text:
Who'd have thought that Dayton would be a prime location for local bakeries and donut shops? Though mass producers like Krispy Kreme and Dunkin' Donuts have rivalries that span the entire country, there's something about stopping by your neighborhood bakery to select from a large variety of still-warm donuts and other baked goods (if you have the fortitude to look past the donuts) and knowing that it came out of the fryer only hours before.
>>Here's where you can get a FREE donut on Friday for National Donut Day
These are the seven Dayton-area donuts that you must try and consume -- you may regret eating them all in one sitting, so space them out:
>>Meet the woman behind one of Dayton's most beloved bakeries
🍩1. Devil's foodcake donut at Bill's Donuts
268 N Main St., Centerville
(937) 433-0002 | billsdonutshop.com
Payment options: Cash, credit cards, checks
Bill's really needs no introduction. Recognized as one of the top 50 donut shops in the U.S. by Saveur Magazine and one of the top 10 in the country for glazed donuts by USA Today in 2013, Bill's is a Dayton institution even though it moved to its current Centerville location in 1979. Just recently, its devil's foodcake donut's decadence earned it a spot on the Huffington Post's "Best Donuts in America" list.
>>CLOSING: Pizza chain abruptly shuts down one of its Dayton-area restaurants after 6 years
Owners Jim Elam and Lisa Tucker strive to keep the same ambiance that they experienced working for their parents since the store opened in 1960, and work to be involved in the local Centerville community. Now, they're working with a longtime customer to create a book about the history of Bill's. If you have a fond story about your experience at Bill's, be sure to mention it next time you stop in — it just might make the book!
🍩2. Peanut butter-filled donut at American Classic Donuts
4214 Linden Ave., Dayton
(937) 252-5426 | Facebook
Payment: Cash and checks
>>New, locally owned restaurant called Rivertown Chili and Breakfast to open this week
The former "anti-Krispy Kreme" store on Linden Avenue offers a great variety of homemade donuts just off of Highway 35 and Woodman Drive, and is a well-deserved pit stop on any road trip going in and out of the city. Originally a Krispy Kreme franchise, it's been family-owned since 1988, and offers wholesale products to several community members. You're missing out if you don't grab a peanut butter-filled donut or an apple fritter over a half-foot in diameter on your cheat day.
🍩3. Sour cream donut at Donut Palace
5115 Old Troy Pike, Huber Heights
(937)802-5648 | Facebook
Payments: Cash, credit cards, checks
>>These cookies from a local bakery are SO good that Allison Janney gets them specially delivered to set
Since 1972, the Donut Palace combines your classic donut shop with a sit-down diner, and though they've moved from their Salem Avenue location, you'll find the same great tasting donuts from longtime baker Joe Rockey at the Dayton shop on James H. McGee Boulevard. And if you grab a jelly-filled donut and omit a scoop of black walnut ice cream on the side, what are you even doing? On Mondays and Wednesdays, grab a dozen glazed donuts or twists for $6 — but for any day, we recommend the sour cream donuts or the classic but oh-so delicious raised glazed donuts.
🍩4. Reese's Delight donut at Stan the Donut Man
1441 Wilmington Ave., Dayton
(937) 293-1080
Payment: Cash, credit (except for American Express), checks
For over 50 years, Stan the Donut Man has been serving up homemade donuts on Wilmington Ave. Their Reese's Delight donut — with a Reese's peanut butter cup in the center — and their maple-bacon doughnuts are particularly worth the time. If you live a little outside of the city, fear not: the family-owned business also runs a storefront in Xenia, though all of their products are made in the Dayton store.
🍩5. Blueberry cake donut at Jim's Donut Shop
122 E National Rd., Vandalia
(937) 898-4222 | Facebook
Payment: Cash or Checks
Jim's Donut Shop is a little off the beaten path up in Vandalia, but worth the drive. Open since the 1950s, Jim's has some of the biggest apple fritters around and their blueberry cake donuts are always huge hits. Grab a large coffee, one of those bad boys and savor it while making new friends around Jim's wrapped counter top.
🍩6. Glazed strawberry creme-filled donut at Evans Bakery
>>Best of Dayton 2017 Winners: Food & Dining
700 Troy St., Dayton
(937) 228-4151 | Facebook
Payment: Cash and credit cards
Co-owner Jennifer Evans' family has run the neighborhood bakery since 1969, and since 2012 she and partner Matthew Tepper have continued to provide some of the longtime favorites, along with new products created in-house from scratch all the time. They even deliver to businesses in downtown Dayton! Try the butterscotch cake doughnuts or the glazed — not iced! — strawberry creme-filled donuts.
🍩7. The "cronut" at Ashley's Pastries
21 Park Ave., Oakwood
(937) 293-1719 | ashleyspastries.com
Payment: Cash and checks
For 33 years, Theresa Hammons has been providing the Oakwood community with a full-service bakery at Ashley's, and she knows the value of a perfectly fresh donut. Every day, donuts are the last product her bakers work on ahead of the work day, so they're light, fluffy and delicious as soon as the store opens.
If you remember the manic "cronut" phase a few years ago when foodies around the world "discovered" the glorious merge of a donut and croissant, note that Theresa has been making them for over a dozen years in her store. Who'd have thought Dayton would be ahead of the culinary curve? That deep-fried and glazed croissant is a must-try at Ashley's, along with the bacon-chocolate-caramel donut.
Did we miss your favorite? Let us know by emailing us at email@example.com.


text:
Edward Owen Barber
Edward (Ed) Owen Barber passed peacefully from this life on, Friday, June 15, 2018 from complications of esophageal cancer. The eldest son of Phillip and Gwynn Barber, Ed was born October 3, 1968 in Murray, Kentucky and was a graduate of Olympic High School in Charlotte, North Carolina and North Carolina State University (NCSU) where he was a brother in the Delta Epsilon Chapter of Sigma Chi Fraternity. A long-term resident of Raleigh, North Carolina, he relocated with his family in 2015 to Sugar Land, Texas.
Ed was a self-taught electric bass guitar player, an avid music collector and performer, a lifelong Kentucky Wildcats Basketball fan, a member of the NCSU Wolfpack Club, and a recent convert to the Houston Astros. His passions also included collecting Star Trek and Star Wars memorabilia and regular family vacations to Disney World. Ed is survived by his wife of 21 years, Sloan and daughter Nora Jane; his mother Gwynn; his brother Scott and his wife Lisa; his nieces, Eleanor and Chloe; and nephews, Nathan and Jacob; Sloan's parents Tommy and Phyllis Brawley; Sloan's Brother Scott Brawley, along with numerous extended aunts, uncles, and cousins.
A small memorial service is planned for June 30, 2018 at Christ Church 3300 Austin Parkway Sugar Land, Texas 77479. Drop in reception to follow immediately after service at the home of Scott and Lisa Barber. In lieu of flowers donations may be made to one of the following:
St. Jude's Children's Hospital https://www.stjude.org/donate
MD Anderson https://gifts.mdanderson.org
Christ Church Sugar Land http://www.christchurchsl.org/give-online

subset: commoncrawl


text:
The Villa Jasmine, Mrs. Bruce's winter home, stood in a park of palms
and shrubbery some two blocks from the Hotel de la Pax. Mr. Minot
walked thither that evening in the resplendent company of Jack Paddock.
"You'll enjoy Mrs. Bruce to-night," Paddock confided. "I've done her
some rather good lines, if I do say it as shouldn't."
"On what topics?" asked Minot, with a smile.
"International marriage–jewels–by the way, I don't suppose you know
that Miss Cynthia Meyrick is to appear for the first time wearing the
famous Harrowby necklace?"
"I didn't even know there was a necklace," Minot returned.
"Ah, such ignorance. But then, you don't wander much in feminine
society, do you? Mrs. Bruce told me about it this morning. Chain
Lightning's Collar."
"Chain Lightning's what?"
"Ah, my boy–" Mr. Paddock lighted a cigarette. "You should go round
more in royal circles. List, commoner, while I relate. It seems that
the Earl of Raybrook is a giddy old sport with a gambling streak a yard
wide. In his young days he loved the Lady Evelyn Hollowway. Lady
Evelyn had a horse entered in a derby about that time–name, Chain
Lightning. And the Earl of Raybrook wagered a diamond necklace against
a kiss that Chain Lightning would lose."
"Wasn't that giving big odds?" inquired Minot.
"Not if you believe the stories of Lady Evelyn's beauty. Well, it
happened before Tammany politicians began avenging Ireland on Derby
Day. Chain Lightning won. And the earl came across with the necklace.
Afterward he married Lady Evelyn–"
"To get back the necklace?"
"Cynic. And being a rather racy old boy, he referred to the necklace
thereafter as Chain Lightning's Collar. It got to be pretty well known
in England by that name. I believe it is considered a rather neat
piece of jewelry among the English nobility–whose sparklers aren't
what they were before the steel business in Pittsburgh turned out a
good thing."
"Chain Lightning's Collar," mused Minot. "I presume Lady Evelyn was
the mother of the present Lord Harrowby?"
"So 'tis rumored," smiled Paddock. "Though I take it his lordship
favors his father in looks."
They walked along for a moment in silence. The story of this necklace
of diamonds could bring but one thing to Minot's thoughts–Martin Wall
drooping on the steps of the Manhattan Club while old Stacy roared with
joy. He considered. Should he tell Mr. Paddock? No, he decided he
would wait.
"As I said," Paddock ran on, "you'll enjoy Mrs. Bruce to-night. Her
lines are good, but somehow–it's really a great problem to me–she
doesn't sound human and natural when she gets them off. I looked up
her beauty doctor and asked him if he couldn't put a witty gleam in her
eye, but he told me he didn't care to go that far in correcting Mrs.
Bruce's Maker."
They had reached the Villa Jasmine now, a great white palace in a
flowery setting more like a dream than a reality. The evening breeze
murmured whisperingly through the palms, a hundred gorgeous colors
shone in the moonlight, fountains splashed coolly amid the greenery.
"Act Two," muttered Minot. "The grounds surrounding the castle of the
fairy princess."
"You have to come down here, don't you," replied Paddock, "to realize
that old Mother Nature has a little on Belasco, after all?"
The whir of a motor behind them caused the two young men to turn. Then
Mr. Minot saw her coming up the path toward him–coming up that
fantastic avenue of palms–tall, fair, white, a lovely figure in a
lovely setting–
Ah, yes–Lord Harrowby! He walked at her side, nonchalant,
distinguished, almost as tall as a popular illustrator thinks a man in
evening clothes should be. Truly, they made a handsome couple. They
were to wed. Mr. Minot himself had sworn they were to wed.
He kept the bitterness from his tone as he greeted them there amid the
soft magic of the Florida night. Together they went inside. In the
center of a magnificent hallway they found Mrs. Bruce standing, like
stout Cortez on his Darien peak, triumphant amid the glory of her gold.
Mr. Minot thought Mrs. Bruce's manner of greeting somewhat harried and
oppressed. Poor lady, every function was a first night for her. Would
the glare of the footlights frighten her? Would she falter in her
lines–forget them completely? Only her sisters of the stage could
sympathize with her understandingly now.
"So you are to carry Cynthia away?" Minot heard her saying to Lord
Harrowby. "Such a lot of my friends have married into the peerage.
Indeed, I have sometimes thought you English have no other pastime save
that of slipping engagement rings on hands across the sea."
A soft voice spoke in Minot's ear.
"Mine," Mr. Paddock was saying. "Not bad, eh? But look at that
Englishman. Why should I have sat up all last night writing lines to
try on him? Can you tell me that?"
Lord Harrowby, indeed, seemed oblivious of Mrs. Bruce's little bon mot.
He hemmed and hawed, and said he was a lucky man. But he did not mean
that he was a lucky man because he had the privilege of hearing Mrs.
Mr. Bruce slipped out of the shadows into the weariness of another
formal dinner. Mrs. Bruce glittered, and he wrote the checks. He was
a scraggly little man who sometimes sat for hours at a time in silence.
There were those unkind enough to say that he sought back, trying to
recall the reason that had led him to marry Mrs. Bruce.
When he beheld Miss Cynthia Meyrick, and knew that he was to take her
in to dinner, Mr. Bruce brightened perceptibly. None save a blind and
deaf man could have failed to. Cocktails consumed, the party turned
toward the dining-room. Except for the Meyricks, Martin Wall, Lord
Harrowby and Paddock, Dick Minot knew none of them. There were a
couple of colorless men from New York who, when they died, would be
referred to as "prominent club men," a horsy girl from Westchester, an
ex-ambassador's wife and daughter, a number of names from Boston and
Philadelphia with their respective bearers. And last but not least the
two Bond girls from Omaha–blond, lovely, but inclined to be snobbish
even in that company, for their mother was a Van Reypan, and Van
Reypans are rare birds in Omaha and elsewhere.
Mr. Minot took in the elder of the Bond girls, and found that Cynthia
Meyrick sat on his left. He glanced at her throat as they sat down.
It was bare of ornament. And then he beheld, sparkling in her lovely
hair, the perfect diamonds of Chain Lightning's Collar. As he turned
back to the table he caught the eye of Mr. Martin Wall. Mr. Wall's eye
happened to be coming away from the same locality.
The girl from Omaha gossiped of plays and players, like a dramatic page
from some old Sunday newspaper.
"I'm mad about the stage," she confided. "Of course, we get all the
best shows in Omaha. Why, Maxine Elliott and Nat Goodwin come there
every year."
Mr. Minot, New Yorker, shuddered. Should he tell her of the many and
active years in the lives of these two since they visited any town
together? No. What use? On the other side of him a sweet voice spoke:
"I presume you know, Mr. Minot, that Mrs. Bruce has the reputation of
being the wittiest hostess in San Marco?"
"I have heard as much." Minot smiled into Cynthia Meyrick's eyes.
"When does her act go on?"
Mrs. Bruce was wondering the same thing. She knew her lines; she was
ready. True, she understood few of those lines. Wit was not her
specialty. Until Mr. Paddock took charge of her, she had thought
colored newspaper supplements humorous in the extreme. However, the
lines Mr. Paddock taught her seemed to go well, and she continued to
patronize the old stand.
She looked up now from her conversation with her dinner partner, and
silence fell as at a curtain ascending.
"I was just saying to Lord Harrowby," Mrs. Bruce began, smiling about
her, "how picturesque our business streets are here. What with the
Greek merchants in their native costumes–"
"Bandits, every one of them," growled Mr. Bruce, bravely interrupting.
His wife frowned.
"Only the other day," she continued, "I bought a rug from a man who
claimed to be a Persian prince. He said it was a prayer-rug, and I
think it must have been, for ever since I got it I've been praying it's
A little ripple of amusement ran about the table. The redoubtable Mrs.
Bruce was under way. People spoke to one another in undertones–little
conversational nudges of anticipation.
"By the way, Cynthia," the hostess inquired, "have you heard from Helen
Arden lately?"
"Not for some time," responded Miss Meyrick, "although I have her
promise that she and the duke will be here–next Tuesday."
"Splendid." Mrs. Bruce turned to his lordship. "I think of Helen,
Lord Harrowby, because she, too, married into your nobility. Her
father made his money in sausage in the Middle West. In his youth he'd
had trouble in finding a pair of ready-made trousers, but as soon as
the money began to roll in, Helen started to look him up a coat of
arms. And a family motto. I remember suggesting at the time, in view
of the sausage: 'A family is no stronger than its weakest link.'"
Mrs. Bruce knew when to pause. She paused now. The ripple became an
outright laugh. Mr. Paddock sipped languorously from his wine-glass.
He saw that his lines "got over."
"Went into society head foremost, Helen did," Mrs. Bruce continued.
"Thought herself a clever amateur actress. Used to act often for
charity–though I don't recall that she ever got it."
"The beauty of Mrs. Bruce's wit," said Miss Meyrick in Mr. Minot's ear,
"is that it is so unconscious. She doesn't appear to realize when she
has said a good thing."
"There's just a chance that she doesn't realize it," suggested Minot.
"Then Helen met the Duke of Lismore," Mrs. Bruce was speaking once
more. "Perhaps you know him, Lord Harrowby?"
"No–er–sorry to say I don't–"
"A charming chap. In some ways. Helen was a Shavian in considering
marriage the chief pursuit of women. She pursued. Followed Lismore to
Italy, where he proposed. I presume he thought that being in Rome, he
must do as the Romeos do."
"But, my dear lady," said Harrowby in a daze, "isn't it the Romans?"
"Isn't what the Romans?" asked Mrs. Bruce blankly.
"Your lordship is correct," said Mr. Paddock hastily. "Mrs. Bruce
misquoted purposely–in jest, you know. Jibe–japery."
"Oh–er–pardon me," returned his lordship.
"I saw Helen in London last spring," Mrs. Bruce went on. "She confided
to me that she considers her husband a genius. And if genius really be
nothing but an infinite capacity for taking champagnes, I am sure the
poor child is right."
Little murmurs of joy, and the dinner proceeded. The guests bent over
their food, shipped to Mrs. Bruce in a refrigerating car from New York,
and very little wearied by its long trip. Here and there two talked
together. It was like an intermission between the acts.
Mr. Minot turned to the Omaha girl. Even though she was two wives
behind on Mr. Nat Goodwin's career, one must be polite.
It was at the close of the dinner that Mrs. Bruce scored her most
telling point. She and Lord Harrowby were conversing about a famous
English author, and when she was sure she had the attention of the
table, she remarked:
"Yes, we met his wife at the Masonbys'. But I have always felt that
the wife of a celebrity is like the coupon on one's railway ticket."
"How's that, Mrs. Bruce?" Minot inquired. After all, Paddock had been
kind to him.
"Not good if detached," said Mrs. Bruce.
She stood. Her guests followed suit. It was by this bon mot that she
chose to have her dinner live in the gossip of San Marco. Hence with
it she closed the ceremony.
"Witty woman, your wife," said one of the colorless New Yorkers to Mr.
Bruce, when the men were left alone.
Mr. Bruce only grunted, but Mr. Paddock answered brightly:
"Do you really think so?"
"Yes. Don't you?"
"Why–er–really–" Mr. Paddock blushed. Modest author, he.
A servant appeared to say that Lord Harrowby was wanted at once
outside, and excusing himself, Harrowby departed. He found his valet,
a plump, round-faced, serious man, waiting in the shadows on the
veranda. For a time they talked together in low tones. When Harrowby
returned to the dining-room, his never cheerful face was even gloomier
than usual.
Spencer Meyrick and Bruce, exiles both of them, talked joyously of
business and the rush of the day's work for which both longed. The New
York man and a sapling from Boston conversed of chamber music. Martin
Wall sat silent, contemplative. Perhaps had he spoken his thoughts
they would have been of a rich jewel shop at noon–deserted.
A half-hour later Mrs. Bruce's dinner-party was scattered among the
palms and flowers of her gorgeous lawn. Mr. Minot had fallen again to
the elder girl from Omaha, and blithely for her he was displaying his
Broadway ignorance of horticulture. Suddenly out of the night came a
scream. Instantly when he heard it, Mr. Minot knew who had uttered it.
Unceremoniously he parted from the Omaha beauty and sped over the lawn.
But quick as he was, Lord Harrowby was quicker. For when Minot came
up, he saw Harrowby bending over Miss Meyrick, who sat upon a wicker
"Cynthia–what is it?" Harrowby was saying.
Cynthia Meyrick felt wildly of her shining hair.
"Your necklace," she gasped. "Chain Lightning's Collar. He took it!
He took it!"
"I don't know. A man!"
"A man!" Reverent repetition by feminine voices out of the excited
"He leaped out at me there–by that tree–pinioned my arms–snatched
the necklace. I couldn't see his face. It happened in the shadow."
"No matter," Harrowby replied. "Don't give it another thought, my
"But how can I help–"
"I shall telephone the police at once," announced Spencer Meyrick.
"I beg you'll do nothing of the sort," expostulated Lord Harrowby. "It
would be a great inconvenience–the thing wasn't worth the publicity
that would result. I insist that the police be kept out of this."
Argument–loud on Mr. Meyrick's part–ensued. Suggestions galore were
offered by the guests. But in the end Lord Harrowby had his way. It
was agreed not to call in the police.
Mr. Minot, looking up, saw a sneering smile on the face of Martin Wall.
In a flash he knew the truth.
With Aunt Mary calling loudly for smelling salts, and the whole party
more or less in confusion, the return to the house started. Mr.
Paddock walked at Minot's side.
"Rather looks as though Chain Lightning's Collar had choked off our
gaiety," he mumbled. "Serves her right for wearing the thing in her
hair. She spoiled two corking lines for me by not wearing it where
you'd naturally expect a necklace to be worn."
Minot maneuvered so as to intercept Lord Harrowby under the portico.
"May I speak with you a moment?" he inquired. Harrowby bowed, and they
stepped into the shadows of the drive.
"Lord Harrowby," said Minot, trying to keep the excitement from his
voice, "I have certain information about one of the guests here this
evening that I believe would interest you. Your lordship has been
badly buffaloed. One of our fellow diners at Mrs. Bruce's table holds
the title of the ablest jewel thief in America!"
He watched keenly to catch Lord Harrowby's start of surprise. Alas, he
caught nothing of the sort.
"Nonsense," said his lordship nonchalantly. "You mustn't let your
imagination carry you away, dear chap."
"Imagination nothing! I know what I'm talking about." And then Minot
added sarcastically: "Sorry to bore you with this."
His lordship laughed.
"Right-o, old fellow. I'm not interested."
"But haven't you just lost–"
"A diamond necklace? Yes." They had reached a particularly dark and
secluded spot beneath the canopy of palm leaves. Harrowby turned
suddenly and put his hands on Minot's shoulders. "Mr. Minot," he said,
"you are here to see that nothing interferes with my marriage to Miss
Meyrick. I trust you are determined to do your duty to your employers?"
"Absolutely. That is why–"
"Then," replied Harrowby quickly, "I am going to ask you to take charge
of this for me."
Suddenly Minot felt something cold and glassy in his hand. Startled,
he looked down. Even in the dark, Chain Lightning's Collar sparkled
like the famous toy that it was.
"Your lordship!–"
"I can not explain now. I can only tell you it is quite necessary that
you help me at this time. If you wish to do your full duty by Mr.
"Who took this necklace from Miss Meyrick's hair?" asked Minot hotly.
"I did. I assure you it was the only way to prevent our plans from
going awry. Please keep it until I ask you for it."
And turning, Lord Harrowby walked rapidly toward the house.
"The brute!" Angrily Mr. Minot stood turning the necklace over in his
hand. "So he frightened the girl he is to marry–the girl he is
supposed to love–"
What should he do? Go to her, and tell her of Harrowby's amiable
eccentricities? He could hardly do that–Harrowby had taken him into
his confidence–and besides there was Jephson of the great bald head,
the Peter Pan eyes. Nothing to do but wait.
Returning to the hotel from Mrs. Bruce's villa, he found awaiting him a
cable from Jephson. The cable assured him that beyond any question the
man in San Marco was Allan Harrowby and, like Cæsar's wife, above
Yet even as he read, Lord Harrowby walked through the lobby, and at his
side was Mr. James O'Malley, house detective of the Hotel de la Pax.
They came from the manager's office, where they had evidently been
With the cablegram in his hand, Minot entered the elevator and ascended
to his room. The other hand was in the pocket of his top coat, closed
tightly upon Chain Lightning's Collar–the bauble that the Earl of
Raybrook had once wagered against a kiss.
Mr. Minot opened his eyes on Thursday morning with the uncomfortable
feeling that he was far from his beloved New York. For a moment he lay
dazed, wandering in that dim borderland between sleep and waking.
Then, suddenly, he remembered.
"Oh, yes, by jove," he muttered, "I've been knighted. Groom of the
Back-Stairs Scandals and Keeper of the Royal Jewels–that's me."
He lifted his pillow. There on the white sheet sparkled the necklace
of which the whole British nobility was proud–Chain Lightning's
Collar. Some seventy-five blue-white diamonds, pear-shaped, perfectly
graduated. His for the moment!
"What's Harrowby up to, I wonder?" he reflected "The dear old top!
Nice, pleasant little party if a policeman should find this in my
Another perfect day shone in that narrow Spanish street. Up in
Manhattan theatrical press agents were crowning huge piles of snow with
posters announcing their attractions. Ferries were held up by ice in
the river. A breeze from the Arctic swept round the Flatiron building.
Here lazy summer lolled on the bosom of the town.
In the hotel dining-room Mr. Minot encountered Jack Paddock, superb in
white flannels above his grapefruit. He accepted Paddock's invitation
to join him.
"By the way," said Mrs. Bruce's jester, holding up a small, badly
printed newspaper, "have you made the acquaintance of the _San Marco
Mail_ yet?"
"No–what's that?"
"A morning newspaper–by courtesy. Started here a few weeks back by a
noiseless little Spaniard from Havana named Manuel Gonzale. Slipped in
here on his rubber soles, Gonzale did–dressed all in white–lovely
lemon face–shifty, can't-catch-me eyes. And his newspaper–hot stuff,
my boy. It has Town Topics looking like a consular report from
"Scandals?" asked Mr. Minot, also attacking a grapefruit.
"Scandals and rumors of scandals. Mostly hints, you know. Several
references this morning to our proud and haughty friend, Lord Harrowby.
For example, Madame On Dit, writing in her column, on page one, has
this to say: 'The impecunious but titled Englishman who has arrived in
our midst recently with the idea of connecting with certain American
dollars has an interesting time ahead of him, if rumor speaks true.
The little incident in the lobby of a local hotel the other
evening–which was duly reported in this column at the time–was but a
mild beginning. The gentleman in charge of the claimant to the title
held so jealously by our British friend promises immediate developments
which will be rich, rare and racy.'"
"Rich, rare and racy," repeated Minot thoughtfully. "Ah, yes–we were
to watch Mr. Trimmer. I had almost forgot him in the excitement of
last evening. By the way, does the _Mail_ know anything about the
disappearance of Chain Lightning's Collar?"
"Not as yet," smiled Mr. Paddock, "although Madame On Dit claims to
have been a guest at the dinner. By the way, what do you make of last
night's melodramatic farce?"
"I don't know what to make of it," answered Minot truthfully. He was
suddenly conscious of the necklace in his inside coat pocket.
"Then all I can say, my dear Watson," replied Mr. Paddock with
burlesque seriousness, "is that you are unmistakably lacking in my
powers of deduction. Give me a cigarette, and I'll tell you the name
of the man who is gloating over those diamonds to-day."
"All right," smiled Minot. "Go ahead."
Mr. Paddock, reaching for a match tray, spoke in a low tone in Minot's
"Martin Wall," he said. He leaned back. "You ask how I arrived at my
conclusion. Simple enough. I went through the list of guests for
possible crooks, and eliminated them one by one. The man I have
mentioned alone was left. Ever notice his eyes–remind me of Manuel
Gonzale's. He's too polished, too slick, too good to be true. He's
traveled too much–nobody travels as much as he has except for the very
good reason that a detective is on the trail. And he made friends with
simple old Harrowby on an Atlantic liner–that, if you read popular
fiction, is alone enough to condemn him. Believe me, Dick, Martin Wall
should be watched."
"All right," laughed Minot, "you watch him."
"I've a notion to. Harrowby makes me weary. Won't call in a solitary
detective. Any one might think he doesn't want the necklace back."
After breakfast Minot and Paddock played five sets of tennis on the
hotel courts. And Mr. Minot won, despite the Harrowby diamonds in his
trousers pocket, weighing him down. Luncheon over, Mr. Paddock
suggested a drive to Tarragona Island.
"A little bit of nowhere a mile off-shore," he said. "No man can ever
know the true inwardness of the word lonesome until he's seen
Minot hesitated. Ought he to leave the scene of action? Of action?
He glanced about him. There was less action here than in a Henry James
novel. The tangle of events in which he was involved rested for a
So he and Mr. Paddock drove along the narrow neck of land that led from
the mainland to Tarragona Island. They entered the kingdom of the
lonely. Sandy beach with the ocean on one side, swamps on the other.
Scrubby palms, disreputable foliage, here and there a cluster of
seemingly deserted cottages–the world and its works apparently a
million miles away. Yet out on one corner of that bleak forgotten acre
stood the slim outline of a wireless, and in a little white house lived
a man who, amid the sea-gulls and the sand-dunes, talked daily with
great ships and cities far away.
"I told you it was lonesome," said Mr. Paddock.
"Lonesome," shivered Minot. "Even God has forgot this place. Only
Marconi has remembered."
And even as they wandered there amid the swamps, where alligators and
rattlesnakes alone saw fit to dwell, back in San Marco the capable Mr.
Trimmer was busy. By poster and by hand-bill he was spreading word of
his newest coup, so that by evening no one in town–save the few who
were most concerned–was unaware of a development rich, rare and racy.
Minot and Paddock returned late, and their dinner was correspondingly
delayed. It was eight-thirty o'clock when they at last strolled into
the lobby of the De la Pax. There they encountered Miss Meyrick, her
father and Lord Harrowby.
"We're taking Harrowby to the movies," said Miss Meyrick. "He
confesses he's never been. Won't you come along?"
She was one of her gay selves to-night, white, slim, laughing,
irresistible. Minot, looking at her, thought that she could make even
Tarragona Island bearable. He knew of no greater tribute to her charm.
The girl and Harrowby led the way, and Minot and Paddock followed with
Spencer Meyrick. The old man was an imposing figure in his white serge,
which accentuated the floridness of his face. He talked of an
administration that did not please him, of a railroad fallen on evil
days. Now and again he paused and seemed to lose the thread of what he
was saying, while his eyes dwelt on his daughter, walking ahead.
They arrived shortly at the San Marco Opera-House, devoted each evening
to three acts of "refined vaudeville" and six of the newest film
releases. It was here that the rich loitering in San Marco found their
only theatrical amusement, and forgetting Broadway, laughed and were
thrilled with simpler folk. A large crowd was fairly fighting to get
in and Mr. Paddock, who volunteered to buy the tickets, was forced to
take his place at the end of a long line.
Finally they reached the dim interior of the opera-house, and were
shown to seats far down in front. By hanging back in the dusk Minot
managed to secure the end seat, with Miss Meyrick at his side. Beyond
her sat Lord Harrowby, gazing with rapt British seriousness at the
humorous film that was being flashed on the screen.
Between pictures Harrowby offered an opinion.
"You in America are a jolly lot," he said. "Just fancy our best people
in England attending a cinematograph exhibition."
They tried to fancy it, but with his lordship there, they couldn't.
Two more pictures ran their filmy lengths, while Mr. Minot sat
entranced there in the half dark. It was not the pictures that
entranced him. Rather, was it a lady's nearness, the flash of her
smile, the hundred and one tones of her voice–all, all again as it had
been in that ridiculous automobile–just before the awakening.
After the third picture the lights of the auditorium were turned up,
and the hour of vaudeville arrived. On to the stage strolled a pert
confident youth garbed in shabby grandeur, who attempted sidewalk
repartee. He clipped his jests from barber-shop periodicals, bought
his songs from an ex-barroom song writer, and would have gone to the
mat with any one who denied that his act was "refined." Mr. Minot,
listening to his gibes, thought of the Paddock jest factory and Mrs.
When the young man had wrung the last encore from a kindly audience,
the drop-curtain was raised and revealed on the stage in gleaming
splendor Captain Ponsonby's troupe of trained seals. An intelligent
aggregation they proved, balancing balls on their small heads, juggling
flaming torches, and taking as their just due lumps of sugar from the
captain's hand as they finished each feat. The audience recalled them
again and again, and even the peerage was captivated.
"Clever beasts, aren't they?" Lord Harrowby remarked. And as Captain
Ponsonby took his final curtain, his lordship added:
"Er–what follows the trained seals?"
The answer to Harrowby's query came almost immediately, and a startling
answer it proved to be.
Into the glare of the footlights stepped Mr. Henry Trimmer. His manner
was that of the conquering hero. For a moment he stood smiling and
bowing before the approving multitude. Then he raised a hand
commanding silence.
"My dear friends," he said, "I appreciate this reception. As I said in
my handbill of this afternoon, I am working in the interests of
justice. The gentleman who accompanies me to your delightful little
city is beyond any question whatsoever George Harrowby, the eldest son
of the Earl of Raybrook, and as such he is entitled to call himself
Lord Harrowby. I know the American people well enough to feel sure
that when they realize the facts they will demand that justice be done.
That is why I have prevailed upon Lord Harrowby to meet you here in
this, your temple of amusement, and put his case before you. His
lordship will talk to you for a time with a view to getting acquainted.
He has chosen for the subject of his discourse The Old Days at Rakedale
Hall. Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honor to introduce–the real
Lord Harrowby."
Out of the wings shuffled the lean and gloomy Englishman whom Mr.
Trimmer had snatched from the unknown to cloud a certain wedding-day.
The applause burst forth. It shook the building. From the gallery
descended a shrill penetrating whistle of acclaim.
Mr. Minot glanced at the face of the girl beside him. She was looking
straight ahead, her cheeks bright red, her eyes flashing with anger.
Beyond, the face of Harrowby loomed, frozen, terrible.
"Shall we–go?" Minot whispered.
"By no means," the girl answered. "We should only call attention to
our presence here. I know at least fifty people in this audience. We
must see it through."
The applause was stilled at last and, supremely fussed, the "real Lord
Harrowby" faced that friendly throng.
"Dear–er–people," he said. "As Mr. Trimmer has told you, we seek
only justice. I am not here to argue my right to the title I
claim–that I can do at the proper time and place. I am simply
proposing to go back–back into the past many years–back to the days
when I was a boy at Rakedale Hall. I shall picture those days as no
impostor could picture them–and when I have done I shall allow you to
And there in that crowded little southern opera-house on that hot
February night, the actor who followed the trained seals proceeded to
go back. With unfaltering touch he sketched for his audience the great
stone country seat called Rakedale Hall, where for centuries the
Harrowbys had dwelt. It was as though he took his audience there to
visit–through the massive iron gates up the broad avenue bordered with
limes, until the high chimneys, the pointed gables, the mullioned
windows, and the walls half hidden by ivy, creeping roses and
honeysuckles were revealed to them. He took them through the house to
the servants' quarters–which he called "the offices"–out into the
kitchen gardens, thence to the paved quadrangle of the stables with its
arched gateway and the chiming clock above. Tennis-courts,
grape-houses, conservatories, they visited breathlessly; they saw over
the brow of the hill the low square tower of the old church and the
chimneys of the vicar's modest house. And far away, they beheld the
trees that furnished cover to the little beasts it was the Earl of
Raybrook's pleasure to hunt in the season.
Becoming more specific, he spoke of the neighbors, and a bit of romance
crept in in the person of the fair-haired Honorable Edith Townshend,
who lived to the west of Rakedale Hall. He described at length the
picturesque personality of the "racing parson," neighbor on the south,
and in full accord with the ideas of the sporting Earl of Raybrook.
The events of his youth, he said, crowded back upon him as he recalled
this happy scene, and emotion well-nigh choked him. However, he
managed to tell of a few of the celebrities who came to dinner, of
their bon mots, their preferences in cuisine. He mentioned the
thrilling morning when he was nearly drowned in the brook that skirted
the "purple meadow"; also the thrilling afternoon when he hid his
mother's famous necklace in the biscuit box on the sideboard, and upset
a whole household. And he narrated a dozen similar exploits, each
garnished with small illuminating details.
His audience sat fascinated. All who listened felt that his words rang
true–even Lord Harrowby himself, sitting far forward, his hand
gripping the seat in front of him, until the white of his knuckles
showed through.
Next the speaker shifted his scene to Eton, thrilled his hearers with
the story of his revolt against Oxford, of his flight to the States,
his wild days in Arizona. And he pulled out of his pocket a letter
written by the old Earl of Raybrook himself, profanely expostulating
with him for his madness, and begging that he return to ascend to the
earldom when the old man was no more.
The "real Lord Harrowby" finished reading this somewhat pathetic appeal
with a little break in his voice, and stood looking out at the audience.
"If my brother Allan himself were in the house," he said, "he would
have to admit that it is our father speaking in that letter."
A rustle of interest ran through the auditorium. The few who had
recognized Harrowby turned to stare at him now. For a moment he sat
silent, his face a variety of colors in the dim light. Then with a cry
of rage he leaped to his feet.
"You stole that letter, you cur," he cried. "You are a liar, a fraud,
an impostor."
The man on the stage stood shading his eyes with his hand.
"Ah, Allan," he answered, "so you are here, after all? Is that quite
the proper greeting–after all these years?"
A roar of sympathetic applause greeted this sally. There was no doubt
as to whose side Mr. Trimmer's friend, the public, was on. Harrowby
stood in his place, his lips twitching, his eyes for once blazing and
Dick Minot was by this time escorting Miss Meyrick up the aisle, and
they came quickly to the cool street. Harrowby, Paddock and Spencer
Meyrick followed immediately. His lordship was most contrite.
"A thousand pardons," he pleaded. "Really I can't tell you how sorry I
am, Cynthia. To have made you conspicuous–what was I thinking of?
But he maddened me–I–"
"Don't worry, Allan," said Miss Meyrick gently. "I like you the better
for being maddened."
Old Spencer Meyrick said nothing, but Minot noted that his face was
rather red, and his eyes were somewhat dangerous. They all walked back
to the hotel in silence.
From the hotel lobby, as if by prearrangement, Harrowby followed Miss
Meyrick and her father into a parlor. Minot and Paddock were left
"My word, old top," said Mr. Paddock facetiously, "a rough night for
the nobility. What do you think? That lad's story sounded like a
little bit of all right to me. Eh, what?"
"It did sound convincing," returned the troubled Minot. "But then–a
servant at Rakedale Hall could have concocted it."
"Mayhap," said Mr. Paddock. "However, old Spencer Meyrick looked to me
like a volcano I'd want to get out from under. Poor old Harrowby! I'm
afraid there's a rift within the loot–nay, no loot at all."
"Jack," said Minot firmly, "that wedding has got to take place."
"Why, what's it to you?"
"It happens to be everything. But keep it under your hat."
"Great Scott–does Harrowby owe you money?"
"I can't explain just at present, Jack."
"Oh, very well," replied Mr. Paddock. "But take it from me, old
man–she's a million times too good for him."
"A million," laughed Mr. Minot bitterly. "You underestimate."
Paddock stood staring with wonder at his friend.
"You lisp in riddles, my boy," he said.
"Do I?" returned Minot. "Maybe some day I'll make it all clear."
He parted from Paddock and ascended to the third floor. As he wandered
through the dark passageways in search of his room, he bumped suddenly
into a heavy man, walking softly. Something about the contour of the
man in the dark gave him a suggestion.
"Good evening, Mr. Wall," he said.
The scurry of hurrying footsteps, but no answer. Minot went on to 389,
and placed his key in the lock. It would not turn. He twisted the
knob of the door–it was unlocked. He stepped inside and flashed on
the light.
His small abode was in a mad disorder. The chiffonier drawers had been
emptied on the floor, the bed was torn to pieces, the rug thrown in a
corner. Minot smiled to himself.
Some one had been searching–searching for Chain Lightning's Collar.
Who? Who but the man he had bumped against in that dark passageway?
As Dick Minot bent over to pick up his scattered property, a knock
sounded on the half-open door, and Lord Harrowby drooped in. The
nobleman was gloom personified. He threw himself despondently down on
the bed.
"Minot, old chap," he drawled, "it's all over." His eyes took in the
wreckage. "Eh? What the deuce have you been doing, old boy?"
"I haven't been doing anything," Minot answered. "But others have been
busy. While we were at the–er–theater, fond fingers have been
searching for Chain Lightning's Collar."
"The devil! You haven't lost it?"
"No–not yet, I believe." Minot took the envelope from his pocket and
drew out the gleaming necklace. "Ah, it's still safe–"
Harrowby leaped from the bed and slammed shut the door.
"Dear old boy," he cried, "keep the accursed thing in your pocket. No
one must see it. I say, who's been searching here? Do you think it
could have been O'Malley?"
"What is O'Malley's interest in your necklace?"
"Some other time, please. Sorry to inconvenience you with the thing.
Do hang on to it, won't you? Awful mix-up if you didn't. Bad mix-up
as it is. As I said when I came in, it's all over."
"What's all over?"
"Everything. The marriage–my chance for happiness–Minot, I'm a most
unlucky chap. Meyrick has just postponed the wedding in a frightfully
loud tone of voice."
"Postponed it?" Sad news for Jephson this, yet as he spoke Mr. Minot
felt a thrill of joy in his heart. He smiled the pleasantest smile he
had so far shown San Marco.
"Exactly. He was fearfully rattled, was Meyrick. My word, how he did
go on. Considers his daughter humiliated by the antics of that
creature we saw on the stage to-night. Can't say I blame him, either.
The wedding is indefinitely postponed, unless that impostor is removed
from the scene immediately."
"Oh–unless," said Minot. His heart sank. His smile vanished.
"Unless was the word, I fancy," said Harrowby, blinking wisely.
"Lord Harrowby," Minot began, "you intimated the other day that this
man might really be your brother–"
"No," Harrowby broke in. "Impossible. I got a good look at the chap
to-night. He's no more a Harrowby than you are."
"You give me your word for that?"
"Absolutely. Even after twenty years of America no Harrowby would drag
his father's name on to the vaudeville stage. No, he is an impostor,
and as such he deserves no consideration whatever. And by the by,
Minot–you will note that the postponement is through no fault of mine."
Minot made a wry face.
"I have noted it," he said. "In other words, I go on to the stage
now–following the man who followed the trained seals. I thought my
role was that of Cupid, but it begins to look more like Captain Kidd.
Ah, well–I'll do my best." He stood up. "I'm going out into the soft
moonlight for a little while, Lord Harrowby. While I'm gone you might
call Spencer Meyrick up and ask him to do nothing definite in the way
of postponement until he hears from me–us–er–you."
"Splendid of you, really," said Harrowby enthusiastically, as Minot
held open the door for him. "I had the feeling I could fall back on
"And I have the feeling that you've fallen," smiled Minot. "So
long–better wait up for my report."
Fifteen minutes later, seated in a small rowboat on the starry waters
of the harbor, Minot was loudly saluting the yacht _Lileth_. Finally
Mr. Martin Wall appeared at the rail.
"Well–what d'you want?" he demanded.
"A word with you, Mr. Wall," Minot answered. "Will you be good enough
to let down your accommodation ladder?"
For a moment Wall hesitated. And Minot, watching him, knew why he
hesitated. He suspected that the young man in the tiny boat there on
the calm bright waters had come to repay a call earlier in the
evening–a call made while the host was out. At last he decided to let
down the ladder.
"Glad to see you," he announced genially as Minot came on deck.
"Awfully nice of you to say that," Minot laughed. "Reassures me.
Because I've heard there are sharks in these waters."
They sat down in wicker chairs on the forward deck. Minot stared at
the cluster of lights that was San Marco by night.
"Corking view you have of that tourist-haunted town," he commented.
"Ah–yes," Mr. Wall's queer eyes narrowed. "Did you row out here to
tell me that?" he inquired.
"A deserved rebuke," Minot returned. "Time flies, and my errand is a
pressing one. Am I right in assuming, Mr. Wall, that you are Lord
Harrowby's friend?"
"I am."
"Good. Then you will want to help him in the very serious difficulty
in which he now finds himself. Mr. Wall, the man who calls himself the
real Lord Harrowby made his debut on a vaudeville stage to-night."
"So I've heard," said Wall, with a short laugh.
"Lord Harrowby's fiancée and her father are greatly disturbed. They
insist that this impostor must be removed from the scene at once, or
there will be no wedding. Mr. Wall–it is up to you and me to remove
"Just what is your interest in the matter?" Wall inquired.
"The same as yours. I am Harrowby's friend. Now, Mr. Wall, this is
the situation as I see it–wanted, board and room in a quiet
neighborhood for Mr. George Harrowby. Far from the street-cars, the
vaudeville stage, the wedding march and other disturbing elements. And
what is more, I think I've found the quiet neighborhood. I think it's
right here aboard the _Lileth_."
"Yes. A simple affair to arrange, Mr. Wall. Trimmer and his live
proposition are just about due for their final appearance of the night
at the opera-house right now. I will call at the stage door and lead
Mr. Trimmer away after his little introductory speech. I will keep him
away until you and a couple of your sailors–I suggest the two I met so
informally in the North River–have met the vaudeville lord at the
stage door and gently, but firmly, persuaded him to come aboard this
Mr. Wall regarded Minot with a cynical smile.
"A clever scheme," he said. "What would you say was the penalty for
kidnaping in this state?"
"Oh, why look it up?" asked Minot carelessly. "Surely Martin Wall is
not afraid of a backwoods constable."
"What do you mean by that, my boy?" said Wall, with an ugly stare.
"What do you think I mean?" Minot smiled back. "I'd be very glad to
take the role I've assigned you–I can't help feeling that it will be
more entertaining than the one I have. The difficulty in the way is
Trimmer. I believe I am better fitted to engage his attention. I know
him better than you do, and he trusts me–begging your pardon–further."
"He did give me a nasty dig," said Wall, flaming at the recollection.
"The noisy mountebank! Well, my boy, your young enthusiasm has won me.
I'll do what I can."
"And you can do a lot. Watch me until you see me lead Trimmer away.
Then get his pet. I'll steer Trimmer somewhere near the beach, and
keep an eye on the _Lileth_. When you get George safely aboard, wave a
red light in the bow. Then Trimmer and I shall part company for the
"I'm on," said Wall, rising. "Anything to help Harrowby. And–this
won't be the first time I've waited at the stage door."
"Right-o," said Minot. "But don't stop to buy a champagne supper for a
trained seal, will you? I don't want to have to listen to Mr. Trimmer
all night."
They rowed ashore in company with two husky members of the yacht's
crew, and ten minutes later Minot was walking with the pompous Mr.
Trimmer through the quiet plaza. He had told that gentleman that he
came from Allan Harrowby to talk terms, and Trimmer was puffed with
pride accordingly.
"So Mr. Harrowby has come to his senses at last," he said. "Well, I
thought this vaudeville business would bring him round. Although I
must say I'm a bit disappointed–down in my heart. My publicity
campaign has hardly started. I had so many lovely little plans for the
future–say, it makes me sad to win so soon."
"Sorry," laughed Minot. "Lord Harrowby, however, deems it best to call
a halt. He suggests–"
"Pardon me," interrupted Mr. Trimmer grandiloquently. "As the victor
in the contest, I shall do any suggesting that is done. And what I
suggest is this–to-morrow morning I shall call upon Allan Harrowby at
his hotel. I shall bring George with me, also some newspaper friends
of mine. In front of the crowd Allan Harrowby must acknowledge his
brother as the future heir to the earldom of Raybrook."
"Why the newspaper men?" Minot inquired.
"Publicity," said Trimmer. "It's the breath of life to me–my
business, my first love, my last. Frankly, I want all the
advertisement out of this thing I can get. At what hour shall we call?"
"You would not consider a delay of a few days?" Minot asked.
"Save your breath," advised Trimmer promptly.
"Ah–I feared it," laughed Minot. "Well then–shall we say eleven
o'clock? You are to call–with George Harrowby."
"Eleven it is," said Trimmer. They had reached a little park by the
harbor's edge. Trimmer looked at his watch. "And that being all
settled, I'll run back to the theater."
"I myself have advised Harrowby to surrender–" Minot began.
"Wise boy. Good night," said Trimmer, moving away.
"Not that I have been particularly impressed by your standing as a
publicity man," continued Minot.
Mr. Trimmer stopped in his tracks.
"As a matter of fact," went on Minot. "I never heard of you or any of
the things you claim to have advertised, until I came to San Marco."
Mr. Trimmer came slowly back up the grave walk.
"In just what inland hamlet, untouched by telegraph, telephone,
newspaper and railroad," he asked, "have you been living?"
Minot dropped to a handy bench, and smiled up into Mr. Trimmer's thin
"New York City," he replied.
Mr. Trimmer glanced back at the lights of San Marco, hesitatingly.
Then–it was really a cruel temptation–he sat down beside Minot on the
"Do you mean to tell me," he inquired, "that you lived in New York two
years ago and didn't hear of Cotrell's Ink Eraser?"
"Such was my unhappy fate," smiled Minot.
"Then you were in Ludlow Street jail, that's all I've got to say,"
Trimmer replied. "Why, man–what I did for that eraser is famous. I
rigged up a big electric sign in Times Square and all night long I had
an electric Cotrell's erasing indiscreet sentences–the kind of things
people write when they get foolish with their fountain pens–for
instance–'I hereby deed to Tottie Footlights all my real and personal
property'–and the like. It took the town by storm. Theatrical
managers complained that people preferred to stand and look at my sign
rather than visit the shows. Can you look me in the eye and say that
you never saw that sign?"
"Well," Minot answered, "I begin to remember a little about it now."
"Of course you do." Mr. Trimmer gave him a congratulatory slap on the
knee. "And if you think hard, probably you can recall my neat little
stunt of the prima donna and the cough drops. I want to tell you about
He spoke with fervor. The story of his brave deeds rose high to
shatter the stars apart. A half-hour passed while his picturesque
reminiscences flowed on. Mr. Minot sat enraptured–his eyes on the
harbor where the _Lileth_, like a painted ship, graced a painted ocean.
"My boy," Trimmer was saying, "I have made the public stop, look and
listen. When I get my last publicity in the shape of an 'In Memoriam'
let them run that tag on my headstone. And the story of me that I
guess will be told longest after I am gone, is the one about the grape
juice that I–"
He paused. His audience was not listening; he felt it intuitively.
Mr. Minot sat with his eyes on the _Lileth_. In the bow of that
handsome boat a red light had been waved three times.
"Mr. Trimmer," Minot said, "your tales are more interesting than the
classics." He stood. "Some other time I hope to hear a continuation
of them. Just at present Lord Harrowby–or Mr. if you prefer–is
waiting to hear what arrangement I have made with you. You must pardon
"I can talk as we walk along," said Trimmer, and proved it. In the
middle of the deserted plaza they separated. At the dark stage door of
the opera-house Trimmer sought his proposition.
"Who d'yer mean?" asked the lone stage-hand there.
"George, Lord Harrowby," insisted Mr. Trimmer.
"Oh–that bum actor. Seen him going away a while back with two men
that called for him."
"Bum actor!" cried Trimmer indignantly. He stopped. "Two men–who
were they?"
The stage-hand asked profanely how he could know that, and Mr. Trimmer
hurriedly departed for the side-street boarding-house where he and his
fallen nobleman shared a suite.
About the same time Dick Minot blithely entered Lord Harrowby's
apartments in the Hotel de la Pax.
"Well," he announced, "you can cheer up. Little George is painlessly
removed. He sleeps to-night aboard the good ship _Lileth_, thanks to
the efforts of Martin Wall, assisted by yours truly." He stopped, and
stared in awe at his lordship. "What's the matter with you?" he
Harrowby waved a hopeless hand.
"Minot," he said, "it was good of you. But while you have been
assisting me so kindly in that quarter, another–and a greater–blow
has fallen."
"Good lord–what?" cried Minot.
"It is no fault of mine–" Harrowby began.
"On which I would have gambled my immortal soul," Minot said.
"I thought it was all over and done with–five years ago. I was
young–sentimental–calcium-light and grease paint and that sort of
thing hit me-hard. I saw her from the stalls–fell desperately in
love–stayed so for six months–wrote letters–burning letters–and
"Yes–and now?"
"Now she's here. Gabrielle Rose is here. She's here–with the
"Oh, for a Cotrell's Ink Eraser," Minot groaned.
"My man saw her down-stairs," went on Harrowby, mopping his damp
forehead. "Fifty thousand she wants for the letters or she gives them
to a newspaper and begins to sue–at once–to-morrow."
"I suppose," said Minot, "she is the usual Gaiety girl."
"Not the usual, old chap. Quite a remarkable woman. She'll do what
she promises–trust her. And I haven't a farthing. Minot–it's all up
now. There's no way out of this."
Minot sat thinking. The telephone rang.
"I won't talk to her," cried Harrowby in a panic. "I won't have
anything to do with her. Minot, old chap–as a favor to me–"
"The old family solicitor," smiled Minot. "That's me."
He took down the receiver. But no voice that had charmed thousands at
the Gaiety answered his. Instead there came over the wire, heated,
raging, the tones of Mr. Henry Trimmer.
"Hello–I want Allan Harrowby–ah, that's Minot talking, isn't it?
Yes. Good. I want a word with you. Do you know what I think of your
methods? Well, you won't now–telephone rules in the way. Think
you're going to get ahead of Trimmer, do you? Think you've put one
over, eh? Well–let me tell you, you're wrong. You're in for it now.
You've played into my hands. Steal Lord Harrowby, will you? Do you
know what that means? Publicity. Do you know what I'll do to-morrow?
I'll start a cyclone in this town that–"
"Good night," said Minot, and hung up.
"Who was it?" Harrowby wanted to know.
"Our friend Trimmer, on the war-path," Minot replied. "It seems he's
missed his vaudeville partner." He sat down. "See here, Harrowby," he
said–it was the first time he had dropped the prefix, "it occurs to me
that an unholy lot of things are happening to spoil this wedding. So
I'm going to ask you a question."
"Harrowby"–Minot looked straight into the weak, but noble eyes–"are
you on the level?"
"Really–I'm not very expert in your astounding language–"
"Are you straight–honest–do you want to be married yourself?"
"Why, Minot, my dear chap! I've told you a thousand times–I want
nothing more–I never shall want anything more–"
"All right," said Minot, rising. "Then go to bed and sleep the sleep
of the innocent."
"But where are you going? What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to try and do the same."
And as he went out, Minot slammed the door on a peer.
Sticking above the knob of the door of 389 he found a telegram.
Turning on his lights, he sank wearily down on the bed and tore it open.
"It rained in torrents," said the telegram, "at the dowager duchess's
garden party. You know what that means."
It was signed "John Thacker."
"Isn't that a devil of a night-cap?" muttered Minot gloomily.


text:
That's me in the corner
Note: This is just a modest little bit of art, an old personal piece that I lost in the dark corners of the interwebs and have reconstructed here so that I can share it with some friends. It stakes out no policy, makes no argument, promotes no candidate or issue and is probably not very useful at all in the end. It won't be everybody's cup of tea. But maybe someone will enjoy it. That's my hope anyway.
This is a love story and it's a bit on the sad side. There is nothing more human than sadness and sometimes it produces great art. I'm not so ambitious, I'm just hoping for the best.
Too sad for words
Sometimes I'm too sad for words
The whole damned world seems so absurd
It's the dumbest thing I ever heard
A writer who's too sad for words
~ anon
Those last few mornings were whispered gold as autumn lingered. I still see you in my mind's eye moving with sublime grace against the smoky distance. You always evoked in me an ancient nostalgia, like I'd always known you, like we'd always been together.
That last weekend, in the cabin on the mountain. You, me and a rare state of grace. You were as gentle as your breath, putting me at ease, calming my spirit and soothing my soul. You were so abundantly and effortlessly everything that was missing in me. I remember how powerfully I felt it.
But that was long ago. The world has rarely been so kind, before or since. Our time together was, for me, a scrap of grace snatched from the jaws of harsh existence....just a dream...just a dream.
My best times with you are encoded in the most exquisite slow-mo somewhere deep in my brain. You have your own dedicated frequency and always have, an entire channel of my brain devoted to you. I remember everything about you, every detail: how I raised goosebumps on your skin, how you grabbed me and moaned, how you smelled like heaven and tasted of the earth. However deeply it is possible for one person to move another, that's how much you moved me.
I hated leaving you.
But I lived.
Though I never got over you.
It's all so long ago now. I remember...with a hunger for the recollection. I feel compelled to revisit and re-embrace the high points of my existence, to savor them once again as near as I am able. Some other points in the archaeological record prove irresistible as well, for good or ill. I suppose everyone goes through some version of this, rehashing ones existence, dabbling in nostalgia, combing through the memory banks, re-examining evidence, re-evaluating choices as life winds down and the end draws ever nearer. It seems we enter life searching for meaning and leave it in a like fashion. What's been gained or lost in the interim is a mystery.
I count myself lucky to have a vivid imagination and fortunate to remember so much so well, and to have so many wonderful memories like the wonderful memories I have of you.
Remember how we danced? We were so young, so excited to be alive and so fiercely determined to be free. We brimmed with barely contained energy as we explored earthly mysteries and danced timeless dances to ancient rhythms, reveling in the power of youthful abandon, our bodies writhing, our hearts pounding, our spirits soaring.
But the slow dances were what I lived for. I'll never forget how you felt in my arms, how perfectly we fit together, how you smelled, how you moved, how you made me feel.
All so very long ago.
As I remember, your eyes were bluer than robin's eggs.
I hope this little story of mine finds you. It says nothing perfectly and expresses only poorly all that I feel. I hope you're as happy as it's possible to be. And that you will always remember me as kindly as you are able.
You don't have to beg or even ask indulgence, you are a member
and contributor here and belong here. You are family and you post great stuff. Thank you for all of that, and for this latest post.
That, in its essence, is fascism--ownership of government by an individual, by a group, or by any other controlling private power. -- Franklin D. Roosevelt --
Amen to that, EL!
OPOL has a certain perspective that is so full of kindness and humanity. His posts are like a refuge from the storm for me.
This one is particularly touching because I think that most of us can identify in some way with it. The pure beauty of the words brought tears to my own eyes and my heart was deeply touched. Thanks, OPOL.
"I don't want to run the empire, I want to bring it down!" ~Dr. Cornel West
"There is no instance of a nation benefitting from prolonged warfare." Sun Tzu
"Propaganda is one hell of a drug." Abby Martin
"politicians are cowards." Mike Gravel
great stuff, opol...
it's a real treasure to have sweet memories that burn brightly and a beautiful gift to all of us that you share them with.
To love found and lost
Sweet and bitter and all too human. Glad you've found your voice again, mi hermano.
Please help support caucus99percent!
So Glad to See You Back, Dallasdoc
As I mentioned in his earlier diary, it was a delight to read both you and OPOL back in the day. I'm quite sure that I speak for a lot of people active (and lurking) on c99% when I say that the two of you were my very favorite writers on DK. Always insightful, original, provocative, and graceful in expressing your opinions.
If time permits, please post here more frequently. Many thanks.
A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma
Thank you so much, my friend
Not sure why I checked in here the other day, but it's delightful to see so many old friends still here. Lately I've been sitting back and watching the train wreck, utterly unsurprised that the Democratic Party remains determinedly incapable of productive change. It's made me more cynical than ever, which is not a place from which I've wanted to do much writing.
Don't know if I'll stay active, but it's wonderful to see so many great folks still here.
Please help support caucus99percent!
Change is, and Can Be, Maddeningly Frustrating
Thanks for your response.
Can the Democratic Party change and redefine itself? Probably, for it has certainly done so several times in the past century or so. I would point out the following:
- After Grover Cleveland, Woodrow Wilson in 1912 was only the second Democratic President in the 5+ decades after Abraham Lincoln was elected in 1860. Even when FDR was first elected in 1932, people wondered if this unholy alliance between Northern liberals and Southern racists would ever end. By 1936, African-Americans had changed allegiances to the Democratic Party.
- When Harry Truman ran in 1948, Strom Thurmond and his Dixiecrats - with some progressives opting for Henry Wallace - left the party. By the time of Lyndon Johnson and the war in Vietnam, I'm sure the concern was about war-happy Cold War liberals. This would not be addressed until the end of the Cold War, although the adventures in Afghanistan and Iraq have not alleviated such concerns.
- Fast forward to Barack Obama in 2008. Thanks to Richard Nixon's "Southern Strategy" many in the South have long left the party in droves. By now, the party was multi-ethnic and poised for a resurgence on social, if not, on economic issues. After Hillary Clinton's defeat and the election of Donald Trump, the party is again wrestling with its identity with many dead-enders resisting progress. All indications are that much of the rank and file members (particularly Millenials), but certainly not the leadership, are anxious to embrace change. The Democratic Party could be ripe for another transformation.
I know some don't have much faith in elections and the electoral process. Others opt for external movements to pressure elected leaders, but such efforts are only successful if sympathetic politicians hold power. That said, and if it happens, the election of Bernie Sanders in 2020 can, and I believe, will contribute to substantial change. This is neither a Pollyanish nor naive belief of mine. It is, I believe, realistic and our only hope. Otherwise, we're stuck with this Orange Buffoon until 2024.
Getting to November 2020 is the difficult part.
A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma
A brief digression that I hope doesn't derail this thread -
I know some don't have much faith in elections and the electoral process. Others opt for external movements to pressure elected leaders, but such efforts are only successful if sympathetic politicians hold power.
The political classes will not act and couldn't get past the opposition of the other elites without feet in the streets, not here. Our history shows very much the opposite. Be that as it may, feet in the streets, alone, opposed by all of the elites, has never succeeded here unless some of the elites are cowed or convinced into going along, whether they fully buy in or not. Far too many corpses and split heads serve as testimony to that.
That, in its essence, is fascism--ownership of government by an individual, by a group, or by any other controlling private power. -- Franklin D. Roosevelt --
Excellent Point, Thanks el. n/t
A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma
Indeed. Among the top
four or five writers
over at ToP to anyone paying attention.
Mark from Queens another.
Please don't be a stranger, doc! Nor you, either, OPOL!
the little things you can do are more valuable than the giant things you can't! - @thanatokephaloides. On Twitter @wink1radio. (-2.1) All about building progressive media.
Great to see you here, Dallasdoc
I know you had taken a hiatus from the fray, but it is always good to see you and hear your voice. I hope you will not remain a stranger, if only to drop in occasionally.
"I don't want to run the empire, I want to bring it down!" ~Dr. Cornel West
"There is no instance of a nation benefitting from prolonged warfare." Sun Tzu
"Propaganda is one hell of a drug." Abby Martin
"politicians are cowards." Mike Gravel
Thanks for the love OPOL
It seems we enter life searching for meaning and leave it in a like fashion. What's been gained or lost in the interim is a mystery.
... a mystery that may not be solved but intimately felt in the swaying and savouring of slow dances ...
All the best to you
It pleases me to offer you something to enjoy
in return for all that you inspire. Your words are such a beautiful reflection of the soul that animates you. May you continue forever to find peace in that deeply-felt place, knowing what beauty it sparks.
nihil umquam in oblivione est
"Nothing is ever forgotten."
It applies here, frater carissime.
"I say enough! If Israel wants to be the only superpower in the Middle East then they can put their own asses on the line and do it themselves. I want to continue to eat."
-- snoopydawg
tenderness in a rough era
is a balm for the sensitive soul.
Many thanks.
Listen to your higher mind.
We have our memories.
You are a gifted writer. Thank you for taking me away to another place.
"The herd management intent is simply to get you into one of the corrals. Nobody is right, if everybody is wrong.
I am a free range DFH."
Thanks OPOL
It is so nice to have you back!
Thanks for a breath.
Sometimes it's important just to write what we want, not just what we think the world needs.
Thanks for the images, and music. Sometimes it's just nice to tell the world and it's fear and anger to fuck off, we're enjoying life.
I do not pretend I know what I do not know.
I hope this love story is from your memories.
Over time you have shared glimpses of your life with us. No one can ever say you sat idly by and let life pass you by.
"Religion is what keeps the poor from murdering the rich."--Napoleon
*donate to c99 *like us on Facebook *follow us on Twitter
Thanks for your posts, OPAL. You had some old timers checking in; I have seen some names that I had not seen in a long while.
It's simply too painful to acknowledge, even to ourselves that we've been taken. Once you give a charlatan power over you, you almost never get it back. Carl Sagan
Beautiful. Thank you.
It resonates deeply.
It's all so long ago now.
Our cabin was on a bay.
I hated leaving you.
But I lived.
Though I never got over you.
He died last August.
Peace to you, OPOL. Peace to us all.
"We may not be able to change the system, but we can make the system irrelevant in our lives and in the lives of those around us."—John Beckett
Oh manno, this is a dangerous place here,
it makes me fall in love with several men at the same time. And YOU, OPOL, made that happen.
So, now tell me, how can I stand by and stick by my mn? That's what I was raised to do ...
You are courageous to share all of it with us and so darn haunting the way you did it. Peace.
Be well. I believe we all love you and you should not forget that.
I need a textual smiley video of a beating heart...
Love is all we have to give.
mille grazie from my family to yours. /nt
Love is all we have to give.
Breathless writing, brother; compliments
the mountain's bird-songs and cool wind this morning. Thank you.
loss is an intrinsic part of life creating memories to treasure
Life is eternal, and love is immortal,
and death is only a horizon;
and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.
– Rossiter Worthington Raymond
"Perhaps they are not the stars, but rather openings in Heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy." – Unknown
Shine on friend!
"Until justice rolls down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream."
It's funny
that after time passes it feels good to remember something that hurt. I remember Harry Chapins "Taxi" being on the radio forever, but just not connecting with it....20 years later it was like hearing it for the first time, and being moved by it. Thanks for the moment.
He spent a week in
my old hometown
one afternoon.
"I spent a week there one afternoon.
About the town of Watertown, New York featured in his song, "A Better Place to Be"
And performed at the local community college.
the little things you can do are more valuable than the giant things you can't! - @thanatokephaloides. On Twitter @wink1radio. (-2.1) All about building progressive media.
sumbitch could write! n/t
the little things you can do are more valuable than the giant things you can't! - @thanatokephaloides. On Twitter @wink1radio. (-2.1) All about building progressive media.
Beautiful, OPOL, thanks. Definitely makes the day go
That, in its essence, is fascism--ownership of government by an individual, by a group, or by any other controlling private power. -- Franklin D. Roosevelt --
Lovely! Thank you.
Nothing else to say.
"Make dirt, not war." eyo
Good to hear from you again, OPOL
And look at all the old names you brought out to greet you.
Heartfelt greetings to all.


text:
The Nebraska beekeeper
Stilson and Sons, Editor
The Nebraska beekeeper
Vol 6, No. 1
York, Nebraska: Stilson and Sons, January, 1895
16 pages
URL to cite for this work: http://digital.library.wisc.edu/1711.dl/EcoNatRes.NEbeev6n1
[Cover] The Nebraska bee-keeper
The Nebraska bee-keeper vol. 6 no. 1, pp. [1]-12
[Advertisements], pp. 13-14
Based on date of publication, this material is presumed to be in the public domain.| For information on re-use see: http://digital.library.wisc.edu/1711.dl/Copyright


text:
SPRING FESTIVAL Saturday May 11, 10 AM to 4 PM: Come celebrate Spring! Join us as we enjoy warmer weather and the arrival of the 2019 growing season! We are partnering with Central Mass Grown to bring you a Spring Festival and early season farmers market to connect you to your local growers.
Admission for this event is FREE! Come on out for a fun-filled day!
Please check our Picking Conditions page for daily picking information before visiting. Information on how to handle your peaches and lots of great fruit and recipes. Our barnyard, playground, and farm kitchen are family friendly activities all will enjoy. After apple picking, come visit the barnyard to see the goats climb their mountain of stone and then enjoy farm fresh homemade baked goods, ice cream, and apple cider donuts at the Tougas Farm Kitchen. Fun for the whole day, a perfect Massachusetts vacation & New England experience. Strawberries are ready in June, but do you know when our Honeycrisp™ apples are ripe for picking? Check out our fruit seasons page and join our mailing list to see when our fruit crops are ready for you to come out to the farm to pick.
Please observe all rules for the benefit of all of our customers and our farm Always check in at the PYO shed first to get picking locations and information. Please pick only in designated areas, which are carefully selected based on the ripening schedule of our fruit. We provide picking containers for a small fee or you may bring your own, just have it weighed at our check-in before entering the field. Wear appropriate clothing for the weather, don't forget hats, sunscreen, and a bottle of water! We recommend wearing close-toed shoes good for walking on uneven ground, as bees, hornets and yellow jackets may be present on fallen fruit. If you drop any fruit on the ground, we ask that you please make every effort to pick it up and purchase it so that no fruit is wasted. Many labor-intensive hours go into the care of our crops. Children must be accompanied by an adult, and must stay within arms reach at all times. Please dispose of trash in proper receptacles Please be considerate of all of our customers and observe our non-smoking policy. Pets are not allowed on the farm due to health regulations See our Recipe Book for more handling, processing, and peach and apple recipes!


text:
Project Hedra 0.22
- Added new tree models
- Disabled map.
- Added a new structure system.
- Fixed blacksmith colliders.
- Improved mana & health regen calculations.
- Fixed message system.
- Fixed an important memory leak.
- Fixed mobs spawning in the sky.
- Fixed spider RNG
- Fixed realoding worlds.
- Improved selection hitboxes.
- Fixed floating houses in villages.
- Fixed shadows in villages.
- Fixed collision with terrain.
- The game now plays without fullscreen and is resizable.
- Improved terrain generation algorithm.
- Readded fall damage.
- Fixed bug with character files.
- Fixed water swimming.
- Fixed enemies sometimes getting stuck.
- Now when alt-tabbing the game pauses.
- Fixed a bug when exiting while riding
- Fixed enemy mob AI.
- Fixed villages underwater.
- Fixed blacksmith name.
Please feel free to contact me with any problems or feedback you have with the game :) something.
Project Hedra 0.22.zip 31 MB
Jan 29, 2018
Get Project Hedra
Leave a comment
Log in with itch.io to leave a comment.


text:
Werner Jeanrond in "From Resistance to Liberation Theology: German Theologians and the Non/Resistance to the Nationalist Socialist Regime" [The Journal of Modern History, Vol. 64, 1992] claims that the largely spiritual Barthian understanding of the Christian faith offered no coherent structural resources needed to resist the emerging policies of the Nazis. Concurrently the highly institutional and legalistic understanding of the Christian faith in the practice of Pacelli's Roman Catholicism was unable to inspire a political theology that could meet the Nazis in the German public forum. As a result, the Christian struggle against Nazism and its attempt to co-opt faith into nationalism and race was left in the hands of a few individuals, such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Alfred Delp.
The following is a sermon written by Alfred Delp in 1935 for the weekly homiletic publication Chrysologus. In fact, the editor of the journal entrusted Delp in 1936 with the charge of organizing critical sermons on the emerging Aryan theology within German society.
[This sermon can be found in Alfred Delp: Advent of the Heart, Ignatius Press, 2006]
For the believer, the season of Advent is always a time of reflection and interior turning toward God, who is the homeland of our hearts. At the beginning of Advent, we want to provide our people with a clear view of the actual religious and Church situation.
The believing Christian celebrates an Advent with multiple meanings. Each of these meanings ultimately leads to generally applicable religious principles and problems. Therefore Advent is precisely the liturgical season in which the interior religious tension of our time is most conspicuously revealed.
The season of Advent is, first of all, the time of man's original religious instinct. Never will we experience our primeval homesick yearning for God more actively and alertly than in this season of Rogation Masses and Advent wreaths. Advent is the time of the God-seeker. The original longing within every human heart is a great impulse toward the hidden and distant God, a longing to wander in that far-off, forgotten homeland of the soul. That longing is what the Church expresses, both in her inner attitude and in the liturgy of the season.
Beyond this general human meaning, Advent has great historical meaning to the believer, the grateful remembrance of the millennia of God's gracious care that has led man to the fulfillment of this longing for Him. Thus the season of Advent clearly reveals the basic meaning of all human events and historical development: man's way to God, guidance by God, fulfillment in Christ.
The believing Christian celebrates Advent in the context of the liturgy. By taking part in the inner life of the Church, he expresses within himself, within his life, the original religious and historical meaning of Advent. He lets himself be caught up in that 'fullness of time', which is both actually present and always returning, with the Church of Christ.
The threefold meaning of Advent basically expresses the entire intrinsic meaning of Christianity: the relation and vocation of all people to God, as well as guidance and providential direction through God; the redeeming fulfillment in Christ; and the continuation and application of the redemption through the Church of Christ.
Our present time is, in its fundamental principle, aloof from every human Advent attitude.
The original religious meaning of Advent is rejected. People believe they no longer need a divine homeland to which to immigrate. God is within them; they are ultimately God themselves; and there is no God above them.
"The objective power to which we bow, the religious leader to whom we offer obedience, is the religious primeval will of the German people…. We have no other creed than the duty to this religious primeval will… To this primeval will, we are unconditionally committed. (Hauer, Was will die deutsche Glaubensbewegung? p. 19)
"This religious primeval will, which is absolutely valid and binding, is nothing other than the singularity of the German people, according to their race and blood. (Hauer, Deutsche Gottschau, p. 45)
For German faith, human events are the same as acts of God. Uniting as a people is the same as the embodiment of the will of God. (Hauer, Deutsche Gottschau, p. 65)
These citations do not intend to say that a God from beyond created this world. Here, God is the final content of all being, and there is no ultimate difference between God and the 'created world'. God is the 'eternal self' that lives within all things. Moreover, these things neither exist above and beyond this self, nor is the self above and beyond all things. "The Aryan view of the world does not differentiate between this world and the next" (Reventlow, Wo ist Gott? p. 310). Both man and the German people who subscribes to this faith, no Advent bells are ringing, and no homeland-garden of God is calling him to set out on a journey.
The historical meaning of the Christian Advent is rejected. That ancient history of mankind has nothing to do with the German people. That idea of waiting for Christ does not touch us. The coming of Christ, the 'fullness of time', is perhaps, in itself, a religious event for other people—but not for us, under any circumstances. The ancient history of religion, faith in revelation, salvation of the world: all these are conclusions drawn from a world essentially foreign to us; products of Syrian-Semitic faith and the oriental races (Gottschau, pp. 4ff.). Only the Middle-Easterner is a "person of the redemption"—a German does not have such needs.
The liturgical meaning of the Christian Advent is rejected. It makes no sense to desire to come closer to God through participation in the inner life of the Church. The entire life of the Church is Etruscan-Syrian fiction. Even there where the Church is granted a religious value in itself and for other people and races, this value for the German people is denied.
"There is for us no higher revelation of eternal reality than within the German sphere and from the German soul. The religious primeval will of the German people is to us the will of eternal reality that comes to us in the form of the faith, in the measure appropriate to our being. Our highest destiny is to live within and embody this form, which for the sake of the will of the people, we have to fulfill them" (Hauer, Was will die deustche Glaubenbewegung? p. 22).
The German faith knows no articulated Creed, no dogma, no form, it cannot be "enclosed within any church" (ibid., p. 18)
"The Idea of the Church has nothing to do with the German people, nor the Aryan people, insofar as they have kept themselves pure. It stands in opposition to their traditions, as well as their identity" (Reventlow, Wo ist Gott? p. 43).
Even where they accept a real connection between the historical Christ and His Church, where the Church is seen not merely as the result of a priestly will for power, the Church institutions and establishments are viewed as inappropriate for the German people: Christ is no more capable than we are of overstepping the bounds of sphere and race. It makes no sense for the German to let himself be seized by some inner life of the Church of Christ, to let himself be led by the Church to the source of all eternal life. The Advent bells from our church towers are seductive voices. The 'Rorate Celi' hymn is a confession of individual helplessness, something that never comes into question for the 'Ayran'.
The Advent church bells ringing in the midst of this situation are, more than ever, an invitation as well as a call to consciousness and inner recollection. Above and beyond that, they are a call for individual decision. Each one of us is confronted with the new religious idea in one form or another. It is not enough to be faithful within the privacy of your own heart or home. This is the moment for public, serious, and faithful profession of our faith.
This series of sermons we are beginning is intended to educate, strengthen, and prepare people for this decision. One by one, the basic truths of Christianity and a Christian life will be discussed. One by one, the terminology of the new attempt at religion will be examined. The meaning of the whole, however, is what we want to make a genuine religious decision, and we want to maintain our religious loyalty courageously.


text:
The Better Business Bureau has proven itself across the
nation and over time as the best way to check on a business
reputation and that businesses treatment and respect for
When a business is a member of the Better Business Bureau
(BBB) they are imposing on themselves an accountability system
and path of problem resolution for every customer.
If there is ever a problem a customer can contact the BBB
and seek their help in obtaining a resolution. If one is not
reached, the BBB will lower that businesses' rating.
At Movers4Less we have chosen to be subject to the BBB as a
promise and assurance to our customers that we are honest, have
an independent body that verifies our reputation, and gives all
prospective customers knowledge that they have leverage in
addressing any problem that may arise.
There is no better safeguard for a customer than knowing
they have recourse and at the same time are working with a
business that cares about their satisfaction.
© 2016 Call Us Today


text:
Listed hereunder are Top Construction Companies in your city that employ good number
(few in some cases) of people in EPC/ Construction realated Jobs (if you are a Job
seeker, applying to these companies directy would help you find a Job change easily,
that too with a good company) :
Back to List of Companies category page.
Go to Jobs category page and find Jobs, Top companies
and details on salaries prevailing in your Function/ Industry at various levels,
best salary paying companies and comparison of various specializations in your function
Listed hereunder are the major Construction Companies (including Oil and Gas/ EPC
Companies) in Ahmedabad/ Vadodara/ Surat. Companies on top in this list have bigger
operations in the city as they employ larger number of people in Construction/ Sales/
support functions. If you are looking for a Construction industry Job, you can apply
to these companies directly and can find a Job change easily.
Larsen & Toubro Ltd
John Energy Ltd
Adani Enterprises Ltd
Doshion Veolia Water Solution Pvt Ltd
Corrtech International Pvt Ltd
Phenix Construction Technologies
Cairn Energy Ltd
Arvind Ltd
Harsha Engineering Ltd
AIA Engineering Ltd
Deep Industries Ltd
Shapoorji Pallonji & Co Ltd
Electrotherm India Ltd
Patel Infrastructure Pvt Ltd
Gujarat Gas Co Ltd
Venus Infrastructure & Developers Pvt
Multi Mantech International Pvt Ltd
Sadbhav Engineering Ltd
JMC Projects India Ltd
M&B Engineering Ltd
Adani PMC Projects
Megha Engineering Infrastructures Ltd
GKC Projects
Indian Oil Corporation Ltd
Berger Paints India Ltd
Apex Automation Pvt Ltd
Hilti India Pvt Ltd
Pidilite Industries Ltd
Ingersoll Rand India Ltd
Backbone Enterprises Ltd
Shah Alloys Ltd
Saumya Construction Pvt Ltd
Vadodara (Baroda)
Larsen & Toubro Ltd
Linde Engineering India Ltd
Inox India Ltd
Thermax Ltd
GAIL India ltd
Vimal Fire Controls Pvt Ltd
L&T Construction
Simplex Infrastructures Ltd
FAG Bearings Industries Ltd
Lafarge aggregate & Concrete India Pvt
Nilamber group
Wind World India Pvt Ltd
Apar Industries Ltd
Anupam MHI Industries Ltd
Gujarat Infrapipes Pvt Ltd
Conart Engineers Ltd
Devashish Infrastructure Pvt Ltd
Essar Steel Ltd
Reliance Industries Ltd
Essar Projects India Ltd
Bilfinger Neo Structo Pvt Ltd
Cairn India Ltd
Soma Enterprise Ltd
SGS India Pvt Ltd
Valecha Engineering Ltd
Rajhans Infracom Pvt Ltd
Gammon India Ltd
ACC Ltd
Sopan O&M Co Pvt Ltd
Bygging India Ltd
Read :- Disclaimer


text:
By K M Santhosh Kumar
The incidents of poaching of tiger and a seizure of tiger pelt in a house in Kerala has come to light after two years of poaching.
The police have arrested two persons from Hakkipikki colony and have seized tiger claws two days ago.
The development has thrown light on the illegal trade in wildlife articles, including tiger skins, procured by poachers from Bhadra forest. This makes wildlife conservationists to raise doubt over conservation of tigers in the Bhadra reserve forest.
Shahaji from N R Pura was arrested for poaching leopard at Hebbe zone in 2010. However, he was released on bail. Soon after his release, Shahaji had hunted down a tiger and had sold pelt to one Iqbal from Kerala, who is said to have access to international market.
Increased poaching of tigers in forests could be because of the thriving black market for Indian tiger and leopard skins in the international market. Seizure of tiger skin from the house of Iqbal in Kerala has matched the photographs taken by Bhadra Reserve Forest officials, said SP N Shashikumar.
"Four tiger claws seized from the house of poachers in Hakkipikki colony in Mallenahalli have been sent to forensic laboratory. In fact, we had information on the tiger pelts. However, the accused had fled the spot.," he said. More....


text:
TRUsox help you get a grip on your game!
TRUsox are taking over MLB!
Why? It's, simply put, because of the dramatic increase in performance that the product gives. They feature non-slip INEXtech pads, that appear on both the inside and outside of the product. This makes sure that your foot is secured in the TRUsox, and the TRUsox are stable in your cleat; this means there is no movement whatsoever, and your cleat feels part of your body. It gives players that "snug" feeling they are looking for!
Strike and Run
Revolutionary, new performance enhancing sporting product that maximizes the grip you get from your footwear. With the non-slip INEXtech pads on both the inside, and outside, of the foot grips, TRUsox give you that extra grip that all players seek.
Maximize Power Transfer
TRUsox help you in all aspects of baseball. For batters, you need that extra grip when running from base-to-base. TruSox can be the difference between making it to third base, or sticking at second. For fieldsmen, it can be the difference between making up vital ground to make a catch, or the ball dropping just short. TRUsox give you that little bit extra, to give you the edge over your opponents!
Stabilization of Plant Foot
In baseball, having stability within your footwear is essential. Whether you're a pitcher, batter or fieldsman, you have to feel stable. A pitcher's front foot must be secure and not slide around; this is where TRUsox come into their own. With the INEXtech pads, your feet stay planted and allow you to get a better pitch off.
The enhancement in performance that TRUsox give has meant that the highest-paid players in Major League Baseball have turned to them as the solution to their grip issues. The amount of players wearing the product is now truly astounding, and there will be a strong chance you will see a player on the field in the famous rectangles.
Here are just a few of the players to be sporting TRUsox every game:
• Miguel Cabrera (Detroit Tigers)
• Bryce Harper (Washington Nationals)
• Dee Gordon (Miami Marlins)


text:
- Descripton
• 110mm length closed, 70mm length blade
• Cutting diameter 10mm
• Ideal for pruning roses, small shrubs and all green live wood. Can also be used to clean up larger cuts and to trim away frayed bark.
Warm tips:
• To keep these blades in good condition wipe with an oiled cloth after each use and sharpen when necessary
Stainless Steel Wooden Handle Foldable Pruning Knife


text:
Greece removes 2,300 archaeological sites & museums from Privatization Fund
Protests have born fruits. The Greek government has removed hundreds of archaeological sites, museums, historical monuments and castles from a list of state properties transferred to the Privatization Fund as dictated by the last bailout terms and conditions. In a statement, the Ministry of Culture said late of Tuesday that … Read More »


text:
Item #210935 For men
Department: Cologne
Design House: Bvlgari
Year Introduced:2011
Fragrance Notes:Posidonia Oceanica Seaweed, Grapefruit, White Cedar, Rosemary, And Grapefruit.
Start each day fresh and rejuvenated when you wear this light, casual scent from the design house of Bvlgari. Bvlgari Aqua Marine Toniq is an aquatic citrus scent for men that was inspired by the natural allure of the mighty ocean and men who love the water. This intriguing fragrance features masculine notes of Posidonia Oceanica seaweed, grapefruit, white cedar, rosemary, and grapefruit in a scent that is never heavy. This fragrance was launched in 2011.


text:
Pharmacare in Canada: Financial Implications of Alternative Models for Public and Private Payers estimates the change in drug reimbursement of three alternative pharmacare scenarios, assuming a national pharmacare plan is introduced in 2020: 1) Public Plan as First Payer, 2) The Quebec Program, and 3) The British Columbia Program.
The burden of drug costs could shift considerably, regardless of the model. In scenario 1, the burden is shifted almost entirely to public plans, with the costs being borne by the federal government or by the individual provincial/territorial governments. In scenarios 2 and 3, there is also a shift to the public plans, but to a lesser extent than in scenario 1. Findings of this research are meant to help inform discussions on the implementation of national pharmacare.
This report is tagged with the following interests that are not in your profile:
Click here to
add these interests to your profile and you will receive a notification when a report
with the same interests is released.
Contact Us |
About Us |
Careers |
Sitemap |
Terms of Use |
Privacy Policy |
Insights. Understanding. Impact.
We are dedicated to building a better future for Canadians by making our economy and society more dynamic and competitive.
© Copyright
*Incorporated as AERIC Inc., Agreement No. 40063028


text:
Skillet Chicken Marsala & Orzo
One skillet dinners are so popular and with good reason! Easy, quick perfect for weeknights and elevated enough to serve family-syle over the weekend! I developed this recipe with all of my favorite flavors in one place. It's not Chicken Marsala in the traditional sense, but this Skillet Chicken Marsala & Orzo incorporates all of the traditional flavors that you know and love! Serving it over orzo is a perfect way to soak up all of the delicious juices. Continue reading →


text:
The Best Arrange For You.
There are various kinds of diets, from fad diets like liquid diets to much healthier balanced diets and lots of among.
The most crucial factor when choosing an eating plan is you make certain it matches your needs, it fits your everyday lifestyle which provides as near as you possibly can the kind of foods and snacks you are able to accept throughout the diet plan.
I have heard the expression 'anybody that follows an eating plan and exercises loses weight', that is most likely true, however, the bottom line is precisely on following one which you and also solve these questions . remain on, based on your health, eating routine and convenience.
As pointed out before there's an array of diets available, whatever you decide and not know is there are too excellent tools on the web that can make it simpler that you should narrow lower your alternatives.
These mostly online tools provides you with the capacity to fix your individual preferences, your objectives, diet and many other particular diet features you might be searching for.
A few of these tools can be found through the makers of some diets themselves, however your choices may ultimately be limited to their personal choices, I suggest to make use of one that will provide results across many diets from a variety of companies, therefore the answers are not associated with predetermined choices.
Fast Diets.
The most popular option for dieters would be to follow fast or fad diets and a key point to think about when following these kinds of diets would be to have obvious in your thoughts these are just temporary tools.
Fast diets can be quite advantageous by supplying dieters with motivation by experiencing rapid results, however, statistics reveal that many people gain all of the weight back and much more after carrying out a fast diet.
To get the obtain the most of the fast diet consider following one only like a step perfectly into a more sustained and balanced eating regime.
Healthy Diets And The Kitchen Connoisseur.
You have to understand that sooner or later you'll be off confirmed diet and when from there forward you are making exactly the same choices that got you overweight to begin with all of the weight lost is.
A key point on picking out a healthy and much more balance diet would be to think in it as learning tools, many diets today provide the capacity of switching meals from week to week or perhaps daily, in this manner you can test different foods to determine what ones you actually like and may make a part of your everyday eating when you are from the diet, most offer advise regarding how you can progressively go back to a diet regime that will not cause weight reduction however that will help you to keep your bodyweight.
Online Diets.
In dieting the web is a blessing, today a lot of companies supply the capacity to participate or purchase affordable diets online which include additional important abilities like the opportunity to help make your own meal menus from multiple diet, the opportunity to socially seek support and advise using their company dieters by using forums, chats along with other tools, a lot of details about dieting and exercise advise completely to professional one-on-one support.
One issue that generally will get overlooked by dieters by most commercial diet companies for instance may be the issue of overeating.
Overeating implies that we eat for emotional reasons, we eat if we are happy, we eat if we are sad, stressed, etc.
These emotional factors can derail your time and efforts causing you to cheat or completely abandon an eating plan or eating healthily.
Search for information and recommend this subject, make certain to know the reasons and feelings which make you consume and you learn practical ways to cope with these questions much healthier way.