Title: Harper's Round Table, February 2, 1897
Author: Various
Language: English
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[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]

Copyright, 1897, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 1897. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.

VOL. XVIII.--NO. 901. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration]

CRYING TOMMY.

BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.


Jenks, the master-at-arms, otherwise known as Jimmylegs, was the best
Jimmylegs in the naval service of the United States. His countenance was
usually as stolid as a mummy's, and his voice as steady as the Sphinx's
might have been. He would have announced "The magazine is on fire, sir,"
in precisely the same tone as "John Smith has broken his liberty, sir."
Therefore when Mr. Belton, First Lieutenant of the training-ship
_Spitfire_, in his first interview after coming aboard, detected a
rudimentary grin upon Jimmylegs's usually impassive face, he stopped
short in the perilous operation of shaving while the ship had a sharp
roll on, and asked:

"What is it, master-at-arms? Out with it!"

"Just this, sir," replied old Jenks, crossing his arms and tugging at
his left whisker with his right hand. "Along o' that 'prentice boy,
Hopkins--the other boys call him Crying Tommy, because he's always
blubbering about something or 'nother. That boy'd be worth good money to
a undertaker, he's got such a distressful countenance. Well, sir, I
brought him down, with a batch o' other boys from the training-station,
and he didn't half seem to like going aboard ship. Howsomedever, I never
misdoubted as how he'd jump the ship. But after them boys was landed at
the dock, I looked around, and there wasn't no Crying Tommy. I brought
the rest of 'em along, and reported on board ship, and then I started
out on a quiet hunt for that there boy. I didn't have no luck, though;
but about dark that evening there come over the for'ard gangway a great
strappin' red-headed girl about fifteen, holdin' on to Crying Tommy like
grim death, and he scared half out of his wits. She marches him up to
me, and she says, 'Here's that dratted boy'--dratted was the very word
she used, sir--and she kep' on, 'He won't run away no more, I think--not
if my name is Mary Jane Griggs.' And I says to her, bowin' and tryin' to
keep from grinnin', for the girl had as honest a face, sir, as I ever
clapped eyes on, 'Miss Griggs, may I ask what relation you are to Mr.
Hopkins here?' And she snapped out: 'Not a bit; only after his mother
died we took him in our house, and he paid his way--when he could. Then
one day I read in the paper about naval apprentices, and I said to
Tommy, "That's the place for you." So he went and signed the articles.
That was six months ago. And this afternoon, when I come home from the
box factory where I works, there was this great lummux.' Well! how her
eyes did flash! Mr. Belton, I'm afraid o' red-headed women and girls,
sir--that I am--and Crying Tommy, I saw, was in mortal fear of Mary Jane
Griggs. And she says, 'I marched him straight back; he bellowed like a
calf--he's the greatest crier I ever see; but I want you to take him and
make him behave himself.' 'I will endeavor to do so, Miss Griggs,' says
I, and then she gave her flipper to the boy, and went off home, I
suppose, and we sailed that night."

"Well, what sort of a boy is he?" asked the Lieutenant.

Jimmylegs tugged at his whiskers harder than ever.

"Well, sir," he said, presently, "the boy ain't no shirk. He's a
foretopman, and the captain of the foretop says he's the smartest boy
he's got aloft. But he keeps on crying, and I'm mightily afraid he'll
start some of the other boys to crying, and they'll think the ship is a
penitentiary. Low spirits is ketchin','specially in the foc's'l', and I
wish that blessed brat would stop his bawling. I'd like you to speak to
him, sir; you've got such a fine way with boys, sir." Which was true
enough.

"Send him here," said the Lieutenant, wiping his face after his shave.

Presently there came a timid knock at the door, and Crying Tommy
appeared. He was a sandy-haired boy of sixteen, ill-grown for his age,
and of a most doleful countenance.

"Well, my lad," said the Lieutenant, cheerily, "I hear that you are
always piping your eye. What's that for?"

Crying Tommy shook his head helplessly, but said nothing.

"Do the men run you?"

"Yes, sir; but--'taint that."

"Do you get enough to eat?"

"Yes, sir--never had such good grub in my life before."

"Then what in the name of sense are you always howling for?"

Crying Tommy looked about him more helplessly than ever, and then burst
out suddenly and desperately:

"I don't know, sir, except that I've always had--somebody to look out
for me. Mary Jane Griggs done that--she's a corker, sir--and she made me
go and be a 'prentice--and I didn't want to; she made me go--that she
did, sir!"

"I'm not surprised that Mary Jane wanted to get rid of you if this is
the way you acted. Now mind; do you stop this boo-hooing, and do your
duty _cheerfully_. Do you understand me? For I hear that you do your
duty. And if you don't, why"--here the Lieutenant quickly assumed his
"quarter-deck" voice and roared out, "_I'll give you something to cry
for!_"

Crying Tommy fled down the gangway. Half an hour afterwards the
Lieutenant was on the bridge, the anchor was picked up, the _Spitfire_
was spreading her white wings to the freshening breeze. Mr. Belton,
watch in hand, was keenly observing the young bluejackets, and when he
saw that all plain sail was made within ten minutes, he put his watch
back with a feeling of satisfaction. He had sailor-boys to count on, not
farmers and haymakers, aloft. Especially had he noticed one boy, who,
laying out with cat-like swiftness on the very end of the topsail-yard,
did his work with a quickness and steadiness that many an old
man-o'-war's man might have envied. When this smart youngster landed on
deck Mr. Belton was surprised to see that it was Crying Tommy, looking,
as usual when he was not crying, as if he were just ready to begin.

But Mr. Belton had something else to study besides the boys, and this
was the ship. The _Spitfire_ was a fine old-fashioned, tall-masted,
big-sparred frigate, which could leg it considerably faster under her
great sails than under her small engines. She had the spacious quarters
for officers and the roomy airy spaces between decks for the men of the
ships of her class, and was altogether a much more comfortable ship for
cruising than the modern floating forts that could have blown her out of
the water with a single round. Stanch and weatherly, Mr. Belton had but
one fault to find with her, and that was her powder-magazine was exactly
where it ought not to have been; the breech of one of her guns was
directly over the chute by which the ammunition was handed up. Whenever
that gun was fired, Mr. Belton would go up to the gun captain and give
him a look of warning, and the man would respond to this silent caution
by touching his cap. Nevertheless, the Lieutenant said to himself
sometimes, "If we finish this cruise without some trouble with the
magazine, the _Spitfire_ will deserve her name of a lucky ship."

They had sailed in April, and six very satisfactory weeks had been
passed at sea. Homesickness and seasickness had disappeared after the
first week, and the whole ship's company from the Captain down--who
rejoiced in such a First Lieutenant as Mr. Belton--was happy and
satisfied, with the possible exception of Crying Tommy. The
master-at-arms never had so little disagreeable work to do, and so he
told Mr. Belton one Sunday morning after inspection.

"By-the-way," asked the Lieutenant, "I see that Hopkins boy is doing
well. He has never had a report against him. Has he stopped that habit
of howling for nothing?"

"Well, sir," replied old Jimmylegs, "he has, partly. The other boys
laughed at him, and that done him good. They've caught on to Mary Jane,
and they asks him if he has to report to Mary Jane twicet a day when he
is ashore, and such like pullin' of his legs as boys delights in. The
other day, sir, he got to cryin' about something or 'nother, and they
run him too hard. I saw 'em and heard 'em, but they didn't know it. Fust
thing Crying Tommy lights out from the shoulder, and laid the biggest of
'em sprawlin', and they shoved off pretty quick, sir. I didn't think as
'twas my duty to report him for fightin', and I 'ain't never had
occasion to report him for nothin' else. A better boy nor a smarter at
his duty I 'ain't never seen, sir."

One lovely May morning a few days after this found the _Spitfire_ off
the glorious bay of Naples. The sun shone from a sapphire sky upon a
sapphire sea, while in the distance rose the darker blue cone of
Vesuvius, crowned with fire and flame. Across the rippling water swept
innumerable sail-boats, while tall-masted merchantmen and steamships
with inky smoke pouring out of their black funnels ploughed their way in
and out the harbor. Near a huge government mole half a dozen majestic
war-ships, strung out in a semicircle, rode at anchor. A great British
battle-ship, all black and yellow, towered over the smart little cruiser
near by, which also flew a British ensign from her peak. Not far away
lay a French ship with remarkably handsome masts and spars and a
wicked-looking ram as sharp as a knife, that could cut an armored ship
in half like a cheese if ever she got the chance. Farther off still lay
three Italian men-of-war, from one of which flew the blue flag of an
Admiral. The Captain of the _Spitfire_ was with Mr. Belton on the bridge
as they came in, with a fair wind, and a mountain of canvas piled on the
ship. The Captain, knowing that no man could handle a sailing-ship more
beautifully than his First Lieutenant, was quite willing that he should
show his expertness before the thousands of sailors watching the
_Spitfire_. On she rushed, the water bellowing against her sides as her
keen bows cut her way through the blue waves. Mr. Belton, with a
seaman's eye, selected an admirable anchorage, and just as the
on-lookers were wondering where the _Spitfire_ meant to bring up, she
made a beautiful flying move. Her yards were squared like magic, and her
sails furled with almost incredible swiftness. With a gleam like
lightning and a rattle like thunder her cable rushed out of the
hawse-hole, and scarcely had the splash of her anchor resounded when the
Italian colors were broken at the mast-head and the first gun of the
salute boomed over the bright water.

"Well done, _Spitfire_!" cried the Captain; and well done it was.

Twenty guns roared out, with scarcely a second's difference in their
steady boom!--boom!--boom!--and then there was a sudden break before the
twenty-first gun was fired. Mr. Belton turned, and his eye instinctively
flashed upon the starboard gun over the magazine. Yes, there it
was--that accident he had been looking for ever since he set foot on the
ship. The shreds of a blazing cartridge-bag dropped under the breech,
and a faint puff of wind blew them over the edge of the open chute, and
down they went into the powder-magazine.

The Lieutenant hardly knew how he reached the deck and sped along it,
but in a moment he had leaped down the ladder toward the open door of
the magazine, where an ominous crackling was heard. And instead of half
a dozen men at work flooding the magazine, there were half a dozen pale,
wild-eyed, and panic-stricken creatures, as the bravest will be
sometimes, crowding out into the passage, and quite dazed with fear.

"Return to your duty!" shouted Mr. Belton, feeling for his pistol, and
not finding it, seizing a bucket of water that was handy and dashing it
in the men's faces. The shock brought them to their senses; they stopped
in their mad flight and turned toward the magazine. Mr. Belton rushed
like a catapult among them, wedged together in the narrow passage, and
right behind was old Jimmylegs with a bucket of water. They could see a
boyish figure on hands and knees in the magazine with a wet swab,
crawling about and putting out the sparks that flashed from all over the
floor. The next moment the whole floor was awash; the danger was over,
and Mr. Belton and the master-at-arms had time to observe that the boy
who had stood to his post when men fled was Crying Tommy, and he was
crying vigorously. When he saw that the fire was out, he sat down on the
wet floor and began to howl louder than ever. Old Jimmylegs seized him
by the shoulder, and giving him a shake that made his teeth rattle in
his head, bawled,

"Choke a luff, and tell the orficer about the fire!"

Crying Tommy was so scared at this that he actually stopped weeping, and
wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket.

"I see the loose powder on the floor burning, and the men saw it, and
then one of em called out, 'Oh Lord! we're dead men!' and they all ran
away." Here Crying Tommy piped up again.

"And you didn't run away. Go on," said Mr. Belton.

"And I reached out for the swab and the water-bucket, and I swabbed the
floor the best I could."

"A-cryin' all the time, no doubt," put in old Jimmylegs.

"I couldn't help it, sir," whimpered Crying Tommy.

"Well," said Mr. Belton, "you had something to cry for this time. Now
get out of here. You've saved the ship."

Not long after this, one Sunday morning, the boatswain was directed to
pipe all hands up and aft. And when all the officers and men were
assembled, the Captain read out the appointment of Thomas Hopkins,
apprentice boy, as acting gunner's mate for his gallantry in putting out
the fire in the magazine on that May morning. Then Mr. Belton handed
Tommy a handsome watch as a gift from the officers, at which the men
cheered, and Tommy bowed and bowed again, and presently put up his
ever-ready jacket sleeve to his eye; and the officers roared with
laughing and the men grinned, and Tommy went below, weeping but very
happy.

One day, some years after this, Mr. Belton and old Jimmylegs, who were
then on different ships, met at the navy-yard gate, and, being old
shipmates, they exchanged very warm greetings. Presently there passed
them a smart-looking young gunner, and holding his arm was a tall
fine-looking young woman in a red gown, with a red feather in her hat,
red cheeks, and a brilliant red head, and she looked very proud and
smiling. Her companion, on the contrary, seemed overcome with
bashfulness on seeing the Lieutenant and the old master-at-arms, and
hurriedly saluting, made off in the opposite direction, looking
uncommonly sheepish.

"That, sir," said Jimmylegs, with a sly grin, "is Gunner Hopkins, and
that is Mrs. Hopkins. They're just married. He used to be called Crying
Tommy, and she was Mary Jane Griggs, sir."

"I remember," answered the Lieutenant, smiling.



A BOY'S APPEAL.


  I wonder if grown people who have all their growing done
  Remember, as they sit at ease, that growing isn't fun.
  One's legs and arms have separate aches, one's head feels half asleep,
  But every day, let come what may, at school one has to keep.

  And there the teachers never say, "Just study as you please,"
  When shooting pains are flying round about a fellow's knees.
  Reports say, "Tommy's progress is not what is desired,"
  And fathers call you lazy when you're only deadly tired.

  You have to learn the things you hate; it almost makes you sick,
  There's such a lot of grammar, there's so much arithmetic,
  The maps and boundaries to draw, the text to get by heart,
  And all the while those growing pains to pull your joints apart!

  Now skating, and snowballing, and managing a wheel,
  Are very, very different things; though tired you may feel,
  You manage not to mind it; the time goes rushing so
  That you are interested and forget you have to grow.

  Dear mothers and grandmothers, they seem to understand;
  All boys should always meet them, bowing deeply, cap in hand,
  For _they_ have sense, and don't expect what fellows cannot do,
  Though other people laugh and say, it's all the point of view.

  But, oh! if grown-up gentlemen with growing safely done,
  Would just remember now and then that growing isn't fun,
  Perhaps they'd make it easier for boys who'd like to be
  A trifle brighter, if they could, but are growing just like me.

  TOMMY TRADDLES.



GOLF ON SHIPBOARD.


Marine golf is the very latest aberration of golfing genius, and though
the new game is but a distant relative of the "Royal and Ancient," its
novelty may commend it to those who want amusement on long sea-voyages,
and who have wearied of "shuffleboard" and "deck quoits."

It is evident that a ball is out of the question, and in its place is
employed a disk of wood about four and a half inches in diameter. A
rather heavy walking-stick, with a right-angled, flat-crooked head, is
the "club," and serves every purpose from driving to holing out. The
holes are circles about six inches in diameter chalked upon the deck,
and the links are only bounded by the available deck space, the good
nature of the Captain, and the rights of the non-golfing passengers.

Hatches, companionways, and the deck furniture in general serve as
bunkers, and the ship's roll is an omnipresent and all-pervading hazard.

As the disk is propelled over the deck and not sent into the air,
hitting is useless, and the proper stroke is something between a push
and a drag, with the club laid close behind the disk. The player, in
driving, stands with both feet slightly in advance of the disk, the
shuffleboard push from behind being barred. As the club is virtually in
contact with the disk, or "puck," keeping one's "e'e on the ba'" is not
necessary--in fact, the best results will be obtained by aiming as in
billiards and kindred games. A good drive will propel the disk for forty
yards along the deck--that is, if the wind does not interfere by getting
under the disk and sending it wildly gyrating into the scuppers. The
carrom is permissible, and furnishes occasion for scientific play, but
the great sport of the game lies in the skilful utilization of the
pitching and rolling of the ship. The disk takes a bias from the angle
of the deck, and some impossible shots may be triumphantly brought
off--round the corner, for instance. Even in putting, marine golf may
lay just claim to the variety which is the spice of (sporting) life. On
a gray day the boards will be half as slow again as when the sun is
shining, while with any spray coming aboard it is impossible to tell
whether the disk will drag or slide.



BOYS IN WALL STREET.

BY COL. THOMAS W. KNOX,

AUTHOR OF THE "BOY TRAVELLERS" SERIES.


The visitor to Wall Street in business hours will see many active,
bright, pleasant-looking boys moving more or less rapidly in all
directions, and evidently absorbed in work. Some are in blue or gray
uniforms, but the majority are in plain clothes, and almost invariably
neatly dressed. The uniformed are employed by telegraph and messenger
companies, the others by bankers, brokers, and other men of affairs.

Their chances of rising are about as many as boys ever have--the really
able, honest, and pushing boys go up as they grow older. As a
dignified-looking gentleman passes along the sidewalk we are told: "That
is the president of the ---- Bank. He knows Wall Street and all its ins
and outs. Been here all his life. Began as an office-boy in a brokerage
house; became partner; got elected a member of the Stock Exchange; now
he is near the top of the heap. I could name several bank presidents who
began as brokers' boys at two or three dollars a week."

Our informant went on, "Yes, and there are lots of cashiers of banks and
other banking officials who began life in the same way. The partners in
a great many banking and brokerage firms began as Wall Street boys."

Boys have begun in Wall Street at one dollar a week. Employers can
generally tell in a week or two whether the boy is likely to "amount to
anything." If the boy is faithful and energetic his wages are advanced
so that he gets three dollars a week in two or three months from the
start. Boys usually get not far from one hundred and fifty or two
hundred dollars for the first year, and from three hundred upwards the
second year. A prominent banker of New York once told me:

"My father died when I was sixteen years old, and that threw my mother
and myself on our own resources. We had so little money or property that
it was necessary for me to leave school and go to work. As the late
Thurlow Weed had been a warm friend of my father, I came to New York to
ask for his influence in getting a clerkship in the Custom-house, or
something of the sort. I knew Mr. Weed as a boy of my age would know a
man of his, and he greeted me cordially. When I had told him my story he
said:

"'Now, Charley, find a cheap boarding-place and send your address to me.
Don't come to me again, but as soon as I have anything for you I will
write to you. Meantime look around and see what you can find for
yourself.'

"I did as he told me, and a week went by without my hearing from him.
One day I found a place in a broker's office where they would pay me two
hundred dollars a year, and that very day I received a letter from Mr.
Weed saying he had a place for me in the Custom-house at seven hundred
dollars a year. I went to him, thanked him for his kindness, and
declined his offer, telling him I preferred the broker's office,
although the salary was much smaller. He patted me on the shoulder and
said,

"'Charley, you have decided rightly, and you'll never regret it.'

"And I never have. I think it was pretty smart for a boy of sixteen."

Many Wall Street boys lose their places by loitering on errands.
Employers know perfectly well how long it takes on the average to reach
a certain point, transact the necessary business, and return. There
_are_ delays now and then, but if a boy returns late to the office
several times in a day with excuses for delay his employers understand
the situation perfectly, and he is soon "bounced."

A Wall Street boy is expected to be at the office at nine o'clock in the
morning, and remain there as long as his services are needed, though he
usually gets away about four o'clock. He has an allowance of half an
hour at noon for luncheon, but the rest of the time belongs to his
employer. He is expected to be neat in appearance, clean as to hands and
face, well mannered, truthful at all times, prompt in obedience, and
faithful in guarding the secrets of his employers.

The duties first assigned to him are to carry messages, deliver stocks
at other brokerage offices, and obtain checks for them. After a while he
is advanced to making comparisons of sales of stocks and taking the
checks received from other brokers to be certified at the banks.

Of late years the Stock Exchange Clearing-house has done away with so
much of the stock delivery by boys that the number of them on the Street
is not more than half what it used to be. Formerly it was not uncommon
to see from twenty-five to one hundred boys waiting in line at each of
the prominent banks to get checks certified, and nearly every bank
employed a private policeman to keep the boys in line and in order.

A story is told of a new boy on the Street who once went to make a
delivery of stock. When the bookkeeper made up the accounts at the close
of the day he found himself eighty thousand dollars short, and an
examination of the books showed that one of the boys had failed to bring
back a check in return for some stock he had delivered.

He was perfectly innocent about the matter, and said that he had handed
the papers in at the office where he was sent to make the delivery, and
as they gave him nothing he supposed there was nothing for him to get.
His employer treated him kindly, and told him to be careful not to make
the same mistake again. He never did. That boy is now at the head of one
of the largest brokerage houses on Broad Street.

As the Wall Street boy advances in proficiency he is put upon the
purchase and sale books. Then he takes charge of the comparison tickets,
and then of the stock ledgers. Then he becomes a bookkeeper or cashier,
and if he shows himself valuable enough he receives a junior
partnership, and later on rises to a higher one.

[Illustration: WALL STREET BOYS.]

It is proper to say, however, that only a small proportion of the boys
who begin life in Wall Street work their way upward to positions of
consequence. Fully fifty per cent. of them go wrong, or, at all events,
leave the Street, and are not heard of afterward. Not less than half of
the others remain in subordinate places. Either they lack the
intelligence, energy, and fidelity necessary to secure advancement, or
they have vicious tendencies which lead them into trouble.

There is a class of speculating establishments in the neighborhood of
Wall Street which are known among the brokers as "bucket-shops," where
any one can go and risk one dollar, or as much more as he likes in
speculation in stocks. Suppose he has but one dollar; he places it upon
a certain stock, and watches the indicator till it goes up or down. If
it rises a point, he makes a dollar, but if it goes down he loses, and
the dollar he risked is wiped out.

Men with very limited capital are the chief patrons of these
bucket-shops, but a good many of the boys slip around to them, and risk
anywhere from one dollar to five dollars in speculation. Sooner or later
they come to grief. A knowledge of their conduct reaches the ears of
their employers, they lose their situations, and have great difficulty
in getting others.

Boys are taken into brokerage offices only upon good recommendations,
and it is almost invariably required that a boy shall live with his
parents and not by himself. Employers well know that a boy not living at
home is far more likely to fall into evil ways than one who has a home
and is under the eyes of father and mother.

In addition to their regular wages the boys in Wall Street offices
receive presents in money at Christmas-time, the amount depending partly
upon the good conduct of the boy himself, and partly on the condition of
business in the year just closing. If times have been hard, speculation
light, and incomes small, the broker's gratuities to his employees are
much smaller than if the reverse is the case. In the one instance, he
feels poor and forced to economize; in the other, he feels prosperous
and is liberal.

There are other kinds of boys on Wall Street than the ones just
described. In the Stock Exchange about one hundred and fifty boys are
employed as pages to run with messages for members in the Board Room,
not outside. They receive from three to five dollars a week, with a
gratuity at Christmas.

There is no prospect of these pages rising to higher positions while in
the employ of the Exchange, and when they grow too large for employment
there they drift away to other places. Many are the applicants for these
positions, and in order to secure one there a boy must be well
recommended. The pages wear gray uniforms with brass buttons, and are
generally bright little fellows who soon learn to know every member of
the Stock Exchange by name.

Perhaps two hundred members of the Stock Exchange have private
telephones in the building, and there is a squad of some fifty or more
boys in blue uniforms who look after these telephones. The Stock
Exchange has its own messenger service, each boy wearing a gray uniform
with a military cap. The duties of these messengers is to run from the
Exchange to the offices of the members.

All these boys are remembered at Christmas-time. The members of the
Exchange subscribe from five to twenty-five dollars each to make up the
gratuity fund, which is divided among the boys according to their time
of service. Those who have been there two or three years obtain quite a
handsome little present during the holiday season.

Then there are boys connected with the American District Messenger
service; there are Western Union Telegraph boys; Cable Telegraph boys;
boys in the offices of lawyers, corporations, and the like. But the
principal and most important boy of all is the one who starts in an
office at a small salary, determined to win his way to fame and fortune,
and possessing the ability and intelligence to do so.



THE MIDDLETON BOWL.[1]

[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 898.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.


CHAPTER IV.

"Boys," said Mrs. Hoyt, "the Misses Middleton have met with a great
loss. Their beautiful bowl is broken. You have seen it, and you have
heard of its value, and you can imagine how badly they feel about it,
and now they are trying to find out who broke it. You were at their
house this morning, I believe. Do you know anything about it?"

Raymond and Clement were unmistakably very much surprised. They had not
heard of the accident before, it was plainly to be seen, and they
eagerly disclaimed all knowledge of the affair.

"Was that the broken china you found in the currant-bushes?" exclaimed
Raymond. "How on earth did it get there?"

"Oh, I say!" cried Clement, in the same breath. "Teddy, what were you
and Arthur doing by the currant-bushes before the kitten's funeral?
Don't you remember, Ray?" And then he stopped abruptly. He did not want
to "give them away," he said to himself.

"And what do you know about it, Arthur?" asked his mother.

Arthur said nothing.

"Did you go into Miss Middleton's parlor this morning?"

Still there was no answer.

"Arthur, come here to me. Now tell me, darling, did you go into Miss
Middleton's parlor this morning?"

"Yes, mother," he said, in a very low voice.

"Did you break the bowl?"

The silk gowns of the three visitors rustled audibly as they leaned
forward to listen. Teddy drew a step nearer and waited eagerly for his
reply, and the other boys gathered about their mother and brother, as
though to sustain the family honor through this terrible emergency. But
Arthur remained silent.

"Did you break the bowl, Arthur?"

"No, mother, I didn't."

And then, boy of eleven though he was, and with his older brothers
looking on, he began to cry.

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Raymond, "don't be a baby, Art! If you did it, why
don't you own up?"

"Because I didn't do it," said Arthur. "I didn't do it, and I wish I'd
never seen the old bowl!"

"Why, Arthur," said Theodora, "I thought-- Are you sure you didn't do
it?"

"Of course I'm sure; just as sure as you are, or anybody else."

"Do you know anything about it?" asked Mrs. Hoyt. "Do you know who did
do it?"

To this there was no reply whatever.

"It is very strange," said Miss Joanna, grimly. "Theodora and Arthur
both had something to do with the calamity, for Arthur acknowledges that
he was there, and Theodora carried away the fragments. One of them must
be guilty of it. Is your boy truthful, Mrs. Hoyt?"

Before his mother could speak, Raymond stepped forward and stood in
front of the Misses Middleton.

"Look here," said he. "I guess you'd better understand that we Hoyts
aren't cowards and we aren't liars. If my brother Arthur broke that
bowl, you bet he'd say so!"

"Hush, Ray!" said his mother. "That is not the proper way to speak to
ladies. But I think, Miss Middleton, that what Raymond says is the case.
If Arthur had done it he would acknowledge it."

"But, Arthur," cried Teddy, whose face expressed her complete
mystification, "I thought--I don't understand!"

"Hush up!" said Arthur, between his sobs.

"Suppose we ask Teddy to give an account of what transpired this
morning," said Mrs. Hoyt. "Did you find Arthur in the parlor?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hoyt," said Theodora. "I wasn't going to tell this, on
Arthur's account, but I suppose I'll have to as long as you ask me. When
I went down to wait for Aunt Tom to go to the garden I went to the
parlor, and there I met Arthur coming out. He was crying, and he seemed
terribly frightened, and was saying, 'Hide it! hide it!' and he ran
away. When I went in, there was the bowl on the floor, broken. And then
I heard Aunt Tom coming down stairs, and I didn't stop to think, but
just picked up the pieces and carried them out under my apron."

"And is that all you know?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hoyt, it is all I know."

No one could doubt the truthfulness of this statement, and the three
Misses Middleton rose to go, satisfied, if only for the moment, that
their niece was guiltless. They drove off, Theodora occupying the fourth
seat in the old barouche, and Mrs. Hoyt was left alone with her boys.

       *       *       *       *       *

A week passed away, and the mystery of the broken bowl was as far from
being solved as it had been at the beginning. It was carefully carried
by three of the ladies to the old china-mender in the town of Alden, who
skilfully cemented the pieces together in such a manner that the
uninitiated would never discover that it had been broken; but its owners
knew only too well that this treasure was no longer what it had once
been, and their feelings had received a shock from which they could not
soon recover.

As Miss Joanna remarked, when she examined the bowl upon its return,
"Mr. Jones has done it very well; but he cannot mend our hearts, which
were broken when the Middleton bowl was broken, and even if the cracks
_are_ well hidden, they will always stare us in the face!"

Though her aunts no longer thought that Theodora was actually
responsible for the accident, they were quite sure that she knew who
was, and they censured her severely for her silence. Even Miss Thomasine
felt that she might tell them more if she would. But Teddy had already
given her version of the affair, and there was nothing more to be said.
She had supposed from the beginning that Arthur was the author of the
misfortune, and though she did not like to doubt his word, she greatly
feared that he was not speaking the truth when he denied this.

His brothers stoutly maintained his innocence when talking to Theodora,
or to any one outside of the family, but with one another they
acknowledged having some misgivings.

"You see, Art has been sick such a lot that I guess he is afraid to own
up," said they among themselves. "He isn't just like the rest of us.
Look how afraid he is in the dark, and in that spooky place in the
woods, and of lots of other things. I suppose he is afraid father will
punish him if he owns up, and so he's going to keep it dark as long as
he can."

Mr. and Mrs. Hoyt were both greatly troubled by the affair. They knew
the value of the bowl, a value which could not be made good by any
amount of money, and they knew that such a rare work of art could never
be replaced; and, besides, the fact that if Arthur had broken it he
lacked sufficient moral courage to confess was a bitter grief to them.
But the "if" was a large one, and Arthur's mother could not bring
herself to believe that her boy was not speaking the truth.

Arthur himself showed plainly that he was suffering. He grew pale and
lost his appetite; he started at every sound, and when he was
out-of-doors he would stop constantly in his play to look about
apprehensively, to peer behind bushes or trees, and to take refuge in
the house did he see any one coming.

He and Teddy discussed the subject more than once, but never with any
satisfactory result. It usually ended in his running to his mother to
declare, with tears and sobs, that he did not break the old bowl, and he
wished that he had never seen it.

In the mean time Teddy continued to ride the bicycle. Her aunts seemed
to have completely forgotten having seen her in the very act. They did
not mention the subject again, being absorbed in conjectures and grief
about the bowl, and Theodora, apparently believing that silence gave
consent, did not recall it to their minds.

The boys were all perfectly willing now that she should use their
wheels, for she soon rode as well as they did, and as there were so many
bicycles in the family, there was usually one that she could take.

One afternoon Teddy had been off on quite a little excursion by herself.
She was on Arthur's wheel, and she had gone "around the square," as they
called it, coming home by a back way. Just as she drew near her aunts'
house a heavy shower which had been gathering for some time, unnoticed
by Theodora, came pattering down.

There was hail as well as rain, and Teddy rode quickly to the house and
went in by the kitchen door. She took the wheel in with her and placed
it in the back hall, in an out-of-the-way corner, intending to return it
to Arthur as soon as the storm should be over.

But it lasted longer than she expected, and by the time it had ceased to
rain supper was ready. It was quite dark now by six o'clock, and
Theodora knew that her aunts would not allow her to go out alone so
late, so she determined to get up early the next morning, and take the
wheel back then. She said nothing of this plan, however, and did not
mention to her aunts that a hated bicycle was in the house.

In fact she was not at all sure that she was doing right to ride without
their permission, and she made up her mind that she would tell them
to-morrow. Now that she had attained her object, and had learned how,
she would not mind so much if she were forbidden by them to ride, for
she was sure that when her father and mother returned to this country in
the spring they would buy her a wheel, and until then she could wait.
Indeed, she hoped, from what she had heard her mother say, that Mrs.
Middleton would learn to ride herself, in spite of the sentiments of her
sisters-in-law upon the subject.

Eight o'clock was Teddy's bedtime, and she bade her aunts good-night at
that hour as usual. She had been asleep but a short time when she was
awakened by a commotion in the hall, most unusual in that quiet
household. There were hurried footsteps and half-smothered exclamations,
and presently she was quite sure that she heard moans of pain.

Springing out of bed, she ran to the door and opened it just in time to
see Miss Thomasine hurry through the hall with a mustard plaster in her
hand, while in the distance appeared Miss Melissa with a hot-water bag,
and from another room emerged Miss Dorcas with a bottle of medicine.

"What is the matter, Aunt Tom?" asked Teddy. "Is any one sick?"

"Your aunt Joanna is very ill," whispered Miss Thomasine, as she passed.

Much startled, Teddy went back to her room and waited. Then she
concluded to dress herself and go to her aunt's door to see if she could
be of any help. This did not take long, but when she knocked at the door
it was opened by Miss Dorcas, who told her that she had better not come
in.

Theodora was sadly frightened, and the groans which she heard did not
tend to reassure her. Her aunt must be very ill; perhaps she was even
dying.

"Have you sent for the doctor?" she asked.

"There is no one to send," said Miss Dorcas, "for John is in bed with a
bad attack of rheumatism; so your aunt Melissa is going with Catherine,
the cook. They are getting ready now, but I am afraid it will take them
a long time to get to Dr. Morton's house; and it is so very late for
women to be out alone--after ten o'clock!"

And then she shut the door again, and her niece was left alone in the
hall, with the sound of her aunt Joanna's moans in her ears.

She went to look for her aunt Melissa, and found that she was just
rousing Catherine from her first heavy slumber. Though ten o'clock was
not late in the eyes of the world, the Middleton household had been in
bed for an hour, and to them it seemed like the middle of the night.

It would take Catherine a long time to get awake, to say nothing of
dressing. Miss Melissa herself was in her wrapper, and Theodora supposed
that she would not go forth even upon an errand of life and death
without arraying herself as if for a round of calls, down to the very
last pin in the shoulder of her camel's-hair shawl--and in the mean time
Aunt Joanna might die!

How dreadful it was! Teddy wished that she could do something. She did
not love Aunt Joanna as she did either of her other aunts, but she would
do anything to save her life. She could run to Dr. Morton's in half the
time that it would take Aunt Melissa and old Catherine to get there.

Suddenly she bethought herself of Arthur's wheel down in the back entry.
She would go on that!

[Illustration: ANOTHER MOMENT SHE MOUNTED AND WAS OFF.]

No sooner said than done. She did not tell her aunts of her inspiration,
knowing that valuable time would be lost in the discussion that would
ensue, and she would probably be back before Aunt Melissa had left their
own gates. She flew down stairs, picking up her worsted cap as she ran
through the hall. It took but a moment to unfasten the back door and
lift the wheel down the short flight of steps. Another moment and she
was mounted and off.

The storm clouds had rolled away, and the sky was now perfectly clear.
The moon had risen an hour since, making the night as bright as day with
its strange, weird light, the light that transforms the world into such
a different place from that which the sun reveals. Teddy had seldom been
out at night, and now to go alone on such an errand and in such a manner
filled her with excitement.

To be fleeing away on a bicycle at dead of night to save her aunt's life
was something which she had never dreamed it would be her fate to do.

Puddles of rain-water stood here and there in her path, but the Alden
roads were noted for their excellence, and even after the heavy shower
they were hard as boards, and the pools were easily avoided. The
moonlight cast strange shadows over the lawn, and as she flew past the
gate-post it almost seemed as if some one were standing there and had
moved; but of course that was only her imagination, Teddy told herself.
The child had not a thought of fear.

Her aunts' house was on the outskirts of the town, and at this hour the
street was but little frequented, and she met no one as she skimmed over
the broad white road. Dr. Morton's house was about a mile from that of
the Misses Middleton, and it did not take long to get there. The
doctor's buggy was at the door, and he himself was just in the act of
alighting, when there was the whiz of a wheel on the gravelled driveway
and the sharp, sudden ring of a bicycle-bell.

The doctor turned in time to see a small girlish figure swing herself to
the ground.

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed he, much startled. "Who is this?"

"It's Teddy Middleton, and Aunt Joanna is very ill. Please come just as
quick as you can, Dr. Morton."

"Bless my soul!" repeated the Doctor. "You don't mean to tell me the
good ladies have allowed you to come out at this hour of the night, and
on a bicycle?"

He knew them well, and had heard them discourse more than once on the
subject of their pet aversion.

"No, they don't know anything about it," said Teddy. "And Aunt Melissa
and old Catherine are getting ready to walk here, so I must hurry back
and stop them; and I think Aunt Joanna is dying, Dr. Morton, so please
hurry."

Before the doctor could reply she had mounted her wheel and had
disappeared in the shadow of the trees at the gate. Without waiting
another moment he stepped into his buggy, and turning his tired horse
once more away from home, he drove after her as quickly as possible.

Teddy reached the house just as her aunt, clothed with the care which
she had suspected, and accompanied by the still half-asleep Catherine,
emerged from the front door. The sight of some one at the foot of the
steps nearly caused Miss Melissa to faint with horror upon the spot.

"Oh!" she gasped. "Burglars! Murder!"

"No, it isn't, Aunt Melissa. It's only Teddy. You needn't go for the
doctor; he is coming."

"Child, what do you-- Catherine, your arm, please! Surely you haven't
been--and on that!"

The unwonted excitement under which Miss Melissa was laboring caused her
to be more incoherent even than usual.

"Yes, I have been for him," said Teddy, coolly, as she lifted the
bicycle up the steps and stood it on the piazza, "and here he comes
now."

The roll of wheels and the quick tread of a horse's hoofs were heard
upon the avenue, and in another moment the doctor had alighted. Miss
Melissa, incapable of further speech, turned and followed him into the
house.

He found Miss Joanna indeed very ill with a sharp attack of the heart
trouble to which she was subject. It was some time before she was
relieved, but at length the pain passed by, and she was at least out of
danger; but it had been a narrow escape.

"If I had been five minutes later I doubt if I could have saved her,"
said the doctor, "and it is all owing to that niece of yours that I got
here in time."

"May I ask what you mean, doctor?" said Miss Middleton. "I thought that
my sister Melissa went to you."

"Miss Melissa was just about to leave the house when I drove up. That
bright little Teddy came for me on a wheel. Where she got it I don't
know, unless you have relented and given her one. If you haven't, it is
high time you did, for she deserves it for her presence of mind. And it
is high time, too, that you changed your minds about bicycles, for it is
all owing to one that Miss Joanna is alive now. I tell you that if I had
been five minutes later she wouldn't be living now."

"Oh, doctor!" exclaimed the three ladies who were with him in the room
next to Miss Joanna's, while the fourth watched by the invalid's bed.

"It is the truth," continued Dr. Morton, who was in the habit of
speaking his mind plainly to the awe-inspiring Misses Middleton as well
as to every one else; "and that bright little Teddy deserves a wheel of
her own--if you haven't given her one already."

       *       *       *       *       *

In the mean time Teddy had been wandering about the big house, not
knowing quite what to do with herself. She went to her own room at
first, but she could not stay there. It was just near enough to her aunt
Joanna for her to hear muffled sounds from her room without knowing what
they meant. She could not go in there, and her aunts were all too much
occupied in obeying the doctor's commands and in waiting upon their
sister to speak to her.

The servants had collected in the back part of the hall, very much
frightened at the state of affairs, weeping and exclaiming with one
another. Theodora, after trying each unoccupied room in turn, at last
found herself in the parlor. It was very dark at first, but she pulled
up the Venetian-blinds at the front windows, and let in a flood of
moonlight.

Teddy had never before seen the room look so attractive. It was not
often so brilliantly illuminated, for the shades were always carefully
drawn. She moved restlessly about for a time, not daring to touch any of
the treasures, but looking at them with interest and curiosity.

The mended bowl was again in its place upon the Chinese table, the
beautiful yellow porcelain shining in the silvery light.

"I wonder if Arthur really didn't do it?" thought Teddy. "It is the
queerest, strangest thing that ever happened. I wish we could find out
about it."

She thought about this for some time, and then spying a Chinese puzzle
which hung from a corner of a cabinet, she took it down and began to
play with it. It was composed of a number of slender sticks of carved
ivory which were strung horizontally upon silken cords of various
colors. Theodora had seen it before, and she never wearied of slipping
the sticks up and down the silk, first disclosing a dozen cords, then
but two or three, sometimes more, sometimes less, the mechanism of which
constituted the puzzle. She worked at it for ten minutes, sitting in the
full glory of the moonlight; and then suddenly she became conscious that
she was not alone in the room.

A slight, almost imperceptible noise behind her, the faintest of
movements in the back of the room, told her that unquestionably some one
was there!

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



A LOYAL TRAITOR.

A STORY OF THE WAR OF 1812 BETWEEN AMERICA AND ENGLAND.

BY JAMES BARNES.


CHAPTER XV.

A GENTLEMAN VALET.

I breakfasted next morning with my three titled friends, and during the
discussion we held it was agreed that the best way to keep suspicion
from me--for they were apparently quite as apprehensive of my being
taken by the authorities as an escaped prisoner as I was myself--was for
me to assume the position of private servant for the nonce to my patron
and kind friend Monsieur de Brissac.

We started about nine o'clock in the morning along the post-road to the
eastward, with a ride of some hundred and ten miles and over before us,
I was informed.

The two gentlemen drove ahead in a high-wheeled chaise, while I and the
servant of Monsieur le Marquis de Senez followed by the coach within a
few minutes of their starting. It was our intention to pass the night at
Oxford, and we expected to reach London on the afternoon of the
following day.

They had spoken very openly before me, and although they had not
indulged in any explanations, I garnered from the earnestness of their
talk, and from the substance of it, that they had not given up all ideas
of dwelling once more in France, and returning to the grandeur they had
been accustomed to. Their bitterness against Napoleon was extreme, but
with him out of it, I do not see how they ever expected to live in a
country whose inhabitants they hated as a nation; for if the common and
middle class of people do not compose a nation's blood and body, I miss
my reckoning.

The view from the coach-top as we descended the hill from the inn was
extremely fine. The river below took a bend almost in the shape of the
crook of a man's elbow, and enclosed an island covered with houses,
connected with the shore by a large bridge. But soon we had shut the
view of the water behind us, and as we progressed inland the smell of
the sea disappeared entirely.

The man Baptiste, alongside of whom I was sitting on the second seat,
had the impassive, expressionless face of the trained servant. As he was
not disposed to be communicative, and had evidently been told to treat
me with respect, I grew reserved, and out of caution I kept silent; but
nevertheless my enjoyment was not prevented from being of the very
keenest.

I could crowd these pages by detailing my sensations. I could have sung
or shouted, so high were my spirits. And I had to keep all this to
myself; and being but a lad, as I say, it was far from easy. Two or
three times I got down to stretch my legs, and thus I found myself
walking behind the coach as we entered the little hamlet of Witney. In
fact I did not know that we were so close to a village until I saw the
guard get out his horn to toot it, as was his custom when approaching
one.

Running after the coach, I swung myself on board just as we rolled
across a bridge over a small clear stream. We had taken on fresh horses
at a place called Burford, if I remember rightly, some short time back,
and we would not have stopped at the little place we were entering at
all (the driver was pleased with himself and proud of the rate at which
we had been travelling), but as we went by the gate of a private park we
were hailed, and looking over the side, I saw two officers in
regimentals waiting to be taken up on the coach. One of them had the
uniform of the Somersetshire regiment that had been stationed at the
Stapleton prison. In fact I recognized the man before he had seated
himself as one of my former guardians. But he glanced carelessly at us,
and stared rather insolently into the face of a young country lass who
was evidently leaving home, as she had had her handkerchief to her eyes
for the past hour or more.

I need not have feared recognition if I had thought for a minute, for I
was something of a dandy in my way. My legs were encased in gray
breeches buttoned tightly from the knee to the ankle. My coat, with its
long tails, was of blue cloth, with brass buttons, and the large velvet
collar reached up behind, almost swamping my ears. My waist-coat had
wide lapels (pulled outside the coat), and was made of cream-colored
satin. My stock was of clean white linen, and my hat, that was a trifle
too small, would persist in getting rakishly over my left eye, as if it
understood that I was careless, happy, and defiant of bad fortune.

I believe I could write pages of descriptions of all I saw and felt on
this journey, but I am really most anxious myself to reach the more
interesting part of it, and so resist temptation. We arrived at Oxford
in the late afternoon. I was delighted at the glimpses of the old
college buildings and the students playing at cricket in the fields,
while through the trees I could see that we were near a river, as now
and then the water would flash into sight.

When we reached the inn at which we intended to stop, Monsieur de
Brissac, who had arrived already, sent for me to come to his room. I was
fully prepared to carry up his box or to tend him in any way, as
befitted my supposed position; but as soon as I entered the apartment he
greeted me with a smile.

"Monsieur le Marquis," he said, "be seated."

A queer tingling thrilled me as he called me by that title.

"I will explain to you," Monsieur de Brissac went on, "that in London
there are a large number of us who have been forced to take up residence
outside of France. Your own story is so remarkable that although,
believe me, I myself do not doubt it, it would not be best to tell it to
every one who might listen. Therefore, believe me, forget, as you have
said, that you were an American, put outside from you the idea, above
all things, that you have escaped from a prison of the English, and
indeed, if possible, show little knowledge of the tongue. It is a
frightful speech at the best, and racks the throat and ears. To people
whom you meet you are Jean Amédée de Brienne, son of le Marquis Henri
Amédée Lovalle de Brienne; your story is that you have come to England
from America" (he lowered his voice and looked over his shoulder) "to
join us. Ah, we need young blood and swords."

"But, Monsieur le Marquis," I interrupted, intending to blurt out the
truth and abide by the consequences, "there is just one thing I--"

Monsieur de Brissac playfully touched me on the shoulder. "Never mind
about that now," he said; "you will understand everything in a short
time. Perhaps some day your grandfather's great estates shall belong to
you, as they must in the sight of God and the saints, and as the blessed
Church allows it to be true. Then," he exclaimed--"then we will whip
this _canaille_, lash these dogs into shape, or drown them as they
drowned us, eh? Ah, yes, that we will do. The bubble will soon burst,
and they will be glad to take our crumbs. But no more for to-day.
To-morrow you shall be informed. I know that you are to be trusted,
monsieur. Say nothing. It is my pleasure to serve you. Be cautious with
others."

Of course this touched me, and I do not doubt I showed it as I bowed
myself out of Monsieur de Brissac's apartments, that were the best the
place afforded. Our conversation had been held in French, of course, and
in setting this down I have condensed it somewhat, but the gist of what
he said is here.

I had begun to grow very much attached to my kind patron, for such I
call him in this recounting; and I also was much taken with the elder
man, the Marquis de Senez; but he was not so frank or, if I may say it,
so simple as the other.

       *       *       *       *       *

Well! I have taken a leap over two weeks of time as the very best way to
avoid falling into the error of becoming verbose.

It is a great shift of scene. Here I was, seated in a low-backed
soft-cushioned chair, with my feet on another, a linen napkin tucked in
about my throat, and over me was bending a strange little old man who
addressed me as "monsieur le marquis," as he curled my hair with a pair
of hot irons. Now truly this was a change from being a prisoner at
Stapleten, a scarecrow-clad figure doddering along the highway, or even
from the position of a gentleman's gentleman riding outside of a coach
on the post-road. Yet all these three had I been almost within the
fortnight, and what was I now? Why, "le Marquis de Brienne," who dined
with noblemen, and had learned in these few short days to make pretty
speeches to ladies of quality in silks and satins. What is more, I was
fairly launched as a conspirator.

I hope that none who reads this will suppose that I was not sailing a
proper course, or that I was living a life of deceit for the purpose of
gain, for the reason that it is evident that I am gifted with an
adaptable temperament. Oh no! I hope I can say that what money I had I
came by honestly, for it had been given to me with the intention that I
should pay it back at some future time (I have paid it long since, to
the last penny), and I was imposing on no one, unless it was my friend
Monsieur de Brissac, whose pleasure it was to do anything for me, and
lastly there is nothing in all this that is intended as an apology of my
position.

It cannot be said that I was luxuriously surrounded, despite that I was
lolling in an easy-chair and having my hair curled by my own private
servant. I was living in lodgings on the top floor of a house not far
from Orchard Street, off Piccadilly, a house that had more the dignity
of age in its appearance than an air of prosperity. I was the possessor
of a suite of four rooms under the roof.

The click of the irons ceased for a minute.

"Ah, Monsieur le Marquis, I remember well your grandfather when I was a
young man, and he not much older! He wore his own hair, monsieur. I
never remember seeing him in anything else. It was much handsomer than a
wig. You resemble him much, monsieur."

[Illustration: "IF MARY COULD ONLY SEE ME NOW."]

This speech had called me back to myself, for at that moment I had been
thinking of Mary Tanner and the old days on the hill-side at Belair.
Yes, there was no doubt about it, she was much prettier than the
Comtesse de Navarreins, with whom I had danced a quadrille the previous
evening. What a strange career I had had! Oh, if Mary could see me now!
How fine it was to be the nobleman! How Mary's eyes would open!

But the old servant was waiting for me to speak.

"Ah, Gustave," I replied, making a wry face at myself in the glass, for
the old man had given my hair a tremendous twist with the tongs, "I
doubt that we shall see the old days again. From what I hear, France
seems to be getting ahead fairly well without such men as my
grandfather. The people seem to be able to look out for themselves and
struggle on."

I glanced at the reflection of the old man's face. On it was a compound
of expressions.

"Monsieur le Marquis," he said, quietly, "had they not killed the
kindest master in the world I should be one of them to-day. It is that
alone that made me leave my country. Could I but forget the guillotine
and the days of horror, and that I really loved my King, I could rejoice
in France's every victory."

It rather surprised me to hear the old man speak thus, for his language
was better than one might expect to hear from the lips of one who had
been born and bred a lackey. But they set me to thinking, and his next
question chimed in well with my thoughts.

"You have seen France, Monsieur le Marquis?" he asked.

"No, Gustave, I have never been there," I replied. "I have lived my life
in far-off America."

Now with this word a surge of pride came over me. What was this France
that I had never seen to me? What were the plottings of the little band
of nobles who had been despoiled of what they called their rights? Why,
_I_ was an American! There was my heart! Could I ever truly enter in
with all my will and spirit for the cause or the factions of another
exiled government? What reward was there for me? Ay, what reward? I
remembered those brave men whom I had left in prison. (Ah, one can learn
patriotism in a prison!) Sutton, the boatswain's mate, with the stars
and stripes as big as your two hands tatooed across his broad chest,
came in my mind's eye. His country's flag was mine! The watchword of
Lawrence, that had been brought to us by the prisoners from the
_Chesapeake_, rang in my ears as it had rung through the crowded prison,
"Don't give up the ship!" Of a truth I was no Frenchman, though I could
pass as such, and had done so.

Wondering what my messmates had been saying about my strange
disappearance, I fell into a reverie of retrospection. Where were
Captain Temple and the _Young Eagle_? Where was Cy Plummer, who had
loaned me his belongings, and who, in my mind's eye, I could see with
his bundle over his shoulder, chanting his song as he went over the
hill? Where was the brave sailor who had thrown his severed hand at the
feet of the English officer, and what was I but a person who was
allowing himself to become deeper embroiled in a cause in which he had
no heart, and becoming committed deeper and deeper every day to plots
and conspiracies for whose methods he had no stomach (yes, I may set it
down--assassination, dagger, and pistol, were spoken of). Truly I had no
place here, and a great wish came over me that I could exchange this
borrowed finery, and this assumption of being what I was not, for a
sailor's toggery, the wide sweep of the sea, and take up again my life
on a vessel to whose peak I might look up and see the flag for whose
sake _my_ countrymen were dying, for whose sake I should and would be
fighting as soon as God would let me.

The door of the little room opened. Gustave had long since had my hair
arranged to his satisfaction, and I had been sitting in silence I know
not how long. But with the draught of air from the hallway I turned my
head and saw a small dwarf of a man, who was a sort of a servant and
boots in the house, standing there with the morning paper. I took
it--the London _Times_--and read the head-lines in the first column,
"England's Disgrace," in big black letters. And below it, "Has Another
Vessel Been Lost in Single Action to the United States?" Hastily I read
the reported rumor (pity 'twas nothing else) of the capture of another
forty-four-gun frigate by the _Constitution_. I laughed aloud at the
_Times_'s expressions of astonishment that such things should be, and
then I threw the paper down and burst into a loud huzza.

Gustave had been watching me as if he thought I had suddenly turned
madman.

"Is Napoleon defeated?" he inquired.

"No, no; not that," I answered, smiling to myself, and I think truly
that the old man gave a sigh of relief. At this moment there was a tap
on the door, and the old servant laid down the fine plum-colored coat
that he had been preparing for my wearing, and Monsieur de Brissac was
ushered in by him with a low bow. The nobleman closed the door behind
him. "Mon ami," he said, hurriedly, "I would speak to you alone."
Gustave (he had been "loaned" to me by De Senez) was too old a servant
to be told. He picked up a pair of boots and went out into the hallway.

"It is arranged!" cried Monsieur de Brissac, speaking quickly and
excitedly. "Three of us must leave for Paris. A cipher letter has been
received. The time is most opportune, my dear Blondin."

He gave me an embrace, to which I confess I replied, because he was my
friend, and then he continued. "You are the one to go with us," he said.
"De Senez and you and myself. We can face the danger bravely, mon ami.
Consider the reward!"

Ay, there it was again, "the reward." What did I really care for it?

"I have an invitation for you to be one of a little partie carrée this
evening," Monsieur de Brissac went on. "I judge it is best that you
attend. Eh, what's the matter?"

I was standing with my back to him looking out of the window, when he
approached and placed his hand upon my shoulder. I turned, and his eyes
met mine. I was constrained to speak at once of what was uppermost in my
thoughts. It required some courage.

"Monsieur de Brissac," I asked, "what do you really think of me?"

"I think you are one who can be trusted," he replied. "In fact, on that
I would stake my life; but--" He hesitated.

"But what?" I inquired.

"I pray you not to take offence," my kind friend went on; "but why
should I not tell you? The manner of your joining us was certainly most
strange, and in some minds has excited a suspicion. That there have been
spies among us, I know well; but you--"

I interrupted him. "Believe me, my dear friend, I would rather die than
betray a single word of what I have heard or know by being told. But
listen"--I spoke earnestly and slowly--"one can be honest with a friend.
I truly doubt the ultimate success of any scheming to restore the old
French régime. I have thought everything over carefully, and have come
to a decision, my first statement put aside."

Monsieur de Brissac said nothing, but stood there listening, with one
elbow on the mantel-piece, whilst I continued speaking. It was some
minutes before I had finished, but I told him frankly of my position,
and what I considered right for me to do. He was most attentive, and
although once or twice I saw that he felt like making some interruption,
he restrained himself.

"I shall not ask," he said at last, "why you did not tell me this thing
before; but, believe me, even at this late hour, monsieur, I appreciate
the confidence that you have placed in me. As to your misgivings in
regard to our attempts to restore the better things, I shall say
nothing. If you have weighed carefully the matter, I shall not attempt
to dissuade you. But one thing, spoken as a friend, I must tell you: Do
not, for your life, breathe a word of this to De Senez or to any of the
others."

"Tell me, what am I to do?" I asked. "I am in your power--your hands."

"It would be wrong," the Marquis replied, musingly, but with a sad tone
in his words, "not to help you, aside from the requirements of
friendship. So do not fear."

"I do not fear; I do not fear," I reiterated. "But what shall I do?"

"You must come with us to France," Monsieur de Brissac answered,
speaking in the same low tone of voice. "Despite the embargo laid on
trade and importations by the usurper, money works corruption,
corruption means many things. It is a known fact that licenses to enter
French ports have been sold to both American and English vessels. You
are not safe in this country. Come with us to where danger will be no
less, but chances to follow your own ideas the better. I can explain
that you have left for some French port when you leave us, and if you do
not return, I shall join in the mourning, that is all. We will increase
our party by one in order to keep up the original number. I shall let
you know to-night how we intend to leave England. Good-by, until this
evening. Au revoir, monsieur."

When he had gone I began to think and ponder over what had passed. Had I
been foolish in being so frank and clear spoken? A word from the
Marquis, and I might be returned to the hulks or the prison-yard. Yet in
getting out of England lay my only chance. From what had gone before, I
understood that it was intended to make a voyage across the Channel in
one of the small smuggling vessels that plied an adventurous and
remunerative trade along the coast of England, despite the careful
watching of the coast-guard vessels and the war-ships. But Monsieur de
Brissac's manner had chilled towards me--I felt that. My words had
killed the enthusiasm with which he had always addressed me. I half
feared that I had been rash.

Notwithstanding this, we made rather a merry party at the gathering that
evening. To all intents, nothing had occurred, and not until it came to
the breaking up of the little poverty-stricken court, which was held at
the mansion of the Comtesse de Navarreins, was there anything said of
the approaching departure; but as we left, De Brissac ran his arm
through mine, at the same time saying, "I shall walk home with you, if
you will permit me, Monsieur de Brienne." We strolled in silence, I
waiting for my friend to speak. At last he did so, at my door. "At
twelve o'clock to-night you and I will start northwards in a chaise, and
to-morrow evening," he whispered, softly, "we will find ourselves in the
neighborhood of N----, where we will meet the others, and debark, if the
weather permits, in one of the little luggers that cut deeply into the
King's revenue. If we land safely on the other side, you had best leave
us at once. Leave it all to me. In an hour I call for you."

       *       *       *       *       *

Before daylight of the next morning Monsieur de Brissac and myself were
some thirty miles north of London, driving through the county of Essex.
At about ten o'clock we breakfasted at a way-side tavern, where we
exchanged our tired horse for two saddle beasts, I having quite a tussle
with mine as I mounted, and then we pressed ahead all the afternoon,
expecting to be near the little village of N---- some time in the
evening. It was damp and chilly for this time of the year; the prospect
was not fine in the way of scenery, and my companion was in no talkative
frame of mind. It was strange; I was, so to speak, a blind man in the
power of his guide, for if I should lose Monsieur de Brissac, I should
be in a bad way. At last I knew we were near the sea, for I could smell
it in the air long before it burst in view.

I wondered greatly at my patron's knowledge of the road and the by-ways
by which we reached this particular bit of the coast. For hours we had
ridden across a wind-swept plateau, seamed by many deep-worn paths
running in all directions. In the earlier part of the afternoon
gibbetlike sign-posts had helped to point us to the right direction, but
as it grew toward dusk we saw none of them, and yet never once had
Monsieur de Brissac faltered; turning and twisting and yet keeping the
same general direction, until he had brought us to the edge of the
narrow height along which we were riding. Finally we sighted a little
cluster of huts, whose roofs we looked down upon from the top of a
great, high sand cliff, and then Monsieur de Brissac pointed.

"Your eyes are good," he said. "Can you see whether there is anything
hanging from the window of the house nearest yonder small dock?"

I gazed intently. In the growing darkness I could make out a white rag
or something fluttering from the window-sill, and so I reported.

"The signal," was the response to my information. "They are ahead of us,
and all is well."

It was no easy job to urge our tired nags down the steep runway, and had
my mount backed and filled the way he had when I first put my leg over
him, we might both of us have pitched headlong upon the roofs of some of
the outlying huts, for they were scarcely more.

I suppose that this little village was considered of too small
importance to be watched closely by the government, but it must have
been apparent that it was not fishing or net-mending that kept so many
stalwart sailor-men there.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



CAPTAIN LEARY'S SAMOAN EXPERIENCE.

SOME STIRRING INCIDENTS IN RECENT AMERICAN NAVAL HISTORY.

BY FRANKLIN MATTHEWS.


[Illustration: CAPTAIN LEARY AT SAMOA.]

No man can deny that there are times when war, with all its horrors, is
necessary and honorable. One of these times is when war is waged for the
rights of common humanity. Some of the most stirring episodes in our
history have been associated with this kind of noble effort. Many a time
have the decks of our men-of-war been cleared for action in such a
cause. Many a time has some one of our naval officers, thousands of
miles away from home, with no means of asking for instructions, taken
action which meant warfare, with its loss of life and great expenditure
of money, simply because he knew he was doing what was right, and really
was acting for the civilized nations of the world. We thundered at the
gates of Japan. We have fired on and punished pirates. Only recently we
cleared our ships for action in the harbor of Rio de Janeiro. More than
fifty years ago one of the bravest men that ever wore the naval uniform
of the United States defied the power of Austria in her own waters
because she would not give up an American citizen confined on one of her
war-ships, and the roar of "Old Ingraham," as he ordered his ship
cleared for action when he knew that in a fight he would probably be
beaten, was heard around the world.

Most of these "minor episodes" of our navy have been associated with the
misdeeds of half-civilized nations. Occasionally one has had to do with
a nation of first rank. One of these was the stand of Ingraham in
Austria. I want to tell of another deed which, in my judgment, was as
important as that of Ingraham, and which came within a hair's-breadth of
involving us, in 1889, in war with Germany, then, as now, a nation of
great military prowess. It is a story the full details of which have
never been made known, and one that should make American blood tingle
with pride. The story reveals the heroism of one of our naval officers
who has always refused to exalt his part of the work, saying he merely
did his duty; he did not hesitate, even if war with Germany should
result, to uphold the honor of our flag, and to protect women and
children and the sick and infirm in the name of humanity.

That man was Commander Richard P. Leary of our navy, and the incidents
that led up to his action happened at and near the harbor of Apia in the
beautiful Samoan Islands. Time and again have I and other writers asked
Leary to tell about it, and time and again has he resolutely refused,
saying that the sense of having done his duty was all the reward he
wanted. Consequently I have been forced to go to the public records and
to some of the men who were in Samoa at the time to get the details of a
long series of acts which resulted one day in an American man-of-war and
a German man-of-war lying side by side a short distance outside of Apia
Harbor, each cleared for action, and war between our country and Germany
depending upon whether the Captain of the German ship should fire upon
some native forts on the mainland. Such shots would have gone over the
deck of the _Adams_, which Leary commanded, and he practically, although
not literally, sent word to the German commander that the first shot on
the native forts would be answered by a broadside from American guns.
After almost an entire day of intense excitement on board both ships and
on the mainland, the German commander yielded--went back into port--and
a grave crisis in our history was safely passed--because of the
patriotism and pluck of one of our naval officers who to this day
refuses to talk about it.

To understand the story fully we must go into the causes of the trouble.
The Samoan, or Navigator Islands, have always been an object of envy by
nations which are known as "land-grabbers." The desire of the Germans to
secure control of those islands had caused most of the troubles of the
Samoans in recent years. It was the old desire for money and property
over again. The United States had long recognized the Samoans as a
civilized people, and had made a treaty with them. In time Germany and
England united with us in a joint treaty with the Samoans for their
protection and development. German residents there wanted control of
trade, and stirred up a rebellion against the High Chief, or King,
Malietoa. They took the side of Tamasese, a pretender to the throne. On
a pretext that property belonging to Germans--some pigs and some
cocoanuts--had been stolen by Malietoa's men, they declared war against
him, and finally made him give himself up to them to save his people
from slaughter. He was deported to Africa, and later to Germany. The
Samoans would not have Tamasese for King, and practically the entire
nation rallied around Mataafa, who succeeded Malietoa.

There was now a civil war between the two factions. The Americans did
not take sides, except to refuse to acknowledge Tamasese as King. The
Germans did take sides, notwithstanding the treaty of neutrality. They
bombarded villages on this and that excuse; they fired on unarmed
natives in boats; they gave aid openly to Tamasese; they assumed an air
of possession of the islands. Now it must not be supposed that all this
was done with the full approval of the German government, because the
Germans in time brought back Malietoa, and since then they have recalled
the one man who stirred up most of the trouble. In speaking, therefore,
of the matter, let it be understood that we have strict reference to
those Germans alone who were in Samoa.

[Illustration: THE GERMAN WAR-SHIP "ADLER."]

There was constant friction between the Americans and Germans in Apia,
and many letters passed between Captain Leary and the Captain of the
German war-ship _Adler_, stationed there at the time. This being a story
of Captain Leary's patriotic acts, we need go no further into the
details of Samoan history. One of the first of Leary's notable acts was
to send a letter, on September 6, 1888, to the Captain of the _Adler_.
The _Adler_, on the day before, had gone to the island of Manono to burn
the houses and villages of the natives who would not support Tamasese.
The war-ship took some of Tamasese's boats in tow, and soon the guns of
the war-ship were heard bombarding houses known to have been occupied by
defenceless women and children. The _Adler_ came back the next day, and
at once Captain Leary sent the German Captain a letter of protest. He
recited what he knew of the bombardment and what he had been told, and
then he added, with a firmness that does one good to read:

     "Such action, especially after the Tamasese party having been
     represented as a strong government, not needing the armed support
     of a foreign power, appears to be a violation of the principles of
     international law as well as a violation of the generally
     recognized laws of humanity. Being the only other representative of
     a naval power now represented in this harbor, _for the sake of
     humanity I hereby respectfully and solemnly protest in the name of
     the United States of America and of the civilized world in general_
     against the use of a war-vessel for such service as was yesterday
     rendered by the German corvette _Adler_."

[Illustration: THE UNITED STATES WAR-SHIP "ADAMS."]

This was the first open breach between the commanders of the two
war-ships. Leary based his action simply on the ground of humanity. One
of his next conspicuous acts was to uphold the honor of the American
flag. A body of Tamasese's men were encamped on Mulinuu Point, which the
Germans claimed was under the jurisdiction of their government because
Germans owned property there. Some of these natives saw an American flag
floating at the top of a tree not far away. It was placed there by a
half-breed who was an American citizen. It floated above his own
property. The Tamasese men tore it down and into strips. Then they
partly wrecked his house and threatened to kill him. Captain Leary soon
heard of it, and he sent a letter to the _Adler_'s Captain asking if the
natives were under the protection of the German war-ship. He wanted to
fix the responsibility for the insult to the American flag, because, as
he said, he was "obliged to furnish necessary protection to Americans in
jeopardy."

The German Captain made a non-committal reply, and the next day Leary
repeated his request, saying that the question at issue was not one of
diplomacy, but of military policy. He then showed his American spirit in
these utterances:

     "Under the shadow of the German fort at Mulinuu atrocities have
     been committed on American property, and the lives of the American
     owners have been threatened and jeopardized by armed natives, who
     appear to be sheltered by the naval force belonging to the vessel
     under your command. My official obligations do not permit me to
     negotiate with diplomatic or political representatives of foreign
     powers, but with military or naval commanders interested in
     official acts; and as the naval commander charged with the
     protection of American citizens, I again have the honor
     respectfully to request to be informed 'whether the armed natives
     at Mulinuu Point are under the protection of the Imperial Naval
     Guard belonging to the vessel under your command or are they not
     under that protection.'"

Leary received an evasive reply to this, and the relations between the
two commanders became more strained. Leary did not stop with this. He
sent a letter to Tamasese demanding restitution. The Germans, who had
control of the local post-office, would not forward the letter, and
later Leary sent another, in which he said:

     "I have the honor to inform your Highness that the articles
     forcibly taken from the house of Mr. Scanlan by your people have
     not yet been returned, and that they must be restored to Mr.
     Scanlan without unnecessary delay, for which purpose I shall wait
     until sunset, Wednesday the 14th, and if it be not reported to me
     by that time that my demand has been complied with, I shall be at
     liberty to take such action as will in future _enforce a wholesome
     respect for the American flag_ and the laws and property under its
     protection.

     "A red flag hoisted at the foremast of an American war-vessel
     simultaneously with the discharge of a blank charge will be the
     signal for you to remove from your fort and vicinity to a place of
     safety all women, children, sick, and wounded, for which purpose a
     liberal time will be allowed before resorting to more serious
     measures."

No second notice was required from Leary. Tamasese restored the property
to Mr. Scanlan, including the American flag, which floated secure from
insult on his property afterward.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]



THE WRONG TRAIN.

BY SOPHIE SWETT.


The night telegraph operator at Orinoco Junction had the mumps. His name
was Samuel Dusenberry, and he was seventeen, which is young to have so
responsible a position; in fact it was Sam's first position, and he was
on trial. He was also the head of his family, and in that position Sam
had been heard to grumblingly remark that he was also on trial, for
Phineas and Mary Jane, and even little Ajax, thought they could manage
things as well as he could.

Although seventeen is young for such responsibilities as Sam's, it is
disgracefully old to have the mumps--or so Sam thought, and he persisted
in declaring that he hadn't, while his cheeks swelled and swelled, until
his watery smarting eyes were almost concealed; and he was extremely
cross when little Ajax assured him that if he felt just as if he were
not Sam at all, that was the mumps, because that was the way he felt
when he had 'em. Mary Jane, who attended to the family grammar, was
somewhat troubled because they all spoke of the disease as plural; but
Phineas stoutly maintained that this was proper when you had 'em on both
sides at once, like Sam.

He hadn't the mumps, and if he had, he was going to his work at the
station that night; that was what Sam insisted, although Mary Jane
begged him not to with tears in her eyes, and threatened to tell their
mother, from whom they carefully kept every worrying thing, because she
was a helpless invalid. It was only at the last moment, when he found
that things began to whirl around him and his knees to shake, when he
tried to get to the door, that Sam gave up, and said he supposed Phineas
would have to go in his place.

"It is so fortunate," said Mary Jane, "that Phineas knows how."

"But he's such a sleepy-head. I ought to have asked the company to
appoint a substitute. It's irregular, anyway, and if anything should
happen--!" groaned Sam.

He was one who felt his responsibilities, and mumps are not conducive to
cheerful views. As for Phineas, he felt that at last the boy and the
opportunity had met. Phineas had been repressed--kept in the background
all too long, in his own opinion, first by the supposed superior
"smartness" of Sam, and second by the continual tutelage of his twin
sister Mary Jane. Her whole attention seemed to be given to the subject
of what a boy ought not to do; after a time this becomes wearing upon
the boy. Perhaps Mary Jane had come to assume this unpleasant
superiority because a heavy twin-sisterly duty constantly devolved upon
her--keeping Phineas awake; in the history class, in the long prayer,
when Uncle Samuel came, periodically, to give them good advice, Mary
Jane found it always necessary to keep her eye on Phineas and the
sharpest elbow in Orinoco in readiness.

At first Mary Jane had said that he ought not to learn telegraphy,
because he could not keep awake; but when he persisted, she came to
share his optimistic belief that it would _keep_ him awake. But perhaps
Sam's groan was not without its excuse; certainly no one disputed that
Phineas was "a sleepy-head."

"I tell you it's hard for even an old stager to keep awake all night
long"--Sam had been an operator for two months--"even when he's had some
sleep in the daytime, as you haven't. It won't do for you to sit down at
all, you know; or if you get all tired out walking round, sit on the
tall three-legged stool out in the middle of the floor; if you get to
nodding, that will tip over. I've fallen asleep once or twice, but it
has waked me when my office has been called on the wire. It wouldn't
wake you!"

"It won't have a chance, because I sha'n't be asleep," said Phineas,
stoutly.

"Your eyesight is good, isn't it, Phin?"

"Well, I rather guess!" said Phineas, indignantly.

"You have to swing a red or a white lantern. I shall be glad when we
have the semaphore signals on our road." (Sam's easy use of learned
technical expressions always caused Mary Jane's mouth to open wide with
admiration.) "I say, Phin, what color are Mary Jane's mittens?" Sam
asked this question with sudden breathless eagerness. "A new operator,
who was color-blind, wrecked the Northern Express on the L---- road!"

"Red," said Phineas, with scornful promptness, and was then forced to
pass an examination in all the colors of Mary Jane's hooked rug.

"And if there's anything you don't understand, you can ask Lon Brophy in
the ticket-office." Sam fell back on the lounge, with a long sigh, as he
gave Phineas this parting assurance.

But Mary Jane ran out to the gate after him. "Don't sit down even on
the three-legged stool. It might go over and you wouldn't wake. Think of
the boy that stood on the burning deck, or the one that let the fox gnaw
him, whenever you feel sleepy." Along with this stern advice Mary Jane
forced upon Phineas a dainty lunch that she had prepared, and a can of
coffee, which he could heat upon the station stove.

After all, Mary Jane was a good sister, and perhaps she did not deserve
that Phineas should mutter, as he walked along, that it was a mistake
for a girl to think herself so smart.

As Phin walked toward the station in the bracing air of the November
night, he was hotly resentful of the distrust that had been shown of his
ability to take Sam's place for just one night.

The station at Orinoco Junction was a lively place when Phineas relieved
Tom Woolley, the day operator, at six o'clock. At that time many trains
stopped, and they were crowded, because there was a great political
gathering at L----, twenty miles farther on. The little restaurant was
filled with a jostling crowd. The sharp cries of the popcorn boys
mingled with political announcements and a running fire of boasts and
jokes.

Tom Woolley took down his overcoat from its nail with a sigh of relief.

"They've kept me at it all day," he said.

But at the door he turned, as if struck by a sudden misgiving, and
looked Phin over critically.

"It's going to quiet down by-and-by. Can you keep awake all night--a
youngster like you?"

It seemed as if Mary Jane must have been telling; she always did talk
and talk--a worse fault than being a little sleepy, if she had only
known it, thought Phin. Tom Woolley was nineteen, and had an incipient
mustache; he twirled its imaginary ends as he looked Phin over; and
Phin's blood boiled.

"Oh, well, sonny, don't fire up," said Tom, easily; "but you'd better
look sharp, you know," he added, with a grave nod. "There are a couple
of extra trains expected, and the president of the road is likely to be
on board of one of them; lives up at Ganges, you know--going home to
vote."

Phin muttered that he guessed he could take care of extra trains,
whether there were presidents on board or not, and when Tom Woolley had
taken himself off, his courage rose, and he felt himself master of the
situation.

By seven o'clock there came a lull; when the nine-o'clock bell rang from
the Baptist church steeple you would have thought all Orinoco had gone
to sleep. There were no trains between half past eight and ten. Nine
o'clock was Phin's bedtime; it's queer, but almost anywhere, unless it's
the night before the Fourth of July, a boy feels his bedtime; besides,
the room was close, and the clock ticked monotonously. Phin heated his
coffee and ate his luncheon; he wasn't hungry, but it was necessary to
do something to shake off drowsiness. There was chicken, and Nep
crunched the bones and barked for a cooky; after that he scratched the
door and whined so that Phin was forced to let him out; he thought the
dog only wanted to stretch his legs and breathe a little fresh air, but
Nep walked deliberately homeward, and refused to be whistled back. Nep
disliked irregular proceedings, and knew the comfort of one's own bed at
night.

"Of course I don't really need him to keep me awake," Phin said to
himself; but nevertheless his heart sank; he began to have a suspicion
that nights were long.

He pulled himself together and began to walk the floor; when he grew so
tired that he ached he drew the three-legged stool out into the middle
of the floor and perched himself upon it.

Suddenly--it seemed only a moment after he had brought out that
stool--he found himself in the office with his hand on the key; there
had been a call on his office; he had been asleep, and had been wakened
by it, as Sam boasted that he had been! A fellow might allow himself to
drowse a little when he could wake like that.

No, the Punjaub express had not passed; that was what they wanted to
know at Cowaree and all along the line. Presently uncomplimentary
epithets began to be hurled at him over the wire. Sam had complained
that the fellow at Cowaree had "the big head," but--the Punjaub express
had passed, so they said!

He must have slept very soundly; the three-legged stool _was_ tipped
over; he remembered vaguely that he had picked himself off the floor to
answer that call.

Drops of perspiration stood upon Phin's forehead when he returned to the
waiting-room after that Cowaree fellow and the others had exhausted
their eloquence.

He began a weary march around the room; it would not do to sit down
again, even upon the three-legged stool. Did any one ever know, who had
not tried it, what a terrible job it was to keep awake all night?

Another call! An order from the despatches to hold No. 39 express for
orders, and run downward trains against it. That was a responsibility,
for failure might involve serious accidents. There was no danger that he
would fall asleep now!

And yet, after a long hour had dragged by, there was a heaviness upon
his limbs, an oppression upon his brain. He forced himself to walk, but
he remembered that he had read that sentries sometimes walked while fast
asleep. Something must be done, and Phineas forced his wits to work;
they were the wits that had floored the schoolmaster and helped to
invent the skunk-trap.

He twined some cotton twine across the track at such a height that the
train would break it. He fastened it to the platform railing, then drew
it through the key-hole of the door; he tied a piece of zinc upon the
end, and his coffee-can and the poker, and all these articles he placed
upon the top of the stove. There were two trains to pass before the No.
39 express; there would certainly be a clatter that would awaken him to
report the first one.

He lay down upon the lounge; he was conscious of a blissful,
irresistible fall into a gulf of sleep, and then-- There was no clatter,
but a wild scream of pain and fright from the track. Phin sprang to his
feet, his heart beating wildly; he had slept, and the accident he had
dreaded had come! He rushed to the track. A man was scrambling to his
feet, begging for mercy, and piteously demanding a temperance pledge; it
was old Hosea Giddings, of Crow Hill, who never missed a night at the
Junction saloon. He had tripped upon the string and broken it. It was
evident that no train had passed, and Phin felt a thrill of relief. He
stood back and let the old man scramble up unaided; it was well that he
should find snares for his feet in the neighborhood of the saloon.

It grew still again, deadly still, after Hosea Giddings and his vows
were out of hearing, and Phin felt that sleep was again settling down
upon him. He found a ball of very stout linen twine--that was not a bad
scheme if the string were strong enough; but this time he tied the end
to his own wrist. A pull upon that would be more certain to awaken him
than any noise. Two trains before the No. 39 express; after they had
passed, a string would not serve, for that must be stopped with the red
lantern.

He lay down again upon the lounge; the last thing that he remembered was
feeling for the string about his wrist, to be sure that it was tight.

He was hurled violently across the floor; he felt an almost unendurable
pain; there was a crash, as if heaven and earth came together, and
then--was it a long time or only a moment afterwards that he saw Mary
Jane's face bending over him? She had put water upon his face, and
something redder than water was trickling from his wrist.

That twine had been strong enough to drag him, and it had cut his wrist
almost to the bone; his head had hit the stove, and all those things
that he had forgotten to take off it had come down and hit him.

"I had such a bad dream I just got up and came! I couldn't help it," he
heard Mary Jane say.

It all seemed to him like a bad dream; but he heard himself say eagerly,
although it sounded to him like a far-away voice, "No. 39 express, stop
it! stop it!"

There was in the distance the thunder of a train. Mary Jane seized the
red lantern from its nail and rushed out.

Though he was still half stupefied, Phin staggered to his feet and made
his way to the door; in the moonlight he could see the flutter of Mary
Jane's plaid shawl as she stood on the track.

The train slowed up, and came to a stop only a few feet from the plaid
shawl.

The conductor demanded an explanation in an excited voice; the engineer
and the brakeman were complaining in strong language that the train was
behind time, and shouldn't have been stopped unless for a matter of life
and death.

Phin had made his way to the track, although he was faint and dizzy; but
his voice failed him when he tried to speak, for he realized in a flash
that it was the Ganges branch train that Mary Jane had stopped!

"She--we meant to stop No. 39 express. I got hurt a little and mixed
up," he faltered at length.

The conductor and the engineer and the brakeman and several train-boys
and passengers expressed in chorus a strong though condensed opinion of
the Orinoco station, and of telegraph operators who fell asleep and left
girls to manage affairs. Perhaps it was as well for Phin's feelings that
he could not stop to hear it all; there was a call on his office, and he
hurried as well as he could to the instrument.

"Stop Ganges branch; tunnel bridge broken!" That was the message.

Phin seized the red lantern, which Mary Jane still held, as she sat,
mortified and miserable, upon the door-step, and rushed up the track.
The Ganges train had only just started on again, but there was evidently
a distrust of Phin's red lantern; by the hootings with which it was
greeted, Phin judged that they thought it a bad joke or another mistake.
They seemed to mean to run him down. Well, then, they might!

Phin set his teeth, held the lantern aloft, and stood as if he were
rooted to the track. He made ready to spring for the cow-catcher; it
actually grazed him as he stood before the train stopped.

"Tunnel bridge broken!" he screamed, hoarsely, as he had been screaming
incessantly above the rushing of the train and the din of angry voices;
but it was mechanically now, and they had to carry him back to Mary
Jane. His wrist had been bleeding all the time; the right wrist, too,
that swung the lantern; and his head was badly hurt; and--well, it is no
disgrace for a boy to faint sometimes.

[Illustration: "THERE WAS AN OLD GENTLEMAN WITH A FUR COLLAR TURNED UP
TO HIS EARS WHO MADE FRIENDS WITH MARY JANE."]

The passengers poured into the station; there was a great chorus of
thanksgiving, and they made what Phin called a great fuss over him and
Mary Jane. There was an old gentleman with a fur collar turned up to his
ears, who made friends with Mary Jane. He seemed to feel deeply what a
narrow escape the train had had, and he sharply rebuked the conductor
when he said that the night was so light that they might have seen that
the bridge was broken; he "did keep an eye on that bridge as soon as the
frost came, because it was old." (It proved to have been a gang of
discharged workmen who had wrecked the bridge.) The old man declared it
a providential mistake that had stopped the wrong train and let the
message arrive in time.

When they were relieved, in the early morning, after all the Ganges
passengers had gone on by such conveyances as they could find, Phin and
Mary Jane walked homeward together.

"You needn't say a word to Sam," warned Phin. "It would only worry him.
I mean about stopping the wrong train, and all that. I've just heard
that the old gentleman who talked to you was the president of the road.
I hope you didn't tell him anything!"

The president of the road! Phin turned and looked with severe suspicion
at Mary Jane, and Mary Jane turned so pale that the freckles stood out
like little mud spatters on her face.

"I only told him how anxious Sam was," she faltered, "and what you did
to keep awake--all about the zinc and poker and things, and how your
wrist was cut."

"You've told the president of the road that I'm a sleepy-head! Now I
hope you're satisfied!"

That was, I fear, an unhappy day for Mary Jane; but the next night, when
Phin went down to help Sam, who would go, although he was not much
better, Tom Woolley reported that he had received a message from that
Cowaree fellow, the same one who was so uncomplimentary, that orders had
been received from headquarters that a place was to be found, the very
first desirable vacancy, for "a plucky, wide-awake fellow" who had
substituted the night before in the Orinoco office. And a free pass had
been ordered for Miss Mary Jane Dusenberry, with the compliments of her
friend the president of the road.



[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]


As there has been occasion more or less of late to deprecate the holding
of so-called "junior" events in track-athletic meetings, it is perhaps
an appropriate time to devote some space to the subject of athletics for
younger sportsmen, and to try to impress them, if possible, with the
fact that any kind of training for boys under sixteen years of age is
not only inadvisable but absolutely injurious. If boys of that age wish
to take regular exercise--and they all should--there are better things
for them to do than to train for contests of speed and endurance. They
will do better for themselves if they will restrict their endeavors to a
milder form of athletics, to simple body motions or calisthenics. This,
of course, is not so interesting, and I know these words will fall upon
many deaf ears, but their truth will be recognized none the less by
those who have the slightest experience in such matters.

It is perhaps natural that young boys who see their older companions
constantly at some kind of preparation, or training, for some branch of
sport, should wish to imitate their elders, and go in to some similar
kind of regular work. The older athletes, and those who look after their
development, ought to use all their power to prevent the youngsters from
trying to train, instead of encouraging them, as they do, by offering
medals as prizes in "junior" events.

The last thing that growing boys should try to accomplish is to get
hardened muscles. This sort of thing retards growth and development,
thereby defeating the very end that the boys think they are attaining.
The best kind of training for the younger lads is to keep regular hours,
both for meals and sleep. They will find this more beneficial than to
keep a regular hour each day for running or jumping or putting up heavy
dumbbells. The boy who gets his breakfast, luncheon, and dinner at a
regular hour each day, and who sleeps eight or nine hours each night,
and who bathes every morning, will make a much stronger man than the boy
who trains for "junior" events.

But, as exercise should form a part of each day's occupation, the
sixteen-year-old boy should take his exercise in a way that will do him
the most good. He will probably not find it so interesting at first, but
he will soon discover that he is becoming a better specimen physically
than his fellows who can run a hundred yards or a mile under a certain
figure, that really does not mean very much.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.]

There are a number of body motions that can be performed at home alone,
or in the gymnasium with others, that develop the chest and the arms,
the back and the legs, so that when the time comes when it can do no
harm for a young man to enter into regular athletic training, his
muscles are supple, his skin is clear, his chest is deep, his back is
straight, and his legs are firm enough to allow of the natural strain
which comes from any kind of training.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.]

One of the simplest methods of developing the strength of the legs is to
stand erect with the hands on the hips (Fig. 1), and to perform what is
called the frog motion. That is to bend the knees and to squat down,
rising at the same time on the toes, and keeping the body erect, from
the waist up (Fig. 2). This motion should be continued up and down until
you feel tired. Stop at once when the slightest sensation of fatigue is
felt. At first a boy will not be able to perform this motion more than
ten or a dozen times, but if he keeps it up every morning he will soon
find that he does not become tired until he has dropped and risen again
some seventy-five or a hundred times. The important point, however, that
must be kept in mind all the time is not to overdo.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.]

Having gone through the exercise just described, for a few minutes, it
is well to try something else that will exercise a different set of
muscles. For instance, stand erect and lift the arms high overhead, the
palms turned outward, and then bring them rapidly down to the level of
the shoulders and up again (Fig. 3). Do this a few times, and then try
another arm motion. Stretch the arms forward, the finger-tips touching,
and then swing them horizontally back as far as possible, rising on the
toes at the same time (Fig. 4). As in the case of any other kind of
work, this practice will tire the novice, but at the end of a few weeks
it will be surprising to note how long the exercise can be kept up
without fatigue.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.]

These three exercises will be found sufficient for the first few weeks,
but thereafter a greater variety may be adopted. An excellent exercise
is to stand erect, with the hands lifted above the head, thumb to thumb,
and then to bow over forward, keeping the knees stiff (Fig. 5). At first
the hands will not come within eight or ten inches of the floor, but
within a week or so it will be an easy matter to touch the carpet with
the ends of the fingers.

[Illustration: FIG. 5.]

Another movement that will develop the muscles of the waist and back is
shown in Fig. 6. Stand erect, with the heels together and the arms
akimbo, the hands firmly settled upon the hips. Then move the body about
so that the head will describe a circle, the waist forming a pivot about
which the upper portion of the body will move. At the start the circle
described by the head will be very small, but as the muscles become
limbered and the waist becomes supple the body will swing easily about
through a much broader area.

[Illustration: FIG. 6.]

There is no use denying that all these things are at the start
uninteresting, and I know from experience that even with the best
intentions there will be a strong temptation at the end of a week to
give up the whole business. But here is where the sand and determination
of the American boy must prove itself, and the lad who sticks to the
monotonous exercise in his own bedroom will be the one in after-years to
stand the best chance for a position on his college crew or eleven.

There was a man in my class in college who as a boy lived in a small
town where there were no athletic contests. Some one told him that if he
wanted to get strong he ought to start in in the morning and dip between
two chairs, lacking parallel bars. His adviser told him to dip once the
first morning, twice the second morning, three times the third morning,
and so on. It is evident that on the last day of the year he would dip
365 times, if he could only keep up this regular increase. He soon found
that he was unable to do this, but he was surprised at the end of the
year to notice how easily he could dip a number of times between two
chairs, whereas his playfellows could barely perform the act three or
four times.

When that boy came to college he was the strongest in our class about
the chest and arms and back, and could perform wonderful feats of
lifting himself and of dipping on the parallel bars in the gymnasium.
But, unfortunately, the man who had suggested to him to dip each morning
between two chairs had not thought of telling him that he ought likewise
in some manner to develop the muscles of his legs, and so he was
consequently overdeveloped from the waist up and under-developed from
the waist down. This goes to show that when exercising it is imperative
that all the muscles of the body should be given an equal chance,
otherwise some parts of the anatomy must suffer at the expense of
others.

A very little exercise performed regularly and for a long period will do
much more for any boy or man than vigorous exercise performed for one
or two hours a day for only a few weeks during the year. It is the
little drop of water falling constantly that wears away the stone.

[Illustration: CORRECT WAY TO HOLD A HOCKEY-STICK.]

The accompanying illustration will give a better idea of the proportions
of a hockey-stick, and the manner of holding it, than any description
can do, better even than the photograph published in the last issue of
the ROUND TABLE with a brief description of the game.

The members of the Arbitration Committee of the New York I.S.A.A. at a
recent meeting voted to ask the University Athletic Club to accept the
responsibility of acting as arbitrators in any future disputes between
the schools. It is to be hoped that the University A.C. will undertake
this, for a committee of college graduates can, beyond question, be more
serviceable to the interests of amateur sport in this matter than any
committee made up of individuals whose interests are closely related to
scholastic athletics.

It is pleasant to note that the officials of the N.Y.I.S.A.A. refused to
allow the tie between Berkeley and De La Salle for the skating honors of
the League to be settled by the unsportsmanlike expedient of gambling.
One of the schools wanted to toss a coin to settle the matter, but this
was very properly overruled. There is only one step from this sort of
thing to the settling of all contests by the arbiter of a coin without
taking the trouble to go to the field. That is not sport. When it is
proved (as in a jumping contest) that two contestants can do no better,
after repeated attempts, one than the other, it is just and proper that
some method be adopted to determine who shall have the medal--although
the points _must be split_. If both contestants agree to toss for the
medal, well and good; for the medal is merely an evidence of success,
and does not in any way affect the merit of the contest which has
already been settled and recorded, before the owners of half a medal
each determined to take the chance of possessing two halves of a medal
or no medal at all.

The renewal of athletic relations between Exeter and Andover seems to
have put new life and energy into every branch of sport at the New
Hampshire school. An enthusiastic meeting of the entire school was held
a few days ago in order to collect money for the management of a
track-athletic team, and a very respectable sum was realized. More men
have turned out for practice than for many years at Exeter, and the
Captain of the team feels greatly encouraged over the prospects for the
winter and spring season. A team of Exonians will go down to the big
in-door meeting of the B.A.A., and a still stronger team will probably
be gathered to represent the school at the New England I.S.A.A. games in
June. Dual games with Worcester and Andover will probably also be
arranged. It is pleasing to note this renewed activity at Exeter, for
there was a time--just about ten years ago--when the P.E.A. accepted
second place to nobody in athletics. The decadence which the school has
just passed through, and from which she is now making a vigorous
endeavor to arise, may prove to have been a blessing in disguise. The
fact that all this was the result of questionable methods in sport
should stand as a glaring proof that straightforwardness, after all, is
the only path to success in athletics as well as in any other work.
Exeter now stands as a champion of purity in sport, and for that reason
we may very well look forward to her brilliant success within the next
few years.

In connection with the news of activity in northern New England comes
the report from New Haven that the Hillhouse High-School will not put a
track-athletic team into the field this spring. At a recent school
meeting this action was definitely determined, and it was voted that the
school would support a baseball team only. If it was found that the
school could only support one of these two branches of sport, the choice
to keep up baseball was a wise one, but at the same time it is
regrettable to see so strong a member of the Connecticut
Inter-scholastic League as H.H.-S. fall out of the ranks. So far as I am
able to ascertain at the present writing, the reason for dropping track
athletics was purely financial, but as the Connecticut Association seems
to be rich just now, perhaps this obstacle may be removed.

The comment upon the dispute over the football "championship" going on
between the Southbridge High-School and the North Brookfield
High-School, printed in a recent issue of this Department, has called
forth a number of letters from partisans of both sides. The actual
standing of the affair seems, however, to be very clearly settled by Mr.
T. E. Halpin, Vice-President of the Worcester County South A.A., who
assures me that there existed no league for football in the Worcester
County South A.A. this fall, and that therefore there was no possibility
of there being any "championship" of football in that association, since
the W.C.S.A.A. claims no jurisdiction over football affairs. It would
seem that Southbridge and North Brookfield have been wasting a great
deal of valuable breath and writing-paper over nothing, and if the two
schools are uncertain as to which is the better in athletics, they might
preferably wait until next spring and settle the question on the
baseball-field.

[Illustration: W. S. McCLAVE OF TRINITY WINNING THE NOVICE RACE AT
STAMFORD.]

At the Skating-races held recently in Stamford, W. S. McClave, of
Trinity, proved himself one of the cleverest of the skaters present, and
won several important races. The illustration on another page represents
McClave winning the novice race.

It has been decided that the race between the crews of the Milwaukee
East Side High-School and the St. John's Military Academy shall take
place on the last Saturday in June.

It seems necessary to repeat every few months that the editor of this
Department can pay no attention to anonymous communications.
Correspondents who desire to have their questions answered, whether by
mail or through these columns, must give their names.

"TRACK ATHLETICS IN DETAIL."--ILLUSTRATED.--8VO, CLOTH, ORNAMENTAL,
$1.25.

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[Illustration: ROYAL BAKING POWDER]

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EARN A TRICYCLE.

[Illustration]

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HARVARD UNIVERSITY

SUMMER SCHOOL.

For Pamphlet apply to M. Chamberlain, Cambridge, Mass.



[Illustration: PISO'S CURE FOR CONSUMPTION]

CURES WHERE ALL ELSE FAILS.

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in time. Sold by druggists.



QUESTIONS FOR YOUNG MEN.


ON EXAMPLE.

There is a famous statement of the average preparatory-school boy, which
has been so often made that it is historic, to the effect that he can do
whatever he pleases because nobody will be fool enough to follow his
example. He feels that men older than himself--men in college, or
graduates of college, or grown-up men--may be setting example to others,
but that he has not sufficient influence with any one to induce him to
follow his example in anything. Sometime after the preparatory-school
boy has grown up he will find that from year to year the same feeling
sticks by him, and that he never considers himself a person worthy to
set example to any one else.

If he only realized it, he would discover that even as a
preparatory-school boy he is looked up to by the younger boys in the
lower classes and by those who have not yet arrived at the point where
they can enter a school at all. In other words, you, as a schoolboy, are
setting an example to somebody else just as certainly as is your father
or your grandfather is setting an example to others; and the feeling you
have, that you are responsible to no one as an example for what you do,
is wrong. It is very simple to understand this if you think it over a
moment. For instance, a member of a college 'varsity team is a great man
to the members of school teams. If they see a member of the 'varsity
team drinking and smoking, they believe that it is proper for them to do
so, and yet if you were to ask this man if he realized what an example
he was setting, he would maintain that nobody was fool enough to think
of looking to him for guidance. And this influence not only spreads over
younger men in the school, but has a strong power in the college itself;
for the fact that an athletic man is looked up to at the university and
that the athletic man lives a normal life induces a great many other
members of the university to take him as an example; and as a matter of
record the strict training and the loyalty and thoroughness required by
captains from members of their teams have done much to raise the
standard in our big colleges to-day.

Every boy, therefore, should always bear in mind that he has a name to
keep up and a record to keep clean, not alone because it is right to do
so, but because he can never tell when some one else may not be looking
to him as an example and may not be tempted to do things unworthy of
boys because he does them. There is perhaps just as much evil on the
other side of the question--that is, where a young man (or an old one,
for that matter) feels that he is continually an example to others, and
lives two different lives, one for the benefit of his friends and the
other for himself. The example is of no value itself. It is merely that
you, living your daily life, entering into sports and into studies at
school, can never tell when your school-mates or persons whom perhaps
you may never know may not be unconsciously observing your actions, and
be accepting them as standards for themselves.

Thus every man and boy and girl is at some time or other, and often
frequently, a guide or example for others, and it behooves him or her to
bear this in mind from day to day. It should not cause worry; the
responsibility of it ought not to weigh any one down; but the idea that
you can do whatever enters your head, provided that in your mind you are
satisfied that it is right for you, is not always correct.

       *       *       *       *       *

TRYING HER IN A SQUALL.

A good story is told of the late Captain R. B. Forbes, who was
interested in some seventy sail of fine vessels, and who built many
clippers for the India and China trade before the general application of
steam. It seems that while testing the sailing qualities of a
clipper-schooner, she was struck by a squall in Boston Harbor, fell on
her side, filled with water, and went down. Fortunately she had a boat
in tow, which saved all hands. He would not start a sheet nor luff her
into the wind to prevent her being capsized; he was determined to know
what she could do in a squall, even at the risk of his life and the
lives of a select party of nautical friends he had with him; and
although this experiment may have been of intense interest to Captain
Forbes, it is doubtful whether his invited guests relished their
position. Later she was raised without much trouble and had her spars
reduced. For years afterwards she was famous along the coast of China
for her speed.

Captain Forbes's brother, Hon. John M. Forbes, now in the eighty-fourth
year of his age, has an original steel clipper of the following
dimensions: Length on the water-line, 125 feet, 154 feet 6 inches over
all; has 27 feet 6 inches extreme breadth of beam; is 12 feet 6 inches
deep; has engines of 400-horse power; is fully rigged as a two-masted
schooner, and has a steel centreboard 21 feet long by 6 and 7-3/4 feet
wide; is a complete sailing-clipper as well as a steamer, and is the
only vessel of the kind in the world. She is also unsinkable; if full of
water she will still float, having air-tight compartments along her
sides like a life-boat.

Under sail, with a working breeze, she will stay within nine points in
three minutes; by the wind, sail eight knots; and going free, twelve
knots. She is named the _Wild Duck_, has been in service about two
years, and has been quite successful under steam and sails.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE CAT.

  The cat's a happy animal
    When blows the winter bluff,
  Because she purrs and dreams all day
    Within her downy muff.

  But I am sure when summer comes
    And roasts us with its glare,
  She'd like to be the Chinese dog,
    That hasn't any hair.

  R. K. M.

       *       *       *       *       *

SAILORS AND THE SMALL BOAT.

It is a curious fact that few seamen can handle a small boat with
facility. This applies chiefly to the crews of sailing craft, as the
large steamship corporations long ago realized this failing among
sailors, and instituted a series of boat drills on their steamships that
have been productive of excellent results. Knowledge of the workings of
small boats is a requisite that every seaman should possess, and young
men intending to follow the sea for a livelihood should acquire it
before they tread the decks of a vessel, as they will have but little
opportunity afterwards.

The wise forethought of steamship corporations on having their crews
drilled saved many lives at the wreck of the steamer _Denmark_, as
something like 734 persons were transferred from her to the _Missouri_
without a single accident in mid-ocean during a heavy swell. It follows,
therefore, that those who seek recreation on the water would do well not
to go in any boat, unless it is in charge of an experienced boatman, and
is amply supplied with life-preservers. Boats ought to be ballasted with
fresh water in small casks, instead of stones or iron, so that, in the
event of being capsized, the ballast may help to keep them afloat. A
young man who may have been only a very few times in a boat, under
favorable circumstances, assumes he can manage one. He makes up a party,
the wind freshens or a squall ensues, he loses his head, a capsize takes
place, the boat sinks, and the chances are that he and his companions
will be drowned. Those who go boat-sailing ought to leave as little to
chance as possible.



[Illustration: STAMPS]

     This Department is conducted in the interest of stamp and coin
     collectors, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question
     on these subjects so far as possible. Correspondents should address
     Editor Stamp Department.


This is the height of the auction season. One auction a day is a fair
average, and several lists with reserved prices have been sent out to
prospective buyers, who are asked to compete against each other by mail.
The straight auction where no stamp is held at a reserve will always
commend itself to collectors. In the few instances where it was
suspected that "a string was attached to the valuable stamps," such
dissatisfaction was aroused that no self-respecting or far-sighted
dealer will countenance any thing which savors of unfair bidding.

In the issue of January 5 I referred to a rumor that the Bureau of
Engraving contemplated a new issue of U.S. stamps. Although no official
notice has been given, it is believed the government intends to issue
the new set during the International Postal Union Convention which meets
in Washington this spring. I advise young collectors to look up the
blank spaces especially in the current issue. For instance, the
guide-lines now used make eight varieties of the 1c. and 2c. stamps,
viz., guide-line at the top, bottom, left, or right, and the lines at
top and left, top and right, bottom and left, and bottom and right. Then
there are the three varieties of triangles in the 2c. stamps, and also
the marked varieties in the color of the early compared with later
printings.

     BALTIMORE.--The Nova Scotia 1c. black is worth 30c.; the 5c. blue
     about 10c.

     E. C. WOOD.--U.S. stamps issued before 1861 are not available for
     postage, but all issues from 1861 are valid to-day.

     J. E. KINTER.--The "Army and Navy" is not a coin, but is one of the
     many war tokens issued in 1861.

     J. MANN.--The early Portugal have been reprinted. The Argentine
     1892 2 centavos and 5 centavos were formerly high-priced, but of
     late they can be bought for 75c to $1 for the two.

     A. DANBY.--The Cape of Good Hope first issue were triangular. They
     are slowly advancing in value.

     J. JOYNER and J. RASMUSSEN.--We do not sell albums or stamps or
     coins, nor supply catalogues. Refer to advertisements of dealers.

     J. R. AVERY.--You can buy a very good 1834 half-dollar from a
     coin-dealer for 75c.

     H. L. UNDERHILL.--Your stamp is a Swiss revenue stamp.

     H. LEK. DEMAREST.--An unused U.S. stamp which has been creased
     cannot have the crease removed without taking off the original gum.
     Trondhjem stamps are Norway locals. A revenue stamp with one side
     unperforated is worth a little less than one with all four sides
     perforated.

     D. D. WARDWELL.--Apply to any dealer for list of S.S.S.S. stamps.
     Confederate bills are worthless, as there are millions of them in
     existence. The San Francisco find of $20,000 U.S. Revenues will not
     affect the value of the stamps.

     G. H. C. and E. D. BEALS.--No value.

     C. W. WALKER.--The half-penny is worthless. U.S. half-cent, 1809,
     is worth 10c.

     J. SMYTHE.--I know very few collectors of postal cards, and
     personally never collected them. I think it would pay you to join
     the Postal-Card Society if you are going to collect cards on
     anything like a fair scale. At auctions postal cards bring very
     small prices, but probably there are no rarities in the lots
     offered in this way.

     A. A. FISCHER.--The water-marks on the Tuscany stamps, first issue,
     are in four horizontal rows of three crowns in each row. It
     requires quite a block to see an entire crown. The second issue is
     on a paper bearing interlacing lines, with an inscription running
     diagonally from the lower left to the upper right corner.

  PHILATUS.



[Illustration: IVORY SOAP]



IMPORTANT BOOKS

_PUBLISHED RECENTLY_

       *       *       *       *       *

George Washington

By WOODROW WILSON, Ph.D., LL.D. Copiously Illustrated by HOWARD PYLE,
HARRY FENN, and Others. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Deckel Edges and Gilt Top,
$3.00.

     We doubt if the career of Washington has ever received worthier
     treatment at the hands of biographer, historian, or political
     philosopher.--_Dial_, Chicago.

     A familiar and delightful study of Washington.... We do not recall
     a popular work on Washington of more graphic interest than
     Professor Wilson's performance.--_Philadelphia Bulletin._

"Harper's Round Table" for 1896

Volume XVII. With 1276 Pages and about 1200 Illustrations. 4to, Cloth,
Ornamental, $3.50.

     The book is one which is sure to delight all the
     children.--_Detroit Free Press._

     One of the best periodicals for children ever
     published.--_Philadelphia Ledger._

Naval Actions of the War of 1812

By JAMES BARNES. With 21 Full-page Illustrations by CARLTON T. CHAPMAN,
printed in color, and 12 Reproductions of Medals. 8vo, Cloth,
Ornamental, Deckel Edges and Gilt Top, $4.50.

     Unquestionably both the most lifelike and the most artistic
     renderings of these encounters ever attempted.--_Boston Journal._

     Brimful of adventure, hardihood, and patriotism.--_Philadelphia
     Ledger._

The Dwarfs' Tailor

And Other Fairy Tales. Collected by ZOE DANA UNDERHILL. With 12
Illustrations. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.75.

     The twenty-two tales form a cosmopolitan array that cannot fail to
     delight young readers.--_Chicago Tribune._

     Fascinating for old and young.--_Boston Traveller._

A Virginia Cavalier

A Story of the Youth of George Washington. By MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.
Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.

     Warmly commended to all young American readers.--_Chicago
     Inter-Ocean._

     An absorbing tale.--_Philadelphia Bulletin._

Rick Dale

A Story of the Northwest Coast, By KIRK MUNROE. Illustrated by W. A.
ROGERS. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

     Lively and exciting, and has, incidentally, much first-hand
     information about the far Northwest.--_Outlook_, N. Y.

     Capital story of adventure.--_Philadelphia Evening Bulletin._

       *       *       *       *       *

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York



THAT MYSTERY TRIP.

Answers and Money Awards in that Exciting Contest about a Queer Journey.


The Mystery Trip story proved a mystery indeed to many, for while the
puzzle was rather easy, it scared out not a few contestants by its
looks--like the famous animal in the Bunyan narrative. And the questions
thought by most solvers to be the hardest proved to the successful ones
the easiest. For example, the great majority could not find "Tidbottom's
spectacles," nor guess the riddles. The first-prize winner failed on one
of the easy questions--What was the sea of darkness?--but answered
everything else. His name is Herbert Wiswell, and he lives in Melrose,
Mass.; and since he did so much better than any one else he is awarded a
big prize--$25 in cash. The next two winners are girls. One is Anna
Whitall James, of Riverton, N. J., and the other Bessie Steele, of
Chicago. They did almost equally well, but not quite the same. So to the
former is given $5 and the latter $3. To the other eight of the best
ten--in addition to the first big prize--the offer was to divide $40
among the best ten--$1 each is awarded. Their names follow in order: De
F. Porter Rudd, of Connecticut; Franklin A. Johnston, New York; Bryant
K. Hussey, of Illinois; J. Lawrence Hyde, of Washington; W. Putnam, of
New York; Fred P. Moore, of Massachusetts; J. Lurie, of New York; and G.
Edwin Taylor, of Pennsylvania.

The following are placed on the honor list. All found at least 33 of the
37 questions: Freida G. Vroom, of New Jersey; Nannie R. Nevins, of New
York; Maud G. Corcoran, of Maryland; Robert Meiklejohn, Jr., of Ohio;
Ernest Haines, of New York; Frank J. and S. N. Hallett, of Rhode Island;
Robert C. Hatfield and William J. Culp, of Pennsylvania; Margaret A.
Bulkley and Rose G. Wood, of Michigan; and Claude S. Smith, of New York.

Here are the answers to the questions: 1. A travelling-rug that would
transport its owner anywhere he wished to go. 2. A golden arrow given
him by the gods which rendered him invisible as he rode through the air.
3. Vulcan. 4. Spectacles that enabled their wearers to see real
character beneath an assumed one. (See George Wm. Curtis's _Prue and
I_.) 5. A broom which he put at his ship's mast-head to indicate he
intended to sweep all before him. 6. A Druid monument near Aylesford, in
England. 7. Don Quixote. 8. Rosinante. 9. Dean Swift. 10. John Brown's
dog "Rab." 11. One that could cover an army and yet be carried, when
desired, in one's pocket. 12. An offering given to the priest at
Whitsuntide according to the number of chimneys in his parish. 13. Roman
coins dug up at Silchester, in England. 14. Old German coins made to
unscrew; inscriptions were placed inside. 15. The Gate of Dreams. 16. An
old name for the Atlantic Ocean. 17. A ship made by the dwarfs, large
enough to hold all the gods, which always commanded a prosperous gale;
it could be folded up like a sheet of paper and put into a purse when
not in use. 18. The flying island, inhabited by scientific quacks,
visited by Gulliver in his travels. 19. A mountain which drew all of the
nails out of any ship which came within reach of its magnetic influence.
20. Scotland. 21. Roger Bacon. 22. Charles II. 23. Garibaldi. 24. Robert
Southey. 25. Should have been "budge," not "bridge." The question is
therefore ruled out--that is, none who missed it had the error counted
against them. The answer is: a company of men dressed in long gowns,
lined with budge or lamb's wool, who used to accompany the Lord Mayor of
London on his inauguration. 26. Something made of all the scraps in the
larder. (See _Merry Wives of Windsor_.) 27. An imaginary land of plenty,
where roast pigs ran about squealing "Who'll eat me?" 28. The Escurial.
29. Caverns in the chalk cliffs of Essex, England. 30. An old jail in
Edinburgh, Scotland. 31. A curious stone in Mexico cut with figures
denoting time. 32. Corea. 33. December 13, 1688. 34. Simple people in
the time of King John who danced about a thorn-bush to keep captive a
cuckoo. 35. A badge worn by those who received parish relief in the
reign of William III.; it consisted of the letter P, with the initial of
the parish where the owner belonged in red or blue cloth, on the
shoulder of the right sleeve. 36. The paper that enclosed the cartridges
which were used in the Civil War. 37. A bookworm.

       *       *       *       *       *

Boys will be Boys.

In the _Life and Letters of Dr. Samuel Butler_ recently published, it is
shown that the saying "boys will be boys" was as true many years ago as
it is to-day.

"There was a certain Exciseman in Shrewsbury who was very trim and neat
in his attire, but who had a nose of more than usual size. As he passed
through the school-lane the boys used to call him 'Nosey,' and this made
him so angry that he complained to Dr. Butler, who sympathized, and sent
for the head boy, to whom he gave strict injunctions that the boys
should not say 'Nosey' any more.

"Next day, however, the Exciseman reappeared, even more angry than
before. It seems that not a boy had said 'Nosey,' but that as soon as he
was seen the boys ranged themselves in two lines, through which he must
pass, and all fixed their eyes intently upon his nose. Again Dr. Butler
summoned the head boy, and spoke more sharply. 'You have no business,'
said he, 'to annoy a man who is passing through the school on his lawful
occasions; don't look at him.' But again the Exciseman returned to Dr.
Butler, furious with indignation, for this time, as soon as he was seen,
every boy had covered his face with his hand until he had gone by."

       *       *       *       *       *

Signs of Coming Events.

     Burning ears indicate, you know, that we are being talked about.
     When the right ear burns, something to our advantage is being said;
     when the left ear is troubled, something detrimental is being said.
     An old darky I knew of had a spell to stop this kind of gossip. She
     spat on her finger, made the sign of a cross on her ear, and said,

  "If yer talkin' good, good betide ye;
  Talkin' bad, hope de debil ride ye."

     "Mother Goose" is responsible for the following:

  "If you sneeze on Monday, you sneeze for danger.
  Sneeze on a Tuesday, kiss a stranger.
  Sneeze on a Wednesday, sneeze for a letter.
  Sneeze on a Thursday, something better.
  Sneeze on a Friday, sneeze for sorrow.
  Sneeze on a Saturday, see your sweetheart to-morrow."

  EUGENE ASHFORD.
  PORTLAND, OREGON.

     A cat eating grass is a sign of rain.

  "Evening red and morning gray
  Lets the traveller on his way.
  Evening gray and morning red
  Brings down rain on the traveller's head."

     Snow lingering on the ground is a sign that the winter will be
     severe.

     Stumbling up stairs is a sign of your marriage within the year.

  ROSA ELIZABETH HUTCHINSON, R.T.F.
  MONTCLAIR.

       *       *       *       *       *

Knew Himself Best.

The Rev. John Watson, who has written several successful books under the
_nom de plume_ of "Ian Maclaren," recently visited this country--his
home is in Liverpool, England--where he met with wonderful success on a
lecture tour. Just before departing for his home he met a New York
editor who was a class-mate of his at school years ago in Edinburgh,
Scotland. Calling him familiarly by his first name, as of old, Dr.
Watson, in response to congratulations, said: "I am glad this success
did not come to me when I was young. Why, Dave, if this had happened
when I was twenty-one, it would have turned my head, and I should have
thought myself a very great man! But now I know better."

       *       *       *       *       *

Funny Incidents with Unfamiliar Languages.

The late George du Maurier, an account of whose early student days has
recently been published by Messrs. Harper & Brothers, was once much put
out by an Englishman who took him for a Frenchman. The two conversed for
a while in French, the Englishman stumbling through the conversation,
thinking it necessary to bring into service all the French he knew in
order to make himself understood by this greatest of English satirists.

But Du Maurier was not the only man to have this experience. Some years
ago a party of four American gentlemen met, in the park at Versailles,
four American ladies whose acquaintance they had made some months before
in Germany. Desiring to treat them to a carriage ride, one of the
gentlemen motioned to a cab that stood near. Supposing cabby to be
French because he was in France, the eight summoned their best French,
and, after a great deal of difficulty, in which cabby seemed dull and
the Americans unable to give a French pronunciation to their French,
succeeded in fixing upon a price for a two-hour ride. As four of the
party were about to enter the carriage, one lady objected to the small
seat. The cabby desired, so it afterward developed, to tell the lady she
could sit on the front seat with him. Thinking of an inducement for so
doing, he undertook to express it by bending over, shaking his trousers,
then his coat tails, next his coat collar, and lastly his mustaches,
which he pulled to their greatest length, having first inflated his
cheeks to their fullest extent. His performance was so ludicrous that
the whole party laughed, and some lady, in true American vernacular,
shouted,

"Well, I never!"

The man straightened up instantly. "Are you folks English?" he
ejaculated. Assured that they were next thing to English, and that they
could not speak French, cabby said, "Neither can I."

"But what were you trying to say by those antics just now?"

"That it would be cooler on the high front seat," said cabby.

Of course the objection to the seat was waived, and the party, not put
out as was Du Maurier, enjoyed a hearty laugh over their half-hour
wasted in trying to make a bargain with cabby in a language that neither
they nor he understood.

       *       *       *       *       *

Societies Active in Good Deeds.

     I write to tell you of the success of the Iris Club, of which I
     told you in the fall. After I wrote, we decided not to give our
     dues to a "home," but to give a church fair instead. It was a big
     undertaking for five schoolgirls, busy with lessons and music, but
     would bravely, making as many articles as possible. I made about
     one hundred. We got tickets printed free, and the fair was held at
     our house. Several ladies furnished music, and tickets, including
     ice-cream, were fifteen cents. We sold plants, embroidery, and
     other things on commission. So, although we took in $65, when
     everything was paid for we had $53.60 to give to the church. At the
     fair we had five tables, and then one large cake-table, besides a
     Wheel of Fortune and a fortune-teller. We asked all our friends for
     cakes and articles for sale, and the girls acted as waitresses. It
     was a great success, and the club justly feels proud of it.

     Besides the Iris, another club, the Drumtochty, has been started
     here, also a benevolent institution, for making clothes for poor
     children. We meet every week, and we sew our garments. After they
     are finished we keep them until a poor family is found. Instead of
     reading books, the Iris reads "A Loyal Traitor," in HARPER'S ROUND
     TABLE, and enjoys it very much. We wish success to any other young
     society trying to do good.

  ADELAIDE L. W. ERMENTROUT, Secretary.
  "GRANSTEIN."

       *       *       *       *       *

National Amateur Press Association.

     Undoubtedly one of the most interesting and beneficial hobbies of
     young people is amateur journalism. The chief promoter of this
     cause in the United States is the National Amateur Press
     Association, an organization consisting of upward of three hundred
     members scattered all over the country. Conventions are held every
     year, when new officers are elected and other business transacted.
     The last one was held at Washington, D. C., and was a success in
     every way. The next convention will be held in San Francisco,
     California. For the nominal sum of $1 any one interested to that
     amount is admitted to membership. A large number of papers are
     issued by different amateurs of the association, which are sent to
     all members, free of charge. Mr. Allison Brocaw, Litchfield,
     Minnesota, is at present recruiting chairman, and will supply any
     one interested with further information.

  ELMER B. BOYD.



[Illustration: THE CAMERA CLUB]

     Any questions in regard to photograph matters will be willingly
     answered by the Editor of this column, and we should be glad to
     hear from any of our club who can make helpful suggestions.


A NEW PROCESS FOR SENSITIZING PAPER.

In the _American Annual of Photography for 1896_, Mr. E. W. Newcomb
tells how to make vignettes with an atomizer by spraying the paper with
a sensitive solution. This seemed such a clever idea that the editor
made a trial of the method, and found that many artistic effects could
be produced in this way which could not be made by any other process
either of printing or sensitizing the paper.

The sensitizing solution can be applied so as to obtain any form
desired, and paper thus prepared may be used in many different ways not
possible with a paper which is coated all over evenly.

The atomizer must be of hard rubber--both tube and stopper--as metal
either corrodes or injures the sensitive solution. The spray must be so
fine that it is almost a mist, and the atomizer should be tried before
purchasing. Clear water will do to test the fineness of the spray.

The first experiments should be made with the blue-print solution, as
this is not only cheaper, but easier to prepare and handle, and when dry
it shows just where the solution has been applied. Pin the paper by the
corners to a smooth board, set it in an upright position, and holding
the atomizer perhaps a foot away from the paper, direct the spray to the
place on the paper where the heaviest printing is intended. Squeeze the
bulb gently, so that the solution will not soak into the paper, and at
the edges, where the solution must be applied lightly in order to
produce vignetted effects, hold the spray farther away from the paper.
By a little practice one can soon make any shaped vignette desired.

If any member of our Camera Club is looking for some new way of making
prints for gifts, here is a suggestion: Cut plain salted paper in sheets
8 by 10 in. in size. Take an 8 by 10 in. card-mount, and cut out a
square from the centre, leaving a margin 1 in. wide on one side and at
the top and bottom, and on the other side a margin 1-1/2 in. wide. Over
the corners of this mat paste triangles of paper in the way that corners
are made for desk-blotters, pasting the edges down on one side, and on
the other leaving the paper free from the card-board, so that a sheet of
paper may be slipped under the corners. Take a piece of plain paper,
slip it into the mat--the corners holding it in place--turn it over, and
hanging or fastening it against the wall, spray it with the sensitive
solution in the places where you wish to print pictures. The mat made of
card-board protects the edges of the sensitive paper, and makes a nice
wide margin. Half a dozen sheets sensitized, printed, and bound together
with an attractive cover, either made of rough paper or some fancy
card-board, will make a pretty gift for a friend, and something that
will not be duplicated. To make a more elaborate present, select some
familiar poem, easily illustrated, choose negatives which will make
appropriate pictures for it, print, wash, and dry the pictures, then
with French blue water-color letter the verses of the poem in the clear
spaces left on the paper. If a little taste is used in arranging and
printing the pictures, putting them in different places on the sheet,
one can make a very artistic little booklet. The side of the paper with
the 1-1/2 in. margin is the edge for binding. If a touch of gold is
given to the lettering the effect is more striking. Small cakes of what
is called water-color gold may be bought for 10c. or 15c., and is the
kind used for lettering on paper.

This way of sensitizing paper will suggest many ideas for decorative
work, such as menu-cards, letter-heads, calendars, mats for pictures,
etc. The blue-print solution is the simplest to use in preparing paper
in this manner, but the same result may be obtained with other
solutions. The formulas given for tinted sensitive solutions in previous
numbers of the ROUND TABLE could be used, and many delicate and
attractive tones be obtained. Prints made on paper sensitized with a
spray instead of being applied with a brush have the appearance of wash
drawings.

     SIR KNIGHT HUGO KRETSCHMAR sends a number of negatives and asks
     what is the matter with them. He explains that they were taken with
     a No. 1 kodak on a day when the ground was covered with snow,
     making an exposure of ten seconds. The trouble with the negatives
     is that they are much over-exposed. Ten seconds is a long time to
     expose a plate even on a dark day, and when the snow is on the
     ground the exposure should be instantaneous, unless plate and lens
     are both very slow. The best time to make snow pictures is early in
     the morning or late in the afternoon, when the shadows are long. If
     a slow plate is used, make an exposure of two seconds, and develop
     as for a time picture. The camera which Sir Hugh asks about is a
     good camera for a cheap camera.

     SIR KNIGHT W. D. CAMPBELL, 420 Fifth St., Brooklyn, N. Y., asks if
     some member of the club living in St. Louis, Mo., will send him a
     view of the part of the city which was destroyed by the tornado. In
     return he will send a good picture of the ocean greyhound
     _Campania_.

     SIR KNIGHT WILLIAM MERRITT, Rhinecliff, N. Y., wishes to exchange
     some interesting views taken at Rhinecliff, N. Y., for some views
     taken in Central Park, New York city. Will some of our New York
     members write to Sir William? He would also like to exchange
     scenery photographs with any of the members of the club.

     Any member who does not receive a response to his request for
     prints may have the same printed again, after a reasonable length
     of time.



ADVERTISEMENTS.



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[Illustration]

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"A perfect type of the highest order

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[Illustration: Walter Baker & Co.'s Breakfast Cocoa]

COSTS LESS THAN ONE CENT A CUP

Be sure that you get the

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By WALTER BAKER & CO., Ltd.

Established 1780.



[Illustration: MEFISTO SCARF PIN]

A brand new joke; Mefisto's bulging eyes, bristling ears and ghastly
grin invite curiosity every time when worn on scarf or lapel, and it is
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Wanted.

ROBT. H. INGERSOLL & BRO.,

Dept. No. 62, 65 & 67 Cortlandt Street, New York City.



ARE YOU CLEVER?

[Illustration]

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In Gold, will be paid to the three purchasers sending in the most
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Requires patience & steady nerves. Send 15 cts. for Puzzle, (2 for 25
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Walter S. Coles, Neave Building, Cincinnati, O.



HOOPING-COUGH

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The celebrated and effectual English Cure without internal medicine.
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BOYS and GIRLS

can earn money by working half an hour daily distributing free samples
of Headache Powders. For full particulars address,

CAPITAL DRUG CO., Box 880, Augusta, Me.



PLAYS

Dialogues, Speakers for School,

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HARPER & BROTHERS'

Descriptive list of their publications, with _portraits of authors_,
will be sent by mail to any address on receipt of ten cents.

HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York.



[Illustration: THE FIRST VISIT TO THE PHOTOGRAPHER'S.

"WHO WOULDN'T BE FRIGHTENED AT HAVING THAT GREAT BIG-HEADED TWO-LEGGED
THING COMING RIGHT AT YOU?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

RULES FOR BOBBING.

When you start out to "bob," it is just as well to determine in advance
what kind of bobbing you are going to do. There are several kinds, as
most young people know--such as bobbing for apples, bobbing for eels,
and bobbing on a bob-sled. A rule which would do very well when bobbing
for apples would not suit you at all when sliding down hill, and _vice
versa_. Therefore, the first general rule for bobbing is to select your
kind, and then go ahead. The following rules are for the sled variety:

1. First get your bob. There is no use of trying to go bobbing without a
bob. The boy who tries to bob without a bob is apt to wear his clothes
out in a very short time, and to experience considerable discomfort into
the bargain.

2. Having secured your bob, and got its runners and steering-gear into
good working order, select a convenient hill upon which to coast, and
start from the top of it. This is one of the most important of the rules
of bobbing. Boys who have tried the experiment of starting to bob from
the foot of the hill have met with considerable opposition not from the
people about them, but from certain principles of nature which make it
impossible for even the best of bob-sleds to coast up hill, and while
there is no law against your trying to coast up hill which would result
in your being put into jail if you broke it, persistence in the effort
might result in your landing sooner or later in a lunatic asylum.

3. Having started from the top of the hill, then stick as closely as you
can to the line mapped out before the "shove-off." It is always well to
know where you are going to land, particularly when you are bobbing. It
is true that when Columbus started out to discover America he did not
know where he was going to land, or, indeed, that he was going to land
at all, but he had a pretty good general idea of the possibilities, and
that is what you need to have before the shove-off. The experiences of a
New Hampshire boy who ignored this point will show its importance. He
shoved off all right, but having left the chosen path, found himself
speeding down the hill directly at the rear of the village church. He
could not stop, and the first thing he knew he crashed through the
stained-glass windows, down through the middle aisle, and out into the
street, slap bang into the arms of the town constable. He was arrested,
and his father having to pay the fine imposed, as well as to give the
church new windows, and carpet for the middle aisle, where the runners
of the bob had destroyed the old one, made him very uncomfortable by
spanking him regularly every time it snowed during the following winter.

4. Do not try to coast unless there is snow on the ground. Coasting on
bare hill-sides or down stony roads is not very exhilarating sport, nor
will the oiling of your runners help you a bit. The only boy who ever
got far by oiling his runners for a slide on a snowless road covered
twenty feet, and then had his bob destroyed by fire. He had used
kerosene oil, and the friction of the runners upon the road created such
an intense heat that the oil ignited, and in a short time the bob was a
smoking ruin. What became of the boy is not known, but it is safe to say
that if he were scorched at all he would have found the snow rather more
cooling than the country road without it.

5. If on your way down hill you see a horse and wagon approaching, do
not try to slide between the wheels and under the horse; nor should you
trust to a fortunate thank-you-marm in the road to enable you to jump
the obstruction. Steer to one side if there is room, and if there isn't,
try your fortunes in a convenient snow-bank, should there happen to be
one, and if there shouldn't happen to be one, do the best you can with
what snow there is. It is better to be landed head-first in the snow
than to become involved with a horse and wagon in any way.

6. In case your bob should run into an unforeseen stump on the way down,
you might as well make up your mind to keep on your journey whether the
bob stops short or not. You cannot help doing so, whether you wish to or
not, and it is always well, in view of possible accidents of this sort,
to have it understood by on-lookers that that was the way you intended
to do, anyhow. If you can convince the on-looker of this, he will not
have half as much excuse for laughing at you as he might otherwise have.

7. The last of the suggestions to be made here at this time is the only
rule that young ladies need observe in bobbing. That rule is to leave
the management of the whole affair to the boys. Just take your places on
the bob and don't bother. The boys will attend to everything involved in
the preceding rules, and then when the foot of the hill is reached,
after a glorious trip down the precipitous descent will, if they are the
right kind of boys, tell you to sit still and they will haul you back to
the top again. Of course this rule is not available in leap-year, when,
if the young ladies insist upon having all their rights, it will become
their turn to take charge and to haul the boys up.

       *       *       *       *       *

AT THE SUMMER HOTEL.

"Do you write stories?" asked the kind old lady, meeting Polly in the
hall.

"No," said Polly. "Papa writes stories, though."

"I know; but why don't you?"

"Well," said Polly, sadly, "it's because when papa is all through there
isn't any paper left in the house."





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Harper's Round Table, February 2, 1897" ***

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