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ECHOLS ECHO Miss Iris Lund, .... Editor Eugene Lund......Manager OFFICIAL ORGAN OF ECHOLS COUNTY. ONE DOLLAR A YEAR. Entered at the Postoffice at Statenville, Georgia, as second class matter on August 24, 1915, under the act of Congress of March 3, 1879. PROFESSIONAL CARDS. JULIUS B. HICKS Attorney-At-Law Statenville, Georgia. H. W. NELSON Attorney-At-Law Statenville, Georgia. DR. E. W. PRESCOTT Physician and Surgeon Office 1st Floor Masonic Temple Statenville, Georgia. DR. J. L. DEDGE Physician and Surgeon Office at Home, Statenville, Ga. DR. M. H. PEARCE Physician and Surgeon Phone 4103 Howell, Ga. COUNTY DIRECTORY. Superior Court. • W. E. Thom¬ as, Judge. Tuesday after first Monday March and September. Ordinary’s Court. J. E. Par¬ rish. First Monday in each month. Commissioners’ Court, J. W. Sowell, Chairman; L. Davis, J. B. Corbett, Jr. First Monday in each month. County Court. T. C. Ham. Second Monday in each month. \V. D. Clayton, Clerk. J. J. Sharp, Sheriff. H. W. Nelson, Solicitor. L. R. Prescott, Tax Collector. P. W. Kinsey, Tax Assessor. Arthur Hughs, Coroner. J. D. DeLoach, Surveyor. J. G. Prine, School Superinten¬ dent. ADVERTISING □ read by the people □ arc because it gives them news of absorbing in¬ terest. People no longer go looking about for things they want—they go to their newspaper for information as to where such things may be found. This method saves time and trouble. If you want to bring your wares to the atten¬ tion of this community, our advertising columns Should Contain Your □□□□□□□ This Space Is for Sale at very rea¬ sonable rates Why not use r it to advertise r * your wares m THE ECHO, STATENVILLE, GEORGIA. vt*. s, • *:t f.V 4; \, A.tVv , -si orr" * ~ coH/aiaHr 4» o^ck. lonp CHAPTER XXVI—Continued. — 20 — . A peep at Wolf Larsen showed me that he had not moved. A bright thought struck me. I stole into his state room and possessed myself of his revolvers. There were no other weapons, though I thoroughly ran¬ sacked the three remaining state¬ rooms. To make sure, I returned and went through the steerage and fore¬ castle, and in the galley gathered up all the sharp meat and vegetable knives. Then I bethought me of the great yachtman’s knife he always car¬ ried, and I came to him and spoke to him, first softly, then loudly. He did not move. I bent over and took it from his pocket. I breathed more freely. He had no arms with which to attack me from a distance; while I, armed, could always forestall him should he attempt to grapple me with his terrible gorilla arms. Filling a coffee pot and frying pan with part of my plunder, and taking some chinaware from the cabin pan¬ try, I left Wolf Larsen lying in the sun and went ashore. Maud was still asleep. I blew up the embers (we had not yet arranged a winter kitchen) and quite feverish¬ ly cooked the breakfast. Toward the end, I heard her moving about within the hut, making her toilet. Just as all was ready and the coffee poured, the door opened and she came forth. “It's not fair of you,” was her greet¬ ing. “You are usurping one of my prerogatives. You know you agreed that the cooking should be mine, and—” “But Just this once,” I pleaded. "If you promise not to do It again,” she smiled. “Unless, of course, you have grown tired of my poor efforts.” To my delight she never once looked toward the beach, and I maintained the banter with such success that all unconsciously she sipped coffee from the china cup, ate fried evaporated potatoes, and spread marmalade on her biscuit. But it could not last. I saw the surprise that came over her. She had discovered the china plate from which she was eating. She looked over the breakfast, noting de¬ tail after detail. Then she looked at me, and her face turned slowly to¬ ward the beach. “Humphrey!” she cried. The old unnamable terror mounted into her eyes. “Is—he—?” she quavered. 1 nodded my head. CHAPTER XXVII. We waited all day for Wolf Larsen to come ashore. It was an intolerable period of anxiety. Each moment one or the other of us cast expectant glances toward the Ghost. But he did not come. He did not even appear on deck. “Perhaps it is his headache,” I said. “I left him lying on the poop. He may lie there all night. I think I’ll go and see.” Maud looked entreaty at me. “It is all right,” I assured her. “I shall take the revolvers. You know I collected every weapon on board.” “But there are his arms, his hands, his terrible, terrible hands!” she ob¬ jected. And then she cried, "Oh, Hum¬ phrey, I am afraid of him! Don’t go —please don’t go!” She rested her hand appealingly on mine, and sent my pulse fluttering. My heart was surely in my eyes for a moment. The dear and lovely woman! And she was so much the woman, clinging and appealing, sunshine and dew to my manhood, rooting it deeper and sending through it the sap of a new strength. I was for putting my arm around her, as when in the door of the hut; but I considered, and re¬ frained. “1 shall not take any risks,” I said. “YU merely peep over the bow and see." She pressed my hand earnestly and let mo go. But the space on deck where I had left him *lying ,was va¬ cant. He had evidently gone below. That night we stood alternate watches, one of us sleeping at a time; for there was no telling what Wolf Larsen might do. He was certainly capable of anything. The next day we waited, and the aevt, and still he mad' no sign. "Tht.'se headaches of his, these at¬ tacks,” Maud said, on the afternoon of the fourth day; "perhaps he is Ill, Very ill. He may be dead.” I waited, smiling inwardly at the woman of her which compelled a solic¬ itude for Wolf Larsen, of all creatures. Where was her solicitude for me, 1 thought—for me whom she had been afraid to have merely peep aboard? She was too subtle not to follow the trend of my silence. And she was as direct as she was subtle. “You must, go aboard, Humphrey, and find out,’ she said. “And if you want to laugh at me, you have my consent and forgiveness.” I arose obediently and went down the beach. "Do be careful,” she called after mo. I waved my arm from the forecastle head and dropped down to the deck. I took off my shoes and went noise¬ lessly aft in my stocking feet. Cau¬ tiously descending, I found the cabin deserted. The door to his stateroom was closed. At first I thought of knocking, then I remembered my oa tensible errand and resolved to carry it out. Carefully avoiding noise, I lifted the trapdoor In the floor and set it to one side. The slop chest, as well as the provisions, was stored in the lazaretto, and I took advantage of the opportunity to lay in a stock of under¬ clothing. As I emerged from the lazaretto I heard sounds in Wolf Larsen’s state¬ room. I crouched and listened. The doorknob rattled. Furtively, instinct¬ ively, I slunk back behind the table and drew and cocked my revolver. The door swung open and he came forth. Never had I seen so profound a despair as that which I saw on his face—the face of Wolf Larsen the fighter, the strong man, the indomi¬ table one. For all the world like a woman wringing her hands, he raised his clenched fists and groaned. One fist unclosed, and the open palm swept across his eyes as though brushing away cobwebs. “God! God!” he groaned, and the clenched fists were raised again to the infinite despair with which his throat vibrated. ftas It was 'iiorrible. >1 trembling all over, and I could feel the shivers running up and down my spine and the sweat standing out on my fore¬ head. Surely there can be little in this world more awful than the spec¬ tacle of a strong man in the moment when he is utterly weak and broken. But Wolf Larsen regained control of himself by an exertion of his re¬ markable will. And it was exertion. His whole frame shook with the strug¬ gle. He caught his breath once or twice and sobbed. Then he was suc¬ cessful. I could have thought him the old Wolf Larsen, and yet there was in his movements a vague sug¬ gestion of weakness and indecision. He started for the companionway, and stepped forward quite as I had been accustomed to see him do; and yet again, in his very walk, there seemed that suggestion of weakness and inde¬ cision. I rose swiftly to my feet, and, I know, quite unconsciously assumed a defiant attitude. He took no notice of me. Nor did he notice the open trap. Before I could grasp the situa¬ tion, or act, he had walked right into the trap. One foot w’as descending into the opening, while the other foot was just on the verge of beginning the up¬ lift. But when the descending foot missed the solid flooring and felt va¬ cancy beneath, it was the old Wolf Larsen and the tiger muscles that made the falling body spring across the opening, even as it fell, so that he struck on his chest and stomach, with arms outstretched, on the floor of the op'posite side. The next in¬ stant he had drawn up his legs and rolled clear. But he rolled into my marmalade and underclothes and against the trapdoor. - The expression on his face was one of complete comprehension. But be¬ fore I could guess what he had com¬ prehended, he had dropped the trap¬ door into place, closing the lazaretto. Then I understood. He thought he had me inside. Also, he was blind, blind as a bat. I watched him, breathing carefully so that he should not hear me. He stepped quickly to his state¬ room. I saw his hand miss the door¬ knob by an inch, quickly fumble for it, and find it. This was my chance. I tiptoed across the cabin and to the top of the stairs, He came back, dragging a heavy sea chest, which he deposited on top of the trap. Not content with this, he fetched a second chest and placed it on top of the first. Then he gathered up the marmalade and underclothes and put them on the table. When he started up the com¬ panionway, I retreated, silently roll¬ ing over on top of the cabin. He shoved the slide part way back and rested his arms on it, his body still in the companionway. His atti- tude was of one looking forward the length of the schooner, or staring, rather, for his eyes were fixed and unblinking. I was only five feet away and directly in what should have been his line of vision. It was uncanny. I felt myself a ghost, what of my invis¬ ibility. I waved my hand back and forth, of course without effect; but when the moving shadow fell across his face I saw at once that he was susceptible to the impression, His face became more expectant and tense as he tried to analyze and identify the impression. Giving over his attempt to deter¬ mine the shadow, he stepped on deck and started forward, walking with a swiftness and confidence which sur¬ prised me. And still there was that hint of the feebleness of the blind in his walk. 1 knew it now for what it was. To my amused chagrin, he discov¬ ered my shoes on the forecastle head and brought them back with him Into the galley. I watched him build the fire and set about cooking food for himself; then I stole into the cabin for my marmalade and underclothes, slipped back past the galley, and climbed down to the beach to deliver my barefoot report. CHAPTER XXVIII. “It’s too bad the Ghost has lost her masts. Why, we could sail away in her. Don’t you think we could, Humphrey?” I sprang excitedly to my feet. “I wonder, I wonder,” I repeated, pacing up and down. Maud’s eyes were shining with an¬ ticipation as they followed me. She had such faith in me! And the thought of it was so much added pow¬ er. I remembered Michelet’s “To man, woman is as the earth was to her legendary son; he has but to fall down and kiss her breast and he is strong again.” For the first time I knew the wonderful truth of his words. Why, I was living them. Maud .tk 7B9E; |ij y,; ullllilL '1 # ft £ I few*® A 9 1t\ He Shoved the Slide Part Way Back and Rested His Arms in It. was all this to me, an unfailing source of strength and courage. I had but to look at her, or think of her, and be strong again. “It can be done, it can be done,” I was thinking and asserting aloud. "What men have done, I can do; and if they have never done this before, still I can do it.” “What? for goodness sake,” Maud demanded. “Do be merciful. What is it you can do?” “We can do it,” I amended. “Why, nothing else than put the masts back into the Ghost and sail away.” "Humphrey!” she exclaimed. And I felt as proud of my conception as if it were already a fact accom¬ plished. “But how is it possible to be done?” she asked. “I don’t know,” was my answer. “I know only that I am capable of doing anything these days.” I smiled proudly at her—too proud¬ ly, for she dropped her eyes and was for the moment silent. “But there is Captain Larsen,” she objected. "Blind and helpless,” I answered promptly, waving him aside as a straw. “But those terrible hands of his! You know how he leaped across the opening of the lazaretto.” “And you know also how I crept about and avoided him,” I contended gayly. “And lost your shoes.” "You’d hardly expect them to avoid Wolf Larsen without my feet inside of them.” We both laughed, and then went seriously to work constructing the plan whereby we were to step the masts of the Ghost and return to the world. Maud stood silently by my side, while I evolved in my mind the contrivance known among sailors as “shears.” But, though known to sailors, I invented it there on En¬ deavor island. By crossing and iaBh- lng the ends of two spars, and then elevating them In the air like an In¬ verted “V,” I could get a point above the deck to which to make fast my hoisting tackle. To this hoisting tackle I could, If necessary, attach a second hoisting tackle. And then there was the windlass! Maud saw that I had achieved a solution and her eyes warmed sympa¬ thetically. "What are you going to do?" she asked. “Clear that raffle,” I answered, pointing to the tangled wreckage over side. Ah, the decisiveness, the very sound of the words, was good in my ears. “Clear that raffle!” Imagine so salty a phrase on the lips of the Hum¬ phrey Van Weyden of a few months gone! There must have been a touch of the melodramatic in my pose and voice, for Maud smiled. Her sense of humor was really the artist’s instinct for proportion. “I’m sure I’ve heard it before, some¬ where, in books,” she murmured glee¬ fully. I had an instinct for proportion my¬ self, and I collapsed forthwith, de¬ scending from the dominant pose of a master of matter to a state of hum¬ ble confusion which was, to say the least, very miserable. Her hand leaped out at once to mine. "I’m so sorry,” she said. “No need to be,” I gulped. “It does me good. There’s too much of the schoolboy in me. All of which i3 neither here nor there. What we’ve got to do is actually and literally to clear that raffle. If you’ll come with me in the boat, we’ll get to work and straighten things out.” “ ‘When the topmen clear the raffle with their claspknives in their teeth,’” she quoted at me; and for the rest of the afternoon we made merry over our labor. Her task was to hold the boat in po¬ sition while I worked at the tangle. And such a tangle—halyards, sheets, guys, downhauls, shrouds, stays, all washed about and back and forth and through, and twined and knotted by the sea. I cut no more than was nec¬ essary, and what with passing the long ropes under and around the booms and masts, of unreeving the halyards and sheets, or coiling down in the boat and uncoiling in order to pass through another knot in the bight, I was soon wet to the skin. The sails did require some cutting, and the canvas, heavy with water, tried my strength severely; but I suc¬ ceeded before nightfall in getting it all spread out on the beach to dry. We were both very tired when we knocked off for supper, and we had done good work, too, though to the eye- it appeared insignificant. Next morning, with Maud as able assistant, I went into the hold of the Ghost to clear the steps of the mast butts. We had no more than Degun work when the sound of my knocking and hammering brought Wolf Larsen. “Hello below!” he cried down the open hatch. The sound of his voice made Maud quickly draw close to me, as for pro tection, and she rested one hand on my arm while we parleyed. “Hello on deck,” I replied. “Good morning to you.” "What are you doing down there?" he demanded. “Trying to scuttle my ship for me?” “Quite the opposite; I’m repairing her,” was my answer. “But what in thunder are you re¬ pairing?” There was puzzlement in his voice. “Why, I’m getting everything ready for restepping the masts,” I replied easily, as though it were the simplesi. project imaginable. “It seems as though you’re standing on your own legs at last, Hump,” we heard him say; and then for some time he was silent. “But I say, Hump,” he called down, “you can’t do it.” . “Oh, yes I can,” I retorted. “I’m do ing it now.” “But this Is my vessel, my particu lar property. What if I forbid you?” “You forget,” I replied. “You are no longer the biggest bit of the ferment. You were, once, and able to eat me, as you were pleased to phrase it; but there has been a diminishing, and I am now able to eat you. The yeast has grown stale.” He gave a short, disagreeable laugh. “I see you’re working my phi¬ losophy back on me for all it is worth. But don’t make the mistake of under¬ estimating me. For your own good 1 warn you.” “Since when have you become * philanthropist?” I queried. “Confess now, in warning me for my own good that you are very inconsistent.” He ignored my sarcasm, saying, “Suppose I clap the hatch on, now? You won’t fool me as you did in thf lazaretto.” (TO BE CONTINUED.) Varieties of Siamese Rice. More than forty varieties of rice are cultivated in Siam, one of which ripens in 70 days^from planting and. others in six months.