Chapter XII: On the Stand

Boss Coggswell was not present in the courtroom when Owen Sheridan’s came up for trial. Not that he was not interested, nor was it a feeling of delicacy which kept him away; but he realized that his presence might excite comment and lend color to the accused man’s assertion that he was the victim of a conspiracy.

“You’ll be there, of course, Jake,” he said to his subordinate, “and I’ll rely on you to bring me the news just as soon as a verdict is reached.”

Hines grinned. “Yes, you can bet your boots, boss, that I won’t lose any time gettin’ here with the glad tidings. I guess you’re right in decidin’ not to be present. It’d look pretty raw for you to go to court. No use takin’ any unnecessary chances.”

“It isn’t that, Jake,” replied Coggswell deprecatingly. “It isn’t that, my boy. I have no reason to be afraid. When one’s conscience is clear, one doesn’t have to worry about what people might think. But the fact is, Jake, I have a tender heart--you ought to know that by this time--and I could not bear to be present to witness that poor man’s sufferings.”

Hines grinned again, and looked at his chief admiringly. “All right, boss,” he said. “You wait here, and I’ll bring you the news as soon as the jury brings in a verdict.”

Hines had not the slightest doubt as to what that verdict was going to be. He felt confident that the evidence against Sheridan was so crushingly conclusive that the jury wouldn’t hesitate more than three minutes before deciding that he was guilty.

If he had any apprehensions on the subject they would have been dispelled by what he had seen that morning. He had encountered Owen on the street, walking arm in arm with Judge Lawrence, and if ever two men looked worried, the accused carrier and his counsel did.

“Poor gink!” said Mr. Hines to himself. “I guess he’s sorry by this time that he didn’t take that money and beat it while he had the chance. Wonder how he’ll look in a suit of stripes and with his hair close cropped.”

There was a broad grin upon his face as he entered the courtroom and seated himself on one of the rear benches. Catching the presiding judge’s eye leveled sternly upon him, and suddenly realizing that his levity was hardly decorous, he hurriedly assumed a serious mien.

He found it difficult to refrain from chuckling as the case progressed, however, for as witness after witness took the stand to testify against Sheridan, and the strong chain of circumstantial evidence was presented link by link to the jury, the prisoner’s counsel, eminent lawyer though he was, seemed to become more and more baffled and depressed.

Ex-Judge Lawrence was famed for his skill as a cross-examiner. This was the only point on which Coggswell and Hines had been apprehensive. They feared that there was a possibility of some of the witnesses going to pieces under the vigorous, searching questioning of counsel for the defense.

But, to Hines’ great relief, the ex-judge, in this case, gave no evidence of being an expert at the art of cross-examination. He did not succeed in “rattling” a single witness; in fact, he handled them all so mildly and apparently with so little spirit that Hines muttered to himself contemptuously:

“Huh! Him a great lawyer! Guess he’s been very much overrated. Why, I know a whole lot of ordinary police-court counselors that could give him cards and spades.”

William Warren, wholesale liquor dealer, was the first witness to take the stand. He testified that he had sent his good friend Michael Harrington, a saloon keeper, a gold watch by registered mail. He had placed the watch in the package in the presence of two witnesses, who had also been with him when he handed in the package at the registry window of a downtown post office.

Judge Lawrence asked this witness but four questions in cross-examination:

“Are you acquainted with Samuel J. Coggswell, Mr. Warren?”

“I never had the pleasure of meeting the gentleman.”

“Are you acquainted with a young man named Jake Hines--a prominent member of the Samuel J. Coggswell Association? Before answering this question, Mr. Warren, let me remind you that you are under oath.”

“It ain’t necessary to remind me of no such thing,” retorted the witness indignantly. “Yes, I know Mr. Hines. I am proud to say that he is a good friend of mine.” He glanced across at the spectators’ benches, and Jake smiled at him an acknowledgment of this compliment.

They had expected this question, knowing that it was the accused carrier’s hope to be able to make the jury believe that he was the victim of a conspiracy. They had decided that Warren should tell the truth, and admit that he knew Hines. To have denied the fact would have been dangerous. There was no telling that the defense did not have witnesses at hand ready to take the stand and swear that they knew of the friendship.

“Yes, I know Jake Hines,” the witness repeated, almost belligerently; “but that don’t----”

“Did you meet him, or in any way have communication with him, on the day you sent the registered package?” interrupted counsel for the defense.

“Yes,” replied the witness unhesitatingly. “Mr. Hines came to my office that day. He was in the neighborhood, and he dropped in to make a social call.”

This question, too, had been expected. Warren had made up his mind to answer it truthfully, for it was quite possible that Hines had been seen entering his office.

“And at that meeting between Hines and yourself, Mr. Warren,” counsel for the defense went on, “did either of you say anything about this watch which you were going to send to Harrington?”

“Not a word,” emphatically replied the witness, who was prepared for this question also. “Not a single word, sir. We never spoke about the watch at all. Hines didn’t know that I was going to send it.”

As the conversation which had taken place that day between Hines and himself had been behind a closed door, with no chance of anybody having overheard them, Warren felt that he was quite safe in making this denial.

“That’s all,” said the cross-examiner, with an audible sigh, and the witness, as he stepped down, exchanged a triumphant glance with Jake Hines.

The next witnesses were the men who had been in Warren’s office when he placed the watch in the package, and who had accompanied him to the post office and seen the package handed in at the registry window. Both of them were reputable business men, and Owen’s lawyer made no attempt to impeach their testimony. In cross-examination he let each of them off with but a single question, which was the same in each case:

“On the way to the post office, where did Mr. Warren carry the package in which you had seen him place the watch?”

“In the left-hand pocket of his coat,” the two witnesses both answered.

Michael Harrington, the saloon keeper, testified that the package contained no watch when he opened it; which statement was corroborated by several witnesses who had been present in the saloon when the accused postman brought in the registered package.

Harrington made a good impression on the stand. He denied that he knew Jake Hines, except by reputation, and volunteered the information that he had “no use for Sam Coggswell, or any of his bunch,” being himself of the opposite political party. Hines could not help grinning at Judge Lawrence’s evident discomfiture.

The pawnbroker’s clerk, an exceedingly nervous young man, who took the stand and swore that Owen had pledged the watch for forty dollars, was cross-examined at greater length than any of the previous witnesses.

Counsel for the defense, however, could not shake his testimony. He admitted that he was acquainted with Jake Hines, but denied that the latter had been in the pawnshop that day, or had held any conversation with him regarding the watch. Another audible sigh came from Judge Lawrence as this witness left the stand.

The two post-office inspectors testified to having found the pawn ticket in Owen’s trunk, and a half dozen of the employees of the Branch X Y took the stand and reluctantly stated that Carrier Sheridan had tried to borrow thirty dollars from them that day.

Owen’s counsel did not attempt to cross-examine any of these witnesses. As the last of them left the stand and the prosecutor announced that this closed the government’s case, Jake Hines leaned back in his seat and smiled expansively.

“Let ’em beat that if they can,” he muttered confidently. “I can see from the looks of the jury that they’ve made up their minds already.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

HE WANTED TO KNOW.

It was customary with the French marshal, Bassompierre, when any one of his soldiers were brought before him for heinous offenses, to say to him: “By heavens, brother, you or I will certainly be hanged!” which was a sufficient indication of their fate.

A spy, being discovered in his camp, was addressed in these terms; and next day, as the provost was carrying the culprit to the gallows, he pressed earnestly for leave to speak with the marshal, alleging that he had something of importance to communicate.

The marshal, being made acquainted with his request, exclaimed, in his customary rough and hasty manner:

“It is the way of these rascals; when ordered for execution, they pretend some frivolous story, merely to reprieve themselves for a few moments. However, bring the dog hither.”

When the culprit made his appearance, the marshal asked him what he had to say.

“Why, my lord,” replied he, “when I first had the honor of your conversation, you were obliging enough to say that either you or I should be hanged; now I come to know whether it is your pleasure to be so; because, if you won’t I must, that’s all!”

Needless to say that the rascal was pardoned.

HE COULDN’T UNDERSTAND IT ALL.

An Irishman, who was terribly afraid of ghosts, got a berth on board an American vessel.

As the ship was leaving the port, he asked one of the sailors if there were any ghosts on board.

One of them, for a joke, said it was as full of ghosts as a churchyard.

This frightened Pat so much that when he turned into his hammock he drew his blanket so far over his head that his feet were left naked and cold.

He endured the suffering for a few nights, and then he went to the captain and complained about his blanket.

“Please, sor,” said Pat, “my blanket is too long at the top and too short at the bottom, and sure, I even cut a bit off the top and sewed it onto the bottom, but, faith it’s just the same as iver it was. I can’t undershtand it at all--at all.”

* * * * *

THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS.

A Kangaroo Cat.

Mrs. Pussy Cat, who lives at the home of Thomas Evans, in Newport, Ky., is greatly worried over one of her offspring. No other member of Mrs. Cat’s numerous family is like the newcomer. This kitten has only two feet and walks or hops about like a kangaroo. There are only tufts of fur where the front legs ought to be. In hopping about, the kitten balances itself with its tail, which it uses as a sort of rudder.

Gets Fifty-dollar Tip for a Shave.

Jack O’Reilly, barber in West Third Street, Los Angeles, Cal., had the surprise of his life a few days ago. A prosperous-looking man walked into the shop. When the job was done, the patron unlimbered a wad of bills, stripped off a fifty-dollar yellowback, and said: “Things have come my way handsomely. Here’s a bit of a tip.”

Leaving O’Reilly stupefied with astonishment, the man walked out. He was a prosperous Los Angeles stock broker, O’Reilly said.

Asks $500 for Loss of Faded Army Uniform.

On the loss of a faded blue army uniform, a relic of the Civil War, Mrs. Mary Heintzelman, seventy-three years old, of Minneapolis, Minn., bases a claim for five hundred dollars against Hennepin County, which she has already filed.

Five years ago Mrs. Heintzelman went to the Hennepin County poor farm. Her only possessions were packed in an old-fashioned trunk. In the top tray lay the old uniform and a packet of soldier’s letters, written on the heavy blue stationery used in war times. They were the only links that bound the old woman’s life to the highest happiness her life had known.

The uniform, more than half a century ago, had been worn to the war by George Heintzelman of the Forty-seventh Pennsylvania infantry. They had been betrothed, she and the young soldier, when he marched away to war. The memories of those days when he and she were young have been the only comforts in the old woman’s life.

Three years later Heintzelman came back, badly wounded. He recovered, but a bullet through his lung had impaired his health. They were married, and moved West. The husband’s health did not improve. A few years later he died.

Mrs. Heintzelman stored the old uniform and the letters in the trunk and set about to make her own way in the world. The years that followed were lonely and full of hard work and trouble. The treasures in the trunk were the only solaces in the woman’s life.

Finally, too old to work longer, she went to the home. Every spring, on the anniversary of the day that her lover had marched away, Mrs. Heintzelman would take out the old uniform and hang it on the line to air. Softly she would caress the faded garment and read over the old letters, and her sadness and loneliness would be lost in the flood of pleasant memories that floated back from her youth.

A week ago, as the old uniform hung upon the line, a cinder descended from a smokestack. It smoldered for a moment in the garment, flared up, and Mrs. Heintzelman’s last treasure was gone forever.

Blasted Romance of Poor Aunt Emily.

When board of health inspectors of Indianapolis, Ind., went to the home of Emily Smith, a recluse, to remove piles of dust-covered books and papers which literally filled her little house, they uncovered a hidden fortune and unearthed a story of a blasted romance.

Fifty years ago the woman was a belle in the English settlement in New York City and was preparing to be married, when the man who had won her was stricken with fever and died.

She moved to Indianapolis twenty-five years ago, and, residing in a slum district, has been an object of charity for many years. About eight thousand dollars was found secreted in the house, which was cleaned only after the indignant woman had shrieked in protest.

The following is the supposed pauper’s riches: Currency, $846.97; certified check, $200; bank deposits, $1,800; mortgages, $5,000, and insurance papers of undetermined value.

“There is nothin’ there you’d want to see, and, besides, it would kill Aunt Emily if you disturbed her papers,” a negress told the officers.

“This is my home; it’s none of your business what I have beneath these papers!” Miss Smith shouted, as the officers started to move the newspapers and pamphlets.

Fighting Man’s Square Meal.

Charles Weber, a pugilist from New York, while in a cell in Philadelphia, Pa., on a charge of forgery, having been brought here from Moyamensing Prison, told Turnkey Gordon, of the Thompson Street police station, that he hadn’t eaten for a week; that he was as hungry as a polar bear, and wouldn’t Gordon please get one dollar from his money in the sergeant’s desk and take his order for a square meal? Gordon did.

Ten minutes later Gordon faced the house sergeant with a wry face. “What do you think of that fightin’ guy?” he asked. “‘E said ez ’ow ’e wanted a square meal, and sent me out fer a dollar’s worth of cream puffs, and blow me if ’e didn’t eat every bloomin’ one of ’em.”

Answers the Call of Cupid.

After having answered nearly four million calls, Miss Theresa Cox, chief telephone operator at the Minnesota State House, has fallen victim of Cupid, and given up her job. For ten years, ever since the capitol was completed, Miss Cox has guarded the switchboard day in and day out, the personification of efficiency and amiability, and long years ago gained the reputation of being a model telephone girl.

On ordinary days she made between one thousand and twelve hundred wire connections. When the legislature was in session, or in other times of stress, the demands on her switchboard were greatly increased, and she would be called over the lines sixteen hundred times or more.

No one ever applied for her job, and she probably was the only one in the capitol whose job was not in danger. The uncertainties of political positions had no fear for her, for no governor ever could have thought of removing Miss Cox. There would have been a storm of protest akin to a riot.

But what governors could not do, Henry Jopling accomplished. He invited Miss Cox to marry him, and Dan Cupid advised her to surrender.

“I’m awfully sorry to leave here,” she said to a gathering of State House officials and employees who gave her a wedding “shower,” and her voice shook a little. “You have all been so kind to me.”

Old-time Circus Man’s Will.

William Washington Cole, an old-time circus owner, at one time of Cole Brothers and later a part owner in the Barnum & Bailey show, left an estate valued at five million dollars, according to his will filed with Surrogate Daniel Nobel in Queens County.

Mr. Cole died in Whitestone, L. I., March 10th. He left a widow, but no children, brothers, or sisters. Distant relatives live in England and in Scotland.

He left to his widow, Mrs. Margaret Cole, two hundred thousand dollars and two-eighths of the residue after the bequests are paid. Mrs. Cole is also to receive certain specific bequests. Sixty-five persons receive bequests and annuities aggregating about five hundred thousand dollars. The will also makes bequests to churches and institutions to the extent of one hundred thousand dollars.

Transcontinental Pedestrians.

In competition with Edward Payson Weston, the veteran walker, and to win a fifteen-hundred-dollar prize offered by the Panama-Pacific Exposition, Mr. and Mrs. Tom Jackley are walking across the country, with the requirement that they “make” the capital of each of the forty-eight States within three years. They left San Francisco September 12, 1912, and seem sure of winning, as they are now in the East, and have four months to reach Augusta, Maine. They are forbidden to ride in any way, and may obtain money only by selling pictures of themselves.

Gets $7,000,000 from Uncle.

Using the name of Albert Brown nearly cost Albert James Bourne, a transient farm hand, a fortune of seven million dollars, left him by an uncle who died several months ago in Melbourne, Australia.

After a search through seven States, Bourne was located on a farm near Lincoln, Neb., by private detectives who had been hired to search for him. It was discovered he had been in a hospital in St. Joseph, Mo.

The property left him consists of 339,000 acres of free land, 25,000 sheep, 400 horses, hundreds of cattle, and 50,000 pounds sterling. Bourne is Irish, and fifty years old.

Sues Farmers, but Vanishes.

Two years after filing suit against wealthy Howell County farmers of the South Fork, Mo., neighborhood, whom he accused of slanderous statements concerning himself, the whereabouts of Wiley C. Goldsby, the plaintiff, are unknown, and caused the dismissal of the suit, which had been taken to Ozark County on a change of venue. Goldsby was last seen when he left for the Kansas wheat fields.

After Goldsby had been in charge of the ranch house of Doctor R. A. Sparks for some time, stories were circulated in the neighborhood that he was a woman masquerading in male attire. It was said he often wore a kimono when preparing breakfast for the ranch hands, and devoted his spare time to crocheting and other fancywork. It was these statements that Goldsby made the basis of a suit for heavy damages.

University Student at Ten.

Helen Bradford, of Ottumwa, Iowa, ten years old, has made arrangements to enter the University of Iowa in September.

She was graduated from high school, and is heralded as one of the best mathematicians among grade students of the State. She will be the youngest girl to attend Iowa in more than ten years.

Cupid Tricks Truant “Cops.”

Cupid has had Minneapolis, Minn., school-attendance officers dodging around corners in pursuit of children under sixteen who were not attending school, only to have them flash a marriage license. This has happened several times during the present school year, and school-attendance officers are getting vexed at Cupid.

The law is that children must attend school until they are sixteen, unless they have completed the elementary-school course. However, attendance officers have given up the chase after the truants when it has been proved they have been married.

Teressa Amundson, Alida Sandeen, Ruth Rosendahl, Lillian Jordan, Agnes Gratz, and Alice Hanson are the girls who have abruptly ended their education by the marriage route and had attendance officers guessing.

Fight Lake of Burning Oil.

Recently, citizens of Oilton, Okla., and neighboring towns witnessed the most extensive oil fire that has ever occurred on the river since the field opened. It was one mile northeast of the town, on the Cimarron River, where the oil had formed a lake in the bend of the stream. It burned for hours, sending up a column of smoke and flame that was noticeable from towns twenty miles away.

William Murdoch, traffic manager of the Oil Belt Terminal Railroad, headed a squad of men who prevented a spread of flames, which would have been disastrous to the big railroad bridge.

He Helped to Found Republic of Texas.

J. W. Darlington, ninety-four years old, of Austin, Tex., is the only person now living who heard the sounds of the guns at the battle of San Jacinto, seventy-nine years ago.

Mr. Darlington was one of the band of Texans who met and defeated the Mexicans under Santa Anna, but was prevented from fighting in the battle itself by being detailed to look after the supply train.

Mr. Darlington came from Virginia to Austin in 1839, the year that Austin was laid off as a town, and the first capitol was built. He married Miss Eleanor J. Love in 1843, and has four daughters and one son living. He is an honorary member of the Daughters of the Republic, and still takes an interest in affairs of the State. His chief delight seems to be recalling his life in Texas in the early forties.

In the battle of Plum Creek, in 1840, Mr. Darlington, at the head of about two hundred citizens, whipped the Comanche Indians so that they gave the early settlers no more trouble. He was also engaged in a battle at Plum Creek in 1842.

Mr. Darlington helped to plane the logs for the first capitol during Lamar’s administration, and also to build the fort around the capitol, to protect it from the Indians on one side and the Mexicans on the other. The capitol was then used not only for the sessions of Congress, but as a church, school, opera house, dance hall--in fact, for all public gatherings.

Rounded “The Horn.”

Vanburen Crompton, of Allen Dale, Ill., is one of the few men living who went to the California gold fields by way of “the Horn.” Most of the emigrants went overland by wagon, enduring many hardships. Mr. Crompton, then a young man, with two companions chose the water route. Taking a boat at New Orleans, they followed along the Mexican and South American coast, rounding Cape Horn, and then up the western coast, to San Francisco. The ships in that day were slow, and it required many weeks to make the journey. Thousands of men were called westward by the lure of gold, but only a comparatively small number found riches. Mr. Crompton was among the unlucky ones, and returned home after six years. He now lives on the farm on which he was born, and in one of the first frame houses erected in southern Illinois. In the early days there was a fort near the farm, a refuge from the Indians.

Still Another “Pick” to Feed.

Former President Roosevelt’s fear of race suicide would have received a rude shock had the colonel been in the front office at the Young Men’s Christian Association in Nashville, Tenn., when “Bee,” a crippled porter, and quite a fixture at the building, asked for a day off.

“What in the world do you want with a day off, Bee?” asked one of the secretaries to whom this request, coming from Bee, was something unusual.

“Well, suh,” said the old negro exultantly, “Ah have a visitor at mah house dis mawnin’. It’s de nineteenth, suh. Ah shore has a hard time to sport ’em, suh. Eatin’s am high and money am mighty procrastinatin’.”

Bee’s request was granted.

“Up, You Dead!” Cry Saves the Trench.

A French lieutenant, now lying wounded in a Paris hospital, has given this account of the thrilling action in which he received his injury:

“We were fortifying a trench which we had taken. Behind a barrier of sacks which blocked one end of it, two sentinels kept careful watch. We could work in all security.

“Suddenly an avalanche of bombs tumbled down on our heads. Before we could recover, ten of our men were stretched on the ground, dead or wounded, pell-mell.

“I opened my mouth to urge them on again, when a stone from the parapet, torn out by a projectile, hit me on the head. I fell unconscious. My stupor lasted a second only. A splinter of shell tore my left hand, and the pain brought me to.

“As I opened my eyes, weakened, my mind benumbed, I saw the ‘boches’ jump over the barrier of sacks and invade the trench. There were about twenty. They had no guns, but they carried in front of them a sort of wicker basket filled with bombs.

“I looked to the left. Our men had gone, the trench was empty. The boches advanced; a few more steps and they were on me.

“Just then one of my men, lying on the ground, a wound on his forehead, a wound on his chin, blood streaming from his face, dragged himself to a sitting position, seized a sack of grenades near him, and cried out: ‘Up, you dead!’

“He pulled himself to his knees, dived into the sack, and flung the grenades at the group of assailants.

“In answer to his cry, three more wounded men dragged themselves up. Two of them, who had broken legs, took guns, and, opening the magazines, started a rapid fire, each shot of which hit home. The third, whose left arm was inert, seized a bayonet with his right.

“When I picked myself up, having quite recovered my senses, about half the hostile group had been felled, the rest having retreated in disorder.

“All that remained was a huge, perspiring subofficer, congested with rage, who, leaning against the barrier, protected by the iron shield, continued most courageously, I must say, to fire his revolver in our direction.

“The man who was first to organize the defense, who had cried, ‘Up, you dead!’ received a bullet straight in the jaw. He collapsed.

“Suddenly the soldier with the bayonet, who for some minutes had been crawling from corpse to corpse, stopped about four feet from the barrier, drew himself up, dodged two bullets fired at him, and plunged his bayonet into the German’s throat.

“The position was saved. The wounded soldier’s sublime appeal had resuscitated the ‘dead.’”

Alleged Dead Man Denies the Report.

Once upon a time the city editor of a newspaper printed a story about a man being dead who wasn’t dead.

Much to his consternation, the man arose the next morning and read a lurid account of his death. He pinched himself to see if he were dead or alive, and, coming to the conclusion that he was very much alive, after looking at a black-and-blue mark where his fingers had closed together upon his tender flesh, he sought the city editor.

“I read in the morning paper that I was dead,” he remarked to the newspaper man at the desk.

“Well,” laconically responded the city editor, “what about it?”

“I am here as a living witness to testify that I am not dead,” responded the man who was printed dead, “and that the reports of my death are very much exaggerated.”

“I want you to understand here and now that if this newspaper says you are dead, you are dead,” retorted the city editor.

“But don’t you see that I’m very much alive?” queried the astonished dead man.

“All right,” replied the city editor, “we’ll put you in the birth column to-morrow morning.”

Well, there is a parallel case to this in Montana, as is shown in an opinion by the State supreme court, written by Associate Justice Sanner.

Frank Lemmer, a taxidermist, was the object of an obituary notice in the Great Falls _Tribune_, W. M. Bole’s newspaper. The notice had him dead, and dead to rights, because of an overdose of morphine, administered upon a prescription by a physician, but evidently the _Tribune_ made the mistake of not putting Mr. Lemmer in the birth column the next morning, although it explained later that Lemmer had arisen from the dead, with due apologies to the supposed dead man.

Now, Lemmer objected to being called a “dead one,” and promptly instituted suit against the _Tribune_, claiming that he was not dead, and that his business as a taxidermist had been injured by the alleged malicious publication that he was dead.

Naturally, the defendants demurred both generally and specifically, which demurrer was sustained by the Cascade District Court. The plaintiff thereupon declined to plead further, and suffered judgment of dismissal with costs. Naturally an appeal was taken.

Justice Sanner, Chief Justice Brantly, and Associate Justice Holloway concurring, calls attention to the inference contained in the publication of the alleged death of Lemmer.

“The necessary inferences are,” says the opinion, “that Frank Lemmer died; that he died from an overdose of morphine; that the morphine was procured on a doctor’s prescription, which prescription was obtained at Lemmer’s instance by a stranger. None of these circumstances, nor all of them, suggest anything disgraceful or criminal.”

The opinion then proceeds to say that it is no disgrace to die, and that one may die without moral turpitude from an overdose of morphine procured by a doctor’s prescription, even though a stranger acted as messenger in the transition.

“Speaking generally,” continues the opinion, “there is no doubt that one may suffer such damages from almost any publication whatever, particularly a publication to the effect that he is dead; but whenever such damages are sought, it is not enough to aver generally that in consequence to the publication the plaintiff has been damaged in his business; the facts showing such damages must be alleged or no cause of action is stated.”

The opinion then proceeds to show that the demurrer to the complaint was properly sustained, and the judgment is affirmed.

“Movie” Mysteries Are Here Explained.

Rumbling bass notes from the unbridled, unleashed piano. Thunderous roars from the big bass drum. Frequent crashes of brassy cymbals. You instinctively clap your hands to your ears and breathlessly await the bursting of the awful tornado that is scurrying over your head.

Then comes a pause in the deafening and ominous roar--the house is so still you can hear the clicking of the projecting machine as the film is reeled off.

Yes; we are in the midst of a fearsome forest, and the heroine is just about to merge from the inky blackness with all her troubles--there she is, now!

What was that? A flash of lightning! The drummer redoubles his sonorous roll, ending with a wild, spine-stiffening thump. Some storm. The heroine’s hair is blown so violently you fear it may be torn out by the very roots.

She falls to the moss-grown forest floor. Livid flash and another thunderous roll. Then the deluge. The heavens open, and while the fanfare is loudest and the lightning is lividest, our fair lady is soaked to the skin with real water and falls to earth, beaten down by the very force of the torrent from on high.

Great scene, that!

Come with us now and see how the game is played. Ah, the movie studio!

Here’s a patch of nice green grass on the studio floor, and back of it a few shrubs and some sizable trees. Up on a scaffold high enough to be out of the camera’s ken are a dozen men, each armed with a huge watering pot.

The heroine stands on the side lines, waiting for the storm to begin. Storm in broad noon of a sunny day? Sure thing. Just watch.

An excited-looking individual holding a bunch of manuscript stands beside the heroine--yes, you’ve guessed it, he’s the movie director.

She gets behind the trees, and the man at the camera crank starts turning. She pushes her way through the tangled wildwood and stubs her toe, looking unutterable anguish the while.

“Down stage!” yells the excited director.

She staggers on as directed, the camera man cranking nonchalantly with one hand while he takes puffs at a cigarette with the other. The poor girl tries to rise, and wabbles feebly.

“Fall in front of the camera!” bawls the director.

She falls at the proper focal distance.

“Stretch out your arms--look wild!” yells the boss of the works.

“Let her go!” this time to the men with the watering cans.

And poor heroine, struggling and staggering, is drenched to the skin with the downpour, not from the heavens above, but quite as wet.

But, we ask, where is the lightning for this wild outburst of the aforesaid Nature.

“Oh, that’s easy!” laughs the director. “We put that in afterward with the scratch of a pin.”

“But how are you going to make it look like night?”

“Easier still--we’ll tint the film blue. Got to have sunlight to take any kind of pictures, anyway.”

So, when you see this thrill, remember that the lightning is a pin scratch, and the night effect is blue aniline dye and not by the gloom of night. As for Jupiter Pluvius, the men with the cans of water can wet down the place with equal skill.

Have you ever witnessed an exciting scene about a big building--a home or a factory--and then, in the next reel, watched it go up in smoke and flame? Yes? Some expense? Not so very much, for you haven’t seen the real building burn down at all, but only a little model of it after the scene has been acted out in front of the real building.

“The best fire effects are made in the studios, anyway,” the movie expert will tell you.

It was in a studio that the eruption of Mount Etna was manufactured. The promoters had tried taking real moving pictures of the volcano in eruption, but they were not nearly as good as the studio-made variety. These had the verisimilitude of real life, with fleeing thousands, men, women, children, and animals, pouring down its red-hot sides. The films of the fleeing people were merely super-imposed on the film of the fake volcano, studio made.

You have seen your favorite heroine jump unhesitatingly off a tall cliff? Or swim an ice-choked river? You never knew she could swim. Nor does she. Another movie trick is what you have seen. Movie stars seldom do such things. Professionals, dressed exactly as they are, and made up to resemble them, do this part of the stunt for the real actors. Jumping from a burning building is another movie feat which is only a trick. The real people get only as far as the windows. Dummies do the jumping and the falling.

So! But how do they make inanimate objects move about as if they were endowed with life? How does a catsup bottle jump up from the table and climb down to the floor on the rungs of a chair? Or how can grandpa’s clock walk up the stairs, turning around solemnly the while to look you straight in the eye and give you warning of the flight of the hours?

Perhaps you have seen horses running full tilt at you and never seemed to catch up. So simple! Right in front of the horses is a high-powered automobile, in which the movie camera is set up. The horses follow the car, and the camera man grinds out his film, always keeping a few feet ahead of his charging subjects.

Prehistoric Man Now Seen in Wax.

The three great links in the chain of human ancestry in America, beginning nearly twenty thousand years back, have just been represented for the first time in scientifically reconstructed wax faces at the College of Medicine, University of Nebraska, in Omaha. This is the first reconstruction work of the kind that has been done on prehistoric skulls of America.

Scientists are enthusiastic over the three great types it has brought out on the skulls of modern Indian, the cave-dwelling cannibal of three thousand years ago, and the Nebraska “Loess man,” fragments of whose skull were deposited with the glacial drift when the Missouri River bluffs were made, between ten thousand and twenty thousand years ago.

For eight years the skulls of the low-browed Loess man, found by the archeologist, Robert F. Gilder, of Omaha, have remained in the museums in Omaha, Lincoln, and at Harvard University, while science has hopelessly longed to know what a face this preglacial man must have worn.

Finally German scientists worked out an accurate system of facial measurements compiled into an elaborate table, by the use of which faces can be faithfully reconstructed over skulls. To date little has been done along this line in Europe. In America the first work in building up faces of prehistoric man has just been completed by Miss Myra Warner, clay-model artist, who has made a specialized study of this German system in the art schools of the East.

Miss Warner was handed the three skulls by Doctor Charles W. M. Poynter, professor of anatomy of the University of Nebraska. She was told nothing about the origin of the skulls. She worked faithfully for months, and, with the aid of the table of measurements, built up the three wonderful faces. It was not until she had nearly finished that she discovered one of the three to be a modern Indian type. Yet, without knowing she was working on a modern Indian skull, by applying only her table of measurements faithfully to the skull as she built the clay upon it, she produced so characteristic an American Indian type that Doctor Poynter declared the accuracy of her work on the other two skulls, equally unknown to her, could by no means be called into question.

The cannibal cave-dweller type is that of which Mr. Gilder found remains in sunken cave homes along the Missouri River. He has uncovered some forty of these caves, and has established the fact that the inhabitants belong to what is known as the “round-headed” branch of the human race. Geologists believe the inhabitants of these caves thrived some three thousand years ago.

But the chief interest in the reconstruction work at the University of Nebraska attaches to the face that has been built over the skull of the Loess man. In all, the fragments of but six skulls belonging to this type are in existence to-day.

This extreme primitive type of man is believed to have stalked over the wastes of North America before the glaciers plowed their great gorges and before they deposited the Kansan drift and the Loess clay to build the bluffs at the Missouri River. This man, low-browed and of little brain capacity, lived contemporaneously with the mammoth or mastodon, which he probably slew for food, if indeed he could wield a stone weapon sharp enough and strong enough to pierce the thick hide.

And yet, now that the faces have been reconstructed, we find no close resemblance to the ape type, as many of the most excitable scientists have expected. “The truth is,” says Doctor Poynter, “if man sprang from the same original stem as the ape, the ape branch sprang off so far back in antiquity that none of the skulls of the missing links could possibly be expected to withstand the weathering to the present day. No one will ever find a skull that will carry man back even anywhere near the ape days, and the remotest skull we can find is already very much a man’s.”

This Loess man then belongs to an age perhaps hundreds of thousands of years later than the time man and ape parted company and began to develop along different lines.

Yet this Loess skull has, by competent geologists and ethnologists been placed next in age to the famous Neanderthal skull found in 1856 in a cave in the valley of Neander near Dusseldorf, Germany. The Neanderthal skull is known the world over as representing the great antiquity and low order of the human race. In brain capacity the Loess skull boasts little, if any, advantage over the Neanderthal.

The prominence of the supraorbital ridges or bony brows is, next to the receding character of the forehead, the most notable feature of this primitive type.

“Neither the projections of the supraorbital ridges, nor the receding forehead, is an Indian characteristic,” says Henry F. Osborn, professor of zoölogy in Columbia University and curator in the American Museum of Natural History. Doctor Osborn was one of the first to go to Omaha and study this remarkable skull when it was found eight years ago.

The age of this skull is established by its association with the layer of clay drift in which it was found. Doctor E. H. Barbour, head professor of geology of the University of Nebraska, went over the ground thoroughly and helped to excavate many of the fragments of the Loess man some ten miles north of Omaha.

“From the geologist’s standpoint,” says Doctor Barbour, “these bone fragments were not buried. Instead, the bones were doubtless deposited with the Loess, the age of which may be safely reckoned at ten to twenty thousand years or more, and the bones are at least as ancient as this formation.”

Somewhere in its mighty course the glacier picked up these fragments of skulls and a few arm and leg bones and rolled them along with the rest of the drift, to be deposited solidly in the Loess clay when the bluff was built.

Old Paymaster Says Farewell.

Amos Hershey has just retired as postmaster of Gordonville, Pa., ending a period of fifty-five years of service for the United States postal department.

In 1860, before the Civil War, Mr. Hershey, then sixteen years of age, entered the employ of John K. Smoker, in a general merchandise store. At the same time he became one of the clerks in the post office. Five years later Hershey purchased the store business from Smoker and was himself appointed postmaster. He received his commission from William Dennison, postmaster general under President Lincoln.

The efficiency of the post-office department in that day was very crude toward what it has become in later years. When Mr. Hershey first entered the service, there were no railway mail cars. In fact, it was only in 1860 that an arrangement was made with the railroads to run a mail train between New York and Washington, the only advantage of which was the quick transfer of mail matter from one large place to another. The traveling post office, where mails are assorted when going at fifty miles an hour, had not yet come.

It was several years later that a Mr. Davis, of the St. Joseph, Mo., post-office force, broached the thought that considerable valuable time would be saved if the overland mail could be sorted on the cars, and made up for offices at the end of and along the routes. The department allowed him to carry out this idea, which, starting in such a humble way, is now one of the most important branches of the department.

Before the “catcher” on the mail cars and the “crane” at small stations came into use, twenty years later, the process of catching and delivering the pouches was indeed strenuous, both for the mail clerk and the local postmaster. Shortly before train time, Mr. Hershey mounted a platform immediately alongside the track, and, propping his feet securely, would suspend the mail pouch in front of him at arms’ length, the right hand at the top and the left hand at the bottom. When the train neared this human crane, the mail clerk appeared at the door of his car, and, securing himself firmly, would extend his right arm in the form of a crook or an acute angle, and catch the pouch as the train rushed by. The mail clerk had his arm well padded to prevent serious injury; but, notwithstanding, the risk was exceedingly great--in more ways than one. Mr. Hershey states that the mail trains were running at the rate of fifty miles an hour, and it is hard for the uninitiated to comprehend the alertness and strenuosity connected with the delivering and catching of the pouch, aside from the constant danger.

They had a very complex system in making up letter packages in those days. Mr. Hershey had to sort the letters for each office separately, no matter whether there would be only one letter for an individual office. The letters for each office had to be placed in a paper jacket of Mr. Hershey’s own making, completely inclosing the letters, and the name of the office address written plainly on the wrapper, with a waybill attached to each package.

In the early sixties the postmasters enjoyed the franking privilege, being allowed to send all their private mail without the use of postage stamps. This privilege was rescinded in 1864.

Mr. Hershey recalls a story of one of the railway mail clerks, who were known in the early days as the “paper jerkers,” and how he increased his salary: “On a side lot near the Forepaugh circus grounds in Philadelphia, there was a faker, whose outfit consisted of the stake-and-ring game. The simple and enticing amusement was played as follows: The stake was placed in the ground at a certain angle, which led the uninitiated to believe that it was easy to throw the five-inch rings over it. The feat was almost impossible. The faker had a crowd around him, and was raking in the dimes--three ‘tries’ for ten cents--when a black-mustached, middle-sized man walked up and said he’d bet a dollar he could put three rings out of five over the stake.

“The faker winked at the crowd, and took the man up. The black-mustached stranger threw five rings rapidly, one after another, and, as three of them went over the stake, the thrower was in eighty cents. Then they bet ten dollars even that nine out of the first ten thrown could not be put over the stake. The whole ten settled safely, and the faker, as he handed over ten dollars in silver, said:

“I’m broke; what’s your business?”

“I’m a paper jerker on a postal car. I don’t do anything but fling papers all day long into the mouths of fifty sacks.”

The village of Gordonville in those early days of Mr. Hershey’s postmastership had two names. The section lying north of the railroad was called Concord, and that section lying south of the railroad was named Gordonville. The railroad station was Concord, but the post office has always gone by the name of Gordonville. The village was named after Daniel Gordon, who was the first citizen and who built the first houses in the town.

Child Labor Bill is Signed.

Governor Brumbaugh, of Harrisburg, Pa., signed the Cox child-labor bill. The new act will become effective on January 1, 1916. Under its provisions, children under fourteen years of age, with the exception of newsboys, will be barred from working at any occupation.

Messengers employed between eight p.m. and six a.m. must be at least twenty-one years old, and children under sixteen will be prohibited from working unless they attend schools at least eight hours a week. Domestic servants and farm laborers are exempt.

Sheds Her Artificial Legs.

Removing both of her artificial legs and pulling herself up to the railings of the Ohio River bridge, Anna Wartenbaker, thirty-five years old, of Parkersburg, W. Va., plunged ninety feet into the river here.

People on both sides of the river saw her plunge, and hastened to her in boats. Her right arm was broken in the fall. The woman was despondent over her crippled condition, and came here with the express purpose of leaping to death from the bridge.

The Nick Carter Stories

ISSUED EVERY SATURDAY BEAUTIFUL COLORED COVERS

When it comes to detective stories worth while, the =Nick Carter Stories= contain the only ones that should be considered. They are not overdrawn tales of bloodshed. They rather show the working of one of the finest minds ever conceived by a writer. The name of Nick Carter is familiar all over the world, for the stories of his adventures may be read in twenty languages. No other stories have withstood the severe test of time so well as those contained in the =Nick Carter Stories=. It proves conclusively that they are the best. We give herewith a list of some of the back numbers in print. You can have your news dealer order them, or they will be sent direct by the publishers to any address upon receipt of the price in money or postage stamps.

714--The Taxicab Riddle. 717--The Master Rogue’s Alibi. 719--The Dead Letter. 720--The Allerton Millions. 728--The Mummy’s Head. 729--The Statue Clue. 730--The Torn Card. 731--Under Desperation’s Spur. 732--The Connecting Link. 733--The Abduction Syndicate. 736--The Toils of a Siren. 738--A Plot Within a Plot. 739--The Dead Accomplice. 741--The Green Scarab. 746--The Secret Entrance. 747--The Cavern Mystery. 748--The Disappearing Fortune. 749--A Voice from the Past. 752--The Spider’s Web. 753--The Man With a Crutch. 754--The Rajah’s Regalia. 755--Saved from Death. 756--The Man Inside. 757--Out for Vengeance. 758--The Poisons of Exili. 759--The Antique Vial. 760--The House of Slumber. 761--A Double Identity. 762--“The Mocker’s” Stratagem. 763--The Man that Came Back. 764--The Tracks in the Snow. 765--The Babbington Case. 766--The Masters of Millions. 767--The Blue Stain. 768--The Lost Clew. 770--The Turn of a Card. 771--A Message in the Dust. 772--A Royal Flush. 774--The Great Buddha Beryl. 775--The Vanishing Heiress. 776--The Unfinished Letter. 777--A Difficult Trail. 782--A Woman’s Stratagem. 783--The Cliff Castle Affair. 784--A Prisoner of the Tomb. 785--A Resourceful Foe. 789--The Great Hotel Tragedies. 795--Zanoni, the Transfigured. 796--The Lure of Gold. 797--The Man With a Chest. 798--A Shadowed Life. 799--The Secret Agent. 800--A Plot for a Crown. 801--The Red Button. 802--Up Against It. 803--The Gold Certificate. 804--Jack Wise’s Hurry Call. 805--Nick Carter’s Ocean Chase. 807--Nick Carter’s Advertisement. 808--The Kregoff Necklace. 811--Nick Carter and the Nihilists. 812--Nick Carter and the Convict Gang. 813--Nick Carter and the Guilty Governor. 814--The Triangled Coin. 815--Ninety-nine--and One. 816--Coin Number 77.

NEW SERIES

NICK CARTER STORIES

1--The Man from Nowhere. 2--The Face at the Window. 3--A Fight for a Million. 4--Nick Carter’s Land Office. 5--Nick Carter and the Professor. 6--Nick Carter as a Mill Hand. 7--A Single Clew. 8--The Emerald Snake. 9--The Currie Outfit. 10--Nick Carter and the Kidnapped Heiress. 11--Nick Carter Strikes Oil. 12--Nick Carter’s Hunt for a Treasure. 13--A Mystery of the Highway. 14--The Silent Passenger. 15--Jack Dreen’s Secret. 16--Nick Carter’s Pipe Line Case. 17--Nick Carter and the Gold Thieves. 18--Nick Carter’s Auto Chase. 19--The Corrigan Inheritance. 20--The Keen Eye of Denton. 21--The Spider’s Parlor. 22--Nick Carter’s Quick Guess. 23--Nick Carter and the Murderess. 24--Nick Carter and the Pay Car. 25--The Stolen Antique. 26--The Crook League. 27--An English Cracksman. 28--Nick Carter’s Still Hunt. 29--Nick Carter’s Electric Shock. 30--Nick Carter and the Stolen Duchess. 31--The Purple Spot. 32--The Stolen Groom. 33--The Inverted Cross. 34--Nick Carter and Keno McCall. 35--Nick Carter’s Death Trap. 36--Nick Carter’s Siamese Puzzle. 37--The Man Outside. 38--The Death Chamber. 39--The Wind and the Wire. 40--Nick Carter’s Three Cornered Chase. 41--Dazaar, the Arch-Fiend. 42--The Queen of the Seven. 43--Crossed Wires. 44--A Crimson Clew. 45--The Third Man. 46--The Sign of the Dagger. 47--The Devil Worshipers. 48--The Cross of Daggers. 49--At Risk of Life. 50--The Deeper Game. 51--The Code Message. 52--The Last of the Seven. 53--Ten-Ichi, the Wonderful. 54--The Secret Order of Associated Crooks. 55--The Golden Hair Clew. 56--Back From the Dead. 57--Through Dark Ways. 58--When Aces Were Trumps. 59--The Gambler’s Last Hand. 60--The Murder at Linden Fells. 61--A Game for Millions. 62--Under Cover. 63--The Last Call. 64--Mercedes Danton’s Double. 65--The Millionaire’s Nemesis. 66--A Princess of the Underworld. 67--The Crook’s Blind. 68--The Fatal Hour. 69--Blood Money. 70--A Queen of Her Kind. 71--Isabel Benton’s Trump Card. 72--A Princess of Hades. 73--A Prince of Plotters. 74--The Crook’s Double. 75--For Life and Honor. 76--A Compact With Dazaar. 77--In the Shadow of Dazaar. 78--The Crime of a Money King. 79--Birds of Prey. 80--The Unknown Dead. 81--The Severed Hand. 82--The Terrible Game of Millions. 83--A Dead Man’s Power. 84--The Secrets of an Old House. 85--The Wolf Within. 86--The Yellow Coupon. 87--In the Toils. 88--The Stolen Radium. 89--A Crime in Paradise. 90--Behind Prison Bars. 91--The Blind Man’s Daughter. 92--On the Brink of Ruin. 93--Letter of Fire. 94--The $100,000 Kiss. 95--Outlaws of the Militia. 96--The Opium-Runners. 97--In Record Time. 98--The Wag-Nuk Clew. 99--The Middle Link. 100--The Crystal Maze. 101--A New Serpent in Eden. 102--The Auburn Sensation. 103--A Dying Chance. 104--The Gargoni Girdle. 105--Twice in Jeopardy. 106--The Ghost Launch. 107--Up in the Air. 108--The Girl Prisoner. 109--The Red Plague. 110--The Arson Trust. 111--The King of the Firebugs. 112--“Lifter’s” of the Lofts. 113--French Jimmie and His Forty Thieves. 114--The Death Plot. 115--The Evil Formula. 116--The Blue Button. 117--The Deadly Parallel. 118--The Vivisectionists. 119--The Stolen Brain. 120--An Uncanny Revenge. 121--The Call of Death. 122--The Suicide. 123--Half a Million Ransom. 124--The Girl Kidnapper. 125--The Pirate Yacht. 126--The Crime of the White Hand. 127--Found in the Jungle. 128--Six Men in a Loop. 129--The Jewels of Wat Chang. 130--The Crime in the Tower. 131--The Fatal Message. 132--Broken Bars. 133--Won by Magic. 134--The Secret of Shangore. 135--Straight to the Goal. 136--The Man They Held Back. 137--The Seal of Gijon. 138--The Traitors of the Tropics. 139--The Pressing Peril. 140--The Melting-Pot. 141--The Duplicate Night. 142--The Edge of a Crime. 143--The Sultan’s Pearls. 144--The Clew of the White Collar.

Dated June 19th, 1915.

145--An Unsolved Mystery.

Dated June 26th, 1915.

146--Paying the Price.

Dated July 3d, 1915.

147--On Death’s Trail.

Dated July 10th, 1915.

148--The Mark of Cain.

=Price, Five Cents Per Copy.= If you want any back numbers of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your news dealer, they can be obtained direct from this office. Postage stamps taken the same as money.

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Ave., NEW YORK CITY