* -"-,. •<•' f' * * ~- If iNttRNAf IQNAL PRESS ASfeOCiAtION MS. MOlNlBi ALQOKA, JtQWA WlPKliPAY mother, •'mite CHAPTER IV. T WANTS but six Weeks to Christill a s , a h tl the Weather is cold and cheerless. I expect to have a long stay at holme this time —to spend Christmas there, in fact. Toaiorrow I am to take tea with Mabel and her Mabel's mother Is a widow, as Strange to say, I haye never seen her, and have never entered her house. i The day has corns and gone, and I am sitting by a winter's fire, talking that is really them, and with outstretched hands that seem to have tongues In them, so eloquent are they. "Why, mother," I say. "what are you looking for? A ghost!" She gives nie a scared look, and lets me lead her hack to her chair, into which she sinks, stilt all of a tremble, "It was I who gave you that "to, heave, ho!' mother." "Really you, Amos?" "Really me, mother." "Your voice was so like your father's, my son," says she, almost in a> whisper; "and at that moment I was looking into the fire, and thinking of him " Presently she adds, "I didn't know but that he might be calling me to by flts and starts to my old mother about one thing. and another. It all comes back to me as clear as the noonday sun. The years that have passed since then and now melt away, as though they have never been. Not an hpiir ago I left Mabel's house, anil I am gazing now at her bluo eyes and fair face, which appears before me in the lire's glow. I have been talking a great deal during the night to Mabel and her mother, relating what stories of the sea within my own experience I deemed would be most Interesting to them. Mabel's mother and I have shaken 'hands for the first time. She is fair, like her daughter, •'and her eyes are blue; but not that beautiful blue which makes Mabel's so charming. Her behavior to me has set me thinking. When I entered her house, her cold liaii'J greeted me in a fairly cordial manner; but I noticed even 1 then that although her lips smiled, her eyes did not. When Mabel smiles, her eyes light up; there is no soul in a smile when-the eye plays no part in it. Upon my leaving • Mabel's house her mother's hand lay dead In my palm, and it did not return the pressure of mine. Her husband had been a small | builder, and when ho died, had left barely enough for the support of herself and Mabel. So much I learned before I went to her house. Now, what has set my thoughts wandering as I look into the.fire? Her cold hand which lay dead in my palm? Mo, not that alone. What else, then, in connection with that? A simple thing—a passing expression on her face, that was there but a moment, and then was gone. In this way: We have had tea, and the tea-things are cleared. I am talking and talking, and Mabel and her mother are listening. I, full of my theme, am maundering away on some startling experience—startling to them, 1 mean—and Mabel's eyes are fixed on my.face, and my eyes are fixed on hers, when an unusual stillness arouses me from my dream. For I am dreaming. The magnetic influence of a presence that I love has cast a spell over me, and has made me unconscious of everything else about mo. For the matter of that, Mabel and I might be alone in the world. An unusual stillness, I say, and it is •what I mean; for, although' before I receive this new impression the sound of my voice is the only sound to be heard in the room,- and although no person but myself has spoken for many minutes, the new silence ia different from the old. There are thoughts that move like living things within you, and here are some work ing their spell 'upon me. And under their Influence my eyes wander from Mabel's face to meet her mother's, : Well. I see a frown there, that is all; but a frown that tells a story I cannot read.as yet. I am striving to spell out that story now. It was not a shadow from the fire falling on her face, 'and distorting the lines there, or playing on it to Us disadvantage; it was a froSvn like a black cloud. And when 1 bid her good night her hand lies cold and dead in mine. And Mabel's good night? It .is as liind and warm as ever }t was; and she does not see that my mind is troubled, being, mayhap, unconscious of the cause. 1 I come homo, where I am surrounded by the shells that a dead man gathered when life was strong within him. I 'gaze into the fire, and I see Mabel's face; I gai&e upon the shells, and I see the tokens of a deud man's l°ve, Ay, In thede dull, inanimate shapes I see the star that illuminates the wpi'ld, and beautifies it—the Stav Of JvQVO. ' I turn toward my mother, with a shell at my ear, In reality she is a email, shriveled wpman, in whom one would imagine but little sentiment could abide, I have noticed lately that as she grows older ,Uer form shrinks, and becomes more spare, But as I gaze at hei 1 JIQW she becomes, transformed. TUo 'Hues a,nd. wrings disappear, the flesh '".eeowes firmer; tjie e ye regains Us luster, the*chefij,t jt8 polor; the * n fy'W fl|l| qvit, «A4 }» my fancy I see •«ev as I s$w' ijer }n mv obiW .fore my fat^ey went topis' come to him." maybe?" I pass my ni-ni around her neck, and she takes my hand and holds it in hers, so that she has a necklet of her own loving flesh and blood about her. "Then my voice Is like my father's?" "Yes, my son." "How well I remember his 'Yo, heave, ho!' It used to make me jump for joy." "It was the flrst thing you ever heard from him, Amos. He was In the Indies when you were born. He came home In the early morning when we were abed, not expecting him. Ah, deary me! deary me! When I heard his voice I gave a scream, as I did just now " Then conies a long silence, during which we both look Into the flre again —I seeing Mabel, and my mother the dead, with his "Yo, heave, ho!" "Father was a line man, mother?" "Yes, my son; you are like him." It is the flrst time my attention has ever been called to my personal appearance. Well, yes, I wasn't a cripple, nor wry-faced. I had a fine brown beard in those days, and 1 was tall and straight-limbed. "So I am like my father. I am glad of that. It was a love-match, mother?" She knows that I refer to her courting days, and she draws a deep breath. "Yes, my son. We loved each other true." "No happiness without love, mother." "None, my son." Her voice is broken by the tears which are running down her old face. There is no happiness without love, and she had tasted it, this little pale old mother of mine, and she lived now on the memory, sucking honey out of the past. And in the midst of these thoughts comes the remembrance of a frown on a woman's face, and the cold touch of a dead hand. Vainly do I try to shake it off. "How old were you, mother, when you flrst saw father?" "I was a little girl in pinafores, my son." "Seven or eight years, "About that, my son," "Like Mabel?" I say, I intend only to itolnk tkis, my questions being put so us to lead up to the point; but the words came out without my having anything to do with it, as it seems. From this moment I am conscious that my mother is .watching me in a secret way. Well, what have I to conceal? "Who was at Mabel's house tonight?" she presently asks. "No one but Mabel and her mother," I answer. "Wasn't any.one.else expected?" "Not that I know of." It occurs to me that my mother has a purpose in turning my thoughts in this new direction, and I question her concerning it. She answers me in a roundabout way. "He is often at Mabel's house, and I thought he would be sure to be there onight," "He! Who?" "Have you not heard," she says, with quaver in her voice, "that a gentle- ian is keeping company with Mabel?" "No, I have not heard. Is it true?" "It is the common talk. The neighbors say they will soon be married." So here is an end to my -wandering houghts, an answer to my uneasy nuslngs, cutting into mo like a surgeon's knife. This is the meaning of that woman's coldness to mo when I left the house. I can read the story now, as she read the story of my love or Mabel when she frowned upon me, She has no mind that I shall step in the vay of the richer man. '\ gentleman, you say, mother? •One with plenty of money, any- Who is this gentleman, may I ask?" 'you must know him, Amos, Mr. Druce," "What! the money lender, "Yes, Amos." CHAPTER V, HE ugly, thin, inquisitive face that j have seen but once, many years ago, appears I bT"tftrning It otter," as ' fore my mother calls him A gentleman* "Mr. Druce," 1 ask, "keep's his loan^ office still?" "Yes, and is flulte a rich man. All the neighbors borrdw of him. They pay him back a little at a time every week." "You owe him nothing, I hope?" "No, my son; I manage without, though 'tis a hard pinch." "1 make it as easy for yon as* 1 can, mother." I say, sternly. "It would be harder the other way. All that 1 have is yours. Yotl'll promise me never to lay yourself under an obligation to that man?" "I promise you, my son," she replies, In a tone 'made piteous by my sternness. "Do you think," I say, following out the direction of my thoughts, "that Mabel's mother owes him money?" "It is likely, my son." "And has Mabel herself spoken to you about it?" "No, my son." "Has she not spoken to yoli about Mr. Druce?" "She has never mentioned his name to me, Amos." This comforts .me somewhat. If a girl Is about to be married, and her heart is in the match, she would surely speak o^ It to such a friend as my mother was to Mabel. How do I work out the sum, then? In this way; Mabel's mother favors the match; Mabel herself wishes to avoid it. I follow out the current of my musings. "Do you like Mabel's mother?" "I've seen her taut a few times altogether, Amos. I doubt there's no love lost between us. She Is a cold "woman." "Mabel Is the same to you as ever, mother?" "My son," says my.mother, with a touch of rough wisdom which no polishing -can improve, "an old woman and a child go together; they fit in with one another naturally. But when the child grows into a woman herself, it is different; other notions come into her head—notions of courting and marriage. Then there's room for naught else." "Mabel is the soul of truth," I say. "Mabel's heart is aa good as gold." "Ay," repeats my mother in a peculiar tone, "ns good as gold." "Do you not believe,"! ask slowly, "that Mabel would marry ti poor man for love?" . "Not when gold is flung before her eyes. Like mother, like daughter." My mother and I have never exchanged a harsh word and, I resolve that one shall not be uttered now. Age has its privileges as well as its infirmities, and with increasing years the judgment becomes warped. So I say no more;, but I resolVo that I will test Mabel soon. The opportunity arrives a day or twn afterward in the early morning, and I speak to Mabel direct. Does any one ever remember the exact words that pass when he is following out a purpose such as was in my mind? I do not, and cannot set down what was said. I know that I was deeply agitated, and that my flrst reference was to Mr. Druce. "He is nothing to me," Mabel says. (TO BB OOKTISUBD.) BASE BAIL "fctDBY" j tWENtfgfH SfeASON, HIS ftegan in titihn'i In i'onhfrest tiAj-cr ot ttmt at That *lma — TVa» tlifc the OHti ALEXAN- del 1 McPhee, or "Biddy," as he is familiarly called, the second baseman of the Cincinnati Reds, is a rec- ord'breaker in the tenure of service cti diamond, as well as In his standing for . playltig. His on^ gagement for this season makes twenty years that he has been regularly engaged In the sport. He has outserved several generations of players, and has played with all of the leading basebal- Msts'of his time. He was born in Massena, N. Y.. Nov. 1, 1859. His father was a Scotchman, and his mother came from a prominent Yankee family of Puritan stock. John T. Brush, president of the Cincinnati club, was also born In Massena, N, Y. Although about the same age, Brush and McPhee never knew each other until Brush became the owner of the Cincinnati club. When McPhee was seven years old his family moved to Kalthsburg, a small hamlet of 3,700 inhabitants in western Illinois, where Park Wilson, the. great backstop of the New York club, was born and reared. Wilson's heett 6tlt 8t tfie game, on Actfoflnt of lot three' Weeks during his long career tsf twenty .years. He safrs the batters are getting things £3 flfie now that they can fooi ail the fielders, usually hitting the ball as they please and driving it where least expected—formerly the fielders would take certain positions for the right-hand men ahtl other positions for the left-hand tnefc, but how there is no su<sh thing as catching the batter by shifting arotind in this manner. There was also much Interest ih studying certain batters who were known to drive the ball In given directions, but now the batter hits to dodge the flclil- ers, and this part of the sport Is almost down to ft fine art, so much so that the fielders are utiable to keep up With it. McPhee has held the second-base record off and on for many years and Is without doubt at the head of the list on the average. While he Is considered one of the best men that ever jov- ered second base, he also stands high as a good batter and n man who attends strictly to his business in the general Interest of his team, McPhee is bright and a good talker. He stands well In his own community. He has had many chances to go to other clubs, but his many friends In Cincinnati and his great liking for the city of his adoption keep him here. Pie is a great home favorite and has been the recipient of many presents from admiring friends In this city. A few days ago action was taken by MuFhee's local admirers for the purpose of presenting him 1.1 substantial testimonial In recognition of his long and faithful service with the Cincinnati team. ToNtltnoiitttl to RtuPlicp. Subscriptions to this arc now pour- NAPOLEON LEARNS BUSINESS, iMclitVcrmi! About: l.HtiiiK Ills Subordinate* Sco Ills 'Ignorance. A few days after the thirteenth ven- demaire I happened to be at the offlce of the general staff in the Rue Neuve des Capuciuas, when Gen. Bonaparte, who was lodging in the house, came in, says the "Memoirs of Baron Thiebault," I can still see his little 'hat, surmounted by a chance plume badly fastened on, his tri-color sash more than carelessly tied, his coat cut anyhow and a sword which, In truth, did not seem the sort of weapon to make his fortune. Flinging his hat on a large table in the middle of the room, he went up to an old general named Krieg, a man with a wonderful knowledge of detail and the author of a very good soldiers' manual. He made him take a. seat beside him at .the table and began questioning him, pen in hand, about a host of facts connected with the service and discipline. Some of his questions showed such a complete ignorance of the most ordinary things that several of my comrades smiled, I was myself struck .by- the number of his questions, their order and their rapidity, * * - » But what struck me still more was the spectacle of a commander-in-chief perfectly indifferent about showing his subordinates how completely ignorant he was of various points of the business which tho junior of them was supposed to know perfectly, and this raised him u hundred cubits in my eyes. Things had gahe his" and tjawson Vas In quite fc* and even melting ttood *he"tt home In the evening and self for a quiet houf, with his bobk, says the Mew Vorfc' ently he said to his Wfe Now, here's something tfaarl good sotlttd sense to It, iTtSu* lift*" it: 'Heal glory springs ft'olil the conquest of ourselves.' fnat'S, t —, ^ talk! Give me the mart fthb is ifl8tt«.f* *!.'*! . of himself. 1 havt* a perfect contfcfiipV M for those unbalanced tellews wfaO g* all to pieces over nothing, and-— ^ wn£», - ' What's the matter with this Iftfflp? , It ; gives a miserable light," • '' etiess it needs trimming,'* replied ,. Mrs. l)awsoh, , ,'i Why didn't you have It ttlnltned before hlglit?" "I didn't know that it needed tritn-* mlng." ' . "1 should think It was your placB to know what condition the lamps are in." "Humph! It's your place to knbW lots of things you • don't know. U you'd known, as a man ought to ktto^', the condition of the drainage pipes on his own grounds, we wouldn't ' hava •had that 'sickness last spring -- " "Oh, there you go and bring up those- Infernal old drainage pipes," howled, the convert to the self-control theory* as he fiung his book clear across the room and kicked, the haasock at his feet against a frail table and sent It over with a crash. "It beats - • that a man can't have a minute's peace In his own house. I'll just be eternally ding s'wlzzled If I don't join a club or board away from home If I • can't have any peace under our own roof. What with smoky old lamps and your tongue going like a trip hammer all of the time, and the young ones' bawling and tho servants quarreling and dirt and disorder everywhere and - " "A beautiful specimen of self-con- > finest you are, Mr. Dawson." "Don't you say 'self-conquest' to me, ' :>r I'll— well, I'll not be responsible for what happens! The cussed fool that wrote that didn't have to put up with smoky lamps and - . Well, leave the room if you want to, madam! I'm going to leave the house, and you can be thankful if 1 don't come home dead trunk! '• Hanged if you can'tl'f THE CIGARETTE. J. A. M'PHBE. Pi fssod "They say," e"*id a citizen, "that the expert jjqultryinan knows at sight just where a dressed chicken is from, Of course he knows a Philadelphia chicken when he sees it, but they tell me that of western poultry, for instance, he can tell at a glance whether a chicken comes from Ohio or Illinois, api,& so on. It's a fine thing, no doubt, to be able to do this, and still I should, be satisfied to be without this rejinement of knowledge concerning the cWckejj tenltpvlally il J cquia tell, before buying, whether it was tough or jiot."-^ father was running a dry goods store in the town, and McPhee was for some time a clerk and an all-around helper in the store. Both Wilson and McPhee played, with u local team called the Ictorias. They were called by the fans tho "fly-catcherS." The team sent east, for uniforms and played all the clubs of the surrounding towns, being a leading feature'for the county fairs at that-ttmo, This club won tho flrst prize in the district league. Tho prize • was a nickel-plated bat. McPheo was at that time playing behind the bat, and was a good catcher. He was tho youngest player in the team, being only sixteen years of age. In 1877 ho and'Elmer Rockwell were signed by the club at Davenport, Iowa, and they constituted what was then known as a crack battery, with Rockwell in the box and McPhee behind the bat. •<* In the Davenport 'dub McPhee also played second base and in the right field in 1878; In 1879 McPhee did not play ball, but secured a position as clerk in a commission house in Davon port. In the spring of 1S80 he went to Akron, 0., and played second base in the semi-league club which played the Cleveland club on off days. In the autumn of 1880 0. P. Caylor formed the American Association and sent Charlie Jones, the old left of the Reds, to Akron, to sign McPhec, Sam Wise and Kemmler, the two latter being now out of the business, while McPhee is still playing with Cincinnati. McPhoe lives in Cincinnati with his parents, who have resided here since ISS't. He is a man of excellent habits, always ta^es good care of himself, imokes and drinks very little and spends most of 'his time at home. JU<4'U<!e on JIiuv t<» J'lay, When asked how to play second base, McPh^s said he played it no different than any one else. He said that a good (shortstop is -a gi'eat help to tlie gecpnd baseman, and When the two under- ptllW weU>tke.y pan , more ground. %$,$ ftp, it ' ing in. The Chamber of Commerce, W. W. Pcabody, vice-president of the B, 0, S. W. R, R.; Samuel Bailey, former United States sub-treasurer, and many other prominent persons taking an active part in the affair. Substantial, indeed, will be the'.testimonial, as rumor has it that a house and lot will be presented to him. For many years Mc- Pheo was recognized as the only player in the league playing an infield position who did not use a glove. It has been in the last season or two only that ho resorted to the use of a glove, which was brought about by an injury to his left hand which left that member tender. While ho has been for many years looked upon as the "King" second baseman, he is so graceful and accurate In his position that many plays from McPhee are not called great because his action is quiet and unassuming and the baseball public has become used to them. I'ilclier Win, U. Morcer, Winfred B. Mercer, who is now the star pitcher of the Washington 'dub, was born June 20, 1874, at Wheeling, W. Va,, but learned to play ball at East Liverpool, O, He soon mastered the art of curving the ball and gained considerable local renown aa a pitcher, His flrst professional engagement, was with the Dover (N, H.) ^ club, with which club J>e began the 1 season of 1893, It was not long, however, before his good work in the pitcher's position began to attract the attention of the club managers of the New England league,, and shortly afterward he received a flattering offey from the Fall River pliib pf that league and finished the weasou wl'tli its team, Toward the close of the season of 1893 the Wash' iugton, club signed him frn' 1894, Since that time he has .been a member. 9!.' t'Ue Washington team and has made such rapid strides in his profession that lie now ranks aa one at the beg); pitchers Jn the N^Upfta.1 league,' H; Is Suiil to Re of A/tcc and Not Sp»n< lah Origin. "Civilization should hold the aboriginal Aztec accountable for the baleful influences of the cigarette," declared Ramon G. Garcia of the City of Mexico to a St. Louis Republic interviewer. "It is wrong to attribute the origin of the cigarette to the Spaniards: I have given the matter a good deal o£inyes-i tlgatlon, and I have established beyond doubt that the Spaniards flrst got a whiff of the cigarette when they invaded Mexico under Corlez. The Aztecs then used tobacco In no other form and the Spaniards learned from them how to roll the little package Into smokable shape. They Introduced tho cigarette into Europe and by that route it found its way into America, though it was nearly 200 years reaching here. The Aztecs were also using COCOR, and its product, chocolate, when Cortea conquered them, and it was not long until the whole of Europe was eating 'the various'preparations of this bean. When the Spaniards flrst tasted it they named it theobromus from the two Greek words, meaning 'food of the ijods.' " Tlio Wiiter liciir. One of the commonest curiosities revealed b,y the microscope in water is a, little animal that looks like a bear, ' An extraordinary thing about this tiny ireature is that he is found in the, gutters of houses, where he is at pne time dry as dust and scorched by the blasting sun, at another active and full of life under a refreshing" shower of. rain, The water bear has the scientific ,namo of tardigrade, because he takes life .so easily. He is always fat and plump, and spends his walfing periods in constantly grubbing with his four ' pairs of legs' among whatever rubb'tsh cornea in his way, Having eyes, br»}n\ and a nervous system, he Is muph afteiu}/ of most of his tribe, and he is altogether one of the most Interesting and Ing little animals known tp science, AVouivn AutUprs uml Artists. There are In France 3,150 authors and journalists and abqiit wonjen artists. The provinces cqri tribute roost pf the writers— abput , ; ud fa thirds— while Paris is represented la' the same proportion amopg the Among the writers j.OQQ are goo ar« poets, J5Q educational j and the rest welters pf The artists comprise JQ7 ssylptors, the, others are painters, rftngiag n}\ branches of fbe ,piot9l'lftl , "Westminster ' ' '
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