The Abuss
By VICTOR REDCLIFFE *
amwv*5
tCopyrlght. 1»16. by W. O. Chapman.)
Judge John Hampden, portly, pleas
tnt-faced, great-hearted, pointed his
huger at a select corner of the cigar
case.
“Fish out those three for fifty," he
ordered In his genial expansive way.
“Do up a couple of dozen.”
“Birthday anniversary, Judge?” In
sinuated a legal acquaintance.
“Nothing of the sort—just going to
meet an old friend."
"Must be a favored one.”
“He Is. I never married and he
did. Sorry for him, hut he's true blue.
That’s why I love him. Nothing too
good for him. Twenty years square
t.s a sentry to a faded, dictatorial
scold. I fancy my twenty on the
bench has been less Irksome. Ah, me!
so it goes, but I respect him for his
lhlellty.”
Judge Hampden was speaking of
un old and dear friend. Indeed—Martin
Overton. They had been schoolhoys
together. Both had fallen In love with
the same girl. Neither had got her.
The Judge had never married. Over
ton hud wedded a spoiled beauty.
'Within a year he had learned his mis
take. Hers was a cross, crabbed na
ture. She became a tyro. For five
years regularly Overton had come to
the Judge to relate his troubles. Dur
ing fifteen years, however, they had
drifted apnrt. Now a telegram had
come from a distant city where Over
n n‘ i n i i i j i-1
Sat Bolt Upright.
ton lived. It ran: “Must see you
on urgent business. Will be with you
ut 8 p. m.”
And at 8 p. m., promptly in^ his
bnndsome bachelor apartments the
Judge sat at a groaning table await
ing his guest. Everything he could
think of from fnvorlte cigars to odd
dishes he recalled Overton used to like
was on the table. There was a ring
at the door. The Judge fulrly hugged
the thin, haggard man who was shown
Into the room. Then he regarded him
more closely and his face fell a trifle.
If he had spoken out his real mind he
would have said, “Overton, you make
me feel old,” for his guest seemed
to have advanced years sluce last he
had seen him.
Fie was reserved and his lips
twitched when the Judge asked him
about his family. The Judge did not
pursue the subject, but with a sup
pressed sigh decided that Mrs. Over
ton had not Improved In her ways
with the years. Overton threw off hts
shell of weariness ns the meal pro
gressed, however. No one could be long
with Jovlnl Judge Hampden without
feeling the Influence of his bright hu
mor.
“Yon spoke about business, Over
ton,” observed the Judge finally.
“Yes,” nodded his guest. “I want
you to loan me $10,000.”
•'Certainly," bowed the Judge. He
was somewhat surprised at the large
ness of the amount, hut he lnstautly
drew out his check book and fountain
pen. “There you are, Overton," he
added lightly, “Now to have an old
time friendly talk with you.”
A spasm Indefinable crossed Over
ton’s face. The devotion, the confidence
expressed In the act of the Judge
seemed to touch him deeply. Not a
leference did his considerate friend j
make to the use Intended for the
money, to security, repayment. Abso
lute trust was Indicated.
“I want to arrange for your room.
Overton,” spoke Hampden, ns, after
an hour’s chat, he arose from the
table.
He led Overton Into his little library
and saw him ensconced In Its easiest
chair. “I shan't be gone long. Mean
time, entertain yourself. There’s the
magazines and—see here, did I ever
show you my record book? All Ihe
cases on which I have passed. I hero
|^l aotue famous ones there. Sort at
a lad of mine to keep full particulars."
Hie Judge placed a heavy thick
hook on a little stand before his guest.
1 he latter turned over its pages in
differently at first. Then his interest
awakened. As the Judge had said, the
book contained the photographs, the
criminal record and the life history
of those who from time to time had
come before him on trial.
Overton turned over the pages cas
ual 1jt. Some of the cases were noted
ones and he recalled their newspaper
publicity in the past. “Suppressed”
lead a sheet lightly laid over a heavier
one. As he removed the first he sat
| bolt upright ns though driven thus
by some sudden electric shock.
His face ashen, his eyes haunted
j "Hh a devastating fear and horror,
| he read of the private arrest of Cora
| Hu rand, twenty-five, adventuress, ar
j rested for robbing an admirer, a man
; of wealth, of a large sum of money
I l,y drugging him. She had been in
on English prison and had come to
I the United States as a new field for
further victims. Her methods were
H'Ven in detail, her description per
fectly outlined, even to a tiny scHr
on the lobe of one ear.
Overton arose to his feet rigid, his
‘ yes fixed on the volume lying open
with the photograph of a regally beau
tiful woman looking up at him. Then
he drew from his pocket—Its counter
part more recent of taking though
it was, there could be no doubt that
the portraits were of one and the
same woman.
The one he had taken from his
pocket fell from his nerveless hand.
He allowed it to lie unheeded at his
feet. A white horror was in his fa< e
and he acted as though impelled by
some automatic force. He drew the
check the Judge had given him from
his pocket, placed it on the table,
proceeded noiselessly to thp hallway
entrance to the apartments, selected
his overcoat and left the phice.
Judge Hampden was lost in amaze
ment when he returned. His friend
was gone. He questioned the servant,
but the latter had not witnessed (he
departure of Overton. Then the Judge
noticed that the hat of his guest was
gone from the hall tree.
It was when the Judge discovered
the photograph which Overton had un
consciously left behind him and no
ticed the record book open at Its
counterpart, thsyt his keen judicial skill
was called Into action. The aban
doned check, the sudden departure of
Overton showed that some vast, star
tling Impulse had sw’ayed him to sud
den action not anticipated.
The Judge formed a ready theory
and it was the correct one. Overton,
‘he man of probity, had in some
mysterious way come under the siren
like influence of Cora Durand. Per—
hnps wearied of a nagging, loveless
wife he had desperately determined to
get what money he could and fly with
the clever adventuress. The accidental
disco^ry of the real character of the
woman had come like a shock, causing
him to recoil In horror from the step
ho so nearly had taken.
me Judge was too thorough n logl- j
clan to Intermeddle where sure des- 1
liny was working out a problem for
his tempted, misguided friend. No
explanation came to him from Over
ton, none was sought. Sorrowfully
the Judge reflected over the weak
ness, almost crime, of the man he so
esteemed. With relief and hope he
Incidentally learned that Overton was
pursuing the even tenor of his way,
and one day he saw the notice of
the death of Mrs. Overton In the news
paper.
He met. Overton after that. Just
once the latter referred to the past.
“Friend of the years," he said,
clasping the hand of the Judge and
looking him straight In the eyes, “un
der your roof there came to me the
redemption of my life. I am content
when I recnll that I made the last
years of my life attentive and loyal
to the wife I never loved. I shudder
when I think of the yawning abyss into
c\hlch I so nearly sank, bringing dis
grace and sorrow to the two children
who are now so dear to me!”
How Alcohol Is Made.
Most people when Informed of the
fact that alcohol Is being manufac- |
tured from sawdust Immediately ns- *
sume that the product Is the so-railed
“wood alcohol” of commerce. This is
not the case, and a statement of the
two processes of manufacture makes ;
the distinction clenr. True wood or
methyl nlcohol Is produced by the de
structive distillation of wood. Cord
wood is placed In a retort which Is
heated until the gnses and liquids are
driven off and only charcoal remains.
The liquid distillate la then divided in
to components, one of which Is wood
alcohol. In the production of ethyl al
cohol from sawdust the process at cer
tain stages is very similar to that
used with grain, molasses, potatoes,
etc., and the product is exactly the
same. The sawdust Is cooked with
dilute acid to produce sugars from the
wood substance. These sugars are
leached out and the liquor Is ferment
ed and distilled, producing grain or
ethyl alcohol,—American Lumberman.
Big and Little Men.
The big men dare, and the big men
do; they dream great dreams which
they make come true. They bridge
the rivers and link the plains, and
gird the land with their railway
trains; they make the desert break
forth in bloom, they send the cataract
! through a flume to turn the wheels
of a thousand mills; they bring the
coin to a nation’s tills; the big men
work and the big men plan, and, help
ing themselves, help their fellow-man.
And the cheap men yelp at their car
rlage wheels, as the small dog barka
at the big dog’s heels.—Auoa, _
Your Grocer will deliver
I
A BEVERAGE'
You’ve enjoyed it at restaurants and other places—now you want
your family and your guests to join you in the same pleasure.
That’s one of the joys of serving Bevo — to hear your guests
say how good it is — then to listen to their arguments as to just
what it is. If they haven’t seen the bottle they’ll all agree that
it is something else — if they have seen the bottle each will have
a different explanation for its goodness.
Bevo is nutritive — pure through pasteurization and steriliza
tion— non-intoxicating, wholesome and thoroughly refreshing.
Note — Bevo should be served cold.
Get Bevo at inns, restaurants, groceries, department and drug stores, picnic
grounds, baseball parks, soda fountains, dining cars, steamships, and other
places where refreshing beverages are sold. Guard against substitutes—
have the bottle opened in front of you. •
Bevo is sold in bottles only—and is bottled exclusively by
Anheuser-Busch—St. Louis
RITCHIE GROCER CO.
Wholesale Dealers EL DORADO, ARK.
5B
IT’S ALL RIGHT”
Uncle Billy Met Death as He Had
Lived, With a Smile.
Sixty-Year-Old “Preserved Boy” Went
Through World Scattering Sun
shine and Optimism All
About Him.
Everyone in the community knew
Uncle Billy, whom Rhoda, his seventy
year-old sister, described as a “pre
served boy.” The little old mnn’s six
ty years hod subtracted all the hair
from his head except a thin remind
er of white fuzz on a level with the
tops of his ears. The bnck of Uncle
Billy’s head looked like a big egg
in a nest of wool; his face suggested
a full moon on the disk of which two
twinkling stars stood guard above a
smile.
Uncle Billy wns always busy, and
usually he wns doing something worth
while. One of his favorite expressions
was, “Doing nothing isf the hardest
sort of work." Uncle Billy tried to
like everyone, hut he had little use
for one of the neighbors eiamed Bru
ton, whose wife worked the garden
while he spent the day at the village
store playing checkers and tulking pol
itics.
But Uncle Billy had faith In other
people. He often commented upon
the fact that the persons we like best
are usually those we know best, and
one day he said to his sister: “Uhody,
that man Bruton is all right; the fuult
wns in my mind. I didn’t look at him
the right way.”
Uncle Billy wns always hopeful. If
he ever had the “blues” no one knew
it except himself. Usually when two
persons meet, one says “Good morn
ing!" or “How-dy-do?” and the other
replies, “Good morning!” or “How-dy
do?” When nnyone greeted Uncle
Billy—morning, afternoon or night—
his response wns always: “It’s all
right.” If you suggested that the
world is growing worse, the little old
man shook his bald head vigorouslj
and replied: “No, no, no, no! Ami
even if it were, it would be our busl
ness to leave It better for the next
generation."
The fact that Uncle Billy was under
sized enused some thoughtless remarks
that would have hurt the feelings of
another. But they did not hurt Uncle
Billy’s. lie would say, with a laugh:
“You can’t hurt my feelin's,” and go
whistling about his business. Even the
dogs recognized the little old man as
their friend. More than once, when
some thoughtless or cruel boy tied a
tin can or a package of firecrackers
to n dog’s tall, the frightened creature
rnn to uncie Billy for help and pro
tection.
No one ever heard Uncle Billy recite
a creed, and no one ever heard him
boast of what he had done, was doing
or expected to do; but everyone knew
that he was religious and that his life
was clean and his heart was pure.
Uncle Billy believed that people are
affected by the language they use. One
day one of his nephews spoke pro
fanely in his presence. “Oh, my dear
boy!” exclaimed the old man. “If
you expect some day to get through
the pearly gates and shout ‘Glory!’
you’d better begin now to shape your
mouth for it."
One blustering March midnight
Uncle Billy’s sister Rhoda lcnned
over him, placed her wrinkled hand
gently on his brow, kissed his hot
cheek nnd whispered : “Billy, the doc
tor says you cannot stand this pneu
monia.”
Out of his eyes there came a
twinkle, as of the stars, and, attempt
ing to pat his old sister’s cheek, he
panted: “It’s all right, Rhoda; it’s
all right.”—Youth’s Companion.
When the Shah Was Snubbed.
“Rank nnd wealth mean nothing to
this little black-robed professor,”
writes Mary R. Parkman, in St. Nich
olas, of Madame Curie. "It is said that
when she was requested by the presi
dent to give a special demonstration of
radium and its marvels before the
shah of Per|ia, she amazed his serene
highness by showing much more con
cern for her tiny tube of white powder
than for his distinguished favor. When
the royal guest, who had never felt any
particular need of exercising self-con
trol, saw the uncanny light that was
nble to pass through plates of iron, he
gave a startled exclamation und made
a sudden movement that tipped over
the scientist’s material. Now it was
the lady professor’s turn to be alarmed.
To pacify her, the shah held out a cost
ly ring from his royal finger, but this
extraordinary woman with the pule
face paid not the slightest attention;
she could not he bribed to forget the
peril of her precious radium. It Is to
be doubted if the eastern potentate had
ever been treated with such scant cere
mony.”
Heard at a Party.
Edith—That Mr. Dubleigh you Intro
duced to me is a fine dancer; he's so
light on Ills feet.
Murie—When you get better ac
quainted with him you’ll discover he’s
light at both ends.
"Touching” Father.
“Your boy's going to business school,
Isn’t he?” •
“Yes. lie’s learning the touch sys
tem.”
“Typewriting?”
“No. Dudwrltiug.”
A Clever Burro.
A friend tells us the following about
Rowdy, a burro he bought as a foal
In Colorado and brought home to Mas
sachusetts for hls children: “Rowdy Is
now an aged pensioner, but he has
been as clever a little pet and servant
as one could wish. His friendship for I
the family cow has been one of the
distinguishing features of his career.
They used to stand side by side in
the stable, and in the pasture would
actually play tag. The cow began
years ago with her rough tongue to
lick Rowdy’s face. When he attempted
to reciprocate the courtesy, his smooth
tongue made no impression. This then
Is what we have seen him do a hun
dred times: He would find a small
stick, take It in his teeth, and scratch
the cow all about the eyes, and ears
and horns.” Can anyone call this in
stinct? Was such an idea tucked away
In Rowdy's brain when he was bora,
a part of his inheritance from genera
tions of uncestral burros? That
would seem out of the question. We
are Inclined to think that Rowdy
thought out the stick idea for himself.
—Our Dumb Animals.
Rain Haa Followed Gunless Battles.
That rain follows great battles Is a
tradition that has persisted for cen
turies, and the fact—If fact it be—has
usually been attributed to the concus
sion of the air caused by heavy artil
lery firing. But a correspondent of
Nature cites a passage from Plutarch
telling of a buttle of Cuius Murius
against the Teutons In 102 B. C. in
which that ancient historian wrote:
“It is well known that extraordinary
rains generally follow great battles, as
if the gods decided to wush and puri
fy the earth, or as if blood and corrup
tion, by the moisture and heavy va
pors they engendered, thickened the
air which is changed by the most tri
fling causes.”
Belief in Fate Make* Failure.
There is no worse belief thun that
In fate und luck to make one a fail
ure. It puts one In a wholly wrong
attitude toward life. It deadens in
centive and power to employ one's
wholesome aspirations. It paralyzes
the energies and the resolves. It ren
ders organized and spirited effort im
possible.
We may hope for no luck that we
are not worthy of and are not doing
our own part to earn.—The Christian
Herald.
Wanted Devotion* Cut Short.
Tired little Stanley was returning
home with his parents In the evening,
after having been to watch some fire
works. “Mother,” he asked, as he
trudged sleepily along, “do you fink it
would be all right if I’d Just throw
Cod a kiss tonight, and not say my
utuvers? l'a so tired.”
THE TEA-HOUSE
Jiit <
By FANNY GRAY.
; ;
Lucy Cutler whs helping her mother
finish the Satuiday cleaning and bak
ing, and was rebelling In her soul. .Not
that she so particularly disliked the
work itself, but the thought that she
had to do that kind of thing day after
day, with not even a maid servant’s
wage, stirred her to anger. Her fa
ther, a prosperous farmer, could well
afford to pay for It, as she knew, yet
he seemed to think it was the natural
and proper thing for herself and her
younger sister, Florence, to scrub
along, week after week, satisfied with
an occasional small sum with which to
buy necessities.
When Lucy finished her work, she
started to walk rather aimlessly down
the road to rest and cool off. Her fa
ther had just acquired, through a fore
closure, a piece of property of about
two acres adjoining his land, on which
was a picturesque little cottage. As
she reached a place In the road oppo
site the new property, she stopped to
admire the tiny house and the old-fash
ioned flowers borderiqg the walk, as
well as the climbing roses over the
porch.
Just then Fred; Emerson came along,
and the two dtood there together.
Fred was a hunt lipg young chap, with
quite a bank account already. He had
for some time been casting longing
glances in Lucy's direction, but. being
somewhat lieshful. he had not pro
gressed vet^ far In his wooing.
Now, as> they viewed together the
snug bit oit land and the house, with
the “For Sale” sign against the stone
wall, a thought of himself and Lucy
In such a home rushed Into his mind,
and he wanted to give expression to
It; but all he found himself saying was
that It made him think of the little
tea house some women had opened the
summer before in Riverside.
An Idea flashed through Lucy’s mind.
As soon as Fred went on, she rushed
back to the farmhouse and found her
mother.
jiviiuT, wuhih tamer going 10 uu
with the Clapp house?”
"Why, nothin' this year that I know
of. Of course, he wants to sell It.”
“Would he let me use the cottage,
do you think, mother?”
"Use the cottage! For the land's
sake, child, what for?"
“Well, I’ve got an Idea. You re
member when I visited Aunt Carrie
last summer in Riverside? Some wom
en set up tea house not half so pretty
as the Clapp place and sold tea and
things to motorists over there, and
I Aunt Carrie said they made a lot of
1 money. 1 could make more here be
cause it’s on the state road.”
It took considerable persuasion to
make Farmer Cutler give his consent.
But, with mother on Lucy’s side and
Florence all eagerness, he finally gave
In reluctantly.
The girls worked with a will all the
next week. They cleaned out the lit
tle cottage themselves. It was in pret
ty good order already and was fur
nished. There were three rooms on
the ground floor. They turned the
parlor, which was the largest, into
the tea room proper, and made a sort
of serving room of the dining room.
The small piazza, they decided, would
hold three tables. Mother loaned her
best white and gold eggshell china,
which seldom saw the light of day, and
agreed to supply the first biscuit.
Two or three days before they were
ready, Lucy put a sign out on the
lawn near the street, announcing the
opening of the tea house.
The first afternoon she told herself
they really must not expect anyone;
but her heart heat high with expec
tation just the same, as she and Flor
ence, in white muslin dresses and
dainty aprons, waited in the cottage.
A man and woman driving through
tlie country in a buggy were their first
guests. A motorcyclist and one large
automobile party made up the list for
the day, and they thought, it very en
couraging. even if father did sniff a
bit when told. Fred Emerson dropped
In around six o'clock, just to cheer
them up, he said. But It wss notice
able that tlie cheering process last'd
all through the prosperous season
which followed.
The ten house was a great success,
on the whole, nud when the time came
to close It and Lucy counted up the
exact profit, she was highly elated,
and began at once to plan for the next
year.
Her surprise was very great when
her father told her that the cottage
was no longer his to dispose of. It had
been sold, and she must apply to the
new owner for a lease, that owner
being Fred Emerson.
For some reason, which she didn't
quite comprehend herself, Lucy felt
shy about going to bliu. But one day
when she was alone at the cottage,
putting away the last things for that
season, Fred appeared. Lucy began
at once.
“Father told me you had bought the
place, Fred. I want to know if I can
hare It again next year, and what the
rent will he.”
It Isn't necessary for us to know ill
just what words Fred told her that the
house was hers ou one condition, and
that he had been determined to own
it and install her as mistress ever
since the first day he watched her
moving about In It, looking so sweet
and dainty, serving tea to her guests.
She must have accepted the condition,
for the next summer saw the little cot
tage transformed into a comfortable,
livable home, and there were biscuit*)
end tea, but the order was for two.
(Copyright, 1*1*. by the McClure Newepa
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