Picture a man who has been badly bent at times—aye, even broke unto the last jitney—one who has tasted the bitter things of life along with the sweet, one who has seen a fortune swept away in a twinkling, only to be regained after a long, persistent struggle. Picture a good loser, who has lost more than most men will ever earn, and who pins his faith in the mining industry to such an extent that he laughs at failure and hangs on like a bulldog until he succeeds, and you have a mind’s-eye view of J. M. Short, the best known operator in the mining district near Joplin, Mo.—the “Scotty” of the zinc fields.
Thirty-two years ago Short was working for $1.25 a per day at Galena, Kan., and a few years later moved to Joplin, landing here with the price of one ham sandwich. He worked for low wages until he had saved enough to buy a prospect drill, and decided to look for ore on his own responsibility.
His first few holes were blanks; the cost of sinking them was heavy, considering Short’s limited finances. For a time it looked as though he was destined to go back to wages. However, he hung on until almost his last penny was gone; then luck smiled on him, and he made his first strike. He had been watching the drill clippings for so long and finding only barren pieces of rock that he could hardly believe the truth when at last the sand bucket brought up a quantity of yellow-looking dirt, rich in zinc ore.
Short sold this “prospect” for $5,000 cash, and immediately invested the whole amount in what was known as the Bunker Hill Mine, which netted him $65,000 in eighteen months, part of which—$3,000—he reinvested in the Sacagawea Zinc Company, from which he profited, inside of three months, to the tune of $17,000 more. A year later Short again became “dead broke” on another mining venture, and again went to work for wages.
Depriving himself of all luxuries and many necessities, he continued to work for wages until he had saved up $1,800, when he determined to again “try his hand.” One day, during an extremely dry summer, he was driving by a piece of land where the Sitting Bull Mine was later developed. He noticed a man sinking a hole to get water at a point where a spring had once been. The land was low and boggy and the digger was taking out shale and soapstone. The formation looked good to Short, and he at once procured a forty-acre lease from the owner. With $1,800, his sole capital, Short drilled the ground, discovered a rich run of ore, and put down a shaft to the 185-foot level. The owner of the land put up the capital for building a $15,000 mill. Ninety days later Short had paid for the mill, had $10,000 in the bank to his credit, and had a vast body of ore blocked out which netted him more than $100,000 in profits in the next few months.
Almost immediately he secured another lease and opened up what is known as the Pocahontas Mine, from which he cleared another $100,000. Then followed in quick succession the Geronimo and the Waneta-Pearl. Short is now interested in, if not the entire owner of, more than a dozen valuable properties, so that, with the sudden jump in price of zinc concentrates from thirty-five to seventy-five dollars per ton, this Scotty of the zinc mines has but faint idea of what he is really worth.
A retired United States army officer says the European war is “a horrible slaughter, which should be halted by some neutral power.” The neutral power that attempted to halt it forcibly would simply increase the slaughter and add its own blood to the crimson tide.
Canada is making extensive improvements in her seaports. At Halifax work is under way which will cost $10,000,000, while at St. John, New Brunswick, $8,000,000 is being spent. Levis, opposite Quebec, is building the largest dry dock in America. Much work is also being done at the Pacific coast ports.
While blasting some limestone rocks in the side of Stone Mountain, near Big Laurel, Va., the workmen found a petrified snake imbedded in the rocks. The snake was coiled as if making ready to spring at something, and is believed to have been a copperhead.
Commercial failures in the United States last year were 8,344.
A little incident, told in Danish newspapers which have arrived in Chicago, shows that the Cossacks are not as cruel as they are sometimes depicted. Recently while advancing against a detachment of Turks, a company of Cossacks found a little girl, two years old, who had been deserted by her parents in their precipitate flight. They brought the little one to the headquarters of the regiment, where she received food and was made comfortable in every way.
In the Greek Catholic Church in the village of Bardus the little foundling was baptized according to the orthodox ritual. The commander of the regiment and Princess Gelovana, wife of a member of the Duma, served as godparents of the child. The little girl received the name of Alexandre Donshaga, after the regiment known as Don Cossacks. The officers promised to contribute monthly toward the maintenance and education of this little “daughter of the regiment.”
People in the vicinity of Cooke’s Church, on Queen Street, in Toronto, at two-thirty in the afternoon were left wondering whether the Germans had landed in the city in such large numbers that the military authorities had found it necessary to mobilize a regiment of the fair sex to aid the soldiers in driving them back.
The cause of the sensation was a pretty young lady named Clara Philip, who, by the terms of a wager she had made with a lady friend, had to walk down Mutual Street from Shuter to Queen Street dressed in full soldier’s uniform, for a box of chocolates.
The young lady with curly hair peeping out under the service cap, looked bewitching in the uniform, although it was somewhat too large for her, and despite the fact that the heavy army boots were dispensed with for her own dainty pair of “threes.”
“It certainly did feel funny walking down the street with some of the people turning up their noses at me and others convulsed in laughter, but I was determined to win the bet, and did,” said Miss Philip, after her sensational parade.
“Oh, it was funny. On the way along I had the pleasure of saluting a ‘brother’ soldier, who with much grace returned the salute, and a little farther along a ‘guardian of the law’ discreetly turned and walked in the opposite direction. That is the way I became richer by a large box of chocolates.”
Zouave Besson, a French trooper, while undergoing an operation at the Grand Palais, in Paris, a hospital for the last three months, lustily sang the “Marseillaise” from the beginning to the end, weakening slightly toward the close of the last stanza.
This patriotic demonstration is a contradiction of the proverb that a good man will swear while he is under the influence of chloroform. After the operation Besson’s nurse told him of his patriotism in singing the national anthem.
He replied: “When I was just going on I realized that I was singing the ‘Marseillaise,’ and brought all my will power to bear to sing it to the end.” He recovered nicely.
Death to all spies is the military rule. One of the most dramatic of the many minor tragedies of the war was seen at Lassigny recently, when a captive in a black gown, to all appearances a nun, was suddenly led before a firing squad and shot down at the officer’s command. The startled onlookers learned that the squad’s victim was a daring young lieutenant in the German army who had got inside the French lines by donning a nun’s attire. So good was his disguise that he had gone for a considerable distance and probably had obtained much information that would have proved valuable had he escaped.
Had the spy been a woman, the penalty would have been the same. Such is the law of war. Many women spies have been caught and executed.
Probably the oldest, and surely the most noted Confederate veteran now living in the Southwest is Doctor Thomas E. Berry, of Oklahoma City, Okla., a typical “Kentucky colonel,” who is now eighty-three years old. He walks as straight as a young Indian, has never used intoxicating beverages or tobacco and has never suffered from fever or other sickness, and during his long and eventful career he has been soldier, globe trotter, author, duelist, physician, and surgeon.
In the Civil War he served with the Confederate generals, Morgan and Forest, was captured twelve times by the Yankees, and escaped that many times from their prisons. He received twenty-two bullet wounds and several saber cuts during the four years of fighting, and since the close of the war has fought six duels in foreign lands.
Doctor Berry served under Joe Shelby in Mexico and helped to organize the French army in Algeria. He rendered valuable service to King Menelik in Abyssinia and sojourned for a while in Constantinople, where, like many others, he swam across the Bosporus. He received several decorations from foreign rulers, but never wears them in this “land of the free.”
In a recent chat with a friend Doctor Berry said:
“My father and grandfather admonished me to never forgive or forget an insult; never offer the left cheek after having been slapped on my right cheek. They also requested me to always keep the Berry escutcheon untarnished; never be a craven nor a coward.”
The doctor comes from a wealthy family that owned large areas of land near Perryville, Ky., but the Civil War made them comparatively poor. The doctor wrote a book entitled “Four Years With Generals Forest and Morgan.” He is now writing a book about his foreign military service.
He has also made several valuable discoveries in materia medica and surgery while practicing medicine forty years. Some of them are very original and should not be allowed to perish with the doctor’s death.
Doctor Berry, though one of the best physicians and surgeons, quit practicing four years ago. He is an inveterate reader and has read 2,000 books. He also enjoys newspapers and magazines. It is needless to say that the doctor’s personal appearance and courteous manners denote him to be a gentleman and scholar. He belongs to no religious sect, but is what he terms a “practical Christian.” He will no doubt be as brave when Death calls him as he always has been during his long life. The doctor is optimistic, however, and says he will probably live to be a centenarian.
The highest speed ever attained by man on the face of the earth is one mile in 25.2 seconds, equivalent to 142.85 miles an hour, according to the Railway Age Gazette. It was in an automobile run by Teddy Tetzlaff on the level salt beds at Salduro, Utah, 112 miles west of Salt Lake City. The best speed ever made on rails was with an electric car between Berlin and Zossen, Germany, 130.5 miles an hour.
Birds, in the construction of their nests, almost without exception avoid bright-colored materials, which might possibly lead to the discovery of their place of abode by an enemy.
Apple wood, used almost exclusively for saw handles, also furnishes the material for many so-called brierwood pipes.
On a peace footing the Portuguese army consists of 32,000 men. When fully mobilized, the army should have 105,000 first-line troops and 145,000 of the second to put into the field.
In Germany, one man in 213 goes to college; in Scotland, one in 520; in the United States, one in 2,000, and in England, one in 5,000.
Damage to American crops by insects yearly amounts to $580,000,000.
There are fewer suicides among miners than among any other class of workmen.
A booby is not merely a human dunce, but is a Bahama bird, which is so spiritless that when attacked by other birds it fails to fight and gives up the fish it has caught without resistance.
Drawings of human beings and animals in ancient caves in France are regarded as proof that man was right-handed as far back as in the stone age.
A rosy-cheeked youngster, dressed in his best clothes, entered the village post office and carefully laid a huge slice of iced cake on the counter.
“With my sister’s, the bride’s, compliments, and will you please eat as much as you can,” he said.
The postmistress smiled delightedly.
“How very kind of the bride to remember me!” she cried. “Did she know of my weakness for wedding cake?”
“She did,” answered the youngster coldly, “and she thought she’d send over a bite of it this afternoon just to take the edge off your appetite before she posted any boxes off to her friends.”
A story is going the rounds about what Lord Kitchener, the British war secretary, said the other day after he had inspected some defense works on the east coast of England. It is short and sweet.
The war minister motored from point to point, walked over the ground, but never said a word all afternoon until the moment he was leaving for London. Then he opened his grim mouth.
“Those trenches of yours,” he said, “wouldn’t keep out the Salvation Army.”
The people of Texas destroyed 98,600 wolves and wild cats—including fifty-three panthers and twenty-two leopards—between September 1, 1912, and March, 1914, according to the State comptroller. But there are many thousands more of these wild beasts still alive, a serious menace to the rapidly growing industry of sheep and Angora-goat raising.
Is Henry Starr, of Lawton, Okla., the bandit chief, another Robin Hood? Does he, while engaged in robbing banks, keep in mind the hardships of the poor, as did the picturesque highwayman and poacher of early England? If only a part of the stories told of Starr are true, he might be called the “Robin Hood of Oklahoma,” although just now he is in Lincoln County Jail at Chandler, suffering from a broken leg, and with a long prison term pretty thoroughly mapped out for him. But here is what some of his admirers say he did:
“These things are of no value to me, but I’d hate it if the farmers had them to pay,” and with that remark Henry Starr, the bandit leader who, with his band of desperadoes, robbed two banks at Stroud and was shot down and captured by eighteen-year-old Paul Curry, once threw a heavy bundle of mortgages and notes, with a stone tied to them, into California Creek in Northern Oklahoma, and they were never recovered. Starr and his men had taken the bank’s papers when they rifled the bank at Caney, Kan., several years ago, and he said he took them just so the farmers would not have them to pay.
This incident in Starr’s bandit career was told by a long-time resident of the Cherokee country. He has known Starr for a number of years, has played poker with him frequently, and he insists that Starr is really one of the kindliest of men. After the Kansas robbery the Starr gang rode into northern Oklahoma and hid for some time, and it was at this time that the mortgages and notes were destroyed. The total value of the papers was perhaps never known, but a man who saw them declares the bundle was a foot thick.
It was following this same robbery, too, that Starr made one of his most spectacular get-aways. He and two men rode into an isolated community during the night and concealed themselves in a big stone barn, which was on the edge of a small valley with hills not far distant and almost surrounding it. Starr and his men slept until late in the day and then played pitch and shot craps for the small change they had obtained at the bank. They would shoot for a handful of the small silver, dimes and quarters, without any attempt being made to ascertain the amount.
The whereabouts of Starr and his two companions became known to the county sheriff, who, with a posse of twenty or thirty men, went to the barn with the intention of capturing the trio. The members of the posse were stationed on the hills surrounding the barn, and they thought it would be impossible for the outlaws to escape. When Starr was notified of the presence of the officers, he went into the barnyard and motioned to the sheriff, whom he knew, to confer with him. When the sheriff rode into the yard, Starr shook hands with him as though he was glad to meet an old friend, and then said:
“I am going to leave here at five o’clock; there are three of us. If you do not want your men hurt, you had better get them out of the way, for when we start we are going through your lines. Tell your men that for me.”
The sheriff returned to his men, called them together, and told them what Starr had said; within five minutes there was not a man other than the sheriff left within rifle distance of Henry Starr. That evening at five, as he had announced, Starr and his men rode quietly, and without being molested, away from the barn and toward the Osage Hills.
That Starr’s wife was the original of a photograph, “The Cherokee Milkmaid,” which was published worldwide several years ago, is the statement of Representative Walter R. Eaton, of Muskogee and Oilton. Eaton was engaged at that time in promoting the town site of Porum, and was going through the country in that vicinity with a photographer getting pictures to advertise that section.
Late one evening Eaton and the photographer drove by the home of Mrs. Starr, Henry’s mother, at a time when a very pretty young woman was milking a cow in the barnyard. The entire scene was one that would make a beautiful picture, and the two men finally persuaded the young woman to pose for several pictures.
“We got one fine picture,” said Eaton, “which we labeled ‘The Cherokee Milkmaid.’ It attracted instant attention because of its artistic merits and was published widely throughout the United States in both newspapers and magazines. It was about a year afterward that this young woman married Henry Starr.” Eaton says the young woman was a school-teacher at the time and was boarding at the Starr home.
The heroism of Aaron S. Ashbrook, twelve years old, saved the lives of his mother, his grandmother, two sisters, and his uncle, George Ashbrook, when they were trapped in the second story of their burning home in Cynthiana, Ky.
Escape was cut off by means of the stairway, and the little fellow leaped from the second-story window, and, running to a barn, secured a ladder, which he placed to the window, and the inmates of the house escaped without injury, with the exception of Mrs. Mary Gray, the aged mother of Mrs. Ashbrook, who fell from the ladder and was badly injured. The house was totally destroyed.
Although boasting of a population of almost 4,000, and with mail business sufficient, it is said, to justify free delivery, Oilton, Okla., the recent metropolis of the Cushing oil field, has no post office. Residents have chipped in and employed men to sort the mail, while some concerns have employed their own carriers.
Two months ago Oilton was an alfalfa field. To-day it is one of the fastest-growing towns in the country. It is the southern terminus of the recently completed Oil Belt Terminal Railroad.
It is a great sight when the mail comes in. If it is not raining, the mail is sorted out in piles on the ground. Usually the entire populace stands around watching the assorting of the mail.
The post office department has been requested to designate a post office at Oilton.
Because he raised 150,000 bushels of wheat in 1914 and needed a place to market it without a haul of ten miles, Ben Foster, a large land owner, of Colby, Kan., built a town of his own. He constructed an elevator, a coal and lumber yard, and some houses to go with it. The town was named Breton.
An attempt to wreck an east-bound Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad passenger train, near Eastbrook, W. Va., was frustrated by a boy, who flagged the train in time to prevent it from running into an obstruction placed on the track. A pile of ties had been placed on the track at the end of a curve. Railroad police are investigating.
The great-great-grandfather of all lobsters—according to Mike O’Donnell, who is an authority on such matters—has arrived in Boston, Mass. It is on exhibition in a stall in the Quincy Market.
The lobster, which in its natural state weighed thirty-three pounds and one ounce, measures forty-two inches from the tip of its tail to the end of its giant claws, the body alone measuring twenty-three and one-half inches. Since arriving here the lobster has been boiled, the meat removed, and the shell painted so that it now looks much the same as it did when it left the waters of Newfoundland.
This giant lobster, the biggest one ever seen here, according to some authorities, and one of the biggest on record, was caught off Grand Manan by a fisherman named John Moses.
Isn’t it about time to buy a pig? This is no joke. One of the causes of the high cost of living is in the fact that society is growing faster than the farmers. There is no more profitable animal than a pig. He improves the dressing and gives the gardener a valuable asset to begin the season with. He stands in the doorway to keep the wolf away through the winter. And the social part of it is no small item. The pig is the most social of animals, especially when he is hungry, and a good pig has a continuous appetite. It is no disgrace for any one to raise a pig—not even a school-teacher. Buy a pig and get your name on the roll of honor.
In attempting to develop an electrically operated device for bucking and felling trees, a lumber company in Marshfield, Ore., constructed a portable motor-driven chain saw, which will cut through a two-foot log in less than a minute, declares the Electrical World. The cutting element consists of a motor-driven saw-toothed chain traveling around the peripheries of two pulleys, one at each end of the frame. The motor is connected direct to one of the pulleys and is supplied with electricity through a flexible cord. The apparatus weighs only eighty pounds complete.
To celebrate the anniversary of forty years ago, when he jumped a freight at the old Delanco, N. J., station and beat his way in a side-door palace car to a near-by metropolis in search of a chance to make good, which he thought his home had denied him, a former Delanco boy came back a day or two ago in a limousine to call on old friends and renew the friendships of school-days.
The boy was John Cahill, who is now chief counsel of the American Bell Telephone Company, with offices in New York, London, and Paris.
Judge Maxwell sentenced Merton C. Pierce, of Canton, Pa., to three months in jail and a fine of $500 and costs of prosecution, for furnishing liquor to a person of known intemperate habits. Pierce pleaded guilty to supplying liquor to a man who could not buy for himself.
“Oh, that the law was more severe in such cases,” said Judge Maxwell. “I have the utmost contempt for a man who will buy liquor for a man who is forbidden to buy it himself, and would like to send you to jail for a longer period, but the law does not allow. However, I will give you the fullest penalty, and that will keep you behind the bars for at least six months,” said the judge, in passing sentence.
Another Canton man has been arrested on the same charge, but will fight the case.
James Billingsley, a farmer residing near Axtell, Kan., has a Red Polled cow that has made a record in raising calves. The animal, though only eight years old, has given birth to eight calves, four of which were born within a period of thirteen months. A year ago she gave birth to twins, and recently she gave birth to a set of twins.
The cow is a fine milker, and all of her calves have brought prices as high as fifty dollars a head.
“Have been torn up by a brown bear. No chance to get out. Good-by.”
Mortally wounded, and with his right arm incapacitated, King Thurman, a lone hunter and trapper on Chickaloon Flats, Alaska, crawled to his cabin, printed the above note with his left hand, and then shot himself with his rifle.
This was the story that was read by the hunters who found Thurman’s body in his cabin two weeks ago and reported the tragedy to the authorities at Seward, Alaska.
Ashland, Pa., had a novel wedding, when Lewis and James Baglin, twin brothers, were married to Ruth and Ada Maurer, sisters, by Reverend M. H. Jones.
Thomas Strong, of Pine Meadow, Conn., who has been a trackman on the New York, New Haven & Hartford Railroad for more than forty years, and is nearly eighty years old, has refused to be retired on a pension, saying he wants to die in harness. He says he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he quit work.
Radio operators in the United States can’t cuss each other out or use profanity or indecent language of any kind “in the air.”
A few days ago an operator in the commercial station in Massachusetts ended up a message with a word that shocked the inspector in the government station at Boston, where it was picked up. The department of commerce has sent the offending operator a strong letter of reprimand, warning him to be careful of his language in the air in the future or he would lose his license.
Louis Newman, of Bayonne, N. J., owns a cat which is the possessor of a litter of five kittens which Newman values at twenty dollars a piece, despite their being decidedly common cats, of the back-fence variety.
Two weeks ago Newman left his safe open and later missed a roll of bills, containing one hundred dollars. Chief Michael S. Reilly, of the Bayonne police, and the entire detective force examined the premises and found them clewless.
Newman solved the mystery himself. In the woodshed at the rear of his home, at 73 West Twenty-sixth Street, he heard a cat’s voice, and spied Spondulix, the household pet, in a box with five kittens. Newman picked one up and at the same time caught sight of something green at the bottom of the box. He investigated and found four ten-dollar bills, two twenties, two fives, and some twos.
The mother cat, in seeking for something with which to line her cradle, had appropriated the money from the safe.
That a hog can live fifty-five days without food or water has been proven. Burch Dowell, of Cookville, Tenn., one of Putnam County’s prosperous farmers, states that he has a Duroc hog that lived for fifty-five days without either food or water, in a deep gully into which it had fallen and became entangled in the dense undergrowth, rendering its escape impossible.
The hog was accidentally discovered a few days ago by Dowell, who extricated it from its helpless predicament. It had lost 175 pounds in weight, but was still alive, and bids fair to rapidly recover its former vigor.
A number of ancient Sumerian tablets recording the deeds of the Babylonians thousands of years ago have just been deciphered by George A. Barton, at the University of Pennsylvania museum. One of these tablets, which tells how a farmer rid his field of locusts and caterpillars, is dated 4,000 B. C., and is the oldest piece of writing extant, according to an announcement to-night by officials of the museum. The farmer, Doctor Barton’s translation says, called in a necromancer, who “broke a jar, cut open a sacrifice, a word of cursing he repeated, and the locusts and caterpillars fled.” For this service he received a tall palm tree.
Miss Margaret McConnell, aged thirty, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. David L. McConnell, of Washington, Pa., a society girl and active in church and charitable work, met a horrible death while investigating the mechanism of an electric clothes wringer that had been installed in the home that morning.
A long scarf the girl had thrown about her head caught in the wringer and she was strangled before her mother, who was standing close by, could shut off the current or go to her assistance.
Mrs. McConnell, too late, made frantic efforts to save the life of her daughter. Unsuccessful, she summoned aid and then collapsed.
Pleading for her sixty-year-old “boy,” who, she says, will die if he is not permitted to obtain the drugs denied him by the Harrison antidrug bill, an eighty-one-year-old Colorado woman has written a pitiful letter to Doctor B. R. Reese, of the Federal internal revenue division of the treasury department. She addressed her letter to President Wilson, but Secretary Tumulty sent it to Doctor Reese, whose office is the clearing house of such correspondence.
Much as the appeal of the old Colorado woman moved the officials, no exception will be made in that case. There is no intention on the part of the internal revenue division to issue blanket permits to obtain drugs for individual cases.
Paris was enlivened early this week by gay crowds of conscripts of the 1916 class parading the streets to the strains of the “Marseillaise” and other patriotic songs previous to departing to join their regiments in the center and the south of France.
These nineteen-year-old recruits compare favorably with those of previous levies, and they showed the better effect of physical training in preparation for their service in the army.
All appeared to be full of confidence, and they departed without a sign of reluctance or regret.
The Alaska Senate passed a bill submitting territorial prohibition to the voters at the November election in 1916. The bill has already passed the House. If the voters approve prohibition, it will become effective January 1, 1918.
The glass in almost every alley window in a half block in the business section of Excelsior Springs, Mo., was broken when what is believed to have been a stick of dynamite was thrown into the alley. One arrest has been made.
A number of people narrowly escaped injury.
The explosion is believed to be the outgrowth of ill feeling engendered at the local-option election here, January 18.
General Putnam, of early-day fame, who crawled into a hole and dispatched a ferocious “painter” therein, has a rival at Worland, near Gillette, Wyo., in the person of Henry Schumacher, who recently tracked a monster she-wolf to her den, and, with six-shooter in hand, crawled in after her.
He had only proceeded a few feet when the wolf sprang for him, but Henry was quick with his gun, as usual, placing several bullets in her head before she could reach him.
Eight pups, about a month old, were found at the end of the den. Schumacher killed them all, but, small as they were, they put up a stiff fight, repeatedly biting him before he succeeded in killing them all. Bounty to the amount of one hundred and fifty-five dollars was collected on the old wolf and her young.
Miss Helen Dodge, eighteen years old, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. H. G. Dodge, of Lestershire, N. Y., born deaf and dumb, will deliver an oral oration at her graduation from the Malone State Institution for the Deaf and Dumb in June.
Miss Dodge’s case is considered one of the most remarkable in the history of teaching the deaf and dumb. She was placed in the institution when only four years old, and has been a student there ever since.
Her teacher soon discovered that she was unusually intelligent and began experimenting in an effort to teach her to speak. Her vocal chords were found to be in normal condition, and before she was seven years old she had been taught to make sounds which were intelligible. She now speaks as distinctly and with as much expression as a person with the normal faculty of hearing, and it is declared that hers is the first case of the kind in this or any other institution.
Fired with the ambition to become a lawyer, that she may some day obtain the freedom of her husband, who is serving a life sentence for the murder of Charles Reuter, a Tulsa, Okla., lawyer, Mrs. Mamie Baker, dividing her time between household duties and public school, has advanced from the lowest grammar grades to the high school in less than two years. Mrs. Baker is a Bohemian, and unfamiliarity with the English language has been an additional drawback to her.
When she completes high school, it is her aim to enter a law office. She insists she will be a practising attorney in three years.
Mrs. Baker does not seek to obtain the freedom of her husband that she may again live with him, but to take the stain of crime from her name. She has always insisted her husband is innocent of murder.
An engineer on a fast express on the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad received a signal to stop his train near Defiance, Ohio. It was an emergency signal, so the train was stopped as quickly as possible.
The conductor, amazed at the sudden stop, ran to the engine and reached it just as the engineer was preparing to go back to the train to ascertain the trouble. Both were dismayed when told no person had given the signal.
An investigation of the express car, however, revealed that a horse had the signal cord in its mouth and was pulling it with all its might.
A fife-and-drum corps visited the State Penitentiary, at Joliet, Ill., to give the prisoners a treat.
The 1,500 convicts pushed back their plates when the corps marched down the aisle of the big dining hall to the stirring tune of “Marching Through Georgia.”
A grizzled old man seated at one of the benches rose and followed, keeping step with the players. He was Thomas McNally, a life convict from Chicago, who for twenty-five years has been “No. 3,692.”
“I am an old soldier—fought in the Civil War,” he mumbled in apology when the music stopped. “I forgot where I was.”
An appeal for McNally’s pardon is pending. It is supported by the judge before whom he was tried and twenty lawyers who believe he is innocent.
SONG POEMS WANTED for publication. You may write a big song hit! Experience unnecessary. Publication guaranteed if acceptable. Send us your verses or melodies today. Write for free valuable booklet.
Marks-Goldsmith Co. [Dept. 70] Washington, D.C.