Chapter XI: In Court

It was not until two hours after the Camera Chap’s arrest that his friend, Fred Carroll, learned of it.

The proprietor of the _Bulletin_, returning to his office after his tryst with Melba Gale, was just seating himself at his desk when the telephone claimed his attention. It was the voice of Parsons, his police reporter, which came to him over the wire.

“Is that you, Mr. Carroll?” said the reporter. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past two hours. They’ve arrested your friend, Mr. Hawley. They’re just taking him to court now.”

“The deuce you say!” exclaimed the proprietor of the _Bulletin_. “What have they got him for?”

“Breaking the new anticamera law. I’m afraid he’s in bad, too, sir. Looks as if they’ve got him dead to rights. He took a photograph on the street outside the city hall, and they caught him at it. Of course, Hodgins will make the most of this opportunity to get square.”

“Suffering Cæsar!” muttered Carroll, a troubled look on his face. “What magistrate are they taking him before, Parsons?”

“Judge Wall, sir.”

“Wall!” The troubled look on Carroll’s face deepened. “He’s the biggest grouch on the bench, and a personal friend of Hodgins. Poor old Hawley! I’m afraid they’ll give him the limit. All right, Parsons, I’ll be right over. We must see what we can do.”

As he hurried to court, Carroll said to himself, with a frown: “The reckless chump! What the dickens did he want with that picture, when he knew that telegram was a fake? I suppose that was the big laugh he promised me. He made up his mind that he’d get that snapshot, anyway, just to show those fellows how little he was afraid of them. Unfortunately, though, it looks as if they’ve turned the laugh on him. I wish I’d guessed what he was going to do, so that I could have persuaded him not to take such a desperate chance.”

Although Carroll lost no time in getting to the courtroom, the Camera Chap was already being arraigned when he arrived there. Chief Hodgins was in such a fever of impatience to wreak his vengeance upon that young man that he had prevailed upon his honor to try the case ahead of several other less important cases which, according to the regular order, should have preceded it.

News of Hawley’s arrest evidently had traveled fast, for Carroll recognized in the courtroom several men whose presence there, he felt sure, was prompted solely by a desire to see the Camera Chap sentenced to six months in the county jail.

Prominent among these was old Delancey Gale, who stood beside his son, within the railed inclosure in front of the magistrate’s desk--a privilege accorded to representatives of the press--stroking his white, mutton-chop whiskers and shaking his head deprecatingly every time his gaze rested upon the prisoner’s smiling countenance, as though such depravity as he saw there was almost past his comprehension.

Most of the other men in the spectators’ benches were politicians--members of the ring against which the _Bulletin_ was waging war. They had no grievance against Hawley personally, but they regarded his prosecution as a blow at Carroll and his newspaper, and therefore they had come there with thumbs down.

As the proprietor of the _Bulletin_ entered the courtroom, he was greeted by vindictive scowls from this group. One had only to glance at their faces to realize how intensely bitter was their feeling toward this young New Yorker who had done--and was still doing--his level best to brand them as the grafters they were.

But their scowls were quickly succeeded by friendly smiles as a burly, rawboned man of middle age, whose countenance was set in grim lines, entered the courtroom close on the heels of Carroll, stepped pompously up to the bench, and took a seat beside the magistrate without waiting for an invitation to do so.

The newcomer was the Honorable Martin Henkle, mayor of Oldham, and the most powerful political boss that town had ever known.

Mayor Henkle was not in the habit of gracing the police court with his presence; but so great was his interest in this case that he had adjourned an important hearing at the city hall in order to attend the trial.

The mayor’s visit was a source of great gratification to Chief Hodgins. Since the _Bulletin’s_ publication of those painful snapshots showing that corpulent official in a somnolent pose, there had been a marked coolness between the mayor and the head of the police department.

While the former had not carried out his threat to remove the latter from office, he had let it be plainly seen that Hodgins was in great disfavor at the city hall. Consequently the police chief was glad now to have the mayor present to witness his triumph over the Camera Chap. He felt confident that this arrest would go a long way toward restoring him to favor.

It did not take Chief Hodgins long to present his evidence against Hawley.

With a note of pride in his voice, he told the court how by his vigilance and alertness he had been successful in catching the defendant “red-handed,” in the act of taking a photograph on a public highway of Oldham.

“And I hope, your honor,” the chief concluded, “that you’ll see fit to make an example of the rascal; for if ever there was a desperate character, he’s one. Just see how he stands there grinnin’ now--right in your honor’s face.”

His honor, who was a dyspeptic-looking little man with a peppery temper, glared at the prisoner, and inwardly resolved that he would “give him something to grin about” in a little while.

Gale and the six detectives gave testimony corroborating that of the chief of police regarding the taking of the photograph.

Everybody in the courtroom, including Fred Carroll, thought that the case against the Camera Chap was a strong one, and wondered why the latter didn’t manifest more concern as to the outcome.

Hawley’s face continued to wear a cheerful smile as he listened to the evidence, and this smile expanded every time his gaze rested on the camera reposing on the magistrate’s desk, which Chief Hodgins had offered as an exhibit.

“You say that a photograph was taken,” the magistrate suddenly remarked. “Have you the picture, chief?”

“I have the negative, your honor,” Hodgins replied promptly.

As he spoke, he glanced swiftly at the Camera Chap, whose face had suddenly lost its smile, and now wore an expression of mingled indignation and amazement.

“In order to make the evidence as complete as possible, your honor,” the chief of police went on, “I took the roll of film from this fellow’s camera, in the presence of witnesses, and had it developed. The result was this picture of the city hall, which I now offer in evidence.”

As Hodgins handed the negative to the magistrate, Hawley’s gaze traveled from the incriminating strip of gelatin to the face of the younger Gale.

On that countenance he saw an expression which fully enlightened him as to who was responsible for this piece of manufactured evidence--an expression half triumphant, half anxious.

“What a chump I was not to have foreseen that he’d do that,” he mused ruefully. “I guess this isn’t going to be such a ripping good joke, after all. It looks very much now as if I’m going to be engaged for the next six months in the unprofitable pastime of making large stones into little ones.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

ELEPHANT OFFENDERS IN THE ARMY.

In India, elephants are used for many purposes, but principally for carrying heavy loads from one part of the country to another. The Indian government employ a number of them, especially for their artillery.

These elephants are very particular about their rights. For instance, when formed up on parade, the elephant who has served longest takes the right of the rank, the others forming up in succession, according to their seniority, just like soldiers. Sometimes, either by accident or design, an elephant will take up a position to which he has no claim, when there is at once a great commotion, his comrades insisting upon his retiring to his proper place.

With such intelligent animals, it is therefore little to be wondered at that punishments for grave offenses are generally preceded by a court-martial in precisely the same manner as with soldiers.

One such scene of trial and punishment of an elephant guilty of murder is thus described by an eye witness, a military officer:

“The prisoner, with eyes filled with tears, was marched in front of us, between two other elephants. Along with them came all the witnesses. The president, Major C----, read the charge: ‘Elephant Abdul is charged with causing the death of Syce Ramboucles by catching him by the legs with his trunk and beating his brains out against the wall of the grain hut.’

“The first witness called deposed that he was in the lines at twelve o’clock, seeing the elephants fed. When the trumpeter sounded ‘feed,’ he saw Syce Ramboucles run with a bag of grain toward Elephant Abdul. At this time all the other elephants were fed, consequently Syce Ramboucles was late in feeding Elephant Abdul. The witness ordered the syce to hurry, but the latter did not seem to move any quicker. As soon as he approached, Elephant Abdul seized him by the legs and dashed his head against the little grain hut. Eight syces gave similar statements.

“When they had finished, the president, who had kept his head down the whole time, with the elephant’s defaulter sheet in front of him, suddenly looked up and glared at the prisoner. Seeing the elephant’s eyes swimming in tears, he said:

“‘It’s no use; that game won’t do. I am quite accustomed to see tears, and never take any notice of them. I see by this defaulter book that you have been guilty of no fewer than sixteen crimes of injuring people, and I have not the slightest compassion for you.’

“The members of the court-martial all agreed with him, and, after a short adjournment, found Abdul guilty, and sentenced him to fifty lashes and two years’ imprisonment.”

A few days later the first part of the sentence was carried out.

The whole battery was drawn up in a square, fourteen elephants forming one side and the noncommissioned officers and men the other three sides. In the center were two huge elephants, the prisoner Abdul, and the senior elephant, to whom the task of inflicting punishment always falls. Besides these two elephants, all the officers of the battery, the provosts, the brigade major, and the doctor, were in the center, and elephants numbers two and three stood on either flank, in case the prisoner might try to escape. Four great iron pegs were driven into the ground, to each of which one of the prisoner’s legs was chained. The senior elephant, Lalla No. 1, stood by, with a huge cable chain fastened around her trunk, waiting further orders.

When all was pronounced ready, the doctor, who stood with a watch in his hand, gave the signal to begin. Lalla raised her trunk in the air, gave it two turns, and down came the cable with terrific force on Abdul’s back. A loud thud was heard, followed by an unearthly roar from the unfortunate Abdul.

Again the doctor gave the signal, and down came the cable with terrific force, causing more roaring. Again and again it came down, until the full number of lashes were given, after which the prisoner was marched back to his quarters, trembling from head to foot, and having a few lumps on his back as the result of the lashing. The parade was then dismissed, and things went on as usual.

CONTINUED HIS EXPERIMENTS.

Among the adventures which befell a young engineer a short time back, was the perilous one of falling down the shaft of a mine. The shaft was not in use during the winter, but as it was essential to have it in order before spring, the young engineer determined to examine it.

There were no ladders to this particular shaft, and he elected to be lowered by the windlass. It was necessary, therefore, to hold on tightly to the rope, keeping one foot in a loop at the end. He settled himself firmly and swung off, the rope in his right hand and a candle in his left.

The shaft was about three hundred feet deep, and he was halfway down when he leaned forward to examine the wall of the shaft, and as he did so his foot shot out from the noose. It was coated with ice. The candle was jerked out of his left hand, while his right slipped down the icy rope like lightning, and closed on it with a death grip.

Then he felt himself swinging by one hand to the end of the rope and instinctively reached up to the loop with the other, only to find it a smooth coat of ice which gave scarcely any hold. He could never cling there long enough to be hauled back to the mouth of the shaft, even if he should succeed in making the men hear his cry for help.

The shaft was pitch dark, and it was therefore impossible to judge his rate of descent, as he hung--literally between life and death--with every faculty strained to the one act of clinging to the rope.

His hands were numb with cold and little by little he felt them slipping. Another moment and he went.

But not far, for when he let go he was not three feet from the bottom of the shaft. All the same he felt decidedly shaky as he groped about for his lost candle, which he found, and then coolly completed the exploration for which he had descended.

DRINK OR TEMPERANCE?

A temperance orator was describing to his audience how his own life had been influenced by total abstinence.

“You know,” said he, “that I am chief of my department. Three years ago there were two men in our office who held positions superior to mine. One was dismissed through drunkenness; the other was led into crime, and is now serving a long term of imprisonment, and all through the influence of strong drink. Now, what I ask,” he cried, growing eloquent, “what has raised me to my present high position?”

“Drink!” was the vociferous but unexpected reply, which he received from a number of the audience.

HE WANTED TO KNOW.

His five-year-old boy was perched on his knee, and the fond father gazed at him with eyes that beamed with paternal pride.

“Papa”--pointing out of the window--“what are those men doing over there?”

“Building a house, my son.”

“Why?”

“Because they are paid to do it.”

“Who pays them for doing it?”

“The man who is putting the house up.”

“What does he pay ’em for?”

“For building the house.”

“Why?”

“Because--well, because they would not build the house if he did not pay them.”

“What does the man want the house for?”

The paternal smile became rigid.

“To live in.”

“Hasn’t he got a house to live in?”

“Oh, yes!”

“What does he want another one for?”

“Oh, for other people to live in.”

“What other people?”

“Oh, men and women and little boys and girls.”

“Why do they want to live in the house?”

“Well, they must live somewhere.”

“Who?”

“The people.”

“What people?”

“Any people.”

“Why?”

At this juncture the innocent, prattling child saw a firm hand descend, and hastily retreated in time to prevent a collision.

THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS.

Interesting New Inventions.

A safety pocket to hold a watch securely is a feature of a new apron for workmen.

A device for removing tires from wagon wheels has been invented that exerts a pull exceeding a ton, yet weighs less than twenty-five pounds.

The principle of the automatic drinking fountain has been applied to a water cooler by the invention of a bubbling attachment.

Flies can enter a garbage can that a New York man has patented, but as they try to get out, they are caught in a wire trap, which can be detached and the insects destroyed.

A new clamp to hold a cover on a milk bottle also serves as a handle to carry the bottle.

Won’t Cut Hair Until Bryan is President.

Bryan Wise, nineteen years old, of Crane, Mo., will get his first hair cut when William Jennings Bryan becomes president.

“Then his hair will grow so long that he will stumble over it,” the thoughtful reader may surmise; but be that as it may, Bryan Wise, son of a Crane, Mo., brakeman, has for nineteen years been a total stranger to the barber’s chair, and, having stood the “gaff” for so long a time, it looks as though he will continue to do so. At present his hair touches his waist when it is “undone,” but he wears it in a tight knot at the back of his head.

The father of the long-haired youth was and continues to be a great admirer of the former secretary of state, and he has every faith that in the course of time his son will have the opportunity to have his hair cut off.

Ker-choo! Arm Out of Joint.

Sometimes a sneeze can do more damage than ordinarily. W. H. Wallingford, an automobile salesman of Portland, Ore., will testify to this.

Wallingford was talking to a “prospect” in an auto salesroom. During his argument in favor of the car he was selling, Wallingford raised an arm above his head and leaned it against a door casing. Then the sneeze came--and it came so suddenly Wallingford didn’t have time to “get set” for it. His head and shoulders were jerked forward and downward when the ker-choo sounded, and the arm was dislocated at the shoulder socket. A physician reset it, and Wallingford, after a few days of rest, will be back on the job.

Night at Ellis Island with Wrecked Mankind.

On wire and canvas cots, on wooden benches, and not infrequently on tiled floors, hundreds of men sleep each night on Ellis Island, in New York City. These men are not immigrants, although many, but by no means most, of them are aliens. They are homeless, hungry men, who have neither work nor the wherewithal to live, a condition that is in dire contrast to the comfortable and happy existence of those who live in the small cities and towns of our land, but one that for months has been experienced by thousands of unfortunates in our metropolitan centers.

The island has been thrown open to them ungrudgingly, first because of the sympathetic understanding of Commissioner Frederic C. Howe, and, second, because the sudden fall in immigration has left unoccupied a great many rooms and hundreds of cots previously needed for those who came, as many of these men came, to the Land of Promise.

You do not have to look closely at these men to see how poorly dressed they are; but, if you were to spend a night with them, you would find that beneath their soiled and wretched outer covering there is no clothing, and that the flesh, that is weak, in many cases is sore and infected and in need of care. For with them underwear long since has become a bitter memory of better days, and their feet are without socks and their boots without soles.

Now, these men are not lazy men. Let there be no misunderstanding as to that. Any one can satisfy himself on that score by announcing that he needs a man to work. He will be surrounded by a hundred men, who will not merely clamor for the job, but will actually beg for it. Some time ago twenty men were needed to cut ice. It was cold work, in cold season, but scores of men stepped forward when the call was made, and not one of them had a stitch of underclothing to his body! The employment agent who engaged the number needed supplied them with warm garments out of sheer pity for them.

Here is what Commissioner Howe has to say of them:

“The unemployed men have been coming to Ellis Island for the past five months. The numbers for the last two months have averaged between seven hundred and eight hundred each night. The men are perfectly orderly, and are most grateful for the opportunity offered them for sleeping some place other than in the parks, under the bridges, or any other such places as are open to them. They required no policing, and have not given us a bit of trouble in that time. A large percentage of them rush eagerly to the bathroom as soon as they arrive at the island. They maintain barbers and clothes menders to keep in good condition, and are, so far as I can judge, making every possible effort to retain their self-respect under terrible conditions.

“It is almost complete presumption to my mind in favor of a man if he is willing to sleep night after night on a hard wood floor, without any covering over him, and that is what many of the men have been doing. They get what little food they have as best they can, and the great majority of them are in a state of chronic hunger. It seems to me a far greater reflection upon this rich city that these men should be left wholly to their own fate than it is upon the men themselves, for they cannot create their own employment; many of them are in rags, and do not present a good appearance, and some of them are so weak and enfeebled by long exposure that they are hardly in position to help themselves.”

It was to learn something of these men at first hand that a reporter, dressed as one of them, and unshaved and of sorry appearance, joined their company for one never-to-be-forgotten night on the island. But the suffering and discomfort were more than made up for by the fact that, although these were rough men, in the privacy of the room in which we slept--except for some swearing--there was not spoken one word that any woman might not have heard. It is really a splendid thing to be able to say that.

These unfortunate men say they are much happier within the hospitable halls of Ellis Island than they ever could be at the municipal lodging institutions, which they criticize very unfavorably and with various reasons, among their objections being too many unnecessary questions asked, entirely too much work expected for the amount of assistance given, and many times no food at all when food is due; in other words, they pronounce organized charity, as exemplified in New York, a proved failure so far as it benefits those for whom it is supposed to be carried on.

“King of the Pasture” Chases Girl “Hikers.”

If it hadn’t been for a wild bull, which has the habit of seeing red, in a pasture they crossed, two Kansas schoolma’ams, Miss Edna R. Johnson and Miss Lillian Jaggar, who are hiking on foot overland from Vernon, Kan., to Pueblo, Col., would not be spending a week in Dodge City recuperating before continuing their journey.

The bull chased the two young school-teachers across a rolling pasture a half mile when they rolled to safety under a high barbed-wire fence.

Probably nothing would have occurred if the girls had not worn sweaters--red sweaters. But they did not think of angry bulls in mapping their tramp.

The bull charged up until his shoulders hit the wire, and then stopped. But his bellows urged the girls to renewed efforts, and they raced on. A farmer boy met them and offered them protection. They took it gladly.

They managed to get to Dodge City, but there they decided to remain until their shattered nerves were restored. Hereafter, the girls say, they will tramp along in the dusty road. No more pastures will entice them. They have been tramping for two weeks and had covered over three hundred miles without having ridden a foot of the way.

Youth Stops Runaway Team.

Fifteen-year-old Harold Dewey Howard, son of Mrs. Alice Howard, of Baker, Ore., checked a runaway team belonging to H. E. Jordan, seizing the animals by the bits and being dragged for nearly one hundred feet before he was shaken loose. Young Howard was slightly bruised, but he brought the horses to a standstill.

Life on Ole Mississipi in Days Befo’ de Wah.

There was recently held at Dubuque, Iowa, a meeting of shippers from eight Mississippi Valley States for the purpose of restoring transportation on “The Father of Waters.” The cities represented by active delegates were St. Paul, Minneapolis, La Crosse, Winona, Galena, Dubuque, Burlington, Quincy, Hannibal, Rapid City, East St. Louis, New Orleans, and Cincinnati.

President Thomas Wilkinson, of Burlington, Iowa, was authorized to appoint an energetic working committee to prepare a plan or system for the practical utilization of the valley’s great water highway to meet the demands of commerce occasioned by the completion of the Panama Canal and other transportation exigencies. It is said the greatest enthusiasm exists among the large producers and shippers of the valley over the prospective resumption of river traffic, and that already many encouraging offers have been received by those at the heads of the enterprise.

The floodtide of the Mississippi River traffic under the old system was reached July 4, 1870, when the _Robert E. Lee_ pushed its nose against the St. Louis wharf at the conclusion of its great race with the _Natchez_. Old rivermen say that almost from that hour they could detect the falling off of the trade once so generously given the big “river palaces.”

The _Lee_ beat the _Natchez_ into St. Louis six hours and thirty-six minutes. Both steamers cleared the New Orleans wharf at about five p. m. June 30th. The race was fairly even until they got close to St. Louis. Jesse T. Jamison and Enoch King were in the _Lee’s_ pilothouse. They had taken charge of the wheel at Cairo, and held their long trick clear into St. Louis.

At Devil’s Island a dense fog settled on the river. There were no lighthouses then, no electric flash lights to sweep out over the river. The _Natchez_ was hanging on close. Many rivermen of that day insisted that under certain conditions she was a much swifter boat than the _Lee_.

As night came on, all the world was black. “You could almost feel it,” graphically observed a man who was on the _Lee_. “Jamison looked across at his mate handling the other side of the big wheel. ‘We’ll keep going,’ he said. ‘Of course,’ replied King. The pilot’s decision in the old river days was the law.”

The _Lee_ was drawing six feet. Leadsmen were out on the fo’castle all night taking soundings. The boat never stopped in all that gloom. Jamison said, many years afterward, that it was a harder ordeal on his nerves than if he had been fighting all night on a battle line. The _Natchez_ tied up during the worst part of the fog, and she had good pilots, too.

The winning boat was welcomed into St. Louis by salvos of artillery at Jefferson barracks, and hundreds of steamers and tugs black with people. Some of these traveled many miles downstream to greet the victor, who easily outdistanced all of them in the run to the city. The wharf boats all along the great levee were crowded with cheering people. The event made the _Lee_ the most popular boat on the river, and every member of her hardworking crew became a hero.

In a recent talk about the vanished glories of the big stream, J. G. van Cleve, a merchant of Macon, Mo., said:

“The commercial lifeblood of the city was represented in the activity along the levee. The man who has never made a trip down the Mississippi River in the real steamboat days has lost a page of life that would have contributed to his love of country.

“The big Anchor Line steamers for Grand Tower, Cairo, Memphis, and Vicksburg were scheduled to leave the St. Louis wharf at five p. m., but they rarely got under way before nine or ten. The rules seemed to be to hold the boat as long as there were offerings of freight, and it looked like the shipping clerks in the big wholesale houses on Second and Main Streets didn’t begin to get busy until late in the afternoon. Then wide two-wheeled drays and trucks would clatter down the long rock levee like an army of invasion. It was a lively sight. Officers would dart helter-skelter, directing teamsters where to go, and saying things anent their tardiness; the teamsters would swear at their mules, and the mates would cuss the roustabouts. Everybody seemed to have a safe target for his wrath, and nobody took offense. It was all a part of the game.

“By and by, long after supper, the last dray of freight would roar across the wharf bridge, an army of black men would seize the stuff almost before the team stopped, the mud valves would growl out great clouds of steam forward to the paddle wheels, and some one aloft--generally the captain--would pull the great bell for the third time. That was the signal to cast off the hawsers and run in the gang plank. Then the big craft, loaded nearly to the water’s edge amidships, would slowly drift out into the river, stern foremost.

“When the line of boats was cleared, a seeming haphazard concert of small bells and baby whistles below, was responded to by long, fierce exhausts, spouting geyser-like from the steam pipes just forward of the wheelhouse. The din of the bells and whistles, which nobody on earth but the engineers could have deciphered, was kept up until the boat had slowly turned around and headed south. The long voyage had begun. Then the negro roustabouts, scattered around on coffee sacks and hemp bales, started their evening musicale:

“‘The boat comes sailin’ ’round de ben’,
Good-by, my lovah, good-by;
She’s loaded down wid wimin an’ men,
Good-by, my lovah, good-by!

By-by, my ba-bee,
By-by, my ba-bee,
Good-by, my lovah, good-by!’

“It was sung to a long, plaintive tune, carrying with it the agony of parting forever. As it rolled out into the darkness, now and then illumined by the red glare from an opened furnace, the black man seemed to have come into his kingdom; a kingdom peopled with weird shapes and enveloped in the mysticism of a dark continent. He was no longer a humdrum hewer of wood and a drawer of water, but a part of the sublimity of the great river. The steady move of the engines, the cascades from the steam pipes, and the pleasant quiver of the boat seemed the natural accompaniment of the negro’s lullaby, and the whole scene was so enchanting that few passengers retired to their staterooms until late in the night.

“The boat swept on past the great Vulcan ironworks, where the blasts showed red against the houses, and gave them the appearance of a town on fire; on past ‘Bloody Island,’ where statesmen met to shoot holes into each other for honor’s sake, and then down the broad water avenue by the mountains of iron the steamer sped, throwing behind great billows that sparkled back the lights from the rear cabin.

“Far down the stream is a light close to the shore. The pilot knows what that means. It is a wild-cat landing, where a freighter awaits with a lot of goods, or some passengers who want to take the boat. In either event somebody has probably been waiting by the riverside some six or eight hours. The pilot pulls a ring in the top of his little house, and the triple whistles above it give the peculiar signal of the line.

“The steamer runs far past the landing, turns laboriously around under the chiding of the small bells and baby whistles, and forges up to the landing, where the boat is made fast to a tree, and the gangplank runs out, assisted by the rapid-fire comments of the mate. If there was much freight to go on, the place was lighted by burning pine knots in an iron basket placed near the gangplank.

“Promptly, as if glad of the call to duty, the deck hand was up and ready for the work of loading. In those days he was a trusty machine, and was proud of his great strength, of his boat, and even of the rich vocabulary of his mate. He loved, when ashore, to talk of the big towns he made, and of the way-up people he knew in them. He had a sweetheart in every place where his boat put up over twelve hours, and his standin was good until she was courted by a man from a bigger and faster boat.

“A large and fast boat never had had much trouble in securing plenty of deck hands. But there was no prestige in accepting employment on a small stern-wheeler, devoted mostly to freight traffic, although the wages might be better. The aristocratic travelers patronized the fine side-wheeled boats, with their white-and-gold cabins, and the roustabouts liked best to work where they could be seen by patrician eyes.

“Like everybody connected with the boat, from cabin boy to pilot, he thought he was the whole show. He liked to show his strength, and the ease with which he could carry a coffee sack or a pig of lead. Yet he would permit a little, one-gallus mate, whom he could pick up and shake like a mouse, to make public reflections on his family tree in words that sizzled. The roustabout supposed the mate was hired for his proficiency in that particular line, and if he hadn’t kept it up it would have meant to him that the mate was ailing or neglecting his employer’s interest.”

Confesses Wrecking Train.

William Davis, twenty-three, a farmer of Jasper, Ala., has confessed to wrecking the Seminole Limited train near Nauvoo by putting a spike on the track. Davis declares he put the spike on the track “just to see it get flattened out,” and had no idea the train would be ditched.

Hen and Chicks in Cyclone.

A cyclone played a freakish trick on the farm of John Burns, near Perry, Mich., when it picked up a coop of chickens and the old hen and carried them forty rods over a fence into another field, where it deposited them without any damage being done.

A New Saddle Invented.

A saddle has been patented by a New Jersey inventor which includes leather flaps to cover the buckles which frequently wear out riders’ clothing.

Interesting New Inventions.

A device patented by a Virginia man can be used to hold a fishing pole on land or in a boat, to signal with a bell when a fish has been hooked, to dig bait, and to cut and clean fish.

A Kansas farmer has just invented a tool that takes the place of four. It is a combination saw, sickle, corn knife, and pruning knife. The tool is made to serve the various purposes by simply turning a ratchet.

A new arrangement for mosquito bars has been devised by a Texas woman. There is an elastic band at the bottom, which keeps the netting firmly secured to the bed or cradle, making it impossible for mosquitoes or other insects to annoy sleepers. There is an opening on the side of the bar, through which the person enters the bed.

A Minneapolis woman is the patentee of a strip of flexible material to be inserted in a buttonhole to facilitate the work of sewing over its edges.

So that baggage cannot fall out on passengers’ heads, a new rack for railroad cars is almost completely inclosed, access being provided by sliding doors.

To save a housewife bending over while sweeping, a dustpan has been invented that is heavy enough to stay where it is moved with the foot and with a guard to retain accumulated sweepings.

A novel sketching table for artists is supported by a single leg to which an umbrella also can be clamped to provide shade.

Bibles Behind Their Bars.

Saloon keepers in Bellaire, Ohio, are so careful in their efforts to obey the law that all have Bibles behind their bars to be used when any question arises as to the age of the person buying a drink. When the bartender is in doubt, he compels the seeker for liquor to swear on the Bible that he is over twenty-one years of age.

“Most Beautiful Man” a Bare-legged Dancer.

The most beautiful man in the world has been found. According to spectators at recent outdoor pageants near Boston, Mass., he is William Alfred Williams, of Pittsburgh, Harvard, ’15, who has delighted by his esthetic dancing.

He performs bare-legged, very bare-legged, in fact. The only one compared to him is Paul Swan, a New York bare-legged dancer, but Williams is rated more Adonis-like. Experts say he has a perfect masculine profile.

Mayor Curley, of Boston, prevented bare-legged dancing on the stage in Boston during the winter, but this spring pageants with bare-legged dancing by both sexes have been given on a number of estates of wealthy folk in and about Boston. Williams has been a leading figure in all of them. His costume surely has been suited to the most tropiclike day. The girls have been bare-legged, and that’s about all, but Williams goes much farther than that.

A reporter found him bare-footed, bare-legged, and bare-headed, practicing in the back yard of Miss Virginia Tanner, who directs the pageant, and dances bare-legged duets with Williams. He said he had been dancing a year and a half and was thinking of adopting it as a profession after graduating from college. This was his defense:

“The attitude of the body, in dances, is the most graceful and artistic way of telling a story.”

Rooster is Phenom; It Crows Backward.

Jacob Newman, a clothier, living in Washington Street, Tarrytown, N. Y., owns a rooster that crows backward. He has another rooster that crows naturally. The other day, as two strangers were walking by Mr. Newman’s yard, the natural rooster crowed, and the other answered.

“Did you ever hear such an echo?” said one of the men. “It’s backward.” Then they looked over the fence and heard one rooster crow and the freak rooster answer.

Mr. Newman, who was in the yard, explained that the rooster crowed backward, and it had always puzzled him.

Pumkin Patch in Pumkin.

Last fall Mrs. John Hoffman, of Lewistown, Pa., bought some pumpkins and put them away for use in making pies. A short time ago she cut one of them open and was surprised to find a pumpkin patch growing inside. The seeds had all sprouted and were growing fine, lusty vines, some of the vines having leaves.

Still Home Comforts When all Coal Goes.

Coal will disappear from the earth in three hundred years, although there are seven and one-half trillion tons left. Then, instead of freezing to death or descending in one mad rush on the tropics, humanity will know a cleaner, more comfortable existence than ever.

Huge solar engines will gather the sun’s rays and transform them into heat, light, and power. Millions of horse power will be developed from waterfalls now unnoticed.

The farmer will guide an electric plow instead of a team of horses or a gasoline tractor. When the flat dweller yells down the speaking tube for more heat, the janitor of A. D. 2200 simply will throw a switch that regulates current coming perhaps clear across or under the Atlantic from the Sahara Desert.

The ideas belonged to Professor J. Paul Goode, of the University of Chicago until he gave them to an audience at Mandel Hall on a recent night. He is certain there will be no more coal in three hundred years, but equally sure some genius will have perfected by then all the wonders he described.

Seer Wins Freedom by Amazing Feat in Court.

Out of the mass of humbug and charlatanry about mind reading, fortune telling, clairvoyance, et cetera, there emerges an occasional definite fact apparently proving that the human intellect may possess psychic powers. A case in point is the exhibition of mind reading made by “Professor” Bert Reese in Judge Rosalsky’s court in New York, N. Y.

Arrested and previously convicted in a magistrate’s court for posing as a fortune teller, Reese strikingly demonstrated his possession of clairvoyant powers. He read names written on concealed slips of paper, gave the amount of the judge’s bank balance, and performed other feats showing familiarity with what was passing in the minds of his examiners.

Obviously, a man who can do these things under conditions making collusion impossible, shows himself endowed with mental gifts as rare as they are inexplainable. Washington Irving Bishop possessed them in even greater degree; older New Yorkers readily recall his extraordinary exhibitions of occult intelligence a quarter of a century ago.

More recently, Beulah Miller, a ten-year-old Rhode Island girl, gave manifestations of the possession of such powers which aroused great scientific expectations, but her later achievements or present whereabouts seem to be unknown.

The mind-reading feats which won Reese his liberty unfortunately will give a new impetus to imposture. But on the other hand they stimulate a legitimate interest in questions relating to the possibility of the development of a new sense and add to the data through which science may some day solve the problem of human consciousness.

“This man is not a fortune teller, but a scientist and I offer him as an exhibit,” said the counsel for Reese, the accused seer, to Judge Rosalsky.

The judge selected two newspaper men to assist in the experiment. They went into an adjoining room and wrote on slips of paper the maiden names of their mothers. They also wrote two questions each on slips. The slips were brought into the room where Reese was waiting. They had been folded so that no writing was visible. Under his direction they were placed in a hat and mixed up. Then the slips were placed in the reporters’ pockets.

Each man then took out a slip, still folded, and pressed it against the exhibitor’s bald head. He turned to one man and said:

“Your mother’s maiden name was Electa Winans.”

To the other he said: “You want to know if Charley Becker is guilty. He is not really guilty.”

The reporters then took two other slips from their pockets.

“You want to know how old Henry C. Terry is,” promptly said Reese. Then plainly puzzled, he shook his head and went on to a question as to what was the floor covering. The next question was: “Where did I do my first newspaper work?”

He gave correctly the answer. The last slip Reese took in his hand, but did not open it. He handed it back and directed the writer to hold it. Then Reese said:

“Emma Drew was your mother’s maiden name.”

The answer to the first five questions had been given in a room adjoining the court, but for the last Reese walked into the courtroom and gave his answer in the presence of the judge and jury.

Judge Rosalsky wrote several questions, as follows:

“What was the ruling in the Shelly case?”

“How much money have I in the bank?” and

“What is the name of my favorite school-teacher?”

The demonstrator not only told what the questions were, but gave the correct replies. Reese is seventy-four years old.

“I don’t know myself how I do it,” he said. “The answers just sort of flash on my brain as a picture, just as ordinary objects are seen through the eye.”

Kaiser’s Big Cannon Can’t Make Raindrops.

So many days during the last two months have been rainy or cloudy that a great many people are led to believe that so much wet weather is owing to the war in Europe. “Our heavy rainfall is probably caused by so much firing over there,” is a remark frequently heard. Indeed, as long as man can remember, it has been a theory accepted by many that constant or heavy explosions in the air will produce rainfall. Tests of this kind have been made in various parts of the country--more often in the west and southwest--and sometimes with evident success, yet skeptics were quick to say: “Shucks, it was time they had a shower, anyway.”

Now let us see how the ancients looked at this question. Almost since the beginning of history there has been a theory--a silly one, says one scientist--that battles caused rain. Battles, not explosives, observe, for in the early centuries, A. D., there were no gunpowder or similar explosives.

“Banish the thought,” says Forecaster Pennywitt, of the United States Weather Bureau, in discussing the question of explosives and rainfall. “There never was a more absurd idea. Not in all the history of the world is it recorded that human endeavor wrung rain from the skies, either intentionally or unknowingly. Rain falls by the will of nature only, and the influence of man over nature, in so far as producing rain is concerned, does not exist.

“None of men’s activities on earth has the slightest effect on the rainfall. If nature decrees it shall rain, then rain it will; no other power or force can bring precipitation.

“Almost since the beginning of history there has been a silly theory that battles caused rain. This was the case even before gunpowder came into use. The Greek writer, Plutarch, as far back as the year 150 A. D., held the belief that the glitter and clash of the sabers of the ancient Greek and Roman warriors on the field of honor produced rain. He believed it because it generally rained after every battle. As a matter of fact, it had to rain after every battle, because they fought only on clear days in those times; and, besides, it always rains once every three days in the year, according to average.

“After gunpowder became an instrument of destruction, rains during time of war were blamed on it. Even the United States government has shared this belief that powder will produce rain, and it wasted thousands of dollars trying to make it rain in Texas. Similar experiments were made in Europe several years ago, and in France one scientist thought that by employing the explosive he could transform hail into more harmless rain.

“Strange as it may seem to a good many people, there has been less than a normal rainfall in western Pennsylvania and other eastern districts during the last six months.”

Bees Settle in a Mail Box.

The wanderlust of summer got into the blood of a swarm of bees belonging to Leo Nickoli, 448 Bellaire Avenue, Kansas City, Mo. They circled in the air and flew away. Mr. Nickoli followed.

The awning in front of the drug store of the Klee Drug Company first attracted the bees. But finding no place to alight there, the bees transferred their attentions to a mail box near by. In a moment the box was the center of the swarm, who were preparing to settle down among the letters.

Mr. Nickoli, however, had different plans. With a hive baited with honey comb, he began coaxing the bees into a new home. A crowd of two hundred persons watched his operation, which lasted several hours.

Aged Preacher Finds His Long Lost Sister.

An only sister, whom he had not seen nor heard from for more than forty-five years, and whom he believed to be dead, has been found by Reverend W. H. H. Ruble, of Harrison, Ark., and immediately after the locating of the long-lost sister, he has received news that sight has been restored to the woman who has been blind for many years, as a result of cataract.

Reverend Ruble’s sister is Mrs. E. J. Willis, of Knoxville, Tenn. She is ninety-two years of age, and was last seen by her brother more than forty-five years ago in Cleveland, a small town of Tennessee. As many people do, the brother and sister kept in touch for a time, but gradually ceased writing, until each had changed address and the old addresses were forgotten.

Receiving no word for years, each believed the other to be dead, until last January, when the annual conference of the M. E. Church was held in Harrison, Ark. At that time Reverend Ruble met Reverend Murphy, a delegate, who told him of the whereabouts of Chaplain J. A. Ruble, of the Old Settlers’ Home in Johnson City, to whom Reverend Ruble wrote, believing that the chaplain might be his nephew. The belief was true, and the letter from Harrison was forwarded to Mrs. Willis, who was overjoyed when she wrote again to her brother, the first time in nearly half a century.

Arizona Girl Carries Mail on Horse.

Miss Matilda Sorey, of Higley, Ariz., may not be the only girl in the United States who carries mail on a R. F. D. route, but she is probably the only one who does so on horseback. When a new route was established out of Higley, Miss Sorey, who is just twenty-one years old, was appointed carrier. Her friends supposed she would use a horse and buggy, but, instead, she covers the route six days a week on her handsome gray saddle horse. She carries the mail in a sack swung over the pommel of her cowboy saddle.

Didn’t Even Have a Barrel.

A short time ago C. J. Debes, who lives on a farm a few miles south of Hagerman, N. M., arose early, as was his custom, and, after lighting his gasoline stove and placing his kettle on, sauntered out through the delightful morning air to feed his stock, without changing his night robe for the more substantial clothing of the day.

Debes being a bachelor, and there being no near neighbors, everything went well with him until he started to return to his house and found it almost consumed by fire. His predicament seemed precarious, when the neighbors, seeing the flames, rushed to the scene. Debes, however, took refuge in the barn until a friendly neighbor brought in some heavier raiment. The gasoline stove had exploded and enveloped the entire building in flames, making quick work of its destruction.

No Government Reward for Passenger Pigeon.

Recent widespread newspaper accounts to the effect that the United States Department of Agriculture is offering ten thousand dollars reward to the person finding a passenger or “wood”-pigeon nest containing two eggs, resulted in hundreds of letters being sent to the department.

The report is not based upon facts, as the department has offered no such reward, and there is every reason to believe the passenger pigeon which formerly roamed the country in flocks of millions is extinct. In 1910 about one thousand dollars in rewards was offered by Clark University for the first undisturbed nests of the passenger pigeon to be found in the United States. This was a great stimulus to action. The hunt for this pigeon was fruitless. The offer of rewards was renewed for several years, until it was fully established that the pigeon was extinct.

The passenger pigeon up to 1885 ranged the American continent east of the Rocky Mountains. The mourning dove has often been mistaken for the passenger pigeon, which in a general way it resembles. However, this bird is quite distinct from the passenger pigeon; it is shorter and has different color markings.

The press reports stated that the now extinct passenger pigeon was valued because of its usefulness in destroying the gipsy moth and other moths and pests which are doing millions of dollars of damage. Although the preservation of this pigeon is much to be desired, it would be of absolutely no value in eliminating the gipsy moth, as the pigeons are almost entirely vegetarian in their diet.

Wounded Dog Returns Home.

A dog belonging to Edward Dougherty, of Spring Grove, Pa., was shot through the head twice with a thirty-eight-caliber revolver by Dougherty. The dog lay on the same spot for seven days and seven nights, but on the beginning of the eighth day he came back to his old home, hardly able to drag himself along. After being fed and given water to drink, the dog seemed to be all right.

The dog ate eggs from the nests in Dougherty’s henhouse before his punishment and since his extraordinary experience he has not eaten one egg. Mr. Dougherty is sure he put two bullets through the dog’s brain.

Muskrat and Trout Battle.

Lew McQuiston, a well-known angler of Bellefonte, Pa., witnessed a unique battle a few days ago between a muskrat and a two-foot trout.

McQuiston went to Spring Creek shortly before dusk to try and land some big trout. While whipping the stream, he saw something doing on the other side of the creek, about sixty feet away from where he was standing. In the quickly gathering shadows it was hard to tell at first what it was, but after closer inspection he saw that it was a mammoth trout and a muskrat.

They were engaged in mortal combat, and they slashed around through the water until it was churned into foam. Then the muskrat managed to get out on the bank, pulling the trout along with it. But the big trout seemed to be able to fight on land as well as in the water, flopping around and holding on to the muskrat’s nose until they finally both fell back into the water.

Then there was another lashing and foaming, and the noise died away. A few ripples told that the struggle was ended.

McQuiston looked around in the water for evidence of who had won the battle, but found neither the muskrat or the trout. He does not know whether it was a fight to the finish or a draw.

Tongue Fenders Demanded.

Tongue fenders for salted-peanut vending machines. That’s the latest slogan of Montclair, N. Y., which already has put a legal muffler on barking dogs and crowing roosters. It was proposed by Health Commissioner James McDonough after he saw a small boy thrust his tongue into a cup container of a vending machine to get the “crumbs.”

Finds Pennies in Turtle.

Roy Bowsher, of Ashville, Ohio, went fishing last week and caught a turtle, which he sold to C. R. Cook, proprietor of a saloon. When Cook opened the turtle, preparatory to serving it on his lunch counter, he found two hundred and thirty-four pennies in it.

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.

730--The Torn Card. 731--Under Desperation’s Spur. 732--The Connecting Link. 733--The Abduction Syndicate. 738--A Plot Within a Plot. 739--The Dead Accomplice. 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 Kidnaped 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. 141--The Duplicate Night. 142--The Edge of a Crime. 143--The Sultan’s Pearls. 144--The Clew of the White Collar. 145--An Unsolved Mystery. 146--Paying the Price. 147--On Death’s Trail. 148--The Mark of Cain.

Dated July 17th, 1915.

149--A Network of Crime.

Dated July 24th, 1915.

150--The House of Fear.

Dated July 31st, 1915.

151--The Mystery of the Crossed Needles.

Dated August 7th, 1915.

152--The Forced Crime.

Dated August 14th, 1915.

153--The Doom of Sang Tu.

Dated August 21st, 1915.

154--The Mask of Death.

Dated August 28th, 1915.

155--The Gordon Elopement.

Dated Sept. 4th, 1915.

156--Blood Will Tell.

=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