “Swing your partner!” he whooped. Tt was a glorious dance and it moved unflaggingly to the end; but when it was done and the concen, laughing and exhausted sought ir geatn, it was discovered that Snake River Jim had fallen to weeping be- cause he eaid it was his unhappy lot to_work while others danced. Therofore Sylvanus Starr sugwested that, out of a delicate regard for an artista feelings, end no one coul deny but Snake River Jim was that, the dance be temporarily suspended while the bridegroom and others ex- pressed their sentiments and delight in the occasion by « fow remarks, Sylvanus Starr himeelf setting the example by bursting into an eulogy which had the impassioned fervor of Inspiration, The vocabulary of laudatory ad- Jectiven gleaned In many years’ ex- Pertenece in the obituary department of an Eastern newspaper were ejected ike volcanic matter, red hot and un- restrained, running over and around the name of Symes to harden into sentences of which “a magnificent specimen of manhood, a physical and intellectual giant, gallantly snatching from our midat the fatreat flower that ever bloot upon @ desert waste,” only moderately illustrates CAitor’s gift of languag When A . BF t! remarks which he had in mind all but fled when his eyes fell for the first time upon his bride but- toned tnto her “going away” gown. As he mounted the chair bis face Wore the net amile of the man who means to die a nervy death on the gallows, His voice sounded strained oe Unnatural to himself as he be- Author ‘Ladies and gentlemen.” “Wee-hee!” squealed a youth in nd collar and @ rattleskin neck- le. eae fe the happiest moment of my ol” “Wee-ough! It ought to be!" yelled the “Sheep King of Polson Crick” as hoe proseed the arms of the Misses Starr gently and impartially against his aides. “Also the proudest moment.” He looked at hia bride, noting that she wore @ brooch which might have be- on a vot of harness, “Yip! Yip! Yee-ough!"” “I am doeply conscious ffl. Basi unworthinoss and not inee to the fact that the gods have singled me out for special favor’ —— Any reference to the gods waa con- oldered a k of learning and elo- quence, eo Symes's humble admission CHAPTER IV. “The Ground Floor.” Andy P. Symes on ‘his honeymoon was combining business with pleasure in that vague region known as “Back Rast,” and hia bride wan learning not to fold the hotel napkin or call the waiter “sir,” the population of Crowheart was in- creasing eo rapidiy that the town had growing pains. Crowheart, the citizens of the new- ty incorporated town told each other, ‘was booming right. ‘They came in prairie schooners, travel-etained and weary, their horses thin and jaded from the long, settlers from They i he iy # i : 552} Hi | ze & F f ft | i ! F E 5 i I i i ! if # 3, 4 Ey E 5 i WORLD By Caroline Lockhart { e Symes suddenly recalled one morning a reallgation of the fact that sacaey paradines end by a curt notification from his bank that he had over ‘his account. serve funds but he had a yatoa! mental effort, something which be Pete with the a i i Be M1 nue was the neceanity of dignity of his name. It gary for him as a Symes safe ie al i ion wan tho o unit the moment and he meant to EE =& i 5 H i i j 3 i U F i f | i L aif rf if sf i i a H I § z a5 , i | s 4 H le himself idle oes yelled Curly, the camp cook, v1 “But who's goin’ was the 0 tee ar timid voice of the Fly. “Buy it!” pr The questioner Why, the world “is. land- hong Mtked crying for land!—and water, “Weal to his happiness. He demanded eatel- Nites and more satellites. His love of een amounted to a passion. yeophancy was ag acceptable as real regard, since each catered,to his vanity. \ It required money, much money, to live up to the popular conception of the type he chose to represent. To successfully carry out his role of the breesy, liberal, unconventional West- erner required money enough to in- clude the cabman on the pavement tn hie itmvitations to drink, money enough to donate bank notes to bell. beys, to wave change to waiters, to AFOOL AND HIS MONEY By George Barr M’Cutch WILL BEGIN NEXT | Monday's Byenin colonize it. Sugar-beet factory which establish. They will buy an acre or $60 an acre cent. interest uj ments. It's very sim “We'll organize a with 10 per ine fag naan al! = at our discretion. fown and build an Opera Heusen electric Hght and street franchises—a million? Why, millions in sight when =e Fs bal wi you consider The exploits of @ young New Yorker who buys a roman tic German castle and finds he has wn knowingly acquired a lille lo mystery rarawn * ad we , it fer $50