Chapter VIII: A Doubtful Joke

Later that day, three well-dressed middle-aged men entered a branch post office, downtown, and stepped up to the registry window. Handling a small, square package through the grille, one of them said to the clerk: “I wish to send this by registered mail. It’s a birthday present to a friend of mine. Is it sure to get there this afternoon?”

“Oh, yes,” the clerk assured him, taking the package and making out a receipt; “it’ll be uptown in an hour, and go out on the three-o’clock delivery.”

Into the registered-mail sack went the little, square package, and soon it was on its way to the general post office.

Here the sack was opened, its contents rapidly sorted, and the little, square package placed, along with several other packages, in a smaller sack which was sent speeding uptown to Branch X Y.

When Carrier Sheridan went to get his mail for the three-o’clock delivery, the little, square package was waiting there for him.

He glanced at the address curiously. Registered mail was a rarity on his new route, which, as has been stated, comprised the poorest and most squalid portion of the district. The package was addressed to a Mr. Michael Harrington, who kept a saloon. Owen put it in his pouch and started out on his delivery tour.

Fifteen minutes later he pushed aside the swinging doors of Harrington’s saloon, at the bar of which was a group of about ten men.

“Howdy,” said Mr. Harrington genially, from behind the bar. “What’s the good word? Have a little drink of something, young feller? It’s my birthday to-day, and I’m standin’ treat.”

“No, thanks,” said Owen, with a smile; “I’m on the water wagon. But I wish you many happy returns, just the same. Maybe I’ve brought you a birthday present.” He produced the small, square package, and his receipt slip. “Sign here, please.”

“I guess it is a birthday present, all right,” said the saloon keeper, holding out his hand for the registered package. “It looks as if it might be the gold watch which my friend Bill Warren telephoned me he was sending. Yes, that’s what it is, all right. See, here’s Bill’s name written on the back.”

He weighed the package in his hand. “Pretty light, though, to contain a watch, ain’t it?” he remarked.

“I should say so,” said Owen.

Mr. Harrington hastily tore open the wrapper and revealed a thin pasteboard box. Opening this, he found a flat, leather-covered watchcase.

“It’s the watch, all right,” he said, turning with a grin to the group in the front of the bar. “Good old Bill. He’s the most generous feller I know. Ain’t it decent of him to have remembered my birthday like this?”

He pressed the button which released the catch of the watchcase, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment and disgust as the lid flew open.

“Empty!” he growled. “Now, what do you know about that?”

The group at the bar laughed uproariously. “The joke’s on you, Mike!” cried one. “It’ll cost you another round of drinks for being the goat.”

The saloon keeper scowled. “I ain’t so sure that it is a joke,” he growled, with a suspicious glance toward the letter carrier, who was just going out of the door. “I know my friend Bill Warren ain’t the kind of man to play a low-down trick like that on me. He wrote me that he was sendin’ me a gold watch for a birthday present, and I believe he meant it.”

He leaned over the bar and called to Owen: “Hey, you! One minute, there, young fellow!”

“Want me?” inquired the carrier, stepping back into the barroom.

“Yes. Are you quite sure that this here registered package ain’t been tampered with?”

“I’m quite sure that it hasn’t while it’s been in my hands, and I think you’ll find that the post office isn’t to blame,” replied Owen. “The government is mighty careful in the handling of its registered mail.

“But, of course, if you’re suspicious,” he added, “you can come around and see the superintendent and ask for an investigation. Before I did that, though, if I were you, I’d get into communication with the sender and ask if the case really contained a watch when he mailed it.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Harrington. “I’ll get Bill on the phone right now.”

Although he didn’t consider that it was really any concern of his, Owen waited while the saloon keeper telephoned, anxious to hear what the outcome would be.

A few minutes later Harrington turned from the phone, a grave look upon his face. “Just as I thought,” he said; “it ain’t a joke at all. Bill Warren says he’s willin’ to swear that he sent that watch--says he can produce two witnesses who saw him put the watch in the package, seal it up, and hand it in at the post-office registry window.”

He hurriedly donned his hat and coat. “That watch has been stole--stole from the U-nited States mails. That’s a serious offense. I’m goin’ right around to the post office to make a complaint. All these gentlemen here are witnesses that the watch wasn’t in the package when I opened it.”

The following day Carrier Owen Sheridan was placed under arrest by two United States post-office inspectors.

“We want you, Sheridan,” they said, accosting him in the doorway of Branch X Y, as he came back from his noon-delivery tour.

“Want me? What for?” he demanded, in great astonishment.

“For robbing the mails. No use throwing any bluff; we’ve got you dead to rights.”

“I suppose this has to do with that watch which was missing from the registered package yesterday,” said Owen calmly. “But why suspect me in particular? The package passed through many hands while in the post office.”

“Yes, but only one pair of hands opened it and stole its contents,” was the grim retort, “and those hands were yours, Mr. Sheridan. Otherwise, how could the pawn ticket have got into your trunk?”

“The pawn ticket?” repeated Owen blankly.

“Yes. We have just come from your boarding house. We went there to look your room over; and we found--this.”

The inspector took from his pocket a pawn ticket for a gold watch, and held it before the astonished mail carrier’s eyes.

“The watch this ticket calls for has already been identified as the watch which was stolen from the package, and we found this in your trunk. It looks very much as if you’re going to exchange that gray uniform for a suit of stripes, Carrier Sheridan.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

WILLIE’S MISTAKE.

Willie Jones had been warned several times for breaches of school discipline, and was at length reported to the head master, who gave him a final warning.

One night, not long after, Willie was again caught in mischief, and he felt that this time he was “in for it.”

A flogging by the master was no joke, and Willie determined to make what preparation he could that the wind might be tempered to the shorn lamb.

On rising the next morning, he put on first his undershirt, then a layer of stiff brown paper, upon these a sweater, and over all a clean white shirt, borrowed from his chum, whose clothing was two sizes larger than his own.

Lastly he put on his coat and vest.

It was a very hot day in June, and at morning intermission Willie whispered to a friend:

“I’m nearly stifled. I hope he’ll give it to me now.”

But the master said nothing, and Willie went on stewing until dinner time.

He felt half inclined to dispense at least with the sweater before afternoon school, but fear of the master’s cane deterred him.

All through the afternoon he suffered untold misery, mopping his face until his handkerchief would mop no more.

But at length, just before dismissal, came a messenger.

“The master would like to see Jones in his study.”

On entering the study, the boy saw the supple, snakelike cane lying on the table.

“Well, Jones,” said the master, “I can go on warning you no longer. You have brought this upon yourself. But as it is your first visit here for such a purpose. I shall make your punishment somewhat milder. Hold out your hand; four on each!”

HARD ON THE WARDEN.

A phrenologist who has been touring the country and giving lectures in the art, tells the following “good one” on himself: He was in the habit of inviting people of different avocations to come upon the stage, and he would dilate upon and expound the peculiarities of their cranial construction. He had come to that portion of his lecture where he dealt with the criminal form of the cranium, and addressed the audience:

“If there is any person present who at any time has been the inmate of a prison he will oblige me by coming upon the platform.”

A heavily built man responded to this invitation.

“You admit that you have been in prison, sir?”

“I have, sir,” was the unblushing answer.

“Would you kindly tell us how many years you have spent behind prison bars?”

“About twenty years,” unhesitatingly replied the subject.

“Dear, dear,” exclaimed the professor. “Will you sit down, please?”

The subject sat down in a chair in the center of the stage. The professor ran his fingers rapidly through the hair of the subject and assumed a thoughtful expression.

“This is a most excellent specimen. The indications of a depraved character are very plainly marked. The organs of benevolence and esteem are entirely absent; that of destructiveness is developed to an abnormal degree. I could have told instantly, without the confession of this man that his life had been erratic and criminal. What was the crime for which you were imprisoned?”

“I never committed any crime,” growled the man in the chair.

“But you said that you had been an inmate of a prison for twenty years?”

“I’m the warden of the prison.”

NO MORE DUNNING.

The landlady of a certain medical student, who ineffectually dunned her delinquent tenant for some time, resolved at last upon resorting to extreme measures.

She entered his room one morning, and said, in a very decided tone:

“You must either pay me my rent, or be off this very day.”

“I prefer to be off,” said the student, who, on his side, was prepared for the encounter.

“Well, then, sir, pack up directly.”

“I assure you, madame, I will go with the utmost speed, if you will assist me.”

“With the greatest of pleasure.”

The student thereupon went to a wardrobe, opened a drawer, and took out a skeleton, which he handed to the woman.

“What is that?” asked the landlady, recoiling a little.

“That! Oh, that is the skeleton of my first landlord. He was inconsiderate enough to claim the rent for three quarters that I owed him, and then---- Be careful not to break it; it is number one of my collection.”

The landlady was growing visibly pale. The student opened a second drawer, and took out another skeleton.

“This--this is my landlady in South Street; a very worthy woman, but who also demanded the rent of two quarters. Will you place it upon the other? It is number two.”

The landlady opened her eyes widely.

“This,” continued the student, “this is number three. They are all here. A very honest man, and whom I did not pay, either. Let us pass on to number four.”

But the landlady was no longer there. She had fled.

AN OLD LADY’S DILEMMA.

A friend of mine, who owned a pneumatic-tired bicycle, was explaining the different parts to his grandmother, who was paying him a visit.

He finished up the account by saying:

“And that little tube is where the air is blown in.”

The old lady, who had never seen such a thing before, was very much puzzled.

“Wonderful!” she said, after a moment’s pause of contemplation. “Wonderful! but do tell me, Sam, my lad, how on earth can you get your head in between the spokes to blow the air in?”

THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS.

Like Bull in the China Shop.

Oakville, Iowa, is a peaceful, prosperous, orderly town, but occasionally some strange thing happens, and one did the other evening. About eight o’clock, while the clerks in C. R. Walker’s department store were busy about their evening work, they heard a noise in the rear of the storeroom, and, upon investigation, found that a cow which had been driven into town by some farmer had found an open door and had come into the store and proceeded to make herself at home. The clerks got busy at once, and when they attempted to drive bossy out, she became frightened, started to run, and fell sprawling on the floor, knocked over boxes, hardware, canned goods, dry goods, et cetera. By twisting her tail until it resembled a great auger, the intruder finally consented to pass out.

A Criminal Catcher.

For more than twenty years Joseph L. Le Fors, of Sheridan, Wyo., has acted as detective for the Live-stock Association of Wyoming, and during that time has chased criminals all over the West and into Mexico.

Le Fors started as a cowboy in the Southwest. His brother was shot dead on the street of one of the early-day border towns. Joe heard of the deed, quit his job, came in, and quietly attended to the matter of his brother’s burial. Then he got an officer’s commission and went after the murderer, who was known as a “bad man.” When the cowboy, in a spring wagon and without much knowledge of the roads in that vicinity, drove out of town on his mission, most of those who saw him guessed that he would not come back. But he returned, and after no great length of time. In the bottom of the wagon was the corpse of the murderer. Le Fors has never talked to any extent of that fight, except to say that he gave the man a chance and he lost.

Among the detective’s most notable feats was the capture of Tom Horn, said to have killed seventeen men. Horn’s quickness with a gun was marvelous, but when the test came, Le Fors proved too fast for him.

It is said that Le Fors had done more than any other man to make stock raising on the open ranges more than a mere venture.

Along Came Ruth, and Crash! See the Snakes!

When Miss Ruth Spencer, of Michigan City, Mich., accidentally tipped over a box containing Doctor John A. Dexter’s collection of thirty snakes in his biology laboratory at Olivet College, Olivet, Mich., she created something of a panic.

Professor Dexter had been offering one dollar apiece for all varieties of snakes caught in Eaton County not already in his collection. The result was that he had rattlesnakes, blue racers, water snakes, garter snakes, and others reposing in a large box in his laboratory. The box stood on a high table.

Miss Spencer came in to the classroom looking for the professor, and, seeing the box, became curious to know its contents. She tried standing on tiptoe, lost her balance, and tumbled the snakes nearly on top of herself and all over the floor. With a scream she ran out of the room.

Meanwhile Professor Shedd was conducting a physics class in a room below, when suddenly a five-foot blue racer, which had crawled through the ventilator, dropped with a thud on his demonstration table. The class was automatically dismissed at once.

When Doctor Dexter arrived at his room, he recaptured most of the reptiles. But one blue racer, three garter snakes, and a small, black water snake are still at large in the science building.

Two Mountain Roads the Work of Convicts.

The Colorado Springs and Cañon City Highway and the Ute Pass section of the Pike’s Peak ocean-to-ocean road, recently completed by Colorado’s system of convict labor, are two of the most perfect mountain roads in the United States.

For twenty miles south of Colorado Springs the road winds around the foothills and mountains, practically the entire roadbed having been cut out of the hillside, and in many places blasted out of solid rock. For the remaining twenty-five miles the way is over foothills and through undulating country. Besides being a marvel in engineering, the road is one of the most scenic and picturesque in the West, passing as it does through Red Rock Cañon, Dead Man’s Cañon, and many other mountain beauty spots.

The road averaged eighteen feet in width, and is perfectly crowned and drained. Although it offers a succession of climbs, so skillfully was the engineering work done that heavy grades have been eliminated, and the motorist is confronted with only one grade as high as three per cent.

The Ute Pass Road follows the ancient trail of the Indians across the Rocky Mountains. In the last few years that part of it between Colorado Springs and Cascade has been entirely reconstructed by convicts.

Under the Colorado system the convict is allowed ten days off his sentence for each month of labor on the roads. This is in addition to the usual reduction for good behavior.

Thomas J. Tynan, warden of the State Penitentiary, under whose supervision the work of the last three years has been done, estimates that in the next ten years five thousand miles of the best roads will be constructed at a cost of less than five hundred thousand dollars.

He says one thousand men have been used in roadwork in the last three years at a cost to the State of twenty-five cents a day for each man. The men go about their work unguarded, and less than one per cent have violated their pledges and made successful escapes.

Wilson Gets Curious Bottle.

Fingal W. Anderson, who lives at Aitkin, Minn., has cunningly contrived a present which he has given President Wilson, and which the latter prizes highly.

Anderson has been ill and has whiled away weary hours in contriving his gift. It is a bottle into which he has inserted a shield of the United States. Upon one side of it is a picture of the White House, and upon the other a picture of the president. In presenting the gift, Anderson said, in a letter:

“This is original, whittled after my own thoughts, during my illness from tuberculosis of the bone. This piece of furniture represents seventeen days of work with my jackknife and drill made by myself from wires and nails. In its construction there are 338 different parts, made from white pine and basswood.

“I am a young man, twenty-eight years old, born in Stockholm, Sweden, and am proud to be of the same race from which was descended John A. Johnson and John Lind.

“As sent to you, it is complete and set up in full. Please accept it with my compliments.”

Death of Aged Woman Who Won War Record.

The death of Mrs. Virginia Taylor Gwynn, a wartime Virginia belle, widow of Captain Henry Gwynn, is announced at her home in Pikesville, Md., at the age of seventy-five.

Mrs. Gwynn often accompanied the Confederate army and led the troops into several engagements herself. She knew the country, and led detachments of the troops out of tight corners. For these acts she was mentioned several times in dispatches.

She volunteered to carry mail and dispatches from one division of the army to another, and to do this had to pass and repass through the Union lines several times. This attracted the attention of General Lee, and he publicly complimented both her great bravery and her beauty.

Captain Gwynn, her husband, was one of the few who succeeded in getting over the stone wall defended by the Union forces during the third day of the Battle of Gettysburg, when Pickett made his desperate charge.

His Jet-black Hair Turns Red in Night.

The sensation of the past week has been the extraordinary experience of Mack Stewart, a grocery merchant of Dublin, Texas.

Stewart is thirty-six years of age, and was the possessor of a head of jet-black hair, with the exception of a slight tinge of gray about the temples. To-day he is what might be termed a red-headed man. In a single night the pigment of black was supplanted by red, and glossy-black locks changed to a pronounced auburn.

Stewart, who was formerly a railroad conductor, attributes the remarkable occurrence to a most vivid dream he had recently. He says he dreamed that he was back at work on the H. & T. C. Railway. He was standing on the top of a box car, when, as the train crossed Chambers Creek, his head was struck by the top of the bridge, and he fell back, with the blood gushing over his face.

He awoke with a start and experienced a terrible pain in his head. The train, the creek, the bridge, and all the surroundings were as distinct as if he actually had been gazing upon them, and the pain was as severe as if he had really received a crushing blow.

Fifty or sixty physicians who have been in Dublin during the past week attending the Erath County and Frisco Central Medical Associations examined Stewart’s hair, and there was not one who did not express his astonishment.

Instances of hair turning white in a single night on account of extreme fear, mental anguish, or nervous strain, have been known to occur, but cases of black hair turning to red are almost unheard of. They all expressed the opinion that it would eventually turn to white.

Mormons Increase Numbers.

There is no race suicide among the Mormons. The births during the year were more than four times as many as the deaths. The annual report gives these figures:

Net increase in the membership of the church, 129,493 for the period of 1901 to 1914; birth rate, 39.5 per 1,000; death rate of 8.3 per 1,000; marriage rate, 17 per 1,000.

The report shows the church collected $1,887,920 from tithes in 1914, of which $730,960 was expended on church buildings, $330,984 to maintain the church schools, $64,508 to maintain the Mormon temples, $227,900 for missionary work, $99,293 to maintain church offices, $136,727 to complete and maintain the L. D. S. Hospital in Salt Lake City, and $116,238 to the poor.

Largest Sale of Oil in Tank.

What is stated to be the largest sale of oil in tankage ever made was carried out when White & Sinclair sold seventy-two 55,000-barrel tanks of oil in the Cushing field, in Oklahoma, to the Prairie Oil & Gas Company. The tanks contained approximately four million barrels of oil. The price paid is said to be, including tankage, $2,400,000.

Shot at Black Cat; Never Touched It.

Daniel Taylor’s notion of the proper manner for a black cat to conduct itself is to walk ever and anon in a straight line. If it turns in either direction, he is firmly convinced that it should be shot at sunrise, nightfall, or whenever the turn is made, and to show that he lives up to his convictions, he took a shot at a cat shortly before the milkman appeared on his rounds, missed it, and, about twelve hours later, paid twenty-five dollars for the error in the city court. If he had hit the cat, he says, it would have cost him nothing.

When Taylor was a year and a half old, he was taking a turn about the nursery, when a large cat, blue-black, walked in front of him. It stopped, he stumbled, and it took five neighbors to regain his teething ring, which he lost control of on the downward trip. From that day until one afternoon, at fourteen minutes after three, he has believed that a cat passing in front of him means hard luck. Now, however, he knows it.

“What have you to say?” asked the court, when Taylor was arraigned, charged with missing the cat.

“If I repeated what I have in my mind,” replied Taylor, “I would be sent to Siberia. I missed that pestiferous cat, and I am sorry for it. I am a good citizen, but a poor marksman, and if I were not, I would be elsewhere now. If I ever lay hands on that blamed cat, your excellency, I’ll manipulate her nine lives with éclat and finish. I’ll count them over one by one, and----”

“You talk too much,” said the court.

“Perhaps,” answered Mr. Taylor; “but I have the advantage of knowing what I am talking about. I know that when a black cat passes in front of me, it means hard luck, and, unless I kill it, misfortune will befall me. I know----”

“I fine you twenty-five dollars,” said the court.

“I need say no more,” remarked Taylor, counting the money out. “This proves everything.”

Mr. Taylor lives in Pittsburgh, Pa.

Tramp’s Meal Brings $10,000 to Donor.

Mrs. James Maner, living near Gilmore, Ga., on the Marietta car line, is planning a trip to Miami, Fla., to inspect a legacy valued at $10,000, left her by a tramp.

This does not lend itself readily to the fancy, but this time fancy will have to brace up and take it like a man. Truth may be more of a stranger than fiction, and all that, but the legacy is there, and traveling expenses for Mrs. Maner to go down and view it--fifty dollars in the hand, with a lot of legal assurance.

“Eight years ago,” she said recently, “a man came limping into our front yard. He looked like a tramp, and then again he didn’t look like a tramp--I mean, his clothing was ragged and worn, and he was limping from an injury to his foot, and yet he didn’t have the manners of a tramp, if you could call them manners.

“The man was penniless, he said, and in trouble. I felt sorry for him. I took him in and gave him some dinner, and then ten cents to pay his way to Atlanta on the trolley line. He seemed very appreciative, and insisted on taking my name and address down in a little book.”

It seems that the tramp did not lose the little book. And after eight years back came the bread from off the waters, only it was multiplied to a fold entirely out of step with scriptural precedent.

Mrs. Maner paid no attention to the first information that the legacy had been left her. It required an urgent appeal from a Miami lawyer and the proffer of traveling expenses to make her realize that an estate consisting of several houses and some land had really come her way at the expense of a dime, a good dinner--and a bit of the milk of human kindness.

Netty’s Knitting Stunts.

Netty’s knitting knickknacks for the soldiers.
Her nobby knack at knitting nets them neckties by the score;
Some natty soldier knockers would prefer some knickerbockers
To the knotty, knitted neckties Netty knits for necks galore.

For the enlightenment of our readers who may not have heard about sister Susie, the following chorus is here presented:

Sister Susie’s sewing shirts for soldiers,
Such skill at sewing shirts our shy young sister Susie shows!
Some soldiers send epistles, say they’d rather sleep on thistles,
Than the saucy, soft, short shirts for soldiers sister Susie sews.

Little Maria Finds Friendly Protector.

Maria Greutzen, eight years old, fair-haired and shy, with a thick woolen shawl folded about her shoulders, started on a western journey from Ellis Island, New York, holding tight to the hand of her sister Hedwig. They had come all the way from Antwerp, in war-stricken Belgium, alone on their way to their aunt in Chicago with stout hearts, and tickets tied up in bright calico handkerchiefs. Maria had a stout paper envelope pinned on her little underwaist, with a little extra money for emergency.

It was all so bewildering. Little Hedwig winked back a tear now and then on the trip across the ferry, but then tears come easily when one has only five birthdays and is at the other end of the world from home. They must reach the “beeg train” at Grand Central Station without getting lost, and the kind man guided them and cheered them on.

That is what the men of the Immigrant Guide and Transfer are doing every day, lending a hand to children and grown-ups alike, for grown-ups are sometimes like children in the great, puzzling city. The Immigrant Guide and Transfer was organized some time ago with the approval and direction of Frederic C. Howe, commissioner of Ellis Island.

This worthy and useful organization is at present struggling under a great handicap. The decrease in immigration due to the war leaves it without income to meet the expenses of upkeep. Commissioner Howe is anxious, indeed, not to open the way for any such imposition and exploitation of immigrants as was practiced before the Immigrant Guide service was organized. Money was stolen from the newcomers, tickets were mixed up, exorbitant prices for subway tickets and other fares were extracted, leaving the travelers in a state of helpless panic.

Steps are being taken in this city to render any financial aid Guide and Transfer officials may need.

Spirits Sent Him to Dead.

Jim Thomas, fifty, negro, was arrested after a white man had seen him in the cemetery, in Gurdon, Ark., with a wheelbarrow, spade, and other tools. Examination showed that the negro had dug to the top of the box where James Buckley, a wealthy farmer, was buried three years ago.

The negro explained his actions by saying that spirits told him to communicate with Buckley.

Strange Discovery in Old-time Cliff Abode.

A freak quadruped of unknown species is the latest discovery in the fields of anthropological research in southern Utah. Dean Byron Cummings, head of the department of archæology in the University of Utah, who annually leads expeditions into the deserts of southern Utah and northern Arizona, recently dug up the remains of the mysterious animal of ancient times in an old-time cliff dweller’s home.

The head and backbone of the animal was all that could be found, although the veteran research worker sought diligently to find other bones that might establish a clew to its identity. The cranium is similar to that of an ancient Indian, with sloping forehead and average brain capacity. On its skull was found a hank of wool resembling that of the modern sheep, and the part of the backbone that was intact, showing six vertebræ, was similar in most respects to that of the modern coyote.

Salt Lake scientists and students of other States have examined the strange find, but are at a loss to explain its identity. It is thought by some to be a freak offshoot of the sheep species, while others identify it with the human species.

Dean Cummings had difficulty removing the body from the cliff dwelling, his Indian guides and other native Indians objecting on grounds that the body might have contained one of their sacred good spirits. The find is now in the University of Utah museum.

“Bill the Bum” in Downy Bed.

The story of Mrs. Cook’s adventure in the home of Mrs. Hodkinson, a neighbor, was much like the experience of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Both women are residents of San Francisco, Cal.

The Hodkinson family has been in New York for some time, and Mrs. Cook promised to look out for the house. She went there the other day to see that all was well.

She didn’t know that “Bill the Bum,” who says his address is Everywhere, was there in the role of Goldilocks. Bill had made himself at home there for three days. He had crawled through a basement window and had sampled things as he went along till he got to the top floor, where there was a nice cozy bedroom and a soft bed.

He had found bread and wine and was filled to contentment. Just like Goldilocks in the home of the Three Bears he had a fine time. Then he got sleepy and dozed off.

Mrs. Cook found him stretched out on a bed upstairs, snoring like a trooper. She tiptoed downstairs and called a policeman. The officer made so much noise climbing the stairs that Bill the Bum was awakened and took a header through an open window. He was captured after a chase, taken to the city prison, and charged with burglary. Among the things taken and not recovered are two cherry pies, three bottles of wine, and half a box of fine cigars.

Girls in Men’s Togs Foil Prison Guards.

Until three girls were arrested in Bridgeport, Conn., all of them wearing articles of men’s clothing, it was not known that they had escaped from the New York State Reformatory for Women at Bedford Hills, Westchester County. They employed Harry Thaw’s method of escaping, walking out the gate when the milkman opened it.

They told a remarkable story of hardships while being sought by police and guards in automobiles. They slept in woods and ravines during the days, and traveled and foraged at night.

The girls are: Ida Oakley, formerly of Danbury; Mildred Doyle, of Manhattan, and Alice Kilcoyne, of Brooklyn. They said they were about to be placed on a bread-and-water diet at Bedford Hills, and decided to escape. They had covered several miles in the prison garb of gray-and-white uniforms before their escape was discovered. They kept far back from the roads, and at noon hid in a ravine. At night they made a raid on a farmer’s chicken coop, and, over an open fire, they broiled three chickens.

Early the next morning they made a raid on the clothesline of a housewife, and obtained enough clothed for Ida Oakley to discard her prison garb. Then, while the others hid in the woods, she went into the village and begged food and clothes, telling a story about a husband with tuberculosis and several hungry children.

In that manner they obtained plenty of food, but clothes were scarce, particularly women’s garments. They obtained sufficient clothes for several men, but not enough for two women. Therefore they had to wear men’s clothes. Mildred Doyle and Alice Kilcoyne, unable to get a skirt, wore men’s trousers until they were in the outskirts of Bridgeport, when they met two young men in the road and explained their predicament. The men purchased skirts for them, but they had to continue wearing men’s coats.

Their appearance in Bridgeport, where they tried to find work, caused comment, and they were arrested. Under questioning, they soon broke down and told of their escape from the Bedford Reformatory.

No Sentence in Eagle Case.

Although Edward Peffer got a verdict against State Game Wardens Charles and A. H. Baum for larceny of the eagle that he shot in Lewiston County, Pa., no sentence has been imposed on the wardens, and it is not likely that there ever will be. The judge of the court does not consider the verdict in keeping with the law as laid down by the State. The stuffed eagle is still in the State museum.

Mexicans Maltreat Booster of Heroes.

Americans are not properly protected in Mexico, thinks Jo Conners, of Phoenix, Ariz. Conners believes that when a peaceful American in a foreign country is deprived of his wooden leg, the act should be construed as a declaration of war. Through the American State department he has applied for the return of a wooden leg, a steel foot, and four hundred dollars in gold, which were taken from him while he was a prisoner of the Carranza forces in Guaymas.

By profession Conners is a chronicler of heroes. He was employed by General Francisco Villa to prepare and publish a volume to be entitled “Heroes of Mexico.” Villa furnished him with an automobile and agreed to pay him one hundred dollars a week in gold.

Conners found everybody in northern Mexico for Villa. Also he found that every one was a hero. By the time he arrived at Guaymas he had collected photographs and brief biographies of no less than 280 Mexican patriots who had risked their lives and fortunes that Villa might triumph and Mexico might become the greatest nation on the face of the earth.

Amid the Villa “vivas” of the populace Conners retired one night in a Guaymas hotel. He was awakened by a soldier who told him that the city was in the hands of the Carranza forces and that he was a prisoner. The 280 biographies and photographs, also four weeks’ salary, were confiscated. Conners was placed in jail and his typewriter was thrown in after him, with a scornful suggestion that he get busy and write something more about “thees Meester Villa.”

In a railroad accident several years ago Conners lost his left leg and part of his right foot. He had purchased the best wooden leg that money could buy and used a steel extension to fill out the right shoe. When the jailer entered his cell the next morning, Conners’ artificial leg and foot were lying on the floor.

Now, this jailer had also lost his left leg, and wore a rude peg in its place. With a cry of delight he pounced upon Conners’ expensive artificial limb. His delight became ecstasy when he tried it on and found that it was a perfect fit. Saying something about a trade, he departed. For some reasons he also took the steel extension. The peg, which was the limb of a mesquite tree, was left lying on the floor.

A few minutes later the jailer returned. “I give you what you Americanos call some boot,” he remarked pleasantly. Whereupon he set before Mr. Conners a plate of luscious tomatoes.

That afternoon the American consul got Conners out of jail. Another jailer unlocked the door for him. Conners wanted to start out immediately in search of his wooden leg and steel foot, but the consul persuaded him that discretion was the better part of valor, and induced him to board a tramp steamer for San Francisco. After he reached San Francisco, Conners remembered that he also lost an automobile in Guaymas. That, however, troubles him little. The auto was Villa’s, but the leg, the foot, and the $400 were Conners’ very own, and he expects Uncle Sam to demand their return without any beating around the bush by Mexico’s warring heroes.

Meteor Falls in Michigan.

A meteor which fell near Standish, Mich., narrowly missed the residence of Charles Selman. The visitor whizzed down in the midst of a brilliant meteoric display, and buried itself so deep in Mr. Selman’s yard that it hasn’t been found. The hole in the ground is four feet across.

“Slippery John” Again at Liberty.

If the police of Charlestown, W. Va., succeed in their efforts to locate John Truslow, known to them as “Slippery John” and many other things, including aliases, it is probable that they will suspend a large anvil from his neck and nail his clothing to a cell wall. He has escaped, drat him! for the eighth time in two months, and, with right hands raised, the police are remarking that, so help them, never again!

John Truslow, according to the police, has been tried and found guilty of every crime of which a mentality such as John Truslow’s is capable. This has limited John’s activities greatly, but recently, while awaiting trial on a charge of stealing a straw hat, he burst from the jail, nearly sweeping it away, and ran to the bird store of John Fisher in the dead of a Saturday night.

There the police, attracted by eight electric bulbs that John illuminated, found him whispering to a gold fish and acting in a frightfully suspicious manner. They crept upon him stealthily, as the department requires them to do. Just as they reached him, a parrot, awakened its sleep, said: “Officer, there’s your man!” There could be no mistake, they had corroboration.

When the reserves, with Slippery John sliding along among them, reached the jail, they saw the warden come screaming from the building. They asked him wherefore the noise and whence his course, to which he replied that Slippery John, the demon skidder, had flown the jail. Then he saw the prisoner, and wept, kissed him on the forehead, and slammed him back in his cell.

All went well until the other night, at the well-known and justly revered witching hour of midnight. Peter Austin, member of a very aristocrooked family, rose up feebly from his part of John’s cell and declared he was ill, requiring water. The warden, who sometimes drinks the stuff himself, was merciful, and let Peter patter out.

The cell door--gods, what an error!--was left open, and when Peter returned--tableaux! Slippery John gone again!

The warden is inconsolable. He has issued an order that hereafter all prisoners that gasp for water must remain in their cells and drink from the nozzle of the hose.

Vaudeville Stunts in Mountain Settlements.

Little mountain settlements in the region of Julian, Cal., have their vaudeville circuits, and they are as important to the people and afford them as much pleasure as Keith’s or the Orpheum afford pleasure seekers of the large cities.

The players are generally Mexicans. They travel by wagon or burro, coming up from lower California, swinging across the mining region, and turning south again into the peninsula.

A handbill pinned to the door of the post office or store is the only program. It announces, in Spanish, that a company of artists, unsurpassed for excellence, will be honored to entertain the people at greatly reduced prices--fifteen cents for children and twenty-five cents for adults, whereas in large cities, like Ensenada, the company wouldn’t attempt to do the same thing for less than a dollar admission.

Sometimes the performance is acrobatic; sometimes it is a concert, with accordion and guitar, to be followed with a dance; again it may be an old-fashioned Punch and Judy show, or a roaring comedy, the actors speaking their lines in Spanish, which, by the way, makes no difference to the border folks, all of whom understand that tongue.

In addition to the handbill, a crier goes through the vicinity, announcing from house to house the merits of the performers, and urging everybody not to miss this last and only chance to see and hear so rare a collection of stars, who, meanwhile, are preparing their evening meal beside the road and making their beds under a tree.

The play is staged wherever shelter can be found--in schoolhouse or some large barn, or, more likely, in the dance hall, for nearly every settlement has such a place. The settings are easily procured. A plank across the tops of two barrels may serve either as a terrible abyss or a shaded silvan walk.

The following morning the all-star troupe rolls out of its separate and individual blankets, cooks breakfast in the open, jumps astride burros, or tumbles into a wagon and makes for the next-night stand.

Roughrider’s Story of German “Wild West.”

Herman Kepple, a circus rider, whose home was formerly in Afton, Okla., at one time with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West circus, and for several years a member of a German “Wild West” aggregation, has just returned on account of the circus having been broken up by the war in Europe. Kepple says that he was more than sorry that he had to return, for his monthly salary with the German show was equal to a small fortune. The big circus was composed of close to 2,000 persons, and rifle shooting, riding, and other “dare-devil” stunts, such as made the stolid Germans gasp, was Kepple’s specialty.

As soon as war was declared, the Cossacks with the show were placed in prison, the English and Japanese actors were taken into custody, and most of the German members had to join the colors.

Still the management tried to keep the show going, using neutral actors and Germans who did not have to join the army, but the attendance grew less and less. Then, as a last resort, they began the production of a spectacular scene known as “Europe in Flames.” This showed--with the crash of big guns and the clash of steel--the progress of the war, and the supposed ending, all leaning in favor of the Germans.

Kepple was supposed to be a royal hussar for a while, then an English soldier and prisoner of war; at times he played dead, and was carried off the field. The beginning of the spectacle pictured the cause of the war, and ended with a general drawing of swords and presenting of arms, with the kaiser, of course, being the last one to draw his weapon. This last was always received with many cheers.

Another Oklahoma cowboy, A. W. Beasley, and Arma Reuter, from Texas, were with the same outfit. Kepple says that Reuter returned to Texas, but does not know what became of Beasley.

Always the Germans won in this mimic war. Even so, the populace soon tired of it, for the real war was carrying off thousands of the nation’s sons. The owners decided to disband. Kepple and Reuter concluded to join the German army, but when they found that they would have to renounce their own country, they backed out.

Negro Finds Rope with Cow Attached.

A negro, Arthur Chairs--his name was part of the set--brought into the Memphis city court on a charge of larceny, carried with him a minstrel joke that Dan Rice used to knock ’em off the seats with years ago. It was so old that it became new when viewed in the serious light in which the negro placed it.

Nobody ever thought that there was any foundation for the old, exculpatory joke that a thief picked up a rope that had a horse at the other end of it, until Arthur Chairs demonstrated beyond doubt that the joke had a foundation in serious fact.

The negro was charged with the larceny of a cow from the rural districts around Oakville. Henry Grant, a negro, appeared as prosecutor. Henry lost the cow.

“Your honor,” said the detective who apprehended the prisoner and his bovine charge, “Henry Grant, here, the prosecutor, lost a cow, and we found Arthur Chairs trying to sell it.”

“What was the cow worth?” asked Justice Biggs, who was wielding the gavel at the session.

“About fifty dollars,” said Grant.

“Must have been a Jersey,” said the judge.

“It was, judge,” said the detective, “and a young heifer, at that.”

“Arthur.”

“Yessah, jedge.”

“Ever been up here before on a charge of this kind?” asked the judge.

“Nossah, jedge, I sho nevah wah heah befo’ in mah life.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I wucks, jedge, wucks all de time.”

“What sort of work do you engage in?” asked the judge.

“I does mos’ any kinds of wuck I kin find ter do dese days.”

“Now, then, Arthur, the preliminaries are settled. Tell us about this cow.”

“I don’t know much ’bout dat cow, jedge, I sho don’t.”

“Your associations with this bovine were of a pleasant nature, if not of much duration, were they not?” smiled the judge.

“Yassah, jedge, yassah.”

“Just to come right down to plain words, you stole that cow, did you not?” asked the judge sharply.

“Nossah, jedge, I can’t say dat I done stole dat cow at all.”

“Does your high regard for the truth prevent you making a statement to that effect?”

“Yassah, jedge, yassah. I sho gwine ter tell yo’ de trufe ’bout it.”

“I feel justified in expecting that,” laughed the judge.

“Yassah, jedge, yassah.”

“If you did not steal the cow, tell us how you became the possessor of it.”

“Tells yo’, jedge. I’s passin’ ’long de road, an’ dis cow standin’ dah, seemin’ lak she lost. I stops and ’gins ter see if I kin identify huh. Den she ’pears ter know me, an’ I rubs her about de neck, an’ she lay huh haid ovah on me jes’ lak she wants me ter take care ob huh. Den I drap de rope aroun’ huh horns an’ walked away.”

“She followed you?”

“Yassah, jedge, yassah; she sho did.”

“Didn’t have to pull on the rope?”

“Nossah, jedge, not er bit.”

“Hold him for the State,” ordered the judge, and the cow’s guardian _pro tem._ was escorted below.

Disabled Coal Miner Dies.

After five years’ struggle against great physical and financial odds, Fred Ellwanger, sole survivor of the Marianna mine disaster in 1908, died at his home in Charleroi, Pa.

Ellwanger came to this country from Germany in 1908, and secured work in the Marianna mine just the day before the explosion that cost about two hundred lives. On that day Ellwanger was at work at the bottom of the shaft. He told friends afterward that he was afraid to work in the mine on account of the large amount of gas he noticed in the reaches.

When the explosion came, he was knocked senseless, but fell with his head near a pool of water; this kept his head moist and saved him from death.

He was the only man saved from the explosion. He was rushed to a hospital, where the physicians said he could not live. Forty-two pieces of coal and stone were taken from his body.

For weeks he lingered between life and death, and finally was pronounced on the road to recovery. He never fully recovered.

Unable to work, he published a book telling his story of the disaster. The coal company promptly attempted to suppress the book, and it is still under the company’s ban.

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.

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. 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. 738--A Plot Within a Plot. 739--The Dead Accomplice. 741--The Green Scarab. 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. 774--The Great Buddha Beryl. 775--The Vanishing Heiress. 776--The Unfinished Letter. 777--A Difficult Trail. 782--A Woman’s Stratagem. 783--The Cliff Castle Affair. 784--A Prisoner of the Tomb. 785--A Resourceful Foe. 789--The Great Hotel Tragedies. 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. 807--Nick Carter’s Advertisement. 808--The Kregoff Necklace. 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.

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. 113--French Jimmie and His Forty Thieves. 114--The Death Plot. 115--The Evil Formula. 116--The Blue Button. 117--The Deadly Parallel. 118--The Vivisectionists. 119--The Stolen Brain. 120--An Uncanny Revenge. 121--The Call of Death. 122--The Suicide. 123--Half a Million Ransom. 124--The Girl Kidnapper. 125--The Pirate Yacht. 126--The Crime of the White Hand. 127--Found in the Jungle. 128--Six Men in a Loop. 129--The Jewels of Wat Chang. 130--The Crime in the Tower. 131--The Fatal Message. 132--Broken Bars. 133--Won by Magic. 134--The Secret of Shangore. 135--Straight to the Goal. 136--The Man They Held Back. 137--The Seal of Gijon. 138--The Traitors of the Tropics. 139--The Pressing Peril. 140--The Melting-Pot. Dated May 22d, 1915. 141--The Duplicate Night. Dated May 29th, 1915. 142--The Edge of a Crime. Dated June 5th, 1915. 143--The Sultan’s Pearls. Dated June 12th, 1915. 144--The Clew of the White Collar.

=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