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I hurt Fabre and His Wonderful Career Described
and Outlined by Garrett F. Serviss
By GARRETT P. SERVISS
H ' 2RE In a face better worth study
ing than those of the multi
millionaires. political bosses, lead
er* of fashion and disturbers of peace
whose countenances are so constantly
before the public's eye.
It is the face of a man, 90 years
old. who has devoted his whole life to
the study of the manners customs, arts
and Ideas of the world's smallest inhab
itants—the Insects.
If you doubt whether Insects have
ideas you have only to rea<j some of the
captivating books that Henri Kabre- -
the man in the picture—has written in
order to be convinced that if those lit
tle creatures do not think they do
something Just as wonderful.
"Do you say that these are small
verities which the ways of a spider or
a grasshopper reveal to us?" exclaims
Maurice Maeterlinck, in his praise of
Henri Fabre "Hut there are no small
verities. There Is only one verity whose
mirror seems to our imperfect eyes,
broken, but whoao every fragment,
whether it reflects the evolution of a
star or the flight of a bee, conceals the
law supreme!”
In France, where they are erecting, at
Avignon, a monument to Henri Fabre,
as in ancient Egypt and ancient Rome
they erected monuments to the Pha
raohs and the Caesars, while they were
yet living, they call him the modern
La Fontaine—the La Fontaine of
Science. Without depriving the lower
world of life of any of its poetry, he
has surrounded it with greater fascina- ,
tion of biography and history—the biog
raphy of bees and ants, and the history
of communities whose whole domains
cover only a few square feet of ground!
And these recitals are full of poetry and
imagination—guided by science. Until
you have read some of them you can
not imagine how interesting they are It j
Is with reason that the French are now
saying that the children of the future
will read the true stories of Henri Fabre
about Insect life as eagerly as hitherto
children, and many grown people have
read Ia Fontaine's fables
Two Lessons.
Kabre’s life teaches two great lessons:
first, the lesson of concentration, and,
second, the lesson that knowledge is not
valuable to humanity unless it is com
municated
Shutting himself away from that part
of the world which calls itself busy, and,
until now, hardly known to the world
at large, he has devoted his whole
long life to the single aim of learning
all that an observant man could learn
about the millions of little six-legged
beings which most of us either despise
or detest. He stands alone, as on a
pedestal, for it is generally conceded
that he knows more about Insects than
any of his contemporaries or any of his
predecessors. Do you think that such
knowledge is not worth acquiring? Then
come, back again a century hence, if you
can. and see what the encyclopedias
will be saying of him then. Thousands
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rni.plUtioil by
Henri Fabre at Work.
of men whom you now regnrd as mon
uments of "success” will have only a
few lines devoted to them -if anything
at all—while Henri Fabre will probably
have columns. It Is only by concentra
tion that he has achieved this lasting
fame.
As to the second lesson that he
teaches, we need only remark that he
understands as few men of science do,
that the wish of the entire world to
know what its few original investigtors
are finding out is a wish that must tie
respected and gratified for otherwise
science is merely a thing of privilege,
confined to a kind of intellectual aris
tocracy. Accordingly he has written
his books in language which anybody
can understand, and in a style whose
beauty attracts tens of thousands of
readers.
Most scientific writers can not free
themselves from their technicalities;
Henri Fabre has never forgotten that
technicalities are only tools which have
no place in the finished work.
Has Not Suffered.
Yet his science has not suffered from
his popularization of it. Darwin, when
he wrote, his great book on the "Origin
of Specie," spoke with enthusiastic ad
miration of Henri Fabre as "the inimit
able observer,’’ but, at the same time,
thousands of people who were not nat
uralists were reading Fsbre’s hooks with
a zest which is too often confined to the
consumption of novels, and his readers
have increased every year since.
Edmond Rostand, the playwright,
has sung, in verse, no less enthusiastic
than Maeterlinck's tribute in prose the
praise of Fabre’s wonderful charm as
a writer.
A SENTIMENTAL EPISODE
A Short Story
I NOTICED her first In the lounge of
the Splendid, and I smiled sympa
thetically at the obvious devotion of
the boyish young swain who bent over
her chair. She was so slim and fresh,
so charmingly ingenue, that I had
stopped involuntarily to stare, and was
nearly knocked over by a burly man
whose gaze was also fixed on the pretty
young thing He apologised*, and I
shook myself impatiently and went oui
and up the street. Fate and a taste for j
mathematlca have made of me a spinster
schoolma'am, but I have a throbbing
mother-heart. I adore slim, pretty girls,
yearn over them. As I went Into Deere
ft Stone’s I was thinking that. If I had
been blessed with a daughter. I should
have liked her to look Just like that—
young, sweet and unspoiled
"Pardon me, madame, hut I believe
this is yours." I turned and met the
laughing eyes of the girl herself, holding
out a fringed velvet bag I looked In
bewilderment at my empty arm, where
my velvet bag had bung
"Dear me, so It is," I fussed. "It’s
very kind of you, I'm sure ."
"I am so glad I found it." She went
on with a little laughing nod, and 1 was
turning back to the neckwear when I
noticed the man who had nearly knocked
me over at the Splendid entering the
door It flashed upon me instantly that
he was following the girl, and I felt
my face flushing with indignation. Un
hesitatingly I turned and went after
him. with a sort of protective rage for
the pretty child In my heart
Baw Man Following.
8he was leaving the shop by a aids
street entrance, with the man s few
yards behind, as I caught sight of them.
I hurried breathlessly after, ready to
summon an ofTlcer directly he ap
proached her. But he seemed in no
hurry to do so, and she took her leis
urely way toward Husbarn, lingering
now and then before a shop window I
felt rather ridiculous as I took a seat
in the tram opposite the brute, but
determined to see the affair through.
He s«t in a corner on the same side
as the girl, and I at once discovered
that he was staring hard at hsr reflec
tion in the window behind me. With a
fresh surge of protecting rage I crossed
over and sat down beside her
"My dear child, do you mind if I
come over and talk to you?" I began.
She raised her wide, sweet eyes to
mine
‘It’s lovely of you," said she, and
thsre whs a little quaver in her voice.
"You’ve #een that horrid man following
jne, haven’t you? Do you know him?”
fche seemed rather unnerved. I thought,
and I regretted that I had not interfered
before.
"Perhaps I shouldn't alarm you," I
said, “but 1 saw him watching you at
the Splendid—horrid creature! What a
pitiful shame that a young girl’s fresh
ness should make her a target for such
annoying attentions.”
Bmiled at Her Pride.
"I do not mind being stared at so
much,” she said plaintively, “but this
man V.aa followed me before, arid 1 live
all alone, and sometimes I’m afraid—"
"My dear child I" I cried, honestly
shocked. "Surely you have a home and
parents- "
"Not in London,” she interrupted sim
ply. “You see, I make fashion sketchea
l am a bachelor girl."
I smiled sadly at the pride in her
voice. I’m 40, and I’ve "bached” it my
self for fifteen years, and know all the
realities of bachelor-girl life, it’s make
shifts and depressions, as well as its in
dependence. She returned my smile a
little wistfully, and her eyes crept fur
tively toward the man In the corner.
"We’re sisters In the working world,"
I suggested. "Why not come and have
a cup of tea at my rooms, and Inciden
tally we’ll lose the creature?"
"It would be lovely,” she agreed.
Hut the brute followed us off, and
1 was about to appeal to a policeman
when the girl took charge In a manner
that astounded me. She boarded a
crowded car. pushed her way to the top,
ran down the front stairs, Jumped off
and Into a vacant taxi at the curb. I
followed, puffing, in her wake.
As bachelor girls go, I’m prosperous
enough, but I do not affect taxis, and I
confess I was a bit awed
"But what address did you give the
chauffeur?” I demanded "Mine is at
the Seine Mansions."
"Well." she smiled wickedly, "I said
the King’s, but I’ll change It."
Rhe paid the chauffeur his robber’s
fee, and we went up.
“You live alone, too?” she asked.
"Oh, but I’m old and hardened and
withered—tt doesn’t matter,” I ejacu
lated. "hut you why* "
I looked up at her and hesitated.
She was young and charming, but I
was struck wtth a certain sophistica
tion, a poise that I Jiad missed be
fore.
"I’m young, but, oh, so wise." She
had thrown off her handsome coat and
stole and stood before a little Whistler
that had cost me many a privation.
"You know he can’t draw of course?”
she said argumentatively, while I light
ed the flame under my copper kettle
We threshed out Whistler's art to
shreds, and then we drifted to books.
With the second cup of tea our dis
cussion grew fiery. She was a Pagan
—a cynical, soulless creature- that
young, fresh, pure-faced thing, and she
left me aghast at her daring. 1 showed
her my three tittle rooms and kitchen
ette proudly. She was charmingly in
terested in everything, even the dumb
waiter. Before wc had returned to
the living room the bell pealed vio
lently. I answered It, annoyed that the
hulllxty should have let anyone up.
Standing there, with a leering smile,
was the brute.
I want to speak to the other one."
he said, trying to peer over my shoul
der.
I smiled scornfully. "You are a brute,
aren't you!" I said. "How dare you!
I shall call the hall boy and have you
put out.”
“Nothin* doing, lady," he gazed at
me shrewdly. "Do you know you've got
a dip In there 0 ”
“A dip,” I stared. "You’re crazy!
What is a dip, please?”
"A thief, lady, he explained impa
tiently. Opening his coat, he displayed
a badge "I’m a plain-clothes man.”
I let down the bar. "It’s absurd," I
said shortly. "But you can come In and
convince yourself.'’
He followed me into the living room,
and I looked about in amazement—
the girl had gone
"Flown,” said the detective briefly.
"Is there another door?”
I shook my head dumbly and follow
ed him as he examined the kitchenette.
He jerked open the dumbwaiter door,
and gazed down its black, ill-smelilng
shaft.
Just a Diamond Pendant.
"Roomy enough,” he muttered. "She’s
only a slip of a thing.”
"But how do you know?” I volun
teered timidly. “W-what—did she—did
—she ”
He looked at me in open disgust. "A
diamond pendant—that’s all. T wanted
to get the goods on her—bet she’s got
’em, too. but I ain’t so certain. My
partner is watchin* her pal—he slipped
it to her at the Splendid.”
I could only gape at him aghast, as
he picked up his hat and started out.
"She*k made her getaway by now, I
reckon,” he grumbled. "I didn't ex
actly size you up. nor why she was
stringing you." Then he stopped. "But
would you mind telling me, lady, why
you interfered?”
I flushed crimson. "I thought you were
trying- trying to speak to her,” I
stammered.
With a half muttered ejaculation he
disappeared.
Afterwards I looked distractedly
about for my velvet hag. It was gone
—with my purse and my mother’s
watch!
« * *
It's incredible, preposterous, btft I
must believe it’s tree. This morning
the bag came back by messenger with
its contents untouched. There was a
note too. in a sprawling, girlish hand:
“Dear Protector—You were awfully
kind. Sorry I couldn’t know you bet
ter. I had to take the bag because,
you see, the pendant was In It. I
slipped It into your bag before 1 re
turned the bag to you—for safe keep
ing if the detectives picked me up. It
was a close call, but 1 couldn’t lose
the pendant. We-—my husband, and 1
—are sailing to-morrow for a long rest.
Good-by.”
And for once I am glad I never had
a daughter.
(Copyrighted. 1*13. *y
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
"How did you know that?" he asked
quickly, and then, recollecting: "But I
would love to hear you sing. Miss
Joyd.”
"That’s very nice,” she teased. "On
the ground. I suppose, the singer would
make up for the song.”
"Undoubtedly,” he agreed heartily’.
Mr. Lloyd came Into the conversation
at this point.
"So you don’t like music, Mr. Allan?”
"I’m afraid if I am compelled to an
swer under oath I should have to say
that I am not partial to it,” he con
fessed with a laugh. "I suppose some
thing was left out of me—I’m fit for
treasons, stratagems and spoils, and
nothing else.’’
"M. Shakespeare was a trifle harsh,
I think,” commented Mr. Lloyd, grave
ly. "But he was on tBe right track.
Lack of appreciation for music, as I
take it, is not due necessarily to a lack
j of moral fiber in a man. It’s generally
j because his mind is too active to relax,
even for a moment. You, in your case,
have to think—you don’t need music.
p until the last few years it was much
the same with me. I could sit through
a concert, but the music had no mes
sage for me. It is only when we reach
the age where we can afford the luxury
of aimless dreams that music makes its
true appeal.”
"Envy me,” laughed Ethel. “It’s a
luxury that I could afford from child
hood."
"True,” her father smiled, "but you
miss an even greater luxury.” And he
offered for Allan’s Inspection the con
tents of a humidor, the stocking of
which had come to a trifle less than
$1,000.
The Tunnel Again.
Kthel sang a light little song, and at
Its conclusion her father turned abrupt
ly to Allan and began talking about the
tunnel.
Allan gathered from his manner that
he and his daughter had discussed the
possible future moves in the great proj
ect with even greater fullness than
she had indicated. But he rather ex
pected her to withdraw as soon aa her
father took this tack. Probably she
was waiting for a graceful opening.
Allan swiftly went over the figures
that he had been working on for the
past months, and father and daughter
listened in silence. He had every de
tail at his finger tips, and he talked
easily and convincingly.
"I fully agree with you, Mr. Allan,”
said the financier, at the conclusion of
the report, "that we should resume
work as soon as it is humanly possible
—by that 1 mean work on the full scale.
1 still hold to my original object that
half-meaaures would weaken rather
than strengthen public conflde*hce.”
"There Is a German company trying,
with some success, 1 believe, to raise
funds for a trans-Atlantic air line,”
remarked Allan, meaningly. The old
banker nodded emphatically.
"Quite so—quite so. Everything
points to the fact that we must begin
w’ork at once—or abandon the enter
prise for all time. And this Involves
a financial sacrifice that appals me."
"You mean the abandoning of the
work?”
"Precisely. For a long time I have
believed that that alternative must no.t
be considered."
Tt was in Allan’s mind to say that
Mr. IJoyd had managed to keep the
conclusion to himself with remarkable
success, but he wisely refrained. In
stead he declared boldly:
"Give me the right to use your name
and personal credit, Mr. Lloyd-, and
I’ll begin work to-omorrow night.”
Again the financier nodded and Al
lan’s heart bounded with exultation.
"I have had something of the sort In
mind for some time, my boy.” he said
"When you decided to play the hermit
—and even before that time—I had
thought some of making the venture,
or at least talking It over with you,
but Ethel here ’’ He broke off with j
with a teasing laugh.
Allan started and looked quickly at I
the girl. She flushed a deep red.
"Don’t pay any attention to father’s
jokes, Mr. Allan,” she pleaded.
Allan laughed and murmured some
thing inconsequential His thoughts j
were whirling. Ethel had given him
the impression that she had won her
father over to her way of thinking, and
her father had certainly inplled that
she had caused him to withhold the help
that Allan needed. A suspicion, which
else In the world. A suspicionfl which
his lack of a certain kind of egoism
caused him to reject, flashed into his
mind. He could not explain Ethel’s
embarrassment or fathom her motives 1
in that Instant, and the conversation
took on a strained note which even Mr.
Lloyd detected.
A T last Ethel made some excuse to j
withdraw and when she had gone j
her father turned to Allan with an
apologetic smile.
"I’m probably in for a scene with
Ethel,’’ he said whimsically. "I’m al
most tempted to keep you here indef
initely as a protection, Mr. Allan. She
is really your ally, Mr. Allan, but she
has some pride in her old father, and
she did not think that all of the ad
vances ought to come from our side.”
Allan laughed and said chat he un
derstood; but a short time later he
took his leave. Nothing definite was
fixed in the course of the conversation,
and he agreed to come again within the
week and have a more detailed talk
over prospective ways and means.
Allan walked to his hotel, his mind
working busily to arrive at some ex
planation of the strange little incident.
Ethel was his ally, her father had said.
He had gathered the same impression
from her attitude toward him since his
return from Europe. But she had told
her father, when he was willing to start
the financial ball rolling once more,
that all of the advances should not
come from the Lloyd side. rOn top of
which she had taken the trouble to come
to Tunnel City, waylay him and drag
him into an interview, in the face of
his former rudeness.
One Clear Thing.
One thing, at least, was clear through
all of it. Ethel wanted him to think
that if the tunnel enterprise were re
habilitated he would have her to thank
for It—her and no one else. But why?
Allan flushed In the darkness of the
winter night and felt uncomfortable at
the mere thought that came back to him
for the second, time. He was not vain
of his power to attract women—he didn’t
know that he had any such power. He
would have been surprised and embar
rassed to learn it. And yet—what game
was Ethel Lloyd playing if not a game
of hearts? Why should she advise her
father to withhold offers of aid and then
put her pride in her pocket and come to
Tunnel City to persuade Allan that with
him on her side her father could be in
duced to give aid if it were asked?
At any rate, it behooved him, he told
himself, to walk with circumspection
until he could see the motives and
moves more clearly than at present.
But there did not seem to be any pos
sibility of clearer vision in the near fu
ture. When he went to the Lloyd’s the
next time Ethel was out and her father
talked evasively of the tunnel plans.
There was much to be considered—af
fairs had taken a new turn—he would
have to weigh things a little more care
fully. Allan left without the semblance
of a definite assurance of new backing.
Once more des|>air was reaching out
for him.
The Mistakes of Jennie By hal coffman
Being a Series of Chapters in the Life of a Southern Girl in the Big City
mcm
Jennie Made a Brave Attempt at Smoking a Cigarette.
Chapter 29.
J ENNIE looked around the cabin of the yacht
in open-eyed wonder, for she never, never,
saw anything so cozy and luxurious. The
young man pressed an electric button and a Chi
nese boy in white coat and apron appeared, and the
young man told him to bring drinks and cigars,
which he did as if by magic. Jennie asked the
young man if he was on his vacation and where he
ever got such a beautiful boat.
To which the young man shrugged his shoulders
and laughingly said he had “been on a vacation
ever since he had been born,” his father had given
him the boat, and the hardest work he did was
navigating her fr'om one country to another.
That it was getting nearly time for him to go
down to Florida and the south coast for the Win
ter, but he hated to go alone, and said to Jennie
in an apparently joking way: "Wouldn’t you like
to go along? That stateroom you see there.
through the open door, can be yours”—it was the
one Jennie had first noticed, all done up in pink
and white—“and we could have a bully time."
About this time the Chinese boy appeared with
more drinks, and Jennie made a brave attempt at
smoking a cigarette, but it was useless, for the
smoke choked her and she couldn’t get to like it
a bit. Jennie at last realized that she MUST get
home.
She told the young man how sick her mother
was, and he was a3 sympathetic and polite as
could be and gave an order to one of his crew to
have the launch got ready at once to go ashore.
After helping her onto the dock and bidding
her good-bye until the next day, Jennie walked on
home to the poor, simple little cottage Tom had
hired for her and her mother.
“Oh, why, why couldn’t I marry a man like that?”
Jennie kept saying over to herself.
—HAL COFFMAN.
(To be continued.)
AN AWFUL NIGHT
A Thrilling Adventure Story
To Bo Continued Monday.
Advice to the Lovelorn
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
He’s Happy in the Summer.
"Please help a i>oor follow wot can’t
work at his trade on account of the
weather!" whined the tramp.
"Here’s a dime," said the charitable
lady. "How does the weather Interfere
with your work*’’
"Thanks, lady. Yer see. I'm a pick
pocket. an' the cold weather makes
everybody keep their hands In their
pockets. ’*
A Hint.
Mr Spriggins (gently)—My dear, a
friend of mine was shot at by a bur
glar. and his life was saved by a but
ton which the bullet struck.”
Mrs. Spriggins—Well, what of it?
Mr Spriggins—Nothing, only the but
tons must have been on.
TO A CERTAIN DEGREE.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am a young man 17 years of
age and in love with a girl of 16.
I have known and loved this girl
three years. My parents like her
and her parents, as far as I un
derstand, like me. What I want
to know is, are we old enough to
keep company, for I love her
dearly. PERPLEXED.
Your fidelity for three years, and
the approval of all concerned entitled
you to greater privileges than your
years deserve. Keep company with
her to this extent: Be her best friend,
her chum, her big brother, until you
are old enough to talk love seriously.
TRY TO FORGET HIM.
pear Miss Fairfax:
I am 18 and in love with a man
eight years my senior.
lie is Jewish and I am not. He
wants me to marry him. 1 agreed,
but b«* wants me to turn Jew is*
and neither my mother nor I like
that. So that parted us. He
doesn’t want to marry me unless
I turn Jewish. I love him dearly.
HEARTBROKEN.
The difference in religious belief
is too serious to be dismissed lightly,
and this, with your mother’s objec
tions, and your youth, furnish rea
sons why you should try to forget
him. Moreover, my dear, isn’t it a
little selfish in him demanding that
you make the sacrifice of religious
belief? Why, if he really wants you,
does he not make It?
CERTAINLY.
Pear Miss Fairfax:
For many years I have been
great friends with a certain young
lady.
She is about to celebrate her
birthday, and we have not been
speaking to each other for a short
time.
1 wish to inquire whether or not
it is proper for me to send her a
birthday card, as i have aiwaya
sent her one whenever she cele
brated her birthday.
FLORENCE.
Send her a card by all means; but
before you send It be sure you are
the friend its sentiments would indi
cate. And, my dear young woman,
you will not be that friend unless
you can lay aside all differences and
be on speaking terms again.
Jobshaw’s Game.
Jobshaw was taking a friend for a
spin in the second-hand motor he had
picked up at such an absurdly low fig
ure when something went wrong with
the works and the car stopped dead.
He dived under the machine and dis
covered among other defects that two
nuts had jolted off during the journey.
"It’s only a mile to the nearest town,
oki man,” said the apologetic owner of
the car. "If you wouldn’t mind walk
ing there and get a couple of half-inch
nuts from the iron-monger. I can put
the other things right by the time you
get back.” And for the next half hour
Jobshaw was tinkering and tapping
away beneath the car; then he started
to wonder why his friend had not re
turned. Presently he heard footsteps.
"That you, Lorklns?” he inquired-
”S s-sh!” came the reply from a bueol-
ic-looking gentleman who peered at Job
shaw under the car " ’E come back
ten minutes ago. I told ’im you'd gone
across that there field yonder. 'E’s
a-clamberin’ through 'edges an’ ditches
looking arter ver Keep quiet, an’ ’e
won't find yer for hours, guv nor ”
"What on earth do you mean?” bel
lowed Jobshaw. as he wriggled into
sight "I’ve been waiting for him. you
idiot. I can’t fixe the car up until he
gets here."
’Want ’im. do yer?” exclaimed the
surprised countryman "Why. I thought
I was ’elpin’ yer, guv nor. Seein’ where
you’d tucked yourself away. I reckoned
you wos avin a game o’ ’Me an’ seek!”
Funeral Designs and Flowers
FOR ALL OCCASIONS.
Atlanta Floral Company
466 EAST FAIR STREET.
I T was in Santos that the awful
night’s experience happened. The
Brazilian seaport was visited by
the yellow fever horror; all around
and about us ships were dally losing
members of their crews. Eight
o’clock in the morning would see an
officer walk smilingly along to re
port that the night had been passed
in safety; 10 might well find half the
forecastle complement writhing in
agony the most fearful.
My little cabin was stifling: It was
nece.'isary to keep the ports firmly
closed to prevent the noxious vapors
of the river from penetrating every
where. The night was close, not a
breath of wind stirred. There was
hardly a wound save for the slow,
choking gurgle of the water past our
sides; and the stillness made the ten
don unbearable. I rose to my feet,
threw on a light jacket and went on
deck.
It was almost as bad here, for a
thin, clammy vapor was rising from
the water. The moon was near its
setting: it threw ghawtly gleams
through the mist and made the ships
at anchor off the shore look like rot
ting corpses.
“Thin Is getting unholy,” I said to
myself. 'Til take a run ashore and
try to throw off the obsession.” I
had the ship’s boat lowered and
pulled across to the quay-Bide. Then
I made a hurried progress through
the sleeping town, and started to
climb a steep hill that ran up toward
Sao Paulo.
Climbed Faster.
Gradually the beauty of the night,
the declining moon nhining clear in a
sea of purple, the rustling trees tbout
me and the appearance of the half-
seen. mist-shrouded water, bred a
kind of intoxication in my veins. I
climbed faster than before; reached
a level plateau, went on with a rol
licking laugh, and chased my own
shadow' as cheerfully as any child
Then, as the moon sank from view. I
plunged recklessly into a small brake
or copse of trees, stumbled forward,
felt my feet break through the
ground, clutched frenziedly at thin
air. and found myself falling down
like a stone.
Instinctly I threw* out my hand9
to seek some holding, but found none
Down I went, down and down, and
the blood sang a mad chorus of spite
in my dinning ears. It seemed a& If
the depths of this pitfall were inter
minable: I clawed once at the sheer
side, my fingers close on a friable
earth, I seemed to rebound somewhat,
and continued my descent. I methodi
cally threw* out my arms again, felt
my body brush something that
rustled, clutched with the frantic en
ergy of a madman at something that
slid painfully through my fingers
tightened my clutch and found myself
brought up with a shock that seemed
to wrench my arms from their
sockets.
There I hung at arm’s length, gasp
ing feebly, quite unable to realize
what had happened. Dimly I seemed
to know that I had been saved, but
the problem that slowly preyentel
itself to my understanding was:
Saved for how long? All around and
about was darkness iike that of a
grave. Scarcely a thing moved, save
that now and then a little trickle of
loosened earth seemed to run down
ward. The rumble of the falling soil
died away Into a diminuendo, and 1
shuddered as I clung to the provi
dential branch, for it seemed to me
that the depths reached inimitably
below me.
A Strong Man.
I felt my strength ebbing away
from me like a river’s tide; I renewed
my tenacious clasp, but knew that
with the crackling tendons on ms-
wrists weakening every moment. It
was only prolonging the agony and
postponing the Inevitable end. But
with a quick instinct for life, I
reached down one foot as far as it
would go. seeking for some other
holding, only to find the toe of my
shoe kicking aimlessly about In the
thin air
Now I shouted aloud, shouted in a
voice that seemed to my Inflamed
senses, to carry right away down the
hillside to the very ship. Onlv the dull
echoes came back to me mockingly.
Again and again I yelled, until my
throat was parched and smarting.
When I had grown sick and incapable
of fhouting more I resigned myself
to death.
But I was not thirty, and the de
sire for life was strong in my soul, I
would not die. I grated it out a dozen
times—yes, even though X felt my
hands slowly numbing and the black
ened blood pulsing like a sledge
hammer beat in my temples. I would
struggle until the last ounce of my
strength was exhausted.
Now I reckon I must have been
hanging to the branch for something
over two hours by this, and I defy
anybody, even the stoutest athlete, to
draw himself up chin high to a hori
zontal bar after hanging suspended
for one-half the time. But I did it.
uneasily enough, but with many
pantings and smugglings, but I did
it. I was a strong man, and the love
of life added to my strength.
Then I had a happy inspiration. I
wore a stout leather belt about my
waist; by dint of much wriggling I
was able to loosen It. and swing clear.
BIRMINGHAM EXCUR
SION ROUND TRIP $2.50.
Special train leaves Old
Depot September 22. Re
turn on regular trains.
SEABOARD.
CHICHESTER S PILLS
. T , HK wiamosb
jGlkN {'•diet! Auk T»mr A
I'....
bo»e«, w
Tsk. i, .tb»r Bjr ,fVnr V
kiway. RcHab),
SOLD By DRUGGISTS EVERYWHFITC
CHANGE
Suburban Schedule
Central of Georgia
Railway
Effective kSeptember 14. suburban
train No. 108 will leave Atlanta 6:15
p. m. instead of 6:10 p. m. Arrive
Jonesboro 7:15 p. m.
Adv.
DINING CARS
WITH A’LA CARTE SERVICE
TO CINCINNATI & LOUISVILLE
I
t i
I
Working strenuously, my teeth assist
ing my free hand. I managed to bind
the arm that was over the branch to
the branch Itself. Then I counted
myself safe. No matter If my strength
railed me I should not fall. And I
prayed that some succor might ap
pear when morning came.
Then I must have lost conseious-
ness for a while, for my recollections
of the ensuing time are hazy in the
extreme. I awoke at I art chilled to
the bone, and a feeling as of gnawing
teeth in my upper arm where the
strap held me safely. I was wholly
worn-out. but my first instinct was
to cast my aching eyes above. Then
I saw something that brought my
heart to my mouth again. A faint
greyness showed In the sky; X could
See it through the interlacing
branches overhead. I saw then that
my conceptions of the distance I had
fallen were altogether at fault. I
could not have descended more than
forty feet before I struck a branch,
but that hardly altered the terrible
circumstances of the case. How was
I to climb up again to safety?
I gritted my teeth when the
thought came to me, and looked
downward. All was still dark but
the light was gradually filling the
upper spaces. At last the radiant
daylight clothed me wher« X hung; it
traveled downward. And within ten
minutes more I saw what I saw.
When I had been hanging at the
greatest strength of my arms the floor
of the pit was barely two feet away
from my toes; good, sound earth! If
I had released my holding I should
have been perfectly safe. But there
is a lock of white hair above my left
ear to show what that night of horror
spelt for-me.
The Stranger.
A stranger knocked at a man’s
door and told him of a fortune to be
made.
“Urn,” said the man. “It appears
that considerable effort will be in
volved.”
“Oh, yes,” said the stranger; “you
will pass many sleepless nights and
toilsome days.”
’Um, ’ said the man. “and who ars
you ?”
“X am called Opportunity.”
“Um.” said the man, “you call your
self Opportunity, but you look like
Hard Work to me.”
And he slammed the door.