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The Jiunberlands Call of the
I
By Charles Neville Buck
With Illustrations
from Photographs of Scenes
in the Play
(Copyright, 1913, by W. J. Watt & Co.)
3
SYNOPSIS.
On Misery creek, at the foot of a rock
from which he has fallen, Sally Miller
finds George Lescott, a landscape paint¬
er, unconscious, for and after reviving him,
goes assistance Samson South and
Sally, taking Lescott to Samson’s home,
are met by Spicer South, head of the
family, has who tells them that Jesse Purvy
been shot and that Samson Is sus¬
pected of the crime. Samson denies it.
The shooting of Jesse Purvy breaks the
truce in the Hollman-South feud.
CHAPTER IV—Continued.
He sauntered down the road, but,
when he had passed out of vision, he
turned sharply into the woods, and
began climbing. His steps carried him
to the rift in the ridge where the white
oak stood sentinel over the watch
tower of rock. As he came over the
edge from one side his bare feet mak¬
ing no sound, he saw Sally sitting
there, with her hands resting on the
moss and her eyes deeply troubled
She was gazing fixedly ahead and her
lips were trembling.' At once Sam¬
son’s face grew black. Some one had
been making Sally unhappy. Then he
saw beyond her a standing figure,
which the tree trunk had hitherto con¬
cealed. It was the loose-knitted figure
of young Tamarack Spicer.
“In course," Spicer was saying, “we
don’t ’low Samson shot Jesse Purvy,
but them Hollmans ’ll ’spicion him, an’
I heered just now thet them dawgs
was trackin’ straight up hyar from the
mouth of Misery. They’ll git hyar
against sundown.’’
Samson leaped violently forward.
With one hand he roughly seized his
cousin’s shoulder and wheeled him
about.
“Shet up!’’ he commanded. “What
d- ■n fool stuff hev ye been tellin’
Sally?”
For an instant the two clansmen
stood fronting each other. Samson’s
face was set and wrathful. Tamarack’s
was surly and snarling. “Hain’t I got
a license ter tell Sally the news?” he
demanded.
“Nobody hain’t got no license,” re¬
torted the younger man in the quiet
of cold anger, “ter tell Sally nothin’
thet’ll fret her.”
“She air bound ter know hit all
pretty soon. Them dawgs—”
“Didn't I tell ye ter shet up?" Sam¬
son clenched his fists, and took a step
forward. “Ef ye opens yore mouth
again, I’m a-goin’ ter smash hit. Now,
git!”
Tamarack Spicer’s face blackened,
and his teeth showed. His right hand
swept to his left arm-pit. Outwardly
he seemed weaponless, but Samson
knew that concealed beneath the
hickory shirt was a holster, worn
mountain fashion.
“What air ye a-reachin’ atter,
TamYack?" he inquired, his lips twist¬
ing in amusement.
“Thet’s my business.”
"Well, git hit out—or git out yeself,
afore I throws ye offen the clift.”
Sally showed no symptoms of alarm.
Her confidence in her hero was abso¬
lute. The boy lifted his hand, and
pointed off down the path. Slowly
and with incoherent muttering, Spicer
took himself away. Then only did
Sally rise. She can^e over, and laid a
hand on Samson’s shoulder. In her
blue eyes, the tears were welling.
“Samson,” she whispered, “ef they’re
atter ye, come ter my house. I kin
hide ye out. Why didn’t ye tell me
Jesse Jurvey’d done been shot?”
“Hit tain’t nothin’ ter fret about,
Sally,” he assured her. He spoke
awkwardly, for he had been trained to
regard emotion as unmanly. “Thar
hain’t no danger.”
She gazed searchingly into his eyes,
and then, with a short sob, threw her
arms around him, and buried her face
on his shoulder.
"Ef anything happens ter ye, Sam¬
son,” she said, brokenly, "hit’ll jest
kill me. I couldn’t live withouten ye,
Samson. I jest couldn’t do hit!”
The boy took her in his arms, and
pressed her close. His eyes were gaz¬
ing off over her bent head, and his lips
twitched. He drew his features into
a scowl, because that was the only ex¬
pression with which he could safe¬
guard his feelings. His voice was
husky.
“I reckon, Sally,” he said, “I couldn’t
live withouten you, neither.”
The party of men who had started
at morning from Jesse Purdy’s store
had spent a hard day. The roads fol¬
lowed creek-beds, crossing and re¬
crossing waterways in a fashion that
gave the bloodhounds a hundred baf¬
fling difficulties, dften, their noses
lost the trail, which had at first been
so surely taken. Often, they circled
andVhined, and halted in perplexity,
but each time they came to a point
where, at the end, one of them again
raised his muzzle skyward, and gave
voice.
Toward evening, they were working
up Misery along a course less broken.
The party halted for a moment’s rest,
and, ae the bottle was passed, the man
from Lexington, who had brought the
dogs and stayed to conduct the chase,
put a question:
“What do you call this creek?”
“Hit’s Misery.”
"Does anybody live on Misery’ that
—er—that you might suspect?”
The Hollmans laughed.
“This creek is settled with Souths
thicker’n hops."
Tlie Lexington man looked up. He
knew what the name of South meant
to a Hollman.
“Is there any special South, who
might have a particular grudge?”
“The Souths don't need no parti'lar
grudge, but thar’s young Samson
South. He's a wildcat."
“He lives this way?”
“These dogs air a-makin’ a bee-line
fer his house.” Jim Hollman was
speaking. Then he added: 'Tve done
been told that Satnson denies doin’ the
shootin’, an’ claims he kin prove an
alibi."
The Lexington man lighted his pipe,
and poured a drink of red whisky into
a flask cup.
“He’d be apt to say that,” he com¬
mented, “These dogs haven’t any
prejudice in the matter. I’ll stake my
life on their telling the truth.”
An hour later, the group halted
again. The master of hounds mopped
his forehead.
“Are we still going toward Samson
South’s housb?” he inquired.
“We’re about a quarter from hit
now, an’ we hain’t never varied from
the straight road.”
“Will they be apt to give us
trouble?”
Jim Hollman smiled.
“I hain’t never heered of no South
submittin’ ter arre6t by a Hollman.”
The trailers examined their fire¬
arms, and loosened their holster-flaps.
The dogs went forward at a trot.
CHAPTER V,
From time to time that day, neigh¬
bors had ridden up to Spicer South’s
stile, and drawn rein for gossip. These
men brought bulletins as to the prog¬
ress of the hounds, and near sundown,
as a postscript to their information, a
volley of gunshot signals sounded from
a mountain top. No word was spoken,
but in common accord the kinsmen
rose from their chairs, and drifted to¬
ward their leaning rifles.
"They’re a-comin’ hyar,” said the
head of the house, curtly. “Samson
ought ter be home. Whar’s Tam’rack?”
No one had noticed his absence un¬
til that moment, nor was he to be
found. A few minutes later, Samson’s
figure swung into sight, and his uncle
met him at the fence.
“Samson, I’ve done asked ye all the
questions I’m a-goln’ ter ask ye,” he
said, “but them dawgs is makin' fer
this house. They’ve jest been sighted
a mile below.”
Samson nodded.
"Now”—Spicer South’s face hard¬
ened—“I owns down thar ter the road
No man kin cross that fence withouten
I choose ter give him leave. Ef ye
wants ter go indoors an’ stay thar, ye
kin do hit—an’ no dawg ner no man
hain’t a-goin’ ter ask ye no questions.
But, ef ye sees fit ter face hit out, I’d
love ter prove ter these hyar men thet
us Souths don’t break our word. We
done agreed ter this truce. I’d like ter
invite ’em in, an’ let them damn dawgs
sniff round the feet ot every man in
my house—an’ then, when they’re
plumb teetotally damn satisfied, I’d
like ter tell ’em all ter go ter hell.
Thet’s the way I feels, but I’m a-goin’
ter do jest what ye says.”
Lescott did not overhear the con¬
versation in full, but he saw the old
man’s face work with suppressed pas¬
sion, and he caught Samson’s louder
reply.
“When them folks gets hyar, Uncle
Spicer, I'm a-goin’ ter be a-settin’
■>y. w
i
m .’•x-
Sit
m feSeWSSSSSi 5* ■■■
.
1
“They Have Followed Their Noses
Here.”
right out thar in front. I’m plumb
willin’ ter invite ’em in.” Then, the
two men turned toward the house.
Already the other clansmen had dis¬
appeared noiselessly through the door
or around the angles of the walls.
Fifteen minutes later, Lescott, stand¬
ing at the fence, saw a strange caval¬
cade round the bend of the road. Sev¬
eral travel-stained men were leading
mules, and holding two tawny and im¬
patient dogs in leash. In their num¬
ber, the artist recognized his host of
two nights ago.
They halted at a distance, and in
their faces the artist read dismay, for,
while the dogs were yelping confident¬
ly and tugging at their cords, young
Samson South—who should, by their
prejudiced convictions, be hiding out
in some secret stronghold—sat at the
top step of the stile, smoking his pipe,
and regarded them with a lack-luster
absence of interest. Such a calm re¬
ception was uncanny. After a whis¬
pered conference, the Lexington man
came forward alone. Old Spicer South
had been looking on from the door,
and was now strolling out to meet the
envoy, unarmed.
And the envoy, as he came, held his
hands unnecessarily far away from his
THE CARNESVILLE ADVANCE, CARNESVILLE. GEORGIA.
sides, and walked with an ostentatious
show of peace.
“Evenin', stranger,” hailed the old
man. “Come right in.”
“Mr. South,” began the dog-owner,
with some embarrassment, “I have
been employed to furnish a pair of
bloodhounds to the family of Jesse
Purvy, who has been shot.”
“I heerd tell thet Purvy was shot,”
said the head of the Souths in an af¬
fable tone, which betrayed no deeper
note of interest than neighborhood
gossip might have elicited.
“I have no personal interest in the
matter," went on the stranger, hastily,
as one bent on making his attitude
clear, "except to supply the dogs and
manage them. I do not in any way di¬
rect their course; I iperely follow.”
“Ye can’t hardly fo’ce a dawg." Old
Spicer sagely nodded his head as he
made the remark. “A dawg jest natch-
er’ly toilers Ills own nose.”
“Exactly—and they have followed
their noses here.” The Lexington man
found the embarrassment of his posi¬
tion growing as the colloquy proceed¬
ed. “I want to ask you whether, if
these dogs want to cross your fence, I
have your permission to let them?”
The master of the house crossed the
stile, the low sun shining on his shock
of gray hair, and stood before the man-
liunter. He spoke so that his voice
carried to the waiting group in the
road.
“Ye’re plumb welcome ter turn them
dawgs loose, an’ let ’em ramble,
stranger. Nobody hain’t a-goin’ ter
hurt ’em. I sees some fellers out thar
with ye thet mustn’t cross my fence.
Ef they does”—the voice rang men¬
acingly—“hit’ll mean that they’re
a-bustin’ the truce—an’ they won’t
never go out ag’in. But you air safe
in hyar. I gives yer my hand on thet.
Ye’re welcome, an’ yore dawgs is wel¬
come. I hain’t got nothin’ ’gainst
dawgs thet comes on four legs, but I
shore bars the two-legged kind.”
There was a murmur of astonish¬
ment from the road. Disregarding it,
Spicer South turned his face toward
the house.
“You boys kin come out,” he stout¬
er, “an* leave yore guns inside.”
The leashes were slipped from the
dogs. They leaped forward, and made
directly’ for Samson, who sat as un¬
moving as a lifeless image on the top
step of the stile. There was a half-mo¬
ment of terrific suspense, then the
beasts clambered by t{ie seated figure,
passing on each side and circled aim¬
lessly about the yard—their quest un¬
ended. They sniffed indifferently about
the trouser legs of the men who saun¬
tered indolently out of the door, They
trotted into the house and out again,
and mingled with the mongrel home
pack that snarled and growled hos¬
tility for this invasion. Then, they
came once more to the stile. As they
climbed out, Samson' South reached
up and stroked a tawny head, and the
bloodhound paused a moment to wag
its tail in friendship, before it jumped
down to the road, and trotted gingerly
onward.
“I’m obliged to you, sir,” said the
man from the Bluegrass, with a voice
of immense relief.
The moment of suspense seemed
past, and, in the relief of the averted
clash, the master of hounds
that his dogs stood branded as
trailers. But when he rejoined
group in the road he found
looking into surly visages, and
features of Jim Hollman in
were black in their scowl of smolder¬
ing wrath.
“Why didn’t ye ax him," growled
the kinsman of the man who had been
shot, “whar the other feller’s at?”
“What other fellow?” echoed the
Lexington man.
Jim Hollman’s voice rose trucu¬
lently, and his words drifted, as he
meant them to, across to the ears of
the clansmen who stood in the yard
of Spicer South.
“Them dawgs of your’n come up
Misery a-hellin’. They hain’t never
turned aside, an’ onless they’re plumb
ornery, no-’count curs thet don’t know
their business, they come for some
reason. They seemed mighty inter¬
ested in gittin’ hyar. Ax them fellers
in thar who’s been hyar thet hain’t
hyar now? Who is ther feller thet
got out afore we come hyar?”
At this veiled charge of deceit the
faces of the Souths again blackened
and the men near the door of the
house drifted in to drift presently out
again, swinging discarded Winches¬
ters at their sides. It seemed that,
after all, the incident was not closed.
The man from Lexington, finding him¬
self face to face with a new difficulty,
turned and argued in a low voice with
the Hollman leader. But Jim Holl¬
man, whose eyes were fixed on Sam-
son, refused to talk in a modulated
tone, and he shouted his reply:
“I hain’t got nothin’ ter whisper
about,” he proclaimed. “Go ax ’em
who hit war thet got away from hyar.”
Old Spicer South stood leaning on
his fence and his rugged countenance
stiffened. He started to speak, but
Samson rose from the stile and said.
in a composed voice:
“Let me talk to this feller, Unc’
Spicer." The old man nodded and
Samson beckoned to the owner of the
dogs.
“We hain’t got nothin’ ter say ter
them fellers with ye,” he announced,
briefly. "We hain’t axin’ ’em no ques¬
tions, an’ we hain’t answerin’ none.
Ye done come hyar with dawgs an’
we hain’t stopped ye. We’ve done an¬
swered ail the questions them dawgs
hes axed, We done treated you an
yore houn’s plumb friendly. Es fer
them other men, we hain’t got nothin’
ter say to ’em. They done come hyar
because they hoped they could git me
in trouble. They done failed. Thet
road belongs ter the county. They
got a license ter travel hit, but this
strip right hyar hain’t the healthiest
section they kin find I reckon ye’d
better advise ’em ter move on,"
The Lexington man went back. For
a minute or two Jim Hollman sat
scowling down in indecision from his
saddle. Then he admitted to himself
that he had done all lie could do with¬
out becoming the aggressor. For the
moment he was beaten. He looked up
and from the road one of the hounds
raised its voice and gave cry. That
baying afforded an excuse for leaving
and Jim Hollman seized it.
“Go on,” he growled. “Let’s see
wliat them d-d curs hes ter say
now.”
Mounting, they kicked their mules
into a jog. From the men inside the
fence came no note of derision, no
hint of triumph. They stood looking
out with expressionless, masklike
faces until their enemies had passed
out of sight around the shoulder of
the mountain. The Souths had met and
fronted an accusation made after the
enemy’s own choice and method. A
jury of two hounds had acquitted
them. It was not only because the
dogs had refused to recognize in Sam¬
son a suspicious character that the
enemy rode on grudgingly convinced,
but, also, because the family, which
f >
* tel
s m
a
11
.1
Jim Hollman.
had invariably met hostility with hos¬
tility, had so willingly courted the acid
test of guilt or innocence.
Days passed uneventfully after that.
The kinsmen dispersed to their scat¬
tered coves and cabins. Now and
again came a rumor that Jesse Purvy
was dying, but always hard on its
heels came another to the effect that
the obdurate fighter had
though the doctors held out small
couragement of recovery.
One day Lescott, whose bandaged
arm gave him much pain, but who
able to get about, was strolling not
from the house with Samson. They
were following a narrow trail along
the mountain side, and, at a sound no
louder than the falling of a walnut,
the boy halted and laid a silencing
hand on the painter’s shoulder. Then
followed an unspoken command in his
companion’s eyes. Lescott sank down
behind a rock, cloaked with glistening
rhododendron leafage, where Samson
had already crouched and become im¬
movable and noiseless. They had
been there only a short time when
they saw another figure slipping qui¬
etly from tree to tree below them.
For a time the mountain boy
watched the figure and the painter
saw his lips draw in a straight line
and his eyes narrow ‘ with a glint of
tense hate. Yet, a moment later, with
a nod to follow, the boy unexpectedly
rose Into view and his features were
absolutely expressionless.
“Mornin’, Jim,” lie called.
The slinking stranger whirled with
a start and an instinctive motion as
though to bring his rifle to his shoul¬
der. But, seeing Samson’s peaceable
manner, he smiled and his own de¬
meanor became friendly.
“Mornin’, Samson.”
“Kinder stranger in this country,
hain’t ye, Jim?” drawled the boy who
lived there, and the question brought
a sullen flush to the other’s cheek
bones.
“Jest a-passin’ through,” he vouch¬
safed.
“I reckon ye’d find the wagon road
more handy," suggested Samson.
“Some folks might ’spicion ye fer
stealin’ ’long through the timber.”
The skulking traveler decided to lie
plausibly. He laughed mendaciously.
“That’s the reason, Samson. I was
kinder skeered ter go through this
country in the open.”
Samson met his eye steadily and
said slowly:
“I reckon, Jim, hit mought be half
es risky fer yc ter walk upstandin’
along Misery es ter go a-crouehin’
Ye think3 ye’ve been a-shadderin’ me.
I knows jest whar ye’ve been all the
time. Ye lies when ye talks ’bout
passin’ through. Ye’ve done been spy-
in’ hyar, ever since Jesse Purvy got
shot, an’ all thet time ye’ve done been
watched yerself. I reckon hit’ll be
healthier fer ye ter do yore spyin’ from
t’other side of the ridge. I reckon yer
allowin’ ter git me ef Purvy dies, but
we’re watchin’ ye."
Jim Asberry’s face darkened, but he
said nothing. There was nothing to
say. He was discovered in the ene¬
my’s country and must accept the
enemy’s terms.
“This hyar time I lets y# go back,"
said Samson, “fer the reason thet I’m
tryin’ like all h—1 ter keep this truce.
But ye must stay on yore side or
else ride the roads open. IIow is
Purvy terday?”
“He's mighty porely,” replied the
other, in a sullen voice.
“All right. Thet’s another reason
why hit hain’t healthy fer ye over
hyar.”
The spy turned and made his way
over the mountain.
“D •n him!” muttered Samson,
his face twitching, as the other was
lost in the undergrowth. “Some day
I’m a-goin’ ter git him.”
Tamarack Spicer did not at once
reappear, and when one of the Souths
met another in the road the customary
dialogue would be: "Heered anything
of Tamarack?’’ . . . “No, hev you?"
"No, nary a word.”
As Lescott wandered through the
hills, his unhurt right hand began cry¬
ing out for action and a brush to
nurse. As he watched, day after day,
the unveiling of the monumental hille
and the transitions from hazy, wraith¬
like whispers of hues to strong, flaring
riot of color, this fret of restlessness
became actual pain. He was wasting
wonderful opportunity and the crea¬
tive instinct in him was clamoring.
One morning, when he came out just
after sunrise to the tin wash basin
at the well, the desire to paint was on
him with compelling force. The hills
ended near their bases like things bit¬
ten off. Beyond lay limitless stream¬
ers of mist, but, while he stood at gaze,
the filmy veil began to lift and float
higher. Trees and mountains grew
taller. The sun, which showed first
as a ghost-like disk of polished alumi¬
num, struggled through orange and
vermilion into a sphere of living
flame. Lescott heard a voice at liia
side.
“When does ye ’low ter commence
paintin’?”
It was Samson. For answer the
artist, with his unhurt hand, impa¬
tiently tapped his bandaged wrist.
“Ye still got yore right hand, hain’t
ye?” demanded the boy. The other
laughed. It was a typical question. So
long as one had the trigger finger left
one should not admit disqualification.
“You see, Sainson,” he explained,
“this isn’t precisely like handling a
gun. One must hold the palette; mix
the colors; wipe the brushes and do
half a dozen equally necessary things.
It requires at least two perfectly good
hands. Many people don’t find two
enough.”
“But hit only takes one ter do the
paintin’, don’t hit?”
“Yes.”
“Well”—the boy spoke diffidently
but with enthusiasm—“between the
two of us we’ve got three hands, I
reckon ye kin larn me how ter do
them other things fer ye."
Lescott’s surprise showed in his
face and the lad swept eagerly on.
“Mebby hit hain’t none of my busi¬
ness, but, all day yestiddy an’ the
day befo’, I was studyin’ ’bout this
here thing, an’ I hustled up an’ got
thet corn weeded an’ now I’m
Ef I kin help ye out I thought
by—” He paused and looked
ingly at the artist.
Lescott whistled and then his
lighted into contentment.
"Today, Samson,” he
“Lescott, South and Company
busy.”
It was the first time he had seen
Samson smile, and, although the ex¬
pression was one of sheer delight, in¬
herent somberness loaned it a touch
of the wistful.
When, an hour later, the two set
out, the mountain boy carried the par
aphernalia and the old man standing
at the door watched them off with a
half-quizzical, half-disapproving glance.
As the boy, with remarkable apti¬
tude, learned how to adjust the easel
and arrange the paraphernalia, Lescott
sat drinking in through thirsty eyes
the stretch of landscape he had deter¬
mined to paint.
Then, while he painted, the boy held
the palette, his eyes riveted on the
canvas, which was growing from m
blank to a mirror of vistas—and the
boy’s pupils became deeply hungry.
The day of painting was followed
by others like it. The disabling of
Lescott’s left hand made the constant
companionship of the boy a matter
that needed no explanation or apology,
though not a matter of approval to his
uncle.
Another week had passed without
the reappearance of Tamarack Spicer,
One afternoon Lescott and Samson
were alone on a cliff-protected shelf,
and the painter had just blocked in
with utnber and neutral tint the crude
sketch of his next picture.
(TO BK CONTINUED.)
Tribute Money.
Fancy long ago said that the black
marks on either side of the bead of the
haddock were made by the Apostle’s
finger and thumb as they held him,
while extracting the tribute money
from his mouth. Hut alas for fancy!
The haddock is not found in the Sea
of Galilee! Most of the fisli there be-
long to the barbel family, and no one
has ever told us authoritatively what
particular variety the tribute bearing
fish belonged to. The “half shekel’’
of the tribute was 112 grains Troy
weight of silver, say nearly a quarter
of an ounce, worth about thirteen
cents today, but greatly more in those
days.
The Girl Who Is In Demand.
There is a price on the head of every
pretty girl who can bake good biscuits
Most any girl can look pretty under
the parlor chandelier or in the soft
moonlight, but, ah, how few will do to
look at next morning at 6:30, ami still
fewer can set before the hungry men
at breakfast a plate of appetizing hot
biscuits, and for the one who c-.n the
boys are searching the v».:<d 0 /
girls.—Hamilton Record.
""" - ■ — —
National Bureau For/Employment
Washington.—A national employ¬
ment bureau reaching into every sec¬
tion of the United States will be put
in operation by the labor department.
It will be operated ulong the lines of
President Wilson’s suggestion in tits
Indianapolis speech for “a systematic
method of helping the workingmen ot
America.”
Preliminary work l’or the bureau has
been completed, it was announced by
Commissioner C'aminetti of the immi¬
gration bureau and instructions sent
to postmasters and rural mail carriers
throughout the country and to nearly
two hundred thousand field agents of
the agricultural department, who will
co-operate with the labor department
in bringing the jobless man and the
manless job together. Agents of the
immigration bureau also will aid in
the huge task, and blanks and reports
for their use already have been printed
and will be forwarded without delay.
Tlie general plan was outlined by
Mr. Caminetti as follows:
Notices will be posted in all post-
offices announcing that applications for
work or workers will be received by
the postmaster, who will be supplied
with forms to be filled out and for¬
warded to tlie labor department agent
In charge of the zone in which the of¬
fice is located. The distribution branch
of tlie immigrant service will handle
that part of tlie work and to it also
will go reports of tlie agricultural de¬
partment agents as to sections where
laborers are needed. Applicants will
then be informed of the nearest point
where they can obtain work of tlie
kind they seek.
Commissioner Caminetti said the
plan was the product of mouths of la¬
bor over details. Already, he said, it
had been tried out in a small way and
tlie results had been most satisfactory.
After the fire at Salem, Mass., last
June, when nearly 4,000 factory opera¬
tives were thrown out of employment,
the labor department succeeded in
finding work for many of them.
By a coincidence, he said, Secretary
Wilson of the department of labor,
approved the final report made to him
by Mr. Caminetti, announcing comple¬
tion of the plans. In this report Com¬
missioner Caminetti said:
"I am pleas;ed to report that the plan
of organization for furnishing labors
to farmers and other employers now
is complete and ready for operation
throughout tlie United States. Tlie of¬
ficers at their respective stations have
been instructed in the methods that
have been in use under the auspices
of the division of information in the
work of distribution hitherto in force.
“Mr. David F. Houston, secretary of
agriculture, addressed a letter to all
officers of that department to co-oper¬
ate in the scheme for the employment
and distribution of laborers in the
United States. He said that future
general instructions would be printed
in the weekly news letter of the de¬
partment.
“The employees of the department of
agriculture are requested to report the
necessity for workers in the locality
where they reside and also to notify
farmers of the scheme. Application
blanks delivered to them are to be re¬
turned to the postmaster of the near¬
est office.”
Our Center of Area.
The center of area of the continental
United States (excluding Alaska, Ha¬
waii and other recent accessions) is
in northern Kansas, about ten miles
north of a place called Smith Center,
county seat of Smith county, in lati¬
tude 39:55, longitude 98:50. The cen¬
ter of population is 51 miles south and
about 657 miles east of the center of
area.
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD SAVE HER
hair combings. We will either buy them and
your cut hair, or make you u beautiiul switch,
curls or transformation. We match hair, any
color, length and weight. WE SELL SWITCH¬
ES. curls and transformation on EASY PAY¬
MENT PLAN. We are the biggest dealers in
HAIR GOODS and hair ornaments in the
South. Write today for prices and lull infor¬
mation. AGENTS WANTED IN every town
in Georgia.
THE S. A. CLAYTON CO..
18 East Hunter. Atlanta, Ga.
As Pure Air Gauge.
If a housewife really wants a health¬
ful house she ought to keep growing
plants in her rooms—not for the pleas¬
ure of them only, but because they
form a very excellent and practical
gauge of th moisture and heat of the
house. The 1 cason that most plants
will not thrive in the ordinary house
is that the ordinary house is full of
overheated bad air. This air is just
as bad for the family as for the Bos¬
ton fern, but as children are tougher
than ferns the effect is not noticed as
far as they are concerned. No wise
mother, however, ought to keep her
children in rooms where plants cannot
grow.—Harper’s Bazar.
Made Immediate Success.
The “Arabian Nights” did not be¬
come familiar to Europeans until 1704,
when Galland translated them into
French. Scholars cast doubt on the
authenticity of some of Galland’s
work, accusing him—like Fitzgerald
and Omar Khayyam—of inventing
rather than translating, but with the
public tlie success of the tales was
immediate and immense.
Remarkable Echo.
The wonderful echo of the suspen¬
sion bridge across the Menai strait in
Wales has made the structure famous.
If one of the main piers of the bridge
is struck by a hammer the sound of
the blow is returned in succession
from each cross-beam supporting the
roadway and from the opposite pier
standing 576 feet distant. At the same
time the sound is reflected back and
forth between the water and the floor
of the bridge at the rate of 28 times in
five seconds.—Pathfinder.