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14 Brother to “The Brave." Copyright, 1900. by Martha MrCulloch- Williams. Through the dimnes* of August dawning the course at Loris Park showed like an earthen river, dun and wide, washing sin uously about a velvet turfed island of in field. Where the straightaway cut through the island the turf was something worn. That was the highest point of all the course, and there folk congregated to watch the racers at work. It was a sight so well worth seeing a good few came to look, from the city ten miles away, as •well as from the country houses all round about. The whole course indeed was a show place. Jts setting up had been the pas time of a rnan who had a great many millions, along with the inclination to spend them royally. Next to his wife and his honor he loved a good horse, so you will understand that he had rejoiced ex ceedingly to part with one of the mill ions in making ready for battles royal be tween the kings and queens of the turf The cJuh house was the sum and pattern of simple yet elegant luxury, the stand a He Is Too Handsome to Have Anything of the Bull Dog in Him. mira '1 e of comfort; more than all. the free held a boon to the plain people, who upon high days and holidays packed Its board seats, unenvious of folk up on the coach tops. In the boxes or scat tered about the flower-span* led club house lawn. There wa-s stable room, free, for a thou sand racers, along; with training quarters as liberally planned. The course indeed was a village in Itself, bigger and more populous than the straggling trolley haunted hamlet Just outside Its gale. The gate opened every summer morning at 8 o'clock, so that such trainers ss cared to give their strings slow road work for hardening might send them out and over miles of the broad, hard-beaten elav high way, A string, hooded and blanketed, had Just stlidden out, looking like four-footed ghosts rn the graw crepuscular dawn darknees, when a smart trap rattled along the village street and swung in with a flourish between the big stone portals It was too dark to see the horses, but they exhaled a sweaty smell, which told that they had been driven hard. The driver puffed with long vicious inhalations at a very fine cigar. He swore between his teeth as a second out-coming hooded string forced him to check and pull sharply to one side. The oath would have astonish ed those who. knowing him on the surface, fancied they knew him all through. They •aid that Rix Bascom, bookmaker, had the austerity of a priest and the conscience of a pirate. A slim, lank lad. sitting at Bascom's el bow gave a little distressed cry. "You know lt'a the worst sort of luck—to swear before breakfast,” he said, half hesi atlngly, with a little catch under the words. Bascom swore again, this time outright. "It don't seem like anything could make roy luck worse.” he added. "I wonder if you know Just what I dropped on the Equus Saturday? Exactly $15,000 and all because of the Brave—” "I begged you not to lay odds—” the lad began. Bascom laughed shortly. "You always do that.” he said. "If I lis tened to you in six months I’d be—” "You have lost now for a year, every time you gave odds against The Brave," the lad said huskily. ”1 reckoned It all up Sunday—he has lost you over 860,000. I told you at the very first he was your luck—” “The devil’s own luck!” Bascom said savagely. "Yet I can't hate him, d—n him! It's In roe to love a horse, and ba’s easily the horse of a generation.” The brightening east touched all the gray and green of the course with suf fused rosy radlatice. Sparrows were twittering madly all about, flying in huddled flocks around the stable doors, setting their heads aeide, and quarreling greedily over their flotsam of chance oats. In the trees about the trainers' houses a few venturesome robblns let fall now and then a dropping note. The untouched turf was all a shimmer of beaded dew. Every footmark showed on It n print of vivid green. They were reasonably pret ty. and for the most part ran In straight lines toward that high upper corner, where the straightaway came in. The barrier, of course, was across It. Only when a atratght dash Impended was any training permitted over Its elastic, loamy breadth. Baacom sprang down a hundred yards from the comer, flung the relna lo hi* companion, saying: “Put them up, 'Drtese, then come to me—hut be sure you don't get run ovea.” He shot across the track, dodging in and out of a mov ing maae. squeezed himself almost flat against the rail, and ran until he came to the place ha sought Already it had twenty occupants—men, horsey men of all sorts and condition*, from the tout to the millionaire. Though the free masonry of sport for the time leveled arllflclal dis tinction*, they ware almost silent—too in tent In gazing to waste time In speech. The course was ajlve. Six hundred rac ers walked or cantered or galloped along It, some swathed in blankets and band smen, some stripped as If al the bugle call. Every fruitier stood, timepiece in hand, watching with intense eyes bis own particular charges. Now and again one sent a long hall at a boy who rode too fast or too slow. Now and again also a beckoning hand stopped a string short, waived them away to quarters, a rub down and a test of the thermometer. There was something uncanny In the spaoa, the alienee, the movement, above •11 la the flies of ahaetsd figures, each I with a semi-human lump crouching upon | its back. It was amazing to recall that . some of the lumps were Jockeys, world -1 famous, with incomes a prince might en i vy, imperious to all the world outside, j yet here almost abject before the slow, | alien* men, with hard-lined faces, who spoke shortly, when they spoke at ail. I and directed affairs in a sort of gro tesque pantomime. As more and more racers came out from the rub-down, stripped, and shining like satin, the spectacle brightened. Among the satin coats# there were blacks a-plenty, the merest sprinkles of gray?, too many dull washy sorrels, and bays and dark chestnuts in platoons. Near half the sorrels and chestnuts wore white stockings all round. The bays were ns largely white-starred end .-nipped, with even an occasional skewbald Against their mass as against on indis tinguishable background, two unique rac ers were thrown into high relief. One was pigeon-blue, with white mane and tail, the other that rarest of all things, a perfect golden chestnut. Both were stallions, 3 years old. and magnifi cently bred. Suleiman. the pigeon-blue, was grandson to Rpnd’or, if he did throw back in color to some remote Barb an cestor. He stood 16 hands full, a big, slashing, long-striding beast, up-headed, and full of fire, yet playful as a kitten. The Brave’s coat was no such puzzle of heredity-—it came straight from his sire. St. Blaise, and was further legitimized by his dam’s pedigree—on both sides 6he was Inbred to Lexington. As tall as Su leiman. in action he appeared half a hand lower. Euleimen ran all above ground. The 'Brave had a fashion of lying very cloe to it when he burnt wind down the home stretch. So far the vagaries of a peculiar racing season had kept the pair apart, fiuletanin bti mowed down the West, The Brave had conquered the East. Both were unbeaten, and in the minds of their fol lowing unbeatable. In the books outside and nt home Bascom had won on Sulei man a few hundred dollars more than he had lost on The Brave. They were to meet in the Searchlight Loris Park’s rich est stake, it would be run upon the very last day of the protracted summer meet ing. So that set it full three wieks ahead —much too far for any thought of final preparation. Still, the trainers of both eraoks kept them going cleverly. Both had raced hard since spring, neither could afford a letup, and both, it was cer tain, would be the better for a space ©X semi-retirement. It was the hope of seeing them that had brought at least half the crowd. Be fore ’Driese the lad came back it had pwelled to near a hundred. ’Driese threaded U shrinkingly, edging around the *(r ■ "Give It Up. Rix! Do! Think of the Risk!” burly figures which crowded thickest at Bascom's elbows. As the lad moved a whisper ran behind the backs of hands: "That's Vaux—Andriese Vaux—Bascom's confidential clerk, you know.” When nods had answered the whisper another ran back: “Wonder if he couldn't give a mighty straight tip for the Searchlight?" One man. gray and pursy, and apple cheeked, went so far as to pluck at 'Driese’s arm and say, In a carefully un concerned voice: "What's the good thing to-day, Vaux? We always know there's somethin' In the wind when we see you and your boss up with the lark." Bascom turned, frowning heavily as he caught the words: "Drtese, I want you! At once!” he said, reaching to clutch the ltd'* shoulder, and draw him In front of himself next the rail. There he thrust a chronometer Into hts hand, wlih a mut tered order, only half audible to the rest. Still It sufficed to get up In them a sharp pricking expectance. Where a horse or his preparation was concerned, they be lieved supremely id Bascom. He had been for half an hour watching the course, and especially the year's equine gladiators— he must be sure something of moment hung In the wind, thus to leave his own eyes free for watching. Suleiman and The Brave had come back from the ruh down Both had been warmed up very gradually, walking flrst. then cantering, then eet in a brushing gallop, nixl ending with half a mile on the dead run. The Brave's trainer scowl ed a little as he went to the chestnut’s head, and ran hie hand down the clean swelling throat. Although he was a hun dred yards off, Bascom, through his glass, noted the scowl. wondered a Httle at it. Tho trainer. Mark Harris, was a genial fellow, commonly In lov* with THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, AUGUST 12. 1900. The Quakers Are Honest People. The Quaker Herl Tonic i* not only a blood purifier, but a Blood makar for Pale, Weak and De bilitated people who , have not strength 4 oor blood It acts a* a tonic. It regulates digestion, curea dys , pepsla * and lends strength and tone to - the nervoiw system. It Is a medicine for weak women. It is a purely vegetable medicine and* can be taken by the most delicate. Kidney Dis eases, Rheumatism and all diseases of the Blood. Stomach and nerve* eoon succumb to its wonderful effect* upon the human system. Thousands of people in Georgia iccommend It. Price SI.OO. QUAKER PAIN BALM is the roedlclre that the Quaker Doctor made ell of his wonderful quick cure* with. It * anew and wonderful medicine for Neuralgia, Toothache, Backache. Rheumatism Sprain*, Pain in Bowels, in fact, all pain can be relieved by It. Price 25c end 50c- QUAKER WHITE WONDER SOAP, a medicated eoap for the skin, acalp and complexion. Price 10c a cake. QUAKER HEALING SALVE, a vege table ointment for the cure of tetter, eo zrrna and eruption* of the akin. Price 10c a box. FOR SALE FT ALL DRUGGI9TB. himself and life and things. Bascom had no time to speculate over the 6cowl. Harris spoke shortly, and with emphasis to the jockey, who leaned from the sad dle to hear, held up his hand, as though in warning, then waved the lad- on. The Jockey looked over his shoulder. Sulei man was coming, perhaps twenty yards behind. He shook his reins and whistled very low. Instantly The Brave began to move, not in whirlwind fashion, but with slow, easy stride*. Suleiman passed him in a rush, and ran bucking and rumping ahead. Suleiman had the family temper, and something in the rubdown had not been to his mind. “Why. Suley ’ll spread-eagle that fel low!” the pursy man aaid, complacently. “I tell you, gentlemen, my money goes on the blue horse, no matter at what odds.” “Better wait and see 4 the finish,” a sec ond man said, good-humoredly. A third, a newcomer, tall and florid, and smiling under a cavernous slouch hat, nodded as sent. “That’s good advice,” he said. T've come ten miles this mornin’ a-pur pose to see The Brave. He’s a sort of old acquaintance of mine—bred in Ken tucky, you know, where I live. Ir> fact, I know the man who bred him, and saw the colt the day after he was foaled. It's as much on account of Maj. Thompson as myself that I came this morning. He charged me the last thing before I left, ‘Be sure you bring me a true account of that colt.’ ” “You’ve seen him In a race?” the pursy man said, tentatively. The other man shook his head. "No. worse luck to me.” he said. “I’d like to see him in the Searchlight, but that’s out of the question.- Still, I think if they let him run true this morning I shall be able to pick the Searchligh win ner. " “Then—you’ve seen Suleiman run?” from the pursy man. The Kentuckian nodded: “Twice!” he said: "Won a cou ple o’ thousand over him In the Lake side derby. Great horse—still, unlese the other’s changed a heap &ince I saw him ir. the pasture, I’ve a notion he’s Just a bit better.” There is comity among trainers. As soon as it was seen the big racers were out for a trial, the bulk of the horses drew’ to the outer half of the course. Thus the inner half was free os for a race. The men at the corner slowly wheeling glasses to eyes, could see all the way round. At first it was. tame enough. Suleiman ran like a mad horse, fighting for his head, savaging his pace maker, and buck-jumping every three stride*, bur under double wrajra, so the pace was slow’. In spite of the slowness The Brave hung still fifty yards back. Now and again he turned his head, whickering faintly to hi 9 stall-mate a yard behind. Impatient murmurs rose among the w’atchers. “Why don’t you let ’em out at each other?” the pursy man said. Bascom laughed a hard laugh. “That would never do—never In the world,” he said. “The main use of trials is to show what a horse can’t do. If he was up against the other fellow they might show what he could.” “Hold still! You’ll see something if you wait long enough!” the Kentuckian sang out cheerily. The horses were in the straight before the stand, a little more than half a mile from the star. The pace w’as quickening sensibly. Sulei man no longer ran zigzag. He was set tling into a long leaptng stride, high and free, and open as the. day. “Jove! He’s fencing all the way,” one man said. Another nodded, sagely. “That’s his way,” he said. ”1 believe he hates the ground. He always runs as far from it as he can.” "He gets there Just the same," the pursy man said, exultantly. "Talk to mo about your Brave. Look a* him now!” “He is worth seeing.” Bascom said, smiling tranquilly. The Kentuckian laughed aloud. At the third quarter pole, though Suleiman led by near a hundred yards, the Brave had derided it was time for running. He stretched himself, lowered his head and struck Into an easy, sweeping, stealing stride, that devoured the course faster than even Suleiman's Javelin bounds. At the next furlong pole the Brave had made up twen ty yards. Suleiman heard him coming and lay down to It, swinging Into a kill ing dead run. But run as he might. The Brave crept up. As they swung a second time Into the stretch the blue stallion was not twenty yards to the good. Round the turn they forged, with still the golden head advancing. Through the outstretch the duel lasted, with no ad vantage to either of the pair. As they swung and squared away for home they were almost locked. The watchers held their breath No need to look at watches. They knew they were seeing the best race ever run on the course. Who would win? Suleiman was tire less. Still The Brave came on. moving like or shadow In flight. They were half through the last quarter, the Brave's nose at Suleiman's throat-latch. Both Jockeys crouched far forward. Neither dared go to the whip. There was no need of It, indeed. Each stallion knew he ran against a rival, not a pace maker, and was mad. with a consuming madness, to come In flrst. Suddenly Mark Harris ran down the course shouting wltdfy. Nixon on The Brave at once pulled up. leaving Sulei man to gallop home alone. There was a rusele of resentment among the watch ers. "A d—d shame! That's what I call It.” 4he pursy men said. “I’m satisfled." the Kentuckian answer ed. “It was worth twice the trouble of coming—to say nothing of the tale I shall tell he Major. O but he'll be a proud man—after 4he Searchlight. His fear had been always that The Brave eoukln't stay. All the colt’s wins, you know, have been at n mile and under. He hasn't got Lexington and Longfellow hlood for noth ing. After to-day I shan'4 fear to bet on him, tn any company. He'll win 'from end to end.” “Blood does toll," Bascom said almost affably. The Kentuckian laughed as he answered. "Sometimes." Then, after a little pause, he ran on: “Yes—sometimes. But there has got to be something else. You'll hardly believe it, but the Brave has got a blood brother, just his own age, and as like him as two peas in the pod, who can run over any thing as long as he stays in front, but quits like a cur the minute he hi collared, or even finds another horse cio*e bertnd.” “Are you sure of hi* breeding?” Bascom asked. “I ought to he—l bred him myeelf. 3ame sire, and dam* full sisters,” the Kentuckian said with a grimace. “Ann I though I had a world-heater—until the brute came two years old. Money wouldn t have bought him, as a yearling. I was glad to give him to a fellow who was going up in Ohio. Of course I couldn’t let him Flay in Kentucky—there we have no use for quitters and cowards.” “You should have shot him.” Bascom said, with a laugh. “That is the proper ending for the story, which really has interested me very much. The Brave has been a sort of hoodoo for me all this sea son, but I shall have to forgive him. after this morning. I agree with you. he wins on his courage.” Bascom did not speak on the way home. Andriewe drove, with hands so tremulous the horses after a while became skittish. When, for the third time, they began to dance, threatening to upset the trap. BaF com snatched the reins. Still he kept si lence until he was alone with Andriese in his own apartments. He had sat nt his desk for fen minutes, running down the columns of the stud book. As he looked up from it he said with a leaping smile. I hate sending you on such an errand, ’Driese—you have *n inconvenient amount of conscience still—but there is nobody else I dare trust in such a matter.” 'Dnese got very white. “I have no con science—except for you,” he said. “You know that. 1 saw your plan in your eyes w’hile that man was talking. Give it up, Rix! Do! Think of the risk!” ”1 live for—risks.” Bascom said, shut ting his lips hard. “They are the only things worth, living for—almost. Still, I think I might satisfy my craving with one big, overwhelming risk—a risk that had honor and ease and profit on one side —and on the other the blackness of dark ness. That is why lam so set on this ad venture. Help me carry it through and I don’t see how it can fail, we shall be able to chuck up the ring—and we will. I will take away with me to some far country-—” Don’t,” ’Driese said, putting a hand over his eyes. “Rix, you don e need to i>ribe me, even with promises. Only tell me what I am to do.” Bascom told, speaking low and rapidly, and at <he end thrusting into Driese’s hand a huge roll of money. When it was safely stowed away Bascom ran on: “Start at once, by the fastest train, and telegraph the minute you find out any thing-. Here are the names—horse and owner. I only hope the horse has not been thrown out of training. If he has, we must wait—but this is the golden time. We shall never have such another chance. Mark Harris is in trouble. What the trou ble is I shall know before to-morrow night.” T* a trouble common enough and sordid enough. Harris, a rich owner’s thrice-trusted employe, had dropped $lO,- 000 of money not his own in the effort to beat the books by an infallible system. Unless he could make good the stable’s bank balance within the next fortnight there would be the exposure which meant ruin. Sharp, the owner, prided himself upon paying so well the men he paid must remain honest. Therefore, he was pitiless to the least fault In them. It was certain that If he discovered a great one the wrongdoer would pay the full penal ty of the law. “I—l wanted to pull The Brave—oait there on the course—so’s to fool you bookies into laying big odds against him. I know he can win as he pleases—if only I could a-kept you from knowin’ it. too, I might a-had a chance.” Harris wound up miserably. Bascom chewed the end of his cigar a minute, then thrust his hand deep in his pocket. He drew it out full of thousand-dollar bills. “Luck’s been fair this week. Mark.” he said, “so I can spare this lot of pictures for a good while. You take ’em .and square things. Afterward—we’ll talk of balanc ing accounts with—Sharp and all the rest.” When Bascom got home late that night a yellow envelope lay on his desk. Inside there was a single line: "Brother in condition to he brought East—coming via Chicago.” There was neither date nor signature, but Bascom understood, and smiled. He pulled forward a calendar, and marked off fifteen days on it. "I don't know whether the time is too long or tqo short,” he said to himself. “Any way—l have got the cards in my hand, and am certainly going to play the game through.” Loris Park was at its best upon its last day of summer racing. The flowers on the lawns had never been so bril liant, the turf so green and velvety, the throng in stand nnd clubhouse quite so distinguished, nor that in the free field quite so overflowing with pure Jollity and delight In sport. The day had been clear and white hot, as befits August’s fare well, but toward 3 o’clock a delicate mot tled white cloud dimmed without, chilling the streaming sunshine. There was bare ly wind enough to flutter the flags upon their staffs, and to ruffle the dusty leaves upon the trees around the course. Here or there, in convenient forks and crotches, adventurous lads sat snug. Prom their elevation they had even a sort of pity for the folk In the stand and clubhouse. No doubt it was fine to sit there—but not to compare with this perch upon swaying boughs, where all the happenings of the park were in plain and proper sight. The fine people could see no more than the start and the fin ish. The tresshaunters watched every thing with avid eyes, and heard all the gossip of track and stables, with eager eyes. It was retailed liberally directly un derneath them. Trainers’ houses are centers of inside turf knowledge. To-day there was one overwhelming topic, com mon alike to training quarters, club house. paddock, stand and free field— Bascom's *fool!sh laying against The Brave. Notwithstanding, he was odite on. in all the other books, Bascom wrote him sto 4. Asa consequence he was nearly swamped by the rush of layers. He would have been quite swamped, but that he had taken the precaution from the beginning to lay only on the event of the Searchlight. “The fellow's mad; quite mad." com mented the pursy man. as he pocketed a slip made out for a thousand. Plenty of others thought and said the same thing, hot as the supposed madman had the name of being shrewdly far-sighted, and further, had money to burn, they also made their wagers, and did not make them small. Bascom smiled at them, as he gave out the slips. He was not writing itimself. neither was 'Drlese. He had half a dozen clerks—and even then there was waiting. He stood a little stooped, and spoke now and then in whispers to young Vaux. "No more bets after the call to post! I mean to see thin race—if I never see an other.” he shouted, as he heard the sad dling bell. The mob of bettors answered with a howl. A fellow-bookmaker shout ed across: ■'Say. Bascom: you’re mighty good all at once, throwing away your money to keep the rest of us from losing. But you needn't expect us to pass round the hat for you. If a man goes broke with his eyes open, he deserves what he gels.” •'Sometimes." Bascom said composedly, ’Drlese turned white. "Get away at once! Go outside. Your face tells tales,” Bas eotn said, pushing the lad almost roughly away. 'Drlese went laggardly, lifeless, and with hanging head. He was always pale. Now the pallor was a sort of Ivor tng tint more ghastly than death. He crept to the lawn's farthest edge, and flung himself at length upon the grass, pressing both hand* hard over his eyes before "he opened their dark-fringed lids. He lay there, outwardly quiet, full of Jos. A. Magnus & Cos., CINCINNATI, O. riotous tremors, until Bascom stooped and touched him on the shoulder. “Stand up!” he said imperatively. “Watch them go by!* We must get out of this everything that is in it. It is something—to hear how the crowd will cheer for The Brave.” He spoke very low, and ended with a faint chuckle. Driese rose, staggering a liitie, clutched the law*n fence, and hung a little over it. Rippling huzzas heralded the advancing racers. Up and down for a full quarter of a mile the course was thronged either side. You might have walked the distance upon human heads— and every head was set hard toward the dun earthen river. Eleven horses came along It. Suleiman and The Brave ought to have made the field smaller, but there was the glorious uncertainty of the sport to save owners and trainers from being frightened out. So black and bay and gray and chestnut,,sorrels in a variety, and even a dappled gray, came mincing and prancing on, necks arched, coats shin ing gliddery-smooth, with jockeys all in fire-new colors as gorgeous as a tulip bed in April bloom. The cheering rose and fell irregularly un til Sueliman swept in view—then it rose shrill, and ear-piercing, with an under note of defiance. Suleiman had gone back in the books to threes. At that there were big bets on him—bets made by track com missioners for mysterious patrons out of town. It was the fancy who picked him winner said the popular voice. The talent to a man pinned its hopes and risked its Searchlight money on The Brave. And how they cheered him when he came! Last of all, looking finer than silk, fitter than ever he had ever looked, sweet-tempered as a lamb, not even snatching on the bit, but caracoling along as though keeping time to the wildly ringing shouts! Bascom even drew a hard breath as he listened. ’Driese shut his eyes tight a second, and let hi* head droop so, Bascom touched his hanging hand and said in a fierce whisper: “D—n you! Brace up! Don’t you, won’t you see, it’s for you I am doing tins? I want to quit—to make an end, and a good end, to this wretched masquerade of ours.” ’Driese stood up a flicker of lambant red in either cheek. “I—l have not com plained,” he seid. “No!—that’s the worst of it." Bascom retorted, still in a whis per: “You forget, though—l was a gen** tleman—once. It hasn’t been pleasant for me—sending my wife about, to crush with the ring.” "Hush! For heaven's sake, hush!" ’Driese Raid, gasping faintly. Bascom gitmd his eye to his glass, w,itching the start. He saw Mark Harris at The Brave’s head—saw Nixon lean down, and mentally heard Harris’ last orders: “Keep in front the first mile, wait through the half, then come home, leading all you can.’* There were, three breakaways. In each The Brave led. Bascom smiled a* he saw it: “The game’s working beautifully.” he said in ’Driese’s ear. ’Driese had a glass, too, and made, believe to look. It Is question, though, if the deep-ser, dark-frlr.ged eyes took any intelligent note of what they saw. “At last!” Bascom said, dropping his glass with a long, deep breath. It was n ragged start, but fair enough, with Suleiman lying a little back. The Brave in front, and the others well bunched toward the middle of the course. Fresn shouts went up as The Brave shot ahead, opening a gap between himself and all contenders, running strong and free, and eicser than ever to his mother earth. “He is the Antaeus of racing.” a pe dant said to his elbow neighbor watch ing the golden head flash further and further forward. The neighbor grunted. He was not used to mix mythology with his sport. He had come out for a good tigie—which meant he was there for the delicious thrill born of seeing a horse come first end knowing that It meant money in the pocket. But Bascom. who overheard the pedant, smiled comprehen sion, and said over his shoulder: "You ought not to say that, If you have bet on The Brave. Remember Antaeus had his Hercules!” A cry made him look at 'Drlese. whose eyes now did not leave the racers. The first mile w-as run, and still The Brave was in front, going like a whirlwind, and two lengths to the good. Nixon held him hard, but still he ran, his matchless steal ing strides, defying vision. Bascotu's heart gave a great bound at the sight. "God! Suppose after all, he is not a cow ard!” he whispered hollowly in ’Driese s ear. He looked again. Still The Brave ran. He tva3 half through the outstretch upon this, the excess distance. He had bu; to run on for five furlongs more, and Bascom would be ruined beyond all hope. Could Nixon be playing false? Could th>- Kentuckian?—but no! No man in his senses would have parted with such a beast except for indubitable cause. The man thought he spoke truth. If Bascom had believed him to his own undoing the fault lay wholly with himself. Orly half a mile now. and still The Brave led gallantly. He had never strid den soVdrongly, so swiftly, with such easy might and grace. The hushed throng watched with bated breath as he swept the half-mile post, swung, and squared for the last quarter before the run home. Snlieman lay well back. There were three horses betwixt him and The Brave. At the pole his Jockey stood up. shook hts reins, drew- his whip, and drove home the spurs. Then began a horse race to stir the blood. Like a lance well hurled Sulei man went forward, collared hts horses and leaped after The Brave. A little quavering cry. the rattle of suspended breath told that the course noted. It swelled to a roar, hoarse and wild as the rush of icy seas. In the next half minute. For as he caught the thunder of Sulei man's hoofs behind The Brave slackened, shortened stride, shut up like a Jackknife Suleiman locked him, p.isesd him, ran clear by two lengths. Nixon plied steel and catgut, hut all In vatn. The Brave belied name and fame. There upon what hud promised to be his field of triumph he showed himself a quitter of the worst. Nobody believed even their own eyes until (ultrman dashed over the line, with the best of the ruck in second place and The Brave absolutely last. Then, Indeed, pandemonium reigned. Yells, cries, curses, hisses rent (he air. Sharp, ten yards away from Bascom. was dazed, hts face while and drawn and aged. "I have no excuses to offer," he said to those about him. "The horse was fit to run for a man's life. It is only that he will not stay.” "That is what I thought. He Is too handsome to have anything of the bulldog In him. 1 laid accordingly,” Baacom said, HEAR HER! Ijj A WOMAN’S STORY. H * Thlsfsto certify that I have been afflicted *3 k with Scrofula or Blood Poison for a number of VJ £, T _ I R* year*. The best physicians of Mobile and this J M MmVL city said nothing could be done forme. I took ffi £L^filtlik large quantities * * * but tjund no relief m My limbs were a mass of ulcers, and when J I dßfl was sent to a physician in Mobile my entire Bfore*- body was a mas* of sores. I had given up all xBSB' n't hope, and as a last resort tried P. P. p RT C&r \ I after using font bottles {small size), the sore* KK'j#:* 4? w b*T entirely disappeared, and mv SL’ 1 E&A j# health was never better than at * presc JBT-J . \xv/' BP*®* time, and people that know me thit *t a won tierfaleure. ELIZA TODD, Milton, Fla. * ■§£ V, i Swan Wfcat can be wont for _ lßTja woman than an other- r R 1 ESUiui wise beautiful skin cov- JLM p*. WOT? ered wlth cores and! J | 'y^eruptions? Can you A ® A f A f •.•;V7 / IHSL Wm** people for avoid- (Lippman-a ® • ./■ I BpSr . w ““ e . n *“• •** Great iiemedy.) > J J ‘ iSci So® Hie and T They ore to be 71 /. ' Tffc'vaS***'BE* pltleG; but what woman wants pity T Beside. V// / \\wU> fijs? the bntni'lation of clisilgur-ment, the Itchine //• and burning of skin disease ire almost unen* All women ought to knowthat all facial and bodily blemishes are caused by itntmre blood an<l are curable. P. P. P. will purify the “T blood, and when the blood becomes Dure ii .wS skin diseases mulsh. v y p. p. p. is a harmless vegetable compound and never fails to eradicate from the system all traces of Blood Poison, Scrof- Rheumatism, Neuralgia, Dyspepsia and Catarrh.l Affections. FROM ONE OF SAVANNAH’S PROMINENT MERCHANTS. TO THE PUBLIC* I herewith recommend to the sufferer# ©f Rheumatism and rheumatic oalas. Elppman's P. P. P., as I hare carefully tested it and found permanent relief. Also m, son, who, for years, has suffered from Rheumatism, has used it for the last year with sood results, and has not suffered aincc, and Is still using it. Would not do without it :It cost double, or at any price. Yours truly, CHAS.SRII.br, * Lippman Brothers, Proprietors, Wfrolesijle Drusrjrists. v - niocn. Savannah Ga. FRENCH CLARET WINES, and GERMAN RHINE and MOSELLE WINES and FRENCH COGNAC BRANDIES. All these fine Wines and Liquors Are imported by us In glass direct from the growers in Europe. Our St. J alien Claret Wine from Everest, Dupont & Cos of Bordeaux. France, Is one of their specialties. And one at extremely low price. The Chateaux Leoville, one of their superior Claret Wines, well known all over the United States. We also carry In bond Claret Wine# from this celebrated firm In casks. Our Rhine and Moselle Wines are imported from Martin Deutx, Trank* fort. Germany, are the best that com* to the United Slates. BODENHEIM is very fine and chatß NIER3TEIN also very good. RUDESHEIM very choice. RAUENTHAL. selected grapes, very elegant. LIEBFRANMILCH, quite celebrated. MARCOBRTTNNER CABINET eleffant and rare. YOHANNISBURGER is perfection. SPARKLING HOCK. SPARKLING MOSELLE. BPAP.KUNO MTJSCA TELLE, and FINE FRENCH COGNAC BRANDIES. Special Brandies are Imported direct from France by us, in cases end caaka , LIPPMAN BROTHERS. with the accent of respectful sympathy, as he moved away. Bascom went to Paris on the strength of that thrice lucky stroke. He lives there In quiet elegance—only his name is not Bascom now. His wife Is slim, with no beauty but a pair of big dark eyes. Oc casionally a look of frightened melancholy creeps Into them, and then her husband kisses her and says: ‘ Don’t be frightened, 'Drlese. I prom ised you never to go inside a course gate again, and I shall keep my word.” Loris Park, of course, has forgotten Bas com and most of his works, but if you happen to lounge there about training quarters, through an off day or a dull one. the chances are that some veteran will tell you the other side of this story, and finish with, “And sure as you live, the very next morning they found The Brave, poor fel low, dead in stall. The vet said heart disease, but we all had our opinion. Sharp, he's a hard man, mighty hard, and he wanted to win that Searchlight, the very worst way. Funny thing, though, is The Brave has got a brother somewhere out Weal, ar.d some of the gamest youngsters in training are his sons and daughters, though folks say he was a quitter, too.” No. 16to. Chartered, IX6* THE HIS lltf M OF SAVANNAH. CAPITAL, BWO,CXtO. SURPLUS. $100.90j UNITED STATES DEPOSITORY. J. A. Q. CARSON. President. BKIRNB GORDON, Vies President. W. M. DAVANT, Cashier. Aeoounta of banka and bankers, mer chants and corporations received upon the roost favorable terms consistent with eafe and conservative banking. The Singer Piano of Chicago, 111, This SINGER PIANO Is sold by many of the leading dealers in the United states, such as Wm. Steinert Sons Cos., who have the, largest establishments In Boston, New Haven and Providence. Also the SINGER PIANO is sold by Wm. Knabe Cos., having the leading houses in Boston. Baltimore. Washington and New York city. There are a large number of leading houses Handling aiNGER PIANO, too numerous to mention. The SINGER PIANO Is evidently one of the nest pianos in the market, or it would not be sold by these leading houses. It has an elegant singing tone, much finer than most pianos, and about one-half the price of other instruments. Call and see. and examine the SINGER PIANO and save a good deal of money on your purchase. Same guarantee Is ex tended for the SINGER PIANO as any of the leading pianos of the day, and a sat isfactory price will be given to all on ap plication. LIPPMAN BROTHERS. Wholesale Agents. Wholesale Druggists, Barnard and Congresa Streets, Savannah, Ga. IIPPMAN BROS.. Proprietor*, ‘taggl*!*, Uppman's Bloch. SAVANNAH. OA SfcU-IE YOURSELF! C*e B1 * •f" uetural llwheriio*, InHsaunathma, rrlution* or ulcmtioo* >t mno our mombr*os. PainioM, aod got astria. , (out or poUoo<* Sold by UrotrUlJ, or rent la plain wrapper, hr •xpro. propaid (or ii on. ~ra lMim,tLfo.“ Clrcuiat mat ii raguefb LEOPOLD ADLER. JNO. R. DILLON, President. Cashier. C. T. ELLIS, BARRON CARTER, Vice President. Asst. Cashier. The Chatham Bank SAVANNAH. Will be pleased to receive the accounts of Merchants. Firms. Individuals. Bank* and Corporations. Liberal favors extended. Unsurpassed collection facilities. Insur ing prompt returns S^ATESAVINGSDEPARTMENT interest compounded quarter ly ON DEPOSITS. E>eposit Boxes and Vaults foe rent. Correspondence solicited. The Citizens Bank OP SAVANNAH. CAPITAL, $500,000. raii44V44> a* Uuuktiitf Uuniueia, Solicit* Account* mi individual*. Merchant*, Banka and other Corpo ration a. collections handled with safety, economy and dispatch. , " ,ere compounded qnartoslp allowed on deposits la oai Savina Department. Snfety Deposit Boxes and Itoraga Vaults. BRANTLEY A. DENMARK. Preald.nh MILLS B. LANE, Vice President. GEORGE C. FREEMAN. Cashier. ®°- IM> l L ' GROOVER . Asst. Cashier, SOUTHERN BANK of the State of Georgia, Capital 8900,000 Surplus and undivided profits 8401,000 DEPOSITORY OF THE STATE OF GEORGIA. Superior facilities tor transacting a General Banking Businas* Collections made on alfpoints accessible through banks and bankers. Account* of Banks, Bankers, Mercnants and others solicited. Safe Deposit Boxe* for rent. Department of Savings, Interest payable quarterly. Sells Sterling Exchange on London G and upwards. President. CRANE. Vice President JAMES SULLIVAN. Cashier. DIRECTORS: JNO. FLANNERY. WM. W. GORDON. “' IL - W w GORDON. Jr. r , * ,£B. ANE ' JOHN M. EGAN. LEE ROY MYERS. JOSEPH FERST ' £ S? rART - CHARLES ELLIS. EDWARD KELLY. JOHN J. KIRBY. lIHHiM CAPITAL, 8350.000. Account* of banks, merchant*, corpora tion* and Individuals solicited. Savins* Department, interest paid quarterly. Safety Boxes and Storage Vault* for rent. Collection* made on all point* at rea sonable rates. Draft* sold on all the chief cities of the world. Correspryidenc* Invited. JOSEPH D. WEED. President. JOHN C. ROWLAND, vice President W. F. McCAUDET. Cashier. THE GERMANIA BANK *A VANN Ah, OA. Capital OUO.M Undivided protlU *o.o* This bank ui.r* it* <u ,i e* to oorpora tleua, merchants and individuals Ma* authority to aot aa executor, ad ministrator, cuardlan. eto. laauaa drafta ca the pilnclpal eltlea t Great Britain and Ireland and oh tba Continent. Intereat paid or compounded quarterly on deposits in the Saving Department. Safety Boxes for rent. HENRY BLUR. President GEO. W. TIEDKMAN. Vice President JOHN M. HOGAN. Cashier. WALTER F HOQAN. Ass t Cashier. IF TOU WANT GOOD MATERIAL and work, -order your lithographed and printed stationery and blank book* from Morning New*. Savannah, Oa.