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> • <*:a B \k rwi cnFnuT^ IbankIISpearman. IHU5TPATI0N5 BY ANDRP BOWIES co/^y&sc/f? 3Y Cms SCK/8f/ffi>e> <5 avs SYNOPSIS. Murray Sinclair and his gang of wreck- en were called out to clear the railroad tracks at Smoky Creek. McCloud, a young road superintendent, caught Sin­ clair and his men tn the act of looting the wrecked train. Sinclair pleaded in­ nocence, declaring it only amounted to a small sum--a treat for the men. McCloud discharged the whole outfit and ordered the wreckage burned. McCloud became acquainted with Dlcksie Dunning, a girl of the weat, who came to look at the wreck. She gave him a message for Sin­ clair. "Whispering" Gordon Smith told President Bucks of the railroad, of Mc- Cloud's brave fight against a gang of crazed miners and that was the reason for the superintendent's appointment to his high- office. McCloud arranged to board at the boarding house of Mrs. Sin­ clair, the ex-foreman'« deserted wife. Dicksie Dunning was the daughter of the late Richard Dunning, who had died of a broken heart shortly after his wife's demise, which occurred after one year of lljarried life. Sinclair visited Marion Sin­ clair's shop and a fight between him and McCloud was narrowly averted. Smoky Creek bridge was mysteriously, turned. McCloud prepared to face the sltafftion. President Bucks notified Smith that he had work ahead. McCloud worked for days and finally got the division running In fairly good order. He overheard. Dick­ sie criticising his methods, to Marion Sinclair. A stock train was wrecked by an open switch. Later a passenger train was held up and the express cat- robbed. Two men or a posse pursuing the bandits were .killed. McCloud was notified that Whispering Smith was to hunt the des­ peradoes. B1JJ Dancing, a road lineman, proposed that (Wnclafr and his gang be sent to hunt US® bandits. A stranger, ap­ parently with authority, told him to go ahead. Dancing was told the stranger was "Whispering Smith." Smith ap­ proached Sinclair. He tried to buy him off, but failed. He warned McCloud that his life was in danger. McCloud was car­ ried forcibly into Lance Dunning's pres­ ence. Dunning refused the railroad a right-of-way, he had already signed for. Dicksie interfered to prevent a shooting affray. Dicksie met McCloud on a lonely trail to warn him his life was in danger. On his way home a shot passed through his hat. Whispering Smith reported that Du Sang, one of Sinclair's gang, had been assigned to kill McCloud. He and Smith taw Du Sang. Whispering Smith taunt­ ed Du Sang and told him to get out of Medicine Bend or suffer. Du Sang seemed to succumb to the bluff. McCloud's big construction Job was taken from him be­ cause of an injunction issued to Lance Dunning by ,the United States court. CHAPTER XVI.--Continued. The Crawling Stone river is said to embody, historically, all of the de­ ceits known to mountain streams. Be­ low the Box Canyon it plows through a great bed of yielding silt, its own deposit between the two imposing lines of bluffs that resist its wander­ ings from side to side of the wide val­ ley. This fertile soil makes up the rich lands that are the envy of less fortunate regions in the Great Basin; but the Crawling Stone is not a river to give quiet title to one acre of its own making. The toil of its centuries spreads beautifully green under the June skies, and the unsuspecting set­ tler, lulled into security by many years of the river's repose, settles on Its level bench land and lays out his long lines of possession; but the Sioux will tell you in their own talk that this man is but a tenant at will; that in mother time and at another place the stranger will inherit his fields; and that the Crawling Stone always comes *>ack for its own. The winter had been an unusual one even in a land of winters. The sea­ son's fall of snow had not been above an average, but it had fallen in the spring and had been followed by ex­ cessively low temperatures throughout the mountains. June came again, but a strange June. The first rise of the Crawling Stone had not moved out the winter frost, and the stream lay bound from bank to bank, and for hun­ dreds of mHes, under three feet of ice. When June opened, backward and eold, there had been no spring. Heavy frosts lasting until the" middle of the month gave sudden way to summer beat, and the Indians on the upper- valley reservation began moving back Into the hills. Then came the rise. Creek after creek in the higher moun­ tains, ice-bound for six months, burst without warning into flood. Soft winds struck with the sun and stripped the mountain walls of their snow. Rains set in on the desert, and far in the high northwest the Crawling Stone lifting its four-foot cap of ice like a bed of feathers began rolling it end over end down the valley. In the Box, 40 feet of water struck the canyon walls and ice-floes were hurled like torpedoes against the granite spurs; the Crawling Stone was starting after Its own. When the river rose, the earlier talk of Dunning's men had been that the Crawling Stone would put an end to the railroad pretensions by washing the 250 miles of track back to the Peace river, where it had started. This much in the beginning was easy to predict; but the railroad men had turned out in force to fight for their holdings, and while the ranchers were laughing, the river was flowing over the bench lands in the upper valley. CHAPTER XVII. The Crawling Stone Rise. So sudden was the onset of the river that the trained riders of the big ranch were taken completely aback, and hundreds of head of Dunning cat­ tle were swept away before they could be removed to points of safety. Fresh alarms came with every hour of the day and night, and the telephones up „ And down the "valley rang incessantly with appeals from neighbor to neigh­ bor. Lan«:e Dunning, calling out the » reserves of his vocabulary, swore tre­ mendously and directed the operations against the river. These seemed, in­ deed, to conSifit mainly of hard riding and hard language on the part of everybody Murray Sinclair, although he had sold his ranch on the Crawling Stone and was concentrating his hold­ ings on the Frenchman, was every­ where in evidence. He was the first at a point of danger and the last to ride awaj from the slipping acre* where the muddy flood undercut; but no defiance seemed to disturb the Crawling Stone, which kept alarming­ ly at work> Above the alfalfa lands on the long bench north of the house the river, in changing 1U course many years earli­ er, had left a depression known as Mud lake. It had become separated from the main channel of the Crawling Stone by a high, narrow barrier in the form of a bench deposited by the re­ ceding waters of some earlier flood, and added to by sandstorms sweeping rfmong the willows th^t overspread it. Without an effective head or definite system of work the efforts of the men at the Stone ranch were of no more consequence than if they had spent their time in waving blankets at the river. Twenty men riding in together to tell Lance Dunning that the river was washing out the tree claims above Mud lake made no perceptible differ­ ence in the event. Dicksie, though an inexperienced girl, saw with helpless clearness the futility of it all. Terror seized Dicksie. She tele­ phoned in her distress for Marion, begging her to come up before they should all be swept away; and Marion, turning the shop over to Katie Dan­ cing, got into the ranch-wagon that Dicksie had sent and started for the Crawling Stone. At noon Marion arrived. The ranch- house was deserted, and the men were all at the river. Puss stuck her head out of the kitchen window, and Dick- sid' ran out and threw hefself into Marion's arms. Late news from the front had been the worst; the cutting above Mud lake had weakened the last barrier that held off the river, and every available man was fighting the current at that point. Marion heard it all while eating a luncheon. Dicksie, beset with anxiety, could not stay in the house. The man that had driven Marion over, saddled horses in the afternoon and the two women rode up above Mud lake, now become through rainfall and seepage from the river a long, shallow lagoon. For an hour they watched the shovel­ ing and carrying of sand-bags, and rode toward the river to the very edge of the disappearing willows, where the bank was melting away before the undercut of the resistless current. They rode away with a common feel­ ing--a conviction that the fight was a losing one, and that another day would see the ruin complete. "Dicksie," exclaimed Marion--they were riding to the hou^e-as she spoke --"I'll tell you what we can do!" She hesitated a moment. "I will tell you what we can do! Are you plucky?" Dicksie looked at Marion pathet­ ically. "If you are plucky enough to do it, we can ke^p the river off yet. I have an idea. I will go, but you must come along." "Marion, what do you mean? Don't you think I would go anywhere to save the ranch? I should like to know where you dare go in this country that I dare not!" "Then ride with me over to the rail­ road camp by the new bridge. We will ask Mr. McCloud to bring some of his men over. He can stop the river; he knows how." Dicksie caught her breath. "Oh, Marion! that would do no good, even I could do it. Why, the railroad has been all swept away in the lower val­ ley." "How do you know?" "So every one says." "Who is every one?" "Cousin Lance, Mr. Sinclair--all the men. I heard that a week ago." "Dicksie, don't believe it. You don't know these railroad men. They under­ stand this kind of thing; cattlemen, you know, don't. If you will go with me we can get help. I feel just as sure that those men can control the river, as I do that I am looking at you --that is, if anybody can. The question is do you want to make the effort?" They talked until they left the horses and entered the house. When they sat down. Dicksie put her hands to her face. "Oh, I wish you had said nothing about it! How can I go to him and ask for help now--after Cous­ in Lance has gone into court about the line and everything? And of course my name is in it all." "Dicksie, don't raise specters that have nothing to do with the case. If we go to him and ask him for help he will give It to us if he can; if he can't, what harm is done? He has been up and down the river for three weeks, and he has an army of men canned over by the bridge. I know thaif because Mr. Smith rode in from there a few days ago." "What, Whispering Smith? Oh, if he is there I would not go for worlds!" "Pray, why not?" "Why, he is such an awful man!" "That is absurd, Dicksie." Dicksie looked grave. "Marion, no man in this part of the country has a good word to say for Whispering Smith." "Perhaps you have forgotten, Dick­ sie, that you live in a very rough part of the country," returned Marion, coolly. "No man that he has ever hunted down would have anything pleasant to say about him; nor would the friends of such a man be likely to say a good word of him. There are many on the range, Dicksie, that have no respect for life or law or anything else, and they naturally hate a man like Whispering Smith--" "But Marion, he killed--" "I know. He killed a man named Williams a few years ago, while you were at school--one of the worst men that ever infested this country. Wil­ liams Cache is named after that man; he made the most beautiful spot in all these mountains a nest of thieves and murderers. But did you know that Williams shot down Gordon Smith's only brother, a trainmaster, in cold blood in front of the Wickiup at Medi­ cine Bend? No, you never heard that in this part of the country, did you? They had a cow-thief for sheriff then, and no officer in Medicine Bend would go after the murderer. He rode in and out of town as if he owned it, and no one dared say a word, and, mind you, Gordon Smith's brother had never seen the man in his life until he walked up and shot him dead. Oh, this was a peaceful country a few years ago! Gordon Smith was right-of-way man In the mountains then. He buried his brother, and asked the officers what they were going to do about get- ing the murderer. They laughed at him. He made no protest, except to ask for a deputy United States marshal's commission. When he got it he started for Williams Cache after Williams in a buckboard--think of it, Dicksie--and didn't they laugh at him! He did not even know the trails, and imagine riding 200 miles in a buck- board to arrest a man in the moun­ tains! He was gone six weeks, ahd came back with Williams' body strapped to the buckboard behind him. He never told the story; all he said when he handed in his commis­ sion and went back to his work was that the man was killed in a fair fight. Hate him! No wonder they hate him --the Williams Cache gang and all their friends on the range! Your cous­ in thinks it policy to placate that ele­ ment, hoping that they won't steal your cattle if you are friendly with them. I know nothing about that, but I do know something about Whisper­ ing Smith. It will be a bad day for Williams Cache when they start him up again. But what has that to do with your trouble? He will not eat you up if you go to the camp, Dicksie. You are just raising bogies." They had moved to the front porch and Marion was sitting in the rocking chair. Dicksie stood with her back against one of the pillars and looked at her. As Marion finished Dicksie turned and, with her hand on her fore­ head, looked in wretchedness of mind out on the valley. As far, in many di­ rections, as the eye could reach the waters spread yellow in the flood of sunshine across the lowlands. There was a moment of silence. Dicksie turned her back on the alarming sight. "Marion, I can't do it!" "Oh, yes, you can if you want to, Dicksie!" Dicksie looked at her with tearless eyes. "It is only a question of being plucky enough," insisted Marion. "Pluck has nothing to do with it!" exclaimed Dicksie, in fiery tones. "I should like to know why you are al­ ways talking about my not having courage! This isn't a question of cour­ age. How can I go to a man that I talked to as I talked to him in your house and ask for help? How can I go to him after my cousin has threat­ ened to kill him. and gone into court to prevent his coming on our land? Shouldn't I look beautiful asking help from him?" Marion rocked with perfect com­ posure. "No, dear, you would not look beautiful asking help, but you would look sensible. It is so easy to be beautiful and so hard to be sen­ sible." "You are just as horrid as you can be, Marion Sinclair!" "I know that, too, dear. All I wanted to say is that you would look very sensible just now in asking help from Mr. McCloud." "I don't care--I won't do it. I will never do it, not if every foot of the ranch tumbles into the river. I hope it will! Nobody cares anything about me. I have no friends but thieves and outlaws." "Dicksie!" Marion rose. "That is what you said." "I did not. I am your friend. How dare you call me names?" demanded Marion, taking the petulant girl in her arms. "Don't you think I care any­ thing about you? There are people in this country that you have never seen who know you and love you al­ most as much as I do. Don't let any silly pride prevent your being sensible, dear." Dicksie burst into tears. Mar­ ion drew her over to the settee, and she had her cry out. When it was over they changed the subject. Dicksie went to her room. It was a long time before she came down again, but Mari­ on rocked in patience; she was re­ solved to let Dicksie fight it out her­ self. When Dicksie came down, Marion stood at the foot of the stairs. The young mistress of Crawling Stone ranch descended step by step very slowly. "Marion," she said, simply, "I will go with you." camps had been robbed of men to guard the soft grades above and be­ low the bridge. The new track up and down the valley had become a highway of escape from the flood, and the track patrols were met at every curve by cattle, horses, deer, wolves and coyotes fleeing from the waste of waters. Through the Dunning ranch the Crawling Stone river makes a far bend across the valley to the north and east. The extraordinary volume of "water now pouring through the Box canyon exposed 10,000 acres of the ranch to the caprice of the river, and if at the point of its tremendous sweep to the north it should cut back into its old channel the change would wipe the entire body of ranch alfalfa lands off the face of the valley. With the hea* of the lengthening June days a vast steam rose from the chill waters of the river, marking in ominous wind­ ings the channel of the main stream through a yellow sea which, ignoring the usual landmarks of trees and dunes, flanked the current broadly on either side. Late in the afternoon of the day that Dicksie with Marion sought McCloud, a storm drifted down the Topah Topah hills, and heavy showers broke across the vallev. At nightfall the rain had passed and the mist lifted from the river. Above the bluffs rolling patches of cloud ob- Cloud. '1 wonler how the river Is? I've been asleep. O Bill!" he called to Dancing, "what water have you got?" "Twenty-eight six Just now, sir. She's a-rising very slow, Mr. McCloud." "So I am responsible for this in­ vasion," continued Marion, calmly. 'Ttve been up with Dicksie at the ranch; she sent for me. Just think of it--no woman but old Puss within ten miles of the poor child! And they have been trying everywhere to get bags, and you have all the bags, and the men have been buzzing around over there for a week like bumble­ bees and doing just about as much good. She and I talked it all over this afternoon, and I told her I was com­ ing over here to see you, and we started out together--and merciful goodness, such a time as we have had!" "But you started out together; where did you leave her?" "There she stands the other side of the fire. O Dicksie!" „• "Why did you not tell me she was here!" exclaimed McCloud. Dicksie came into the light as he hastened over. If she was uncertain in manner, he was not. He met her, laughing just enough to relieve the tension of which both for an instant were conscious. She gave him her hand when he put his out, though he felt that it trembled a little. "Such a ride as you have had! Why did you not send me word? I would have come to you!" he exclaimed, throwing reproach into the words. Dicksie raised her eyes. "I wanted to ask you whether you would sell us some grain sacks, Mr. McCloud, to use at the river, if you could spare them?" "Sacks? Why, of course, all you want! But how did you ever get here? In all this water, and two lone women! You have been in danger to­ night. Indeed you have--don't tell me! And you are both wet; I know it. Your feet must be wet. Come to the flre. m 'But How Did You Ever Get Here?" CHAPTER XVIII. At the Dike. Marion caught her closeJy to her heart. "I knew you would go If I got you angry, dear. But you are so slow to anger. Mr. McCloud is just the same way. Mr. Smith says when he does get angry he can do anything. He is very like you in so many ways." Dicksie was wiping her eyes. "Is he, Marion? Well, what shall I wear?" "Just your riding-clothes, dear, and a smile. He won't know what you have on. It is you he will want to see. But I've been thinking of something else. What will your Cousin Lance say? Suppose he should object?" "Object! I should like to see him object after losing the fight himself." Marion laughed. "Well, do you think you can find the way down there for us?" "I can find any way anywhere within 100 miles of here." On the 20th of June McCloud did have something of an army of men in the Crawling Stone valley. Of tjiese, 250 were in the vicinity of the bridge, the abutments and piers of which were being put in just below the Dun­ ning ranch. Near at hand Bill Dan­ cing, with a big gang, had been for some time watching the ice and dyna­ miting the jBms. McCloud brought in more men as the river continued to rise. The danger line on the gaugei was at length submerged, and for three days the main-line construction scured the face, of the moon, but the distant thunder had ceased, and at midnight the valley near the bridge lay in a stillness broken only by the hoarse calls of the patrols and far-off megaphones. From the bridge camp, which lay on high ground near the grade, the distant -lamps of the track­ walkers could be seen moving dimly. Before the camp-flre in front of Mc­ Cloud's tent a group of men, smoking and talking, sat or lay sprawled on tarpaulins, drying themselves after the long day. Among them were the weather-beaten remnants of the old guard of the mountain workers, men who had fought the Spider Water with Glover. Bill Dancing, huge, lum­ bering, awkward as a bear and as shifty, was talking, because with no apparent effort he could talk all night, and was a valuable man at keeping the camp awake. Bill Dancing talked and, after Sinclair's name had been dropped from the roll, ate and drank more than any two men on the di­ vision. A little apart, McCloud lay on a leather caboose cushion trying to get a nap. The man sent to the bridge had turned back," and behind his lantern Dancing heard the tread of horses. He stood at one side of the camp-fire while the visitors rode up; they were women. Dancing stood dumb as they advanced into the firelight. The one ahead spoke: "Mr. Dancing, don't you know me?" As she stopped her horse the light of the flre struck her face. "Why, Mis' Sinclair!" "Yes, and Miss Dunning is with me,'.' returned Marion. Bill staggered. "This is an awful place to get to; we have been nearly drowned, and we want to see Mr. McCloud." McCloud, roused by Marion's voice, came forward. "You were asleep," said she as he greeted her. "I am so sorry we have disturbed you!" She looked careworn and a little forlorn, yet but a little considering the strug­ gle she and Dicksie had made to reach the camp. Light blazed from the camp-fire, where Dicksie stood talking with Dan­ cing about horses. "They are in desperate straits up at the ranch," Marion went on, when Mc­ Cloud had assured her of her welcome. "I don't see how they can save it. The river is starting to flow into the old channel and there's a big pond right in the alfalfa fields." "It will play the deuce with things if it gets through there," mused Mc- O Bill!" he called to Dancing, "what's the matter with your wood? Let us have a fire, won't you?--one worth while; and build another in front of my tent. I can't believe you have ridden here all the way from the ranch, two of you alone!" exclaimed McCloud, hastening boxes up to the fire for seats. Marion laughed. "Dicksie can go anywhere! I couldn't have ridden from the house to the barns alone." "Then tell me how you could do it?" demanded McCloud, devouring Dicksie with his eyes. Dicksie looked at the flre. "I know all the roads pretty well. We did get lost once," she confessed in a low voice, "bat we got out again." "The roads are all under water, though." "What time Is it, please?" McCloud looked at his watch. "Two minutes past 12." Dicksie started. "Past 12? Oh, this is dreadful! We must start right back, Marion. I had no idea we had been Ave hours coming five miles." McCloud looked at her, as if still unable to comprehend what she had accomplished in crossing the flooded bottoms. Her eyes fell back to the flre. "What a blaze!" she mumured as the. driftwood snapped and roared. "It's fine for to-night, isn't it?" "I know you both must have been in the water," he insisted, leaning for­ ward in front of Dicksie to feel Mari­ on's skirt. "I'm not wet!" declared Marion, drawing back. "Nonsense, you are wet as a rati Tell me," he asked, looking at Dicksie, "about your trouble up at the bend. I know something about It. Are the men there to-night? Given up, have they? Too bad! Do open your jackets and try to dry yourselves, both of you, and I'll take a look at the river." "Suppose--I only say suppose--you first take a look at n>e." The voice came from behind the group at the fire, and the three turned together. "By heaven, Gordon Smith!" ex­ claimed McCloud. "Where did you come from?" Whispering Smith stood in the gloom in patience. "Where do I look as if I had come from? Why don't you ask me whether I'm wet? And won't you introduce me--but this is Miss Dick­ sie Dunning, I am sure." Marion with laughter hastened the Introduction. "And you are wet, of course," said McCloud, feeling Smith's shoulder. "No, only soaked. I have fallen into the river two or three times, and the last time a big rhinoceros of yours down the grade, a section foreman named Klein, was obliging enough to pull me out. Oh, no! I was not look­ ing for you," he ran on, answering McCloud's question; "not when he pulled me out. I was just looking for a farm or a ladder or something. Klein, for a man named Small, Is the biggest Dutchman I ever saw. 'Tell me, Klein,' I asked, after he had quit dragging me out--he's a Hanoverian --'where did you get your pull? And how about your height? Did your grandfather serve as a grenadier under old Frederick William and was he kid­ naped?' Bill, don't feed my horoe for a while. And Klein tried to light a cigar I had just taken from my pocket and giveti him--fancy! the Germans are a remarkable people--and sat down to tell me his history, when some friend down the line began bawling through a megaphone, and all that poor Klein had time to «ay was that he had had no supper, nor dinner, nor yet breakfast, and would bo obliged for some by the boat he forwarded me in." And, in closing. Whispering Smith looked cheerfully around at Marion, at McCloud, and last and longest of all at Dicksie Dunning. "Did you come from across the river?" asked Dicksie, adjusting her wet skirt meekly over her knees. "You are soaking wet," observed Whispering Smith. "Across the riv­ er?" he echoed. "Well, hardly, my dear Miss Dunning! Every bridge is out down the valley except the rail­ road bridge and there are a few things I don't tackle; one is the Crawling Stone on a tear. No, this was across a little break in this man McCloud's track. I came, to be frank, from the Dunning ranch to look up two women who rode away from there at seven o'clock to-night, and I want to say that they gave me the ride of my life," and Whispering Smith looked all around the circle and back again and smiled. Dicksie spoke in amazement. "How did YOU know we rode away? You were not at the ranch when we left." "Oh, don't ask him!" cried Marion. "He knows everything," explained McCloud. Whispering Smith turned to Dicksie. "I was interested in knowing that they got safely to their destination--what­ ever it might be, which was none of my business. I happened vo see a man that had seen then, start, that was all. You don't understand? Well, if you want it in plain English, I made it my business to see a man who made it his business to see them. It's all very pimple, but these people like to make a mystery of it. Good women aie scarcer *«an riches, and more to be prized *^*n fine gold--in my Judg­ ment--so 1 rode after them." (TO BE CONTINUED.) And the Deacon Proceeded A PROPOSAL Mr. Hardup--Good morning, mm Aughtumn--ahem! There is some­ thing I have been wishing to ask you for some time, but--er--the fact is, I haven't been able to screw up enough courage to--er--come to the point. Miss Aughtumn--A proposal at last! Mr. Hardup--Could you, my dear Miss Aughtumn--could you lend SM live dollars? IN AGONY WITH ECZEMA. Whole Body a Mas* of Raw^ B!eedlp£ Torturing Humor--Hoped Desjp Would End Fearful Suffering. In Despair; Cured by Cuticurx "WordB cannot describe the terrible eczema I suffered with. It broke out on my head and kept spreading until it covered my whole body. I was almost a solid mass of sores from head to foot. I looked more like a piece of raw beef than a human be­ ing. The pain and agony endured seemed more than I could bear. Blood and pus oozed from the great sore on my scalp, from under my finger nails* and nearly all over my body. My ears were so crusted and swollen I was afraid they would break off. Every hair in my head fell out I could not sit down, for my clothes would stick to the raw and bleeding flesh, making me cry out from the pain. My family doctor did all he could, but I got worse and worse. My condition was awful. I did not think I could live, and wanted death to come and end my frightful suffering!. "In this condition my mother-in-law begged me to try the Cuticura Rem­ edies. I said I would, but had no hope of recovery. But oh, what blessed re­ lief I experienced after applying Cuti­ cura Ointment. It cooled the bleeding and itching flesh and brought me the first real sleep I had had in weeks. It was as grateful as led to a burning tongue. I would bathe with warm water and Cuticura Soap, then apply the Ointment freely. I also took Cuti­ cura Resolvent for the blood. In a short time the sores stopped running the flesh began to heal,' and I knew I was to get well again. Then the hair on my head began to grow, and in * short time I was completely cured. I wish I could tell everybody who has eczema to use Cuticura. Mrs. Wm. Hunt, 136 Thomas St., Newark, N. J* Sept. 28, 1908." Mtw Dm* * Cbem. 0»N Bole Pron-. BoMa A Realist. "I am a great believer In realism," remarked the poet "Yes?" we queried with a rising IB- flection, thereby giving him the desired opening. "I sometimes carry my ideas of realism to a ridiculous extreme," con­ tinued the poet "Indeed!" we exclaimed inanely, somewhat impatient to reach the point of his witticism. "Yes," continued the poet "the other day I wrote a sonnet to the gas com­ pany and purposely made the meter defective." At this point we fainted. Look at the Names. In 4 A. D. Fearaidhach-Fionfashtna was an Irish king, a "most Just and good prince," who was slain by his Successor, Fiachadh-Fion, who was treated to a similar fate by Finchadh- Fionohudh, "the prince with the white cows," who died at the hands of "tlM Irish plebeians of Connaught." Eoch* airh-Moidmeodhain was one of the half dozen who died of natural causes, and Flaithheartagh was one of the two to resign the monarch's sceptef for the monk's cowl.--New York Press. And Ma Fainted. "Why did she refuse yap!" she asked her son, with fine scorn* "Well," the boy replied between hi§ sobs, "she objects to our family. She says pa's a loafer, that you're too fat and that everybody laughs at Dayse Mayme because she's a fool and taltai about nothing but the greatness of her family." (Chauncey threw water in his mother's face, but at three o'clock this afternoon she was still in a swoon, with four doctors working on her.)--Atchison (Kan.) Globe. BAD DREAMS Caused by Coffee. After Pastor Had Elucidated Text from Which He had Drawn His Sermon. The colored parson had Just con­ cluded a powerful sermon on "Salva­ tion Am Free," and was announcing that a collection would be taken for the benefit of the parson and his fam­ ily. Up jumped an acutely brunette brother in the back of the church. "Look a-) ear, pahson." he - inter­ rupted, "yo' ain't no sooner done tellin' us dat salvation am free dan yo' go askin' us fo' money. If salvation am free, what's de use in payin' fo* it? Dat's what I want to know. An' I tell yo' p'intedly da^t I ain't goin' to gib yo" nothin' until I find out. Now--" "Patience, brudder, patience," said the parson. "I'll 'lucldate: S'pose yo' was thirsty an' come to a river. Yo' could kneel right down an' drink yo' fill, couldn't yo'? An' it wouldn't cost yo' nothin' would it?" "Oh, cou'se not Dat's jest what I--" "Da.t water would be free," con­ tinued the parson. "But s'posin yo" was to hab dat water piped to "yo" house? Yo' have to pay, wouldn't yo?" "Yas, suh, but--" "Wal, brudder, so It is wid salvation De salvation am free, but it's de haviu it piped to yo' dat yo' got to pay fo,' Passs de hat, deacon, pass hat"-- Everybody's Magazine. Mermaid for Breakfast A stranger meal than any ever paf^ taken by Frank Buckland or the most hardened and cosmopolitan traveler is described by Juan Francisco de 9t Antonio, in his account of his trav­ els and adventures in the Philippine islands, published at Manila in 1738 In this curious little work the author tells us that he once breakfasted off a mermaid, and he further gravely de­ scribes its flavgj as being like fresh fat pork. Influence of a National Anthem. •'After the siege of the Pekin lega tions a dozen Russian soldiers beni on loot and outrage raided the house in which one of my band boys lived with his mother and sister," Sir Rob ert Hart said at a dinner at the Au­ thors' club. "The boy snatched his violin and played the Russian national anthem and the looters 6tood at at tention. Then they left the houst without molesting anyone." "I have been a coffee drinker, of less, ever since I can remember, un­ til a few months ago I became more and more nervous and irritable, and finally I could not sleep at night for I was horribly disturbed by dreams of all sorts and a species of distress­ ing nightmare. "Finally, after hearing the experi­ ence of numbers of friends who had quit coffee and were drinking Postum, and learning of the great benefits they had derived, I concluded coffee must be the cause of my trouble, so I got some Postum and had it made strictly according to directions. "I was astonished at the flavour and taste. It entirely took the place of cof­ fee, and to my very great satisfaction. I began to sleep peacefully and sweet­ ly. My nerves improved, and I wish I could wean every man, woman and child from the unwholesome drug--or­ dinary coffee. "People really do not appreciate or realize what a powerful drug it is and what terrible effect it has on the hu­ man system. If they did, hardly a pound of it would be sold. I would never think of going back to coffee again. I would almost as soon think of putting my hand in a lire after 1 had once been burned. "A young lady friend of ours had stomach trouble for a long time, and could not get well as long as she used coffee. She finally quit coffee and be­ gan the use of Postum and is now per­ fectly well. Yours for health." Read "The Road to W'ellvMe,'* ifc pkgs. "There's a Reason." Brer read tke *fcov» lftttrf A MRS one ipprara (rwa til* *• time - -itiW ar« tree* u< tell •* fceawn lmlervat. * > •