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BHK THE M HI MB TOM'S GOUGE.
BT RAYMOND S. SPEARS.
The spring drive of logs down the
West Canada creek, an Adirondack
stream, five years ago, was remarkable
for a number of unusual events. To
begin with, it was larger by millions of
feet than any ever before floated down
this stream. It was floated in record
time, too, for the snow went off with
a rush after the ice had gone out. Con
sequently the creek was brimming, and
on this flood tide came the logs by the
tens of thousands.
To roll stranded logs from the banks
and to break the jams, there was a
gang of more than 60 strong, daring
men. They rode the torrent and fell
in a dozen times a week, but at last
they learned caution.
Bill Kennedy rode a log into Has
kell's rifts before he knew it one day.
A mile of white w T ater full of rocks
was before him. Kennedy lost his
courage, the more completely because
his courage had never before failed
him. He uttered a wild cry.
Dan Cunningham saw his peril, and
jumping to a passing log, pushed out
to the rescue. It was a wild race, but
the approacn of help steadied Kennedy
and enabled him to keep his balance.
Cunningham, guiding his log into the
swiftest current, overtook the helpless
raftsman, and with his pike pole
steered both logs for shore.
There was an eddy just a little way
J>elow, and Cunningham, with all his
might, shoved Kennedy into it. But
that thrust pushed his own. far out,
rolling and rocking. Kennedy was
ashore in a moment, but before Cun
ningham could recover his balance
the log he rode hit a rock; one end
flew up, and the rescuer was thrown
20 feet into the air. He came down
head first on a froth covered rock and
disappeared. It was dark before the
body was recovered. After that the
men took the long way round, even at
dinner time.
No man is a raftsman unless he can
ride a log. So In a lumbering country
every riverside boy of ambition learns
the knack on creek still waters. It is
a good thing to know how to do. It
means a good job when one grows up,
and may be the saving of a life be
sides.
Among the rest of the boys at Wil
murt, Will Conway, 16 years old that
spring, was renowned. He knew the
creek, the places where the deer
.rossed it, the brooks that the mink
followed and the pools the trout lurked
in. But he wasn’t satisfied with the
money he earned selling trout and
trapping mink. He wanted to make
daily wages like a man. So he went
■ o George Koch, the boss driver, and
' ked to go with his gang; but Koch
old the lad he wasn’t .big enough yet
to handle a cant-hook.
It was a heavy disappointment to
Will. It hurt his pride; besides, the
family needed the money. But as ar
gument was of no avail, Will was a
mere spectator on the bank just above
Mad Tom’s gorge when the driving
crew arrived there on a Saturday
morning.
That was the best place on the creek
to see the drive. A big boulder had
vome out of the deep water above the
gorge and lodged there in midstream
at the' brink of the tumult, its broad,
ugly head two feet above the surface
level. Against it logs were hanging
-very minute, making the worst jam of
the season. It was already 200 yards
long.
The mere fact that it was a big jam
waa something, but that was not all.
Whoever broke this jam must surely
go through the gorge—a third of a mile
>f the wildest plunging water, where
the flood piles up first against one
rock ledge, then against the other, and
dnally glides into the foaming tumble
the l\ead of Mad Tom’s pool, in
which men have disappeared.
Haskell’s rift, broad, open and com
paratively shallow, had cost Cunning
ham his life. Here was water tenfold
worse. At sight of the jam above it
'he men hesitated and shook their
heads. They ate their lunch of cheese,
uread, canned beef and coffee. Some
hoped the water would rise and lift the
jam over the boulder; they pointed out
that the stream was just then rising
14 bit. for it was higher in the centre
'ban at the sides. At any rate, a little
‘lelay would do no harm.
At the head of the jam the water
sucked and boiled, with little whirl
pools diving into one another. On both
"'des it raced, wide, black and smooth,
burgling along the edges as it drew
hits of ice and sticks under the ends
i>f logs. Where the water was divid
and its bed narrowed, the current
can swifter and swifter till, at the en
lace of the gorge, the water was
*ined and the foam stretched out, and
**en the bubbles were oblong, slanted
*>ack by the wind, or whisked off the
surface into shining, evanescent
•breads. Under such conditions —with
the water sucking and boiling—no man
in the crew volunteered to go to the
Jam. Asa matter of business, the boss
offered $25 to the one who would try.
There never was a log jam that river
drivers wouldn’t break sooner or later,
no matter how high or rough the wa
ter, but in this case the men wanted
time to think. An that was a boy's
opportunity.
Will Conway’s father had been a
"oted jam breaker, and men of the
who knew the boy relieved their
"neasy feelings by joking with him a
it
"Why, Billy," they said, “your dad
have been out there hours ago
“ he were here. He wa’n't afraid of
’lie gorge. Huh, I should say not!
1 seen him the time he went through
the only one as ever did it alive, I
i eckon, though some say they have.
Them days they used to break jams
with a cant-hook and ax, 'stead of
dynamite. There was a jam just like
this one. \ou’d ought to have seen it,
the way he rode the first log, stiusiy as
a wagon, and he saved his ax, too.
Pity ther ain t no such men alive now
adays."
To this bantering narrative Will lis
tened without undue gravity, but after
a while, unobserved by any one, he
opened the cheese box in which were
the dynamite and fuse used by the
floaters to blast jams and dangerous
rocks. He put four sticks of the stuff
into his hip pockets, and a length of
fuse into his blouse.
Then he went up the creek round
the bend to his house and took a small
corked bottle full of dry matches. The
old pike-pole his father had used was
under the eaves of the woodshed. He
threw it over his shoulder and started
for the creek.
He was soon afloat on a little log
that was easy to guide, and he worked
his way to the middle of the stream,
dodging or fending off other logs. He
watched the current ahead to see that
an unexpected drift did not carry him
out of his course; he stood with his
knees slightly bent and his head for
ward, and the quarter-inch spikes in
the sole of his shoes gripped the log
till it splintered.
Ahead of him was the jam with logs
hitting it every minute. Some of them
dived out of sight instantly. Others
slued round sidewise and climbed the
back of the jam. The whole head of
the jam was rolling, twisting and heav
ing; there could hardly be a more dan
gerous place for a man’s legs.
To miss these rolling logs and yet
find a landing was Will's hope. To go
too far down would be to risk the pitch
into the gorge and the probability of
being carried past the jam. But as he
plunged into a drift of logs and was
unable to steer out of it in time, he
had to take his chances as they came.
There wasn’t really any great choice
in the matter. It would be a leap for
life, anyhow, wherever the log struck,
and it might as well be a big leap as
a little one.
Will was within 100 feet of the jam
before any one saw him. Then a small
boy shouted, “There’s Will Conway on
a log!"
A hundred men, and as many women
and children, looked in time to see Will
poise himself for the leap as his log
approached the jam. Instead of hold
ing the pole for a mere balance as he
had been doing, he turned it parallel
to his log and stooped for a vaulting
jump.
Log after log struck, each with a
heavy, musical thump—a half dozen
of them. Suddenly Will crouched,
dropped his left shoulder, struck the
iron pole point home in a log, and
then sprang for ward and up—up, while
the log he had just left plunged down
into the vortex.
He struck fairly on his feet and ran
lightly over the uneasy logs to the
motionless ones. Then the crowd on
shore tossed its arms and cheered. The
first and least of the dangers was over
come.
Will walked down the jam, stepping
from log to log, taking his time all the
way. The crush at the boulder was
very great. He looked the tangle over;
some of the logs fairly stood ou end,
others were piled crosswise and length
wise. A big one, its back splintered—
almost broken —was evidently the key.
As it lay broadside to the current, the
water poured over it six inches deep
at one end.
The other logs were thrust over and
under it, and were lodged against the
boulder. Just below the key log, in
the water beside tne boulder, was the
place for the dynamite, so Will decid
ed after the examination. Then he
went to work.
While the crowd on shore looked on,
wondering what he would do next, not
knowing that he had dynamite, Will
moved his pike along the jam, and
found a straight spruce sapling, eight
feet long and bare of bark, which some
lumberman up at the log dump had
used as a handspike.
He carried this to the key log, and
kneeling down, tied the dynamite
sticks, one by one to his sapling, lash
ing them fast with a stout string, as he
had seen the men do. Then he fastened
the fuse and ran it along the stick
steadying it by twine. This took only
a few minutes —breathless ones to the
onlookers. Then Will examined the
logs again, to be sure that he would
put the charge in the right place. When
Boss Koch saw him doing that, he said,
“The coolest chicaen I ever see!”
At last the sapling was shoved home,
the dynamite was three feet under wa
ter and the end of the fuse was nearly
a foot above the surface. Then Will
stood up and looked into the gorge be
low.
He knew how the water ran there,
for he had lived within a mile of it all
his life. The story of his father s ride
was not anew one; indeed, his father
had pointed out to him the black
streak of navigable water he had fol
lowed on that memorable drive of
years ago.
Will could see the streak for a short
distance along the right bank of the
gorge. To the left the logs that missed
the jam were lifting their noses
against the ledge and tumbling over
backward.
Will pulled his belt a hole tighter,
and drew his trouser legs out of his
stocking tops; if he had to swim there
wouldn’t be bags of water on each leg
drawing him under. He glanced back
and saw where the pike pole was. Then
THE WEEKLY NEWS, CARTERSVILLE. GA.
he took a match from the bottle and
struck it on a bit of dry log. The
flame sputtered into the fuse, and Will,
grasping his pike, ran for the head
of the. jam, where the logs were thump
ing and rolling.
In the days when jams were broken
with cant-hooka and axes, the floaters
always tried to keep ahead of the rush
of logs lest they be crushed among
them; but in these days of high ex
plosives one must take one's chances
at the other end; and this is not the
safest place, when all the logs are
moving and grinding together.
The fuse was long and burned slow
ly. Will was at the head of the jam
long before the explosion came. He
waited with the pike-pole balancing.
The onlookers stood on tiptoe. The
roar in the gorge was not quieting to
any one’s nerves, but at last a dozen
logs were lifted into the air, splin
tered and broken, and the boulder dis
appeared in smoke and spray.
There was not so much noise as one
might think; just a sound that trav
eled low down, but a long distance.
A 50-foot dome of gray spray, speck
led with large black sticks and yellow
splinters 10 feet long, flashed up, and
then Will Conway poised for a life and
death struggle.
The jam quivered from end to end.
It broke to pieces in great masses.
Some logs came jutting up out of the
black water; hundreds plunged in with
mighty splashing. All were tossed and
pitched.
In a moment Will was stepping and
jumping from log to log, running to
ward the gorge. Once he fell, and the
crowd gasped; but agile of body and
cool of mind, he sprang to his feet
feet again with only a shoe wet.
As he whisked into the gorge, one
voice alone was raised. Boss Koch
shouted, “Good hoy! Keep your
nerve!”
Will lifted a hand in reply, and was
then whirled out of sight.
Till this time hardly any one had
stirred, but now everybody turned and
ran for the road. Koch and his driv
ers leading. They raced over little
patches of snow, through a brook waist
deep with black water and broke down
a dozen lengths of fence getting over
it into the highway. The river men
were dressed in flannels of bright col
ors, blue, red, checkered and plaid
blouse waists, and mackinaw trousers
of all shade and hues. On them the
sun shone with extraordinary effect a3
they strung out along the road, the
best runners leading and the women
bringing up the rear, all headed for
Mad Tom’s pool, where the gorge ended.
Down the gorge, below the first turn,
the right bank is worn out and hangs
far over the Quick water. The turn
is a gradual one, and the logs, once
clear of the lifting wave above, swing
round to the left again, end on, and
along the side of a huge molasses like
roll.
On the opposite side is a fierce eddy,
in which logs dance on end and are
split in two by the crush. The rocks
on either side are hung with moss wet
by a cold, thick spray, dashed up by
the wind. Here Will found himself
drawing toward the grinding mass in
the eddy.
He was too far to the left. Quick as
thought he jumped to a swifter log
higher up the roll, then to .one beyond,
and on to a third, clear of the eddy by
a yard.
No time to think of it, though, for
ahead was business quite as dangeroue
—perhaps the worst of all.
The gorge narrows below the second
turn, and the water, crowded into it,
foams so high on both sides as almost
to curl over. Down the centre runs the
blacU streak. W’ill got into that, and
the white water was higher than his
head on each side. He shot forward
with increasing speed. He saw one lo*
threa feet in diameter strike a ledge,
to bo. hurled end over end through the
air.
As the spray lifted, he saw ahead the
black level of Mad Tom’s pool, where
there was safety.
But before that the water gushed out
suddenly fan-like, until rollers 10 feet
high took up the speed, and only a
greasy little trough lay down the cen
tre.
One# more Will saw that he was off
his course, headed too much for the
waves Among them he could do noth
ing; h> would be tossed as from a cat
apult.
He jumped again. The log dived,
and h< had to go to one beyond. For a
moment he hung, almost toppling, but
he goi his balance again, none too
soma.
Ten seconds of awful roar followed.
His pike-pole, which he held as a rope
walker holds his balancing pole, was
in the foam at both ends. Up and
down on short, solid three-foot waves
went Us log, and through some soft,
foamy ones.
A water-soaked log came lurching at
him, hat fell short. Another plunged
across, just ahead of him. It seemed
as if tLe whole jam was there, waiting
for him
The ext instant the tumble of wa
ter was left behind. The current be
came beoad and level; Its dancing was
over for a while. The logs, after a
hit of teetering, ceased their plunging,
and floated on with rigid dignity. Will
quickly pushed himself to shore and
started *jp the road with his pike over
his shoulder, beating the spray drops
off his voolen cap.
He was met by a whooping crowd of
raftsmen, crying women and screaming
boys, who all talked at once.
A few minutes later the drivers hur
ried away down stream, and Will ac
comp.amed them. He was to have a
man’s wages for handling the dyna
mite at jams too big for cant-hook
work.
Of course, somebody went back to
tell Will’s mother what had become of
him; in fact, they’ve been telling her
ever since, greatly to her satisfaction.
—Youth’s Companion.
DUXES OF EVERY KIND.
NINETY SIZES REQJHED BY ONE
INDUSTRY ALONE.
Millions 1 limed Our Weekly by Amrrl-
H" 1 MCtorm*—| to Wliii-li They Are
I lit— V HtcriHl. 1.0,l in '1 heir Munilluc
tore—All >ort. r I liu- About I hem.
Millions of paper boxes are turned
out every week in New Haven from
the common cigarette holder to the
one that holds a S2O creation of a mil
one: y shop. There are half a dozen
box shops in town, and the greater
number of operatives are women. Until
me paper box syndicate got control of
the New Haven box factories the con
cerns were run by different people,
but the largest here are now owned
by the National Folding Box and Pa
per company.
If you buy a hat it is sent to your
home in a paper box; if you order a
dress suit it comes to your home in
a paper box; you get your cuffs, your
collars, your shirts and ties In paper
boxes; your shoes, your cuff buttons,
your jewelry in paper boxes; dresses,
shirtwaists, bonnets, hose, underwear,
luncheons, cereals, oysters, milk, cod
fish, fruit, candies, perfumeries, soaps
and sausage; almost everything but
boilers and engines are packed in pa
per boxes nowadays.
The variety and size of paper boxes
is almost without limit, and modern
machinery to make them is capable of
anything in that way that it may be
called on to do. About the only hand
work now in making paper boxes is
putting on the labels, and this could,
if necessary, be done by machinery
in the factories. An ordinary well
equipped factory makes hundreds of
sizes and shapes and usually carries
about 200 samples in stock. The foun
dation and body of a paper box is
strawboard.
Strawboard is a hard, thick, yellow
ish-brown paper, commonly called
cardboard by the consumer. It is made
of straw —usually wheat straw. The
straw used in this state, which has
some of the largest and best known
factories in the country, is usually
hauled to the factories by nearby farm-'
ers, or the factories buy the straw on
the farms and do their own hauling.
If at too great a hauling distance the
straw is shipped in by bales. It is
tumbled into huge pots of lime water
and boiled to a pulpy mass, drained,
fed between web cloths which flatten
it and carry it to machines with many
hot rollers, which gradually compress
and make It smooth, until, when it
emerges at the other side, it is straw
board in a continuous sheet of a cer
tain width. It passes through a cut
ter, which makes it into sheets 26x38
inches. This is the regulation size
agreed upon by the strawboard manu
facturer of the. United States, appar
ently because it is the most handy
size and the one that can be made into
most of the other sizes ordinarily used.
Unless otherwise specified, it is always
shipped in this size to paper box mak
ers and other people who use straw
board. It cuts to great advantage for
many sizes of boxes and with the least
waste. If lined strawboard is wanted,
that is, board with, say, white paper
cover on one side of it, the paper from
a large roll is made to meet the straw
hoard as it passes through the rollers,
and is pressed on the board before the
latter is completely dried by the last
rollers. Strawboard comes altogether
in 50-pound bundles, no matter what
the size of the sheets. Some of it is
so thick that there are only eight
sheets of the regulation size in a 50-
pound bundle; others thin enough to
give 130 sheets to the bundle of that
weight.
The boxmaker first, cuts the larger
sheets into the sizes he needs to make
the kind of boxes wanted. Then these
sheets of proper size are fed into a
machine that scores them, that is, cuts
half way through them in the right
places so that the sheet mav be folded
and be in shape of a box with bottom,
two sides and two ends. Before be
ing folded, however, they are slipped
into a machine which nips the cor
ners off. The stay machine next gets
the folded shape and puts gummed pa
per over the corners to hold together
the sides and ends. The next machine
lines and covers the boxes with paper
in whatever color is wanted. The pa
per has blue on one side, like postage
stamps, and is in rolls on an axle. The
naked strawboard box is hung on an
other machine which turns the box up
and down and over while the operator
guides the paper over the box, outside
and in. The lid is lined and complet
ed in the same manner, being, of
course, slightly larger than the box, so
as to fit over it. There is a little ma
chine to make the thumb hole, the lit
tle semi-circular opening at the middle
of the bottom of each side of the lid,
which makes a place to get hold of the
box while the lid is being pulled off.
Then girls, by hand, deftly and quick
ly put on the labels. The box has
made the round of the factory, going
from the receiving room, where the
strawboard is stored, to the shipping
room, awaiting the wagons which take
them to merchant or railroad.
The largest boxes made in Indianap
olis factories are those for shirtwaists,
2Gxl6xlO inches; the smallest. lxlx3-8
inches. The latter are used by dental
supply companies to send samples of
false teeth to their dentist customers.
The little round pill boxes aro not
made in this city, and aro said to be
the product of only two factories in
this country. The Indianapolis facto
ries make pill boxes, but they are
square. The small boxes in which qui
nine capsules and seidlitz powders are
delivered to suffering humanity are a
large product of nearly all factories
of this kind.
As an example of the extensive use
of paper boxes, a saw manufacturer of
this city gets thousands of them every
month, in 90 sizes, from one of the lo
cal paper box factories. A wedding
box is another product. It contains
presents for the ushers —usually a col
lar, tie and a pair of gloves. The box
is 14 Inches long, 2 inches wide and 1
inch deep. It is lined and covered with
fine glazed paper. Little dainty boxes
for wedding cake are In different
shapes. heart-shaped, triangular,
square and oblong. Boxes are also
made for funeral shrouds.
The glazed paper for covering the
boxes comes in every color, shade and
quality. Some of it costs nearly $1 a
*hcet. The expensive kinds of boxes
have pretty and delicate designs in sev
eral colors. Jewelry boxes are lined
with velvet and satin. Leatherette is
an expensive covering for paper boxes.
Book cloth is used for sample cases,
telescopes and desk files. Silver and
gold paper is used for borders and
trimmings, and candy. The prices of
paper boxes vary from 50 cents a hun
dred to SIOO a hundred.
The old-fashioned bandboxee, the
standby of our forefathers, with their
black and sometimes white paper cov
erings, are seldom seen now, and are
not made in any of the local factories.
Hat boxes that are made here are
square, following the modern fashion.
Boxes are not all made of straw
board. Woodboard is also used —a
strong paper that is made of wood
pulp. This hoard is white in colo;. —
New Haven Register.
QUAINT AND CURIOUS.
Vegetables are usually sold in piles
in Buenos Ayres so that you have to
measure quantity as well as quality by
the eye, and butchers sell their meat
by the chunk rather than by weight.
A wire fence weaving machine has
been devised which enables a strong,
serviceable fence to be constructed in
position, with rapidity and economy.
The machine carries a number of
spools of wire and the weaving of the
fence progresses rapidly.
One indivdual, who narrowly es
caped prosecution for counterfeiting
rare eggs and selling the bogus speci
mens to museums has recently turned
up with exquisitely lifelike photo
graphs of birds, which, in reality, are
produced by the help of stuffed speci
mens, artistically attitudinized.
While Mrs. P. T. Bulger of Portland,
Or., was traveling on a train toward
Spokane, Wash, the other day, she gave
birth to twins. The elder, a boy, was
born in Oregon, and the other a girl,
in the state of Washington, an hour
later. This s the first case on record
where twins were born in different
states.
The Gaekwar of Baroda has a bat
tery of artillery consisting of gold and
silver guns. There are four guns, two
of gold and two of silver. The gold
guns were made in 1874 by an artisan
of Lakha, who worked on them for
five years. They weigh 400 pounds
each, and, except for the steel lining,
are of solid gold.
There yet remain in London of the
old taverns seven Adam and Eves, five
Noah’s Arks and naturally connected
with that, as many Olive Branches.
There are two Jacob’s Well's, one Job’s
Castle and one Samson’s Castle. Oldest
ot all, but not the least appropriate, is
a Simon the Tanner, in Long lane, Ber
mondsey, the seat of tne tanning in
dustry in South London. Among those
marked for destruction, too, one notes
the sign of the Two Spies, a reference,
of course, to those advance Israelites
who returned from the Promised Land
with their burden of grapes.
Shave Their Heads.
One part of Egypt shows where the
outward and visible evidences of the
aboriginal have been softened down
with a veneer which the softeners
fondly imagine is indicative of inward
and spiritual grace. This is along a
350-mile stretch of the White Nile,
where the Shilluks live and move and
have their being. Now, the Shilluks
are a picturesque and a promising peo
ple. They have their Fashoda for a
capital and their memories of lord
Kitchener of Khartoum, which no man
may take from them. Wherefore, what
matters it that they have lost their
original lawlessness, their former tur
bulence and their cheerful specialty of
roasting the enemy on the point of
the spit?
Now the Shilluka are so civilized
they carry short wooden clubs, after
the fashion of the Broadway policeman
and occasionally brandish a long spear
in true light opera style. They lead
an enviable life, these Shilluks; noth
ing to do all the livelong day but lie
on the mossy bank and spear the hor
ny-hided hippopotamus as he glides
within range, or make a dead crocodile
of a live one by the simple expedient
of harpooning him through his vitals.
As for work, that is for woman, and
my lord of the Shilluks never puts his
hand to it.
Agriculture is yet an undeveloped in
dustry, and what little developing has
already taken place has been at the
Instance and hands of the wives. The
Shilluk country is not the birthplace of
the seven Sutherland sisters of glori
ous hirsute memory. All the women
of the tribe shave their heads.
t anna for War.
A citizen walking past a butcher
shop in a Kansas town saw the butcher
and a customer rolling over the saw
dust floor in a lively rough and tumble
fashion. He pried them apart and then
learned that the customer had come to
buy some dog meat. The butcher non
chalantly asked: “Do you wish to eat
it here or shall I wrap it up?”
A WOMAN TO A MAN.
When you grieve, and let it show.
And may tell me nothing more,
You have told me, o’er and o’er,
All a woman needs to know.
When I show you thut I care
(Meet your eyes and touch your hand)*
I have made you understand
All a woman may, or dare.
So, the ears of Friendship heard!
So, ’twas seen of Friendship's eyes!
You are sad, I sympathize.
All without a single word.
—The Westminster Gazette.
HUMOROUS.
Hoax—She has beautiful hair,
hasn’t she? Joax —Bang up.
Muggins—He married his cook, I be
lieve. Buggins—Yes; you see, she
wanted to leave.
“He said my voice had the flexibility
of a harp” remarked the self-satisfied
girl. “He wanted to string you,” said
the slangy girl.
Tommy—Pop, do kings still have
court jesters? Tommy’sPop—No; they
no longer feel the necessity of keeping
their wits about them.
She—He's quite a rising young au
thor. He goes in for realism you
know. He—Yes; but he hasn’t real
ized on his writings to any extent.
“Clarence unintentionally offended
the aspiring young poetess” “In what
way?” “He sent her a gayly decorated
waste basket as a birthday present.”
“He was a man of strong will,” re
marked one friend of the deceased.
“Yes,” agreed the other; “I hear that
even the heirs despair of breaking it.”
Father —I am afraid you will never
make your living with yo(ir pen. Son—
Then, father, don’t you think you could
—er —advance me the price of a type
writer?
“ ‘Trans’ means across,” said the
teacher; “can any boy give me an il
lustration of its use?” “Yes, ma’am,”
spoke up little Willie; “ ‘transparent,’
a cross parent.”
Overheard in the florists —“How
much are your hyacinths?” Fifty cents
apiece.” “Why, I bought them for a
quarter last month.” “Yes; but they
are higher since.”
Irate Tenant —You told me therewere
no piano players in this house. Just
listen to that girl on the next floor.
Flat Landlord —She is no player;
merely a practicer.
Nell—l never knew a girl so sus
ceptible to flattery as Maude. Belle —
That’s right. Jack told her she was an
angel, and she went right off and be
gan taking lessons on the harp.
The two housebreakers had nearly
come to blows. “You promised to di
vide with me, and you're keeping ev
erything,” complained one. “No, I’m
not keeping everything,” replied the
other. “I’m not keeping my promise.”
Tea and I’ropoanl.
She was pouring at a tea that af
ternoon ana she looked unusually be
witching. He was sitting at her left
in a bower of palms that almost con
cealed him. He was holding one of
her hands under cover of the table
cloth while she tried to pour with
the other. She did not look at him as
she talked, but he knew by her color
and the little quiver of the hand he
was holding that she heard everything
he said. “Dearest,” he id Ud as she sent
one cup off without a spoon and an
other filled only with whipped cream,
“dearest. If you don’t mind my saying
all this to you, just drop a spoon.
Couldn’t you manage it?” A clatter
of silver and more color in the girl’s
face as, in stooping to pick up the
spoon he kissed her hand. Spurred by
this success, he went on: “Dearest, if
—if you return it —that is, if you love
me, just put three lumps of sugar into
the next cup you pour—‘y-e-s.’ Or if
you don’t, two, to spell ‘no.’ One, two,
three. The tiny cup was almost full,
but in her haste to hide her confes
sion she covered the three lumps has
tily with chocolate and cream and
sent them off. He asked his mother
as they drove home that night if she
had enjoyed herself. “Ugh! No!” was
her disgusted reply. “Such horrible
stuff to drink as they gave one! Why,
my cup was half full of sugar.”—The
Smart Set.
New Zealand Now Copies California.
Very remunerative is ostrich farm
ing, which for a considerable time fol
lowed in California, has now been in
troduced into New Zealand. Five hun
dred of the birds are now on the farm
of the Messrs. Nathan at Whitford
Park, a short distance from Auckland.
All the steps in the industry, from the
nesting of the birds to the dressing,
dyeing and mounting of the plumes,
are carried on at this establishment.
The manager states that an adult
bird requires about the same amount
of attention as a sheep, and that the
ostrich consumes about twice the quan
tity of grass needed by a sheep. The
birds become dividend paying invest
ments when about 10 months old, after
which they are clipped every eight
months. The feathers clipped are
worth from $3.75 to $6.20 per pound,
the after dressing increasing the value
enormously.
The male and female birds manage
the incubation of the eggs between
them, taking four hour watches each.
To his share of this duty the male os
trich adds the labor of turning the
eggs. The chicks are hand fed, as with
those of the ordinary farm yard fowl,
and are reared without serious loss.
Wantrd the Murr.rfna Code.
Writing from Catcher, Ark., to the
secretary of state, a man says: “Will
you please send me the Kansas code
on marryinc?” The Kansas code on
marrying is fully expressed in the name
of the town from which this mail
writes. —Kansas City Journal.