Chapter IV: Two Panetelas

Upon quitting Chief Garth’s door and trotting down his stoop, I walked briskly westward in the direction of a square which I counted upon getting another cab; for, expecting no further use of him, I had dismissed my former driver. I found two cabs, both taxis, and immediately stepped toward the nearest.

“Grand Central Station!” said I to the fellow dozing on his seat.

He came to with a start just as I was yanking open the door.

“Hold on a minute, mister,” stammered the man, “I’m engaged.”

I glanced at his “clock.” Sure enough, his “vacant” sign was down. He was waiting for somebody.

“Bill, yonder, ain’t got no fare,” offered the driver, thumbing in the direction of the car beyond. “He’ll carry ye.”

And next minute I had given directions to “Bill,” who cranked forthwith; and, speed having evidently showed in my attitude, we turned the corner almost on two wheels. But my ear caught the whir of the first car as it, in turn, was started.

I might have saved myself some anxiety had I stopped to think that, near midnight as it was, the streets were free from traffic. There is something in me that delights in speed, and that ride was a little slice of joy in itself. We reached the station in plenty of time for my train.

I broke the twenty-dollar bill I had so easily earned that afternoon, and secured my berth before boarding the Pullman.

Some impulse prompted me to turn my head just as I was passing through the gate entrance to trains; and the station, at this hour, was deserted enough for me to note the fact that another man stood before the Pullman ticket window, his back toward me. Once aboard the sleeping car, I slipped a quarter into the eagerly expectant palm of the dusky attendant, and said: “Make up number seven, George,” and then passed up the aisle into the smoking room.

I had been on a steady and momentous jump since the minute I had clapped my eyes on the launch at a quarter to five. I must run over things a bit; and I reasoned that the two dark-hued panetelas that still remained unbroken in my upper vest pocket would help.

What I wondered at was my own attitude in the matter of this chase. Where did I stand? Here I was, without any data whatever as to what he was wanted for, virtually throwing myself into the chase of a man who had shown himself closely related in some way to a girl whom I had, in a most freakish and outlandish manner, fallen in love with. Why?

Honesty with myself soon told me that it wasn’t alone professional duty that was whirling me toward Portland.

But what of Pawlinson? It must be big game, or he wouldn’t be connected with it, let alone personally engaged in sleuth work.

Then, again, how was I going to figure with Pawlinson when he discovered that I, who now was engaged as his own hireling through Chief Garth, was the selfsame man who had just thwarted him by having him punched prettily over the side of a launch?

I was really not much to blame in this; for I had done the thing unwittingly enough; but such things aren’t easily brooked. In spite of myself, though, I couldn’t help chuckling at the memory of the incident.

I had never seen Pawlinson before; but I stood in as much awe as the rest of the cubs at his name; and it did me a bit of inward good to think of the merriment I could make in recounting the thing to them later.

I knew little of the history of the man; but the little I did know was out of the ordinary.

To begin with, nobody had ever heard that such a man existed until a short three years before; but then he had suddenly sprung into the most dazzling limelight.

At that time the entire country had been bewildered and infuriated by a succession of daring safe-crackings. To make it worse, these jobs were, in nearly every instance, characterized by what appeared to be the most useless bloodshed. The perpetrators had seemed to go out of their way to use pistol and dirk.

Watchmen were found viciously stabbed; clerks, working late, had been murdered; and all these crimes had been committed in small communities and upon small dealers.

From chagrin, the public had quickly turned to indignation and storm; for the detective force had proved themselves absolutely powerless and inefficient.

Then had come Pawlinson.

He entered Washington headquarters one day, and quietly informed the chief there that he wanted to enter the detective service. Asked his credentials and former experience, he as quietly stated that by the end of that week he would bring in the entire gang that was puzzling them all.

And he did. Since which his place had been established, a place not a little enhanced by the very mysteriousness of him; a mysteriousness which I had heard he was at no pains to explain or eliminate.

“Well”--I concluded my soliloquy finally--“here I am mixed right up--and closely, too--with Pawlinson himself.”

But my duty was clear enough. I had told the chief I would wire him when I had located the man; and so, not only my own word, but his, as my chief, was out.

“That much I can do, anyway,” I grunted to myself, dropping the end of my second cigar into the cuspidor. “Beyond that we shall see what we shall see.”

With that I quitted the smoking room and sought my berth. As I lurched at a rolling gait down the aisle toward my number, for we were hitting up a lively clip, I noticed that all the berths had been made up by this time.

Then I seemed to recall that, in my abstraction, I had been vaguely conscious of a stop some half hour before; and I now reasoned that it was Stamford, Connecticut, or thereabout.

In the aisle I stripped off coat, vest, collar, tie, and shirt; then, just before ducking under the heavy curtain for the berth, and for no real reason that I yet know, I happened to sweep my eye up and down the car from one end to the other. And I could vow to this day that I saw the curtains of both number nine and number three drawn vigorously in toward the respective berths.

But really, down deep, I am of a care-free nature, and I was asleep in three shakes.

TO BE CONTINUED.

CAUGHT IN THE COILS.

The following adventure which befell Speke, the great explorer, forms one of the most thrilling episodes in a life full of perils and escapes. Captain Speke himself tells the tale.

It appears that he, with his comrade Grant, left the camp together one day to hunt game for their supper. Their first victim was a fine young buffalo cow.

Soon after, they had a prospect of still better fortune. An enormous elephant with particularly fine tusks was observed within range. Speke quickly brought his rifle up to his shoulder, took a careful aim, and fired.

A moment after, as he was watching for the effect of his shot, he heard a startled exclamation from the attendant negroes, and looked round.

To his horror, he saw a huge boa constrictor in the very act of darting down upon him from a branch overhead.

In less than a second--indeed, before he had time to stir a muscle to spring aside--the beast had shot out of the heavy foliage and caught him in a coil. Speke put out all his strength to get clear, and at the same instant, glancing round for help, saw Grant standing a few paces away, with rifle leveled.

“In a moment,” he continues, “I comprehended all. The huge serpent had struck the young buffalo cow, between which and him I had unluckily placed myself at the moment of firing upon the elephant. A most singular good fortune attended me, however, for, instead of being crushed into a mangled mass with the unfortunate cow, my left forearm had only been caught in between the buffalo’s body and a single fold of the constrictor. The limb lay just in front of the shoulder, at the root of the neck, and thus had a short bed of flesh, into which it was jammed, as it were, by the immense pressure of the serpent’s body, that was like iron in hardness.

“As I saw Grant about to shoot, a terror took possession of me; for if he refrained, I might possibly escape, after the boa released its folds from the dead cow; but should he fire and strike the reptile, it would, in its convulsions, crush or drag me to pieces.

“Even as the idea came to me, I beheld Grant pause. He appeared fully to comprehend all. He could see how I was situated, that I was still living, and that my delivery depended upon the will of the constrictor. We could see every one of each other’s faces, so close were we, and I would have shouted or spoken or even whispered to him, had I dared. But the boa’s head was reared within a few feet of mine, and a wink of an eyelid would perhaps settle my doom; so I stared, stared, stared, like a dead man at Grant and at the blacks.

“Presently the serpent began very gradually to relax his folds, and, after retightening them several times as the crushed buffalo quivered, he unwound one fold entirely. Then he paused.

“The next ironlike band was the one which held me a prisoner; and as I felt it, little by little, unclasping, my heart stood still with hope and fear. Perhaps, upon being free, the benumbed arm, uncontrolled by any will, might fall from the cushionlike bed in which it lay! And such a mishap might bring the spare fold around my neck or chest--and then farewell to the sources of the Nile!

“Oh, how hard, how desperately I struggled to command myself! I glanced at Grant, and saw him handling his rifle anxiously. I glanced at the negroes, and saw them still gazing, as though petrified with astonishment. I glanced at the serpent’s loathsome head, and saw its bright, deadly eyes watching for the least sign of life in its prey.

“Now, then, the reptile loosened its fold on my arm a hair’s-breadth, and now a little more, till half an inch of space separated my arm and its mottled skin. I could have whipped out my hand, but dared not take the risk. Atoms of time dragged themselves into ages, and a minute seemed eternity itself.

“The second fold was removed entirely, and the next one easing. Should I dash away now, or wait a more favorable moment? I decided upon the former: and with lightning speed I bounded away toward Grant, the crack of whose piece I heard at the next instant.

“For the first time in my life I was thoroughly overcome; and, sinking down, I remained in a semiunconscious state for several minutes. When I fully recovered, Grant and the overjoyed negroes held me up, and pointed out the boa, which was still writhing in its death agonies. I shuddered as I looked upon the effects of its tremendous dying strength. For yards around where it lay, grass and bushes and saplings, and, in fact, everything except the more fully grown trees were cut quite off, as though they had been trimmed by an immense scythe.

“The monster, when measured, was fifty-one feet two and a half inches in extreme length, while round the thickest portion of its body the girth was nearly three feet, thus proving, I believe, to be the largest serpent that was ever authentically heard of.”

POWERFUL BEGGARS.

The Chinese are more charitable than they have been given credit for. They give freely, especially on occasions of public or private rejoicing.

Beggars are numerous everywhere, and are organized into a sort of union or guild, with a master at the head, whose word is law to his mendicant subjects, and whose laws are as unchanging as those of the Medes and Persians. No man can be buried without a large share of “funeral baked meats” falling to the lot of the beggars’ guild.

No person is allowed to marry by this powerful union unless he or his friends pay a tribute to the king of beggars, in the shape of a big feast and a sum of money.

The last varies from one to five hundred dollars, according to the means of the tribute payer. The feast must consist of as good food as is served to the wedding guests.

On this the beggar king and his cabinet dine, with as much gusto, if not as much ceremony, as the Emperor of China when feasting his ministers. In almost every city you will find a beggars’ guild. The subjects of any one king vary in number, according to the size of the city. These kings of China’s submerged millions, whose territories consist of streets, gutters, bridges, and doorsteps, and whose subjects have been won for him by poverty, accident, vice, and disease, exercise a patriarchal sway and dispense a rough and primitive justice. The office is not hereditary, but elective, and tenable for life.

The beggar king lives in a house that is almost a palace, compared to the miserable shelter that his subjects have to be contented with. Not infrequently he grows rich from the tribute paid him by the people of the upper crust of society. He has powerful means of enforcing his demands. He has means of annoyance which the police are unable to put a stop to.

Suppose a man about to marry refuses to recognize the claim of the beggar king. His wedding procession will be blocked by thousands of lame, halt, and leprous beggars, who will ease their minds by imprecations such as are unfit for a bride to hear, and will be sure to bring ill luck on the married couple. Else this unseemly rabble will besiege the house of the unlucky bridegroom, and go through a similar performance. It is worth a large sum to be rid of such pests.

Even the magistrates, autocrats as they are in their own realms, respect the office of the beggar king, and never offend him if they can avoid it.

Ordinarily beggars go from house to house and from shop to shop with a bowl in hand, into which is poured the handful of rice, or is dropped the copper coin of charity. They are irrepressible, and will not take “no” for an answer.

QUEER THINGS TO EAT.

At the department of agriculture in Washington, hidden away in an obscure corner, is an odd sort of exhibit of queer foods eaten by out-of-the-way people. There is a loaf of bread made from the roasted leaves of a plant allied to the century plant. Another kind of bread is from a dough of juniper berries. These are relished by some tribes of Indians, while others manufacture cakes out of different kinds of bulbs. The prairie Indians relish a dish of wild turnips, which civilized people would not be likely to enjoy at all. In the great American desert the “screw beans,” which grow on mesquite bushes, are utilized for food. Soap berries furnish an agreeable diet for some savages in this country, while in California the copper-colored aborigines do not disdain the seeds of salt grass. Also in California the Digger Indians collect pine nuts, which are seeds of a certain species of pine--sometimes called “pinions”--by kindling fires against the trees, thus causing the nuts to fall out of the cones. At the same time a sweet gum exudes from the bark, serving the purpose of sugar. The seeds of gourds are consumed in the shape of mush by Indians in Arizona.

In addition to all these things, the exhibit referred to includes a jar of pulverized crickets, which are eaten in that form by the Indians of Oregon. They are roasted, as are likewise grasshoppers and even slugs. These delicacies are cooked in a pit, being arranged in alternate layers with hot stones. After being thus prepared, they are dried and ground to powder. They are mixed with pounded acorns or berries, the flour made in this way being kneaded into cakes and dried in the sun. The Assiniboines used a kind of seed to stop bleeding at the nose. Among other curious things used for food are acorns, sunflower seeds, grape seeds, flowers of cattails, moss from the spruce fir tree, and the blossoms of wild clover. The exhibit embraces a number of models representing grape seeds enormously enlarged. It is actually possible to tell the species of a grape by the shape of the seed. There is a jar of red willow bark which Indians mix with tobacco for the sake of economy. This, however, is only one of a thousand plants that are utilized in a similar fashion.

WHY HE WHISTLED.

Old Lady (to grocer’s boy)--“Don’t you know that it is very rude to whistle when dealing with a lady?”

Boy--“That’s what the boss told me to do, ma’am.”

“Told you to whistle?”

“Yes’m. He said if we ever sold you anything we’d have to whistle for our money.”

THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS.

Honor for German Heroes.

The German kaiser has conferred on the pioneer company of a Lorraine battalion the right to wear the skull and crossbones on the cap, a distinction monopolized by the Death’s Head Hussars. The action was taken at the instance of the crown prince, who reported the valor of the pioneers in building bridges and constructing earthworks under dangerous circumstances.

Austrians and Germans Foes.

Until recently the Austrians and German prisoners of war were kept together, but the Russian authorities had so much difficulty in preserving order among these nationalities that to prevent fights they have separated them in the hospitals. In Saratoff the Austrian wounded petitioned the authorities to separate them from the Prussians.

Mystery Man Fights for Estate.

“J. C. R.,” the man of mystery, whose case has puzzled the country since he was found at Watseka, Minn., in June, 1907, has stepped from a comfortable home in Chicago into a tragic drama, the central figure in which is a wealthy rancher of near Dickinson, N. D., whom he claims as his father and from whom he is seeking to obtain $100,000 as his share of the estate.

No stranger story has ever been told than that of “J. C. R.,” the man who couldn’t remember. In 1900, it is now claimed, he was Jay Allen Caldwell, obstinate son of a former Chicagoan. Then he was struck on the head with a spade.

For a dozen years thereafter, without memory, without knowledge of his own identity, and without means of caring for himself, he wandered about, known only as J. C. R.

A few months ago a Chicago woman identified him as her missing son, Earl Iles, and J. C. R. gained a name and a home at the cost of his quondam fame. Bereft of his chief attributes of interest, the man and his little tragedy dropped from sight.

The suit which his lawyers filed early this week against A. J. B. Caldwell, whom he claims as his father, has been dismissed, but the lawyers say this was permitted in order to get more evidence, and it will be filed again within a few weeks.

Dispatches from Dickinson, the scene of the tangle, disclose the fact that seventy-five residents of the town, former neighbors of the Caldwells, identified J. C. R. as the missing son three months ago. Caldwell reiterates his charge that J. C. R. and his Chicago backers are conspirators, but Caldwell’s daughter has identified the man of mystery as her brother.

Mrs. H. E. Pitkin, 895 East Oakwood Boulevard, Chicago, who identified J. C. R. last summer as her long-lost son, Earl Iles, has disappeared from her home.

And to complete the complexity of the enigma, J. C. R., the mute object of the whole identity tangle, is being kept in hiding by those who are backing his claims for $100,000 worth of North Dakota farm lands now held by the supposed father.

Friends of the elder Caldwell alleged that it was Mrs. Pitkin’s early knowledge of Caldwell, junior, that gave her the information on which she satisfied the authorities with her identification of the man as her son. They charge that it was through this information that Mrs. Pitkin gained the custody of the man, which later resulted in the promotion of his fight for the $100,000.

It appears that for the last couple of months the mystery man has been in Dickinson. In the first part of that time he was busy asking questions of old residents--or, rather, writing them, for, along with his other afflictions, he is a mute.

The answers to the questions seemed to satisfy J. C. R. He filed suit against Caldwell. Simultaneously papers were filed making it impossible for Caldwell to transfer his lands in whole or in part.

Dickinson rubbed its eyes and sat up with a start when news of the suit filtered through town. The “dummy,” who had been going up and down Main Street with his pencil, his paper, and his ever-increasing questions about old times, had come into the open and announced himself as no other than Jay Allen Caldwell, old man Caldwell’s son.

No one who was willing to admit the fact knew what had happened to Jay. He had just disappeared one day. Not a word did he send home in all the ensuing months and years. His father, after waiting what seemed a decent time, produced notes aggregating $70,000. The notes were signed with the name of Jay Allen Caldwell and were drawn in favor of his father, who went into court, got judgment, and took his son’s land in satisfaction.

Londoners Get “Zeppelin Neck”.

“Zeppelin neck” is the form of malady now prevalent in London. This is the popular term for stiff necks, commoner than ever now because so many Londoners are craning their necks scanning the heavens for the enemy.

Westminster Abbey has been insured for $750,000 against damages from air-craft attacks.

Schoolboy Makes Record With Corn.

The largest per-acre yield of corn ever grown in Becker County, Minn., of which Detroit is the county seat, was raised during the season of 1914 by a thirteen-year-old schoolboy. Becker is one of the most northerly of Minnesota counties, and its farmers have always declared that it was useless to attempt corn-raising because of the cold climate and short seasons. But thirteen-year-old Hilmer Carlson, who lives on a farm three miles from Detroit, grew an acre of corn this year that yielded 96¼ bushels to the acre.

It was the first experiment for the Carlson boy in corn-raising. He was induced to enter by a prize offered by the Minnesota Society of Agriculture to the boy who should grow the most bushels of corn on an acre of ground. Without the experience of father and friends, who never had grown corn, the boy followed the instructions of the agricultural society, planted the Minnesota No. 13 variety, and grew a field of stalks that were twice as high as his head. It husked 95 bushels rough measure. When the farmers of the community heard of the yield, they declared it could not be true; that some deception had been practiced. An expert of the State Agricultural College then came to the Carlson farm, measured both field and yield and found the exact yield to have been 96¼ bushels per acre. State authorities declared the yield to have been by far the biggest per acre ever grown in the county. Ten Becker County boys went into the acre-yield corn contest. The boy who took second place grew 74 bushels to the acre.

Indicating the unpopularity of corn-growing in Becker County, the State board records show that of over 160,000 acres crop area in the county only 4,880 are given over to corn.

Veteran Fulfills Vow.

Sixty years ago, when, a lad ten years old, he fell from the limb of a giant tree and broke a leg, forcing him to spend his birthday in bed, Carl Grossmayer, of Evansville, Ind., vowed that on his seventieth birthday he would blow the tree from the ground. Grossmayer, now a veteran of the Second Regiment of Indiana Civil War Veterans, kept his vow by blowing from the ground the stump of the tree.

When he met with the accident, Grossmayer lived on a farm of 180 acres. Now that area has shrunk to a house and three lots. The elderly veteran’s only relative, a son living in St. Louis, came to this city to see his father keep his sixty-year-old vow. A stump was all that remained of the oak, but Grossmayer drilled under it, and, with a charge of dynamite, blew it from the ground.

Placer Mining in Heart of City.

The gold-mining industry, both placer and quartz, in most instances has been for long so closely associated with the wilderness that the average man instantly conjures up pictures of ice-bound mountain passes, or glaring, sun-scorched stretches of desert, when he thinks of it. To such places his imagination turns where men daily and hourly must face hardship and danger in order to win the precious metal.

Yet in the city of Edmonton, Canada, since the outbreak of war, some thirty “grizzlies” have been at work on the banks of the Saskatchewan River. Here, within half a block of the city’s main street, and always with the sound of its traffic in their ears, nearly a hundred men daily shovel and sluice for gold.

The bars of the Saskatchewan River in the early days and as late as 1900 were worked. Many prospectors at that time made from three to ten dollars a day. Of late years, however, mining of this kind has been abandoned, though a large dredge, working the bars of the river, has proven a paying proposition.

The river runs directly through the city. With the outbreak of war and the possibility of large numbers of men being out of employment, the city council suddenly turned their attention to gold mining, which offered returns right in the heart of the city. Within its gates are to-day a large number of old mining men. Men who, after going through the Klondike rush, settled here. Most of them are to-day wealthy and retired. But some half dozen of them offered their services as tutors.

A number of grizzlies, so commonly used in the working of river bars and other placer-mining propositions, were constructed and for a while they gave instructions as how to work them. About a hundred men soon went to work. Though the highest daily clean-up so far has been seven dollars, the majority of the workers are making from one to two dollars a day.

The workmen are from all classes of society. Old-time sourdoughs work next to new-come English immigrants. Two college students, working their way through a nearby university, put in their off hours shoveling and panning. An out-of-work literary man and an out-of-work actor here are working a claim together.

The mining game has always been marked for its tragic side. The stories of men made suddenly rich overnight by some fortunate strike has been told in a hundred stories; but seldom is the other side mentioned, the story of quick-flung-away wealth that went almost as rapidly as it came.

Working slowly, toilfully, with the mark of old age upon him, in this diggings within the heart of the city is at least one man who is a living representative of this sad side of the game. His name is Tim Foley. Ten years ago he sold his third interest in a quartz mine in northern Ontario for $40,000. To-day he toils strenuously on the river bank, his great hope, as he himself expressed it, to clean up three or four dollars a day.

Stage Lines Still in the West.

It has been many years since stage lines were the chief mode of transportation across Kansas, and had regular time-tables and rate schedules, as the railroads have at the present time. But there are still several stage lines in Kansas, and the railroads are publishing the schedules for these lines in their regular list of connections, as they do in the more Western States, where stage transportation is still common.

Along the Union Pacific and the Rock Island lines in northern Kansas, the Missouri Pacific through the center of the State and the Santa Fe in southern Kansas, there are still connecting stage lines which operate as regularly as the railroad trains. The building of the railroad from Garden City north to Scott City on the Missouri Pacific and then to Winona on the Union Pacific has caused several stage lines to go out of business. The building of the Colmor cut-off in southwest Kansas has caused the abandonment of several stage lines that reached the towns in the railroadless counties of the State.

There are two regular mail stage lines operated in Shawnee County, one connecting Dover with the Rock Island and another connecting Auburn with the Santa Fe. Both are only eight or nine miles long, but they carry mail and passengers to the railroads.

The Santa Fe “connecting-line” table shows stage lines connecting with its trains at Syracuse, Lakin, and Coolidge to points in the extreme southwest corner of the State not reached by rail. The Union Pacific has half a dozen stage lines listed in its tables in Kansas. These lines connect with the Missouri Pacific on the south or the Rock Island, or another branch of the Union Pacific on the north, touching several inland towns and saving traveling men long detours if they attempted to make the trip by rail. From Grainfield to Gove City there is a regular stage line, as Grain field is on the railroad while Gove City, the county seat, is twelve miles away.

The stages have comparatively low fares and haul almost as much baggage free as does the railroad. The stage trips in Kansas are no longer the picturesque outings of former days, as there are none of the old stagecoaches left with a six- or eight-mule team and a driver with a long whip and a fine command of “mule-killing” language. All the stage lines in Kansas are motors now, one or two in the southwest part of the State having real motor trucks for baggage, express, and freight, and the trip is made almost as rapidly as the trains, unless a tire blows up.

Life-term Prisoner Gains Freedom

When C. J. Livering, life-term prisoner, sent up on the charge that he poisoned his wife in Louisville, Ky., eight years ago, walked out of the Eddyville State’s prison under parole, it was to enter his own manufacturing establishment, made possible by his own industry and incentive genius, as he invented a patent while in prison that may net him a fortune.

His parole followed the declaration of the judge who sentenced him of his belief in Livering’s innocence. Honorable H. S. Barker, president of the State University, was the court-of-appeals judge at the time. In addition to the judge’s opinion, Commonwealth Attorney Huffaker, of Louisville, says he believes that if a man who filed an affidavit had been called, he would have testified to hearing Mrs. Livering threaten to take her own life.

An effort was made at the trial to show that a woman was in love with and jealous of Livering and was responsible for the story that Livering had fixed up a suicide note in imitation of his wife’s handwriting, had given his wife strychnine tablets as medicine and then went to his farm, hurrying back in time to place the suicide note and poison before calling any one to the scene.

Livering testified that he was on his farm, twenty-five miles away, when his wife phoned him to come home, and that he found her dead. A druggist testified that Mrs. Livering bought strychnine tablets. The suicide note was found on the dresser. The coroner’s jury returned a verdict of suicide.

It was two years later when the woman’s story resulted in Livering’s conviction.

Machine Comes to Telegrapher’s Aid.

Telegraph operators throughout the country are showing keen interest in a device perfected by Walter P. Phillips, of Bridgeport, Conn., for the purpose of rapidly handling commercial messages and press reports. Phillips is an old-time telegrapher and newspaper man and an inventor of wide fame. He was the originator of the “Phillips Code,” used by newspapers. Operators from all parts of Connecticut gathered at Bridgeport to watch the demonstration of the new device.

It was shown that the invention will allow an operator receiving messages or news dispatches to regulate the incoming flow of telegraphy as fast or as slow as he may desire; to stop it altogether and go out to lunch, resuming business at increased speed upon his return, and catching up with the machine upon which the messages or news has been continually recording itself in impressions of dots and dashes on a tape awaiting reproduction. What the invention will do is to double or treble the number of words that can be sent over a single wire and do it without requiring that the operators learn anything more than they now know.

The result is brought about by adding to each office a set of very simple instruments. At times when there is no need of hurrying matter forward on the wires, the rapid system can be cut out through shifting a plug. The wires are then used in the ordinary way, sending messages directly by the key. As a result it is considered that the system is one of value principally to telegraph companies or those using leased wires. The general public, however, will benefit through the prompter sending of messages and doing away with the delay so often experienced when there are wire troubles and capacity is reduced below normal.

In the new system the messages or reports to be sent are recorded in raised telegraphic characters on a strip of paper. This paper is run through a reproducing machine, the sounds being repeated at the other end of the wire and being taken down by typewriter or hand. The sending operator is able to vary the speed to suit himself, is able to stop it at any point and pull it back, if there is need of repeating. The superiority of the invention over the old system is said to lie in the reading and sending. It is in this, telegraphers say, where the greater number of mistakes occur. The ear of a trained operator is found to be more accurate than the eye and also faster.

What a German Officer Saw.

From the diary of a German petty officer who is fighting in France, these extracts, as his own experience, are made:

“On all sides and in front, as well as below in the valley, the red breeches can be seen swarming in the underbrush. Thus both divisions of our tenth company find themselves facing apparently overwhelming superior forces. I myself make a run to where the captain should be. On the way a trumpeter transmits this order to me: ‘Third column deploy and continue firing, or, if possible, attack!’ I never ran so fast as I did then over those stubbles.

“‘Third column, up! up! Fix bayonets! Right turn, forward, double-quick! Follow me!’ I cried. Out comes the shining steel from its sheath. I catch a glimpse of an opening in a garden wall. “This way, through! Occupy the hedge! Cut loopholes!’

“‘What range?’ the men call.

“‘Range seven hundred! Half right, straight ahead in the poplars, hostile infantrymen! Range seven hundred! Fire!’ was my reply.

“Just as we opened fire the enemy comes charging from out the poplars. Only a few steps they run, and then, as if thunder-stricken, the whole line of red breeches sinks to the earth. Our aim was good. How quiet the fallen Frenchmen lie! But soon the hellish racket begins again. In front of us a machine gun goes ‘tap, tap, tap.’ Whizzing and whirring, the bullets fly about us.

“Through an opening the men swarm through to the left! The bravest hurry on in advance. Five or six hang back till their leader roughly grabs them and kicks them through the hedge opening. There must have been 800 rifles or more! A withering fire tells us that the enemy has discovered our movements. But we return his fire as we run. Many of our men fall. But, lo! presently the enemy’s fire begins to dwindle and soon dies down almost completely. There, what is that? In the midst of the enemy’s line of fire a tremendous pillar of smoke.

We saw how the French were blown yards high. A terrible thunderclap reaches our ears. Hurrah! Our artillery!

“Shell after shell buries itself, as if measured with extraordinary exactitude in the very midst of the French infantry lines. We follow this up with our own fast rifle fire.

“Now we charge forward to where we can plainly see their faces. The panic of the enemy was indescribable. Our fellows mow them down. And now a new hail of shrapnel beats down upon them. Again the red breeches surge back in wild flight. We fire on the retreating enemy in a cornfield beyond. Many Frenchmen can be seen falling in the gold cornfield beyond, never to rise again.”

Works Sixty Years on Propeller.

At the age of seventy-four years, James Henry Miller, of Albany, Ore., believes that the ambition of a lifetime is about to be realized. Sixty years ago, when he first saw a river boat with a stern propeller, Miller made up his mind to construct a propeller which would not strike the water with such resistance. He says that his invention, now virtually completed, will revolutionize river and ocean navigation throughout the world.

The propeller has eight blades, each six feet long and twelve inches wide, and each working on ratchets, so that the edge of the blade strikes the water as it enters, falls into propelling position while in deepest water, and continues to adjust itself as the wheel turns, so that it emerges from the water edge first. The flat side of the blade never strikes the water. As the wheel turns, the blades enter and leave the water with as little resistance as a feathered oar.

New Farming in South.

One Southern landowner has a plan for diversification of crops that might be followed by many others. He has divided his land into tracts that rent for $100 a year each. This is about equivalent to two bales of cotton under the old tenant system. But hereafter no cotton will be accepted as rent for these tracts. Instead, it will be required in food crops, according to this schedule:

50 bushels of corn $50 15 bushels of wheat 15 3 bushels of peas 5 100 pounds of meat 15 15 bushels of potatoes 15 ---- Total rent $100

The landowner in question, realizing the novelty of his plan, proposes to cooperate with his tenants in getting selected seed. If the scheme is successful, it will merit a bulletin by the department of agriculture, to be widely distributed.

Florida Sharks That Nurse Their Young.

The curious piglike habits of the nurse sharks of Florida have been brought to the notice of the North Carolina Academy of Science by E. W. Gudger. A third of the circumference of Boca Grande Cay, a small coral sand island twenty miles west of Key West, is bounded by a gently sloping rock bottom, on which the water half a mile from the shore is not more than four or five feet deep.

On this bottom great numbers of the sharks gather in the sun, play, and possibly feed. With seldom less than a dozen visible, as many as thirty-three have been in view at one time.

They are broad, sluggish, so little afraid that a boat may touch their fins before they will move, and they lie piled together in a confused herd, like well-fed pigs in a barnyard. Sometimes three or four swim aimlessly about.

They are harmless, with small mouths filled with small pointed teeth, and, though they are vegetarians to some degree, their chief food seems to be the young oysters, clams, crabs, and various other crustaceans.

Ostrich Farming as a Business.

James H. Reece, of Joplin, Mo., who has been in California studying the “ins and outs” of the Pasadena ostrich farm, with a view of giving the business a try-out in this vicinity, has returned, and has considerable to say on the subject of the profitable raising of the big birds.

“Unless you have money to start with,” said he, “you shouldn’t attempt to go into ostrich farming in the United States for profit. Still, there are a number of ostrich farms in this country, and not all are failures. The first ostriches were brought here in 1862 from South Africa, and between that date and 1886, 120 birds were imported. We have now about 10,000 ostriches with us, nearly all of them American bred.”

“And,” he continued, “Arizona is the leading ostrich-farming section, though there are farms in California--the one at Pasadena being probably the best known of all of them--Texas, Arkansas, and Florida. Something like two millions of dollars is invested in the industry, not counting the value of the land. The business pays if the climate is all right and the birds receive proper care, for the ostrich, though tough, must be looked after carefully.

“An acre of alfalfa will support four ostriches with no other food than gravel and ground bone. A cow will require the same amount of alfalfa, but at the end of five years she is worth forty or fifty dollars, while the four five-year-old ostriches are worth a thousand dollars. A bird will yield a hundred dollars’ worth of feathers a year, besides the eggs, which, even if they are not productive of little ostriches, bring a good price as curios.

“Ostrich plumes vary in price, from ten to one hundred and fifty dollars a pound, so you see it is worth money to the ostrich farmer, not only to have good birds, but to keep them in the best condition, for the better the bird the better the product.

“It costs about ten dollars a year to keep a bird; that is, to feed it. The ostrich farm at Pasadena is one of the show places there, and thousands of tourists visit it every year. Another good feature of the ostrich is that he lasts so long. None in this country has died of old age yet, and it is supposed that they will live seventy-five years.”

French Story of Bravery.

A French battalion occupied Mezieres in order to guard the bridges over the Meuse River. One detachment had hardly arrived at the railroad bridge when its officer, Lieutenant de Lupel, was informed that a German patrol was hidden in the station. The French at once attacked and drove the Germans here and there among the heaps of coal and the buildings. The French officer followed the German officer into the roundhouse, revolver in hand, and caught sight of him crouching behind a tender. The two men looked at each other. Mutual respect and a tacit understanding sprang up. With fifteen paces between them, each took up a dueling position. “Kindly fire,” cried the Frenchman, just as his ancestors had cried at Fontenoy under similar circumstances. The German fired and missed. Then the Frenchman slowly raised his arm and fired, killing his opponent.

He returned to his men, aided them to overcome the Germans’ last stand, and walked away coolly at the head of his battalion.

Nail Snaps from Box to Eye.

Joseph R. Henderson, proprietor of an Egg Harbor, N. J., poultry plant, was opening a box when a nail snapped from the box and entered the eyeball. He was taken to the Atlantic City Hospital. At this time it is not known whether he will lose the sight of the eye.

Woman’s Throw Hits Mark.

Mrs. Dervin Shumaker, of Jackson township, Pa., noticed a large hawk feasting on her chickens. Picking up a stone, the woman threw it at the intruder. The stone struck the hawk on the head, killing the bird. She took the hawk to a justice of the peace and received forty cents bounty.

Man and Dogs Fight Rattler.

The biggest snake ever encountered near Watonga, Okla., was killed by Jeff Saunders seven miles north of that town. Mr. Saunders was hunting coyotes in the cañons when his dogs ran on to the snake, and started the fight which lasted an hour. After the battle, in which one dog was killed, the snake was hacked to pieces. Mr. Saunders gathered up the rattles which had been torn off. There were thirty-six of them.

The snake showed a disposition to ignore the dogs and fight Mr. Saunders, and several times he barely escaped being bitten. Mr. Saunders brought one piece of the snake home with him which measured 6 feet 9 inches in length, and there were several smaller pieces left on the battle ground.

Honoring the Hero of Peace.

Sixty-nine acts of heroism have just been given recognition by the Carnegie Hero Fund Commission, at its annual meeting, through the distribution of medals and pensions. The commission has awarded silver medals in fifteen cases and bronze medals in fifty-four cases. Thirteen of the heroes lost their lives.

Among the number receiving silver medals is Miss Phoebe Briggs, of Sacramento, Cal., a student at Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Miss Briggs saved four girls from drowning. She was walking across the campus at the college when a toboggan carrying five of her fellow students coasted onto the ice on Vassar Lake and broke through. One of the girls came up under the ice and was drowned, but the others grasped the edge of the ice. Miss Briggs crawled toward the hole, pushing a small sled ahead of her. Two of the girls in turn grasped the sled and were pulled to safety. Miss Briggs went toward the hole a third time, but the ice broke and she fell into water nine feet deep. She pushed the sled down, and it remained in a perpendicular position, resting on the bottom. She then got her feet on the sled and supported the other girls several minutes until a man took them all to safety.

A silver medal has been awarded to the father of Henry West, a negro, of Chapel Hill, N. C. West, aged thirty-four, a crossing watchman, died saving Judson A. Haviland, aged nine, and Charles W. Jones, aged eleven, from being run over by a train at Asbury Park, N. J. The boys were driving a pony toward a track on which a passenger train was approaching. West, who had only one arm, waved a warning to them and then ran across the track and grabbed the harness beneath the pony’s head. The pony turned aside and West lost his hold, falling. A step of the engine struck him, causing injuries from which he died. Neither of the boys was injured.

A bronze medal has been given to the father of Henry L. Wyman, of Moorestown, N. J. Wyman, aged twenty-four, a painter, died attempting to save G. Allen Seltzer, aged twenty-five, from drowning in Rancocas Creek, at Boughter, N. J. Wyman waded and swam thirty-five feet to the distressed man and caught him under the armpits. Wyman kept Seltzer’s head above water for a time, but both men sank and were drowned.

To the dependents of three heroes the commission granted pensions aggregating $1,980 a year and the dependents of seven others who lost their lives were granted sums totaling $4,700, to be applied in various ways. Besides the money grants, in twelve cases sums aggregating $21,000 were appropriated for educational purposes, payments to be made as needed and approved. In forty-one cases awards aggregating $41,000 were made, to be applied toward the purchase of homes and to other worthy purposes.

Big Turtle Attacks Southern Fisherman.

Henry Simmons, of New Orleans, went fishing in Bayou Bienvenue, Miss., and had the unusual experience of being attacked by and afterward killing, in terrific battle, a large water turtle. He was fishing from a pirogue in ten feet of water, and the monster, a hundred-pounder, caught his line.

It came to the surface, and bit at the boat, tearing away a large piece of the prow. It continued to bite at the small craft until it almost turned over.

Simmons then reached for his shotgun and shot the monster’s head off. He carried it to New Orleans, where, with the bitten boat, it is now on exhibition.

Just before he shot it, the turtle had raised a heavy paw to strike him. The experience of having such a vicious monster suddenly rise to the surface and peer into one’s eyes with such evident determination to fight to the death, is an awful one, says Simmons.

Can a Pup Inherit a Kink in His Tail?

Deciding that a pup could inherit a kink in its tail from a similar peculiarity attached to its father, no matter if the wagger did happen to receive its twist through an accident after the “dad” had reached his majority, District Court Judge Frank Smathers, after most careful consideration of the unique problem, awarded Elmer D. Sooy, of Atlantic City, N. J., a rabbit-hound pup, to which both Sooy and Thomas Hudson, of Pleasantville, claim ownership.

During the hearing of the case, Sooy trotted in a putative papa hound, which had an odd curl in its wagger. Under cross-examination he testified that the peculiar kink was there because a third-rail trolley had run over it. The pup happened to have a similar Marcel to its tail.

Hudson, on the other hand, led in another supposed pop hound, which had blotches on its flanks identical to those that marked the pup, and said it was this dog’s offspring.

It was too much for the court to decide in one sitting, but the next day, after his honor had spent his evening at home, pondering over canine spots and tails, Sooy got the pup.

The animal is worth fifty dollars, but the two men have spent more than three times that amount in their dispute over it, and Hudson says he will appeal and spend as much more, if necessary, to win.

Gypsies Travel in Auto.

Nomads of the old days would probably have refused to believe their eyes if they had seen a gypsy caravan which has just arrived at Worcester, Mass., from Denver, Col. Instead of traveling in the familiar wagons, drawn by worn horses, the tribe mounted the wagon tops on big automobile trucks. On the top, sides, and rear of the two wagons were the tents, pots, and others things inseparable to gypsy camps, and the dogs followed as best they could. Needless to say, the journey was made in record time.

Mother’s Appeal Granted.

Mrs. Mathilda Zoll, of Washington, D. C., is happy in the thought that when she dies, her final resting place will be beside the body of her son in a soldier grave in Arlington National Cemetery. Her earnest plea that permission to this effect be given was granted by Secretary Garrison, although it is a rule that only the widows of army men may be buried in Arlington. Mrs. Zoll’s son died a few weeks ago and was laid at rest in the national cemetery.

When Mrs. Zoll first made her request, it was refused, but her friends told Secretary Garrison she did not ask that her name be placed on the headstone, but would be satisfied to have her body cremated and the ashes placed in an urn in her son’s grave. The secretary then issued the necessary orders.

Devil Worm Has Eight Horns.

Mrs. J. B. Lamb brought to the _Leader_ office, at Fulton, Ky., a formidable-looking worm which she captured on a tree in the back yard of her home on Carr Street. This monster worm is nearly six inches in length and longer when in motion. It has eight horns on its head, curving backward, and is a scary-looking object. It is more than one and one-half inches in circumference, and is green in color. A little boy called it a “devil worm,” and, for the lack of a better name, we will let it go at that.

Rancher Bags Bird Maimed in June.

While mowing hay last June, Abe Bruger, a Cathcart, Wash., rancher, surprised a mother pheasant and her brood in the tall grass. One of the flock was overtaken by the mower, which amputated both of its legs. It escaped to an alder thicket.

While hunting recently, Bruger winged a pheasant. When he recovered the bird, both of its legs were missing, a fact which recalled the accident of the early summer. The bird had become full grown, was in perfect condition, plump, and, in fact, larger than the average of this year’s birds taken in the locality.

The wounds had completely healed, and, nature, in the process of healing, had developed a substitute for claws in the form of hard scales at the extremities.

Off Year for Peace Prize.

A report from Christiania says that the managers of the Nobel Institute have decided to give this year’s peace prize, which amounts to about $40,000, to the Netherlands government, to be applied toward the support of Belgian refugees in Holland.

Stallings a Brick Mason.

The Waycross, Ga., _Herald_ is authority for the statement that George Stallings, the “Miracle Man” of baseball, used to be a brick mason, and a mighty good one, at Thomasville. Hence, it is not so hard to understand his remarkable ability to “build up” a team.

Missourian’s Strange Pet.

There are many strange pets in the world, but the one belonging to John Barnes, of Maysville, Mo., is perhaps as strange as any. It is a giant blue racer, five feet long, and as large in the middle as an average man’s arm. Mr. Barnes keeps the snake for the purpose of freeing the place of mice and other pests. It never molests any one and seems perfectly tame.

War Correspondents’ Troubles.

Who wants to be a war correspondent? Two American correspondents arrived at Rouen, France. They had been shifted around the country for days. They had hay in their hair and sleep in their eyes, and they hadn’t eaten for years, it seemed to them. Every hotel and boarding house and joint in Rouen was filled to overflowing. They found their way to headquarters and placed their journalistic cards on the table.

“Thank goodness, we’re here at last!” they said. “Tell us----”

But the major wouldn’t tell them. He wouldn’t even listen to them.

“For your impertinence in coming here,” he said severely, “you shall sleep in jail to-night.”

The correspondents smiled happily and shook hands with each other.

“It began to look as though we’d sleep under a bridge,” they said to the major. So he found out about their plight.

“That being the case,” said he sternly, “you shall not sleep in jail to-night. You shall take the train for the coast. There are no places left in the train, but that makes no difference. You shall take it, just the same.”

When they got back to London they went to a Turkish bath and slept for twenty hours before reporting at the office.

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The Nick Carter Stories

ISSUED EVERY SATURDAY BEAUTIFUL COLORED COVERS

When it comes to detective stories worth while, the =Nick Carter Stories= contain the only ones that should be considered. They are not overdrawn tales of bloodshed. They rather show the working of one of the finest minds ever conceived by a writer. The name of Nick Carter is familiar all over the world, for the stories of his adventures may be read in twenty languages. No other stories have withstood the severe test of time so well as those contained in the =Nick Carter Stories=. It proves conclusively that they are the best. We give herewith a list of some of the back numbers in print. You can have your news dealer order them, or they will be sent direct by the publishers to any address upon receipt of the price in money or postage stamps.

692--Doctor Quartz Again. 693--The Famous Case of Doctor Quartz. 694--The Chemical Clue. 695--The Prison Cipher. 696--A Pupil of Doctor Quartz. 697--The Midnight Visitor. 698--The Master Crook’s Match. 699--The Man Who Vanished. 700--The Garnet Gauntlet. 701--The Silver Hair Mystery. 702--The Cloak of Guilt. 703--A Battle for a Million. 704--Written in Red. 707--Rogues of the Air. 709--The Bolt from the Blue. 710--The Stockbridge Affair. 711--A Secret from the Past. 712--Playing the Last Hand. 713--A Slick Article. 714--The Taxicab Riddle. 715--The Knife Thrower. 717--The Master Rogue’s Alibi. 719--The Dead Letter. 720--The Allerton Millions. 728--The Mummy’s Head. 729--The Statue Clue. 730--The Torn Card. 731--Under Desperation’s Spur. 732--The Connecting Link. 733--The Abduction Syndicate. 736--The Toils of a Siren. 737--The Mark of a Circle. 738--A Plot Within a Plot. 739--The Dead Accomplice. 741--The Green Scarab. 743--A Shot in the Dark. 746--The Secret Entrance. 747--The Cavern Mystery. 748--The Disappearing Fortune. 749--A Voice from the Past. 752--The Spider’s Web. 753--The Man With a Crutch. 754--The Rajah’s Regalia. 755--Saved from Death. 756--The Man Inside. 757--Out for Vengeance. 758--The Poisons of Exili. 759--The Antique Vial. 760--The House of Slumber. 761--A Double Identity. 762--“The Mocker’s” Stratagem. 763--The Man that Came Back. 764--The Tracks in the Snow. 765--The Babbington Case. 766--The Masters of Millions. 767--The Blue Stain. 768--The Lost Clew. 770--The Turn of a Card. 771--A Message in the Dust. 772--A Royal Flush. 773--The Metal Casket Mystery. 774--The Great Buddha Beryl. 775--The Vanishing Heiress. 776--The Unfinished Letter. 777--A Difficult Trail. 778--A Six-word Puzzle. 782--A Woman’s Stratagem. 783--The Cliff Castle Affair. 784--A Prisoner of the Tomb. 785--A Resourceful Foe. 786--The Heir of Dr. Quartz. 787--Dr. Quartz, the Second. 788--Dr. Quartz II. at Bay. 789--The Great Hotel Tragedies. 790--Zanoni, the Witch. 791--A Vengeful Sorceress. 792--The Prison Demon. 793--Doctor Quartz on Earth Again. 794--Doctor Quartz’s Last Play. 795--Zanoni, the Transfigured. 796--The Lure of Gold. 797--The Man With a Chest. 798--A Shadowed Life. 799--The Secret Agent. 800--A Plot for a Crown. 801--The Red Button. 802--Up Against It. 803--The Gold Certificate. 804--Jack Wise’s Hurry Call. 805--Nick Carter’s Ocean Chase. 806--Nick Carter and the Broken Dagger. 807--Nick Carter’s Advertisement. 808--The Kregoff Necklace. 809--The Footprints on the Rug. 810--The Copper Cylinder. 811--Nick Carter and the Nihilists. 812--Nick Carter and the Convict Gang. 813--Nick Carter and the Guilty Governor. 814--The Triangled Coin. 815--Ninety-nine--and One. 816--Coin Number 77. 817--In the Canadian Wilds. 818--The Niagara Smugglers. 819--The Man Hunt.

NEW SERIES

NICK CARTER STORIES

1--The Man from Nowhere. 2--The Face at the Window. 3--A Fight for a Million. 4--Nick Carter’s Land Office. 5--Nick Carter and the Professor. 6--Nick Carter as a Mill Hand. 7--A Single Clew. 8--The Emerald Snake. 9--The Currie Outfit. 10--Nick Carter and the Kidnapped Heiress. 11--Nick Carter Strikes Oil. 12--Nick Carter’s Hunt for a Treasure. 13--A Mystery of the Highway. 14--The Silent Passenger. 15--Jack Dreen’s Secret. 16--Nick Carter’s Pipe Line Case. 17--Nick Carter and the Gold Thieves. 18--Nick Carter’s Auto Chase. 19--The Corrigan Inheritance. 20--The Keen Eye of Denton. 21--The Spider’s Parlor. 22--Nick Carter’s Quick Guess. 23--Nick Carter and the Murderess. 24--Nick Carter and the Pay Car. 25--The Stolen Antique. 26--The Crook League. 27--An English Cracksman. 28--Nick Carter’s Still Hunt. 29--Nick Carter’s Electric Shock. 30--Nick Carter and the Stolen Duchess. 31--The Purple Spot. 32--The Stolen Groom. 33--The Inverted Cross. 34--Nick Carter and Keno McCall. 35--Nick Carter’s Death Trap. 36--Nick Carter’s Siamese Puzzle. 37--The Man Outside. 38--The Death Chamber. 39--The Wind and the Wire. 40--Nick Carter’s Three Cornered Chase. 41--Dazaar, the Arch-Fiend. 42--The Queen of the Seven. 43--Crossed Wires. 44--A Crimson Clew. 45--The Third Man. 46--The Sign of the Dagger. 47--The Devil Worshipers. 48--The Cross of Daggers. 49--At Risk of Life. 50--The Deeper Game. 51--The Code Message. 52--The Last of the Seven. 53--Ten-Ichi, the Wonderful. 54--The Secret Order of Associated Crooks. 55--The Golden Hair Clew. 56--Back From the Dead. 57--Through Dark Ways. 58--When Aces Were Trumps. 59--The Gambler’s Last Hand. 60--The Murder at Linden Fells. 61--A Game for Millions. 62--Under Cover. 63--The Last Call. 64--Mercedes Danton’s Double. 65--The Millionaire’s Nemesis. 66--A Princess of the Underworld. 67--The Crook’s Blind. 68--The Fatal Hour. 69--Blood Money. 70--A Queen of Her Kind. 71--Isabel Benton’s Trump Card. 72--A Princess of Hades. 73--A Prince of Plotters. 74--The Crook’s Double. 75--For Life and Honor. 76--A Compact With Dazaar. 77--In the Shadow of Dazaar. 78--The Crime of a Money King. 79--Birds of Prey. 80--The Unknown Dead. 81--The Severed Hand. 82--The Terrible Game of Millions. 83--A Dead Man’s Power. 84--The Secrets of an Old House. 85--The Wolf Within. 86--The Yellow Coupon. 87--In the Toils. 88--The Stolen Radium. 89--A Crime in Paradise. 90--Behind Prison Bars. 91--The Blind Man’s Daughter. 92--On the Brink of Ruin. 93--Letter of Fire. 94--The $100,000 Kiss. 95--Outlaws of the Militia. 96--The Opium-Runners. 97--In Record Time. 98--The Wag-Nuk Clew. 99--The Middle Link. 100--The Crystal Maze. 101--A New Serpent in Eden. 102--The Auburn Sensation. 103--A Dying Chance. 104--The Gargoni Girdle. 105--Twice in Jeopardy. 106--The Ghost Launch. 107--Up in the Air. 108--The Girl Prisoner. 109--The Red Plague. 110--The Arson Trust. 111--The King of the Firebugs. 112--“Lifter’s” of the Lofts.

Dated Nov. 7th, 1914.

113--French Jimmie and His Forty Thieves.

Dated Nov. 14th, 1914.

114--The Death Plot.

Dated Nov. 21st, 1914.

115--The Evil Formula.

Dated Nov. 28th, 1914.

116--The Blue Button.

=PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY.= If you want any back numbers of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your news dealer, they can be obtained direct from this office. Postage stamps taken the same as money.

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Ave., NEW YORK CITY