The Exeter Advocate, 1896-12-10, Page 2A Dart liiglits Wort.
By -Paul Ingelow.
(neaerigurne.)
lie hail matte a study ot photography.
From the wavering steps of Daguerin to
the proud, steady progress of a Sarony
or a Dyeke,. he had. followed the
advancement of the art, delving into its
details, investigating its possibilities,
experimenting. combining, himproiinge
until the boundless scope was becteniug
field of never -failing delight and surprise
to his keen artistic senses.
He had been a successful Man in his
labors thus far. Jere Le Britta bad
Idolized his work. He saw in the art to
which his efforts were directed, a
purpose, a reward an mental and moral
development and pleasures, that were
beyond mere financial recompense. From
such compensations, content, and satis-
faction had been wrought, and, with a
pure ambition to excel and elevate his
profession, he knew that the hard-earned
results noteld be more than the trivial
praise awarded to a man who follows
alone the "fad" of the hour, or labors
only for folly or amusement.
The highest, truest praise had often
been his, because he had added to
the majesty of a beautiful art. He had.
begun with no special advantages, and
in a small. way. He had made steady
progress, adding instruments and
facilities to his studio until he stood in
the front rank of his profeesion. All this
was the result of diligent study, constant
application and artistic, ideas.
Such was the man who had found his
heart responding to the call of distress
and although his business soon called
him from a well-earned vacation he
zesolved to devote time rind energy to
disentangle the skein of two harassed
lives, feeling that his own would be the
happier for the temporary sacrifice.
The glare of the city did not fascinate
him—nature was his queen, his art, his
shrine. Quick of touch, deft of
perception, thinking far more of an
honorable, aspiring career of usefulness
than of simple worldly dregs, he had
engaged in the defense of a menaced
couple of lonely, frightened people, with
no thought of reward, but from a pure
sense of chivalry and right
The complications of the plot in sight
Interested and yet startled, him vaguely.
Be could scarcely understand such deep
*villaiun, and yet he realized that the
scoundrel, Durand, held the whip -hand
over Gideon Vernon through the secret
of his life, and menaced him powerfully
and balefully. Later he resolved to
appeal to the invalid to boldly defy his
persecutor, but first he plainly realized
the all-important thing was the
execution of a new will, rescinding and
invalidating the document that made the
sordid Durand the guardian of the
fortune and happiness of beautirul Gladys
'Vernon.
Le Britta reached the village in an
hour. A second hour was lost in eeeking
the lawyer, Mr. Munson, for whom he
had been sent, and the result a keen and
perplexing disappointment. Ho experi-
enced no difficulty in locating the office of
the attorney, but found only a clerk
there.
"I wish to see Mr. Munson," he
spoke. "Mr. Vernon wishes to have him
come to his villa at once."
"Mr. Munson is out" answered the
dapper, smart -appearing subordinate.
"Where can I find him?"
"He went to see Judge Elston about
a case. The large house beyond the
depot,"
Arrived at the judicial residence, Le
Brian found only a servant there.
She stated that her employer and
Lawyer Munson had taken a carriage,
and had driven over to the next village
to see about a case on trial there.
"Do you know when they will
return," queried the photographer,
anxiously.
"No; notbefore late to -night, though."
"I may as well return to the villa.
There is no other lawyer in town,"
reflected Le Britta. "Mn Vernon will
be anxious, and I fear that villain
Duran& Why can he not write his own
will, and secure another witness beside
myself, from some neighboring residence?
Yes," he decided; "I will return and
suggest that course to him."
Le Britta, therefore, started back the
way he had come.
Just as he left the village, he paused
for a moment, bent his ear, listened, and
then smiled, despite the grave respon-
sibilities that weighed upon his mind.
A boy. mending a kite in a back yard,
was singing at the top of his voice, and
the strain he *as laboring over was the
chorus of a song that was a ruling
favorite just then on the comedy stage.
His youthful voice rang out clear and
resonant as the piping cry of a red-bird:—
"But there came upon the scene a
, bright photographer,
There came upon the scene a bright
photographer,
There wasn't a biographer,
Nor e'en a lexicographer,
Who did not write about this bright
photographer."
Le Britta smiled. Life had its humor-
ous side, even where gravity was the rule
of the hour, but the momentary influence
of merriment soon gave way to the more
somber duties of the time.
He reached the grounds of Hawthorne
villa somewhat wearied from his long
tramp. He toe& a keen glance about the
garden, the lurking Durand still In his
thoughts; there, being positive that he
caught the murmur of human voices
just beyond a gothic summer -house
encased in foliage' he drew near to it,
and peered throughthe interlacing vines
"Hello! What does this ineaia?"
Well might the photographer stare in
wonder, and. repeat the startled ejacula-
tion!
For it was not the plotful Durand that
be saw, bat, outlined plainly in the soft
light of the structure, the fair form of
• the debonair Gladys, and, holding her
snowy hand, and peering into her
flushing, down -cast face, was a young
man. .
"A lover—she has a lover!" mur-
mured he Britta. "Here is a new term-
pliration. If he is only worthy of her"—
He had no thought of playing the
eaVesdropper, but the 'scene held him
momentarily captive. Honest brotherly
interest in Miss Vernon caused nim to
study the face of her companion keenly.
A reader of men, he looked pleased and
eatisfied as a second glance at the athletic
young fellow convinced she photographer
that he was one of nature's noblemen,
"144. dear Sydney, you must not think
of seeing uncle just now," Gladys was
Saying.
"But I cannot endure this suspense. I
cannot have him at enmity with me, and
all for a foolish misunderstanding,"
persisted bet companion. "We love each
other, Gladys, do we not? We are pledged.
to one another. Your uncle quarreled
with me beeause I insisted on an early
union. Hot-tempered, I was unreasonably
haughty with. him. The result is a cold-
ness between us. No, dear heart! I value
your peace of mind and Mr. Vernon's
good, opinion too deeply to be at odds
with him. I shall try to see him some
time soon—this evening, probably, and
confess my wilfulness, and. smooth over
our little incoeasistenelee of temper. I
will have it so! Ah! he is calling you.
Therel you must go. Good -by, my
love and light ! Until to -morrow, adieu!"
There was the echo' of a kiss, and Le
Britta gained the front portals of the
house just as Gladys, red as a peony,
name around the garden path.
"Ohl Mr. Le Britta, you have
returned?' she murmured, confusedly.
• "Zee, Miss Vernon."
• "And alone?'
"The lawyer is out of town."
"0 dear! what will uncle say?"
Le Britta explained his new plan. It
seemed to please her, and she led the
wee' into the houses.
"I like that young fellow she called
Sydney," reflected Le Bride. "I hope I
may have an opportunity of helping to
heal that breach in the sadly disorganized
domestic distress of this steanoe family."
He found that the invalid had caused
his chair to be wheeled out on the porch,
-where the bright sunshine filtered through
the cool, green leaves of overhanging
boughs, and, seating hinaseet ty his side,
Le Britta told. him of the result of his
visit to the village.
Mr. Vernoo was disappointed over the
report at first, ,but Le Britta soon
convinced him that they could arrange
the affair of the will quite as well with-
out legal assistance.
"I think I can dictate the proper
form," he said. "You can write it,
Mr. Vernon, and. it will need two
witnesses. I will act as one."
"And the other?' neurrattred Vernon.
"Some neighbor"—
Mr. Vernon frovrnel, annoyedly.
"Not any nearest neighbor," he spoke,
severely. "The young gentleman hoarding
there has taken occasion to resent my
will, and"—
An imploring look from Gladys
silenced the old man on that score, but
he added:—
"We can find some one readily. Yes,
yes! My dear friend, your suggestions are
invaluable. We will proceed to business
at once.
Britta was glad to have the matter
so satisfactorily adjusted. He got ready
to help wheel the invalid's chair back
into his room from the porch, meantime
congratulating himself that Durand had
not appeared during his absence.
He little dreamed it, but Durand was
very near to hint at that moment.
There was a rustle among the vines
near the open window of the now vacant
sick room as the conversation on• the
porch terminated.
The next moment an uncouth figure
sprang over the window sill and landed
on the floor of the apartment beyond.
It was Ralph Durand the pretended
tramp only the disfiguring shade was
torn from his face no , revealing all the
dangerous brightness of his evil -piercing
glance.
Those eyes swept the apartment in a
quick flash. His lip was curled in scorn;
his manner bold, insolent, aggressive.
"Sol" he murmured, "old. Gideon
Vernon seeks to outwit me, does he? A
man with three years experience among
the rough miners of the west scarcely
stops at the weak efforts of a dying
miser, a love-sick girl, and a philan-
thropic photographer. The game is in
my heeds, if Gideon Vernon dies. He
shall die! Fortunately I have overheard
all their plans. But the new will. My
only hope is to still watch covertly I
cannot prevent its execution, but I can
find and destroy it later. Once guardian
of the beautiful Gladys, once I handle
the Vernon fortune, I will make no mis-
take next time. Mercy! the very thing!"
With a prodigious start the man with
the murderous heart and an eye of lurid,
baleful fire sprang to the side of the table.
There, outspread, was the medicine
case. His glance, running over the phials
and bottles it contained, rested,
fascinated, on one of them.
Tightly corked, it bore the label,
Tincture of Iodine.
The man's eyes blazed with fervid
delight as he read it.
"Tincture of Iodine!" he ejaculated,
with a hoarse, grating chuckle. "What
fortune! Luckily I know the deft erects of
that subtle acid. Ab! Gideon Vernon,
write your ‚will; it will prove waste paper.
Only a minute in which to act, to
disappear. Then, unless they suspect, I
am safe!"
Durand glided to the mantel. There
lay a tray of writing materials. Two
tiny ink -bottles rested in oxidized silver
clasps. He detached them, and poured
their contents into the grate. .Then,
rubbing them carefully clean on the
sleeve of his ragged coat, he refilled them
from the bottle of iodine.
He glided through the window just as
the door opened to admit Le Britta,
Gladys and Gideon Vaughan into his
invalid ohair.
Supreme satisfaction wreathed the
sinister features of the plotter.
Well might he smile, and hope, and
wait, lurking at the open window.
For, upon the substitution , of the
innocent acid for the ink hung the
hopes, the fortune, the happiness of win-
some, bright -hearted Gladys Vernon.
CHAPTER VL—THE WILL.
Mr. Vernon was showing the results of
over -excitement as Le Britta wheeled
him into the room just vacated by
Durand. .
That resolute eye of his, however,
evidenced that he was determined to
carry out the project suggested by the
photographer," and after sinking back
among the pillows and resting for a
morhent or two, be said:—
"Wheel the table 'nearer, Gladys, and
bring the writing materials from the
mantel." •
The devoted girl obeyed him with
that instinctive gentleness and lack of
bustle pilat evidenced. long attention to
the invalid. She placed pens and paper
near to his hand, and brotight as well
the oxidized ink-welle, the contents of
which had been so mysteriously juggled
by Durand only a few minutes previous.
As for the pretended tramp himself,
if he, still lurked at the window, he did
so too deftly to betray his near proxim-
"Now then, Mr. Le Britta, begin,"
spoke the old man.
The photographer joggled his memory
to recall the legal formula for a will,
and Mr. Vernon began writing.
"What miserable ink!" he ejaculated,
rtuddenly and with irritation. "It looks
like iron -rust water.
Gladys did not pay any attention to the
remark, attributing it to failing eyesight
and the usual crotchety, faultfinding
temper of her sick relative.
"It makes a wretched blotch, looks
like brown paint," again uttered
Vernon, wrathfully, surveying with a
frown of annoyance the first few words
he had written on the white page before
him. "Is there none better in the house,
Gladys?"
"I fear not, uncle," murmured his
niece gently. I suppose I'll have to
make it do" growled Vernon, Proceed
Mr. Le Britta." The photographer
supplied the words of the form usually
adopted in framing a will and Mr.
Vernon wrote in his bequests. He left all
his property real and personal to his
beloved niece Gladys Vernon. When he
referred to his moneyed possessions he
glanced at a cabinet in one corner of the
apartment, seemed to be about to refer
to something there, evidently changed
his mind, and then concluded the instru-
ment by appointing Doctor Winston and
:Jere Le Brittle his executors and guard-
ians of Gladys during her brief minority.
Le Britta flushed gratefully at the
compliment thus paid to him. It
evidenced the confidence with which he
had inspired the old man and, the regard
which he felt for him.
Always a heart -winner, with his unob-
trusive,earnest ways,the present acknow-
ledgment of his devotion while it placed
an obligation upon him still pleased
" Thank goodness I that is oft Illy mind"
exclaimed Vernon, with a great sigh of
satisfaction and relief,
"Not quite yet, uncle," insinuated
Gladys, gently.
"Eh! you mean?"—
"The witnesses."
True, Mr. Le Britta, you will sign
here."
"Not until the other ivitnesi is here,"
Interrupted the photographer. "The
witnesses must sign each in the presence
of the other."
"Uncle, the housekeeper has returned,
will not her signature help us out?"
"She is not an interested party, she is
not mentioned in the will" spoke Le
Britta. "Yes, that will save us the
'trouble of summoning an outsider."
Gladys left the apartment, and
returned with a pleasant -faced woman of
about forty, a few minutes later.
"Mrs. Darrell, Mr. Le Britta" uttered
Gladys, and the photographer bowed and
proceeded to the side of ter. Vernon.
He started slightly as his eyes rested
closely on the written page,
The writing was plain enough, but the
ink used was wretched. Mr. Vernon had
spoken truly. Itlooked as if written with
the worst faded ink. About to speak of
it Le Britta checked himself. Every little
occurrence agitated the invalid, and what
after all mattered. obscure ink so that it
made a legible record.
He signed his name as witness, the
house -keeper followed his example and
withdrew from the apartment, and Mr.
Vernon pushed the document across the
table as if to allow it to dry.
Gladys' pretty face showed the relief
of a difficult task accomplished.. She was
glad to get the affair off her uncle's
mind. Unconsciously her nervous fingers
rested on the camera a few feet away
from the written page.
"Take care Miss Vernon!" laughed Le
Britta "or you'll be shooting oil my
loaded camera. The will, Mr. Vernon?"
he continued interrogatively as the
invalid ;natio a motion toward it.
Vernon took up the document and
folded it up. He placed. it in an envelope,
sealed it and handed it to Gladys.
"Take it, any child" he said. "It will
be safe in your keeping. Hide it where
you can be sure to find it when I die."
"Oh, I hope that will be a, long, long
time, dear uncle" returned Gladys
sincerely. The invahel 'uttered a moan
of weariness.
"I am very tired" he spoke: "Draw
the shades and Iwill try to sleep a little.
Gladys, Mr. Le Britta must remain with
us for a day or two." "I fear I will
have to be getting babk to business,
Mr. Vernon" demurred the photographer.
"I have already extended my vacation
and there is a convention of the Knights
of Pythias where they insist nobody
can photograph their august sassemblage
except any poor self."
"At. least remain until to -morrow"
urged Vernon. "I wish to have a con-
fidential interview with you when I am
rested. I do not feel equal to the task
after the excitement of the day."
LS Britta could not very well refuse.
Gladys darkened the gick-room and led
her guest to the broad outside porch,
where he had the choice of swinging
chairs or a hammock, brought him some
books, and left him, to aid the house-
keeper in providing for his comfort
during his anticipated brief stay. From
reading and resting Le Britta fell to
meditation over all the strange occur-
rences of the past few hours.
Every element in the case under
meditation was clearly outlined and
comprehended in his quick mind, except
one—the relation of the young inanhe
had seen conversing -with Gladys in the
garden, her lover -like companion, whom
she had called. Sydney.
Feeting naturally a warm interest in
the fair, innocent creature whose happi-
ness seemed menaced by a villain; he
hoped that a reconciliation would take
place between the lover and Gladys'
Irascible uncle ere he left. Then he
could leave with the assurance that: both
had a protector, in ease Durand at:
tempted to trouble them further.
"I do not see how Durand can bother
Vernon now," mused Le Britta, "except
through the secret he holds. What a
strange fate led me to participate in the
.ambitions, hopes and fears of these two
people! To -morrow, however, I must
leave the field of romanhe, to return to
the humdrum existence of , practical
labor. I may never see them again; but
the experience has enabled me to do a
kind deed, and win new friends. My
vacation has done me good. To -morrow I
must welcome stedio, home, friends ,and
those I love ea dearly,"
Le Britta's face glowed with affection
and happiness, as he pictured the happy
home -circle that knew him as father,
husband, protector and guide—the
ever -gentle wife the two happy -hearted
cherubs who made life worth living, the
bright-eyed, intelligont young lady whom
he had recently taken into his employ
under his instructions, to aid. in the
more artistic portion of his work.
The bustling, energetic, typical western
town where he had settled down in
business, was about fifty miles distant
from Hawthorne villa. Here Le Britta
had been located for several years, from
a bare two hundred dollars having
worked up his business until he
had amassed a generous competency.
and at thirty years of age was beloved
and respected by his fellow townsmen—
with time fame of his artistic excellence
spread far and wide. He had learned the
rudiments of his art in three of the
larger western cities; had known all the
comforts and luxuries of wealth and.
refinement, but when reverses -came to
his parents, he had struck out manfully
for himself. And now, having amassed
a small fortune, he thought far more of
the good it enabled him to do, and of his
profession, than of the mere satisfaction
of piling up riches.
crO 13Xt COternetIED.)
HO Laid In wait nor Him.
The piano tuner was coming gayly up the
alley, when he was accosted by a stern vis-
aged teen, who limpet red:
"Say, misterovleat d'yer charge for tuning
a piano?"
"Three dollars."
"Here's V.50; just trot to the next street."
"What's the matter?"
"The piano next door is out of tune, and
they don't play on it now. They're waiting
for you to come round. That $.3.50 is for
you not to go round."
The piano tuner whistled and walked
softly away, and there is silence still in tis
alley.—Detroit Tribune.
Quantity, Not Quality.
L. Ort
ht.
Young Husband—If I were a millionaire,
you would love me a great deal more,
wouldn't you?
The Wife (with an eye to stunning cos-
tumes)—I would love you a great deal of-
tenen—Vogue.
• Going to Jail In a Hack.
One of the most surprised men that ever
slept a night in the city jail is a resident of
a nearby town. He came to Helena not
long ago, and starting out with a consider-
able sum of money soon became utterly un-
conscious of his surroundings and laid
down to sleep in the middle of Main street.
An officer found him there, and calling a
hack put him into it and took him to the
city hall. He was searched and nearly $200
was found on his person. Out of this the
hackman was paid, and the visitor was
given a bed in the jail. The next morning
he was duly sober, end after breakfast he
was told he could go, no charge being made
against him.
"I wonder what I did with my money?"
'queried the man.
"How much did you have?" was asked.
"The last 1 remember 1. had $167," he re-
plied.
"Well," said the court clerk, "here is
$165.50, and counting the $1.50 you paid the
hackman that makes it all right."
The man took the money, counted it, put
it in his pocket and stood for a moment or
two anparently in a brown study. Finally
he turned to the clerk and asked:
"Did 1 come to jail in a hack?"
"You did most assuredly," said the clerk.
"Well," said the lodger, '1 have heardof
a good many fools in my life, but I believe
I am the biggest. The idea of a man hir-
ing a hack to take him to jail!"—Helena
Independent.
Not the Only Case of the Kind.
Deacon Ironside (after the service)—E1-
der, I got in a little late this morning, but
I don't think you had any right to take it
out of me in your sermon.
Elder Keepalong—Take it out of you?
How?
'Get back at me. Ain't that what you
did? I hadn't hardly got inside the door
when I heard you say, 'And now comes the
worst of them all—the chief rebel against
the government of heaven.' And then you
went on describing my character, and put-
ting all my failings in the worst light you
possibly could. You didn't mention no
names, but I knew who you was driving at,
and I must say, elder, that I don't like this
way of"—
"But, my dear Deacon Ironsides, you to.
misapprehend. The subject this morn-
ing was 'The Rebellion in Heaven,' and
when you came in I was trying to picture
the depravity of Lucifet, the arch apostate.
I am truly sorry, deacon, if I seemed to"—
"Never mind, elder; never mind. ,We'll
—h'm—we'll say no more about it. Rather
a nasty morning, ain't it?"—Exchange.
A. Long Walt.
Saint -Foix, the French poet, had. alarge
income, but was always in debt. Much of
his time was spent dodging his creditors.
He sat one day in a barber chair, with his
face lathered and ready to be shaved, when
One of his largest creditors entered the shop.
The man saw Saint -Foix and angrily de-
manded the money due him.
"Won't you wait until I get a shave?"
quietly inquired the poet.
"Certainly," answered the other, pleased.
at the prospect of getting the money.
The poet male the barber a witness be
the agreement and calmly wiped the lather
from his face. He were a beard to his dy-
ing day.—New York Herald.
An 'Unselfish Friend.
Jack—I have a chance to marry a poor
girl, whom I love, or a rich woman, whom
I do not love. What would you advise?
George—Love is the salt of life, my friend.
Without it all else is naught. Love, pure
love, makes poverty wealth, pain a joy,
earth a heaven.
Jack—Enough. I will marry the poor
girl whom I love.
George—Bravely spoken. • By the way,
would you--er—mind introducing me to
the rich woman whom you do not love?--
Pearson's Weekly.
Landed.
He—I have loved you long. Will you be
mine?
She—Oh, Mr. Smith, this is so sudden—
such a. surprise!
he—Yes, I know, dearest, but your father
and mother keep writing to know mytin-
tentions.—Truth.
A Tender Soul.
"Cresarl You don't have sympathy for
a man who's' justly kicked out of his club,
do you?" •
"Why shouldn't I? Isn't he club foot-
en?"—Chicago Record.
Not Ills Evening.
Young Spoonamore--If I should call this
evening, Miss Kitty, will you be in?
Miss Kitty—Y-yes, Mr. Spoonaraore, but
—but so will Mr. Hankinson.—Exchange.
TWO LITTLE GIRLS.
Title little girl is very poor;
She. has troubles, she hods, she can scarce 0.
THE LAST DE13T.
And yet, my dear, she has playthings plenty'
Dolls as many as two -and -twenty,
Houses and arks and picture -books,
Something pretty wherever she.looks.
But half the time she's puzzled to know
What' to do with the wonderful show,
Tired of dollies two -and -twenty,
And bored with her various toys aplenty.
That little girl, is very rich,
With an old nal like A perfect witch,
A broken chair and a tut of dell.
And a wee (mocked cuP oil the oloset,shelf.
She can play with only a row or Pine:
Houses and, gardens, and arks and inns.
She makes with her chubby lingers small,
And she never asks for a toy at all.
Unseen around her the fairies stray,
Giving her bright thoughts every day.
Poor little girl and rich little girl, •
How nice it. would be if in Time's swift whirl
You could—perhaps not change your places,
But catch A glimpse of each other's faces:
For each to the other could something give,
Which would make the child, life sweeter to
• live.
For both could give and both could share
Something the other had to spare,'
—M. E. Sangster. mm, Liarper's Young People.
Thirteen, red, and odd!"
"Well, boys, that clears me out for to-
night. I, for one, an: going Inane; are any
of you coming withme. or are you coing
to stay, and contrioute Will more of your
good dollars to the Weeping up of John's
lunch t min ter?"
"Thauks, no, awfully obliged, for the
offer. but I've still got pleuty with me.
Yua know I have mate it a rule paver to
lose more tient twenty-tive 'dollars et a sit-
tiug—aud as that much tuts gone, I stop
for to night."
''Yon're miming Mt)? That' a good. If
you fellows mire not tired, let's stop in at
my rooms for a few minutes. l've got
some whisky there that I'd like to have
your opinion on.
"Yes. it is good whisky, isn't it? I laid
in goon, a stook of it some years ago and it
has lehen mellowing ever biotic.: Fill up
again, that be afraid of whisky like this;
there's not a headache in a heershead of it
It's a great etnufort when one has had the
bad luck to drop money on the roulette
board. Have I ever lost emelt? Wny yes,
I dropped cgaite a pile one night severel
,yemus ago, and since then, as you see, I've
never venred 'much. I had • a rather
curious exeterience that night, too. Tell
you alarm It? Why, certainly, if }mere
sure it won't bore you.
"One night. 'about eix years ago, I went
around to Haley's for the Jim time and
with quite a wad. I was a youngster then,
ha m more money then experience—and was
poor at three There were • a good many
there that night, amid time roulette wheel
WAS erowded, hut I finally mutilated to slip
into a seat. At first I paid, little attention
to anythiug but the genie. Soon, how-
ever, my attention was attracted by the
strange acticins of a man on my right, aud
I could net help but watch him. He had
apperently been winning heavily, fur there
were large stacks of (ships in front of him,
wpm:meeting, perhaps five or six thousand
dollars. Bet, despae the large stun lie had
before him, I coital not help fancying that
the man had lost; for his face was drawn
in a tense agony, and he played with time
feverish recklessness of one who is risking
his last dollar. His play, as I enid, WAS
reckless to a degree, and absointely with-
out system. Now, he would have over a
thousand. dollars scattered about the board,
mtge.'', may one or two chips. When he
won his eyes would. light up with a gleam
of hope Almost InAlliActil in its intensity ;
if he lost, his face would turn fairly livid,
and there wont& be a rattle in his throat as
it he were in his death agony. Every few'
moments he wouldauxiouely count over
the chips in front of him, cursing bitterly
as he did so. And. I noticed that in spite
of his reckless play. the amount of his
winnings remained about the same. Some-
times, almost, half would be swept away,
but he would win it back again ahnost in-
seemly—though beyond a certain point he
seemed unable to go.
"I, however, had no such luck.. My
pile melted away slowly but surely, with
here and there a slight winning—just
enough to keep me going, but -not enough
to enable me to stop a wiener; and, at
that time, I was too poor to be willing to
stop a loser. At last I was reduced to ten
dollars, and was about to lay it on the red,
when a man hurried in and whispered a
few words to the croupier. He had been
about to spin the roulette but stopped.
" 'Gentlemen,' said he, 'please take your
money off the both anal I.ash in your chips
at once. Information has just come that
we may expect a visit from our frieothe
the police, and the game is closed for to-
night'
"A scene of confusion at once ensued,
each man being anxious to cash his chips
end. make his departure, knowing that,
should 'his friends the police' make a
visit, he would be forced to return theii
eal•I'.For my part, having no chips, Iturned
to see how may neighbor was coming out.
To my surprise he made no attempt to
cash in, but sat there staring into vacancy
‚with silo a ghastly look on his face, that,
for mm moment, I thought he had died in
his chair. By this time he and I were the
only 'guests' left, and, the croupier, tare -
big to him, pa:d:
"'Hurry. ar, it you please. We have
but a few seconds to spare. How much do
you want?'
"The man rose, and, gazing wildly at
the now deserted table, gasped: 'For God's
sake, just one more turn of the wheel --
just one—or I am ruined."
" 'Can't do it, sir. . Orders are to stop
the game at once. Besides, you shouldn't
mind cashing ill—you must have won five
thousand, at least. Where are your chips
—ten—twenty—fifty—hundred and
ttvemm-
ty.six—that's right. Here you are, sir,
sixty-three hmidred Good night, sir,'
"As We reached the street I turned and
looked at my companion. He was stand-
ing bareheaded, with Mush a look of mutt -
terrible onseryon his face as I hope never
again' to see on MAIL Some impulse
prompted me to speak to him, and I asked
hime--clumsily enough, I'M afraid—if
had lost much. e
"Lost,' he said, vacantly; 'en, I won.
I won about six thousand dollars, I, be-
lievne:;on ar ludeee!
" Lucky It amid he gave a short, mirth-
less laugh 'Did you say lucky? My.
God! had I but won now el:emus/old more
I maid =deed have heel' lucky; but no*
lihntena !ruined, Ruined; c,10 you bean,
i,Ii
"His manner was. so strange that I dared
not exuress eyfimethy, but (meld only
mumele, out something about 'taking a
He accepted My, tioneation'amid
we wept itito e saloon dose by. A bottle
or brandy was ordered, for which he aro
silted oil paying, saying that, as he had
woe and nest, it was riis right. 'Besides,'
'said he bitterly, 'the motley I won to-higkt
is too little to be of any Use to anma I Mal
as well Vend it.'
" thousand —ttt "
You must he rich, '.11 leed, to treat e eu
like that so Cavalierly.'
'He vomited out it great drink of the
brandy, and, gulping le down as if it were
me re water, took from his pocket the Toll
of bilis and laid it on the table before him.
!' 'NO, the money is: of Ito use to me
nine—eutettorth the piper it is made Of.
Lieten, 411(1 I will tell you. why, I am the
paying teller of the Fotirth maimed bank.
La t night I took from the sate ten limos'
amid dollars, thieking that, by buying
certainatock, I would melte toy fortnee in
a day amid be able to astern the money
before its absence was noticed. I iota, of
course,' amid he laughed, 'all of my own as
well. ktiew that unless the money was
returned to the safe by to -morrow morning
at nine, its loss would be discovered and I
ruined. To -night I took my last hundred.
to Baly's in the vain hope of retrieving may
lus4s. The retult Ytai know. So. you
see, six thousand /Mitre is no more good
to me than six hundred. I need ten
thous/ma or noilduge Here, you lost to.
night au d may neett it Take the money..
It is nothing to me.'
"He shoved • the toll of bills into my
hand, and seddetily drawing n revolver
pressed it to his temple. Before I could
interfere it was all over; he lay dead at
any feet, the piked clasped in his hand.
"I was arraeted, of course, but, ott the
evidence of the welter, who had seen time
shot fired, was discharged at once.
. °about the money? Well, 1 returned
that to the bank next day, and explained
timings to the preeident, The matter was
tweet made public—the coroner's verdict
WA4 'conpontry iusouity. ' Arid might, too,
for the poor devil must have been in-
sane.
"As tor Me, I stayed in town all that
Kimmer trying to economize, and tomes
then I never let myself go beyond twenty-
five.
• •What, mire you going? l'in afraid I've
bored you tiwonly. Geod.-eight bees,
good -night."
A DOG'S KNOWLEDGE.•
Instances in Which Dogs Have !leen Able •
to Tell Time Correctly.
How do dogs know the thne of day?
scene one asks time writer, and proceeds to
relate some stories to prove that they do
know it. One of these stotnes is About a
collie who starts every afternoon to meet
his master, wet) always comes on the 5.30
train. Tromins are continually coming miud
going, and wide' Ling end ringing. butPete
pays no atteution to any but this one. As
soon as its Whistle is heard he begins to
bark joyfully, and never makes a mistake.
Another dog became so munch accustomed
to going to the school -house every morning
with his little master that, whetm the boy
was absent tor several weeks, the dog still
went on goitm r. to school, arriving punctu-
ally at 9 o'clock every morning. More-
over, he never went on Saturday or Sun-
day.
With regard to the first wise, it might
lie replied, perhaps, by a telteptical persou,
that the dog wee more likttly to be a he to
distingui4h the special whistle of the loco-
motive which drew the 5.30 than than to
know it try time hour of the day. And yet
time writer has nu sort of doubt that Lugs
do know when a certain hour arm ives at
which something regnlar and accustomed
takes phae. Time second case seetua to
prove this very thing, There is mm wise out
revoril in which a doctor, who WAS • aceus•
touted tir visit a certain village at a cenimin
lemur on a certain day rach week, lways
found mc dog of his ma:quaint/ince waiting
for him outside the town, amid it war
proved thet the dog never came to time
pluee et any other day or hour. Evident-
ly all that can be said in explanathin of •
swat crmset is that anitnels are susceptible
of hnving periode or circles of tone estab-
lished in their imiteiligeuces by use, and
that their ignorance of timepieces only
serves to make the instinct the keener. lb
is well known that men who have never
possessed watches, and who work or hunt
habitually at a distance from clocks, are
expert at renewing the lepee 'of time.
Perception of this kind undonutedly may
be cultivated in an intelligent auimal as
well as in in .n.
The nenth Watch.
In the log houses built by our pioneer
forefathers there could often hue heard in
the night' when perfect quiet prevailed a
peculiar phenomenon known as the death
watch. Tide would be heard surnewhere
in time wall, as one lay in bed, and was MI
exaceimitation of the measured ticking of
a watch. Tickee, tickee, tiekee the stimuli
would commence, and when perhaps a
dozen or twenty ticks had been given.
there was silence. The ticks might be re -
smiled again and thus atiutervals coutinue
as long as one cared to listen. By many
persona this ticking in the imight WAS heard
with superstitious dread. as betokening or
prognosticating death. The SOntld WAS
really Imade by a diminutive wood beetle
that had burrowed in a log, bet whether
this peeuliar ticking was the result of ac-
tion involved in i erforation or was the
mating call, or prompted by still other
motives, ties never been made dear.
Ibis not known that this death watch
has its habitation in modern lupine atm -
tune; and the creature probably does not
perforate into timbers of sucti small di -
=elisions as form the sides of fnune houses.
As the sound iteelf must be near time list -
new in the wall near the ear, it would not
be heard if in time sills or heavier timbers
elsewhere, but it was an oft -time eight ac-
companiment to the wakeful person who
listened in the structures that are now no
more.—Pittsburg.Dispatch.
The Tinder Box.
Although the match has long since sup-
planted the tinder box, thousands of the
antiquated light Producers are still • made.
Adventurers often take a flint and tinder
box with them on tripe, knowing from ex-
perience that if slower than a match it is
certainly surer, and in addition to the de-
mand this creates, there are back country
regions in Europe where the match is cote-
patatively unknown. Then again the
white man, with his usual ultra -sensitive-
ness, does not see any harm in shipping
tinder boxes'and. even the oldeet kinds of
• gun flints, to the savages of Africa, who,
' derive sincere delight from using them, es -
specially ua the traders are careful to ex- '
plain that the one is an improveioent on
the match, and the other a great stride to-
wards perfection in fire arms.—St. Louis
Globe -Democrat.
No Use for Firelight.
Mrs. Percushing—Henry, I smell fire, I
tell you!
Mr. Percushing--Well, I can't find any
fire, and rye been all over the hoe.
/sirs, Percushing—Well, light the candle
and make another look. How could you
dud it in the dark, you idiot?
Was That It?
"What little boy ivill tell why Lot's wife
was turned into a pillar of salt?" asked time
Suuday school teacher.
Feedtly Filkine' hand went up, and the
good lady nodded to him to give his *n-
ewer.
"ete—eee -- wee too fresh