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" ISSUTKO 8SKI?VXEKL^ L. M. grist s sons, Publishers.} % 4am^5 Seirspapei;: ^or the promotion of the political, Social, gigrieulturat and Commercial interests of the f)eopli{. { TERI ESTABLISHED 1855. YORKVILLE, S. C., FRIDAY, APRIL 21, 1911. ' NO. 32. . .. . ? .?_ I rnufDnv UCT TDAftir CiTF The Social I \ By Freder Copyright 1910, by the BobbsCHAPTER XV. Out of the Forest. Aiarjorie wooa awone eariy; sn? had not slept well that night. Perhaps the excitement of the evening, after the dance with Sir Archibald, followed In her dreams and made them trou- J bled. It was still dark without, when she slipped from her bed and looked at her watch. Not yet three o'clock, she saw by the tiny light left burning In her room; it would be some time before the others in the house would be stirring. A moment she stood uncertainly; then moved to the window, and, drawing the curtains, looked out. How still it was! Not a leaf seemed to move. She listened, watched; then her gaze became more Intent: it fastened on a particular spot. From the black fringe of forest that reached like a triangle toward her room she thought she discerned in the gloom something moving toward the shrubs on the lawn?an object, a figure? No; a shadow; that now was gone. Strive as she might, she could not again locate it. A shadow, of course! One of many shadows waving every where around; that came and went. Mechanically she drew back; how many ephemeral fancies had assailed her that night? She regarded her bed, but she knew she would court sleep in vain at the moment. She had no desire to lie awake there longer. Perhaps if she read?? But what? It did not matter. She stepped to the chair over the back of which hung her dressing-gown and slipped two shapely young arms, with their lacy covering, into the garment. Her slippers were near; she thrust her feet into them and went to the door. Opening it quietly, she stepped into the hall. The house was but dimly lighted; the old boards of the floor, though covered with heavy rugs, creaked slightly beneath her soft footfall. At the head of the stairway she paused. From the opposite end of the hall a brighter streak of light came from beneath the door of a room?Sir Archibald's! A slightly questioning look shone an instant from her eyes; then she went on. He had probably overlooked turning ofT the electric current before retiring. Slowly she descended. A few white marbles, pale semblances of classical folk, seemed to confront her at the foot of the stairs in rather more ghostly fashion than usual as she passed on to the library, now a sombrous place, with black lines of shade thrown this way and that across the floor. The girl reached up and turned on one of the side-lights. The answering gleam, though not bright in that spacious appartment, served to banish some of the deeper blurs from nooks and corners. She put out her hand toward the book-shelves. Her fingers rested on a volume at random. The Eve of St. Agnes, when, at that moment, her attention was abruptly arrested, held by a sound, distinct, unmistakable. Some one had approached, very lightly, aross the gracvcl walk to the house, stepped on to the lower balcony and stood now without. She was certain of the fact; what she had thought she had seen some time before, had not been a shadow then. The book fell from her hand; she stepped quicki\* h*?hinri nne of the heavv lone cur tains. Shielded by its folds from being seen, her eyes tried to penetrate the darkness. She saw nothing, however, except, again, the glimmer of the night; the sky, hardly so full of stars. Then, with senses alert, she caught once more the foot fall and made out a figure, at first, dark, uncertain; afterward, plainer. He stood on the veranda somewhat aside, looking toward one of the library windows. His figure was framed by the black timbers of the porch; they lent it an odd prominence. The shadowy form and the sky made a picture, a nocturne rimmed by straight Cimmerian lines. In the distance, faint quiverings lent depth to the back-j ground; fairy fingers seemed weaving intangible cobwebs of light across the| somber sky. Something, vaguely white, added a dim intrusive note to the impression; the girl started. That bit of white was against his side, on his arm, or?around it! She discerned now what it was; a bandage! That was strange!?Why?then the intruder was, must be? In the surprise of the moment she suddenly stepped back and in so doing parted the curtains. A glow of light from the room gleamed abruptly upon the porch. It lay like a bright sword amid the darkness at the intruder's feet. Was he startled, moved, for his part, to some quick, involuntary action? The girl did not see; she was momentarily too dazed, bewildered. She ' - - o r,a neui me cunains iai iiici ajiai ,, c?..v. looked out at him. And he, stepping at once forward, looked in at her, with the glass door between them. He was smiling now: he held himself lightly erect, though at what pain, what cost, to himself, she might little know. As in a dream she swung open the long French windows. A moment still he lingered without, his gaze, very bright, 011 her; the crown of dark hair that seemed to catch up and hold the light behind her. the deep eyes?too deep, in the wondrous shadow, to be blue: "You are?surprised?" he murmured. The words were spoken so faintly they seemed a part or the breeze that stirred about her now. waving slightly the folds of her gown: her hair. "I'm afraid I startled you." "I?just a little?" She saw now, with a new responsive thrill, how worn and drawn was his face! His eyes, however, yet strove to mask an expression of pain, acute, almost overpowering. "Hut why?" she began. "Why did you?" And stopped: she seemed suddenly to understand. The burns! They had been severe; had she not herself seen? He. with iwummwiH ii? ni'wwmm m WII 3 ?ucaneer I i c [sham | Merrill Company. al! his fortitude, had been unable t sleep, to endure the confinement of hi room; had felt Impelled, driven to g forth, through physical pangs, any where, out into the night, anywhert to be moving! Ah!" she breathed impulsively. He eyes were like stars; the lace at he throat stirred quickly. He came in. "Why?why did you not call sonv one?" she faltered. "Call some one?" he repeated, as i not understanding. His gaze burned her lashes half-lowered. "The bandages?they are disarrang ed. Shall I not call some one now?" "What? Wake the household? It i unnecessary; quite!" He spoke light ly, though very low, with a forcei jauntiness in his accents. But even as he replied, his figun swayed slightly; she noted the quid growing pallor of his face. He leane< hard, with his hand on the table sought yet to stand erect, then seeme< to sink, through no volition of his own to a large chair. A faint cry was still ed on her lips; she looked at him, thei glanced quickly around her, when, ai if divining some intention on her part he again moved and made a gestun with his hand. "Call no one," he repeated. "It ii nothing. I'm a bit done up; that is all Quite myself now," he added with at effort. "But?you are not," she said. "Hark!" He seemed listening. " hope we?I haven't awakened an) one." "It wouldn't matter," quickly. "Le me?" She l>ent over. Before he had tim< to expostulate, had he thought of sc doing, she began to rearrange th< bandages of his hand. He felt too ab< surdly weak at the moment to resist As through a haze, he saw the beautb ful, down-bent head; her fingers, light sedulous. "It is really all right now," he mur mured, an accent of solf-scofflng in hi! low voice at this enervation, the urn heroic part it forced upon him. "Wait!" She would not be pu aside; she had not quite finished. Hei fingers trembled slightly; her lips weri not set with their usual composure. I may be she was vividly cognizant a the instant how the burns had beei acquired; in whose service he had re ceived injuries, so painful? "You are too good," he breathed. "I?" She half-knelt on the cushion absorbed, forgetful of all save wha she was doing. He said no more though the smile, slightly derisory a his own momentary helplessness, stil lingered on his lips. From the lawi matutinal perfumes were waftet through the opened glass doors. H< breathed deeply like one in a lotui dream. She was so near!?But onlj for the moment: as a vision, e vanes' cent, that would soon vanish from hin for ever, leaving nothing but a haunt ing memory. Through half-closed lids he watchet the dim light playing on the dark hail that rippled over her shoulders; be neath the loose folds of the heavy shimmering gown, he imagined shi breathed once or twice quickly, a di vine movement more eloquent thai words. The stillness continued for a fev seconds, then was suddenly broken b: the unmistakable sound of somethinj above, a door opening softly. Hi: hand involuntarily lifted: his flgur straightened. The girl, too, heard an< rose. The task she had set herself however, was done; she looked hur riedly toward the stairs, then back a at him. But he seemed not to see he now: his finaers rested on somethini in an inside pocket at his breasl something hard, slightly projecting The girl did not notice his gesturt Over her lace a flush had slowl; spread: her eyes, which had swept firs upward and then swiftly aside a Bruce, suddenly lowered. The glass door of one of the librar; sections limned a pale reflection o herself; the long, flowing gown; th flash of a white bare arm; the untram meled hair, and an abrupt realizatioi of much that was unconventional ii her appearance came over her. He next words were constrained; he, how ever, seemed hardly to hear, replies vaguely he would stay there in th library a little while longer. She was glad his eyes were turnei from her as he spoke. He, too, hai risen, was standing now, deferentiall; waiting, his features slightly down l?ent. A word or two further, and sh moved across the threshold and up tl stairway, with cheeks still brightl; tinted, but head proudly erect, gaine< her own door and went in. Bruc heard it close gently. A few moments he continued to star, motionless, as if listening: then move to a table upon which rested a decan ter, near a box of cigars. Pouring ou a glass of wine he drank it quickh Through the partly opened door lead ing out on to the lower "balcony, th earliest tint of dawn could be seen o the eastern horizon. A bird's not< afar in the forest, smote the sky. H looked out: the lawn was desertec v.. ...... ?,o,i f/iiiinvoH hitn! none r those ho had mot below had soon hir enter here. Kor the instant, that last impressio of the unknown ho had enonuntered s strangely in the Page house recurro to Bruee; the din occasioned by thi person's mad, desperate dash. Had th fellow escaped, with his booty? Ifh had been taken? A certain new con tingency in that event insinuated it self in Brace's brain. It brought a odd look to his face. The morn?what tidings would it bring? Ahead Aurora's light palm had rubbed th nebulae front the heavens the solitar canticle of the feathered songster hit bv this time evoked an enthusiast! chorus. Bruce listened again for sounds fmi above, but heard nothing; the bit rambling house was wrapped in si blue. An ominous, deceptive still ness? He yet waited: his face wa pale, but the overpowering sense of complete physical collapse had passed away. His muscles became suddenly tense; a liaht, clear, if somewhat reckless. shone from his eyes. About to step toward the stairway, an object on the floor caught his glance; caused him to pause yet a moment. A book! He stooped for it, gazed at the volume, then, holding it carelessly, he walked out into the hall and ascended the broad stairs. At the top he paused to look around him; the upper hall was dark, but his rapid glances pierced the shadows. He did not wait I long. With light, elastic step, he mov0|ed noiselessly toward the corridor s | leading to his own room. 0 To roach it, he was obliged to pass . Sir Archibald's apartments. Approach, ing them, he seemed to hold himself with figure very alert; as if waiting, r expecting something sudden to hapr pen?a door to open?Sir Archibald, or his secretary, or hoth to appear abe ruptly on the threshold, then and there to hurl themselves upon him, to { end at* once a silent contest, a stren. uous, secret strife. But nothing of the kind occurred; the chambers be. fore him continued as hushed as the grave. s A slightly puzzled expression crossed _ Bruce's features as he paused at his j own threshold. Sir Archibald was not one to hesitate, once sure of his P ground. Could it be that now??Cagt lioni? A sudden light broke upon the j young man. The secretary might not , yet have returned to the Wood manj sion. Was the theory tenable? Had 1 the Portuguese been more injured than . he, Bruce, had expected. Had aught j else happened to detain him? What s would the next few hours show? The gods 'seemed to have granted e him a respite. For how long? He must not lull himself with false secur3 ity; vain hopes. A moment's exultal# tion became succeeded by clearer afy terthoughts. His fingers rested on a single key in one of his pockets; mechanically he drew it forth. Unlocking I the door, he stepped in. The light was r still burning as he had left it; the dressing-gown lay where he had t thrown it; nothing seemed disturbed. No one had been in there; of course ? not: he had hardly expected it. ) He turned again the key in his ? door; then felt once more in his pock. et for the key to the other door, the . one opening on the upper balcony. He could not find it. He hastily , turned everything out of his pockets on to a table?a match box, a small . knife, a cigarette case, his watch, 3 money?but. not that for which he . sought. It was gone. Where? Again shadows seemed surrounding him, t deeper, darker than before. He shook r his shoulders, as if to shake a gatheri ing of ominous forces from him. t A key? It was a little thing, derit sivelyhetold himself, hardly to be seen, i let alone to be noticed, even if any one . should chance upon finding it somewhere without, which was most unlikely. , Bruce began to undress. His clothes t were decidedly the worse for wear; , fortunately. Mr. Wood had instructed t the chauffeur to bring up from the inn 1 his new guest's hand-bag. It would, i ere long, be there; the young man 1 awaited its coming with interest. ? ? 3 CHAPTBR XVI. An Unexpected Finale, i "Cafe au lait, for two," said Sir . Archibald tersely, to his valet early that morning. 1 "Very good, Sir Archibald!" And r the man, a thin, deferential-appearing . fellow, who had been in the other's f service many years, bowed out of the i room. Sometimes his master and the - secretary breakfasted, American fashi ion, en famille, as it were in the bright apartment down-stairs; on other oc..noUno Hnv ovnonfprl tn nut in y a busy morning with correspondence or % papers for certain learned societies, s they sipped their coffee and ate their e rolls and eggs, continental-wise, in Sir J Archibald's cozy sitting-room. In this ', last contingency, however, the Eng lishman usually lounged, clad in a t sol>er Scotch dressing-gown, pipe in r hand, near his table. Now the valet g noted his master was engaged in putting the finishing touches to his toilet. ;. He adjusted with strong, precise fin>. gers his neck-tie and set squarely in y the middle a small horseshoe of rubies t and diamonds. t As the door closed and the valet disappeared, Sir Archibald permitted, priy vatel.v, an expression of considerable f feeling to sweep his usually stolid e countenance. He walked once or twice - back and forth across the thick car11 pet. hands in pockets, his tread, aga gressive, heavy. At that moment, his r eyes, full, old-looking?for a man not - yet much past thirty!?expressed ind dulntable signs of annoyance, if notane ger, which faded as a discreet knock announced the valet's return. The latd ter set down a tray quietly, removed d the Chinese checkerboard, and laid y the table, noiselessly arranged the - dishes, and, alter a last low customary e inquiry, "if there was anything further?" effected once more his unoby trusive exit. d Sir Archibald, although he had ore dcred coffee for two, drank it alone; he appeared not at all sedulous about d his secretary's share of the beverage d getting luke-warm or cold. He even - helped himself from both cups, and ate - -? J r..- / IT) irtn I I out* ill lilt' uraiRiicu ikh \^u|si iuhi. \ Having partaken, he rose, regarded his - watch, then the closed door leading ine to his secretary's room. As he did so, n his brow darkened and he stepped out upon his veranda, e The French windows opening from 1. Bruce's room to command a felicitous if prospect, mellow iu the soft morning 11 glow, were fastened, and Bamford's glance, swerving, passed to the fringe n of forest, where it lingered. A lug o muscular fist closed: he brought it d down softly upon his open palm. Cags lioni's continued absence tied his eme plo.vcr's hands and Sir Archibald e longed to use them. What had happened during the - night? Had anything? He stood imn potent, in the dark. The game was - yet a waiting one, but there was sueli y a thing as waiting too long. He had e done so once or twice on his macliam y in an Indian jungle, and the panther d had not only got away, but taken c the bait with him. Sir Archibald stirred restlessly. Had n not his patience, however, been sorely tried? When he had heard whisper ed voices in the library some time - before and had wished to play, not a s listening, but an acting part! A cruel glint shone from his cold gaze; thei his set jaw relaxed, and returning t his room, he, in methodical fashlor completed his toilet, which done, h stood ready for the events of the da> whatever they might he. He had i premonition the hours to come wouli he exciting ones. Passing out into the hall, he pause* long enough to tell one of the house maids that Senor Caglioni, after hreak fasting, had retired to his own room The secretary was not feeling well, i had headache, and so she or any o the other servants whose duty It wa to care for his room, could defer tha task until later in the day. Sayini which. Sir Archibald walked qulckl; down the stairs. As he was stepping by the library h* stnnned an instant to elance througl the open door, hut no one was there Only the vacant gaze of a number o ancestral portraits above the book shelves concentrated upon him with i cold British-like fixedness, met hii own searching look. It seemed t< grow blacker; he looked around witl new interest for the place, then re garded the outer doors now wide open admitting the morning air, the soum of the bees in the honeysuckle vines One of the latter appeared a little dls arranged: a streamer of green, tori from its fastening, floated erratically ii the fresh, early breezes. Bamford'i large, thick lips murmured somethinf softly to himself, as he walked on, ou oi tne ironi ooor ana into me gurueo. There his glance sought again th? wing of the rambling mansion; he evei moved to one side to be afforded a bet ter view of it; the trellis-work; th< ground beneath. Engaged in the com sideration of a decidedly limited, prof' itless and axiomatic "two and tw< makes four" mathematical process, be' ginning at certain footprints on th< ground and ending at a closed roon overhead, he did not at first hear i motor-car approaching the house alonf the public highway in front. It hat turned Into the grounds ere he raisec his head to look around; the machlm swept quickly down the private waj through the lawn and suddenly stopped. The chauffeur leaned at first fron his car, as if to answer some one wht had spoken to him, then, shutting of the noise of the machine, respectfullj got out. At the same moment Sii Archibald walked forward. He saw now who the "some one" was?a gir In a rose-colored linen gown. Hii lips set rather firmly, in an abrupi hard line; but only for an instant He became once more heavily debonnaire as a Piccadilly masculine fashion print, and greeted Miss Marjorit with conventional blandness. She however, appeared more interested ir a certain bit of information she hat Just received than in him. "Oh, Sir Archibald," she exclaimed "James here tells me the wonderfu Goldberg pearls have been stolen! A thief or thieves entered the house lasi night." Ramford started, and looked at th? girl. In her hand were scissors wit! which to cut flowers; she wore no hat "Stolen?" he repeated crisply, hii glance shifting quickly to the chauffeur. "Explain yourself, my man." "That's all there is to explain, Sii Archibald." The answer came a littl< stifflv. An American chauffeur is noi a British flunky, and the sharp anc autocratic "m.v man" Jarred, perhaps on the national spirit. "Every ont down in the village tells a different story, hut the gist of it is, the pearlt are gone." "And you didn't learn anything mori definite than that?" impatiently. "Not even when they were taken James, and?if they had any clue t( the miscreants?" added his young mistress. "I didn't stop to try to learn further details, Miss Wood," returned th< man, "as I had to come back at onc< with this," nodding toward a suitcast in the car. "There was a detectlv< from New York at the inn; a Mr. Bulger or Bolger. They had evldentlj sent post-haste for him. But h< wasn't saying anything." Sir Archibald swished rather hart with his heavy stick at the foliage obviously the chauffeur's incomplet< account annoyed him. "Oh, I did hear some one say th< burglar might have been a gentlemai ?one of the guests," observed thi driver of the car suddenly, "What an impossible conclusion!" exclaimed the girl. Sir Archibald looked at her mori sharply. There were shadows beneatl her eyes?eloquent of what? Sleep lessncss? The proud face might hav seemed paler than its wont, save fo the rose-colored gown which impart ed to it a subtle reflection of iti warmwi. nne nan iui um. uiic <m iv?tiowers, which she wore. They, too were of a red tone. He llattere< himself he was a profound student o womankind: any strong and particula feeling he might entertain for one o them could not oast a glamour over hii perspicacity. Love might be a gardei of delight, but the rational being, es peeially an Englishman, treads it will his eyes open. Sir Archibald's nov were lazily alert, sleepy, almost re minding one of a big cat's. They dis concerted Marjorie Wood, at that mo ment, for some inexplicable reason as if they were plunging deep, deep in to hers, to wrest from her something What ? "I hardly agree with you," she hear< him say with a slight smile, as if con scions of his own power. "About it' being impossible, don't you know? Fo my part," he added, "I find it, at least conceivable." "Do you?" Her face was a littl colder. The chauffeur returned to hi car: waited yet a moment, in cas they might wish t<> speak further witl him. The voice of another approaching broke in upon them: it was the gar dener who had been working in one o the beds near at hand. "I beg you pardon. Miss Wood," he said, witl broad accent. "in i couin nut: nn overhearing what yon were say In about the burglars at the Goldberi house, and." he added, pressing his thil III >s tight, "it's my opinion those satn gentry were arootied here last niglit." "I don't understand." The girl look ed at him quickly, a little startled. "If you will be so glide as to follot me. Miss?" She did so, as did also. Sir Archi bald; the c hauffeur, glancing over hi shoulder as if he, too, were interested controlled, however, his curiosity ani n guided his ear slowly toward the o house. i, "Look at this, and at that!" The _ e gardener pointed indignantly to one or *. two broken flower stems, footprints on a the edge of the soft earthy beds. "I a raked over here yesterday just before sundown and those must ha' been 3 made during the night. Who by?" "H-mm!' Sir Archibald made a ii - slight sound; eyed sidewise the girl, i' i. A delicate crimson came slowly to h a Miss Wood's face. "How ridiculous!" C f broke from her. "Your burglar the- a s ory, I mean." o t "Perhaps, Miss, perhaps!" said the P 5 man; but his countenance showed he w / retained his own opinion. C "Let us see!" Sir Archibald's tone 1* e became livelier; he bent low. "A i shapely, aristocratic foot," he laughed. f> i. "Too shapely for your vulgar house- <3 f breakers! Unless," he added, but he tl . did not utter that which he had been o i on the point of saying. Instead, he In- n s dulged once more in that enigmatic w ) murmur: "H-mm!" d i "It's making a great deal out of a . nothing," exclaimed the girl. "The ex- v i, planation is, no doubt, very simple," u 1 impetuously. h i "Yes?" Sir Archibald observed tl - qoletly, looking up at her. n i She did not answer; why? Did i something covert, in his gaze hold her h 9 silent? Last night!?the sound!?they a f had heard above!?Sir Archibald?he t had. then??She pressed a crimson lip n with her teeth and held herself more h ; erect; annoyed; irritated. She could a i not have defined exactly her feeling. f< . She was about to speak, more plainly, S i she knew not just what words; but to C! . do away with any further misunder- < - standing about footprints, or a paltry " j broken rose-stem or two, when Bam- v . ford abruptly straightened. T ? "Your father"?he observed, look- ( j ing toward the house. Mr. Wood, ot. P i the front steps, was speaking now to P j the chauffeur. 1 She turned quickly; perhaps, at the ? 1 instant, was glad of the pretext to do s i so; for, murmuring something in a T r low tone, she moved away. Sir Arch- s . ihald followed with slow footsteps. Mr. u Wood had heard the story by the time s , they drew near, and having listened K j to the meager details, proposed at once a t that they set out immediately for the I ? 4 /% lAAttn ttrkof Ho/1 Si J UUIUUCI g IIIilllSKlll IU icani n imi nau P taken place. Sir Archibald hesitated; B j the chauffeur removed the suitcase c 1 fr4m the car. P , The Englishman's eyes rested on it P t absently. Suddenly his manner be- " came decisive, and, signifying his in- o . tention of heing ready In a moment to si . accompany them, he turned and en- S , tered the house. ci Chatfleld Bruce, from one of his tl j windows in the second story of the d j wing, had seen the car turn into the 01 grounds of the Wood estate, and now, not long after, he observed it go out h 1 once more and noted the occupants. As a L the sound of the motor receded down b t the road, he rang the bell sharply. w Soni^on answered. o ? "My suit-case, that was brought C( , from the inn?send it up here." e: "Very well, sir. I'll see to it my- e , sef, sir." P But time passed; the young man u pressed the bell again, impatiently. tl P When, at length, Simpson did re- n ? turn, his countenance was troubled, b t his manner, gravely apologetic. He c 1 regretted the circumstance; some mis- b take must have been made, for the b > suit-case could not, at the moment, be C t found. Presumably, it had been for- 'i , gotten and left in the motor. 9 "Nonsense!" said Bruce, regarding ti , him keenly. b "I beg your pardon, sir," somewhat 9 taken aback. tl j "And I yours!" laughed the young o man. There was no mistaking this old w servant's recltude. "You are positive s you have made a thorough search? n 4 Yes? Then, you may go, and?thank I you, Simpson." v "V nil are rinifa welcome, sir: but t( I I'll have another look around, and If?" [ He started to open the door: through w . the crack Bruce became suddenly r % aware of a lurking figure which moved fi quickly away. Sir Archibald's valet! o j Had he, too, then, been pressed Into p . new service, that of watching, spying w j upon him? s Bruce laughed. "Don't bother any s more about the suit-case. It'll only be ' a waste of time. I hardly think you'll P ? find it until the car returns." And as s Simpson again moved away, the latest s , guest laughed once more. ii At the tragic-comic conclusion! Or, a predicament? The loss of a suit-case! o Sir Archibald was showing himself n 1 rather fine and subtle. Possibly, even, tl the big Englishman understood a joke, v P and was smiling to himself now, as he c r sped down the road. Rut for Bruce, r< it was no smiling matter; he remain- k 8 ed here a prisoner, at the moment 1 1 when he wished most for his freedom, u '' He looked again out of his window, o , At a corner of the veranda, a shadow, h f which might have been a man's, ath- t? r wart the boards, moved slightly. Be- d ^ low, the (lowers nodded at him, but he e 9 remained oblivious to the dancing con- u 1 sociation of gay colors. A hearty r breakfast had given him new strength. Ii "1 His pulses throl?l?etl protestingly for a action. But what should he do? What tl could he do? a His restless glance, roaming aim- a lessly, fell upon the discarded even- fl ' Ing clothes; continued to linger on the c garments. An expression, oddly whim- h sical. played about his lips. "When s between Scylla and Charybdis"?his n eyes shone with abrupt decision?"one must steer a course, somewhat pre- p cipitous." To conclude, with Chattield o Bruce, was to act; he did so, quickly, u (To be Continued.) h ii e Something Like Lungs.?A gigantic c 8 private in the guards was brought be- h e fore his C. O. charged with being dis- u " orderly in the public street. o "Who jnit this man in the guard- I' ? room?" asked the colonel. t "I did, sir," replied a sergeant. n ' "I was in town last night when I n r heard some one bellowing and roaring v ^ songs about three hundred yards away, f 11 1 went to the spot and heard the ae- s cused?Private Johnson?singing at d ^ the top of his voice." e 11 "And you could hear him three hun- o 0 dred yards away?" asked the colonel, v "Yes, sir." ^ "Well, what have you to say, Private f; Johnson?" continued the colonel, turn- d v ing to the accused. d "Please, sir," said Private Johnson. "I was only 'urnming."?Ideas. e s I) I. Only that soul that hath known i d sorrow can know joy. Ii 2tti$ceUancou$ ^fading. HOW OUR "MONEY" ORIGINATED tncient Coins Used to Illustrate Eventi of History. It Is to Lydia that Europe owes th< nvention of coinage. In all times ant i all countries the privilege of colninf as been allowed the sovereign 'roesus, of Lydia, was the first monrch to introduce a bimetallic systerr f coinage?gold and silver in the pro ortion of about three to four. ThJi ,as some time between 560 and 546 B Darius of Persia, is said to hav< iter adopted this idea also. At a very early age the ancienti :>und it necessary to discover som< eflnite medium of exchange to tak< he place of the inconvenient methoc f bartering?the most primitiv< leans of carrying on trade. Meta as chosen doubtless by reason of iti urablllty, and in the case of gold anc liver, by reason of their intrinsk alue. Silver and brass were flrsi sed, particularly in Greece, from ? ick of sufficient gold. Later, however lis deficiency was overcome in a maner to be described further on. The less liable a metal is to chang< i value the better it is suited for e tandard. The first method of using precioui letal as a medium of exchange wai npracticable and inconvenient. It was imply weighed and exchanged, in full >r commodities of various sorts loon as commercial transactions inreased and became more complicated : was found necessary to divide th? iass into units of various weights hich took the form of rough coins l~ .UU 4UA.A In MAlli <1 una nilv uicic la nut; aui viviii^ iciu in name only) of this first system o a.vment by weight. It is the wore ound. This division proved unsatisictory also, since no two merchant! rere likely to have split their store 01 liver into pieces of equal weight 'heir units could not be taken as { tandard, since a piece of weigher letal becomes a coin only when It h tamped by the state, and is thui uarded to have Its professed weigh' nd purity. The Greeks first issued real coir ame time during the seventh centurj I. C. By the fourth century the entirt ivilized world used money. It is suposed that the priests played an imortant part in the introduction ol joney, for it Is highly characterise f them that their coins were from th< tart marked by religious association o ancient coins in a great measurt rmflrm history and have been, and lr le years of discovery yet to come wll oubtless continue to be, of the greatst help to historians. In addition to illustrating events ol Istory, these coins have also a direel nd valuable bearing on the rellgiouj eliefs of the nations and tribes bj 'hich they were issued. The mythlogy of the Greeks has not been reorded by them in sacred books to anj xtent, nor handed down to later genrations by a faithful and studiout riesthood. Their mythology ran or nchecked, and having grown out ol le beliefs of scores of various tribes eaches us in a condition which scarce admits of systematizing. The Greel oins up to the death of Alexandei ear only sacred subjects. Every coir isued bears a reference to some deity oins of Miletus* for Instance, bear ? on; those of rcretria snow a cow ant licking calf; those of Cyzicus show t iinny fish, etc. All these were symols of the goddesses. The coins istied under the empire bear, as a rule he imperial portrait on one side, ant n the other a sacred emblem. Th< rhole, then, affords us invaluable asIstance in reconstructing Greellythology. Ancient coins are of almost equa alue to the geographer as to the hisjrlan. Then, too, the art of sculpture, o - hich coin engraving is an offspring eceives great illustration from a careill study of these coins. The memorj f lost statues is preserved for us, and articularly in the case of Greek coins re are afforded an example of tha kill by which her sculptors attainet uch renown. The history of Greece is one of i eople continually torn by civil dis ension. Their story is one of war an< trife, forever between themselves, ant n later years with outsiders. War ii n expensive thing in more senses thai ne, though we have needed to taki ote here of pecuniary costs alone. Ai he various states were jealous and al .ays at odds, so were men and as i onsequence the religious temple wai esurted to as a depository for the safeeeping of precious metals and jewels 'hese religious institutions played n< nimpnrtant part in the developmen f the earlier Greek commerce. The) eld vast sums of gold plate, and this ogether with fortunes of their own erived from votive offerings, the) mployed productively for their owi se. They loaned money at a higl ate of interest, and this custom ver) kely suggested to others the idea o: oing likewise. Pasion was probablj tie first to do this. He founded a houst t Athens, operating with a capital oi 0 talents. He established for himsel: rst rate credit at all centers of Greel ommerce. In this way business eoulc e transacted by the exchange of t ort of letter of credit in place of paylent in coin. The introduction of this system, desite its small scale, shows the growtl f commercial activity. Money wai nw more plentiful, and all prices igher than ever before. This was dut it a measure to the amount of preions metals, chiefly gold, which hat een brought into circulation. Wai pon war led to the gradual coinagt f the treasures which had for years een accumulating in the temples, ant his .new "banking" system put on th< fiarket money which would otherwist ave been hoarded. The interest rat< ias high. Twelve per cent was pait or the loan of money. This fact is ignifieant. It shows the thriving eonition of industries. Capital wa! vidently in demand. With a fortum I" flO talents (less than |f>0,000) then L'otild be yielded an income of $6,000 'hat sum, of course, then possessed ar greater purchasing power that nes an equivalent weight of gold toay. It might be well to say a word her* oncernlng the origin of the tern iank. Some authorities have it tha ts origin is found in the Italian wort ianco, a bench used by money ehang ers in me maraei piace. i am uivuued, however, to favor the claim of other authorities, who maintain that t the term takes its origin from the old '* German word Banek?a pile, mound, heap, as of precious material. 1 Greek hankers (trapezitae) maintained their stands in the Agora, and ? combined in their vocation a number 1 of other businesses. They changed f money, bought foreign money at dls. count, furnished gold for export, loan. ed money to merchants on security of ! ships and their cargoes, and received . sums on deposit for which they paid j interest. They later on often acted as pawnbrokers, accepting gold plate ; and jewels and other personal property. j We have no evidence that any of > these ancient hanks and bankers were > ever guaranteed by the state, and very 1 likely they were not. One exception > may have existed, however, if we are 1 to credit Aristotle, in the case of ; Byzantium. 1 In Rome bankers are known to have ? existed as early as 309 B. C., their t functions being practically identical t with those of Greece. We have a trifle more reliable information concerning . these Roman bankers than we have of the Grecian. Their various branches > of doing business seem to have been t as follows: Their permutatio, or exchange of , foreign coin for Roman currency. For 5 this they charged a commission or ex, change. Subsequently, when the Romans acquainted themselves with the Greek method of bills of exchange, . they received money which was to be paid at Athens, for instance, and drew > a draft of exchange upon some Athent ian banker with whom they ran an ao, count. ; Their depositum was for keeping of f sums of money for other persons. Cash j mignt ?e deposited merely ror sare. keeping, In which case the banker (ar3 gentarium) paid no interest. When a f payment was to be made the owner . was required to draw a check as in i modern times. But the deposit might 1 have been made upon the stipulation 3 that interest be paid, in which event 3 the transaction was called creditum. I The banker could then employ this money in his own Interests. In the event of failure of a bank the law enacted that the claims of the depositarri should be satisfied before those of creditors who had money deposited to their credit at interest. The argentarri never delivered money to any one except upon receipt of a check, and the payment was made in cash, or If the person who received it kept an account with the same banker the sum was credited to his account. 1 Of all receipts and expenditures . these bankers kept an accurate account in books called codices, and we f have every reason to believe that they I were familiar with double-entry book3 keeping. Thus the argentarri carried r on a business almost Identical with . that of the modern bank. They com. bined with their regular banking r business other avocations of a kindred . nature. They often acted as agents at 3 private sales and auctions. They acti ed as brokers, too, in the modern sense, f and frequently undertook to sell entire estates as inheritances. For many years the ancients malnt tained that charging interest partook ? of the nature of usury, and men of i this profession did not enjoy the very highest reputation. After a time. t though not escaping reproach, the 1 higher class of bankers maintained a i good name and enjoyed a reputation ; . for honesty and ability. Their credit . in all parts of the commercial world f enabled them to raise on short notice i large sums of money in foreign cities. ? Much confidence was finally placed in . them, business often being transacted c without witnesses, so they became in time a sort of unofficial notaries pub1 lie.?Scientific American. ANIMAL KINGDOM IN COURT. f f Cases of a Fish, a Monkey, Hens, an Eagle and a Goose. Animals of various kinds have been ' having their day in court, says Case | and Comment. That no fish were on j the ark, and that therefore the creature is not an animal, was the position taken by a St. Louis city attorney in a case against a pedler accused of cruelj ty to animals. j The case was dismissed over the emphatic protest of Judge Pollard, who i argued that the dictionary defined a e fish as an animal. The pedler was charged with advertising his fish by displaying a live animal from a string on his cart, that its flopping might at^ tract the eves of prospective purchasers. There can be no doubt, however, j that a monkey is an animal of high de. gree. A five pound simian slumbered peacefully in his cage at the Kentucky state fair grounds a rew monina ago, , while four attorneys fought a wordy battle in the magistrate court as to ) whether state fair visitors should be ' permitted to amuse themselves by i throwing balls at the monkey, i To champion his cause and see that . justice was done to little Jocko, half a ' dozen I?uisville club women were ' present. After an hour and a half of r testimony and legal oratory about Dar? win, "monkey prostration," "nervous I fatigue" and other things that the ordinary layman would not believe a f monkey was heir to, the magistrate c decided that the owner should pay a j fine of $25 for letting the visitors at the fair make his monkey a target for 1 rubber balls. That it is against the Ohio law to hold bald eagles in captivity was the ruling received from Attorney General Hogan by Elmer Eawcett, a Logan county farmer. Fawcett had one of the birds, and the attorney general ordered its release. The eagle was taken after a fierce fight several weeks ago. Fawcett discovered it with its talons fastened in the woolly back of a lajnb, seized a pitchfork and captured the bird after a lively struggle. The attorney general holds that a native eagle cannot be held captive in Ohio. The much disputed question "is a 1 hen a bird?" which the treasury officials passed up as too complex for ? them has been presented to the new 1 court of customs appeals. The present t ; form of the problem is this: "If birds' l > eggs are free under the tariff and hens' t eggs are taxed 5 cents a dozen, why ' i isn't a hen a bird?" An importer who i paid the duty wants to know. 1 3 Also there is a goose case now pend, ing. In a certain barnyard an agent ( " of a North Carolina S. P. C. A. discov- , - ered a goose whose wehhed feet were ' . nailed to a board as one stage in the j j process to make its liver become pate | de foie gras. i 1 A meeting of the society was held to | consider the case, and the president, | who had been in consultation with en- < a cylopedists, doctors, lawyers, humani- | tarians and others, insisted that In ad? 1 1 dition to the bodily injury there was t also the question of mental anguish on < I the part of the goose. Accordingly the 1 society voted to hale the goose's owner 1 to court. i Attempted to Prevent Stampede of Cattle and Goes Over Cliff. Jack showed up at Texas ferry on he Snake for the big spring roundip of 1888. His other name was 5'Rorlck, and he might have come rom the old sod. Instead of Walla iValla, but the chances are that he lad never known any other than the ange country. Otherwise he would lot have had time to learn all he mows of cattle and bronchos, or to lave so thoroughly forgotten whatever le migm nave Known 01 iear or caulon in softer and safer surroundngs. Not yet 21, tall, slender and lithe ls rawhide, he was the cowpuncher rom his hatband to heavy spurs, the vlldest rider from the Snake to the lorthern border. Rarely was there inythlng missing from his make-up. (specially when Jack had arrived In own. That round-up he Joined at the erry was the last on a vast scale held n eastern Washington. Beef cattle >y the tens of thousands roamed the ange then from the Cascade to the roeur d'AIenes, but settlers' shacks lad begun to dot the sage and the errible winter of 1890-91 was coming o thin the herds down to scattered, >ony bands. But In 1888 the inland smplre was as alive with cowboy ronance and action as the John Day /alley, the country around eld Tucjon or the endless ranches of Texas. The gathering camp at Texas ferry >rought together the best of the >unchers that were left on the range. They came In from Montana, Idaho ind Oregon, bringing with them Scupe liloyd and BUI Ireland, afterward to >ecome famed the country over as the :rack broncho "buster" of Buffalo Bill's show. Bill Lewis, champion oper of the west, bossed the outfit. Their fires gleamed around the ferry 'or a few nights and then they pulled >ut Into the sage. Ten "chuck" wag>ns rolled along In the rear with food md bedding. The horse wranglers mu 5uu ponies 10 anng tuong. 11 >vas cowland at its best, Just before :owland became a vivid memory. Naturally, in a bunch like that, Jack tad to maintain his reputation for eckless riding and in the horse work tround the big camp he found all the :ompetition of that kind that could >e brought together. They had a >unch of wild horses to break before hey started. When they got the worst ighter of the lot sorted out Jack got >n him with only a halter and ran lim over a trail nobody cared to try txcept on a wise and seasoned cow >ony. As a finishing touch he Jumped the crazed animal over a six-foot >ank into loose rock, held him on his 'eet and brought htm into camp meek ind uninjured. From Texas ferry the roundup worked down the Snake to old Ainsworth, >n the Columbia, and turned north. Pasco happened to be in their way. Unlike the Pasco of today, the town hen consisted principally of saloons. [n the absence of grand opera and 11iraries these attracted the cowboys' euriosity. They arrived in town on the ump, creating a noisy and smoky sltlation with their uplifted sixshooters. This preliminary failed to satisfy Tack and after a seasonable period at- ~ he bar he undertook to amplify it. Drifting gayly into a saloon frequented >y railroad men he encouraged a general Jig by shooting neatly at the feet lisplayed about the floor. The bartenler, being new to the country, caught Tack from behind and the jig was con:inued largely on Jack's anatomy, everybody joining in. Eventually they lgged him into the street handily and 'emarked upon the circumstances lappuy?ior aoout a minute. Then Jack returned and the cowboy xipulation of the town seemed to be vith him. They all wanted to get aclualnted with the bartender and his 'riends retired through the back door. The cowboys went into the saloon busness on a common benefit basis. IVhen they got ready to start for camp he building formerly occupied by the laloon remained in a fragmentary coniition. The bartender never did return. The roundup went on up the river jntil it reached Mudhen Lake, the main >eef gather." The place was known l11 through cowland for its favorable ocatlon on the round-up. It offered jlenty of water and a corral rock that ivould hold thousands of cattle. A cor-al rock is one of the stone projections :hat shoot up in the Inland Empire to i height of 100 feet or more. They ire flat on top, the sides are perpenlicular and a bunch of cattle gathered >n the rock with a man to guard the >ne trail they were driven up couldn't . ?et away without wings. The big ound-up put several thousand head of beef on the rock at Mudhen Lake, lack had the watch from dark till midnight the first night there. He sadJled a young mule for the work. A mule is more surefooted than even a range pony and possesses keener afterlark wisdom than most humans. They jaw Jack standing by a brush fire in the trail when the camp turned in. srflfr$Oq poWwl ese aaUulktc It was a hard watch, for the outfit tiad ridden hard all day and Jack wouldn't move around far enough away From the trail to keep his senses alert. The herd rested easily, however, until nearly midnight, the hour of the first relief, when Jack could go to his ilankets. He had snapped his watch >n 11.30 and almost dropped into a nap tvhen a rumble up on the cliff brought lim up on the Jump. On the highest point of the cliff above he could see the swaying horns ind heads of frightened cattle. It may lave been a wolf or the mysterious ileotric impulse in the air that sends attle stampeding blindly over anyhing in their path. Jack recognized he symptoms and the danger to the attle, but nothing else. To turn the herd back from the rim )f the rock would have ueen a ticklish ob in daylight. Any movement belind them would start the rear forvard and the front would have to go >ver. It remained for the rider to vork along between the cattle and the dge of the rock. Jack ought to have ailed the whole camp into the saddle, nstead of that he Jumped the mule up he trail and Jammed him along the dge. ? > ?sn/1 tnaalncr hv 1 Iiy neiu who imiiin* o-nu >va?.>B his time and they crowded the mule . lose on the rock. An unaccustomed icise would have sent rider and mules >ver in a cataract of living1 beef to belome hamburger at the bottom. Jack iwung along there, but quieting a wild >erd at midnight, 150 feet above level iTound, by a tight-rope ride on a mule vas the sort of amusement he most raved. He pushed hard for the crag vhere the herd had pointed and where t could be most readily turned along he cliff and circled back to safety. The line of the cliff curved before t reached the point. Jack, with his eyes anxiously on the cattle ahead, lidn't see it. The mule did and stop>ed to feel his way. If prudence had >een a part of Jacks make-up he would lave noted that. Instead he pulled up he mule's head and drove in the spur. The steers on the point were pawing tnd snorting and there was no time to ose. The mule braced himself again in eonsciousness of the danger and again lack, unheeding, gave him the spur. The animal flinched, lost his footing tnd Jack, in his headlong impatience, lulled up his head again and drove him sheer out into the dark. The cowboys found him and his mule crushed together on the rocks below. His presence and voice had turned the herd on the point and none of them followed tiim down. The cowboys built a rude monument if stone where they picked up Jacks broken bones. From that day Mudhen tias been known as Deadman's Lake.? Spokeane Spokesman-Review.