Exeter Advocate, 1899-7-27, Page 6aETlrcEu rWo LOVES
By BERTHA. at. OLAY.
She knew it all now. The last faint
gleam had, died out of her heart --she
knew it. The only thing that remained
for her now was to see what was best
to be one. Sete loved him better than
herself; unkind and neglectful a.s be
was, the loved him better than any-
thing or any one in the world. She
stretched out her bands with a bitter
cry.
me love—my love"" she said, "I
sronld have died Mr you, and you have
Begone* seer"
CRAFTER XLVIL
"I warm SANTE ,irs'rxCE,"
What was she to do? That watt the
question which puzzled ,her, blow
could she free trim, ao as to make him
ham with this; beautiful woman whom
he loved? Teere rained from bee face
art site remembered tate lines that he
loved ---"Ile was weary, waiting for the
+'"may;" but the May be longed for wee
not the sweet mernth of Eves grid kilos.
Jonas; it wase a lovely, go den•haired
lardy. He was wearied of waitlug"; and
k was through ler that he had to
wait at ail, If she were not in thel
Way, he could emery Lady May..
"He meet Irate Me," she %benlfht.
'ICb did he marry ane? He rauatr hate
ale, and wish ane dead."
Deed! The WOrlt strut c her. What
calm neat, what unbroken ekeesi
to the deaa.d!—no wear axed tear of fife
no jealousy, no pain, no stemma nothing
bet deep, Cali% sweet, .attbrekea rest.
"Dead!" '44'tty, death was the only
wee in which she could free hermit
and him. She knew these ants *neh, &
thing as divorce; hut, then, Itxnuat f
tow wrong -doing; they would not save it
for a mistaken marriage.
"It it were not wrong," tbongte
Daley, ""1 would kill myself. If I could
go to Emmen, I would. cheerfully ,give
up life.'"
.But that could not be; if Ste took her
ewe life, Ebbe *mild hover nee the face
of Goad. The theme was the little
babe—the sweet, laughter, cooler babe
—with timer pink battler and dimpled
fes, She mast net leaver that, Baily
bard but hereelf; twin fabler caned lrttk+e
for it --ail has heart was with Inde
May.
Alt time day Daisy eat lea; her room
trying to think what shat' should do.
Should she go to him and upbraid him—
tell him she irnew .afl size had tonna
hot hie lore for Lady May? Should she
insist upora bis making their 'meriage
pabdie at once, and introducing her to
'the world as his wife? Ah, no; for it
sloe did any ot these things, he would.
• only hate her the more.
"I matelot endure that," thought
Dsiyy, "He does not love me, but 1
tonal not bees that he should hate
•ems."
Secedes which, see had no ?raper
tteouude for accusation. No one had
told her that he loved the Lady May;
lifter all, it was principally her own,
surm?Rae. She was confident of it aftee.
teeing them together. Should she write
a letter to Lady l.lay, telling her that
Sir G9intoa Adair was married— that
he had a wife and child in France?
She looked a proud and lofty lady, one
who would scorn even to look at an
anonymous letter. Should she write to
him? She was puzzled what to do. Of
one thing she was quite resolved—Maris
should not go on; she must have' it end-
ed. The best, the wisest plan would be
to see them both together. When? was
the nest question. That she could de-
cide later on; she would not hurry her
fate by any precipitation. She would
have no scene by•whieh the world could
be enlightened, but she would have jus-
tice for herself and her child. He
might not love them, but he shottd not
look at this fair woman with his heart
In his eyes.
How that day passed Daisy never
knew. Under pretext of indisposition,
she remained in her own room; she
could not have borne the sound of
voices or the sight of faces her heart
was broken with the tragedy of her
owa life. Sometimes she thought She
would creep home to the baby, and die
without one word of what she had dis-
covered. She was almiost tired of the
useless, weary struggle.
She could not hope now for his love
not even in the long years to come; box
' child's pretty prattle and pretty ways
would not purchase it for her.
"And I cannot wonder at it," the
Illout ht. with her rare sweetness o2
humility. "I am not to be compared
to ber; she is beautiful beyond most
women. She is a lady, high-born, high-
bred; I am only a country girt No
wonder that le loves cher best. Whe
slid he marry me!"
Once she thought 3t was just poss&ble
' all this might be a mintake. Perhaps
Lady May was related to him; they
aright be cousins; she could not tell; she
would ask. If they were related, ever
!so distantly, that would aeconnt for the
a friendship between them.
She might have known how passion-
ately she loved her husband from the
relief that even that faint suspdelon
gave her. It gave hem strength to leave
!the room, to go down stairs and talk to
Adolphe again. All in the most casual
way, she asked him if Sir Clinton had
•
arty relatives, in London; and the en -
hewer was "No." Then she said:
"Is not Lady May Trevlyn a distant
xrelmtive of his?"
"No," said Adolphe. "You seem cued..
sons over Lady Trevlyn, Mrs, Jordan,"
he said. "I will tali you all I know
about its and this was told me by one
e<1 herr household. Some years ago, wheat
she was a young gird, they were engag-
ed to be married—they were lovers; then
they quarrreled—I have never heard how
sr why --they quarreled and parted. Sir
Clinton went away—went by himself,
Meier no aere:nes with him. I bald
been living with him three yeasts then,
said Y knew no more than the ethers did
about him. We all received a message
through bis sol&eitors that, we were to
remain an board wages. I have not
ma.lf the faintest idea where he went.
It woo nearly three years before he
*tamed ria England; then he was sir
terribly changed --his face had growl
oder, aurid keds eyes Bradth}ok, stcax as you see sometfines inof a man wm soow haShe rose from her seat with arlittle
• Wat is it?" aked Adophe.
eh"ee " s+he relied, fah:tlel• ere at my hea;rt; it is gone now,
quie gape, Go onAdlphe; you tela stoyboob ."
"I am peased to interest yo, Mr.
Joran" said the polite valet; "but I
hve little mre to tell. Sir Cinten
came bck, looking years older, hagard
and. care-wornEvery one was delht-
ed to see tiroand welcomd hih>t wameIy. He wet Lady Inlay again, and they
beame rrieeds. Every one expectethat tl:.tey would mary; but they have
not done so, and 1 de not thnk tht
any one knows tine reason wiry, I do
not, and I am Sr Cliaton'e trusted see~.
"How s+tange!" mumred Disy.,"Yes, +rt is stange; for it is wellknown tht Lady May reused some ex•
ceent oers, We quite expected eedg to hear the marriage aneenced.He visied tate house, he goes everywhere with he; but there has beer: no
sttc4t ennounement yet, and. I begin to
evr wall, If they meant toraxy, thy wooud have done se log
before ths. I do not think there wiltever be a maage meow."'"Yet they are supose to cae feach. other" said Dasy.
'at is tine mystery; tat iworld cannot uestnd,s like a riddle," said Dasy, .ligtas sbe turned away; "no once cu
phase it,"
She :spoe ligtly, batt lite very bittenese of death was in her heat. Sha
eoud undestasad it all now; it waq tdhe pges of an oen book, H.bed .loed her, and they had quarreed;
the qael with her wom he loveemey. woe the sorow which tddrven hm mad; he ba, no doubt,
a the woods where achehi, half dead with fatigue and mety,
That prt o1 the story was plain enoughto her; she could imagine, too, howhaving retuned to Fruglend and finrhs beautful love true andod cham had been redoubled.
Wat sae coulnot imgne was wlye had married her. That wee the fatl
matake; ut for that he woud havbeen hnppy eough—he woud bavo mar.
ied Lady Iitay That was he grated
mstake, the Brent blunder; the onrror which cod never be remedied.
Wfry had he done it? Re bad -evidently nver cweed to love lady May. Thehd not been maed vey Jong when
ie hd woned so at ha emotion
over the lines "Watng' f+or the May."
It wane his beautiful love of whom he
was thinkng then, she knew; be had
never ceased to love her; then why bd
be mared any one else? That was
the only mystery let now in the
whoe story. It could not hae bees
brat he loved hrthat was not pos.
Bible; he had asked her to be his wife,
to marry hn but ate had never saidnnuch about love; besdes whler, any
ait, feeble affection that he had, for
her, was nothng compaed to the in-
tersy of his love for Lady May.
"Why did he marry me?"' cried the
unhappy girl, wringing iter hands.
Better a thousand times to be sleeing
under the daisies than to be here --bet.
ter to be dead, tShan living to shot nutall hope of happiness for herself. No
idea of the trutrh occurred to her; no
suspcin that he had marred her froman impuse of manly kindness and generosity. She bewildeed herseling to dscover, how it was,
He had evidenty repented of it, for
he had taken no steps to introduce herto any one—indeed, no one here in Eng-
land knew anythng about Baer. A sud-
den flush of anger burned her face; her
pssionate, despairing love gave place
to angry pride. She felt tihat, let himhave what exuse he might, he hard
spoled her life without having any
motive for it.
=Chen Daisy was compelled to leave
her thoughts and go dwn stairs, where
a variety of duties no one else could
perform were waiting for hey—duties
Haat she began to loathe.
"It will not be for much longer," she
maid to herself; "I wilt take good cne
of that."
She loattaed this great, splendid house,
with its profusion and .luxury; it seem-
ed to her to embody one of the reason
why he had not procaimed his marriage with her. She fancied he wets
ashamed to introduce her, ashamed to
show her as t+he mistress of all his
wealth.
"I can do without it," said Daday,
with a curing 1p; "1 do not want It,
but I will have justke for myself and
my chidd."
A most unfortunate idea came to .hethen; It was that he had married hesto avenge himself on Lady May, and
then, when the deed was done, he had
not the courage to avow It. Daisy felt
that she had solved the problem at last
--she had clever been loved, never been
cared for. She was but a meals of re-
venge; her heart, her Iife, her love and
been as nothing. He had married herto avenge S himself on .his beautiful lady-Iove; then, when his courage failed him,
he had carefully kept her out of sight.
my life," said the girl, "hes
gone for- nothing—gone for the whims of
an 'hou-my life, tihat is so m'uc'h tome, and so little to any one else."
She felt quite sure that she undertood it all now; t'ihat the whole story
lay oen befbre her; and ve'heonent de-
sire foe justice took possession of her.
'i wildmake humawn,.me ass his wifebefore her," she said. "I will make
him tell me in her presence why he
nranried me•. I wll have jusalce as I
have never had love."
It wa.e`late before Sir € inton :returned; she, sitting watchng the hours with
jealous ees, knew how late. Alt, well,
it would not be for much longer. She
thought Heaven was very merciful;
there was plenty.;ot room for her in
heaven, atIIhough no one wanted Tier enearth. Site would. haejuseice; then
sine would go home oto her, baby and die.
ill pray so eernestily for deahth,"
sloe 'sd to herself, that Heaven will
never refuse to her me."CRAPT1t XLVIII.
b SrasisE llnkr niT.
The aln' ? ! SO go he next
moraine as usual for her orders; she
sent elargerie is her plates, who, in an-
swer to Sir Clinton's polite inquiries,
replied that Mrs. Jordan, waa not well.
Ile was sorry, but he weer going oat
again, so that he begged she would not
give herself any trouble that day as.
5psa aeoon'nt.
Daisy was realty iIl—not in any
danger, but wearied out with emotion
and suspense. Her head ached so Pain'
fully that sate could not endure the
light; when she tried to rise It was es
though her strength failed, her, end she
had the good sense to perceive that un-
less sic rested is time she might Poe'
snlaly have a severe illness—such rest as
it was, when every thought was pain,
earl the strongest feeling site was cap-
able of was an intense longing to die,
It was four days before she rose
again; then she felt strangely whit
:and ill, One of the first things she did
was to go to Sir piintozx's study, whit.
had been neglected, during her abSei'e.
It did not look as though be bad been
much in it. There were some lott'rs
st attasred about, but that whieia zete'r-
ed her mast, and brought matters to a,
crisis, was that she saw on the mantel
piece a letter from France, from her-
self, that had been, by the post -mare
upon it, lying there for tour days. and
was, still unopened. It was dusty awl
dirty; it had evidently lair; there es -
epened ever since eft came. That was
the climax. As she held that letter in
her hands alt goutier feelings seenr..*d t�.►
die out of 7haisy'a heart;. her fake burn-
ed with augers, ber Insert beat fast. her
halals trembled, her sweet fare was net
at that raement pleasant to see.
"So," she said, slowly, "it is even taxa
much tremble to open my lettere now, It
might have been to telt bin that baby
was ill, to ask. him to come—it night
have been most importns#t; no teeter,
lie tied no time to read it; ata remembeni
nothing but Lady May; there is no
thought. go erre, no caneideration f,rh
ane. Now I will have Justice; there ba,'
been ACP mercy shown to Ina, I will show
nene. I will find out where she is, and
cenfror;t him with her."
Adolpllre watt slot in the house, but
one of tele ibotrnee gave her all the in
fortnation drat she required. Of nurse
he was gone to Cliffe House; the pity
wan he could not live there. A bitter
anile curled her lipe,
"I need hardly bare nailed the genas.
non," she thought; "where is it likely
be should be? EIe has no time to read
my tetter, be bus to go to Cliffe Renese.
If I wanted artytbine to nerve me. ries
with if my courage fails me, I have but
to remember that my life was lee' than
notching to him. that he has spoiled it
foe a whim, that he married me as an
act of vengeance, and then had not the
courage to carry out his revenge. I have
but to think of my own broken heart
and my little child's face. I shall have
courage for anything then. Good -by to
MTs. &edam! Good -by to Lifdaie
House! Stay—for my child's sake 'qui
one must know that I have been here.
I will go, and leave no braces.; they may
say the housekeeper left suddenly and
without cause, but they will never con-
nect tete housekeeper with Lady Adair,
What It mockery it seems to think. thee
I am Lady Adair!"
She went for the last time to her
room, impatiently enough: she pulled off
the false gray hair; she had all her
senses about Sher; see burned tate gray
front lest it shoved be found; the white
cap she left :In, the bureau drawer, In
her box she had one dress that she had
purchased to case of any such canhbin-
g'ency as this, a dress of black velvet;
it wee some relief to throw off the
qutint costume that had disguised the
grace and etegamcar of her beautiful
figure, and assay herself once more in a
diens that suited her youthful beauty.
Even in the midst of her sadness and
deepeir Daisy did not forget that; she
looked fair enough for any man's love;
with that flush on her flower-like face,
that light of resolution' in her eyes, fair
end g'razeful as women need be. Yet
she laughed as alae looked at that re-
flection of herself; what did it matter
hew fair she was? he would never
love her, never care for her; the wo-
man he loved was a thousand times
more beentiful than she.
It seemed so strange going through
the streets in her own character. She
did not notice the admiring glances hent
on her, the admiring eyes that followed
hear. She thought only of findire her
husband at Cliffe House. Many a
passer-by stopped to look at this bean-
tiful fair-haired woman In. the black
velvet dreses, whose face was so uncon-
seiaus and whose eyes seemed to look
so for away. Daisy passed on, the sun
the shining brightly, e sky was bine,
the western wind sweet and calm; the
people looked happy and prosperous,
the little children ,were all at play.
She never saw the sunlit streets, or
heard the sound of the eheldren at play;
a strange idea had taken possession of
her. She was wondering how a con-
demned crineimal walks from his cell to
the scaffold; how short the way must
seem to him, with death at the, end;
how his eyes must linger on the dsrlt=
ened walls, on the Living faces near him,
so soon—oh; Heaven, so, soon -to plass
before him forever. She felt like that
new; she was weeder to her doom.
What matter the •sunshine and the
cheerful sounds? there was death :at
the end; for it would be death to stand
before him and accuse' him -to hear
him, perhaps, repudiate her—perhaps
deny all knowledge of her; and, if he
did not db thea, to curest her for coming,
There could never be death fax her
worse than is the slaying Uh a of her , y g he love:
Oa, with meek steps that never falter.
ed. There in the distance she saw
'tire Iron railings against which she lean-
ed that day in her agony wihen she first
saw Lady May; the day and hour on
wallah the hand of death had seized
her. On, with a courage that grew
meter witb every step. Shewets go-
ing to seek for justice, not, only for her-
self, but for her little child in fan -off.
France; the child who had never known
a father's love or a father's care. And
there were tears in her eyes, tears rain-
ing down her face, tears burning her
where they fell. Tears! She raised her
heart proudly. She had not known that
she was weeping; it must have been
with thinking of her little one, who lead'
m o nate to love euro but his mother.
ei will not face my enemies with tartars
en nay face," said Daisy.
WONDERS OF NATURE.
There Are Nene Mere Impressive Thai
Taws of the Potrifled Forest.
of Arizona.
It has recently been proved that the
petrified forests of Arizona are realities
and not myths. At the outset jet it be
understood, that the idea that the trees ot
these forests are standing Upright. that
they have roots, and that they have
branches, is a complete error, and hal
not the slightest foundation In fact. Izt-
deed, it is, considered as very do, ubtte%
that theme immense petrified logs, grew•
within many miles of the place where
tbey are now found, The sepposition of
the scientists is that they flowed into
*bet was then an inland lake or basin
irom some higher region, where s. tre-
mendous Hoed had washed the great
forest out of existence, The recumbent
trees were then, during the subsequent
centuries, covered with mud, sand and
limestone many tbonsands of feet deep,
and thus subjected to an immense pose
rare, and heat.
There must have been iron sad other
minerals In the substances that washed
dowel and covered the trees" as well as
lune to solidify them, for, now that'
tbotasands upon thousands of yearn, have
sect away. and the •overlying strata
ve beenwashed clown by the disin-
tegrating forces of the oenturres, these'
once proud and lofty trees are found to
be not only solid stone, but colored into
such 's variety of hues and shade* as to
be the delight of the collector and the
eberan of tire artist. Vera are actually
1 millions of tons of jasper. cheleedony,
moss•ngate, topaz, a'inethyst and agates of
every Imaginable hue. Hundreds of
square =ilea are covered with this
wonderful torest,
These large deposits of petrid.ed wood
are found in Arizona, tive miles from the
main line of the Santa Fe railway to
California. A little station between earn.
rizo and Eolbrooke bas bean :nanuni
Adamana, after the old pioneer who
drives tourists out to the forest. He is
one of the best•knowai characters of the
west. There are few people in the west
who do not know Adam Hanna. Adam
is a Scotchzuan, and is a born pioneer,.
After crossing the river, not far from
Hanna's bourse, the drive is over a corn-
paratively levet country towards a'liue of
bluffs or cliffs some four or five ranee
away, On reaolling these eltffs we find a
number of bays and promontories, which
make canyons and ravines into which we
can drive and ride for parrpoee,r of ex-
ploration, Here we find the logs scatter-
ed about in confusion in every direction.
Strange to say. all the tree; sra split up
Into logs, and equally strange is the feet
that if one tries to split a log the fracture
is a longitudinal one. while all the old
fractures are tr ewe • et:eking out of
EAGLE ROCK.
Remarkable Erosion In the Petrified Forest.
the cliff walls all around ua are sections
of trees. As the soft material of whioh
the walla are composed is washed away
more of the trees become exposed, and in
time are released from their matrix, only
to roll down and join the great mass on
the level. The results of this constant
disintegration are seen in the most pecu-
liar carvings or sculptures of the soft
rook which surround these trees. Yonder
la a group which looks like a dwarfish
man and his wife, whilst here to the left
a bold pillar stands out, 50 or more feet
high, crowned with the head of a tre-
mendous eagle. Yonder, on a hill, is a
20 -foot log of jasper and agate, so resting
on the brow of the hill that it looks for
all the world like a cannon, a natural
fortress to exclude people from the region
of the beautiful stones.
A little over half a mile away on the
southwest side of this bluff the soil has
been so washed away as to cut a ravine
right underneath one of the very feW
almost perfect trees found In the forest.
So that •here we have a natural bridge
formed out of a petrified tree. This tree
was originally over 200 feet high, and Is
now so large in diameter than one can
ride horseback across it. This is one of
the most astonishing and . wonderful
bridges in the world, and that transcon-
tinental traveler who journeys from the
east to Calitornia is not wise who fails
to spend the one day that is necessary to
visit this wonderful bridge and the
equally wonderful forest by which it is
surrounded.
It is a frightful desert region, and e
recent visitor had an experience that was
as novel as it was unpleasant. They bad
gone further than they had intended and
were not provided with a sufficiency of
water. The weather was intensely hot,
and soon their little stook of water was
exhausted. The thought of waiting until
they got back home was maddening.
Adam, however, knew a Mime far better
than waiting. Riding along until they
came to the dry bed of a stream, that
seemed as if not a drop of water had
been 1n it for ten years; he quietly took
the saddle and bridle from his horse,
and. tying a rope around its neck, turn-
ed it loose. With an instinct as unerring
as that of the bird in its flight, the horse
went to a certain spot in the wash and
commenced pawing the sand with his
feet. He threw it out with almost as
great rapidity as a dog paws the earth
from a squirrel hole, but in far greater,
quantities. The visitor stood and watched
him in amazement, while Adam said:
"Oh, he's smart, he is. Did you never
see a hose dig for water? That hoss has
raved me life many a time, for he can
find water if it's to be had, where you
and me would lie down and die. Now
see him!"
With intent gaze the horsedrew back,
and steadfastly watched the hole he had
made. In, a few minutes a half bucket
of water had collected at the bottom of
the bole, and, though the > water was
neither cool nor fresh. it was better than
nothing. They quenched their thirst, and
In the cool of the evening returned to the
MAIM.
THE SUMMER WARDROBE,
Poor Poplins—How Tra'ellas Gowns
Are Made.
Popliu is one of the -best of the season's.
materials. It is used for all sorts of
gowns, from simple ones to those of
great elaborateness, and is 'mettle black.
and all the new colors—several blues and
violets, a number of greens, grays and
beiges a ed poppy and venetian red.
There is a lovely shade of pastel green,
another of light hortensia blue and a
beautiful silver gray. Poplin is employed
for little girls es well as women.
Traveling gowns are very simply made,
the tailor made style being preferred, and
ail elaborations of fastening and trouble-
some adjustments are avoided. A pocket
is a ueeessity, but it is difficult to put it
anywhere except in the back seam and
yet keep it out of evidence. Where there
are no plaits at all ie the hack of the
skirt it cannot be kept out of sight even
there. In such a ease it is best to trim
the two sides of the front and conceal
the opening of the pocket under the trim.
ming. The skirt should be short, so that
it need not be held up in the hand during
:yakking. The bodice which is most con-
venient is the jaeket or bolero, which
may .be open or closed, according to cir-
cumstances, It should be wore over a
neat shirt waist of percale or wash silk.
The cut shows a gown of flax bine lin.
en. The upper part of the skirt is adorn-
ed with heavy white embroidered motifs,
and the bodice, which forms a slight
blouse in front, is similarly trimmed.
The upper part of the bodice Is cut away
in a fanciful torte to show the neck, and
the edge is finished with a plaiting of
white mousseline de sole. The half length
sleeves and the epaulets are finished in
the same way. Junko Crxottarr.
FASHION HINTS.
Items of Interest Concernins
Wardrobe.
Capes are still worn for the carriage,
for evening and as' traveling wraps, and
their utility will keep them in fashion
for a, long time yet, but the bolero or
short jacket is now preferred for general
use.
The fashionable wedding costume in-
cludes something beside the gown, veil
and accessories. The bride must have
special garments alt through, beginning
the
TAFFETA GOWN.
With underwear of fine ulnen trimmed
with real valenciennea lace. Then come
the short petticoat of white liberty silk,
the long petticoat of white moire or satin,
elaborately trimmed with lace, mousse-
line de sole and ribbon, and the corset of
white satin or
pal brach: silk. These
concealed decorations are quite as costly
as the gown Itself and are nt the finest`
quality and workmanship.
The bodice differing from the skirt is
still worn, both by girls and women. Cor''
sages are no longer made with a blouse
effect at the back, -the front only being
allowed to overhang : the belt. Bodices of
taffeta or of mousseline de sole over silk
are in as much favor as ever.
The cut shows a costume of poppy red
taffeta. The skirt is covered with an
application of yellow guipure and has a
tunic of plain taffeta with a "stitched
edge. The little coat is cut to match' and
has a stitched edge also and opens over
a plastron of the guipure ever taffeta.
The sleeves are plain, the epaulets being
out In onewith the bodice.' Fancy but-
tons decorate the Corsage, and there is a
neck frill of yellow chifipn. The hat of
yellow straw le 'trimmed with red poppies
tad red tuUe. AMU Oapr z sT.
THE BOY ON THE CAR. 4
to Wes Tsikative Reosnse P. Nade'S
Bought Tbat. Wheel.
If you are married and have a boy
who is old enough to ride a wheel and
there are any family secrets which yon
prefer keeping in the background, do.
not take the boy with you when out for
a street car ride.
This advice is founded on an incident
in one of the Boulevard horse cam—,:
beautiful things for a city like N.
York -labeled "Grant's Too b„"
"Pop, you know what yon promised
el, Dget it
tea—aboutht ta wheel. _. o� to-
morrer, pop?"
"I'll a g
Sab about
it. Looks; titers: L the
horselessa
Tile boy looked.
"Say, pop, that won't be in it whit
i>Sy wheel, will it?"
"I should say not. I am afraid it 3s
going to rain. I guess we had better go
back,"
"If I bad my new wheel, I'd i..y.
'Let 'er rain!' wouldn't you, ,pop?"
"It looks very much like a show's.
Guess we will take the next oar hack."
"Say, hop, I don't want no boy's
wheel. I want a man's wheel, and I
want adjustable hauallo bare, awl l
don't want the wheel tato low geared,
do I? What wheel are you going to get,
pop?"
This inquiry caused several, who
beard it to lock at the father of tiro boy,
ae if each would like to name the
wheel" but nobody did. The father Tenn-
ture'i to say:
"You don't want a man's wheel,,"
44 Yes, I do, pop,. You .know you.
promised rna it should be a man"s.
wheel. She wouldn't let you in till yon
promised, you know, pop,,:
"Look at that wheel, It is a new
make. I think :1 know that wan,"
"Yon know, :pop, you promised rni
to gat nae a bike suit like here, pop,
and the suit goes with the wheel, POP."
"Yes, my boy. Now we will get ofd
at the next corner,"
"What for? ilia said she boped to the
Lord elan wouldn't nee you again toddy.
Why net go and get the wheel now?"
441 am not ready today,'"
"You ain't? Are you going to boxy it
for cash or on the installment plan?"
"Cash, of course, Alwayspay cash,
my boy, and then you, won't owe any.
body."
what made yon tell urn to get
her bathing suit on monthly payments?"
The man tried to laugh. He did not
succeed so well as those who sat oppo-
site.
ppssite.
"Oh, I know, pop. You told ma to
stand off the gas man and the ice man,
so you could get ahead, That's bow
you're going to pay cash for my wheel.
Eh, pop?" i
"Seventy-ninth street!" by the con.
doctor.
"Thanks!" by the man who gob oil,
followed by a bay.—Now York Truth,
War Material.
"If I should be obliged to go," said
the Spanish general, "I will do what I
can to facilitate business for my ono-
oessor."
"And you want me to give him come
information?" asked the officer.
"Yea. Tell him there are a fountain
Pen and a book of synonyms in the up -1
per drawer at my desk."—Washington
Star.
Fencing.
Farmer Clovertop—Wot did that
there boy o' yours learn at college?
Farmer ,Hayrick—Well, be learned
Greek an Latin an football an fencin
an a lot o' things.
Farmer Clovertop—Fenoin, hey?
Waal, I don't see as how your fences
looks any better nor mine.--Philadel-j
phis Record.
It Hakes a Difference.
"Killed an umpire at the ball gams •
yesterday."
"The brutes!"
"He gave a rank decision against the
home club."
"Ah, served him right!"—Philadel-
phia North American,
In Suspense.
"The sloth," said the witty dean of
St. Paul's, "moves suspended, rests
suspended, sleeps suspended and, in
,fact, passes his life in suspense, like a'
young clergyman distantly related to a
bishop."—London Household Words.
Still Dose.
"The doctor put my husband on his
feet in a week," she exolaimed. "It
was no trouble at all. The bill he pre-
sented fairly lifted him out of bed. "--
Chicago Record.
The Professor's Fear.
She—I am afraid, professor, that his
voice will change.
Professor—Veil, I am afraid it won't.
•-Judy.
The Worst Pun Yet.
"Japan wants to be a sister to ns."
"I don't think we lacquer well enough
for that"—Cleveland Plain Dealer.
- He Forgot HinuelL
ahlre
de at
Broncho Bi11»—Great snakesl What's
the matter?
Sprocket Sarn—Fergot I 'wus on a
wheel an tried to put spura to the tire.
-New York journal.
l