.t}
AT THE BiCYCLE AOADEMy.
‘Twas at a female cycling school,
Where Dimmer costumes are the rules
And fairy forms in trousers hid,
Essay the bike as she is rid.
A rare and radiant vision she:
A dream! a song! a rhapsodyl
To whom none other there was like,
Came forth to tame the festive bike!
'3?
She cast about a harmful glance.
Gazed at her wiry steed askance;
5 They eyed her bifurcated skirt,
And wondered if a tumble hurt.
Then, at the master's stern command.
She grasped her steed with trembling hand! ‘
A gasp. a sigh, with anguish pent,
A bounce, a boost, and up she went. ,-
Prate not to me of direalarms,
0f fire and floods and martial arms:
For depth of woe there’s nothing like .. ,
A frightened female on a bike! "
She stuck, she strained. shs vainly strove;
To make that pesky pedal move;
She pumped, she pushed, turned ghasth
white,
And worked both feet with'all her might!
And nowshe starts! she seems to feel
A thrill of life along her whee]!
But, oh] a bump! a zigzag slump!
Girl! bike, spokes, legs. all in a lump!
—Evening Sun.
res-s
"’3 FOR ONE MORE SHOT.
A snort Italy or the own War Told by
' an Old Soldier.
' “Here was a battle going on,” said an
old soldier; “nothing very heroic about
it nor anything very tremendous, except
that more or less men were getting killed
and wounded all the time. Patches of
woods with open spaces intervening, the
line stretched along in the edge of the
woods and across the Open spaces. Along
in front an'open space, andon the other
side of that the Confederates, in woods
like ourselves, where there were woods,
but in light earthworks and rifle pits be-
tween. That was their position, and we
had advanced toward it as a part of some
general movement, and our business was
to stay there and keep the troops in front
engaged.
“Veteran troops, ours were, except for
such recruits as were scattered among us
and except for a few enthusiastic men
that liked to shout, using ammunition
sparingly and not shooting much unless
they thought they had some sort of chance
for hitting something. Thoughtless,
sometimes, about themselves, but pretty
careful generally, and protecting them-
selves as much as they could. But even
with that, and with the fighting slow, we
managed in the course of the day to lose
a pretty good lot of men.
“Here, now, was a man in my regiment
shot through the 'body. He crawled away
toward the rear. I don’t know why he
wasn’t picked up. by the hospital men,
but he wasn’t. Just back of that part of
the line where our regiment was stationed
was a little farmhouse. In front of this
house was a sort of open yard or space in
which therewas One tree; it wasn’t a very
big tree, andl don’t remember what kind
of tree it was, but I remember that two
of its roots ran away from the' trunk a
little above ground for four or five feet;
and between these roots there was a little
hollow, justnlittle sort of depression in
the ground. The front yard was maybe
eight or ten yards back from the line;
that is, it might have been that much
back to the tree.
“The man crawled along slowly until
he came to the tree, and he" crept partly
into that little depression; I suppose it
looked sort of. inviting; it was a place;
it Waln’ just out doors, but was a sort of
place by itself, and the tree gave it a. kind
of companionship, too. He crept partly
into the little hollow and then stopped
and raised himself up so that he was half
sitting up, propped up on one arm and
hand,and he sat up that way and looked
at the brigade commander, who was
standing in the yard. The brigade com-
mander had been the Colonel of the
wounded man’s regiment, and he knew
every man in it; he knew this man; and,
of course, every man in the regiment
knew the Colonel—the General he was
now—and from knowing him so long and
so well the men had all come to rely on -
him and to look to him.
“Red \vas creeping out around the
wounded man now, and staining the little
hollow as he sat there, propped up on his
arm looking at the General. There was
a sort of wistful look on his face, as
though he thought the General could help
him, and the General looked down on him
very soberly; in fact, with a very great
pity. Just a few feet away, more or less,
men were being killed and wounded all
the time, but that was going on in an
orderly, business fashion. This man was
just dying, just simply dying by himself,
and you could see his life fade as you
looked at him, and you could see the red
stain spreading in the little hollow, and
making scallops hers and there where it
ran up into little shallow gulls and
bays making ofi from the main depreav
elon.
“He was getting weaker and weaker,
and was going fast, but all the time look-
ing up at the General with that look on
his face. . ,
“ ‘If I could only have one more shot,’
, he said- You see, he wasn’t thinking of
home or friends. He was thinking of the
battle; his last wish was for one more
allot; and a second later he collapsed, and
fell dead." - »
A. Family Reunion of Wivem.
William Cox, of Monticello, Ky., ate a
New Year’s dinner at which sat three of
his living wives, and he is only 38 years
of age. His first was Miss Minerva Smith,
, who bore him nine children and was at-
terward divorced. Mr. Cox then married
Miss J ulia Stephens, and he was soon
divorced, from her. Nochildren resulted
from that union. He then wedded his
present spouse, a Tennessee woman,.and
seven children have blessed‘their home.
His first two wives have married again
and there is now a feeling of harmony
and good will existing between them.
On New Year’s Day Mr. Cox-'spréad a
banquet at his home and invited his two
former helpmates to celebrate the event
with him. They responded, and the day
passed without a ripple of dissatisfaction
or uupiensantnese. .Cox was first married
‘ at the age<of:1¢k-‘.. “ , .
Of all sortfidfearthly good, the price
in self denial. . The lower must be sacri-
fled for the’greater; the coarse give place
to the finch—R. D. Hitchcock.
Self-knowledge is best learnedmot‘by
contemplation, but action; Strive to do
your ducyfimd you will soon discover of
what stulf you are made.-'-Goethe. .
If We are o'er in doubt what to do, it is
.‘ a good rule to ask- ourselves wimpy.
. shall \vish'ou. .thegmorrqw that we had
:sl'one. , , .
SIGN OF THE ARROW.
“The beginnin’ of it all happened nigh
on to twenty years ago,” he resumed in
response ' to our request for the story,
“one time when I’d been out prospectin’
’round about San Felippe, and was on
my way for more grub and powder and a
new outfit of tools. It was a sizzlin’ hot
September afternoon, and I was takin’ it
kind of easy havin’ nothin’ much to burs
ry me, and was joggin’ along ‘on my
mule just fast enough to keep my pack
burro movin’ ahead of me. '
“I was gazin’ up in the air, shadin’ my
eyes as best I could, to find how much
the sun had dropped sjnce I’d looked
last, when I see, ’way up above the trail,
half a mile ahead, what at first sight-
with my eyes bein’ dazzled—I took for a
little floatin’ cloud. Then, next minute
. when I see it sailin’ ’round in a circle,-
and each time it made a round droppln’
a'little lower, I knew it wa’n’t no cloud,
but a bird, just one of them big Califor-
nia vultures, :9 feet from tip to tip of his
wings if he was .an inch.
“All to once .the pack burro pricked
her ears out forward, snorted and crowd-
ed ’round back on the trail, and my
.mule got to tremblin’ and come to a dead
atop. I'hollered to the jenny and headed
her off, :as .she \was stampedin’ back the
way we’d come, and when I’d got her
cornered in among some rocks, I hitched
her and the mule short up to a bowlder
and walked back to see what had scared
’em.
“I didn’t wonder they was rattled
when I seen what it was. There, lying
sprawled out on his back across the
trail, shot through the head, was a man
with his face turned up to the sun.
“I see just in a minute who the man
was lyin’ there, he havin’ been pretty |
well known in.them.parts; and havin’ a
scarred, scowlin’ kind of face, which you
didn’t have to see more’n once to recol-
lect it.
Him and'hi-s brother’d lived for the past
five years up in among the pinon timber,
way back on the upper slope of the same
range of hills, alongside of which Iwas .
travelin’, and there wa’n't but few men
between the Colorado and Vv’hite Water
as could speak of ’em even without get-
tin’ mad clean through, though they
didn’t care much to meddle with ’em
really, bein’ mostly just good, long dis-
tance talkers. One brother’d been killed
the spring before, while actin’ sort of
fresh at an Indian fiesta, and now here
was the other laid out, too.
, “There’d been somethin’ of a mystery
about them two brothers, but more ’spe-
cially about the four or five men who’d
gone up different times near their cabin,
and never’d been afterward anyways
heard from. Then, too, they’d been
considerable. conjecturin’ as to them
brothers bein’ the ones what had got
clean off with a good many express
boxes and mail sacks from the desert
stage line, and if they was. as to what
they’d ever done with the coin and bul-
lion they must have collected. They
never was known to spend nothin’ and
so it was generally allowed they must
have it all on hand cached somewheres.
“Havin’ all these ideas runnin’ through
my head. and bein’ though you mightn’t
think it, naturally curious minded and
willin’ to take no end of trouble to find
out about things, no matter how triflin’,
which I didn’t know and took interest in,
as I stood there with the shadow of the
vulture movin’ likea little cloud over
the sand—he not seemin’ half so much
scared at me bein’ there as I’d been ex-
pectin’ and sort of wished he had—I got
to ponderin’ and plannin’. .
“ \Vhy not,’ says I to myself, ‘go on up
to the cabin among the pinons and exam-
ine into things up there, now there’s no-
body to hinder?”
“Havin’ concluded I’d make the trip, I
didn’t waste no time in startin’, and, by
hustling along pretty lively I managed
to round up at the cabin a little after
sundown. It seemed a gloomy kind of
place to stop at, looking a long ways dis-
maler than the bare, hot sand and rocks
of the desert down below. Nothin’ all
around but a low, scatterin’ growth of
scrubby pinons, just thick enough to
shut out the view any way you’d look.
There was a low, two roomed cabin, with
the mud all droppin’ out of the chinks
and the bark. peelin’ ofi the logs; a brush
shed for stock and a little shake granary,
with a. warped door hanging askew on
one leather hinge.
“Havin unsaddled and taken off the
pack and turned the animals loose to
pick up what food they could, I didn’t
wait to get supper, but started right in
inspectin’ the premises. There was a
room in each end of the cabin, with an
open space between ’em, just covered in
from the weather by the roof, and some
shakes nailed up across the north side
to keep out the worst of the wind. Here
the only furnishin’ was a three legggd
stool, an old saddletree and a stirrup
leather hung up on pegs, a broken piece
of lookin’glass and a ragged, moth eaten
coyote skin tacked on the wall.
“I was gettin’ discouraged and tired
and hungry, and was just leavin’ to start
up a fire and get supper when I lowered
my candle to look under the bunks, as a
sort of finishin’ up for the night ,of my
examination, and there, under one of
’em, I see a big board box, painted red
and bound with rusty hoop iron. Then I
forgot all about eatin’, and my curiosity
got to workin’ right away. I set the can
die down on the floor, and, after consid-
erable tuggin’, got the box slid out to
where I could get at it. The lock was
gone all but the hasp and the lid was
only fastened down with a hair rope
lashin’. ' I'unhitchedthat in just no time
at all an’ took of! the top of the box, bein’
all of a tremble with eXcitement.
“At first sight of the contents I was
considerable disappointed. Aside from
some rusty iron junk in the bottom of
the box there was just a lot of old flannel
shirts anda faded canvas coat wrapped
r-und a five pound baking powder can.
Inside the can there was a piece of ran-
cheria tanned buckskin, done up in a
roll. I was puttin’ this back again; feel-
in’ discouraged all through, when I see
there was some blurry lines and letters
drawn on it in ink, and I unrolled it near
the candle to have a better look. It was
meant for a map plain enough, but of
what, first along, I could n’t make out.
“I quit looking out lor anything else
that night, and after I’d got supper put
In my time puzzlin’ away at the meanin’
of the map and went to Sleep still puz-
Illn’.
“In the'mornin’ first thing 1 star ted in
, a aim-and then, in a flash, the whole
thing come to me. Everything seemed
a.“ plain I just wondered then .I hadn’t
'I -n it all at first sight. ‘T’ was Torres
~ S ation and ‘W \V’ \Vhite Water, and
thecrookcd shaded line was the hills bor-
dering on the desert, between the two
places.
thereabouts for years and recognized
everylittle bend and corner in the hill.
s o
when they’d tried to set ’em out on the
map. hen I see the little red cross was
just meant to locate the rock, with the
, arrow and the figures marked on it. Now
‘ I was on the right trail it didn’t take me
‘ long to Work it all out. I seen the whole
;_ scheme and the idea of the map and the
' blood just rushed to my head as I took
‘ it all in. -Under that there rock was the
| coin and the bullion which folks had been
conjecturin’ about; ‘9’ meant nine feet
’ out from the arrow pointed down, and
l ‘3’ meant three feet deep in the ground.
That was where the plunder was.
“Well, as you can easy understand, I
didn’t waste much time once I’d struck
this lead in startin’ in to realize, and l
: went , stumbling down that trail from
l the cabin at a gait which astonished the
l mule and worried the jenny considera-
. ble. But findin’ treasury on a map and
locatin’ it on the ground I soon see was
two very different things. I’d worked on
the first proposition all right enough,
but when I’d tackled the second I found
I had a bigger contract on my hands than
I’d been calculating on. I hadn’t no
trouble in hittin’ on the rincon, marked
by the red ink cross, but there was ledges
and rocky bluffs for miles each way, and
though I put in a week huntin’ for that
big rock with the sign of the arrow, I
wasn’t any wiser when I quit than when
I started in, and at last I give up beat
and went in off the desert for the winter.
. “Now, though I’d give up, it was onl
for the time bein’, and I still kept the
map with me wherevor I went, meanin’
some day to go back; but one thing after
another kept comin’ up to binder, and it
was nigh onto three years before ever I
set foot in that rincon again.
“My next trip there come about this
way. Early one May aftei'noon I got in-
to the \Vhite Water station and found a
fat man, with a long, curly beard and a
' sociable sort of way with him, monkeyin’
with some little rolled up papers just
outside the brush porch in front. He
_ said they were photographs he was dryin’
ofi, he bein’ a. professional, hired—so he
- claimed-by some concern to make pict-
; ures of anything remarkable he run
against down in that country. He wa’n’t
’ no ways particular what he photograph-
: edc-so it baked to me—for he made a
point of takin’ a picture of me and my
mule and the burro quick we’d got in,
and that led up to our gettin’ tolerable
friendly right away.
“He begun spreadin’ out his pictures,
and I stood by talkin’ and lookin’ ’em
over kind of careless like, till he give me
one of a big palm tree, growin’ just in
front of a steep, rocky bluff. Then I
stopped short in the middle of what I
was sayin’, and for a minute couldn’t
speak, Iwas so dumb founded, for on that
rock in the picture, standin’ out plain
jamong the clevage lines, was the
figure of, an arrow pointing to the
ground.
“I give a gasp, and the photographer
looked up surprised, i;.quirin’ what the
matter was. When I asked him he dec
scribed the place where he took the pictr
uro the best way he could, and before
ever he’d got half through I see plain
enough he was speakin’ of the rincon
marked by the little red ink cross on the
map. I must have been by that same
ledge at least half a dozen times without
ever seeiu’ the arrow bein’ as it was all
mixed n .with the weather cracks and
criss or. w; lines on the rocks. I pointed
out an é..‘l'0“', which he’d no notion of
bein’ ti..-rc till I showed it to him, and
then he .,.cmed pretty near as much sur-
prised as I was, and asked no end of
questions about what I knew bearin’ on
the subject.
“Bein’ sort of unstrung with excite-
ment, and he seemiu’ terrible friendly
and interested, and the sort of man gen-
erally you could tie to and trust in, and
me bein’ naturally, perhaps, over con-
fidin’, I started right in and give him the
whole business, windin’ up by showin’
him the map. Finally it came to this:
He agreed to take me ’round to the rocks
in the mornin’ early in a light pole bucks
board he was travelin’ about the country
in—it bein’ a trip of only ten or twelve
miles from where he was talkin’-—and
we was to divide even up what we found
there, we both of us allowin’ there’d
ought to be, from all accounts, more’n
enough for two.
“I was up before daylight—the moon
just goin’ down—potterin’ ’rouud to get
things ready for an early start,'and was
some surprised not to find the photo-
"grapher’s sorrel team tied up alongside
my mule when I went into the stable
shed to feed him, where I’d seen ’em
night before. Then I noticed, with a sort
of misgivin’, that there wa’nt no sign of
the buckboard, which I’d last seen stand-
in’ out in front. Pretty quick the hostler
come out, rubbin’ his eyes and pickin’ out
straws from his hair, and when I asked
about the sorrels and the backboard, he
said the photo-grapher’d hitched up and
pulled out night before, just after I’d
turned in. ' .
“Well, of course, I seen then right away
how it was. That fat, sociable, photo-
graphin’ scut had just gone off on the
quiet to rake in the plunder for himself,
not wantin’ no dividin’ when he’d struck
a good thing.
“Naturally I saddled up right away and
went off on a. lope, hopin’ to strike the
rincon before he’ got away, and try ’n’
make his stay there interesting for him;
but‘ he had too much the start, and when
at last I saw the rock with the palm tree
in front, there was the mark of the arrow
plain enough, and I knew where to look,
there was nothin’ else left of what I’d
been plannin’ and dreamin’ about all
them years but a new hole in the ground,
two stove in express boxes and adull col-
ored twenty lyin’ on the new dug dirt.
where he’d dropped and overlooked it in
his hurry to make his clear up and get
well away. .
“I was so sort of worked up and death-
ly_ disappointed, and mad all through,
that when a little dickey bird roostin’ on
some brush near the palm commenced
warblin’ like he was celebratin’ my being,
done up that way—” .
“Doubtiess Melospiza Fascism Fallax.
19. Lehman. 35 cents,” interposed tne
Naturalist. \ ‘
“Like enough,” continued Calkins.
“Well, his warblin’ riled ine that much
that before I’d thought—~havin’ nothin’
else handy—I’d hove the twenty at him,
and couldn’t find it afterward.
' “I made inquiries for that insinuatin’
photo-grapher, longin’ to see him again,
if only just once, but I never learned
nothing’ about him or the treasure.
”That’s my story, gen’lemen,” con-
cluded Calkins, rising. “ It’s getting
late, and I reckon I’ll turn in.”—-San
Francisco Argonaut. ° ..
The Second Blow.
you a blow, what happened 2
Prosecutor—He gave me a third one.
Counselé—Y’ou mea: a second one. .
l’d known the Whole country _
Prosecutor-No, sir, I landed him the
Maud one! ' " '
Counsel—\Vell, after the prisoner gate.
l
OF BURNING INTEREST IN NEW YORK
The Small Talk of the Metropolis ls Em
tertainlng .Even to Outsiders.
‘ The following paragraphs were taken
from the .New York Sun, and are
vouched for by the editor, who causes
to be published each day at the head of
his columns the declaration that “If you
see it in the Sun it’s so”:
Hot cross buns are as popular as ever
in this town. '
Almost anything is sold nowadays on
outdoor stands.
j The bicycle is now so commonlyr seen
in Broadway as scarcely to attract at-
tention there.
In suburban districts it is not at all
unusual to see children going to school
on bicycles.
One now and then encounters a Scotch;
man in kilt and claymore as the sign of
a tobacco shop. ‘
Faces of Salvation Army women are
seen in the showcases of photographers
in many parts of the town.
In court Hetty Green was en hand
with her latest lawyer, Robert D. Benev
dict. She wore a small bouquet of red
and white carnations. ‘
A New Yorker, who has a summer
residence in Idaho, says that the pres-
ent high price of beef may be due in
part to the scarcity of cattle on the
Idaho ranges. .
A barber shop has been opened in
Hester street just west of the Bowery,
where one can get shaved for three
cents 21d have his hair cut for five
cents.
As one goes quickly upward in a
rapid, smboth moving elevator in ' one
of the lofty modern buildings, he '
passes from a region of shade up into a.
region of light, where sunshine streams
along the halls and everything is bright
and cheerful.
, The coaching season was opened yes-
terday with the first trip of the four in
hand Pioneer. Dr. W. Seward Webb
looked up at Diana on the tower of the
Madison Square Garden and then said
to 001. De Lancey Kane: “Great
weather for the trip, colonel; a north-
west wind.” Col. Kane smiled and
answered, that he couldn’t ask for any-
thing better.
The bride elect was very beautiful in
a. gown of pale pink satin and chiffon,
which olfered a delicate contrast to the
white fur. When she was comfortably
established on her throne the fun began.
At first it was like a. summer breeze,
making just a. little rustle, but it in-
creased steadily until at 2 A. M. it had
becomes. gale of mirth and - nonsense.
In spite of the hilarity, an atmosphere
of the utmost refinement and a true
club spirit prevailed.
THE FREE PASS AS A BRIBE.
Little Else Can Be llIade of It, Yet It ll
Unlversally Sought by Legislators.
When a railroad sends out free
passes to the holders of public ofiice it
intends that such passes shall operate
as a bribe, and long experience in poli-
tics shows that they have the intended
effect. .
It is a theory of some holders of such
passes that they are too high minded to
be influenced by favors which they ac-
cept from those whose interest it is to
secure special privileges or special ex-
emptions at the expense of the public.
But that is mere theory. In practice
the ofiiceholder is habitually bribed
when he makes a. habit of deadbeading
railroads, telegraph companies and
other corporations liable to be affected
by the way in which he does his duty
and leaves it Imdone.
It is well known to all who know how
political conventions and legislatures are
manipulated that free railroad passes
are among the most powerful means of
controlling them. Hence many of the
States have constitutional provisions
for the impeachment and removal of
any ofiiceholder found using a free pass.
For the same reasn. .he Interstate Com-
merce law prohibigel the issuance of
such passes.
Why He Swore 011’.
“Why don’t you work? Don’t like it
I suppose.”
“Like it! Why, boss, work with me
isapassion, a vice. That is just the
trouble. The moment I commence to do
a. little, I cannot leave it alone, and it
grows upon me. like drink, opium or
lawn tennis. This is why I have to
make an effort to leave it entirely
alone.”-—Life.
.1? care: from bad lo foot.
P u ri tana
Trade Mark.
Registe ed.
To make till cure of any disease com-
plete and permanent, the purifying, cor-
recting and building-up process must begin
and end in the Stemach.
0 cf all sickness is caused by
:1 wrong. Stomach. Puritans
0 makes the Heart right, the
Lungs right, the Liver right, the Blood
right, the Kidneys right, the Nerves right, .
the Health right, because it makes the
Stomach right. .
The I’drltana treatment consists of one bottle of
Puritans, one bottle of Puritans Pills, and one bottle
of Puritans Tablets. all in onepackage. Price .1.
p All druggilts. .....—-'
- and glare of lights.
. it; not on your cuff butt-3n...
' fair girl, tenderly.
' . ton Post. j
A WASHINGTON ROMANCE, '
With Verbatim Reports of Some Guarding!
satlonal Episodes.
”CHAPTER I. r ‘
“Is it bauteur or is it a. maiden’s coy. I
ness thatcauses you to turn away
head, love?” ' .
. George Lindsey stood with his arm a
about the willowy form of Imogene St.
Lawrence. The scene was the ancestral
halls of the St. Lawrence family, in the
northWest quarter of the city. George
Lindsey had asked Imogene Sta Law-
rence to be his bride. That was just
prior to the remark which opens our
story. And the dear girl had softly
promised; and the lovers stood there in
the gloaming drinking that sweet intox-
ication that never comes but once.
“It is not hauteur, George,” replied
Imogene St. Lawrence, in tones like far
ofi church bells. —« “But, GeorgHon’t
spurn me—I have cut-en of the common
onion of commerce, and my breath, it is
so freighted with its trenchant bouquet
it would take the nap from your coat
collar like a. lawn mower. It is to spore
the man she loves. George,which causes
your Imogene to bury her nose in your
vest.”
“Look up, darling,” and George Lind~
sey’s tone had a glad note of sympathy.
“I, too, have battened upon onions.”
The lovers clung to each other like
bats. ' _ .
“But we’ll have to put toe weights on
pa, George! He’ll step high and lively
when he hears of this.”
The lovers were seated on a sofa now;
the prudent Imogene was taking a look
ahead.
your
“Does not your father love me, pet?” '
“I don’t think he does,” replied the
“I bade him to ask
you to dinner once, George. That was
on your last trip up. He said he would
sooner sleep with a wet dog, George,
and refused. From that I infer his cp-
position to our union,”
“We’ll make a monkey of him,” and
George Lindsey hissed the words through
his set teeth. ‘
“And my brother?”
“As for him,” said George Lindsey,
and at this he "began pacing the room
j like a. lion, “as for your, brother, if he so
much as looks squint-eyed at our happi-
ness he goes into the soup. From your
father I would bear much, but when the
balance of your family get in on the
game they will pay for their chips in ad-*
vance.” .
“Can we not leave them, George;
leave them and fly together?”
“Your father is rich, Imogene; that is
a sufficient answer.” There was atouzh
of sternnessin George Lindsey’s to--e,
and the subject of flying was dropped
right there.
' CHAPTER II.
George Lindsey lived in the far ofl
hamlet of Cumberland“ He returned to
his home. In three months he was to
wed Imogene St. Lawrence. Benton
St. Lawrence had a fit when it was first
mentioned. At last he gave his con-
sent. .
“I had planned a title for you, Im-
ogene.” That was all he said.
CHAPTER III.
Three months are supposed to clap e.
CHAPTER IV.
It was dark when the train came to a'
panting pause. in the Baltimore! and
Ohio depot. George Lindsey picked his
way through the crowd with quick, ner-
vous steps; It was to be his‘weddiug
night. He wondered if Imogene would
meet him at the train. All at once he
beheld the dear ' form walking just
ahead. '
“To-night, dearest, you are mine for—
ever,” whispered George Lindsey, tender:
1y seizing the sweet young creature by
her‘ larboard pinion. ‘
The shrieks which emanated from that
young woman could have given the best
efforts of a wronged panther cards and.
spades. It was not Imogene St. Law-
rence.
CHAPTER v.
The police bore away George Lindsey.
They turned a deaf ear to his explana:
tions.
“You make me weary,” remarked the
brutal turnkey to whom George Lind-
sey told his tale.
The cell door clanged, the lock clank-
ed, the cruel key grated as it turned.
George Lindsey was a prisoner. The
charge the blotter bore against the pris‘
oner'was: _ -
“Insulting women on the street.”
When George Lindsey was once more
alone he cursel as if his heart would
break. At last he was calm. ,
CHAPTER VI.
Oh, woman, in our hours of ease,
Uncertain. coy, and hard to pleage;
But seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure. then pity, then embrace.
CHAPTER v11. '
The palace St. Lawrence was a flare
The rooms were‘
jungles of palms and tropical plants.
Flowers were everywhere, while the air
tottered'and fainted under the burden
of their perfume.
Imogene St. Lawrence never looked
more beautiful. Hour followed hour in-
to the past. The guest moved from
room to room. The preacher notified
Benton St. Lawrence to pay or play.
And still George Lindsey dizl not come.
“The sucker has laid clown on us, my
. child,” whisperel Benton St. Lawrence '
to the weeping Imogene. “but may my
hopes of heaven die if I have not my re-
venge. No man shall insult the proud
house of St. Lawrence and get away with
The guests cheerfullytdisporsed, talk-
ing the most scandalous things in whis-
pers.
CHAPTER VIII.
Imogene St. Lawrence's dream Was
over. The next night George Lindsey
stood on the St. Lawrence porch and-
rang the bell.‘ His eye and his pocket
and his stomach were wild and vacant.
“Sic him, Bull!” said Benton St. Law-
rence, bitterly. Bull bore several spec-
imens from the quivering frame -of ,
George Lindsey, who vanished in the
darkness with a hoarse _cry.—’-Washing- 2
\
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Trainsleaee South Norwalk asjolloww:
COPYRIGHTS. tcote. ' i
Fon an York—Accommodation trains, at:
9.36 a.m.. 1.11. 2.54. 4.07. 5.30, 6.50, 8.11. 10.20
D. m. Express trains at 4.55.5.45. 6.15 (local)
6.55. .(local). 7.05,~(local), 7.55. (local). 8.21.
9.03 (local) 9.5.8. 10-85. 11.37. (local) a, m. 12 p2
2.25.4.20,5.g5,6.20 7.35 pm. Ferashmgtonvia
Harlem River 12.53 a.m.(daxly.)
proud—Accommodations 15 a. m.. 5.43, -
S
(local).7.23,(local_) 9.28p.m Express 4.55. 5.46,
a. m. ' _ . :
For anflsvnn sun-rim Essa—Accommoe * '
r-dation trains at 6.32.7.42.
_ ,46 and 11 44 a. m.,
1.37. 2.42, (to B’p’t). 4.20, 5.27.
tuck: Express) 7.10 ,p.‘
m. , », . ,
Snsnsra-a-Accommod‘ation'z.42. 9.12 mm. and ,
7.15 mm. .Express 12.40 andml rum. -1
.27, 7.29 (to B’p’t). . V "
8.41. 9.41 and 11.15.p. m. -' Express trains at: 12.40. '5,
1.11. 9.11 19.08. 11.03, mm. 12.05. 3.05. 5.04 (n allga- .
" C. T._'HEMPSTEAD. (ion. Pads. Agent.- .,
Norwalk Chronicler