Chapter XXV: The Unexpected (1)

The effect of Sigsbee’s declaration upon the rest of the listeners was dynamic. Every eye swung around and rested upon Nash’s white face.

“What have you to say, Mr. Nash?” the president questioned, first to find his voice.

“I have nothing to say,” replied Nash.

“But I have!” a clear, commanding voice arose.

Nash lifted his eyes. Miss Trask, who had so abruptly interrupted, was upon her feet. She looked at the president, who appeared to be as much surprised as the others.

“May I explain?” she asked.

The president nodded. Sigsbee brought himself erect in his chair, a frown chiseled between his brows.

“Why, surely, Miss Breen,” he said anxiously, “this affair cannot interest you.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Sigsbee, it is of vital interest to me,” she answered swiftly. “The man whom you have accused Mr. Nash of murdering was my brother!”

Sigsbee could only sit and gasp; the others about the long table leaned forward in their chairs. So abrupt and startling was the announcement that in the hush which followed one might have heard the dropping of a pin.

“Your brother?” It was the president who first regained his voice.

“Yes,” said Miss Trask.

“And this man”--indicating Nash--“this man killed him?”

“That is what Mr. Sigsbee would have us believe,” the girl answered quietly.

“But we have it from his own lips,” broke in Hooker, who, up to the present, had remained dumb. “Nash told me himself that----”

“I know,” Miss Trask nodded. “I, too, have heard it from his own lips. He told me last night--just before the detectives arrived from Los Angeles.”

“And he knew, at the time, that you intended arresting him?” asked the president.

“Yes.”

“Then why----”

“Why am I defending him??” Miss Trask interrupted. “Because there has been a mistake--a horrible mistake. Mr. Nash is as innocent of the crime as any one in the room.”

Nash caught at his breath, staring dumbly, wonderingly, into her face. What motive, he asked himself, had prompted Miss Trask to change so abruptly?

“Until this morning--an hour ago,” Miss Trask continued, “I believed his confession. Then I received a wire from New York saying that one of the aqueduct engineers, dying, has confessed to the murder. I did not understand at first, but after a time it became clear to me. Mr. Nash had a quarrel with my brother; a gun was fired somehow. The shot cut across my brother’s cheek. I distinctly remember, because he was brought home, and remained there for a week. Two weeks later he was engaged in another fight--and this one proved fatal. Mr. Nash believed all the time--as I did at first--that he was responsible; that it was in his quarrel my brother had met his death. My brother was quick-tempered, and he provoked the fight. I want Mr. Nash to be freed of all blame.”

Nash listened as a man in a dream, and finally, when Miss Trask had finished, and had smiled upon him, he spoke:

“The fight took place in a café,” he said, bringing back the vivid picture. “It was a harmless one at first. We began sparring; he dropped to the floor. Then he jerked out a gun--I was unarmed. But suddenly a shot rang out behind me, your brother cried out, and when I looked down his face was bathed in crimson. Somebody grabbed me, forced me out of the room. They told me my opponent was dying, and that I must run for it. Explanations were useless.” Nash stopped, and looked around at the circle of interested faces.

“That--that is all,” he said, “except that I packed my things that night and took the first train for California.”

With the exception of Sigsbee and Hooker, the others in the room were visibly impressed. Sigsbee, instantly aware that the issue at hand was being forgotten, got to his feet.

“A very remarkable little romance,” he sneered. “Very remarkable, indeed! But I’m afraid we are wandering from the subject. While Miss Breen has apparently proven that Mr. Nash did not murder her brother, the fact remains that he was a trouble-maker, and----”

“Just a moment, Mr. Sigsbee,” interrupted Miss Trask. “Whatever Mr. Nash did in the past is of no concern at the present time. May I have permission to speak at length?” She looked over at the president, who, understanding, nodded.

“Since I became engaged upon this case, gentlemen,” she continued, “I have had the opportunity of learning a few unexpected truths. Convinced, as I was at first, of Mr. Nash’s disloyalty, I was amazed at his manner toward me and the men under him, and his enthusiasm for his work. It was only after a severe struggle with myself, and after I had found what I concluded was the final proof of his unfaithfulness, that I took up the matter with the board of engineers.”

“Do we understand that you retract the evidence you have only just offered?” demanded the president.

“Certainly not, Mr. President,” she answered. “Every word I have said in the matter of the siphons is true. Even Mr. Nash agrees with me.”

Nash nodded. “I have denied nothing,” he said. “Miss Breen’s statements are perfectly correct.”

In a puzzled way he waited for her to continue.

“Several days ago Mr. Nash saved my life,” the girl resumed. “It was then, half crazed by what I had gone through, that I confessed everything to him. I told him who I was, and what I had done.”

“That was before his arrest?” leaped to Sigsbee’s lips.

“Yes, before his arrest.”

Sigsbee shrugged. “It’s a wonder, carried away by your feelings for this man, that you didn’t urge him to escape,” he said.

“That is exactly what I did do, Mr. Sigsbee.”

The politician stared. “You--you tried to----”

“I told him the truth, and urged him to get away before he was arrested. Not only then did I plead with him, but I went into camp an hour before his arrest and begged him to leave.”

“What prevented him from doing so?” asked the president.

Miss Breen smiled. “His innocence, gentlemen. Why, do you think, being guilty of this crime, he would have remained in camp? It was because he was innocent that he remained.”

“Do you mean to say, Miss Breen,” the president asked, “that you believe Mr. Nash was ignorant of the offense for which----”

“I do!”

“But you have already testified----“ began Sigsbee.

“I testified to the facts exactly as they were, exactly as I found them; exactly, gentlemen, as Mr. Nash admits they were. He does not deny that his steel was different from the specifications. What he does deny is that he was given those specifications there on the table.”

“If he was given other specifications, which he claims to have followed,” Sigsbee declared, “why does he not show them? What we want at this inquiry is proofs, not words.”

Miss Breen allowed her eyes to rest upon the insolent, flushed face of the speaker. “‘Why doesn’t he show the proofs?’ you ask,” she replied calmly. “Because you took particular pains to put them out of his reach, Mr. Sigsbee.”

“Look here!” Sigsbee exclaimed, forgetting, or indifferent to the fact, that he was addressing a woman. “I won’t stand for any such insinuations!”

“You’ll stand for some things you don’t expect,” the girl answered swiftly, not in the least ruffled by the man’s declaration. “You laid your plans very carefully, Mr. Sigsbee; you imagined them to be perfect. Most criminals do. It is the unexpected that steps in and clogs the smoothest running gear.”

“I--I demand----“ spluttered the politician.

“Very well,” announced the girl, apparently enjoying the situation, which to all others in the room, Nash included, was more than mystifying. “I’ll satisfy you.”

She looked around at the circle of interested engineers. Nash found her eyes, and held them. Something mirrored in their depths sent his pulses racing.

“Last night, after leaving Mr. Nash in charge of the detectives,” she resumed, “I rode back to the ranch. Arrived there, I found Mr. Hooker, who, as he has previously explained, was preparing to stop overnight. When I discovered him he was flat on his back under the machine, coat off, sleeves rolled up, his hands covered with grease and dirt. At his suggestion, I volunteered to hold the lantern, and later he asked me to carry his coat into the house. I did so. As I picked up the garment from the ground, some papers dropped out. I was on the point of returning them when----”

Hooker, with a loud cry, suddenly leaped to his feet, flung aside the chair in which he had been sitting, and which blocked his way, and bolted for the door.

“Don’t let him get away!” Miss Breen cried.

Instantly several of the men sprang into action, and two of them caught Hooker as he was about to disappear. They brought him back to the table, and forced him into a chair, where he sat huddled, white-lipped and trembling.

“I’m sorry Mr. Hooker spoiled my climax,” Miss Breen said, smiling. “Evidently he has just searched his pockets, and discovered the false specifications which he took from Mr. Nash’s cabin yesterday afternoon are missing. However,” she added, opening a little hand bag which she carried, “they are not lost. Here, gentlemen, are Mr. Nash’s proofs.”

A bomb, thrown through the window, would not have caused greater confusion. The false specifications were hurriedly examined by all the men. Nash’s writing and figures on the margins were instantly identified.

Sigsbee, stunned by the unexpected twist in his carefully laid plot, sat as one stricken dumb.

“What have you to say, Mr. Hooker?” asked the president, after the excitement had subsided.

Hooker seemed to realize his hopeless position. His actions had proven his guilt. “Camp Forty-seven was rotten with graft,” he said reluctantly, dully. “Sigsbee and I had to throw the blame on some one’s shoulders--so we picked Nash. That’s all.”

The president of the board walked over to Nash. “I guess there’s a great big apology coming to you, Mr. Nash.” He gripped the engineer’s hand. “I feel we can depend upon you, and I hope you will continue to represent us in Camp Forty-seven.”

“I shall do my best,” Nash answered. “My motto has been, and always will be, ‘All for Los Angeles.’”

“That must be our motto as well,” responded the president. “And with this in view, we must be careful not to allow the faintest whisper of this meeting to reach the ears of the public. Los Angeles has always been free from graft and political deals. It must be kept so. The public must have the utmost confidence in the men who are constructing its wonderful aqueduct. I believe all the members present understand the delicate situation. And as for these two gentlemen”--he looked across to Sigsbee and Hooker--“we must see that they are sent away. We will withdraw all charges against them. To air this matter in court would be a detriment to our clean record of the past. And while these men deserve punishment, severe punishment, we must consider, above all else, the welfare of our city. Therefore, I move that these men be placed in the custody of a detective and taken East.”

The suggestion of the president was unanimously upheld by the board of engineers.

Following the verdict, Nash slipped away and found Miss Trask.

“If it hadn’t been for you,” he murmured, pressing her hand, “I might----”

“If it hadn’t been for you,” she interrupted, “that night at the coyote I might have----”

The remembrance of that night, and the one particular incident, rushed to Nash’s mind.

“And why--why did you lie to me about the time?” he asked. “Why did you wish to remain with me when you knew that the explosion was to----”

She looked away, and the color trembled in her cheeks.

“C-can’t you guess?” she faltered.

Nash had arrived at a solution a long time previous to this moment, but it seemed too good to be true. Now he knew it was true.

“Let’s go over to the Alexandria for lunch,” he suggested. “I can talk better there.”

And, once in that big, cosmopolitan hotel, and in a secluded corner of the grillroom, Elliot Nash amazed the stolid-faced waiter by his order. And what he said later to the girl who shared the feast was meant only for her ears.

THE END.

AN IMPORTANT EXCEPTION.

An old man who entered the meteorological office, the other day, said:

“This ’ere’s where you give out weather predictions, ain’t it?”

The clerk nodded.

“Well,” continued the old man, “I thought as how I could come up and give you some tips.”

“Yes,” said the clerk politely.

“Yes; I’ve thought it out a little, an’ I find that ye ain’t al’ays right.”

“No; we sometimes make mistakes.”

“Course ye do. We all does, some time. Now, I was thinkin’ as how a line that used to be on the auction handbills down in our county might do first-rate on your weather predictions an’ save ye a lot of explainin’.”

“What was the line?”

“Wind an’ weather permittin’.”

He went off without waiting to say good-by.

Saving the Building and Loan Money.

By E. E. YOUMANS.

“Paul, I want you to go down to the Building and Loan with this money to-night,” said Mrs. Brown, as she came into the room where her son was seated, reading a book. “I’d go myself, but I expect Mrs. Carson here to see me, and must be on hand when she comes. I guess you can attend to it all right enough, don’t you think so?”

“Sure,” said the youth, laying aside his book; “I’ll start at once.”

He secured his hat, and prepared to leave.

“Look out you don’t lose the money,” cautioned his mother. “There are some fifty dollars in the roll.”

“No fear,” answered Paul; and a moment later he was on his way down the road.

The place where the Building and Loan Association met was at a small village, some two miles from Mrs. Brown’s farm, and it was necessary for Paul to pass through a lonely woods on the way.

This he did not mind, however, for he was used to the road, and had often gone through the woods at night. It was just turning dusk when he left the house, but before he reached the forest, darkness had fallen in full.

The moon did not rise till late, and he could not see far ahead when he passed in under the trees. But he pressed on, the money tucked safely away in the inside of his vest, and had just reached the end of the woods, when the sudden glimmer of a light in the edge of the trees attracted his attention.

“Why, that’s near the old cave,” muttered the boy, stopping and looking toward the gleam. “Wonder what it means?”

He was about passing on, when the impulse to go forward and investigate seized upon him, and he turned toward the cave.

“It won’t take but a minute,” he told himself. “I’ll just sneak up near enough to see who’s prowling around. It may be some of the boys, though it’s been a long time since any of us have been down this way.”

He climbed over the fence, and stole toward the light. It was still shining, but before he got halfway to it, it suddenly went out.

He kept on, however, and soon reached the vicinity of the cave. This was situated in a small and rocky ravine, and had been formed by several large bowlders rolling down from the sides of the gorge, and lodging in such a manner as to leave a considerable cavity underneath.

Paul and his friends had for a long time used this place as a sort of rendezvous in some of their sports. But they had lost interest in it, and had not been there for some time.

In a few minutes he was near enough to the cave to hear the sound of strange voices.

“That’s none of the fellows,” he muttered, beginning to feel a little uneasy. “But who can it be?”

He paused for a moment in uncertainty. Then his curiosity urged him on again, and he soon gained a position behind one of the bowlders that formed a side of the cave.

Here he crouched down, and listened. In a little while the party within began talking again.

“There’s no doubt about it. He’ll have all the money with him, and, if we’re smart, we’ll make a clean haul of three or four thousand dollars.”

“All the same, it’s blamed risky,” said another voice.

“Well, what of it? I reckon we’re smart enough to make our escape. We’ll just stay here till twelve or one o’clock, then we’ll make tracks for Bolton’s house. Take my word for it, bub, he’ll never put that money in the bank to-morrow.”

Paul almost betrayed his proximity by the start he gave as these words reached his ears. Mr. Bolton was the treasurer of the Building and Loan Association into which he was going to pay the fifty dollars that night, and these two men were concocting a scheme to rob him at his home.

The youth soon decided what to do. He must hurry away at once, and tell the treasurer what he had discovered.

“It’s the greatest piece of rascality I ever heard of,” thought Paul, as he cautiously rose to his feet and turned away.

But he was not destined to escape. He stepped upon a small stone which slid out from under his foot with a sharp noise, and nearly threw him down.

“What’s that?” cried one of the men, and the next second both were heard starting from the cave.

Paul did not wait. Knowing he was sure to be caught, he broke into a run.

The next moment the men saw him, and started in pursuit with a shout of rage.

“Stop, you young eavesdropper,” cried the foremost ruffian; “stop, I say, or I’ll shoot you.”

Paul paid no attention. He dashed back toward the road, expecting to have a bullet sent after him each moment, but for some reason it did not come.

Straining every muscle, he soon came near the fence, and at the same moment he heard the pursuers close behind him. He had no time to climb the fence, and gathered himself for a spring.

When he reached it, he placed his hand on the top rail, and made a tremendous leap. He would have cleared it all right, but the rail gave way under him, and he fell headlong into the grass on the roadside.

He sprang up, but it was too late. A heavy hand was laid on his collar, and he was jerked violently around.

“Now I’ve got you,” said a rough voice. “I’ve a good mind to break your head.”

“Let me go!” panted Paul.

“I’ll let you go, confound you,” roared his captor, shaking him savagely. “Who are you?”

“None of your business,” said Paul fearlessly. “If you don’t let me go, it’ll be worse for you.”

“Careful with that tongue of yours. Just come along back here.”

With a quick move the youth struck the man a stinging blow in the face. The ruffian uttered a howl, and put up his hand. Paul broke loose, and dashed away.

“Stop him, Dick,” cried the fellow he had hit. “Shoot him down; don’t let him escape.”

Paul was running for all he was worth. Dick promptly gave chase. He was a good runner, and, despite the boy’s desperate exertion, rapidly overhauled him.

When he got near enough he struck at the boy with his fist, and once more Paul sprawled into the road. He was partially stunned, and, before he could recover, both men were upon him.

“Let me smash him,” cried the one savagely. “He nearly broke my nose. Just let me get at him.”

“Oh, what’s the use!” said the other. “We’ve no time to fool with him. Give me your handkerchief.”

The man did so, and in a few minutes Paul’s hands were secured behind him, he was lifted between them, and carried back to the cave.

Here he was laid down, and Dick began searching him.

“We may as well take whatever you’ve got of value,” he said. “We deserve something for that blasted run you gave us.”

Paul’s heart sank. His mother’s hard-earned fifty dollars would be stolen.

The man soon found the book and the bills, and chuckled as he saw the money. Then, by the light of the lantern which he had relighted, he examined the book, and uttered a low whistle.

“Well, I’ll be hanged, Joe,” he cried, “if here isn’t one o’ the Buildin’ and Loan books; fifty dollars along with it, too, by the great thunder! Well, youngster, we’d only get this money anyhow, so we’ll take it now. Wish we could get all that’ll be paid in to-night as easy as we get this.”

He put the bills into his pocket, after which Paul was thrown into the cave. A large stone lying near was rolled against the entrance, and Paul’s capture was complete.

Hour after hour passed till the boy knew it must be after midnight. Then the men prepared to leave.

“I reckon you’ll be comfortable there for some time, bub,” said one, as they moved away. “You can thank your lucky stars that we didn’t kill you.”

The next moment they were gone. Paul tugged at the bandage confining his wrists.

“I must get away and warn Mr. Bolton,” he reflected excitedly. “They may kill him.”

But the handkerchief was well tied, and he could not weaken it.

“What shall I do?” he cried desperately. “I must get away.”

Then an idea flashed into his mind. He rolled over, with his back against the rock, and, despite the pain, began rubbing the handkerchief against it.

His hands were soon bruised and bleeding, but he kept on, until finally the linen was worn through, and dropped off.

He groped his way to the entrance, and tried to move the rock. He could not budge it. He sank back again with a groan of dismay.

“Too bad,” was his despairing cry. “I can’t get out, after all. The men must be almost there now. If----”

He thrust his hand into his pocket, and uttered a low cry. They had not robbed him of his jackknife, and he soon had it out, digging away the dirt for life.

How the boy worked! In half an hour he had dug a large cavity under one side of the stone, and a hard push sent it over so that he managed to squeeze through on the other side, and crawl from the cave.

Then off he started across fields for the house of Gilbert, the town marshal. He had to cross a brook, but he did not lose time. He waded through, and, with the water dripping from his garments, reached the marshal’s house ten minutes later.

As soon as possible that individual was aroused, and Paul told his story.

“Hurry,” he concluded. “You may be too late.”

In less than five minutes they were hurrying toward the treasurer’s home. The marshal had two revolvers, one of which he handed to Paul.

“Don’t be afraid to use it,” he said, and a few minutes after they came in sight of Mr. Bolton’s house.

They looked cautiously around as they approached, but all was silent. Evidently the thieves had not arrived yet.

When they reached the house, the marshal rang the bell long and hard. A moment later an upper window was raised, and Mr. Bolton called out:

“Who’s there?”

“It’s I, Gus,” said the marshal, stepping back and looking up. “Come down, quick as you can, and open the door.”

Mr. Bolton knew the officer, and lost no time in admitting him.

“What is up?” he asked, when they were all inside.

The officer explained:

“They’ll be here soon,” he concluded. “We must be ready for ’em.”

Hasty preparations were made. Believing that the thieves were acquainted with Mr. Bolton’s house, the officer concluded they would force an entrance into the room where the treasurer kept his safe, and to this apartment they all repaired.

A large, high-backed sofa was drawn up under the gas jet, the gas was lighted and turned down low, and the three watchers crouched down behind the safe.

“We’ll wait till they get in the room,” said the officer; “then I’ll give you a nudge, Paul, and you must turn on the gas in full. Bolton and I will cover ’em with our revolvers, and if they don’t surrender, we’ll let ’em have it.”

Paul was much excited. But he tried to remember what the marshal had told him, and held himself in readiness to turn on the gas when the signal was given.

Suddenly a slight noise was heard near the window.

“Hist!” said the officer. “There they are!”

Two or three peculiar scratches were heard, then the sash was carefully raised. In a moment the men climbed through the window and stood out on the floor.

The marshal nudged Paul. A broad glare of light flooded the room, and at the same moment Marshal Gilbert cried sternly:

“Surrender, or we’ll shoot you down!”

Startled into confusion by the sudden illumination of the room and the ominous command, the two robbers became panic-stricken, and made a dash for the window.

But the officer and Bolton were too quick for them. Their revolvers cracked simultaneously, and both men went down, badly wounded. After this their capture was easy, and they were soon disarmed and secured.

They were taken to jail, where their wounds were dressed, and when they finally recovered were sent to prison.

Paul, of course, recovered his money, but the members of the Building and Loan Association were so grateful for the valuable service he had rendered them that they clubbed together and paid up his mother’s book for several months to come.

THE PLUMAGE HUNTER.

Not very long ago the writer accompanied a gold-mining expedition into the tropical forests of Guiana, and stumbled across an English traveler who was collecting birds for a London and Parisian firm of merchants. He was settled in a village of Acawois Indians, far from any of the haunts of the white man. Every male Indian of the village was in his service, and at the conclusion of each week they received pay, according to results, in cheap knives, powder, hatchets, cooking utensils, et cetera; pay day being usually celebrated by a feast, in which all the men got fearfully intoxicated on a filthy compound called paiwarri.

We started out every morning immediately after breakfast. The Indians were armed with bows and arrows and blowpipes. The collector divided them into sections, and sent them off into the bush, himself accompanying one group, but without doing any shooting. I fastened on to a man and a boy, and kept close in their wake all day. With the skill of a denizen of the woods, my man did not walk a step without rousing a feathered creature of some sort. Sometimes a large bird--a toucan or a macaw--would flap clumsily out of a bush, and the twang of the bowstring would announce its death. Small birds fluttered across our path constantly, and these were promptly brought down with the pipe. Now and then a flight of a score or two would suddenly settle all over in the branches about our heads, and on these occasions the Indian managed to kill a dozen or so before they appeared to realize their danger. It was kill, kill, kill, without a moment’s pause. As the birds fell, the boy secured the bodies and dropped them into a long wicker basket, which was strapped across his forehead and hung down his back.

On our return to the village the men were coming in and emptying their baskets onto a long table in the middle of the Englishman’s hut. Many of the birds were of the most brilliant plumage; but there were hundreds of birds, not boasting any brightness of color, that were of no use. The slaughter, in fact, is much greater in regard to the birds that are not wanted than those which reach the English market. The collector, stripped to the shirt, and with his sleeves rolled up, set to work at once, going through the game. He handled every bird, dropping those pretty enough for a bonnet or valuable enough for a collection into one heap, and the useless ones into another. Not more than one bird in ten was retained; the rest had been slaughtered uselessly. When I reproached my friend with this wanton waste of feathered life, he replied that he could not attempt to kill the birds himself, and it was impossible to get Indians to discriminate between valuable and worthless specimens.

JOKES FROM JERROLD.

Douglas Jerrold, once the keenest of wits, a remarkable combination of Thackeray and Hood, is now almost forgotten. It is a pity. His jests were singularly ripe and racy. He had no mercy on the sentimentalists.

“I love nature,” said one of these dawdles to him one day. “I often take a book, retire into some unfrequented field, lie down, gaze on the heavens, then study. If there are any animals in the field, so much the better. The cow approaches, and looks down upon me; and I--I look up to her.”

“Exactly,” said Jerrold, “you look up to her with a filial smile!”

A delightful way of telling him he was a calf.

Another sentimentalist got a beautiful settler in this way: Walking in the country, Jerrold and a small party of friends stopped to notice the antics of a small donkey in a field. A gushing poet in the party said:

“Dear little thing; how I should like to buy it and give it to my mother!”

“Do,” said Jerrold--“do, and tie this sweet motto round its neck: ‘When this you see, remember me.’”

He had little mercy for pretentious prigs, who always abound in “literary circles.” A young author had written on the same subject as Lamartine, and bragged of it.

“Ah,” said he, “Lamartine and I row in the same boat.”

“Yes,” said Jerrold, “but not with the same skulls.”

Another of these gentry, praising one of his own plays, said to Jerrold:

“Do you remember the baroness in that play?”

“Oh, yes,” said Jerrold. “I never read anything of yours without being struck with its barrenness!”

At the same time he always had a friendly hand for a man who was too hard hit. A newspaper called the _Chronicle_, once attacked a young friend of his, savagely assailing his work. Jerrold took up the cudgels and wrote in his defense. He began by telling how, in some countries, the too luxuriant growth of the vine is prevented by sending asses in to crop the rising shoots. Then he gravely added:

“Even so young authors require pruning; and how thankful we all ought to be that the _Chronicle_ keeps an ass!”

Walking one day in the Haymarket, then a rather disreputable promenade, some one met him, and thus accosted him:

“What, Jerrold, you here? Looking about for characters, I suppose.”

“Yes,” said Jerrold quietly; “I am told a good many are lost about here.”

* * * * *

THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS.

Michigan on Gridiron.

Six of the eight games which will make up the University of Michigan’s 1915 football schedule were announced recently by the board in control of the athletics. The midweek games have not yet been decided upon.

The schedule follows:

October 9, Mount Union; October 16, Case; October 23, Michigan Agricultural College; October 30, Syracuse; November 6, Cornell; November 13, Pennsylvania at Philadelphia.

With the exception of the Pennsylvania game on Franklin Field, Michigan will fight all her battles on the home gridiron next fall.

Hen and High-bred Chickens.

A hen of high-flying propensities advertised her character when a barred Plymouth Rock, the property of Mr. Gushee, of Hastings, N. Y., announced from a cedar tree on the Longue Vue estate, that she had a remarkable secret to impart.

Those who answered the frenzied squawks for aid found with her a brood of thirteen chicks. M. C. Cronin, who superintends the poultry stock at Longue Vue, removed the flock from the tree crotch, which was twenty feet from the ground, and installed the family in a comfortable house. The hen had been missing for days, but no one thought to look for her at such a height. Now they are trying to decide whether the birds are cedar birds or plain chickens.

Destroying Odor of Smoke.

A new invention is a lamp which consumes smoke. It resembles an ordinary alcohol lamp in appearance. At the tip of its burner is a piece of platinum. When the platinum is made to glow by the alcohol flame arising from the burner it gives off formaldehyde in great quantities. This overcomes the smoke or any other impurity in the atmosphere. When the lamp is lighted in a room where smoking is in progress it prevents the accumulation of stale smoke. It can also be used as a disinfector.

Ex-slave Ill at 102.

Mrs. Minerva Gillies, whose father, Richard Washington, was George Washington’s slave, was taken to the Harlem Hospital, in New York recently, suffering from ailments that come with old age. She is 102 years old, and lived with her daughter at 58 West 133d Street.

Richard Washington was a stableboy at Mount Vernon. After the death of George Washington, he was sold and went to Petersburg, Va. There Minerva was born. She remained in slavery until the end of the Civil War, when she came North.

From Gate to President.

At a meeting of the directors of Yale & Towne, of Stamford, Conn., the largest hardware manufacturing concern in the country, if not in the world, Walter C. Allen, who twenty-three years ago applied for a job at the gate of the works, was elected president in the place of Henry R. Towne, who retires after forty-six years in that position.

Mr. Towne was made chairman of the board of directors.

Death Takes Four of Family.

For the first time in the history of Loganville, Ga., according to the older inhabitants, four deaths occurred in one family within four days. Edgar Rickets, who lives about four miles west of the place, experienced this affliction recently.

On a Monday he attended the funeral of his mother. That night his baby died, and the next day his wife and little boy, about two years old, also died, all being victims of pneumonia fever. The three bodies were buried Wednesday in a local cemetery. This is the first time that a triple funeral has ever occurred from one family in this section.

Dog Rescues an Old Soldier.

Wanderer, a smart collie, is being showered with attention as a hero in Woodside, Md., for saving from death Charles McCallion, an aged veteran of the Civil War. “Wan,” as the dog is commonly known, is owned by Edson B. Olds, treasurer of the Union Trust Company.

Mr. Olds’ attention was attracted to the continuous barking and peculiar antics of the dog on Sunday morning. Wan would dash up to the house and bark for a few minutes, then run to a field near by and bark again.

When Mr. Olds followed Wan on one of the trips, he found McCallion lying in the middle of the field, unconscious from the cold. A physician was summoned, and the aged veteran was taken to the Soldiers’ Hospital. He will recover.

Ding Dong! Go Bells for Wong Chungs.

Mr. Wong Chung, late of China, whose head is said to be worth $10,000 to certain bloodthirsty officials of his native land, and Mrs. Chung Fong, more recently of the Celestial republic, who has traveled 10,000 miles to wed the political refugee with the precious cranium, were married in New York recently at the First Chinese Presbyterian Church by the Reverend Huie Kin.

The flavor of romance which one might expect from the above was absent at the ceremony. Mr. Chung is tall and thin, with the face of a student. He was attired in the official gala dress of the new republic, which consists of gray trousers, Prince Albert, high collar, and ascot tie. His bride, who is a slim, elderly lady, with gold-rimmed spectacles, wore a native Chinese costume of white silk, with a loose tunic effect and a short white veil. She bought this just before she set out in search of the prospective husband, whom she had not seen in ten years.

Many of the elite of the Chinese colony, which is not to be confused with Chinatown, witnessed the ceremony. Miss Fun Hin Liu, a Wellesley graduate, was the bridesmaid, and Mr. Lo Lam, a student from Columbia, was best man. After the ceremony, which was the simple Presbyterian ritual, delivered in English by the pastor of the church, Professor Ou, of the Canton Chinese College, made singing noises while the newly married pair had their pictures taken.

Mrs. Fong met her husband ten years ago while he was serving as dean of the Canton Christian College. Since then the two have kept up a correspondence, which grew so ardent on his side that it finally lured Mrs. Fong across the Pacific and to Chicago, where her husband-to-be met her and brought her to New York.

Starved, Fight for Food.

Owing to the extended shutdown of the mines in Venetia, a small mining town in Washington County, Pa., 480 persons, including many women and children, are slowly starving to death. This message was received in a letter sent to a local newspaper. Barks and herbs are the only food that the starving people can obtain, and the pangs of hunger have so affected many that they fight one another for the bark and herbs that can be found in the fields and woods.

New Flag for Marshall.

Vice President Marshall is the first vice president of the United States to have a naval flag all his own. The necessity for the creation of such an ensign was brought about by the intended visit of Mr. Marshall, as the president’s representative to the Panama-Pacific Exposition at San Francisco.

When the vice president determined to go, and arrangements for his reception were in progress, the navy department found that, while the president and the secretary and assistant secretary of the navy each had a flag, the vice president had none. The duty of providing a vice president’s flag proved simple. The new banner will be the reverse of the president’s flag in the color distribution. It will be of white, with the arms of the United States--a spread eagle bearing on its breast a shield of stars and stripes. The eagle will be of blue and the shield in red, white, and blue.

J. B. Brady Aids Woman.

James B. Brady, noted as “Diamond Jim,” while sitting as a member of the New York grand jury, was so touched by the story of one of the witnesses that he suggested taking up a collection for her. Just to start things off, he tossed a brand-new one-hundred-dollar bill on the stenographer’s table, and when the other jurors had added their contributions, there was $130 in the purse.

Mrs. Marka Buila, of 1324 First Avenue, was the woman whose plight touched Mr. Brady’s heart. She told the jury that she had been robbed of all her money, jewelry, and clothing, and when she was summoned to testify last Monday, had to walk to the Criminal Courts Building from her home in Harlem.

The man against whom the woman was testifying was indicted.

Army of Institutions.

Charitable, civic, and religious organizations exceeding 3,800 are working for the betterment of people and things in New York City, according to the directory issued by the Charity Organization Society.

There are 1,800 churches. Social centers and settlements, 150 in Manhattan and forty-one in the other boroughs, lead the remainder of the list, which includes hospitals, kindergartens, homes, nurseries, and missionary societies. Included in the directory are the names of twelve war-relief bodies. About 6,000 persons are associated with charitable agencies.

Anarchist Plot Revealed.

One of the exhibits at the next county fair in Metuchen, N. J., will be a prize Jersey anarchist, guaranteed to give results any place at any time.

A farm where anarchists will be reared in proper anarchistic atmosphere was purchased recently by a man who said he was Harry Kelly, chairman of the Ferrer Settlement, of New York City. He bought the sixty-nine-acre farm of Walter Rush, in Raritan Township, where, he declared, the headquarters of the Ferrer School will be established about May 1st.

“Our main object,” he said, “in establishing the colony is to produce genuine anarchists, and we must rear our children in a thoroughly anarchistic atmosphere.”

The plot will be cut up into building lots. To each anarchist will be given one plot, upon which he is expected to sow the seeds of anarchy, tomatoes, and turnips. Kelly says the settlement will be the anarchist headquarters in the East.

This town is all excited. It remembers with painful distinctness what happened four years ago, when the socialists established a colony near the site of the contemplated anarchist farm. Professor George D. Herron and Eugene V. Debs took the leading part in the formation of the socialist pasture ground.

Nobody took more than the usual curious interest in the project until the announcement seeped into this town that Herron was going to bring Miss Carrie Rand to live with him “according to the new and simple form of marriage ceremony.”

Metuchen isn’t exactly puritan, but when that news reached it, every Metuchenite dug his Bible out of the attic and joined his neighbor in excited protest. Metuchen was willing to tolerate some things, but when it came to winking at free love, never!

So highly excited did the townsfolk become that Herron and his wife left for Florence, Italy, where they lived until her death a year ago. And even though the socialist farm was established, nothing that resembled free love ever made its appearance.

That’s why Metuchen sizzles with palpitating expectation and teems with a throbbing skepticism. It knows what the I. W. W. folk have done in Paterson, another Jersey town, and it has read what the anarchists in New York are reputed to have done.

Metuchen was able to repel the socialists when they would have set up a free-love colony in the neighborhood. But it is not so sure that it can stand off genuine anarchists.

Rowing Dates for Year.

In addition to the announcement on Saturday night that the championship meet of the National Association of Amateur Oarsmen would be held at Springfield, Mass., on August 13th and 14th, the following rowing dates were made public by the Amateur American Rowing Association:

May 22--American Rowing Association, at Philadelphia; May 31--New York Rowing Association, on the Harlem River, New York; June 19--Schuylkill Navy Regatta, at Philadelphia; July 3--Hudson River Rowing Association meet; July 5--People’s regatta, at Philadelphia; New England regatta, at Charles Basin, Boston; Western Massachusetts Rowing Association, at Springfield, Mass.; Rosedale Boat Club open regatta, on Hackensack River, New Jersey; September 6--Middle States Rowing Association, meet date not yet fixed; New England Rowing Association regatta, at Boston; Detroit River Rowing Association, at Detroit; September 9 to 15--Pacific Coast Association meet at Pan-American Fair, San Francisco; September 15--Detroit River Rowing Association, at Detroit.

Reduce World Armies Plan.

A movement to bring about a world-wide restriction of armies and navies by international agreement after the European War is ended is announced by the American League to Limit Armaments. The crusade is being organized through conferences and correspondence with leaders of public opinion in several foreign countries, it was stated.

“We are undertaking to solidify the movement and co-ordinate the efforts along this line while the war is still in progress, in order to make the strongest possible presentation of the issue at the earliest opportune moment,” says the league’s announcement. “We are not proposing methods to bring peace to Europe until Europe is ready to stop fighting of its own accord. We stand by what we hold to be the main proposition--that the reduction of all armaments to the least proportions consistent with the demands of normal tranquillity and the use of the money now going into destructive engines of war for the constructive agencies of peace is the true solution of the peace problem.”

To Sell a Pilgrim’s House.

The only remaining house in America which has sheltered persons who came to Plymouth on the _Mayflower_ in 1620 is to be sold at auction by order of the court.

The house was built in 1666 by a son of John Howland, the last _Mayflower_ survivor. In course of time the building fell into decay, but upon the organization in 1911 of the Society of the Descendants of Pilgrim John Howland of the ship _Mayflower_, the property was acquired and restored by that body.

Lieutenant Shares Meal with Private.

Some excitement was created in a Piccadilly grill at luncheon time when a private English “Tommy” walked in and sat down at a table with a young lieutenant. The private is the young officer’s father, and before the war held a high position in a London bank. His lunching with the officer caused some discussion, and some said it was too much democracy even for the English army.

After the meal the young officer said: “Should you refuse to let the governor buy you a lunch merely because he is a Tommy?”

Skipper of Six-master at Twenty-one.

Shortly after the _E. R. Sterling_, the only six-masted barkentine in the world, arrived in San Francisco, Cal., from Nanaimo, B. C., laden with coal, she was boarded by Federal operatives, who made a thorough search of the hold for a high-power wireless apparatus which officials have been informed is destined to be transferred at sea to a foreign warship from some American vessel in the near future. No apparatus was found.

Captain Edward Sterling, junior, son of the owner of the _E. R. Sterling_, is only twenty-one years old, and is said to be the youngest skipper of a deep-water ship to possess a master’s license. The vessel requires a crew of only twelve men, as her sails are raised by donkey engines.

Canary Sings in Trenches.

A private of the English Second Rifle Brigade, writing to a friend at Sheffield, England, tells this story of a canary which he says sings and cheers his comrades through the smoke of battle:

“Our only companion--in the trenches--is a little canary we rescued from a deserted house, which had been almost shelled to atoms. On the cage was a ticket: ‘Please look after this little bird.’ It has made itself quite at home with us. When we leave the trenches, we hand it over to the next regiment. So you may guess it’s made quite a fuss of. Last time we went into the trenches our canary was almost black through the smoke from shell fire, but it seems as cheerful as ever. Really, it gets so black with smoke that it’s a job to distinguish it from a sparrow.”

Dickens is German Soldiers’ Favorite.

Dickens is the German soldiers’ favorite novelist. He stands first in a list of fifty authors prepared by the great publishing house of Reclam, of Leipzig, famous for its cheap reprints.

Of the total number of orders from the German troops at the front forty-eight per cent calls for fiction, nineteen per cent for serious reading, comprising philosophy, religion, and arts; seventeen per cent for poetry and drama, and sixteen per cent for light miscellaneous stuff, including humorous works.

The German soldier is catholic in his taste when it comes to fiction, for not only does he top his list with Dickens, but includes twenty-one other foreign novelists, among whom appear Bulwer, Defoe, Scott, Dumas, Daudet, Merimée, Prevost, and Victor Hugo.

Forests Fired by Sparks.

Of the 503 fires reported by the United States Forest Service as having occurred in 1914 in the national forest purchase areas in the White Mountains of New England and the Southern Appalachians, 319, or sixty per cent, were caused by sparks from locomotives. More than half of these fires, or 272, occurred in Virginia alone, and of these 227 were from locomotive sparks.

Three hundred and seventy-nine of the fires were confined to areas of less than ten acres each, and 296 were put out before a quarter of an acre had been burned. The total loss amounted to $2,192, and the cost of fire fighting to $1,300, an infinitesimal sum compared with the value of the timber and reproduction protected. As the areas swept by fire were mostly cut over, the greater part of the damage was suffered by young growth.

Expert Stump Blower Has Narrow Escape.

Jake Bodine, prominent tailor and stump blower of Kenton, Ohio, sat at his ease and smoked his pipe.

When it went out, he lighted it again. When it went out a second time, he decided he had had enough, and laid the pipe aside.

He had been blowing stumps with dynamite during the day, and had brought four large caps home in his pocket.

Reaching into his pocket in which he had put the caps, and in which he carried his smoking tobacco as well, he found three caps instead of four.

When he emptied the ashes from his pipe in search of the fourth cap, that fourth cap rattled out, badly scorched.

“It’s a good thing my pipe went out when it did,” he says. “If that cap had gone off, like as not it would have ruined one of the best stump blowers in Kenton.”

Killed Nineteen California Lions.

Nineteen California lions fell before the guns of the bounty hunters in February. Four were killed in Humboldt County; three in Siskiyou; three in Lake; two in Mendocino; two in Ventura, and one each in San Benito, Del Norte, Monterey, Tehama, and Tuolumne. The State paid twenty dollars to each successful hunter, and in addition to this the pelts brought as much more. Some counties also give a special bounty for lions’ scalps.

Officers Applaud New Box Wireless.

Under the direction of the secretary of war a new wireless apparatus, the invention of Doctor Otto F. Reinhold, of 77 Nye Avenue, Newark, N. J., was tested at Bedloe’s Island by First Lieutenant J. G. Taylor, of the Signal Corps, and M. B. Dilley, master signal electrician. The government men declared afterward that the apparatus gave promise of revolutionizing the entire system of wireless telegraphy.

The apparatus, inclosed in a box about fifteen inches long, six inches wide, and eight inches high, may be styled a secret radio plant, and is intended primarily for use in the army field. The astounding feature of it, according to Lieutenant Taylor, is that it was fully demonstrated that the little contrivance sends out its sound waves without antennæ.

The experiment enabled the government officials to communicate with Fort Totten, about fifteen miles away in one direction, and Fort Hancock, about twenty miles distant in another. The navy-yard wireless station called a halt on the tests as the inventor was about to try to reach Fort H. G. Wright, one hundred and twenty miles away, at New London, Conn.

Doctor Reinhold said his apparatus could be connected wherever direct or alternating current is available. He said it could be used on an automobile and operated while the machine was at top speed by using current supplied from the automobile dynamo.

The inventor claimed for his apparatus that in a recent test he sent a message three hundred miles.

Echoes of War in London Want Ads.

Want advertisements are always interesting because of the varied and intimate side lights which they give on what people are doing and thinking about. As war topics fill the news and editorial columns of the English newspapers, so is the war the all-absorbing subject in the classified department. Following are a few of the advertisements appearing in the London _Times_, sent to the _Blade_ by Mr. Boyce as showing how England is taking the war:

Dogs and cats of the empire!--The kaiser said: “Germany will fight to last dog and cat.” Will British dogs and cats give 6d. each to provide Y. M. C. A. soldiers’ hut at front? Any dog or cat sending five pounds can have his or her picture hung in “our” hut.--“Tom,” care of Miss Maud Field, Mortimer West, Berks.

Request from sailors and soldiers at the front to send large consignments of flint and tinder lighters; matches, when procurable, being unreliable in wet weather. Money to help purchase direct from makers solicited.--Address Haden Crawford, esquire, Marlow, Bucks.

Ninth Seaforth Highlanders.--Field glasses are required for the use of N. C. O.’s and scouts, and will be gratefully received and acknowledged by Captain Petty, Salamanca Barracks, Aldershot.

Playing Cards (used) urgently required for wounded soldiers.--Gratefully received by Miss Peck, Maidencombe, St. Mary Church, Devon.

Urgently needed, socks for the Eighth Irish Service Battalion, King’s Liverpool regiment, shortly leaving for the front.--Gratefully acknowledged by Miss Cox, The Priory, Royston, Herts.

Elizabeth Motor Ambulance.--Will every one named “Elizabeth” in Great Britain and Ireland send me contribution toward above--in connection with Lady Bushman’s Ambulance Fleet--and save our soldiers much unnecessary suffering?--Mrs. F. Ford, Rushmere, Wimbledon Common, S. W.