The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 4, No. 130, Ed. 1 Friday, December 1, 1916 Page: 3 of 4
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NORMAN DAILY TRANSCRIPT
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JAMES mKOrn RILEY
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John B. McKlnney, attorney unci
eouuselor at law, as his sign read, was,
for many reasons, a fortunate man.
For many other reasons ho was not
lie was chiefly fortunate in being, as
certain opponents often strove wither-
Ingly to designate him, "the son of his
father," since that sound old gentle-
man was the wealthiest farmer in that
section, with but one son and heir to
supplant Mm, in time, in the role of
"county god," and haply perpetuate
the prouder title of "the biggest tax-
payer on the assessment list." And
this fact, too, fortunate as it would
seem, was doubtless the indirect occa-
sion of a liberal! percentage of all
John's misfortunes. From his earliest
school days in the little town, up to
Ills tardy graduation from a distant
college, the Influence of his father's
wealth Invited his procrastination, hu-
mored its results, encouraged the lax-
ity of his ambition, "and even now,"
as John urted. In bitter irony, to put it,
4'it is aitflug and abetting me in the
ostensible practice of my chosen pro-
fession, a listless, aimless undeter-
mined man of forty, aud a confirmed
bachelor at that!" At the utterance
of his self-depreciating statement,
John generally jerked his legs down
from the top of his desk; and rising
and kicking his chair back to the wall
he would stump around his littered of-
fice till the manila carpet steamed
with dust. Then he would wildly
break away, seeking refuge either in
the open street, or in his room at the
old-time tavern. The Eagle house,
"where," he would say, "I have lodged
and boarded, \ do solemnly asseverate,
for a long, unbroken, middle-aged eter-
nity of ten years, and can yet assert,
in the words of the more fortunately-
dying Webster, that 'I still live!'"
Extravagantly satirical as he was at
times, John had always an indefinable
drollery about him that made him
agreeable company to his friends, at
least; and such an admiring friend he
had constantly at hand in the person
«f Bert Haines. Both were Bohemians
In natural tendency, and, though John
was far in Bert's advance in point of
age, he found the young man "Just the
kind of a fellow to have around;"
while Bert, In turn, held his senior in
profound esteem—looked up to him, in
fact, and even in his eccentricities
strove to pattern himself after him.
And so It was, when summer days
were dull and tedious, these two could
muse and doze ttye hours away to-
gether ; and when the nights were
long, and dark, and deep, and beauti-
ful, they could drift out in the noon-
light of the stars, and with "the soft
complaining flute" and "warbling lute,"
4,lay the pipes," as John would say, for
their enduring popularity with the
girls! And it was Immediately sub-
sequent to one of these romantic ex-
cursions, when the belated pair, at two
o'clock in the morning, had skulked
up a side stairway of the old hotel,
and gained John's room, with nothing
anore serious happening than Bert fall-
ing over a trunk and smashing his
guitar—Just after such a night of ro-
mance and adventure it was that, in
the seclusion of John's room, Bert had
something of especial import to com-
municate.
"Mack," he said, as that worthy
anathematized a spiteful match, and
then sucked his finger.
"Blast the all-fired old torch!" said
John, wrestling with the lamp-flue, and
turning on a welcome flame at last.
44 Well, you said 'Mack!' Why don't you
go on? And don't bawl at the top of
your lungs, either. You've already suc-
ceeded In waking every boarder In the
house with that guitar, and you want
to make amends now by letting them
go to slecep again!"
"But my dear fellow," said Bert with
forced calmness, "you're the fellow
that's making all the noise—and—"
"Why, you howling dervish 1" inter-
rupted John, with a feigned air of
pleased surprise and admiration. "But
let's drop controversy. Throw the
fragments of your guitar in the wood-
box there, and proceed with the open-
ing proposition."
"What I was going to say was this,"
said Bert, with a half-desperate enun-
ciation; "I'm getting tired of this way
of living — clean, dead-tired, and
fagged out, and sick of the whole arti-
ficial business!"
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed John, with a
towering disdain, "you needn't go any
further I I know just what malady is
throttling you. It's reform—reform!
You're going to 'turn over a new leaf,'
and all that, and sign the pledge, and
quit cigars, and«go to work, and pay
your debts, rind gravitate back into
Sunday-school, where you can make
love to the preacher's daughter under
the guise of religion, and desecrate
the sanctity of the innermost pale of
the church by confessions at class of
your 'thorough conversion!' Oh, you're
going to—"
"No, but I'm going to do nothing of
the sort," interrupted Bert resentfully.
"What I mean—if you'll let me finish—
is, I'm getting too old to be eternally
undlgnlfying myself with this 'singing
of midnight strains under Bonnybell's
window-panes,' and too old to be keep-
•ig myself In constant humiliation and
♦he borrowing and string-
ing up of old guitars, together with tho
breakage of the same, and the general
wear-and-tear on a constitution that is
slowly being sapped to Its foundations
by exposure in the night air and the
dew."
"And while you receive no further
compensation in return," said John,
"than, perhaps, the coy turning up of
a lamp at an upper casement where
the Jasmine climbs; or an exasperating
patter of invisible palms; or a huge
dank wedge of fruit-cake shoved at
you by the old man, through a crack
in the door."
"Yes, and I'm going to have my Just
reward, is what 'I mean," said Bert,
"and exchange the lover's life for the
benedict's. Going to hunt out a good
sensible girl and marry her." And as
the young man concluded this desper-
ate avowal he Jerked the bow of his
cravat into a hard knot, kicked his hat
under the bed, and threw himself on
the sofa like an old suit.
John stared at him with absolute
compassion. "Poor devil," he said half
musingly, "I know just how he feeli
hanging up the new t window-blinds
that won't roll, and disguising the pil-
lows with clean slips, and hennln'
round among my books and papers on
the table here, aud aging me gener-
ally till I don't know my own hand-
writing by the time I find it I Oh, yes,
you're going to revolutionise things
here; you're going to Introduce
promptness, and system, and order.
See you've even filled the wash-pitcher
and tucked two new starched towels
through the handle. Haven't got any
tin towels, have you? I rather like
this new soap, too! So solid and dura-
ble, you know; warranted not to ralso
a lather. Might as well wash one's
hands with a door-knob!"
And as John's voice grumbled away
Into the sullen silence again, the de-
termined voice without responded:
'Oh, you can growl away to your
heart's content, Mr. McKlnney, but I
want you to understand dlstlnolly that
I'm not going to humor you In any of
your old bachelor, sluggardly, slov-
enly ways, and whims and notions.
And I want you to understand, too,
that I'm not hired help in this house,
nor a .chambermaid, nor anything of
the kind. I'm the landlady here; and
I'll give you just ten minutes more
to get down to your breakfast, or you'll
not get any—that's all!" And as the
reversed cuff John was in the act of
buttoning slid from his wrist and
rolled under the dresser, he heard a
stiff rustling of starched muslin flounc-
ing past the door, and the quick Itali-
old chum. He eyed the missive appre-
hensively, and there was a positive
pathos in his voice as he said aloud:
"It's our divorce. I feel it!" The
note, headed, "At the Office, Four in
Morning," ran like this:
Dear Mack-I left you slumbering bo
soundly that, by noon, when you waken,
I hope, in your refreshed state, you will
look more tolerantly on my Intentions
us partially confided to you this night. I
will not see you here again to say good-
bv. I wanted to, but was afraid to "rouse
the sleeping lion." I will not close my
eyes tonight—fact Is. I haven't time.
Our serenade at Josle's was a prear-
ranged signal by whldl she is to be n ady
and at the station for the five morning
train. You may rememix'r the lighting
of three consecutive matches at her win-
dow before the igniting of her lamp. That
meant: "Thrice drareot one, I'll meet thee
at the depot at four-thirty sharp." So,
my dear Mark, this Is to Inform you that,
even as you read, Josle and I have eloped.
It la all the old man's fault, yet 1 forgive
him. Hope he'll return the favor. Josie
predicts lie will, inside of a week—or two
weeks, anyhow. (Jood-by, Mack, old boy;
and let a fellow down as easy as you can.
Affectionately,
BERT.
"neavens!" exclaimed John, stifling
the note in his hand and stalking trag-
ically around the room. "Can it be
possible that I have nursed a frozen
viper? An ingrate? A wolf in sheep's
clothing? An orang-outang in gent's
furnishings?"
"Was you calling me, sir?" asked a
voice at the door. It was the Janitor.
"No!" thundered John. "Quit my
sight! Get out of my way! No, no.
Thompson, I dou't mean that," he
called after him. "Here's a half-dollar
Ring In the wind his wedding chimes,
Smile, villagers, at every door;
Old churchyards stuffed with burled
crimes,
Be clad In sunshine o'er and o'er.—
"Oh, here!" exclaimed the wretched
Bert, jumping to his feet; "let up on
that dismal recitative. It would make
a dog howl to hear that!"
"Then you 'let up' on that suicidal
talk of marrying," replied John, "and
all that harangue of lncoherency about
your growing old. Why, my dear fel-
low, you're at least a dozen years my
Junior, and look at me!" and John
glanced at himself in the glass with a
feeble pride, noting the gray sparse-
ness of his side-hair, and its plaintive
dearth on top. "Of course I've got to
admit," he continued, "that my hair is
gradually evaporating; but for all that,
I'm 'still in the ring,' don't you know;
as young in society, for the matter of
that, as yourself I And this is Just the
reason why I don't want you to blight
every prospect in your life by marry-
ing at your age—especially a woman—
I mean the kind of woman you'd be
sure to fancy at your age."
Didn't I say 'a good sensible girl'
was the kind I had selected?" Bert re-
monstrated.
'Oh!" exclaimed John, "you've se-
lected her, then?—and without one
word to me!" he ended, rebukingly.
"Well, hang It all!" said Bert Im-
patiently : "I knew how you were, and
just how you'd talk me out of it; and
I made up ray mind that for once, at
least, I'd follow the dictations of a
heart that—however capricious in
youthful frivolities—should beat, In
manhood, loyal to ltself and loyal to
Its own affinity."
"Go ltl Fire away I Farewell, vain
world!" exclaimed the excited John.
"Trade your soul off for a pair of ear-
bobs and a buttonhook—a hank of
jute hair and a box of lily-white! I've
buried not less than ten old chums this
way, and here's another nominated for
the tomb."
"But you've got no reason about
you," began Bert, "I want to—"
"And so do I 'want to,'" broke in
John finally, "I want to get some sleep.
So 'register' and come to bed. And lie
up on edge, too, when you do come—
J 'cause this old catafalque-of-a-bed is
just about as narrow as your views of
single blessedness! Peace! Not an-
other word! Pile in 1 Pile in t I'm
three-parts sick, anyhow, and I want
rest I" And very truly he spoke.
It was a bright morning when the
slothful John was aroused by a long
vociferous pounding on the door. He
started up in bed to fled himself alone
—the victim of his wrathful Irony hav-
ing evidently risen and fled away
while his pitiless tormentor slept—
"Doubtless to accomplish at once that
nefarious intent as set forth by his
unblushing confession of last night,"
mused the miserable John. And he
ground his fingers in the corners of his
swollen eyes, and leered grimly In the
glass at the feverish orbs, blood-shot,
blurred and aching.
The pounding on the door continued.
John looked at his watch; it was only
eight o'clock.
"Ill, there!" he called viciously.
"What do you mean, anyhow?" he
went on, elevating his voice again;
"shaking a man out of bed when he's
just dropping into his first sleep?"
"I mean that you're going to get up;
that's what!" replied a firm female
voice. "It's eight o'clock, and I want
to put your room in order; and I'm
not going to wait all day about it,
either! Get up and go down to your
breakfast, and let me have the room!"
And the clamor at the door was in-
dustriously renewed.
"Say!" called John querulously, hur-
rying on his clothes, "Say you!"
"There's no 'say' about it I" re
sponded the determined voice; "I've
heard about you and your ways around
this house, and I'm not going to put
up with it! You'll not lie in bed till
high noon when I've got to keep your
room in proper order!"
"Oh, ho!" bawled John intelligently;
"reckon you're the new invasion here?
Doubtless you're that girl that's been
"YOU'RE THE GENTLEMAN IN NUMBER ELEVEN, I BELIEVE?"
determined gaiters
dzed patter of
down the hall.
"Look here," said John to the bright-
faced boy in the hotel office, a half-
hour later. "It seems the house here's
been changing hands again."
"Yes, sir," said the boy, closing the
cigar case and handing him a lighted
match. "Well, the new landlord, who-
ever he is," continued John, patroniz-
ingly, "is a good one. Leastwise, he
knows what's good to eat and how to
serve It."
The boy laughed timidly. "It ain't
a 'landlord,' though—it's a landlady;
it's my mother."
"Ah," said John, dallying with the
change the boy had pushed toward
him. "Your mother, eh? And where's
your father?"
"He's dead," said the boy.
"And what's this for?" abruptly
asked John, examining his change.
"That's your change," said the boy.
"You got three for a quarter, and gave
me a half."
"Well, you just keep it," said John,
sliding back the change. "It's for good
luck, you know, my boy. Same as
drinking your long life and prosperity.
And, oh, yes; by the way, you may
tell your mother I'll have a friend to
dipner with me today."
"Yes, sir, and thank you, sir," said
the beaming boy.
"Handsome boy!" mused John, as he
walked down street. "Takes that from
his father, though, I'll wager my exist-
ence !"
Upon his office desk John found a
hastily written note. It was ad-
dressed in the well-known hand of his
for you, and I want you to lock up the
office, and tell anybody that wants to
see me that I've been set upon, and
sacked and assassinated in cold blood;
and I've fled to my father's in the
country, and am lying there in the
convulsions of dissolution, babbling
of green fields and running brooks,
and thirsting for the life of every
woman that comes in gunshot!" And
then, more like a confirmed invalid
than a man in the strength and pride
of his prime, he crept down into the
street again, and thence back to his
hoteL
Dejectedly and painfully climbing
to his room, he encountered, on the
landing above, a little woman in a
jaunty dusting-cap and a trim habit of
crisp muslin, ne tried to evade her,
but in vain. She looked him squarely
in the face—occasioning him the dubi-
ous impression of either needing shav-
ing very badly, or having egg-stains on
his chin.
"You're the gentleman in Number
eleven, I believe? Why, Mr. McKinney,
are you 111?"
He nodded confusedly.
"Mr. McKlnney is your name, I
think?" she queried, with a pretty ele-
vation of the eyebrows.
"Yes, ina'ara," said John rather ab-
jectly. "You see, ma'am—but I beg
pardon," he went on stammeringly, and
with a very awkward bow—"I beg par-
don, but I am addressing—ah—the—
ah—the—"
"You are addressing the new land-
lady," she interpolated pleasantly.
"Mrs. Miller Is my name. I think we
should be friends, Mr. McKlnney, since
I hear that you are one of the oldest
patrous of the house."
•Thank you—thank you!" said John,
completely embarrassed. "Yes, in-
deed!— ha, ha. Oh, yes—yes—really,
we must be quite old friends, I assure
you, Mrs.—Mrs.—"
Mrs. Miller," smilingly prompted
the little woman.
'Yes, ah, yes—Mrs. Miller. Lovely
morning, Mrs. Miller," said John, edg-
ing past her and backing toward his
room.
But as Mrs. Miller was laughing out-
right, for some mysterious reason, and
gave no affirmation In response to his
proposition as to tho quality of the
weather, John, utterly abashed and
nonplused, darted Into his room rind
closed the door. "Deucedly extraordi-
nary woman!" he thought; "wouder
what's her idea!"
He remained locked in his room till
the dinner hour; and, when he prompt-
ly emeuged for that occasion, there
was a noticeable improvement In his
personal appearance, in point of dress,
at least, though there still lingered
about his smoothly shaven features a
certain haggard, care-worn, unxious
look that would not out.
Next his own at the table he found
a chair tilted forward, as though In
reservation for some honored guest.
What did It mean? Oh, he remem-
bered now. Told the boy to tell his
mother he would have a friend to dine
with him. Bert—and, blast the fel-
low!—was, doubtless, dining then with
a far-preferable companion—his wife
—In a palace car on the P., C. & St. L.,
a hundred miles away. The thought
was maddening. Of course, now, the
landlady would have material for a
new assault And how could he avert
it? A despairing film blurred his sight
for the moment—then the eyes flashed
daringly. "I will meet It like a man!"
ho said, mentally—"yea, like a state's
attorney—I will invite it! Let her do
her worst!"
He called a servant, giving some
message la an undertone.
"Yes, sir," said the agreeable serv-
ant; "I'll go right away, sir," and left
the room.
Five minutes elapsed, and then a
voice at his shoulder startled him:
"Did you send for me, Mr. McKln-
ney? What Is It I can do?"
"You are very kind, Mrs.—Mrs.—"
"Mrs. Miller," said tho lady, with
a smile that he remembered.
"Now, please spare me even tho
mildest of rebukes. I deserve your
censure, but I can't stand it—I can't
positively!" and there was a pleading
look in John's lifted eyes that changed
the little woman's smile to an expres-
sion of real solicitude. "I have sent
for you," continued John, "to ask of
you three great favors. Please be
seated while I enumerate them. First
—I want you to forgive and forget that
Ill-natured, uncalled-for grumbling of
mine this morning when you awakened
me."
"Why, certainly," said the landlady,
again smiling, though quite seriously.
"I thank you," said John with dig-
nity. "And, second," he continued—
"I want your assurance that my ex-
treme confusion and awkwardness on
the occasion of our meeting later were
rightly interpreted."
"Certainly—certainly," said the land
lady with the kindliest sympathy.
"I am grateful—utterly," said John,
with newer dignity. "And then," he
went on—"after informing you that it
is impossible for the best friend I have
in the world to be with me at this
hour, as intended, I want you to do
me the very great honor of dining with
me. Will you?"
"Why certainly," said the charming
little landlady—"and a thousand
thanks besides! But tell me some-
! thing of your friend," she continued,
j as they were being served. "What
| is he like—and what is his name—
and where is he?"
"Well," said John warily "—he's like
all young fellows of his age. He's
quite young, you know—not over
thirty, I should say—a mere boy, In
fact, but clever—talented—versatile."
"—Unmarried, of course," said the
chatty little woman.
"Ob, yes!" said John, in a matter-of-
course tone—but he caught himself ab-
ruptly—then stared intently at his
napkin—glanced evasively at the side-
face cf his questioner, and said—"Oh,
yes! Yes, indeed! He's unmarried—
old bachelor like myself, you know.
Ha! Ha 1"
'So he's not like the young man
here that distinguished himself last
night?" said the little woman archly.
The fork In John's hand, half-lifted
to his lips, faltered and fell back to-
ward his plate.
"Why, what's that?" said John in a
strange voice. "I hadn't heard any-
thing about it—I mean I haven't heard
anything about any young man. What
was it?"
"Haven't heard anything about the
elopment?" exclaimed the little wom-
an in astonishment. "Why, it's been
the talk of the town all morning.
Elopement in high life—son of a grain-
dealer, name of Ilines, or Himes, or
something, and a preacher's daughter
—Josle somebody—didn't catch her
last name. Wonder If you don't know
the parties— Why, Mr. McKinney,
are you ill?"
"Oh, no—not at all!" said John.
"Don't mention it. Ha—ha! Just eat-
ing too rapidly, that's all. Go on with
—you were saying that Bert and Josle
had really eloped."
"What 'Bert'?" asked the little wom-
an, quickly.
"Why, did I say Bert?" said John,
with a guilty look. "I meant Haines,
of course, you know—Haines and
Josie—and did they really elope?"
"That's the report," answered the
little woman, as though deliberating
some Important evidence;
was quite Ingenious^ It soems the
young lovers were assisted In their
flight by some old fellow—frleud of
the young man's—why, Mr. McKlnney,
you are ill, surely?"
John's face was ashen.
"No—no!" he gasped painfully. "Go
on—go on! Tell me more about the
—the—the old fellow—the old repro-
bate! And is he still at large?"
"Yes," said the little woman, anx
lously regarding the strange demeanor
of her companion. "They say, though,
that the law can do nothing with him,
and that this fact only intensifies the
agony of the broken-hearted parents—
for it seems they have, till now, re-
garded him both as a gentleman and
family friend in whom—"
"I really am ill," moaned John, wav-
eringly rising to his feet; "but I beg
you not to be alarmed. Tell your little
boy to come to my room, where I will
retire at once, if you'll excuse me, and
send for my physician. It is simply
a nervous attack. I ain often troubled
so; and only perfect quiet and seclu-
sion restores me. You have done me
a great honor, Mrs.—" ("Mrs. Miller,"
sighed the sympathetic little woman)
Mrs. Miller—and I thank you more
than I have words to express." He
bowed limply, turned through a side
door opening ou a stair, and tottered
to his room.
During the three-weeks' illness
through which he passed, John had ev-
ery attention—much more, indeed,
than he had consciousness to appreci-
ate. For the most part his mind wan-
dered, and he talked of curious things,
and laughed hysterically, and serenad-
ed mermaids that dwelt In grassy seas
of dew, and were bald-headed like him-
self. He played upon a 14-Jolnted flute
of solid gold, with diamond holes, and
keys enrved out of thawless Ice. His
old father came at first to take him
home; but he could not bo moved, the
doctor said.
Two weeks of John's Illness hnd
worn away, when a very serious-look-
ing young man, In a traveling duster,
and a high hat, came up the stairs to
see him. A handsome young lady was
clinging to his arm. It was Bert and
Josie. She had guessed the very date
of their forgiveness. John awoke even
clearer In mind than usual that after-
noon. He recognized his old chum at
a glance, and Josle—now Bert's wife.
Yes, he comprehended that. He was
holding a hand of each, when another
figure entered. His thin white lingers
loosened their clusp, and he held a
hand to tho newcomer. "Ilere," he
said, "is my best frk?nd In the world-
Bert, you and Josie will love her, I
know; for this is Mrs.—Mrs.—" "Mrs.
Miller," said the radiant little woman.
"Yes—Mrs. Miller," said John, very
proudly.
CADDY'S EVENING
U FAIRY TALE M
t* MM GRAHAMDWNEJ^
WELCOME, THE DOG.
•There was once an old, old Lady
who lived all alone," said Daddy. "Her
only Companion was a big Dog whose
name was Fred.
"Every Morning, every Afternoon
and every Evening Fred aud the old
Lady would take a Walk. Fred was
almost as Old for a Dog as his Mis-
tress was for an old Lady. So they
both liked to Walk slowly and take
their time.
"But one day Fred got Sick. Oh, he
was such a Sick Doggie. He could
scarcely Wag his Tall when his Mis-
tress asked hln hew he was. He Just
looked at her out of his big E^es and
made queer little sounds in his Throat,
which in Dog Lunguage meant, 'Don't
worry, kind Mistress. It makes me Sad
to see you so Unhappy.'
"But Fred only grew worse and
worse. The Dog Doctor came, and he
said Fred was Dying of old age. Poor
Faithful Fred! How he did hate to
leave his Mistress. He seemed to know
how much She would miss Him.
"A week passed by ami at the end of
n long night when Fred had dozed off
and on with his Head in his Mistress*
Lap, his Breathing stopped. And over
his shaggy Fur the old Lady's Tears
fell hour after hour.
"Now one day, some little while after
Fred had Died, the old Lady was sit-
ting by her Window looking out on the
Village Street. There at her Door was
NAPOLEON A SOUND SLEEPER
On One Occasion, His Biographers As-
sert, He Did Not Wake for
Thirty-Six Hours.
Most great men have needed more
sleep aud have taken more than has
been credited to them. In one of our
standard works on therapeutics the
writer states that Napoleon took but
four hours of sleep.
Had the writer been as careful in
his research In this matter as in oth-
ers, he would have found that Napo-
leon, who was blessed, If ever man
was, "with the constitution of an ox,"
took between six and eight hours of
sleep, and though he could go for long
Intervals without rest, alwuys made
up for such loss, on one occasion sleep-
ing 3(3 hours at a stretch, the New
York Medical Journal asserts.
Benjamin Franklin, who was
thrifty of his time as he dared to be,
and who was very robust, limited him
self to six hours of repose, but not
less, and If the history of the robust
great were looked into carefully, It
would be found that they had about as
much sleep us the average man and
certainly few of them were foolish
enough to try to get along with less
than they craved. If one desires a
commentary on the woes of sleepless-
ness, he has but to read the autobi-
ography of Herbert Spencer.
It is a greater gift to be ahle to
sleep (at will) and under any cir-
cumstances than to do with little
sleep. More time Is wasted in getting
to sleep than in sleeping. On the oth-
er hand, there is little doubt that too
long sleep, too protracted bodily relax-
ation, is not best for the human or-
ganism, and many of our relaxed young
people, with no regular employment
and more time than they know how to
consume to advantage, would be better
for spending less time In bed. A pre-
scription for early rising would do
them good.
Dyes From the Alder.
For the purpose of making dyes, the
common alder appears to have been
unnoticed by the pioneers of this coun-
try, who make use of so many barkg
and roots. However, It was well known
to the Indians, who used it to good
effect. It dyes a reddish color, and
down to a few years ago was'employed
by natives of the Northwest Pacific
coast in coloring their fish nets. Alder
dye, used for the same purpose, Is
said to be the oldest recorded dye In
the world. It is mentioned In the Kale-
vain of Finland, supposed to date near-
ly 3,000 years ago.
Watch the Family's Health.
The drinking water of many farms
is impure, unfit for drinking, owing to
contamination from barnyards and oth-
er sources surrounding the farm home.
The farmer does not realize that
though the well Is separated ri\)m con-
taminating sources by several hundred
feet, there may yet be danger that its
and they ! waters are impure, cout^'ug germs
All Took Walks Together.
a big Dog—he looked very much like
Fred but he was young and he Jumped
and Bounded.
Scrutch! Scratch,' went his Paws
on the Door, and the old Lady slowly
got up and let him in.
' 'What Doggie are you?' she asked.
•The Dog looked at her for a mo-
ment, Jumped about and then Licked
her Hand, as If to say, 'I am yours, If
you will have me.'
"She brought him some Milk to
Drink, and gave him a Bone. While
he was Playing with his Bone, she put
on her Bonnet and Shawl.
"The Dog looked up and Whined. He
did not want to be left alone.
"'Come with me,' said the old Lady,
'But you mustn't go too fust.'
"And along the Village Street they
went—the Dog going off on short Ituns,
but always coming back to join his
new Mistress.
"From House to House, from store
to store, they went, and the old Lady's
question was always the same, 'Do you
know from where this Dog came?'
"And always she got the same An-
swer, 'We have never seen the Dog be-
fore. But he looks like Fred. Maybe
he is one of Fred's Grandchiidreu—you
had better keep him.'
"And how happy each time that
made the old Lady. But still she wait-
ed until she was sure the Dog did not
belong to anyone.
" *1 shall name you Welcome,' she
said the Dog, 'for you were very,
very Welcome to me. I was so Lonely.'
And several tears fell from the old
lady's eyes—aud now they fell from
joy.
"Every Day she took a walk with
Welcome. He knew she could not go
quickly, and after every Run he would
take, back he would come to her Side
and Walk along slowly for a little time.
"Some time later the old Lady
learned that her Dog had chosen a
new companion. He was a very little
Dog, and unlike Welcome who was
very large.
"For several days the little Dog
would come to the Back-Yard of her
House, and Welcome would take out
some of his Bones to his new Friend.
•'But one day he brought him In and
going up to the old Lady, he put one of
his Paws in her Lap.
•"Please, mistress,' he seemed to
say, 'this little Dog is very Lonely,
just as you were; aud Just as I was
Lonely until I came to you. Cun't we
make him Happy too?'
•The old Lady gave the small Dog
some Milk, and he too came to stay. 'We
shall name him Joy,' she said. 'For he
has made Welcome a Happy little Play-
mate, and we have given him Joy as
before he was all alone, too.'
"Every day after that the old Lady,
the big young Dog, Welcome, and the
little Dog, Joy, all took Walks together.
And never again did any of them know
what Loneliness was!"
say, too, that the plot of the runaway
of disease.
When Tommy Found Out.
Small Tommy—Mamma, that was
good roast beef we had for diuner.
Where did you get it ?
Mamma—Why, Tommy, that wasn't
beef. It was roast pork.
Small Tommy—Then why didn't you
tell me before? You know I don't like
perk,
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Reference the current page of this Newspaper.
Burke, J. J. The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 4, No. 130, Ed. 1 Friday, December 1, 1916, newspaper, December 1, 1916; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc113353/m1/3/: accessed April 19, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.