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THE SUNNY SOUTH FIFTH <PAGE OCTOBER 93, 9906. England Will Hand frown Modern Athlete to ^ Posterity in Enduring Statuary • *••••••#*••• ••• •. •• • ^ „ EORGBHAOBBU. 1 SCHMIDT, the world fa. j moua wrestler, has just entered a plea for the all.iete of today. T ii e Russian Lion i thinks that modern ar tists unci sculptors err in yoing entirely to antiqui ty for athletic models. “There are wrestlers, boxers, sprinters and weight putters today,” s ti V s Haeken8ohmldt, ■es would com-are favorably >eat existing specimens of te ol' th.at day owed much •ry an. Tile Hercules and bristled wilii groat sculptors was to reproduce in stone those famed for muscular i no not think they were any better a, i!e:icaliy. than those of today, the work of famous sculptors lias i.uade their todies the tradition for sir ingth and grace. Hence we give them i".dy tiie preference over the great ath- • trs of tiie present. I think it would be well tor some of our twentieth cen- ut> sculptors to make statues of some "i I he great athletes of today, so that 1 i autre generations may know wliat our 1 best men looked like.” i he liackensclunidt idea has met with general I tvor. Several prominent artists c.uv suggested that it would be admlra- bb to have a number of such statues j pi. ved in tiie British Museum. I lie Crock idea! has always typified, ;i.i tout w.is best i:i power united with, symmetry. ‘ j ATHLETES REDIVINERS. I ni- centuries tiie world strayed from i lose of athletics, and it lias not been! mil.I the last two decades that the sci- j nice of physical development has be- i' come recognized as matter of first iin- ! portanee In determining the future health snd buppiness of the people. In other centuries there wore occasional athletes, but it has remained for the closing days of the nineteenth and the opening days of the twentieth centuries to find in the United States a great national turning to the production of better de veloped bodies. The result is that in every school and A Daughter of the Aztecs J Uhe Bishop the Pierrot By ANNE ONNE. HAVE than saw the tremor that ran through By VEBNON ROSE. the cattle, a blinding flush of lightning tore the heavens in two, the thunder pealed and crashed, and the stampede ______ had begun. " ‘Ply, fly for your lives!’ was tiie « hoarse cry, and I had only time to see; that the herd had broken in the direction of Hartness and Dolores. “Together, side by side, they rode l>e-; fore the maddened cattle, Dolores with her fare as pale as death. By and by well what to expect—ni Philip's horse stumbled, the first sign of room so dark you stumble| falling strength in a mustang; another stun hie, and Dolores drew from her breast a little revolver her father had given her; another stumble—the herd was ! gaining on them--ind she fired; tiie horse always contended that a S o'clock tea la no place for a man, and even yet 1 marvel that if should have been Inveigled into responding to Mrs. Aller- ton’s hit of pasteboard in person. You always know quite over things, and a con-, fused and irritating eackioi of many women talking at I. HE bishop's eyes twinkled ironically as he refolded the letter which he had been reading. “So I am to be a sort of semi-chaperon for the wayward Phyllis!” he said. “-She is to he pack ed off for a long visit to Scarbeach, not because the King,” tiie bishop had risen, just like all the common “trippers” round him, and bared the bald patch on his gray head? And that he actually dropped a coin into the hat which an impudent pierrot brought round, even to those who paid for their seats? Shocking! Scarbeach shivered—at any rate, tho dull and select portion of Scarbeach did. The remainder of S.-arbeach opined that the bishop was a jolly good fellow, and that his reputation for uttering alarming and sarcastic remarks and "freezing” his parishoners must he all “tommy-rot. onee. and the necessity of swallowing at , iml ri(ler ,. a|ne (ogefher lot of stuff that is a reproach to your "She nunr hers-lf off her ov.n horse lunch and ar. in shit to your forthcoming j and p!lJJ ,, d pi,i!ip. dazed and stunned, br- dlnner. j hind the animal, and crouched over him I must say Mrs. Allerton does tilings; while tiie herd swept by. We found them- better than most, and it is really a pre-j thus. Dolores was unhurt, but Hart-! asked the clous privilege to inspect lier cups, but! ness’ head had been struck by a hoof as the rims < as I opened the door a confused mur-; the cattle went over them: and when we 1 * “The reason, my dear Emily?” Bishop mur of voices met me. and in a moment carried him back to the hacienda it Joyce.smiled as lie helped himself to ,i more I found myself in the thick of the looked as if lie had come to tiie end <;f second piece of toast. “At jour age you Scarbeach enjoys a salu brious climate, not because 1 \y|, c - e j ri perhaps, the remainder of Soar ' beach showed their sound judgment though thej' did not know it. T am her uncle and she might appreciate living with ic. not because she needs a summer holiday—no, not for any of these obvious reasons." “What, then, is the reason, John?” bishop’s sister, looking over her glasses. Denis Horgan, Famous Hammer Thrower Who Might Well Serve as Model for Classic Pose. weight lighter of the world, is as mas sive and huge as the most impressive of them. The marvelous torso of the champion, with its great breadth of shoulders, deep lungs. Ills arms and legs, college can now be found hundreds of j heavy enough to be trunks of trees; men who conform to the finest lines o. | huge, menacing fist, and the stern face symmetry that tiie strictest student of j topping it all. ought to be kept for fu- classical beauty could lay down. If the i ture generations, just to show the type j sculptor who is to make the figures j of giant California turned out. Nor liubub. making my bow over Mrs. f»ray's fat hand. “Oh! doctor.” she said, moving aside her draperies and waving me into a seat beside her, “don’t von know, you are just :he one person in the world I am dying to see.” “'Professionally, madam?" 1 asked, as slie tapped me on the hand with ponder ous iplayfulness. “iXo. no, you naughty thing; I was just tolling these ladles about Philip Hartness marrying a cowboy, or something of that kind, out in Texas.” “But that you said it,” I murmured,' faintly, “I wouldn’t have believed it pos-' sible. Of course we all know that the Texas law is effete and weak-kneed ex cept in the matter of horse-dealing; stii! “Oh! you horrid creature,” Mrs. Gray cried again, tapping me with her fRn “Now, do be a good boy and tel! us just how it happened, for I know j-ou were 'there and assisted at the orgy, or rite, or 'whatever they call such functions. | Is she pretty, for 1 suppose that, atter 1 all, in this case the cowboy ig a she?” i I looked hopelessly around. saw no' means of escape, and then I .Bought of my friend and his young wife, and re membered that these women held her so-- eial destiny in their hand. Mrs. Gray; herself was no- unkindly, and in the; faces turned toward me was one ini the chapter, and tha be brief after all. “Dolores' grief and despair were mad dening. I remember thinking it would oe almost worth dying to be so mourned. \> e could not a rive her away from his bedside, and so it chanced that she saved his life after all, perhaps. We could not rouse him from a stupor that seemed settling diown into the insensibility of death; and, at Inst, in litter despair. I turned to Dolores and bade her sing. Poor child, she was too wild with grief to know what, she did. and almost iti- his love story was ought to know that there is only one • reason which could satisfactorily explain why a d.imsel such as Phyllis should he liastilj' deported from her family circle and boarded with an ancient and sour- tempered uncle and aunt such as you mid nit*. “A man?” suggested Emily mildly. ■Just so. A ma.nl” The bishop smiled again, tiie rather sar which lie was famous. in. The moon rode high over Scarbeach sands, glcnmiilg on Scarbeach s white- painted bathing machines, and deluging with silvery light Searbeach’s now desert ed promenade. No. The promenade was not entirely deserted, after all, late though the hour was, for the moon glpamed on an object even whiter than the bathing machines— a human object; and. judging by its pos«\ a somewEftt uphappy human object. The human object in question was a pierrot. The pierrot leaned on the railing of tiie promenade anil stared forth gloomily across the shore. His attitude was de jected; his clean-shaven face was drawn with pain and misery. A close observer astic smile for j might have asserted that his eyes had Elizabeth writes 1 tears in them. But maybe that was only that tiie man is impossible, by which she an effect of tlie moonlight, tnay mean that he is a millionaire pork! The pierrot sighed as he stared; and voluntarily she began the bugle call for, Packer or a moneyless poet. She forbears then sighed again. It is conceivable that ‘taps’—you know it— “‘Ah. love, good night; must you go When day and nisrht T need you sc?’ to explain. The point of her communic: tion is this: that Phyllis must be moved from the aforementioned man’s lie might have sighed a third time, but re - ! before he could do so, a hand was laid on i his arm. and a voice spoke in bass, but ‘He seemed going very fast toward neighborhood without a moment’s delay, i not unkindly tone, at his ear. mre there is no ‘lights out,’ ionate entreaty recalled him, onscii ‘hat land bat hr and h.' oie ned world again. ‘Dolores.’ f heard him say. feebly, and she ; ok his hands i:i hers and began covering them with kisses, and then T slipped nut of i in 'room. What followed was not for you or me to know', only, as veu say. Mrs. Gray. T stayed on for the wedding.” Tiie deep eyes T had looked to for sympathy were humid with unshed tears, and even Mrs. Gray's fat hand was not Presumably a month in our edifying, if slightly dull, company is calculated—in eyes upon the Elizabeth's view, if not in that of her charming daughter—to cure a broken heart.” Humph 1 said Emily. She was a per son ol lew words. “Sonic more coffee. John?” “Thanks. I suppose I'd better write and tell our admirable Elizabeth that | Phyllis is welcome? Poor little Phyllis! i H e must do the best we can for her, j Emily, lou and I have traveled far quite steady as she passed her cup back enou Sh on life's road to know that for more tea. an splint, and the reu color of his skin makes him look like a bronze statue. Jack Chesbro, tin New York American pitcher, is built as though his strength would last a hundred years, and white Sando^ .VIerte tionls, carries satisfy every demand of classical out line, his is, nevertheless, a body iug and sympathy. “Dear madam,” ii your is past find-! one carries a profound suggestion of power. , _ , . , . , Sheridan, tiie champion all around i for the British Museum, snould restrict i Jeff muscle bound, Tiie champion is as athlete. who can do anything troni his choice of subjects to the more promi- I lithe on his feet as a panther. - ' ’ -• - > . all female diseases uu'j . f r op t 0 every sufferer. Write Mrs. Cora B. Miller. Box 2C56. Kokomo. Ind. uent athletes, he would still merely be t Corbett is the perfect Greek tj-p<-s. on reflecting fairly the general athletic de- i his smooth back not a muscle shows, it velopment of today. Such men as Hank- i enschmidt, Sandow or Coe are not iso- , is all grace and strength allied. The masters of ancient Greek would have lated Instances. They merely represent ] delighted t. types of the modern athlete. such a form into stone, j and no idealizing would be needed. A Ancient Greece would have hunted far perfect portrait of those perfect. ;%»,t i find a more perfect specimen than j powerful lines would make a magnili- ndow. This famed strong man is the I cent statue, t-ry perfection of masculine beauty. The Coe of Michigan, the world's eham- sprint to put a shot. -u«- toils the story of strong Tne homely Irish face o fork patrolman wouie out of place on a ci.i.-s save for that lie would .i I tion designed to preserve i twentieth century athlete, j To the extent that will I mre generations o aim .o: of physical inanhoo plan is a good oi • triid here in States is lid tion of at hi 1 have a veget: eases a id piles, free to anv sjfi B. Miller. B i ond ag the big New ] •: like a little j . marble, but ! . in any ceilee- specimens of beauty; encourage fu- 'ligliest ideals i The An’ Til! per- -i Huckens id might i the RELIABILITY. >*ar;ii has 'been a-qunkin’ l' u-tremblin’ an' a-shaTci.i' we're gettin’ apprehensive ploxod; An’ the scientists are seiliri’ Books which say tli.it there's no ;ellin The : rouble .hat may happen to us next Ad' the orators is stormin' Ail’ refrorrers is reformin' Til! we wonder jes' what’s wrong an who's to tolame; An’ it's re'ly almost pleasant In such queer times as the present T'i find tiie bill a-comin' jes' the same. A': i t ■ • ivokoant). Sandow Whose Magnificent Form Compares Favorably With That of Hercules. swelling ridges of muscle on his chest are especially to L .dmlred. They con form exactly to what the Greeks thought beautiful. Similar ridges of muscle are to be found in hundreds of kneeling figures which have been designed by architects as the supports for pillars and roofs in ornamental buildings. The Snndow llabit of pose, which, I while it may be a bit painful to those j who dislike affectation, nevertheless, j adapts him perfectly to pose for stat ues which must of necessity tie done i in the i la^sicn’. spirit. Sandow, In any j performance, takes fifty poses that ; would serve as studies for statues as • completely classclal as anything that ever came out of Athene. Hackenschmldt, who proposed the j plan of preserving in marble, athletes j o' today, would himself serve as an- j other admirable Illustration. but It | might be necessary to someyhat vary j from Ills lines in order to get the de- j sired classical result. AGILITY. On this subject \V. Hamo Thorny- j -roft. R. A., the sculptor of T,ondon. j sayr: “There is a line between art and j portrayal. Tt is the line of idealism, j To make a statute of Hackenschmidt it would he nc-ce-SHry to tone down j the muscle hound figure. We cannot i .ell whether the originals from whom j lie Grtek-- inode’ed their masterpieces j were gnarled and knotted, but if they I were, the clasic sculptors knew how to ‘ idealize and ignore these defects, j lienee their works have survived until today.” As Mr. Thornycroft is a member of j i lie Royal academy, and one of the ‘ foremost sculptors in the world ic j would hardly be in good taste to take exception to his opinion, but it should . be borne in mind that all w res lers . become more of less muscle-bound. j Their work calls for brute strength, rather than suppleness. There is little j or no demand for agility on the feet. Some of the best wrestlers have been alow, even fat men. It is therefore a. reanonable certainty j he wrestlers of the olden time were ( snarled, and that the sprinters were ; as gracefully built as those of today. I Take Shirk, the Harvard champion, j for two years winner of both sprin.s at the intercollegiate?. His long, lean ■ * odv is the perfect typo of the gray- < hound. It 13 all muscle, not a suggea- : Mon of fat. yet the muscles do not; show. They are the long, flexible kind. Shick could serve as a perfect model . for the modern sprinter, and not many i bodies could be found in Hellenic , ruins that would better show the right i equipment for rapid flight. There are numerous bodies that could be produced as examples of limitless strength, the Vulcan. Hercules. Jupl- ter types- . , James J- Jeffries, champion *>«*vy-1 pion shot putter of the world, is an- ! other who constantly suggests the clas sic. When lie poises and sends the iron missle hurling on its way, lie looks like] the living reincarnation of some fa-1 mous monument of myth days. In the football ranks are many whose | feller to down the desire to take the physique merits recording to future gen erations. Shevlin and De Witt, of Yale and Pri-jc.eton, p’espectlvely, famous gridiron heroes, are splendid specimens Of massive strength; so were Glass, Heffelfinger and Cutts, of Harvard, and McCracken and Woodruff, of Pennsyl vania. Baseball abounds in superb specimens. Bajoia is a picture of the lithe, loose Athletic’s Indian pitcher, is straight as | whose deep, dark eyes I read understand- j pCn.hi?to'or.••‘'eoid''Englttml^Will ’ ! Dolores he happv among us?" aid, “your requests “Quien snbe.” T answered. wit lle commands. lo begin with, Dolores! shrug; “the mystery of lev ~.t is a sad little name, isn't it?—is some-’ in-, out.” of the St. Louis Na- i tbing more than pretty. Her mother! bit too much weight to I was a Mexican. You needn't shrug >-o:ir! shoulders. Siie comes of one of the old A simple vesetable remedy that cures that j Aztec families, and I assure ; . lli female diseases and piles. I v.-id send scorn our best blood as something cn- tuely loo much of yesterday to be sc aly that i flously considered, and her people raised Tity. I a pretty row when Dolores’ mother fell love with an Englishman and per il! in marrying him. Poor tiling, six ivuu't live long enough to fulfill their prophecies and regret It, 'out she be queathed Dolores the finest eyes von ever sa w—deep, •lark, lustrous, with a tawny llasu in them that makes you remember ■them when you have forgotten how per- ieet is the oval of her face and how "iood-red the scarlet line of her mouth. bhe was a sensation in Paris YV hat, Paris?’’ in incredulous chorus from nij- audience. "Yes.” 1 answered, quietly. “She was educated in Paris. You see. her father '•"'ns the catlle on a thousand hills, or whatever is tiie modern equivalent to tun'., and lie worships Dolores. SI o never luul wiiat you would call good ■ breeding. She lived alone with her , lather at their hacienda until one time • she chanced to go with him to the city to . s .1 the cattle. Some woman looked cu- r'ously at her. and made a .slighting re-j mark on her clothes, or appearance, that . struck fire to the proud little heart. ! i am an Aztec!' she said, fiercely, to ier father that night. - I will not lie shamed by ms Americanos. Give me tiie education anj clothes that belit my birth. Paris is the heart of tiie world. 1 will , go there.’ And her father, who had never thwarted her in her fife, made the jour ney with her, and left her in a famous i pension with a ietier of credit that must I open th nave staggered tiie proprietress. “It was v. Idle Dolores was in Paris that I came to know her father. ( got interested in u scheme for buying a laige ranch on the Rio Grande, so went o\cr to America, and fell in love with tile life, and spent two or three years, mostly at liieir hacienda. It was the merest coin- cidence that Philip Hartness came over to visi t me the summer that Dolores re turned. Blie was already there when lie arrived, and pleasant as life had always been, it took on a new charm from her oug presence. 'S’lie Would ride with arly love affair isn't quite the joke .i You make a romance of it." she said; seems to onlookers, haven’t we?" rhe dun gray orbs behind tiie glasses Minted cuiiously, but their owner made no comment. t 11 tell Elizabeth to send Phyllis at e. tiie bishop went on. “She can may all the summer. But whether he sale from th he'll mysterious man at Scar- beach. when .she wasn’t safe from him m Kensington, remains to be seen doesn't it. Emily?” Emily nodded.' "I'm too busy to look auer her, she remarked, answering an unspoki ' And so am I." s; follows therefore —" “That she will hat-' self." Emily drily for him. "\Yhirh our little Phyllis is perfectly capable of doing.” tile bishop concluded. He put down his cup of cofree. "I only W!.-di her mother would realize that great truth. lie added, aiinest as though oi question. • id the bishop. “It j • o iook after her- linislied the sentence inaudibly. ! Phyllis maid sister uncle had IN DENVER'S JUVENILE COURT. In Judge Linds, ning. when boys sorrow and y! "gi.y with whisk asking the "cop” ‘Clean cut young go up to tne til's; ask: “Whu's to n the begin there with they saw no i'g.' bench,” They saw a into court, “tried" ami changes, i feller i I’ve ter, my boy? You ukiiig a mistake? Well, lots of make: mistakes. That's nothing. Je mistakes myself, worse's yours, 1 guess." Then turning to the po liceman. he ; si s; “What is it. officer?" The policeman tells about the clime, say theft. “SteMing isn’t right," says the judge, and he appeals to the boys in the court room, “is it. fellers.” Putting his hand on the hoy's shoulder, he gives him :t shove hack and a tpuil forward, "it's weak to swipe things.” That hurts. Boys j learn in tiie street that it's smart and j brave to steal, and the onlv evil about it is getting caught, j Lots of men take this view. too. bu. I Judge Lindsey sets up another standard. “I know liow it is,” lie says. “It's temptation. It's a q’rianee to get sonie- , tiling easy; something you want; or something you can sell to get something you want. Wanted to go to tiie show. : maybe. Well, it takes a pretty stromr omniuml it even he ommanil tiie sea XI. Dariry came in due course to stay with the bachelor bishop and his old at Scarbeach, and—as her prophesied—proved herself wholly equal to the task of being her own ; champion in solitude. Miss Emily rarelv- i ic.t the house, for she was immersed in i the secretarial work or an important : charitable organization. Tli e bishop, too, ! was endlessly -occupied with his pastoral j affairs, and had small time to devote to the | his pretty visitor. Phyllis was thus left ! muon to her own de\ ices. She could go i 1,111 Ol- come in as she chose. Of the I "mysterious man.” no mention had been made by her or by tne bishop. Tiie iai- rln ; ter, it appeared, did no! ing advice where it was did his sister. A month passed, 't la reached its height, and one beach had a sensation. which our people are j The bishop-the severe tl n effect, ceased to be ; the disli!U . tly now. considered fr It’? a comfortin' assurance*. This one custom whose endurance Survives the shocks ail' changes tiia pall. . ... Tin- sun. fur wliicu we re pinm . 'Neath a -cloud may shut his sh An' summer time hold over into f: Good men may he rejected Ar.' the bad ones get elected An' folly 'be uplifted into fame; But there’s one thing never Haw-so-e’er our custom ranges- The bills keep coinin' reg lar j same. THE CITY OF BRITAIN. (From Tiie Spectator.) insularity by itself, and it vie do ommanil the sea, renders us of all ■lost miserable. But we have a need ond tiiis. Unless we cannot keep ieve in ufl'er- skeil. Neither summer season day Scar- roads 1; t'e!. Britain lias a country. ‘?he the political and military point of view, a city, though a citj with very large parks and pleasaunces and kitchen gar dens in which to grow her flowers, fruits am! vegetables. A city, from the point of view of war. may be described as i place which if besieged long enough must fall, since supplies, once consumed, can- wandering mummers! What an example iignified. twe-inspinnfc bishop of j Scarbeach—was seen listening, for a , whole hour and a half, to tiie pieiTot i minstrels on the sands. The highly exclusive and respectable : socie.tv of Scarbeach shuddered when j thej heard the news. To think of their j bishop attending—and openly enjoying, it j was said—the entertainment of a troop of -fiance and see tiie show. But ilfi to swipe things. ’Tain’t fair; 'tain'L brave; ii's Just*mean, and i: hurts the toiler that steals. Makes him steal again, and by and bj- lie is caught a?td sent up —a thief. Now you ain't a thief, and you don't want to be. Do you? But you were too weak to resist the temptation, so you were caught. Ought to cut it out. Not because you oughtn't to steal. It’s because it's mean and sneaky, and no feller wants to be mean and sneakv. not be replenished. Britain answer: this description. The moment th reads to her are closed by an enemy all the strong. , iP-*o facto, in n stale of siege. I to set to tiie frivolous youth of Soar- : hung. speedy athlete. Bender, the j He wants to be on the square. * Hackenschmidt Who Would Himself Make Splendid Model for Statue of Perfect Man. quick, joyous young Jife naming in her ; cheeks, or at night she would sing, her j grand, pure, rich voice ringing out on the clear air, and we would sit in the dark i fancying how such dramatic fire and pas sion could sway and hold a multitude, '■ any aaj'iug Marches® was right to pre- i diet for her a brllliauL career—if only she j would stretch forth her hands and pluck : the laurel. j "Am I enthusiastic? Well, the fault ! is rare enough in these dujs fi- be easily j pardoned, and you will better understand ! how Phillip fell in love. I saw it from i the first, and warned him. But he ; stayed—the witchery of her beauty was j ; upon liini. “At first. I don't think lie was alto- I getlier happy in it. 1 suppose it is intv- j itabie that we cannot escape from the! standard of comparison to which we are! reared. You see. if one lias always thought of life as a mill pond, where one j may paddle about at w ill, it must be : startling to suddenly find one’s self launched on a boundless sea with the, i wind fifing every stitch of canvas and. j the bow- pointing to undiscovered conn- j tries. It was like that with Philip; Do- j lores enthralled every sense- with her •beauty and tierce love, but lie could not reconcile her with his traditions. “God know-s how two young and foolish creatures would have tangled the threads of life and I've, but that fate came inj and ended the matter in a way that; would have been melodramatic enough anywhere else but on the Rio Grande. j **One day—it was a perfect da>% I re-j member, and the prairies were like an: azure carpet of bluebells—we, Dolores and her father, and Phlip and I, had' been riding far, going to a distant part: of the ranch to pick out some cattle for ( shipping. Toward evening the weather,! which had been so fine, grew suddenly! hot and oppressive. The white heat; quivered, and there seemed a suppressed! excitement in the very air. “We had come rather unexpectedly! upon the bunch of cattle that we were, seeking, and the cowboys looked grave,' for the sultry weather presaged the. storm, and they were trying to round up the cattle for fear of a stampede. Some times, you know, cattle become hysterical! at the coming of a storm, and break away, flying anywhere awaj- from their; causeless and senseless terror, trampling! down everything in their path. j “It was only too -obvious that ,we had 1 exposed ourselves to this danger. There; was nowhere to go, and the only chance was In keeping- the herd quiet, as can. often be done by the knowledge of hu-| man presence. Presently there was a deep and ominous roar, the trembling herd lifted their heads and listened, a bull | bellowed wild and fierce, we felt rather: Cot-id it be true? Was it really the case that in tiie middle of one of those horrid cake-wal'ky “coon” songs, the stately biaek f 'rin of Bishop Joj-.-e had been seen by tiie astonished audience placidly of sat to face with a need so imminent; it wmil-i be madness for us io give any considera tion to what we hope or believe are the intentions of tins All that we can how to secure ., , ..... independence is to count ships and guns j there, in lull view of everybodj’, till the and to coniume tiie units of naval eifi- 1 very end of the performance? And when : ciency. the man at the piano played "tioi ruve, ! ■ ijiq't. oi ueucie aie me seen by tiie astonished audience piacidl is -°i'., tha i t 1 *. ore ‘ sn pushing its way into tiie front row i our national safety and «»ts!-and that lie had positively st “Arc you in rouible, my friend?" The pierrot swung round gufftily, ari l -beheld the somber, upright form of the dreaded bishop of Scarbeach. The bishop met his gaze steadily. ”Y'ou are in trouble, Mr.-^Mr. Creighton?” The pierrot started. “Y’ou know my name?” he gasped. “It is my business to know people's I names,” said tne bishop smiling. "You recognized me?” "Although you have shaved off your ! mustache? Y’es, I did. It is my business j k o recognize people, even”—the bishop j smoled again, a trifle grimly—“even peo- i pie vviio shave off their mustache, who i change their names,.who put on pierrot | costumes, and who—” i "Yes?” said the pierrot breathlessly, j "Yes?” I "And who do not wan- to be reeog- ; nized?” I The pierrot gave a shrug. ! "It was kind of you to take any notice i of me—” "I have not been taking any notice of | you,” said the bishop, with a mbmentary ieti.ni of that gen ie irony which had made some oi' his flock so afraid of him. "All my attention has been occupied with noticing nij niece—Miss Phyllis Darthj. The pierrot turned a blanched face to tiie bishop. "Phyllis your niece—my Phyllis? ' "Pardon me. At present she is my Phyllis, not yours. Mrs. Dartry intrust ed her to me just because she aid not wfish our Phyllis to become your Ph-yibs. And you followed her to Scarbeacn, pre tended to be a pierrot, and—” “t did not pretend. 1 reallj' am a pier- rot. I speak plainly, as you have spoken plainly to me. I am a pierrot because I am penniless.” "Then your the bishop. "Is worthless,” said the pierrot. “I did not think so when 1 heard you play the riano this afternoon on the sands." "Unfortunately, oth.r critics decline to share your views.” The Pierrot was bi - ter. He had experienced many disap- pointmertis. "Except, perhaps, Phyllis?” hinted ti-e bishop. “Phyllis!” The pierrot clenched his hands. "Oh, why, why did I ever make a fool of myself over music; why did I quarrel with the prospects I had; why aid I ” "Precisely,” interrupted the bishop. “Why did you?" "You are laughing at me!” flashed th* pierrot. "It* you will honor my house with a short call tomorrow evening I shall have much pleasure in proving the contrary.” said the bishop. “I shall also, I hope, have the additional pleasure of hearing you play—not the piano this time, but th- i ew organ in my private chapel.” “The organ?” “The organ; w-hich, if I remember aright, is a greater favorite with you than the piano.” The bishop’s voice softened suddenly. He gripped the pier- rot's shoulder. “Don't you think I re member?" he said, looking at him aa-- nestly. “Don't you thirk I remember?” Tiie pierrot gazed at him. “My mother?” lie said. “She told me or ce ” The bishop averted his head. “You and little Phyllis aren’t the first who have known -what it Is to be he began huskily. “Never mind that, Come to my house tomorrow. Don t forget!" musical talent?” queried IV. “I am going to write to Mr. Creigh ton's father,” said the bishop. "We must see if this silly feud with his son can't be patched up, Emily. Its gone 0 l quite long enough now.” “Sir William Creighton didn’t approve of a musical career?” queried Emily. “He did not. and tiie lad was turned out without a shilling to bless himself with. He was organist at Yarborough when I was there, and now he is going to be organist at ’ “At Scarbeach? In the cathedral? Oh, John.” The old maid’s cj-es brightened. "Then -Phyllis and he wll be able to ” The bishop laughed. He was perusing a letter which had just been handed to h'fti. "Eliz-ibeth signifies her approval,” he announced. “Even an organist—If he Is a baronet’s son—is, it seems, a suitable match for Phyllis. The eccentricity of hir becoming a pierrot is, of course, over looked. It was a mere eccentricity. Not a prevention of starvation—oh. no. noth ing so commonplace. Baronets' sons Jo not starve, according to Elizabeth.” “And what does Phyllis say?” asked Emily, with a kindlj- snfile. The bishop drew back the curtain of the window and pointed the garden. Phyllis and the pierrot—no longer a pier- rot—were sitting under the shade of a tiee, far too interested in each other to notice windows or curtains. “That is what Phyllis says,” chuckled the bishop. “She saj-s that Scarbeach is better than Kensington, after all. Also, 1 believe she has come to the conclusion that her grim old bachelor uncle Isn't so black as—as his coat.” Emily looked silently at the bishop. “I* only John had had a similar grim old uncle,” she was thinking. “Poor, lonely John!" Coe, World’s Champion Shot Putter Who in Pose and Figure Constantly Sug gests Ancient Greek Athletes. “Whenever I see you.” said Markley-. “it reminds me—" “Oh! forget that,” in terrupted Burroughs; “I’m badly in nee-i of a fiver, and—" “Yes, as I was saying, whenever I see you it reminds me of reading the alphabet backward, becauss U always comes after a V.”—(Philadel phia Press.