Newspaper Page Text
AUGUST 23, 1902
THE SUNNY SOUTH
THIRD TAGE
lendid Possibilities in tbe South For the
Manufacture of 5ilk
How and Under What Conditions tbe Work is Done
IN TWO PARTS PART TWO
Written for Sunny South ,
LOUIS B. MAGID. [
T has been shown that silk
growing was, In the early J
years of the last century. J
a very considerable and !
profitable industry In the j
United Statea More re- ;
cently, from about 1880 to i
1850, ©onelderable row silk j
was produced in North j
Carolina, Ohio. Illinois, j
Kansas and California, ]
under the encouragement j
of congress and the Ladies' |
Silk Growing Association j
[of Philadelphia. These efforts ceas- J
led soon after ISM. chiefly because
jlof unfair tariff discrimination against
» native raw silk.
I To establish silk culture In the south
: *«n an endurable and profitable foundation.
■.it is necessary first and above all things
5! to secure instructors who understand the
■ theoretical and practical phases of the
subject. Silk growing always has been
H and always will remain women's work,
■ and ought to be a household industry’.
A little earnest work In this line wi!|
■J add millions of dollars to the wealth of
I the United States, and at the same time
■ increase the comforts and enjoyment of
I country life.
In practical silk growing, at least eight-
nil tenths of the entire labor is done bv
« women and children of the family, and
? by men too old and feeble to do even the
I lighter kind of field work. Such labor as
t this has at present little or no oommer-
| cal value. The establishment of silk
I growing in the southern states means
f the utilization of this labor now unpro-
f ductive. It will mean the addition to
I many families of an income without much
I outlay for material or any hardship to
I the workers. The work of tending silk
worms Is easy, clean and pleasant. It is
work that children and women of re-
Hound of the BasKervilles
Georgia raised cocoons and raw silk.
and one ounce contains 40.000 eggs, which 1 then the cocoons are dried In the sun. In
can be bought in the open market front case steam facilities are not handy,
$1.50 to $2.50 per ounce. In France and ; which is likely to be the case in the rural
Italy eggs are generally sold tinder in- | districts, the dry heat method must be
spection of law officials. hence eggs : resorted to, although this method re-
wot-k ‘I bought from reliable merchants are to ! quires longer time. The cocoons . *e
finement delight in. By raising from two ^ | epended on j £ la( , d ln an oven which is kept heated at
OUTV ° epsrs ' The time to secure the eggs for sure j a temperature of 200 degrees Fahrenheit
ready hatching is usually ln the month | and care should be taken to see that it
of May. or as soon as the mulberry treo3 does not get above the 2U0 mark for fear
teen years of age may in six weeks rti
early spring earn money enough to pur
chase clothing and schoolbooks for the
entire year, or the means of taking a
summer vacation and travel. There are
more than 200.000 farming families in
Georgia, alone, which can each year rear
the product of from three to five ounces
of silk worm eggs, or say each family
producing only $50 worth, and this witha
out Interfering with the regular work of
the household. The additional income
thus produced would amount for the en
tire state to over $10,000,000. This large
sum being produced by the indoor mem-
get in leaves, and atter
How the the eggs are taken from
Worms their cool hiding place for
are the winter they will hatch
Prepared in a period of six days in
for Sale, a 72 degree temperature.
The space required for
each ounce of worms is about 000 square
feet. After the worms have fed con
tinually for about thirty days, passing
through the different stages of their lives
they begin to spin and complete the co-
Breeding room for silk worms.
bers of the family, would naturally go | coon and within two days complete spun
lo purchasing Increased comforts and i by the worm: it Is then collected from
luxuries for these. It would add just so
much to the prosperity and enjoyment of
rural life.
The reeling of raw silk about doubled
its value, therefore if the $10,000,000 -worth
of silk worm cocoons which the state may
produce are reeled within the state, would
double the state’s income from this
source.
The production of silk commences with
the bushes and twigs w’here the worms
build their cocoon, then they are stifled
or bakefi for the purpose of killing the
chrysalid, otherwise it would develop
into a butterfly and by coming out from
the cocoon It spoils and breaks the threads
where tin? cocoon is then wasted owing to
the impossibility of unwinding the same..
Each ounce of eggs, or 40.000 worms, will
produce from 100 to 125 pounds of cocoons,
of burning the silk. This baking of co
coons will last anywhere from two to
twelve hours.
When the worms are killed or choked
is known by the fact that a certain hum
ming noise will exist so long as there is
life in the chrysalides, and when this
j noise ceases is an indication that they are
i all dead. After choking ln this manner
the cocoons are then spread upon a wood-
j en table or shelves in a shady place where
I there is plenty of air, and they will
! dry.
| The dry heat choking can be obtained
• by simple exposure to the rays of the sun
i from 9 in the morning until 4 ln the
j afternoon. Two or three days of such ex-
; posure will do the work of killing the
j chrysalides.
Since improved machinery is ln exist-
| ence it does not pay for a small farmer
or silk raiser to unwind his cocoons at
his farm, hence all the
Market cocoons are sold after the
‘Vnltae* worms have been stifled
of or choked. If the cocoons
Cocoons, are sold before they are
killed or stifled, which in
some cases is done, they
will bring from 35 to 45 cents per pound;
however, if they are sold when the worms
are killed and dried they will bring $1
a pound, but it must also be remember
ed that the cocoons decrease In weight
two-thirds after the worms are killed and
dried.
The average number of eggs ner ounce
,1s 40,000; average number of fresh eocoons
per pound is 300; average decrease in re
duction of weight for choked cocoons is 66
per cent; maximum amouiTt of fresh co
coons from 1 ounce of eggs is from 100 to
325 pounds cocoons.
The product of 1 ounce of eggs in the
minimum Is 100 pounds of fresh cocoons;
that is. the worms being alive, o^ say,
33 pounds of chocked cocoons, the worms
being dead and dried. To make 1 pound
of silk thread it requires 3 2-3 pounds of
choked cocoons.
Food must be given whenever the last
feeding is consumed. The silk worm is.
usually fed on the leaves of the
cultivated white mulberry tree. At
least from four to five feeds must be
given each day. During the last stage
six to seven meals -must be provided.
Silk worms pass through five ages last-
. , taking as a low figure 100 for each ounce .
the egg, which can he had in any open L f e(;ps EstImatlnf? that ono familv could j in & iVb0,lt follows; First age is five
market in countries like France. Italy, ' n(J can care for from six tQ e)|fht ounces or six days; second age. four or five
China or Japan, as there are people who i o{ ej , gs the total WO(lId bP say pounda j flays; third age, five or six days; fourth
give their entire attention to the pro- j of COC o 0ns al , tho fnmt iy workers con- :;, ge. five or seven days; fifth age. eight
duction of eggs. These people ln order sitting of six in number, including rhil- i or Ion days.
to supply the market with eggs usually j d j.£, a and feeble members who are unable j The young worms can be moved from
feed silk worms with exceptional care, * anvthing or otherwise earn anv- i Place to place by means of a small cam-
and after the silk worms spin their co- j t v, in g. Eight hundred pounds of cocoons ! el ' s halr brilsh but should be handled as
coon they take care to see that the j w ill bring in the open market from $35 I llffl® a s possible. ^.At the end of the
chrysalid develops into the butterfly, | J45 per jjyj pounds; say at an average
and when it comes out a moth or butter
fly—that is. 15 days after the worm
spins the cocoon, the moths appepr and
after six hours copulation the female be
gins to deposit the eggs, which are then
feeding period, which lasts for about
of $40 per 100 pounds mill bring the family I stage has" tokM^place'.’ the ' worm°gcdf
ready to spin. It ceases to eat, shrinks
eight times $40. $320, as net return for
their labor of from five to six weeks’
time.
When the cocoons are collected ln the
wrapped in cloth or paper, as the case I cocoonery or room they are stifled,
may be, and then they are put away ln a j which process is as follows: Steam Is the
cool place and kept until the next season, j most successful and best method if such
when the mulberry trees get in leaves, j facilities are at hand. The cocoons are
and then those eggs are hatches again ; laid upon shelves in tightly sealed boxes
for the crop which is raised the follow- I and the steam is then turned on. A haif
ing season. The egg of the silk worm j an hour bath will have the effect of ex-
resembles a turnip seed, varying in color, tinguishing the lives of the chrysalides.
in size, gets restless and begins to throw
out the silk. Then the necessary arrange
ments for spinning must be prepared. A
good way of preparing is to get twigs
2 or 3 feet long and set them out upon
the shelves where the worms have been
feeding and so arrange to interlock in the
form of an arch above them. The tem
perature of the room should not be kept
above SO degrees Fahrenheit. When
those twigs are pre/tared the worms will
immediately mount in the branches and
commence spinning their cocoons.
“Ladies* Chang'e”
By DOROTHY M. GARRISON.
■■■■>WIXKLIXG humor, radiant
*1 I good will to men, hand-
I tomely mode manifest in
8 stalwart flesh and blood—
that was the Rev. Robert
Francis, incumbent of St
Mary Inland. S* Mary’s
congregation was aristo
cratic. the aristocracy
touched with a crusty con
servatism, especially in mat
ters social and pious. Nat
urally a rector whq^e love
of God embraced also the
most part of God's creatures quite re
gardless of ehurch pales was somewhat
of a chastening.
St. Mary’s people did not take up the
cross joyously. Indeed, they would have
sent the cross away hot-foot—but there
was the bishop! St. Mary's held him in
awed reverence, and he had said to all
from the vestry to the pensioners: "Fran
cis is what you need. He will vitalize
the parish as no other man can.”
Therefore the malcontents kept silence
througnout the first year. When they
gathered courage for speech—behold!
there was a faction so well content the
grumblers could not make head against
It. F*urther, attendance had
church collections quadrupled and
interests generally flourished as never
before. To all exeept the straightest high
folk that more than offset the young
rector’s laches—his ball playing, his love
of good horses, his fraternity with the
people called Methodists, also Baptists,
thewhole Presbyterian brood. Campbelites
and Unitarians.
Since they could not possibly oust him.
the high people resolved as next best
thing to marry him—and to one of them
selves. Jane Adair was everything the
rector was not—slight, pale, silent, nar
rowly ascetic and very rich. Ever since
she was ten the church folk had prophe- j rather than forsake bliTT for a richer
sled she would make an Ideal missionary’s I man. He could not be treacherous to
wife. Because the most part of her al
lowance was spent on the heathen, her
father, the ohief vestryman, made a point
of keeping her supplied with fine frocks
and the frills needed to go with them.
She was his only child, but so far suitors
had been few. W hether it was some- 1 ...... _ . ,, ,
thing in herself or the parental eye se- ,j ‘ ^ „ \ dry lips he ^><1. not
vere that repelled nobody knew. The fact, ! 1 J} nos *' 11 has come at
however, remained-only the most crass ; las '' Bob ~ E1 J se writ f* she ls desperate
and hardened fortune hunters had so far i she must do something—and asks me
adventured—arid adventured ill. w’hat. if course, there s but one possi-
Jane had thawed perceptibly since Mr.
Elise—even if there was no question of
Robert Francis' future.
One May morning of the second year,
after a specially hard battle with him
self over night. Dale got a letter that
white and cut short his
Franci# came. There were times when
she was human and girlishly pretty.
Generally it was at church suppers or in
the settlement work among the poor folk
that she was thus transformed. The very
wise nodded one to another over it. How
could they help it?—the transformation
was always coincident with the presence
of the new rector and his friendly shadow,
Herman Dale. Dale was a lawyer, one
of Francis' college chums, who had come
with him, and lived at the rectory until
such time as it should have a mistress
provided. He was short and dark and si
lent, distinguished, however, for two
things—unflinching devotion to his friend
and a fine tenor voice. It was the voice
trebled drew him into churchly occasions
church — his sin ® ln *' was always a drawing card.
Jane, who loved music, yet had not a
note in her voice, nearly always stood
well back, listening, with her soul in her
eyes. As sh^ listened her color mounted,
her breast heaved. If by chance Dale
caught sight of her he sang with new
power.
But he 1 , hardly ever spoke with her.
Somehow the church people managed to
keep Francis close at her elbow. Fur
ther, he felt he had no right—was not
Elise Armor waiting for him back there
in the old town? Not only waiting, but
suffering persecution from her uncle
ble answer.’’
"You mean—come and marry you,’’
Francis said. "I agree—It Is the only
thing. Wire her at once to come. I'll
ask some of the ladles to receive her—
and comfort her until she ls safely your
wife.” o
"You’ll read the service for us?“ Dale
sjiid. miserably, still without looking at
Francis. If he had looked he would have
seen a face whiter, more set. than his
own. But there was the old. even voice,
with a rich laughing undernote when
Francis said: “No. my son! I should
bungle horribly. Remember. Elise is the
one critic that ever put me out of coun
tenance. Besides, it would look selfish.
I’ll get Brother Axley, the Methodist pre
siding elder. He’ll do the trick as right
as a trivet—”
“I had rather have you.” Dale per
sisted. Francis turned away, a sudden
spasm contracting his face. "Man, you’re
unreasonable—think how much else I
have to do? Bless Elise! Do you think
I’m going to let her be married sans
flowers and lights and wedding cake? Be
off about youp part of it! I’m going
straight to St. Jane. No dpubt she will
turn out to be a patron saint to all of
us.” ,
The last words came over his shoulder
as he rushed out of the room. Dale drop-
CONTINUED ON FOURTH PAUE.
was unfair on our part to hunt his
brother iri law down when he. of his own
free will, had told us the secret.”
The butler was standing very pale, but
very collected before us.
'1 may have spoken too warmly, sir.”
said he, "and If I have I am sure that I
beg your pardon. At the same time, I was
very ffiuch surprised when I heard you
two gentlemen come back this morning
and learned that you had been chasing
! Selden. The poor fellow has enotgh to
| fight against without my putting more
upon his track.”
If you had told us of your own free
; will it would have been a different
; thing, said the baronet, "you only told
j us, or rather your wife only told ns,
when it was forced from you and you
j could not help'yourself.”
I I didn t think you would have taken
' a( i va ntage of It, Sir Henry—indeed I
■ didn’t.
j "The man is a public danger. There ar e
! I«>nely houses scattered over the moor,
and he is a feiiow who would stick at
nothing. Ion only want to get a glimpse
of his face to see that. Rook at Mr.
Stapleton s house, for example with no
one but himself to defend it. There’s no
safety for any One until he is under lock
; and key."
He 11 break into no house, sir. I give
you my solemn word upon that. But he
will never trouble any one in this country
again. I assure you, Sir Henry, that ln a
very few days the necessary arrangements
will have been made and he will be on
ills way to South America. For God's
sake, sir. I beg of you not to let the
police know that li>* is still on the moor.
The have given up the chase there, and
he can lie quiet until the ship is ready
for him. You can't tell on him with-
■ out getting my wlf and me into trouble.
I beg you. sir, to say nothing to the po
lice.”
“What do you say. Watson?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "If he were
safely out of the country it would relieve
the tax-payer of a burden."
"But how about the chance of his hold
ing someone up before he goes?"
He would not no anything so mad,
sir. We have provided him with all that
he can want. To commit a crime would
be to show where he was hiding.”
"That is true,” said Sir Henry. "Well,
Ba rrv m ore ’ ’
“God bless you. sir, and thank you from
my heart! It would have killed my poor
wife had he been taken again.”
“I guess we are aiding and abetting a
felony, Watson? But, after what we
have heard. I don't feel as If I could
give the man up. so there Is an end of
it. All right, Barrymore, you can KP-"
\\ ith a few r broken words of gratitude,
the man turned, but he hesitated and then
came back.
5ou ve been so kind to us, sir. that
I should like to do the best I ctin for you
in return. I know something. Sir Henry,
and perhaps I should have said it before,’
but it was long after the inquest that I
found it out. I've never breathed a w-ord
about it yet to mortal man. It's about
poor Sir Charles' death.”
The baronet and I were both upon our
feet. ,
"Do you know how he died?"
"No, sir, I don't know that.”
"What, then?”
"I know why he was at the gate at
that hour. It w r as to meet a woman."
"To meet a woman! He?"
"Yes, sir.”
"And the wornfin’s name?"
’I can't give you the name, sir, but T
can give you the initials. Her initials
w’ere L. L.”
“How do you know this. Barrymore?”
“Well, Sir Henry , our uncle had a let
ter that morning. ’He had usually a great
many letters, for he was a public man and
well known for his kind heart, so that
every one who was in trouble was glad
to turn to him. But that morning, as it
chanced, there was only this one letter, so
I took the. more notice of it. It was
from Coombe Tracey and it was address
ed in a woman’s hand.”
"Well?”
"Well, sir, I thought no more of the
matter, and never would have done had It
not been for my wife. Only a few weeks
ago she was cleaning out Sir Charles’s
study—it had never been touched since his
death—and she found the ashes of a burn
ed letter in the back of the grate. The
greater part of It was charred to pieces,
but one little slip, the end of a page, hung
together, and the writing could still be
read, though it was grey on a black
ground. It seined to us to be a postscript
at the end of tho letter, and it said;
‘Please, please, as you are a gentjeman,
burn this letter, and be at the gate by 10
o’clock. Beneath it were signed the ini
tials L. L.”
“Have you got that slip?”
"No, sir, it crumpled all to bits after we
moved It.”
"Had Sir Charles received any other
letters In the same writing?"
"Well, sir, I took no particular notice
of his letters. I should not have notic
ed this one only it happened to come
alone.”
"And you have no idea who L. L. is?”
"No, sir. No more than you have. But
I expect if we could lay our hands upon
thnt lady we should know more about Sir
Charles' death.”
"I cannot understand, Barrymore, how
you came to conceal this Important Infor
mation.”
“Well, sir. It was immediately after
that our own trouble came to us. And
then again, sir, we were both of us very
fond of Sir Charles, as we well might
be, considering all that he has done for
us. To rake this up couldn't help our
poor master, and it’s well to go carefulTy
when there’s a lady in the case. Even the
best of us ”
"You thought it might injure his repu
tation?"
"Well, sir, I thought no good could
come of it. But now you have been kind
to us. and I feel as if it would be treating
you unfairly not to tell you all that I
know about the matter.”
“Very good. Barrymore; you can go.”
When the butler had left us Sir Henry
turned to me. “Well. Watson, what do
you think of this new light?"
"It seems to leave the darkness rather
black/.- than before.”
“So I think. But if we can only trace
E. E. it should clear up the whole bus
iness. \ye have gained that much. We
know that there is someone who has the
facts if we can only find her. What do
you think we should do?”
"Let Holmes know all about It at once.
It will give him the clew for which he has
been seeking. I am much mistaken if it
does not bring him down.”
I went at once to my room and drew
up my report of the morning’s conversa
tion for Holmes. It was evident to me
that he hed been very busy of late, for
the notes which I had from Baker Street
were few and short, with no comments
upon the Information which I had sup
plied. and hardly any reference to my
mission. No doubt his blackmailing case
ls absorbing all his faculties. And yet
this new factor must surely arrest his at
tention and renew his interest. I wish
that he were here.
October 17th.—All day today the rain
poured down, rustling on the ivy and
dripping from the eaves. I thought of
the convict out upon the bleak, cold,
shelterless moor. Poor devil! Whatever
his crimes, he has suffered something to
atone for them. And then I thought of
that other one—the face in the cab. the
figure against the moon. Was he also
out In that deluige—the unseen watcher,
the man of darkness? In the evening I
put on my waterproof and I walked far
upon the sodden moor, full of dark im
aginings, the rain beating upon my face
CONTINUED FROM FIRST PAGE.
and the wind whistling about my ears.
God help those who wander into the great
mire now, for even the firm uplands arc
becoming a morass. I found the black
tor upon which I had seen the solitary
watcher, and from its craggy summit I
looked out myself across the melancholy
downs. Rain squalls drifted across their
russet face, and the heavy, slate-col
ored clouds hung low over the landscape,
trailing in gray wreaths down the sides
of the fantastic hills. In ;he distant hol
low on the left, half hidden by the mist,
the two thin towers of Baskerville Hall
rose above the trees. They were the only
signs of human life which I could see,
save only those of prehistoric huts which
lay thickly upon the slopes of the hills.
Nowhere was there any trace of that
lonely man whom I had seen on the same
spot two nights before.
As I walked back I was overtaken by
Dr. Mortimer driving ln his dog cart over
a rough moorland track, which led from
the outlying farm house of Fouimlre. He
has been very attentive to us, and hardly
a day has Vissed that he has not called
at the Hall to see how we were getting
on. He insisted upon my climbing into
his dog cart and he gave me a lift horne-
William Gillette in his famous imper
sonation of Sherlock Holmes.
ward. I found him much troubled over
the disappearance of h!s little spaniel.
It had wandered on to the moor and had
never come back. I gave him such con
solation as 1 might, but l thought of the
pony on the G\mpen Mire, and 1 do not
fancy that he will see his little dog
again.
"By the way, Mortimer." said I. as we
jolted along the rough road, "I suppose
there are few people living within driv
ing distance of this whom you do not
know?”
"Hardly any, I think.”
"Can you, then, tell me the name of
any woman whose initiats are L. L. ?”
He thought for a few minutes.
"No.” said he. "There are a few gyp
sies and laboring folks for whom I can't
answer, but among the farmers or gentry
there is no one whose initials are those.
Wait a bit, though," he added, after a
pause. “There Is Laura Lyons—her Ini
tials are L. E.—<but she lives in Coombe
Tracey.”
“Who is she?" I asked.
“She is Frankland’s daugter.”
"What! Old Frankland the crank?”
"Exactly. She marrlixl an artist named
Lyons, wh'o came sketching on the moor.
He proved to be a blackguard and de
serted her. The fault' froth what I hear
may not have been entirely on one side.
Her father refused to have anything to
do w-ith her. because she had married
without his consent, and perhaps for one
or two other reasons as well. So, be
tween the old sinner and the young one
the girl has had a pretty bad time.”
‘How does she live?"
"I fancy old Frankland allows her a
pittance, but it cannot be more, for his
own affairs are considerably involved.
Whatever she may have deserved one
could not allow her to go hopelessly to
the bad. Her story got about, and sev
eral of the people here did something to
enable her to earn an honest living. Sta
pleton did for one. and Sir Charles tor
another. I gave a trifle myself. It was
to set her up in a typewriting business.”
He wanted to know the object of niv
inquirie.s. but I managed to satisfy bis
curiosity without telling him too much,
for there is no reason why we should
take any one into our confidence. To
morrow morning I shall find my way to
Coombe Tracey, and if I can see this
Mrs. Laura Lyons, of equivocal reputa
tion. a long step will have been made
toward clearing one incident in this chain
of mysteries. I am c^’-talnlv developing
the wisdom of the serpent, for when Mor
timer pressed his questions to an incon
venient extent I asked him casually to
what type Frankland's skull belonge.d,
and so heard nothing but craniology for
the rest of our drive. I have not lived for
years with Sherlock Holmes for noth
ing.
I have only one other incident to record
upon this tempestuous and melancholy
day. This was my conversation with
Barrymore just now. which gives me one
more strong card which I can play in
due time
Mortimer had staved to dinner, and he
and the baronet played ecarte afterwards.
The butler brought me my coffee into the
library, and I took the chance to ask
him a few questions
"Well,” said I, “has this precious re
lation of yours departed, or is he still
lurking out yonder?”
"I don't know. sir. I hope to Heaven
thnt he has gone, for he has brought,
nothing but trouble here! I've not heard
of him since I left out food for him last,
and that was three daj?s ago."
"Did you see him then?”
"No, sir, but the food was gone when
next I went that way.”
"Then lie was certainly there?”
"So you would think, sir. unless it was
the other man who took it."
I sat with my coffee cup half way to
my lips and stared at Barrymore.
"You know that there is another man
then?”
"Yes, sir; there Is another man upon
the moor."
"Have you seen him?”
"No, sir.”
"How do you know of him then?”
"Selden told me of him. sir, a week or
more ago. He's ln hiding, too, but he’s
not "a convict as far as 1 can make out.
I don’t like it, Dr. Watson—I tell you
straight, sir, that I don’t like it.”
He spoke with a sudden passion of ear
nestness.
“Now. listen to me, Barrymore! I have
no interest in this matter but that of your
master. 1 have come here with no object
except to help him. Tell me, frankly,
what it ls that you don’t like.”
Barrymore hesitated for a moment, aa
If he regretted his outburst, or found it
difficult to express his own feelings in
words.
"It's all these goings-on. sir." he cried
at last, waving his hand toward the rain-
lashed window which faced the moor.
“There's foul play somewhere, and there's
black villainy brewing, to that I'll swear!'
Very glad 1 should be, sir. to see Sir
Henry on his way back to London
again!”
"But what is it that alarms you?”
“Look at Sir Charles’ death! That, was
bad enough, for all that the coroner
said. Look at the noises on the moor at
night. There's not a man would cross it
after sundown if he was paid for it. Look
at this stranger hiding out yonder, and
watching and waiting! What’s he waiting
for? What does It mean? It means no
good to any one of the name of Basker-
vi'.le. and very glad I shall be to be quit
of it all the day that Sir Henry's new
servants are ready to take over the Hali.”
“But about this stranger.” said I. “Can
you t4?II me anything about him? What
did Selden say? Did he find out where he
hid. or what he was doing?”
"He saw him once or twice, but he is
a deep one. and gives nothing away. At
first he thought that he was the police,
but soon he found that he had some la*
of his own. A kind of gentleman he was,
as far as he could see, but what he was
doing he could not make out.”
“And where did he say ne lived?’
“Among the old houses on the hill
side—the stone huts where the old folk
used to live.”
"But how about his food?"
"Selden found out that he has got a
lad who works for him and brings him
all he needs. I daresay he goes to Coombe
Tracey for what ne wants."
"Very good, Barrymore. We may talk
further of this some time." When the
butler had gone X walked over to the
black window, and I looked through a
blurred pane at the driving clouds and at
the tossing outlines of the wind swept
trees. It is a wild night indoors, and
what must it he in a stone hut upon tho
moor. What passion of hatred can it be
which leads a man to lurk in such a place
at such a time! And what deep and
earnest purpose can he have which calls
for such a trial! There, in that hut upon
the moor, seems to lie the very center
of that problem which has vexed me so
sorely. 1 swear that another day shall
not have passed before I have done all
that man can do to reach the heart of the
mystery.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
A MonKey-World, With Generals, Society
Belles and Many Diversions
By CURTIS BROWN.
L. GARNER the Boston man
who lived in a cage in the
heart of an African jungle
in order to learu the lan
guage of the monkeys and
to observe their ways and
manners in their native
haunts, made quite a. sen
sation when he got back
to America and reported
his discoveries. In 1900 he
disappeared again, and
now. after an absence of
two years, he has sudden
ly turned up In London, full of more
strange stories, rt seems he has been
spending the Intervening time in heart-
to-heart talks with his old jungle com
panions on the French Congo, some 20
miles back from the coast and about 70
miles south of the equator.
The name of the village was Mkeba and
Garner had the fun of being called the
"White King” of the town, to whom the
natives paid tribute in the form of cook
ing, washing and general attendance, and
to whom he distributed largesse in the
form of an occasional small chunk of to
bacco, a few beads or a little cloth and
occasional portions of buffalo meat.
“For five months," said Mr. Garner,
“I went without having a morsel of bread
or seeing a white man. The only varia
tion from buffalo meat was manioc—a
kind of root that looks like sumach boil
ed Into a paste. Tired of it? Heavens
yes! All the same I am going back there
soon for a year or two, and may be for
ever. There is fun in being a king even
if your chef is a little hampered in mak
ing out his menu. Breakfast, buffalo
meat and manioc; luncheon, plain
manioc; dinner, first course manioc, sec-
on 1 course buffalo meat, with once in a
white a fish for a great delicacy.
“It took a good deal of hunting to pro
vide myself and the natives with enough
of this buffalo meat and it was hunting
of the kind you don't
Fvj*\ read about—wallowing
'WitH through marsh after
Pythons marsh, sometimes up to
and your neck ln slimy, dirty,
Buffalo nasty water That
wouldn't have been so
bad if it were not for the pythons. I
had made a leaf cup and was tending over
to get a drink out of a spring one day
when my guide yelled to me not to move.
Then it was that I discovered a python's
head sticking up right in front of me
waiting for me. It was only a little
serpent. 14 or 15 feet long, but he was
big enough to have made an end of me if
I had moved a muscle. My guide cut the
reptile in two with a knife. It wasn’t
five minutes afterwards before we came
across another one 20 feet long.
"The buffaloes were ugly customers, too
—worst cusses you ever struck in your
fife—not the old style of American bison,
but a particularly ferocious and danger
ous animal who would like nothing bet
ter than to tear you to pieces with his
horns. My first experience with one ex
cited me a little, I confess. The brute
charged me four times, coming down
like a whirlwind. I dodged among the
date palms like a Spanish bull fighter,
j Every time he stopped to take his bear
ings. I'd shoot. The fourth time I killed
him.
“Monkeys? Yes. I am coming to them.
I spent most of my time with them, day
after day alone with them in the forest.
I thought I had learned about all there
was to know concerning our reputed an
cestors on my two previous sojourns in
the African Jungles; but I was mistaken,
"It would appear that there are somo
excellent generals in the monkey army.
I have heard the chief of the band make
a curious sound, with the result that
one of his followers, manifestly a sentry,
posted off in one direction, and at a
repetition of the sound another would
post off in another direction; then a
slightly different order, and every one of
the mothers and children would retreat.
Another word of command, and the half-
grown ones would fall back. Finallv, tha
adults would be sent away, one by one.
and last of all the old man himself would
disappear. Usually It was some particu
lar monkey that responded to a particu
lar call exactly as If he had been singled
out by name. The others would not pay
the slightest attention until their turn
came.
"In traveling order you can always sea
the leader and the two pickets. Where I
was the bands usually ranged from ten
up to fifty or sixty, and I never yet saw
them move without having pickets out.
I am convinced that their chiefs are
chosen by election, and the natives have
told me that they have actually seen
the election palaver. Some of the tribes
seem to prefer tiieir oldest inhabitant for
a chief; but on the other hand I have seen
comparatively young leaders.
"Bands of the same species rarely at
tack each other, although, of course, the
individuals fight often enough. I have
seen two bands come together and mix
so completely that the leaders themselves
couldn't tell which from the other. At
a word from the chief the bands would
disentangle without an instant's confusion
and go their separate ways.
"So far as I have observed, the monkeys
are, in some respects, rather ahead of
some varieties of the human brother.
Watching them as long as I hfve, I could
not always be sure of telling one animal
from another; but I am Inclined to think
that the male monkey cleaves to ono
wife. However strong their inclinations
in the direction of polygamy, the sexes
are so evenly divided that if the man of
monkey society undertook to have more
than one wife he would get into trouble.
The natives tell me that the monkeys
change wives occasionally, hut I have
never been able to get any proof of it.
“The courtship is funny, and rivalry For
the hand of the tribe beauty Often leads
to some gorgeous combats. She betrays
her choice without much ceremony. It
would make a man with the slightest
sense of humor laugh out aloud all alone 1
there ln the heart of the forest to see
her pirink and pose upon a limb. She
even brushes her hair—I have seen the
males do that, too—and when the object
of her tender passion approaches she
sidles away with much mock modesty.
She wants him to come, but she doesn’t
want him to think so. There isn’t much
difference between human customs and
monkey customs in Mkeba society. When
a native wants to get married he goes and
buys a wife from his district and takes
her home, and that is the end of it.
“My monkey friends don’t take any
stock in woman suffrage, so far as I can
discover. The female attends strictly to
her business of minding the baby. The
male does the fighting and ‘makes the
taws.’ There is a baby a year n--’ never
more than one at a time. The mother car
ries the Infant four or five months, and
after that be shifts for himself. I should
judge that the girls turn their thoughts
■to matrimony at the age of 3 or 4 years,
and would be considered to have reached
ft great aige If they got past 10 years.
There are so many varieties, however,
that It Is hard to make generalizations.
CONTINUED ON FIFTH “