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Local News of the Week, h
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Old papers at the Newsoffice.
To get the news read The News
J. L. Taylor of Lapeer was here
Tuesday on business.
W. L. Gulledge of White spent
Sunday here visiting friends.
T. B. Weaver was a business
visitor to Monroe last Saturday.
Ernest Marony of Farmerville
was here Sunday visiting a freind.
Mrs. G. G. Pyle and children ar
rived home Monday from a visit
with friends in Farmerville.
G. S. Prestridge and F. T.
Whited of Shreveport were here
the first of the week on business.
The Misses Hattaway of Haile,
La., were here Saturday and Sun
day the guests of Mrs. D. A. Keas
ler.
G. C. Bell, of the Bell Manufac
turing Co. of West Monroe, was
mingling with friends here last Fri
day.
T. T. Jones of El Dorado and
Bud Ivy of Junction City were here
Monday buying hogs from the local
raisers. _
W, P. Reasons, bookkeeper at
the First National bank, was at El
Dorado Tuesday qualifying as a
notary public.
Earl Harper and wife of Fort
Smith were here this week visiting
their brother-in-law. Rev. J. F.
Johnston, and family.
Mrs. C B. Wood arrived home
Sunday from Monroe where she
recently underwent an operation
at the St. Francis sanitarium.
Miss Gasaway will appear at
Union church next Wednesday
even'ng instead of Tuesday eve
ning as announced in last week's
paper.
FOUND— A black ribbon watch
fob with gold bar and round gold
ornament that formerly held a
diamond. Call at News office and
get same.
Orin Rice and wife left Tuesday
morning for Pellston, Mich., to
ma*<e their home. Both made
many friends here who wish them
prosperty in their old home.
For Rent—The Stephenson
place, Y\ mile southwest of Huttig.
See A. G. Stephenson,
108 A Street,
Huttig, Ark.
“What are you making of your
son?” asked one man of another a
few days ago. “1 can make noth
ing of him,” was the reply, “but he
has a girl who is making a monkey
of him.” _
We rather like this new way of
doing up one's (female) hair. It is
a change and we have longed for a
change. It is pretty hard, how
ever, to tell whether those affect
the new style are just getting up or
getting ready to go bed.
We have round trip tickets to all
local points on sale at this office
and would be glad to sell you round
trip tickets, saving you money by
buying them and at the same time
make a better showing for our sta
tion in this manner. We solicit
your business. D. A. Keasler,
Agent St. L. I. M. & S. Ry.
February 1915, will not have a
full moon, a thing which has not
happened since 1866, and will not
happen again for a number years.
The moon in January will be full on
the 1st and 30th. In March it will
be full on the 1st and 30th again,
and that cuts off any possibility of
February having a full moon. It is
an odd combination of circum
stances. If there is anything in
signs, 1866 was a peace year after
a big war.
The officers of the Arkansas
State Teachers’ association are
putting forth every effort to make
the next annual convention of the
association to be held at Little
Rock, April 8. 9 and 10, the larg
est and most successful one that
has ever been held The general
programs and the programs for tne
differest section meetings will be
unusually strong.
Miss Hallie Elaine Gasaway, the
noted reader, and the third number
j of the School Improvement Asso
| ciation lyceum course, will appear
at the Union church on Wednes
day evening. February 3. in “The
Little Minister.” Miss Gasaway is
a native of Arkansas and has made
for herself a reputation to be proud
of throughout the country. Be
sure and attend.
Notice.
The Union Saw Mill Company
will pay $50.00 as a reward to any
one. not in its employ, who will fur
nish information from which any
oerson shall be convicted of depre
uatmg or trespassing upon the tim
ber of said Company.
This 1st, day of February, 1906.
Union Saw Mill Co.
By F. W. Scott.
Secy, and Treas
TELEPHONE ACROSS CONTINENT.
President Wilson Talks to San Trantlsm
Inaugurating New System.
On last Monday President Wil
son inaugurated the first transcon
tinental telephone system by
speaking directly to President
Moore of the Panama-Pacific Ex
position in San Francisco. When
Alexander Graham Bell, the inven
tor of the telephone in New York
and President Vail of the American
Telephone and Telegraph (Compa
ny. cut in on the wire at Jekyll Is
land off ihe coast of Georgia, the
president extended congratulations
on the achievement. Mr. Vail also
talked to San Francisco, 4.400
miles away.
With Dr. Bell listening in on the
line at New York, the president
spoke to Thomas A. Watson in San
Francisco. Mr. Watson was Dr.
Bell's electrician at the time of the
invention of the telephone and was
the first person to hear a word
spoken over a telephone.
The president said that he could
hear Mr. Moore in San Francisco
very distinctly.
President Wilson said:
“I consider it an honor to be able
to express my admiration for the
inventive genius and scientific
knowledge that has made this pos
sible, and my pride that this vital
cord should have been stretched
across America as a new symbol of
our unity and our enterprise. Will
you not convey my cordial congrat
ulations to Mr. Bell, and 1 want to
convey to you my personal con
gratulation, sir.”
The president then said to the
inventor of the telephone. Dr. Bell,
at New York: "May I not con
gratulate you very warmiy on this
notable consummation of your
long, long labors and remarkable
achievement? You are justified in
feeling a great pride in what has
been done. This is a memorable
day,.and I convey to you my warm
congratulations, sir."
DRS. MAGEE & MAYFIELD
Physicians and Surgeons
At Company Hospital
Office Hours—8 In 12 a. m , I to 6pm
Sundays—9 to 11 a. m., 3 to 5 p. p m.
Kesidence Phone 12; office 18
HUTTIG - ARKANSAS
DR. G. SURGHNOR
MONROE, LA.
Specialist on Diseases of Eye, Ear,
Nose and Throat.
Adenoids and Tonsils Removed.
Glasses Correctly Fitted.
C5'-GALL°f¥r
CUM5ERLANDS
/& CHARLES NEVILLE BUCIC
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
OF SCENES IN THE PLAY
SYNUHblb.
CHAPTER I—On Misery creek, at the
foot of a rock from which he has fall* n,
Sally Miller finds George Leseott, a land
scape painter, unconscious, and after re
viving him, goes for assistance.
CHAPTER II—Samson South and Sill},
taking Leseott to Samson's home, ar< met 1
by Spicer South, head of the family, who '
tells them that Jesse Purvy has been shot, I
and that Samson is suspected of the :
crime. Samson denies it.
CHAPTER III—The shooting of Jesse
Purvy breaks the truce in the Hollman
South feud.
CHAPTER TV—Samson reproves Tama- !
rack Spicer for telling Sally that Jim
Hollman is on the trail with bloodhounds
hunting the man who shot Purvy.
CHAPTER V— The bloodhounds lose the
trail at Spicer South's door. Leseott dis
covers artistic ability In Samson. While
sketching with Leseott on the mountain.
Tamarack discovers Samson to a h iring
iTowd of mountajne-ers. Samson thrashes
him and denounces him as the “truce
buster” who shot Purvy.
CHAPTER VJ—Leseott tries to per
suade Samson to go to New York with
him and develop his talent. Sally, loyal
but heartbroken, furthers Leseott's efforts.
The dance at Wile McCager’s threatens
trouble to Samson and Leseott.
CHAPTER VII—At the dance Samson
tells the South clan he is going 10 leave
the mountains. Leseott goes home to
New York. Samson bids Spicer and Sally
farewell and follows.
"When I gits back,” he promised
himself, “you’ll be one of the fust
folks I’ll look fer, Jim Asberry, damn
ye! All 1 hopes is thet nobody else
don’t git ye fust. Ye b’longs ter me."
The sleeping car to which he was
assigned after leaving Lexington was
almost empty, but he felt upon him the
Interested gaze of those few eyes that
were turned toward his entrance. He
engaged every pair with a pair very
clear and steady and undropping, un
til somehow each lip that had started
to twist in amusement straightened,
and the twinkle that rose at first
glance sobered at second. Yet, for
all his specious seeming of unconcern.
Samson was waking to the fact that
he was a scarecrow^, and his sensitive
pride made him cut his meals short
in the dining car, where he was kept
busy beating down inquisitive eyes
with his defiant gaze. He resolved
after some thought upon a definite pol
icy. It was a very old policy, but to
him new—and a discovery. He would
change nothing in himself that in
volved a surrender of code or convic
tion. But, wherever it could be done
with honor, he would concede to cus
tom.
it was late in the second afternoon
when he stepped from the train at Jer
sey City, to be engulfed in an un
imagined roar and congestion. Here
it was impossible to hold his own
against the unconcealed laughter of
the many, and he stood for an instant
glaring about like a caged tiger, while
three currents of humanity separated
and flowed toward the three ferry
exits. Then he saw the smiling face of
Lescott, and I.escott's extended hand.
Even Lescott, immaculately garbed and
fur-coated, seemed almost a stranger,
and the boy’s feeling of intimacy froze
to inward constraint and diffidence.
But Lescott knew nothing of that.
The stoic in Samson held true, mask
ing his emotions.
“So you came,” said the New Yorker,
heartily, grasping the boy’s hand
“Where's your luggage? We'll just
pick that up and make a dash for the
ferry.”
“Hyar hit is,” replied Samson, who
’dill carried his saddlebags. The
uainter’s eyes twinkled, but the mirth
was so frank and friendly that the
''ov, instead of glaring in defiance,
grinned responsively.
“Right, oh!" laughed Lescott. “I
thought maybe you'd bring a trunk,
but it’s the wise man who travels
light.”
He followed I.escott o,ut to the foot
of Twenty-third street, and stepped
with him into the tonneau of the
painter’s waiting car. Lescott lived
with his family uptown, for it hap
pened that, had his canvases pos
sessed no value whatever, he would
still have been in a position to drive
his motor anil follow his impulses
about the w’orld. If he did not take
Ihe boy to his home, it was because
he understood that a life which must
be not only full of early embarrass
ment, but positively revolutionary,
should be approached by easy stages.
Consequently the car tinned down
Fifth avenue, passed under the arch
and drew up before a door just off
Washington square, where the land
scape painter had a studio suit. There
were sleeping rooms and such acces
sories as seemed to the boy unheard-of
luxury, though Lescott regarded the
place as a makeshift annex to his
home establishment.
“You’d better take your time in se
lecting permanent quarters,” was his
careless fashion of explaining to Sam
son. “It’s just as well not to hurry.
You are to stay here with me, as tong
as you will.”
“I'm obleeged ter ye,” replied the
boy, to whose training in open-doored
hospitality the invitation seemed only
natural. The evening meal was
brought in from a neighboring hotel,
and the two men dined before an open
fire, Samson eating in mountain si
lence, while his host chatted and
asked questions.
"Samson,” suggested the painter,
when the dinner things had been car
ried out and they were alone, ‘you are
here for two purposes' First, to study
painting; second, to educate and equip
yourself for coming cu’iditious. It’e
going to take work, more u uik, and
then some more work ’
“I hain't skeered of work ■’
“I believe that. Also, you must
keep out of trouble. You ve got to ride
your fighting instinct with a strong
curb.”
“I don’t ‘low to let nobody run over
me.” The statement was not argu
mentative; only an announcement of
a principle which was not subject to
modification.
"Ail right, but until you learn the
ropes let me advise you.”
The boy gazed into the fire for a few
moments of silence.
“I gives ye my hand on thet,” he
promised.
At eleven o'clock the painter, having
shown his guest over the premises,
said good night and went uptown to
his own house. Samson lay a long
while awake, with many disquietiifg
reflections.
Meanwhile I.escott. letting himself
into a house overlooking the park,!
was hailed by a chorus of voices from
tlie dining room. He turned and went
in to join a gay group just back from
the opera. As he thoughtfully mixed
himself a highball, they bombarded
him with questions.
"Why didn't you bring your bar
barian with you?” demanded a dark
eyed girl, who looked very much as
I-escott himself might have looked had
he been a girl—and very young and
lovely. Now she flashed on him an af
fectionate smile, and added; "We
have been waiting to see him. Must
we go to bed disappointed?”
George stood looking down on them,'
and tinkled the ice in his glass.
"He wasn't brought on for purposes
of exhibition, Drennie, ’ he smiled ‘I
was afraid if he came in here in the
fashion of his arrival—carrying bis
saddlebags—you ultracivilized folk
[ might have laughed.”
A roar of laughter at the picture
vindicated Lescott's assumption.
"No! Now, actually with saddle
J bags?” echoed a young fellow with a
j likable face which was for the mo
j ment incredulously amused. ‘That
| goes Dick Whittington one better.
| You do make some rare discoveries,
; George. We celebrate you.”
“Thanks, Horton,” commented the
I painter, dryly. "When you New York
ers have learned what these barbari
ans already knew, the control of your
oversensitized risibles and a courtesy
deeper than your shirt-fronts—maybe
I’ll let you have a look. Meantime I n
much too fond of all of you to nsk
letting you laugh at my barbarian.”
Several months were spent laboring
with charcoal ami paper over plaster
casts in Lescott’s sti Jio, and Lescott
himself played instructor. When the
skylight darkened with the coining of
evening, the boy whose mountain na
ture cried out for exercise went for
long tramps that carried him over
many miles of city pavements, and
after that, when the gas was lit, he
turned, still insatiably hungry, to
volumes of history, and algebra, and
facts.
*•**•»•
A sloop-rigged boat with a crew of
two was dancing before a brisk breeze
through blue Bermuda water. Off to
the right Hamilton rose sheer and
colorful from the bay. At the tiller
sat the white-clad figure of Adrienne
Lescott. Puffs of wind that whipped
the tautly bellyii»g sheets lashed her
dark hair about her face. Her lips,
vividly red like poppy petals, were
just now curved into an amused smile,
which made them even more than or
dinarily kissable and tantalizing. Her
companion was neglecting his nominal
duty of tending the sheet to watch
her.
"Wilfred." she tensed, ‘‘your con
trast is quite startling—and. in a way,
effective. From head to foot you are
spotless white--but your scowl is ab
solutelv ‘the blackest black that our
eyes endure.’ And,” she added, in an
njured voice. "I'm sure I've been very
nice to you."
“I have not vet begun to scowl," he
assured, her, and proceeded to show
what superlatives of saturnine expres
sion he held in reserve. "See here,
Drennie, 1 know perfectly well that
I’m a sheer imbecile to reveal the fact
that you've made me mad. It pleases
you too perfectly. It makes >011 hap-,
pier than is good for you, but—”
“It's a terrible thing to make me
happy, isn’t it?" she inquired, sweetly.
“Drennie, you have held me off since
we were children. I believe I first an
nounced my intention of marrying you
when you were twelve. That Intention
remains unaltered. More: It is unal
terable and inevitable. My reasons
for wanting to needn't be rehearsed.
It would take Do long. 1 regard you
as possessed of an alert and remark
abb- mind one worthy of companion
ship with my own.” Despite the friv
olous badinage of his words and the
hu:i orons smile of his lips, his eyes
hiuled at an underlying intensity.
“With no desire to flatter or spoil yoli, |
I find your personal aspect pleasing j
enough to satisfy me. And then, while,,
a man should avoid emotionalism, I
am in love with you.” He moved over
to a place in the sternsheets. and his
face became intensely earnest. He
dropped his hand over hers as it lay
on the tiller shaft. “God knows, dear,” ,
he exclaimed, “how much I love you!”
Her eves, after holding his for a mo-:
ment, fell to the hand which still im
prisoned her own. She shook her
head, not in anger, but with a man
ner of gentle denial, Until he released
her Angers and stepped back.
“You are - dear, Wilfred,” she com
forted. "and I couldn't manage to get
on without you. but you aren’t mar
riageable—at least, not yet.”
I “Why not?" he asked.
“In the lirst place, you are one of
those men whose fortunes are listed
; in the top schedule—the swollen for
tunes Socialists would put you in the
predatory i lass.”
“Iircunie,” he groaned, "it's not my
fault that I'm rich. It was wished on
me. If you are serious, I'm willing
to become poor as Job's turkey. Show
me the way to strip myself, and I'll
stand shortly before you begging
aim.”
"To what end?” she questioned.
“Poverty would be quite inconvenient.
I shouldn't care for it. But hasn't it
ever occurred to you that the man
who wears the strongest and brightest
mail, and who by his own confession
is possessed of an alert brain, ought
occasionally to be seen in the lists?’’
“In short, your charge is that 1 am
a shirker—and, since it’s the same
thing, a coward?”
Adrienne did not at once answer
him. but she straightened out for an
uninterrupted run before the wind
and by the tiny moss-green flecks
which moments of great seriousness
f
“You Are a Dear, Wilfred?’’
brought to the depths of her eyes, he
knew that she meant to speak the un
veiled truth.
"Besides your own holdings In a lot
of railways and things, you handle
your mother’s and sisters’ property,
don't you?”
He nodded.
“In a fashion. I do. I sign the neces
sary papers when the lawyers call me
up and ask me to come downtown.”
"You are a director in the Metropole
Trust company?"
“Guilty.”
“In the Consolidated Seacoast?”
“I believe so.”
“With your friends, who are also
shareholders, you could assume con
trol of the Morning Intelligence,
couldn't you?”
“I guess I could assume control, but
what would I do with it?”
“"'o you know tne reputation of that
newspaper?"
“I guess it’s all right. It’s conserva
tive and newsy. I read It every morn
ing when I’m in town. It fits in very
nicely between the grapefruit and the
bacon and eggs.”
“It is, also, powerful," she added,
“and is said to be absolutely servile
to corporate interests.”
"Prennie, you talk like an ararchist.
You are rich yourself, you kno'V.”
“And against each of those other
concerns various charges have been
made.”
"Well, what do want me to do?”
"It s not what I want you to do,’’
she informed me; “it’s what I’d like
to see you want to do."
“Name it! I’ll want to do it forth
with.”
"1 think when you are one of a hand
ful of the richest men in New York;
when, for instance, you could dictate
the policy of a great newspaper, yet
know it only as the course that follows
• our grapefruit, you are a shirker and
a drone, and are not playing the
amp “ Tier hand tightened on the
iHer. "1 think if I were a mar- riding
on to the polo field I’d ejthe v like
tne devil to drive the boll down be
tween the posts, or I’d come inside and
take off tny boois and colors. I
wouldn't hover in a ladylike futility
around the edge of the scrimmage.”
She knew that to . Horton who
played polo like a fiend incarnate, the
figure would lie effective, and she
whipped out her words with something ,
very close to scorn.
“There’s my hand on ft. Prennie," ;
he said "We start bark to New York j
tomorrow, don’t we? Well, when I get -
there 1 put on overalls and go to
work. When I propose next I’ll have
something to show.’
CHAPTER IX.
Chri«t*ocs came to Misery wrapped i
in a drab mantle of desolation. At
the cabin of the Widow Miller Sally j
was sitting alone before the logs. She
laid down the slate and spelling book,
over which her forehead had been
strenuously puckered, and gazed some
what mournfully into the blaze. Sally
Had a secret. It was a secret which she
based on a faint hope. If Samson
should come back to Misery he would
come back full of new notions. No
man had ever yet returned from that
outside world unaltered. No man ever
would. A terrible premonition said he
would not come at all, but, if he did—
if he did—she must know how to read
and write. Maybe, when she had
learned a little more, she might even
go to school for a term or two.
The cramped and distorted chirog
raphy on the slate was discouraging.
It was all proving very hard work. The
girl gazed for a time at something she
saw in the embers, and then a faint
smile came to her lips. Dy next Christ
mas she would surprise Samson with a
letter. It should be well written, and
every “hain’t” should be an "isn’t.”
**•••••
The normal human mind is a res
ervoir which fills at a rate of speed
regulated by the number and caliber
of its feed pipes. Samson's mind had
long been almost empty, and now from
so many sources the waters of new
things were rushing in ui>on it that
under their pressure it must fill fast,
or give away.
He was saved from hopeless com
plications of thought by a sanity
which was willing to assimilate with
out too much effort to analyze. 'The
boy from Misery was presently less
bizarre to the eye than many of the
unkempt bohemians he met in the life
of the studios, men who quarreled
garrulously over the end and aim of
Art, which they spelled with a capi
tal A—and, for the most part, knew
nothing of. He retained, except with
in a small circle of intimates, a silence
that passed for taciturnity, and a
solemnity of visage that was often
construed into surly egotism.
He still wore his hair long, and,
though his conversation gradually
sloughed off much of its idiom and
vulgarism, enough of the mountaineer
stood out to lend to his personality a
savor of the crudely picturesque.
Meanwhile he drew and read and
studied and walked, and every day's
advancement was a forced ma'ch.
I.escott, tremendously interested in his
experiment, began to fear that the
bo>'s too great aomherness of dispo
sition would defeat the very earnest
ness from which it sprang. So one
morning the landscape-maker called
on a friend whom he rightly believed
to be the wisest man, and the great
est humorist in New York.
"I want your help,” said I.escott.
"I want you to meet a friend of mine
and take him under your wing in at
fashion. He needs you.”
The stout man's face clouded. A lew
I years ago he had been peddling his
1 manuscripts with the heart-sickness of
j unsuccessful middle age. Today men
coupled his name with those of Kip
ling and De Maupassant. One of his
antipathies was meeting people who
1 sought to lionize him. I.escott read
j the expression, and. before his host
I had time to object, swept into his re
I cital.
At the end he summarized:
“The artist is much like the setter
pup. Jf it’s in him. it's as instinctive
as a dog’s nose. But to become effi
cient he must go a-field with a steady
veteran of his own breed.”
"I know!” The great man. who was
| also the simple man. smiled reminis
cently. “They tried to teach me to
herd sheep when my nose was itching
for bird country. Bring on your man;
I want to know him.”
Samson was told nothing of the be
nevolent conspiracy, but one evening
shortly later he found himself sitting;
at a cafe table with his sponsor and!
a stout man, almost as silent aB him
self. The stout man responded with
something like churlish taciturnity
to the half-dozen men and women who
came over with flatteries But later,
when the trio was left alone, his face
brightened, and he turned to the boy
from Misery.
“Does Billy Conrad still keep store
at Stagbone?’
Samson started and his gaze fell in>.
amazement. At the mention of the,
name he saw a cross roads store with
rough mules hitched to fence palings.
It was a picture of home, and here waa
a man who had been there! With
glowing eyes the boy dropped uncon
sciously back into the vernacular of
the hills.
“Hev ye been thar. stranger?”
The writer nodded, and sipped hts t
whisky.
“Not for some years, though.” he*
confessed, as he drifted into reminis -
cence, which to Samson was like wa
ter to a parched throat.
When they left the cafe the boy
felt as though he were taking leave
of an old and tried friend. By homely
methods, this unerring diagnostician
of the human soul had been reading
him, liking him. and making him feel a
heart warming sympathy.
It was not until much later that .
Samson realized how these two really.
great men had adopted him as thoic
“little brother” that he might have
their Rhoulder-touch to march by. And
It was without his realization, too,
that they laid upon him the imprint
of their own characters and philoso
phy.
**•*••>
“I have come, not to quarrel with yiw,
but to try to dissuade you." The Mon.
Mr. Wickllffe bit savagely at hts cigar
and gave a despairing spread to his
well manicured hands. "You stand in
danger of becoming the most cordially
hated man in New York—hated by the
most powerful combinations in New
York.”
Wilfred Horton leaned back in a,
swivel chair and put his feet up on his:
desk. For a while he seemed Interested!
in his own silk socks.
"It’s very kind of you to warn me,”
he said, quietly.
* CONTlNUEDlN NEXT ISSUE!
fi