The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on July 29, 1891 · Page 6
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The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 6

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, July 29, 1891
Page 6
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COPYRIGHT BY AMERICAN PRESS ASSOCIATION, 1001. CHAPTER VII. THE END OF THE BEGINNING. "You tnourjht you conkl rob me." Keppel Darke, finding that the red haired man was a Frenchman, spoke to him in that language, with which he had a tolerable familiarity. Dupout, indeed, had lived in London, and knew enough English to make himself understood. But in Ms present desperate condition his thoughts inevitably expressed themselves in his mother tongue, and much of the time he waa probably not aware of whai he was saying. He had been ill foui days, the seeds of the fever contracted on board the ship having broken out two or three woreks later. Delirium occasionally overcame him, and he would muttei things that he fancied he was keeping locked in his heart. "Are you alone here?" asked Keppel. "Have you no physician?" "No, no," replied the other. "I shall Boon be well. I need no one. Who sent you here? Who arc you? I am only a poor man. Have you seen Maurice! Bah! he is dead. You can't deceive me. I have done him no harm. I buried him —the captain and I. He cannot come back." "What is your disease?" Keppel asked. "They all had it—all but the captain and me. I had seen yellow fever before, I was not afraid. I shall get well; I ara not going to die with all these millions —I am a poor man; I have wandered up here; I'm looking for work. Maurice- he follows nie everywhere. What difference can it make to him what I do--with the treasure? A dead man has other things to think about. The emperor has enough without this. What is he but a robber? He stole them; I have as much right to them as he." His voice sank in unintelligible mutterings. "What does all this mean?" said Keppel to himself. "Treasure—the emperor —a dead man—robbery! He has murdered somebody, probably. And he has yellow fever. He'll die of it, too, and I may catch it myself. No matter; here I am, and here I stay, for tonight at least. I can't go any farther, and I can't leave a dying man cither, even if he is a murderer. I have a special sympathy for murderers, I suppose. At any rate, I am as much of a vagabond and desperado aa he is. This is a poor place to die in, but he will be better off with me hero than he would be alone. Though he doesn't seem very hospitable, I'll make myself at home." He raised the head of the sick man, smoothed out his pillow and rearranged the bed clothes. As he was stooping to tuck the blanket under the mattress he felt something cold touch his forehead, and lifting his head quickly confronted the muzzle of the revolver within an inch of his mouth. The sick man's finger was Upon tho trigger, and his features were twisted into a hideous look of terror and malevolence. Keppel had the instinct to remain perfectly still, with his gaze fixed upon the other. "You thought you could rob me," said Dupont, between his teeth. "I'm not to be robbed while I'm alive, and you shall die first. I know }'ou—accursed spy!" His long yellow finger had begun to contract to pull the trigger. Keppel's lips grew white; death looked ugly. Suddenly a startling change swept over Dupont's visage. His red eyebrows lifted iu a strange stare, his eyeballs protruded and his black lips curled back from his teeth. But his eyes were directed no longer upon'Keppel, but to the farther corner of the room. The next instant he had pointed the revolver in that direction, and fired over Keppel's shoulder, almost deafening him. He then dropped the weapon and sank back screaming, with his hands over his face. Keppel secured the revolver, and then looked round. There was no third person in the room. The bullet had passed through a wainscot panel. "What the devil were you shooting- at?" he demanded sternly. "A bullet won't kill him," quavered the man; "he can die but once. But lie comes—he is always here. It's tho treasure he wants. What can a dead man do with treasure!" "Your dead man has saved my life, at all events," muttered Keppel, "and I'm obliged to him for it. As for you—well! You will never harm any one again. This is an ugly night; I wish it were over. Arid what of tomorrow!" • He found another caudle, lit it, and, having put ]the revolver in his pocket, Bet out to explore the ho use. There was scarcely anything in it except the bare rooms; but in'ti closet in the kite-hen he found some loaves of bread,almost as hard as stone. He soaked it in water and ate some of it. He brought a gla^s of water i'orithe sick man, who drank it eagerly. "That's good!" the poor wretch said. "I shall get well." "I don't tmnk you will get well," returned Keppal. "You look to me like a dying man, Jid you had better realize it. I know »otMn£; about the treatment j trying to find a doctor tonight. If you are alive tomorrow I'll go for one. Meanwhile, if there is anything you want done, in case you do die, you had better let mo know it now." "Bring no one here," said the other, with tremulous earnestness. "Listen. When I get well I will divide with you; there's enough for both; we shall be two of tho richest men in the world. There are millions—millions! I have told nobody. No one knows I am here. If they came they would take it all and put us in jail. What is tho sense of that? Maurice knows, but he can't tell; it isn't Maurice—it is his spirit, that's all. He can't speak, he can only look; and no one but I can see him. We are safe if I get well." "You had better keep quiet," said Keppel. "You're tiring youi-self out and you're' talking nonsense. There is no treasure here; if you didn't die of the fever you would starve to death, as far as I can see. What is your name, and what did you come here for?" "I am a poor peddler. I peddle wax fruits. I came here to be out of the way —not to be interfered with. I shall take them down to New York and sell them, one at a time. The least of them is worth one hundred thousand francs. There are thousands of them." Keppel turned away impatiently. "1 am going to take a nap," he said. "I saw some fishnets and bagging in the kitchen, and I'll make a bed of them here in the corner. If you want anything you can call out." He got the materials and made his bed accordingly. His fatigue was so great, after the exertions and excitement of the previous two days, that he fell asleep the instant he lay down. He was awakened by a wild scream and a heavy fall. He raised himself up, still heavy and bewildered with sleep. At first he did not remember where he was. Was he in his prison cell? or had he been hanged, and was this after death? In a few moments lie came to himself. The candle was flaring in the socket. The faint gray of dawn was coming through the dusty panes of tho eastern window. Who had screamed? The sick man, of course, Keppel looked toward the bed; it was vacant. What had happened? He got to his feet and made a step forward. He trod upon something that yielded beneath his weight. It was tbe body of the invalid. Recoiling, he fetched the expiring candle and bent over it. The man's body was drawn together, lying on its side. The hands were over the face. In the right hand was a long knife. Evidently he had crawled from his bed and stolen on Keppel with the intention of stabbing him, but just before he could accomplish his purpose the specter by which he imagined himself haunted had intervened. The man was dead. The candle flickered and died out. Keppel made a spring for the other candle, but remembered that he had no matches. He could not stay with the body in the darkness, so lie made his way to the open air. The morning sky was clear, the eastern horizon a pale yellow. He paced up and down before the house till the sun rose, his mind full of gloomy thoughts. Horror and misery pursue him everywhere. He had the revolver in his pocket; why not use. it on himself and end all? He paused, debating the question, but finally shook his head. He had had so many escapes lately that he persuaded himself he might have been preserved for a purpose. The unclouded stm, rising over the blue verge of the distant ocean, was an omen of hope. He turned, and reluctantly re-entered the house. The sunlight fell upon the corpse as it lay there. Keppel set resolutely to work. He straitened out the anus and legs and rolled up the body in a blanket from the bed. He tied-it round with a piece of rope from the fishnet. It was now ready for burial. But how was he to dig a grave? He had no spade. Yet the body could not be left above the ground; it might breed a pestilence. This reflection led to another. If the man had died of yellow fever all his clothing must hold the contagion and should be burned. Keppel resolved to do this at once. Tho coat and trousers were lying on a stool at the head of the bed. He took them up, and some papers slipped from the pocket and fell on the floor. He examined them, at first indifferently, then with more interest. There was a passport with several vises upon it, showing a journey through Egypt, India, Australia and Panama. There wore several letters, apparently from persons of high authority in Paris, recommending the bearer, Maurice Solaijge, to the good offices of foreign consuls. It appeared, moreover, that Maurice must have been a personage of some importance, or, at any rate, that he had been intrusted with an important mission. These letters of recommendation could have been delivered only by the French emperor's authority. But the nature of the mission was not specified in the papers. It even seemed as if this non-specification had been carefully intended. There was a reason, then, for keeping the thing secret—a secret of state. Was it likely, however, that the poor wretch, whose body lay yonder awaiting burial, would murder a man for thesako of a secret of state? Nothing was less likely. What good could the secret do the murderer? Was it a tiling he could sell? Some secrets were salable, no doubt. But Maurice, an authorized agent on hia way to America, must have been coming to impart tho secret to the government here; therefore no sale could have been contemplated. Besides, tho dead man had said something about a treasure— millions ol money. That might have been tliu mere ravings of insanity; but possibly it was nut. A murder committed tor millions of money was comprehensible, and this would account for the 1 murderer's sh-ango behavior. On the other hand, if those millions had been stolen, where were they? Were they about the premises? Keppel Davke had never heretofore regarded money as a supreme object of ambition. But things were changed with lam, UQW. He was aa Qutefl&efc frow society; mankind was hostile to him; in the unequal contest he was disposed to improve whatever advantages* came in his way. If, then, millions of money were within his reach he was not in a mood to let them escape. Hero Keppel gave a short laugh. 'The millions probably had no existence what-, ever, except iu the imagination of an insane man, He turned over the papers once more. Among them was one small document, folded square, that he did not remember noticing before. Ho was about to pass it over, but an idle impulse caused him to change his mind and open it. The odd aspect of its contents attracted his attention. It looked something like a long sum in algebra. There were columns and combinations of letters. There were also written words in the French language. For several minutes Keppel contemplated the paper without a suspicion of its significance. It was not a sum in algebra. There were no equations; no x or y, no powers or signs. It might be a memorandum in shorthand or cipher. Yes, it was probably a cipher memorandum. But it was not all in cipher. The words seemed to be a comment or explanation. "It strikes me," said Keppel to himself, "that I'vs seen something like this somewhere. 'C. Kphl.—S. Ininp.' That looks familiar." All at once he began to feel in his pockets with signs of excitement. Here it was—the newspaper cutting, containing the cipher letter found on the person of Harry Trent after his death. Keppel spread it out on his knee and compared it with thu anomalous document. In a moment he uttered a cry of surprise—surprise that his wild anticipation had been fulfilled. The cipher of the letter and the cipher of the document were identical. But the latter was the key to the former and the explanation of it, and by its aid Keppel could read the mysterious communication as easily as. he could construe French. CHAPTER VIII. DISAPPEARANCE. He passed Ms hand over Ms forehead. • Cipher writing is so ancient an art that there is little or nothing to be said about it, and perhaps there are no new cipher types to be invented. The ideal cipher is one that is easily written and read by those in the secret, and yet is practically undecipherable b}' outsiders. In such a cipher all the time and labor are expended upon determining its fundamental principles of construction*. Once those are settled, the practical working of it is simple. The cipher which Keppel was dealing with was of this species, and perhaps no more nearly perfect one was evei made. It was based upon the philosophic structure of language, and upon the mathematical principle that gives different values or meanings to a character according to its place in a combination. This plan enables words to be written with much fewer letters than are contained in the ordinary alphabet and to be expressed with not more than four characters—as, one to represent the root of the word, one for the terminations, one for the part of speech, one for such common combinations as ion, ght, ment, ph, and so on. Thus, if in • the cipher ikmn meant writing, then iklrn would mean writer, ikmn written or wrote, and ikln to write. Further modifications were indicated by the capital letters, and others of a different kind by the periods and commas, But it will not be necessary to carry these hints any further. Enough has been said to enable the reader, it" he be so minded, to work out the problem. Keppel in the course of twenty minutes had read the cipher letter, which, translated from the French into English, ran as follows: "Arrangements have been perfected. Name of messenger, Maurice Solauge. Trust him. He leaves Paris February fifteen. Will take easterly route, and should arrive not later than June. He will telegraph from Panama. Send to meet him at New Orleans. Treasure packed in box, concealed, as already advised. Approximate value, twenty million pounds sterling. In case of robbery, death or accident inform us by cable. On receiving treasure store quietly (phiio) in private vault. Rate of commission, one per cent, per annum. We intend to declare war in early summer, but circumstances may delay. Winter campaign not desired." If successful Solange will bring back treasure. Keep him with you meanwhile. If defeated we shall leave at once for New York incognito (ngil F.). Empress and sou to England. Keep us constantly informed of your movements. Estimate so far as possible whether American sympathies incline toward France or Germany. Would it be advisable to bring about collision between Germany and United States? Is it possible that arrangements can^ still be made about Mexico? If we miscarry with Germany something must fye done to consolidate and stimulate imperial sentiment here. Our hand a»d seoj." The politwsgl ija^aoraUty indicated by t the. ticularly impress Keppel; his interest was monopolized by that part of the letter relating to the treasure. For some minutes his mind staggered in bewilderment at tho suggestion presented to it. It seemed far more incredible now than before that a great fortune should actually be within his reach. He had dreamed a wild dream of hundreds of thousands of dollars, and it had almost seemed real to him, but now that he heard, as it were, tho very jingle of a hundred millions he could not believe it. And yet the evidence that a fortune not less vast lay possibly within a few yards of where he was sitting was more than plausible. The more he examined it the more plausible did it appear. He endeavored to review the situation step by step. He had found a man who manifestly carried some weighty secret on his mind. This man, who was dying of yellow fever, spoke of one Maurice as being dead and as haunting him. Who could Maurice be but the Maurice So* lange mentioned in the cipher letter? Maurice, then, according to the letter, had been dispatched in charge of a treasure to America by way of India and tho Pacific. It was not uncommon for ships making such a voyage to be visited by yellow fever. Maurice may have died of it, or he may have been murdered. Be that as it might, the man whose body lay within there had evidently got hold of the treasure and had brought it here. He had said that he meant to dispose of it piece by piece. He had spoken of the emperor. Who could this emperor be but Napoleon? And by whom, unless by Napoleon,- could the cipher letter have been written? Napoleon, for reasons of his own, had determined to send thin treasure to some one in New York. Who was that person? Tho cipher letter had been found in the pocket of Harry Trent. There was therefore no escape from tho conclusion that Harry Trent must have been the consignee of tho treasure. Harry Trent, again, was a dealer in precious stones, and was known to be personally acquainted with the French emperor. The pieces of the puzzle fitted into one another like a mosaic. And by a strange fatality Keppel Darke, who had been wrongfully ajcused of murdering Trent, had, through that accusation, been brought in contact with a fortune not inferior to any in the world. But where was the treasure? Was it in the neighborhood? Keppel looked about him. A garden two or three acres in extent, long since gone to seed, adjoined the house. Outside the garden was a waste of stunted woodland, extending to the swamp on one side and toward the ocean on the other. To the westward lay a sort of pasture, with a few straggling apple trees growing upon it. The place was a deserted farm, such as is often met with on Long Island, and may not have been inhabited for many years. The treasure was probably buried somewhere about the grounds—it might be far or near. Wherever it was, it was worth searching for, and Keppel resolved to exarninr every square foot of ground withi' mile, if necessary, before giving ,. This might take time—weeks ' ^ei. months. Meanwhile, he woi^u iave to live in the house; and the first tiling to be done was to get the dead man and all his belongings out of it. But now the question recurred, how should he make a grave? Though this was a farm, there were no farming implements on it. The soil was sandy, to be sure, but it would take days to make a hole deep enough, with only sticks and stones to dig with; and the body would have become intolerable long before that. As Keppel thought this, his eyes fell upon the swamp, and he walked down thither. It seemed to be of considerable extent, and looked more like a shallow pond than a marsh. A few feet out from the shore black, stagnant water lay in the morning sunlight; bushes grew out of it hero aJid there and tufts of rank grass. Keppel picked up a big stone and flung it into the blackness. As it sank quantities of the bubbles rose to the surface. It was an ugly place, and in that foul mud a heavy object might be swallowed up forever. "Why not?" said Keppel to himself. He saw something sticking out of the bushes on the margin of the swamp at a little distance. He approached it and found an old boat, waterlogged and leaky, but still able to float for a while. His mind was now made up. He went back to the house and entered the room where the body lay wrapped up in its blanket shroud. Grasping the ropes that bound it, he dragged it across the floor and out of the door. Resting occasionally, he succeeded in dragging it to the boat, and then, inwardly revolting at the task, he lifted it ami got it on board. Embarking himsriffi, he shoved out on the surface of the swamp. The slimy water stole in through the gaping seams of the planks. As quickly as possible he propelled the boat to a place where the water seemed deep. He had previously put a heavy stone in the boat. This he now fastened to the body with the rope. Finally, all being ready, he exerted all his strength and heaved the sinister freight overboard. It sank at once, and the black slime closed over it. '.Keppel looked down on the placo whera it had disappeared. "Rest in peace!" he inut tcred. He paddled himself ashore, and: returned to the house with a feeling of relief. It remained to burn tlw> clothing and bedding. He first placed 1 . a quantity .of dry wood on the hearth, t"Uen heaped the clothing upon it and set fire to the pile. Next he removed the bcjd*ling from the bedstead. The latter was nothing but a rough framework of pi anks, apparently taken from the barn anjd nailed together in a careless fashion. In taking off the traitress he saw in the cavity beneath i* a small oblong chest. It looked sh; ibby and battered, and was secured by a, double strap, with a loop attached to fa sten it on the shoulders. It must be, F,eppel supposed, the box in which the dead ««*» had kept his wardrobe. It wwi> 89 ti» the fire with the rest. ' HelaidhoMo* \fo t&m tP He took both hands to it and jerked it! up; it came down on tho floor with a bang that jarred the house. "What can be in it?" said Keppel, pausing to take breath. Then a thought camo to him that turned him pale and trembling, What if this should bo the chest that contained the treasure? Ho had taken it so for granted that tho box was buried outdoors that this possibility had not at first occurred to him. But now that it had occurred to him, it seemed quite natural. A dying man could not put his treasure in a safer place than beneath his bed. As long as he remained alive he would know that it was safe. Now that tho critical moment had arrived Keppel felt an almost invincible reluctance to take the next step. The fear of disappointment, which had hitherto seemed insignificant, now dominated everything else, and Keppel doubted whether he could endure to find it confirmed. On the other hand, the idea of success waa BO stupendous that he feared that too. But, after all, uncertainty was worst of all. With nervous hands he unbuckled the strap. The key was in the lock and he turned it. As he lifted the lid he closed his eyes. When he opened them he saw some old flannel shirts, carelessly stuffed into the box. He threw them out with feverish impatience. What did he see? A quantity of wax food arranged in rows and layers. There were wax peaches, plums, apples, pears. He thrust his hand into them, groping underneath. There was nothing else but wax fruit in the box. With a cry of rage lie grasped a handful of the fruit and clashed it furiously OH the floor. It broke in flashes and gleams of rainbow light. Half a dozen immense diamonds, rubies and sapphires lay sparkling on the bare boards. There were scores of thousands of dollars' worth of precious stones in that one handful. Keppel, with a shrill ejaculation, dropped on his knees on the floor and picked up one of the gems. It waa a huge sapphire, and was still partly embedded in the wax that had covered and concealed it. Ho took up another; it was a diamond. He reached over to the box and pulled out an apricot. On breaking it open there was revealed an emerald as large as an acorn. He picked up a plum from the bottom of the box. Within it was another diamond of the finest water. He passed his hand over his forehead. "I am the richest man in the world," he said in a whisper; "the richest man in the world!" He rose to his feet and walked about the room. Ho went outdoors und wandered about, staring at the sky, the earth, the sea. The sun shone. The air was soft^ and warm. He spoke his own name aloud; he repeated parts of the multiplication table; he recited vex^es of poetry. It was no delusion; he ., nd in his right mind; he was awake. He re-entered the house, and there was the box, the wax fruit and the jewels, just as before. He examined them once more. They were real, there was no mistake. From a helpless vagabond and outcast, an escaped convict, a man supposed to be dead, he had in a moment become a hundredfold millionaire. He broke into a frantic laugh; he stamped about the room, tossing up his arms and shouting. He flung himself down with his head on the box and burst into sobs and tears. WJien at length he arose he was calm and pale. "Olympia, Olympia!" he said. "The world cannot part us! All this is yours!" (To be Continued.) HP-Back chapters of this story will bo furnished free to our subscribers as long as the supply lasts* THIRTEEN YEARS IN ARCTIC SEAS, ANOTHER PREMIUM. We have just completed arrangements with tiie Northwestern Publishing Company, of Chicago, by which we can furnish to every subscriber of the llisruiiLicAN a copy of the LIFE OF GEN. SHERMAN at a low figure. The book contains GOO pages, is finely illustrated, substantir ally bound in cloth, and will be given to subscribers of the UEL'UIILJOAN 1m $1, or a year's subscription to the BK- VUHLICAN and the Lite of Sherman i'oi $2.50. Sample copy of the book may be seen at liisi'iniuoAN office. Ordei'b taken for future delivery. The regular price of this book is $2. This offei is i'oi 1 new as woll as old subscribers. K JWJ'S UI'UW KKAWC'ATOlt — Positively euros all diseases, bei-ause it kills tho genus microbes, ami all iminialuulue (iu the human system). Thtt ulr inhaled, water drank, vegetables and fruit euten. are teeiniuu with these to the naked o>e imperceptible Httleworms,known by the above names, ca.usiu« ca.tij,rrh,consump- tion,, lirlglit's disease, caucers,tumors, and all so-iBttJJed lueuraWe diseases. (.Never kuown to Jail to wire eousumptloji,catarrh,kid apy tmW0s, f«jWJta.) »?wie4 In ffi&jo. ' ""it. Terrible tMacovefy of A Sea Cnptnltt Ore* One rtwmtrotl Tears Ago. One evening in the middle of August, 775, Capt. Warren, the master of a Greenland whale ship, found himself becalmed among an immense number of cehergs in about 77 dogs, north latitude. They were of immense height and Wedged ;ogether, arid a succession of srioW covered peaks appeared behind them as far as tho eye cotild reach, showing that tho ocean was completely blocked up in that quarter. Capt. WaiTen did not feel altogether satisfied with his situation, but there be- ng no wind ho could not move, and ho ihereforo kept a strict watch, knowing ;hat he would be safe so long as the bergs cept their situation. One night after a violent storm the captain found that his ihip had sustained no serious injury,, and ;hat the accumulated icebergs had become disarranged and separated, and',. ;hat a kind of canal, had been f owned through which his ship could pass. After he had proceeded a few miles a ship made its appearance about midday. The sun shone brightly at tho time. At first the bergs prevented the' captain from seeing much of her bttt her masts, but he was struck with the strange manner in which her sails were disposed and with the dismantled aspect of her yards and rigging. She contintied to go befote the wind, and then grounded and remained motionless. Tha captain's curiosity was so much excited that he immediately jumped into a boat with several of the crew and rowed toward her. On approaching her he observed, that she was considerably weather beaten, and not a, soul appeared on deck, which was covered with snow to a considerable depth. He then hailed her crew several times, but no answer was returned. Previous to stepping on board an open port hole caught his eye, and on looking into it he perceived a man reclining back in a chair with writing materials on a table before him, but. the feebleness of the light made everything indistinct. The party went upcn deck, and having removed the hatchway, after a few moments pause they descended, to the cabins. They first came to the apartment which Capt. Warren had viewed through the port hole. A tremor seized him as he entered it. Its inmate still retained the same position and wasinsen- sible of the entrance of strangers. HP was found to be a corpse, and a green damp mould had covered his cheeks and forehead and veiled his open eyeballs. He had a pen in his hand, and the log book lay in front of him. Neither fuel nor wood could be found anywhere, and the captain was prevented by the superstitious prejudices of his seamen from examining the vessel as minutely as he could wish. He therefore carried away the log book, returned to his own ship, and steered to the southward deeply impressed with the awful example which he had just witnessed of the dangers of navigating the Polar seas. On returning to England he made inquiries respecting vessels that had disappeared, and by comparing results with the documents he ascertained the name and history of the frozen ship, and found she had been there thirteen years.previ- ous to the time of his discovering her.— Sheffield Telegraph. al Repeating Tqlogi-ams. Telegraph companies persistently print at the top of their message blanks a warning that they are not responsible for mistakes in transmission, and they also proffer, in very small type, the advice that "to guard against mistakes or delays the sender of a message should order it repeated; that is, telegraphed back to the originating office for comparison," at an additional charge of one- half the regular rate. The notice has steadily adorned the blanks in spite of court decisions that the companies are responsible for errors, whether the messages are repeated or not, and in spite of tho additional fact that it is rarely read, or, if it is, the interest excited is only casual. Nobody ever seems to accept the advice regarding repetition. An operator, speaking of the old notice recently, said that in an experience of fifteen years he had never seen but one message beai'ing the order to repeat, and it was regarded as a great curiosity. This message fell a victim to excessive caution. It was bound from New Ynrk to San Francisco. It contained but one word, the little word "Yes." It was religiously repeated back from every relay station between the Atlantic and Pacific, but by some misfortune, due to a second of abstraction on the part of. an operator, or to, a timely but unfortunate "flip" of the instrument, the word was changed to "No." A big row ensued, and an operator in New York nearly lost his position.—New York Times. WeaHlifulness of the Electric Light. The healthfulness of the electric light was recently illustrated in a striking manner, Some railway men were discussing in a car factory the relative advantages of illumination by gas and electricity, and the advocates of each system remained unconvinced by the other. Finally the superintendent of the factory suggested that the matter could easily be put to a practical test, and- turning on the gas in the smoking compartment of an adjacent car he invited the officials inside. It is said that their stay was of the briefest, for in a very few minutes even the strongest of them had to succumb to the heat and oppression and to seek the outer air. A like test, made in a compartment lighted by incandescents, was attended by a very different result, and the verdict which followed was unanimous for the cool, wholesome light. This will readily be understood by those who, accustomed to 1ho electric light, have occasion to Bit in gaslit rooms in which the Beusb of heaviness often becomes oppressive.—New York Telegram. f AXukiug Johuiilo Obey. Dr. Kilson—Johnnie woa't sfepw bis'

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