Chapter XXX: The Expiation (1)

Turning in the flood of light which suddenly burst on them, the surprised four saw Rezonoff and his accomplice, Pepernik, each with a flash light in one hand and a big revolver in the other. Catlike, the Russians had crept up the stairs, and had caught their quarry napping.

“Hands up, there!” Rezonoff snapped. “I don’t believe any of you are armed, but all the same, I am taking no chances. Pepernik, step over and search those men.”

The ceremony concluded to his satisfaction, he lowered his gun, and, stepping forward, swept the faces in front of him with a grin of malicious triumph.

“Rats in a trap, eh?” His tone was savage, pitiless. “Well, like rats you shall perish. The old man there was to have been my only victim; but since you all have--what is the American phrase? Ah, yes--‘butted in,’ you will all--even you, Otto--have to share his fate. I shall lock you all in up here, and then set fire to the house. Already there are inflammables in every room below, the nearest fire-alarm boxes are disconnected, and all surrounding telephone wires cut. The blaze will get a rare start, I assure you.”

Involuntarily, Schilder, Meredith, and her father recoiled before such fiendish malice. Only Grail held himself unmoved.

“Ah, captain?” The Russian turned to him. “You doubt me, eh? You don’t think I will do what I say? Well, I will show you. I go now to set the torch.”

“No; I don’t think so!” There was something in Grail’s quiet tone which held the other in spite of himself.

“I won’t, eh? Why not?”

“Because, despite the cleverness of the note you sent me to-night, I suspected it was a forgery, and left it with the telegraph operator at the fort, instructing him, in case it disappeared, to transmit without delay a dispatch I left with him at the same time.

“The dispatch,” he continued, “was to our secretary of state at Washington, giving a full account of your acts of the past three days, and asking him to communicate them to the Russian ambassador. So, Captain Rezonoff, inasmuch as you have already exceeded your instructions, and, as the agent of your government, been guilty of an outrage which must seriously embarrass the Russian foreign office, I do not think you will care to go to such extremes as you threaten.”

The emissary’s face paled. He knew what it meant to fail in such a mission as he had undertaken--to be recalled in disgrace.

“The Russian government,” Grail added pointedly, “will hardly countenance criminal acts on the part of one of its emissaries, done for purposes of private revenge. More than that, Rezonoff, you know that the affair in which Colonel Vedant was involved, many years ago, in Russia, affected his honor, and that he acquitted himself with honor. Your present attempts at a belated revenge are the acts of a vindictive and dishonorable man. It looks very bad for you!”

Captain Rezonoff took a step forward, and gazed at Grail anxiously. “Has that message been sent to Washington?” he asked chokingly.

“Many hours ago, I believe,” returned Grail quietly. “It has surely been sent if your forged letter disappeared, as you planned to have it, and if the----”

But there was no need for Grail to say more. There came to their ears a swish of silken skirts on the stairway, and Mrs. Schilder, in an elaborate dinner gown, but pale and agitated, burst in upon them.

She paid no heed to any of the others, but swiftly singling out her brother, thrust a telegram toward him.

He gave one glance at it, then, crumpling it in his hand, dropped it to the floor.

“What does it mean, Ivan?” the woman cried, clinging to him hysterically. “What does it mean?”

He put her away from him, nodding over his shoulder to Schilder to take her.

“Believe me, gentlemen”--he swept the group with a glance--“my sister had no idea of my full intentions. She thought it only ordinary secret-service work, and was chiefly concerned with fear that her husband would find out what she was doing. I deceived her as to my object. Russia has no use for failures! I know what my duty is!”

And, before any one could intervene, he moved briskly out of the attic and down the stairs.

“Quick!” cried Colonel Vedant. “The man will escape!”

Grail raised a restraining hand. “I don’t think he cares to get away,” he said quietly.

The look in the adjutant’s face held them all spellbound. Mrs. Schilder clung to her husband, her face as white as chalk. Pepernik, the conspirator, stood silent and nonplussed, making no effort to leave the room. Every eye was upon him when suddenly, from below, in one of the larger apartments, came the muffled report of a revolver.

Mrs. Schilder swooned, without a cry. Meredith Vedant gazed with fascination, silently, at the imperturbable countenance of the adjutant. The colonel and the adjutant, grim fighting men, turned cold, inquiring looks upon the white and trembling Pepernik. The man seemed to feel their question, and he raised his hands in a weak gesture of helplessness. “I--I have not the courage of Captain Rezonoff,” he muttered. “I surrender. Send for your police.”

Grail took the revolver which the man held out weakly, then turned and went downstairs to the telephone.

THE END.

AN ODD GHOST STORY.

“It is strange,” said my grandfather one winter’s evening, as we sat by the log fire, roasting chestnuts and watching the flames leaping and dancing in harmony with the music of the crackling of the fuel and the bursting of the nuts. “I was saying, Tom, that it was strange that the trivial incidents and events of one’s early life stand out so clearly through all the years that have slipped by, and seem as vivid and real as the things of yesterday.”

Then grandfather stopped and looked at the fire, evidently in deep thought, from which we children knew from past experience he would evolve some story which would call for all our interest and attention.

And so it proved, for, rousing himself suddenly, he hurried into a narrative at once strange and interesting.

“Yes,” he said, “ghost stories are, as a rule, capable of explanation. I know it for a fact. If only those who see the apparition were to exert a little presence of mind, it would be possible for them to solve what they precipitately put down as supernatural and mysterious.

“I remember when I was a young man that I received an urgent invitation from a very valued friend to spend a couple of weeks at his father’s house at Mobberley. Of course, I responded most willingly, the more so that I had never been to his place before, although I had heard much of it. We traveled by coaches in those days, and a journey from London to the north of Lincolnshire was no unconsidered trifle, I can assure you. However, in a few days I found myself speeding up the drive which led to the ancestral home of the Arden Howard family, and was, in truth, highly gratified at the hearty reception my friend and his people extended to me.

“There was no event of unusual interest for some days. Hunting, shooting, and skating parties were organized, and in a downright old-fashioned way we young people did justice to the entertainment so lavishly provided.

“But it so happened that one day during the first week of my stay, and some few days before Christmas, I met with a slight accident while on the ice, and a sprained ankle prevented me from further indulging in outside sports for the remainder of my stay. Nevertheless, I insisted that my inability to join them should in no way deter my companions from following their own sweet will. Thus it happened that one evening I was the sole occupant of the great hall, which was, in point of fact, the largest room in the whole house, and a most imposing apartment it was. The lofty ceiling was supported by massive beams of oak finely carved, and blackened by the smoke of centuries, while hanging round its walls were some of the most beautiful tapestries I have ever seen. At intervals were placed suits of armor, shields, swords, spears, and other warlike implements, which shone and glistened in the glow of the immense fire which burned in the open hearth.

“For a while I had occupied myself with a book, sitting far back in the chimney corner, in order to avoid, as much as possible, the drafts which seemed to steal upon one from all quarters; but as it grew dusk I threw it aside, and fell into a state of musing, which must have lasted some considerable time, since I found afterward that my pipe, which I had just filled, was empty when I roused myself. The immediate cause of my arousal is the point of my tale, which is most interesting and curious. I was, as I said, sitting far in the chimney recess--where the light of the fire, which made more or less visible the whole of the room, was unable to penetrate--and was speculating on the various objects of interest the place contained, when a door at the farther end of the room was cautiously opened, and a figure arrayed in a garment of white noiselessly entered and glided over the stone floor. It came straight across the apartment, and casting a furtive glance round, took from its place on the wall what in the distance seemed a long dagger, and in another moment it was gone--disappearing, it would seem, behind the tapestry hangings.

“You may judge I was somewhat startled at the apparition, yet being curious to see for myself what further would happen, I sat immovable for the period of--it may have been--fifteen minutes, when I was both shocked and horrified to see the figure return, with the same noiseless tread, clutching the dagger in its hand; while the drapery, the hand, and the dagger itself were now covered with stains of blood. Before replacing it, however, the figure wiped the blade upon its dress, and left thereon a most ghastly and appalling stain. Then, with a significant, almost noiseless laugh, it withdrew as it had come. If I was startled at first, you may judge that the ‘creepy’ sensation was not a little augmented by the second appearance, and I had come to no satisfactory solution of the matter, when my friend, returning, entered the hall, and burst into an excited account of his afternoon’s sport.

“That night I questioned the family as to the ghostly visitor, but found that the house was quite free from any such tradition, not even possessing, as most old country houses do, a haunted chamber; and the family were as much astonished at my vision as I was myself. They had never heard of any such apparition, and for some time stoutly held that I had fallen asleep and dreamed the whole thing. Finally it was agreed that on the following day Herbert and I should watch together, and accordingly, at the same hour next day, we stationed ourselves in the chimney recess to await events; but we waited in vain.

“Three days we watched thus, and for three days I endured the good-natured banter of the whole family; but on the fourth day--Christmas Eve--our patience was rewarded, for scarcely had we settled into comfortable shape, when the ghost walked. Never shall I forget my companion’s face as the door opened, disclosing the form swathed in white. Hitherto he had been skeptical, and was the most aggressive of my many tormentors; yet I can now see how his eyes became fixed and his ruddy face paled before the dimly outlined form, which, with many a sidelong, cautious glance, neared the spot it had visited when I first observed it. So still and deathlike was the silence, that the crackling of the log startled us, and I believe we both felt as though ‘our each particular hair’ was standing on end, as the white arm of the figure drew out the dagger from its sheath; it certainly is true we drew breath more easily when the door was once more closed. Still, we were determined to unravel the mystery, and so with tremulous steps we followed our unearthly visitant. Herbert was familiar with the passage along which we hurried, through a concealed door, into a large courtyard, from which the various outbuildings were entered.

“There was just light enough to enable us to discern the movements of the object we were tracking. Leaving the yard, it entered a building opposite our point of observation. Immediately there was a scuffling sound as of some one struggling, and, terrified and alarmed, we rushed across the yard. What a spectacle we beheld! Never shall I forget the sight which met our gaze. The figure in white was stooping over a living form, which emitted the most horrifying cries and sounds that ever fell on mortal ears. One hand was on the throat, and in the other was the uplifted weapon of destruction.

“As we looked we seemed to gain fresh courage, and rushed forward to prevent, if possible, the coming blow, but as we entered, the hand dropped, and the dagger entered the throat. Then, with one terrible shriek and an unavailing struggle, the eyes closed and the living, animate form became forever still. There, facing us, stood the form in white, with the dreadful instrument now dripping blood still in his hands. Yet neither of us moved until, with a strange gesture, it spoke thus: ‘Oh, Mr. Herbert, sir; please, sir; indeed, sir; I’m awful sorry, sir, that I used this, sir, but them other knives ain’t a bit sharp, an’ them ’ere suckin’ pigs wants to be dealt with quicklike. An’ please, sir, don’t tell master as ’ow I used this, or ’e’ll be after giving me notice to quit. An’ please, sir, indeed, Mr. Herbert, sir, I’ll never do it agen, sir.’

“The fact of the matter was, that the cook, having to provide sucking pigs for dinner, clandestinely purloined one of the sharpest instruments, in order to overcome, as speedily as possible, the obstacles which lay in the way of pig killing. His white blouse and apron in the dim, uncertain firelight, together with his strange and uncanny conduct, had deluded us into the belief that his appearance was of a supernatural character.

“This is my ghost story, and I venture to believe that the majority of those told would, if treated to a similar investigation, prove just as delusive.”

And my grandfather, having ended his tale, resumed once more his pipe, and sat laughingly enjoying our somewhat amusing criticism of his story of the cook’s ghost.

A KING WHO WANTED FRESH AIR.

Not long ago there was terrible excitement at the royal court of Annam. The king, Thanh Tai, who is now fourteen years old, was missing. Etiquette requires that the Annamese king shall never leave the royal grounds. He is a kingly prisoner.

But the young potentate was not hard to find. Though he was a king, he was a boy; and it is natural for a boy, when he has some money in his pocket, to want to go out and spend it.

That was exactly what the King of Annam had done. Entirely alone, he had started on a “shopping” expedition through the streets of Hue. Of course, no one knew him, because he had never shown his face in public. He was simply a boy, like any boy; and this was exactly what he wanted.

But he was treated with great respect by the shopkeepers, because he seemed to have plenty of money. Curiously enough, the thing which seemed to attract him most was a head-shearing machine, or hair clipper, and when the frightened nobles of the court discovered him at last, it was with this singular implement in his possession.

He had already begun to experiment with it on the heads of several small street boys, who were proving rebellious subjects, when the courtiers approached him, prostrating themselves upon the ground, and making alarmed outcries.

The king no longer goes out shopping, but he retains his hair clipper as a souvenir of a happy day of freedom with the street boys.

THE FLAGSTAFF ON THE TOWER.

By WARREN BELL.

“Well,” said Mr. Grafton, as he pushed his chair back from the breakfast table, “I think you’ve seen everything there is to be seen in such an out-of-the-way place. Now, Harry, are you sure you’ve shown your friend everything?”

Harry Grafton was my great chum, and I was spending a part of the vacation with him. On hearing his father’s question, he puckered up his brow and gave his not usually overtaxed brain a little exercise.

“Let’s see,” he replied, “you’ve seen the town hall and the old powder mill, my rabbits, the bridge, and the lake. Yes, he’s seen everything, father.”

“But he hasn’t been up the tower yet!” put in Jack Grafton, a young imp of ten summers--and other seasons--who faithfully followed his brother and myself about wherever we went.

Mr. Grafton’s beautiful country house was built of stone, with a tower at one corner. This tower was very high and intersected with little windows here and there.

“No, that he hasn’t!” exclaimed Harry, pleased at the idea of having something else left to show me. “If you’ll let me have the keys, father, we’ll go at once.”

Mr. Grafton hesitated before procuring the needful keys.

“You must be very careful,” he said; “and, Harry, my boy, you mustn’t play any foolhardy pranks up there. Jack, I shan’t allow you to go at all.”

Jack looked doleful as Mr. Grafton handed over the keys to his eldest son, who promptly led the way to the tower.

With some difficulty Harry opened the massive door of the edifice, and just as we were commencing our ascent on the spiral staircase we heard a patter of small feet behind us, and, on looking round, observed that Jack, unknown to his father, had managed to get into the tower as well, by means, as he explained, of a side door which had been left open by some servant.

At first his elder brother was for sending him back, but the little chap pleaded so hard to be allowed to accompany us, that at length Harry yielded to his entreaties, and we continued our journey up the tower, Harry leading the way, myself next, and Jack last.

After a toilsome and dusty climb, we at length emerged on the roof of the tower, from which post of vantage we could see the country for many miles round.

But neither Harry nor Jack troubled themselves much about the view. Delighted at being in such an exalted position, young Jack scampered about the leaden roof in a most frisky manner, while Harry took in his surroundings with all the gusto of a sixteen-year-old schoolboy. After a time they fell to cutting their initials on the leadwork, and, this done, looked about them for a fresh source of amusement. They were not long in finding one.

In the center of the tower had been erected a tall and noble-looking flagstaff. On the morning in question no flag was flying, only the staff and its cordage being visible.

Harry, looking round for something fresh for his “idle hands to do,” spied the vacant staff, and at once came to the conclusion that, as no flag was to hand, something in the shape of one should be made to float in the air in recognition of my visit to the village. So he quickly collected all the handkerchiefs and ties appertaining to the trio, knotted them together, and in a very short time had run them up to the top of the flagstaff, where they floated defiantly in the breeze.

Small Jack clapped his hands with delight, and, climbing a little way up the staff, began to lower and raise the impromptu flag with a too energetic rapidity, for, on running it swiftly up to the top, the cord got entangled in some way, with the result that the string of ties and handkerchiefs remained fixed at the top of the staff, some eighteen feet out of our reach.

“Well, you are a young idiot, Jack!” exclaimed his elder brother angrily. “See what you’ve done!”

The young gentleman addressed had no need to look, for he was fully aware of the magnitude of his crime.

“The cord has come off the roller,” I remarked.

“Yes,” said Harry. “The same thing happened a year ago last Fourth of July, and Tom Cartwright, one of the gardeners, had to climb to the top of the staff and put it right.”

“It’s rather a slender pole to bear a man’s weight,” I said.

“Yes,” said Harry, “everybody thought it was a risky thing to do; but Tom’s a light chap, and he managed it all right. Father gave him two dollars, I remember, for his pluck.”

Harry stopped speaking, and we all three gazed at the far-away ties and handkerchiefs.

“Father will be awfully angry,” said Harry; “and, by Jove! Jack, you’ll get it for coming up when he told you not to.”

Jack was looking exceedingly troubled at this piece of information, when a voice in our rear observed:

“Well, young gentlemen, this is a pretty piece of work!”

We turned round quickly, and perceived that a grimy head, clad in a rough tweed cap, had been poked through the trapdoor which led onto the top of the tower, and that a pair of brown eyes belonging to the same was watching us with considerable interest.

“Oh, Tom, is that you?” exclaimed Harry. “This is the very man I was telling you about,” he continued, turning to me.

Tom Cartwright, after showing us his head, next proceeded to manifest that he possessed a body and a complete set of limbs, by hoisting himself through the trap and standing upright on the roof.

“I’ve been mending a window,” he explained, “and saw you go up the staircase, although you didn’t see me.”

“How are we to get it down?” asked Harry despondingly, pointing to his flag.

Tom jerked and pulled the ropes for some little time, and at length gave it as his opinion that nothing short of “climbin’ would do it.”

“Look here, Tom,” said Harry desperately, “if you’ll climb up and get those things down, I’ll give you all the money I have--fifty cents.”

“And I’ll give you ten cents,” chimed in Jack, putting a grubby little hand in his pocket and pulling out the sum in question.

“I don’t want your money, Master Harry,” said the gardener sturdily, “and if I did, I don’t think I could earn it, as I doubt if this pole ’u’d bear me now. I’m heavier than I was a year ago, and the pole’s not so tough.”

“Oh, it’ll bear you,” said Harry. “You see Tom, I don’t want father to know anything about this.”

Tom smiled grimly as he proceeded to take off his coat and boots.

“I’ll try it, Master Harry,” he said, getting up and shaking the staff by way of testing its bearing properties. “‘Never say die’ is my motto, so here goes.”

With these words the gardener commenced his ascent of the staff, which began to tremble violently beneath his weight. We three clustered at its foot, watching the climber’s movements with hard-drawn breath and straining eyes, for it was no light task that Cartwright had set himself to accomplish. Up, up, up, he went, with the skill of a practiced climber, never pausing and never looking down. In order to find out whether he was observed, Harry ran to the parapet and looked over.

“Why, there’s quite a crowd of people there!” he exclaimed, starting back, “and--and--yes, I can see father among them.”

I took a hasty glance over the parapet myself, and noticed that all the people in the neighborhood were hastening out of their houses in order to get a better view of the intrepid climber. From the point where I looked over, the tower went sheer down to the ground, without a break of any kind.

“Tom has reached the top!” sang out Harry, while I was still gazing at the people below.

I hastened back to the foot of the staff, and perceived that the gardener was rapidly disengaging the line of ties and handkerchiefs from the rope. The staff was trembling violently, and so I suggested to Harry that we three should hold it by its stem, since we might, in that way, be able to steady it in a measure.

So we all seized it, and, as subsequent events proved, it was very fortunate that we did so, for just as Tom had unfastened Harry’s flag and adjusted the line in its proper place, the staff gave a loud crack.

“Look out, Tom!” Harry was just shouting, when the staff broke at the bottom and fell, with its human burden, right across the side of the tower which faced the people below. I remember--indeed, shall I ever forget?--the glimpse that I got of the gardener’s face as the top of the pole flashed over the parapet. He was pale as death, and seemed, as he passed through the air, already to taste the bitterness of death. It was truly an awful moment!

We three at the foot of the pole mechanically clung to it, with the result that our combined weight kept the staff from going right over the parapet. For a few seconds the catastrophe took the shape of a terrible game of seesaw, Cartwright, with the majority of the staff, hanging over the parapet, and ourselves, with little more than the stem of the pole, balancing it down on our side. Meanwhile, the gardener, with wonderful nerve and strength, clung to his frail support. First the staff went down on his side, and we went up in the air. Then, as our combined weight altered our position, Harry got one foot into the trap, with the result that the gardener was poised in the air and held there simply by the strength of Harry’s leg. Cartwright grasped the situation in a moment, and, with a shout to Harry to keep the pole in that position, came down the staff hand over hand till he reached the parapet, when he slid onto the leaden roof and sank down in a dead faint.

Instantly we pulled up the staff amid a tremendous yell of relief from the people below. Two minutes later Mr. Grafton and a dozen of his neighbors were by our side, some attending to Cartwright, and some to little Jack, who had also fainted with fright.

Thus did a boyish freak almost end in a terrible tragedy.

SWISS WATCH SCHOOLS.

The famous Swiss watch schools are the most exacting industrial institutions in the world. Their methods, which are doubtless the secret of their success, are very curious and interesting.

In one of the most celebrated of these institutions in Geneva, for example, a boy must first of all be at least fourteen years of age in order to enter.

After being admitted, the student is first introduced to a wood-turning lathe, and put it work at turning tool handles. This exercise lasts for several weeks, according to the beginner’s aptitude. This is followed by exercises in filing and shaping screw drivers and small tools. In this way he learns to make for himself a fairly complete set of tools.

He next undertakes to make a large wooden pattern of a watch frame, perhaps a foot in diameter, and, after learning how this frame is to be shaped, he is given a ready-cut one of brass, of the ordinary size, in which he is taught to drill holes for the wheels and screws. Throughout this instruction the master stands over the pupil, directing him with the greatest care.

The pupil is next taught to finish the frame so that it will be ready to receive the wheels. He is then instructed to make fine tools and to become expert in handling them.

This completes the instruction in the first room, and the young watchmaker next passes to the department where he is taught to fit the stem-winding parts, and to do fine cutting and filing by hand.

Later on he learns to make the more complex watches, which will strike the hour, minute, et cetera, and the other delicate mechanisms for which the Swiss are famous.

THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS.

Tobacco Going Out of Style.

Discussing smoking among students in a chapel address, President Main, of Grinnell College, Grinnell, Iowa, declared that he expected the day to come when the use of the weed would be as obsolete as snuff taking now is.

“Time was,” said the president, “when everybody, from prince to pauper, prided himself on his ability to dip snuff, but now the only place you can find snuff boxes is in a museum of antiquities, and some day our descendants may have to go to these same museums to find our pipes and other smokers’ utensils.”

There is no definite faculty ordinance at Grinnell against smoking, but for years one of the unwritten laws of the students has been that there shall be no use of tobacco in public.

Pet Ground Hog Leaves Home.

About four years ago H. M. Adington, living near Hilliard, Ky., captured a ground hog. He soon had it tamed like any of his other domestic pets, and running about his premises as freely as his dog or cat. He finally had it so it would obey him just like a child.

While the ground hog was small, Adington pierced holes in its ears, intending to insert silver rings in the punctures for novelty and ornament, but he never could secure the rings.

Later, for some unsolved reason, unless the ground hog started out in search of its shadow, it disappeared. This was about four years ago. Recently a farmer living near Mr. Adington’s place shot and killed a ground hog, and in descriptions of it Adington quickly recognized that it was none other than his former pet.

Boy Weds Twelve-year-old Bride.

Eugene Bowman, aged twenty, has married Leona Hemphill, whose age is twelve years and six months, after courting the little maid for over two years. The bride’s mother is a widow with six children and she is said to have made no objection to the wedding. All parties are residents of Independence, La.

Bow and Arrows Fatal Weapon.

A bow and arrows constitute a deadly weapon. For driving two surveyors off his reservation farm with a shower of glass-tipped arrows, Willie Anton, an aged Pima, was convicted in the Federal court for the district of Arizona of assault with a deadly weapon and given a jail sentence of sixty days. Anton had a lawyer who interposed the defense that a bow and arrows are not a deadly weapon.

A Pleasant Railroad Story.

A grudge turned to gratitude is the unusual experience of John Hansen, a railroad conductor of Atchison, Kan. Years ago when he was a freight conductor he whipped a boy for hopping his train. The boy threatened to kill him, and for several years shouted threats at him when the train passed by.

Finally Hansen was promoted to a passenger train, and did not see the boy, as he passed through the town at night. Not long ago the conductor was in the lobby of a hotel at the terminal of his run when a powerfully framed man approached him and asked:

“Are you John Hansen?”

The conductor admitted it, and the stranger continued:

“Do you think you could whip me?”

Hansen admitted it was unlikely, as the stranger was a near giant.

“Well,” continued the stranger, “I am the fellow you whipped once for hopping trains, and I probably owe my sound legs, arms, and life to you. Shake hands.”

Girls, Do You Get This?

Declaring they were “watchfully waiting” for the right girl, twenty-two per cent of Princeton University’s seniors declared they had never been kissed. A fellow “never wanted to,” while others said they objected to kissing for “hygienic reasons.”

Oregon Town Has a Flesh-eating Horse.

In Seaside, Ore., they have what is often spoken of as the “flesh-eating” horse. This animal actually eats the flesh of raw clams, oysters, mussels, and some meats. He is especially fond of clams, and will eat them raw in preference to hay or grain; in fact, he will eat almost anything that is eaten by man or horse.

“Billie Bitters,” as he is called, is a horse of more than ordinary intelligence. He will point at a crab in a crab hole as a pointer points at a bird. He will follow his master from one digging ground to another, and should he be spoken harshly to, he will sulk like a scolded child, and the only way that he can be persuaded to follow his master again is to feed him some more clams.

Billie understands nearly everything that Mr. Scott says to him. Should he say: “Billie, it’s time to go home,” the horse will immediately turn the wagon around and start on the return trip for home.

Billie is a bunch-grass seven-year-old, and a native of eastern Oregon. He was brought to the beach by W. B. Scott, of Seaside, when but three years old and broken into the clam business. Billie has followed this line of work ever since.

Belle of the Ranch is Won by Movie Manager.

When Leonard B. Gratz arrived at the Laflin Beumer ranch in Vici, Okla., three years ago in charge of a moving-picture troupe, he found that not one of the movie actresses was capable of making one of those mad dashes on horseback that causes thrills in Western dramas.

He was about to give up hope, when he observed a pretty girl, with her hair streaming back, riding a galloping horse down the roadway. Gratz learned that the fair rider was Nellie Beumer, the ranch owner’s daughter. That same afternoon she successfully portrayed the rôle of the heroine before the movie camera, and Gratz was more than pleased.

When the picture players left the ranch, they observed a strong friendship between Miss Beumer and Gratz. This friendship was kept alive by correspondence, which finally led in the direction Gratz desired.

As a result they were married in a Congregational church in Chicago. Gratz is now president of a movie ticket company. The couple will spend their honeymoon at the Panama Exposition.

Interesting New Invention.

A machine with which he says any child can cut its own hair has been perfected by Joseph J. McDonough, of Rochester, Pa. The invention consists of an ordinary comb so constructed that a safety-razor blade is held firmly against each side, at any desired distance from the edge of the comb. By a system of springs these blades can be regulated so as to make the cut long or short. According to the inventor, a man can cut his hair while riding on a fast-moving train, an automobile, or even an aëroplane, without danger of cutting himself or spoiling the job.

Rich Youth is Killed by Saw.

John B. Tucker, twenty-three years old, fell against a circular saw in a mill near Haskell, Okla., and was killed. Tucker’s home was in Meadville, Pa., and he had inherited considerable property. He was working at the sawmill just because he liked the excitement, and was not on the pay roll.

Finds a Strange Gold Coin.

C. J. Poole, of Troy, N. C., reports having found a strange gold coin while plowing near Harrisville. He describes it as follows:

It is about the size of our silver half dollar; a little larger on the face, but not quite so thick. Obverse--female head and neck long, flowing curly hair, decorated with arrowheads; very prominent face, nose and mouth. Legend--10 Annes, V. D. G. Port, Et. A£g. Rex date 1750. A large capital “R” on bottom of neck and extending almost into the date figures. Reverse--crown coat of arms.

The coin is not quite round, but is evidently in its original shape. It weighs nearly half an ounce. This coin was probably lying in the ground during the Revolutionary War, but where it came from, who lost it or hid it, no one here knows. The coin is in fine condition.

Digs Out Mastodon’s Leg.

Ott Workman, while digging fence-post holes on his river bottom, near Sholes, Ind., unearthed a leg bone of a mastodon. It is in a good state of preservation.

Newspaper Recalls His Mind.

J. Foster Jenkins, a wealthy real-estate operator of Yonkers, N. Y., who disappeared April 7th, has been found in Cincinnati, Ohio, whither he wandered while a victim of amnesia. Mrs. Jenkins received from him a letter telling of his recovery. His picture, printed in a newspaper, restored his memory.

Canoe Owner Solves Problem.

The little power devices which have in recent years been placed on the market for use on rowboats by placing the device over the stern have proven very popular, but the owner of the canoe has been prevented from using it on account of the shape of the stern of the latter, which leaves no means of securing the engine and its necessary parts.

This has now been accomplished by an ingenious canoe owner by building a well in the canoe by two partitions extending across the boat, into which the engine is lowered after a hole has been cut through the bottom to accommodate the propeller shaft and blades. This arrangement has been found to be entirely satisfactory in practice.

Most Surprising Discovery.

The following was found on the examination papers of eleven-year-old Jimmy Henderson of the public school in Miami, Okla. It was entirely unintentional, being a list of names of the countries at war, which the pupils were required to write down:

G-ermany. R-ussia. A-ustria. B-elgium. F-rance. E-ngland. S-ervia. T-urkey.

What Compound Interest Does.

One dollar at five per cent compounded interest for one thousand years would amount to 104 quintillion, 69 quatrillion, 620 trillion, 917 billion, 985 million, 83 thousand, 389 dollars ($104,069,620,917,985,083,389). This is the result obtained by Edwin Soule, a freshman in the Newport High School in Marysville, Pa.

Assistant Principal G. W. Barnitz, of the school, wagered young Soule that he could not solve the problem. Soule worked until midnight, consuming two tablets and four pencils. He received his dollar.

Barefoot “Baron” of Kentucky Dies.

Rankin Clemmons, who died last week at the residence of D. B. Cawby, a tenant on one of his farms, near South Elkhorn, Ky., where he had made his home for nearly a year, was the largest individual holder of lands in the blue-grass region of Kentucky, probably the wealthiest citizen of Lexington County, and a man of many eccentricities.

Mr. Clemmons owned between 8,000 and 9,000 acres of land in Mercer, Jessamine, Woodford, and Fayette Counties, of which about 1,100 acres are in the latter.

All of Mr. Clemmons’ lands are of high quality, none being valued at less than $100 per acre, while much of it is estimated to be worth from $125 to $150 an acre. In addition, Mr. Clemmons is understood to have held considerable personalty, including cash, pending deals for more land, and his estate is estimated at nearly $1,500,000.

A notable feature of Mr. Clemmons’ acquisition of great wealth was the fact that he had never engaged in speculation or dabbled in city property, or stocks and bonds, but had amassed his wealth from the direct products of the soil.

His whole life was given to the accumulation of his fortune, his entire being seeming to be centered to that end. He had apparently no other interests, few attachments, no recreations, and many eccentricities, and by the latter he was most generally known in this county.

He had up to the end of his life gone barefooted in the summertime, except when he came to town; had never bought a newspaper or book; had never ridden in an automobile or upon an electric car, used a telephone, or, as far as is known, sent a telegraph message.

He was, however, a shrewd and alert observer, and kept well informed on current events through association with others and perusal of newspapers which happened to come into his hands without cost, and was not averse to utilizing modern farming implements in his agricultural operations. However, his life business was that of agricultural financier rather than farmer, he personally working little of his vast domain of blue-grass land.

The farming upon his property was done almost entirely by tenants, though he himself had daily done hard manual labor throughout his long life. Only last fall, when eighty-nine years old, he was cutting briers upon his place just before he became confined with the illness which caused his death.

A peculiarity was that he would never raise tobacco, not even on the shares with his tenants, as is the almost universal custom in the burley belt. If a man wanted to raise tobacco upon his land, Mr. Clemmons would rent him the ground at forty dollars an acre.

“I don’t know anything about raising tobacco,” he would say, “but if you want to raise it upon my land you can go on and do so, and give me your note at forty dollars an acre per annum, which people say tobacco land is worth, and pay it when you sell the crop.”

He never wore a watch in his life, although he at one time had two clocks in the house, one which was an ancient brass timepiece, probably an heirloom, but both of these were stolen many years ago and were never replaced. The sun was his timekeeper, he going to work by its rising and considering it time to quit when it had set. He never used a vehicle for travel, but came to town on horseback, he having made his last visit here several weeks ago by that method.

Only one time in all his ninety years, as far as there is any record, did Mr. Clemmons “blow himself” in an extravagant outlay of money. This was when he got married, some sixty years ago. On that occasion he not only bought himself a nice horse and new buggy, but paid fifty dollars for a set of harness, as he himself was wont to relate. But when the wedding festivities were over, the buggy was placed in the barn, never to come out again. Its leather decayed, and fell apart, its wheels rusted in idleness, and the whole vehicle, with the lapse of time, fell to pieces.

Also Mr. Clemmons, in honor of one great event of his life, purchased extravagantly of wedding garments. Complete as any dandy could have it, a broadcloth suit, a pair of fine, soft-leather boots, and even a plug hat, which was in the fashion of that day, were bought to adorn the bridegroom, but they were never worn but once.

After the marriage Mr. Clemmons said he must now go to work, and the stovepipe hat, the soft-leather boots, and the broadcloth suit were hung upon nails in the attic, and there remained until a few years ago, when a hard-up thief, who took the clocks likewise, carried off the wedding raiment.

Mr. Clemmons’ wife, who had been Miss Virginia Brock, of near Keene, in Jessamine County, died about thirteen years ago. Two of his three children had met violent deaths, but he is survived by one child, Mrs. John Larkin, wife of a farmer near South Elkhorn.

Mr. Clemmons would have been ninety years old next fall, and with the exception of his nearly fatal injuries when he was attacked by robbers in 1891, and on several occasions when he met with accidents in his work, he had never been critically ill in his life until about a year ago.

Drives Horse 62,868 Miles.

Adam Puerkle, carrier on R. F. D. Route 2, out of Stuttgart, Ark., has a horse that he began driving on the route March 9, 1903, and since that date he has had this horse in constant use, a portion of the time making daily trips and the rest of the time making three trips a week.

He has made a total mileage of 62,868 in the mail service with this horse, and is still using him three trips per week, with a fair prospect of several years’ more service. This horse is fifteen years old.

Cow Chews Tobacco and Dies.

When William Rogers, a farmer west of Bethany, Mo., returned home from town late the other night, in the rush of putting away his team and doing sundry chores he forgot some chewing tobacco which he had purchased, and left the package containing over two pounds on the wagon seat.

Rogers thought of his tobacco in the night, but decided that it would be safe till morning.

When he appeared in the barnyard next morning, he was surprised to see one of his best milch cows standing by the wagon, diligently chewing. An investigation showed that she had devoured nearly all of the tobacco. The cow showed symptoms of illness immediately, and a veterinarian was summoned, but the animal died the next day.

His Heart Sewn Up, Patient Recovers.

A remarkable operation, involving the sewing up of a wound in a man’s heart, was performed successfully recently at the Beth Israel Hospital, Monroe and Jefferson Streets, New York City. The injured man, Israel Ziff, of 238 East 105th Street, is well on the way to recovery, and probably will be out of the hospital in a few days.

Ziff operates a pushcart in Monroe Street, near the hospital, selling slices of coconut to passers-by. He is in the habit of slicing the coconut himself with a knife, more than a foot long, whose wide blade tapers down to a sharp point.

Several months ago Ziff cut himself badly while cutting up his wares, and his wife and children begged him to give up his occupation and find some other method of earning a living. He tried to do it, but he could find nothing else. His pushcart was well known in the neighborhood, and his business was good; so he was compelled to keep at it.

Business was brisk one night, and the coconuts were going fast. Ziff had to cut up new ones from time to time, and every few minutes found him bending over with his knife at work. Presently the thing he had always feared happened; his knife slipped and cut through the left breast, a deep wound.

Ziff knew he was badly hurt. So he straightened up, laid down his knife, and started for the Beth Israel Hospital, about a block and a half away. How he got there continues to be a mystery to the surgeons, but he did get there. He walked into the office in Jefferson Street, near Cherry Street, looking as if nothing much matter.

Doctor George Levy, who received him, saw that his injuries were serious, and notified Doctor Alfred A. Schwartz, the house surgeon. Doctor Schwartz’s examination disclosed a wound at least an inch and a half long at the outer surface and going far down in.

Doctor Schwartz called up Doctor Charles Goodman, of 969 Madison Avenue, the attending surgeon, and told him that he was badly needed at once. Doctor Simon D. Ehrlich, the hospital’s anæsthetist, also was notified, and Ziff was carried to the operating room. Here Doctor Schwartz packed the wound with gauze and stopped the flow of blood, and everything was made ready to start work when Doctor Goodman arrived.

The operating surgeon arrived in record time, and then began some quick work. The flow of blood had to be stopped in the first place, and the patient anæsthetized for the operation. But if the chest where cut open to check the hemorrhage, the lungs would have collapsed from the air pressure on the outside, so air had to be pumped in until the inflation was sufficient to resist the pressure from without.

This process was combined with the application of the anæsthetic by the method known as intertracheal anæsthesia. By means of an apparatus operated by electricity, ether was mixed in a jar with air in the proportion considered advisable, and the resultant mixture forced through a tube far down into the patient’s throat. By this means anæsthesia was produced and the air within the lungs was raised to double the normal pressure.

With the patient anæsthetized and the lungs secured against danger of collapse, Doctor Goodman cut away three ribs and a piece of the breastbone. He found the chest full of blood, and this had to be drawn off before anything more could be done. When the blood was cleared away, Doctor Goodman found that the knife had made a big cut in the pericardium and that the point had gone flown nearly three-eighths of an inch into the heart.

The most ticklish part of the operation followed--sewing up the heart while it was palpitating. One stitch was sufficient to close the wound in the heart itself, three more did the work with the pericardium. Doctor Goodman sewed the skin together over the wound, and Ziff was put away to recover. He came out of the operation as rapidly as could have been expected, and except that the protection of the ribs over the heart will be missing, he is likely to be in no way the worse for his experience.

Had the point of the knife gone a millimeter or so farther in, Ziff never would have lived to get to the hospital, as the consequent hemorrhage would have been almost instantly fatal. The hospital authorities at first supposed from the nature and depth of the wound that he had been stabbed in a fight, and it was not until a day or two ago that Ziff recovered sufficiently to tell them how he had been injured.

“The Lady of the Lighthouse.”

Beautiful Mrs. Helen S. Woodruff, of New York, who lived in darkness for two years, is now working hard for the cause of the blind. In her own time of trial she patiently learned to “see through her fingers” and wrote the story, “The Lady of the Lighthouse,” which has made her famous.

When her sight was restored by a marvelous operation, she was so grateful that she has devoted all her time and energy for the benefit of the New York Association of the Blind, which has established the original “Lighthouse” in New York.

Mrs. Woodruff is the first society woman who has acted for the “movies,” and she only consented to do this in the dramatization of her story because it would aid the cause of the blind. The photo play which illustrates her talks on the blind is to be shown all over the country, for charity.

Humorous Exploits of Old-time Editor.

For a short time immediately preceding the Civil War, Henry Faxon, who, according to William Lightfoot Vischer, was the “father of American newspaper humor,” was a special writer on the Louisville _Journal_. Afterward he went from Louisville to Columbia, Tenn., and was the editor there, for perhaps a year or so, of a weekly newspaper; but he really belonged to Buffalo, N. Y.

Henry Faxon, familiarly called Hank, was a man of innumerable accomplishments. He could speak many tongues. He was an excellent electrician, a brilliant musician, had a rich singing voice, and frequently delighted his company with songs that he sang to his own accompaniment on the piano. He was a fine draftsman and cartoonist, and often made pictures with his pencil that were full of fun.

In newspaper work he wrote with a humor that has never been excelled, and in a broad, exaggerated style, which was not widely appreciated in his day. Indeed, he was the originator of that class of newspaper humor, and a brilliant poet withal.

It was Faxon who caused Blondin to achieve the first great performance in rope walking that gave that artist a world-wide fame in--and on--his particular line. Faxon induced Blondin to walk across Niagara River at the falls the first time the rope walker attempted that seemingly perilous feat, which he performed so many times afterward.

Faxon was the editor of a little newspaper at Buffalo at the time under consideration--the summer of 1859. A circus had stranded in Buffalo, and with it was this Frenchman, Emile Gravelot Blondin, who came to this country in 1855. He was part owner of the broken circus. Faxon took a fancy to Blondin, or, at any rate, sympathized with him in his distress, and, after serious discussion of the proposed thrilling feat, Faxon agreed to supply the paraphernalia, at the cost of several hundred dollars, and Blondin declared he was ready to perform it, which he did for the first time on June 30, 1859, later doing that same act with a man strapped on his back, and again with a wheelbarrow, stove, and cooking utensils, with which he cooked a meal when halfway over the rope.

The thing was widely advertised; great excursions went to see it. Blondin’s fame and fortune were made.

Faxon was happiest when doing something to relieve the distress of another, and he was moreover greatly given to practical joking. These two characteristics in him produced a hoax that became famous at the time.