_Ptacv H. V»H DYKE, Publisher ini Editor. __
NEWPORT. * - ARKANSAS
Trapping a
Millionaire
THAT particular railway which is
known to the gay young city man
as “Sewer’s Limited,” was in bad odor
in the city, and on the stock exchange
its shares found no buyers, despite
the fact that there was scarce a bro
ker who had not instructions from
anxious, almost panic-stricken clients
to sell out their holdings in that stock.
Electricity was in the air. Everyone
talked of electricity, and predicted
that in the near future it would be the
motive power of the entire traffic of
the metropolis. The electric railways
and the prospect of further improve
ments in passenger locomotion had
much to do with the trend of popular
opinion, which Avas further strength
ened by the advent of a wealthy syn
dicate, which, it Avas said, had number
less plans and estimates for electric
lines all over the metropolis. It Avas,
therefore, not an unnatural conse
quence that things looked very blue
in the offices of “Sewer’s, Lfhiited.”
The secretary had just arrived, and
had passed throvigh the clerks' office
without acknowledging a salutation
or speaking a word to nnyone.
The secretary’s private secretary
followed him in and handed him the
morning linancial paper as he sat
clown.
“I see, sir,” said the private secre
tary, “that our stock fell another
three points yesterday evening.”
“I know it,” grunted the secretary.
“It’ll go lower.”
“Yes, sir,” said the private secre
tary, “there’s only one man that could
atop it.”
The secretary looked up sharply:
“What?” he ejaculated.
“I was thinking,,l- continued the pri
vate secretary, “of John Bailey. He
could save the situation if he would.”
“Bah!” said the secretary. “He
would not touch us.”
There Avas silence for a little time,
and then the private secretary spoke
again. It was to make a most unusual
request.
“I should be much obliged, sir,” he
said, “if you could allow me to take a
day’s holiday to-morrow.”
The secretary looked at the young
man keenly for a moment. Then he
replied:
“You can have the holiday. Tell
them outside not to disturb us for half
an hour; I can see you’ve got some
thing to say to me.”
At the end of half an h^ur the pri
_rate seciv tar.v »a.s.sc<VyY>nt of the sec
“YOUR TICK 1ST. I'1,KASE."
quiet, confident smile, through the
half-dozen or so of persons who were
waiting to see the secretary, took his
"""-■Jmt and coat from their cupboard,
and, strange to say, took his holiday
from that, moment instead of waiting
till the next morning. And, stranger
still, for the rest of that day tlie staff
found the secretary cheerfully in
clined. instead, as of late, cross and de
pressed.
The morning train of the “Sewer’s,
Limited,’’ service, which, according to
the time table, reaches the metropol
itan terminus at 10:20 a. m., entered
King's Road station the next morning
at 10:30, ten minutes late. A smart
young ticket inspector, who was on
the platform, glanced aearchingly at
the carriages as they passed him, and
as the train pulled slowly out of the
station he jumped on the footboard
and entered a first-class compartment.
There were only three passengers
In the compartment he had entered,
and only one of these, by a casual
glance, paid any attention to his en
trance. When he had closed , he door
he turned to the passenger in the cor
ner on ins immediate right.
“Your ticket, please,” he remarked.
The passenger addressed was deep
ly engrossed in the financial columns
of his paper, and seemingly did not
hear the remark, for lie made no re
ply
The ticket inspector leaned forward
and touched him gently on the arm.
“Your ticket, please,” he repeated.
A face was now raised from the pa
per, disclosing a man of about 50—an
imperious looking man, keen and
quick.
“Season,” he ejaculated, irritably,
and returned to his paper.
“I must see your ticket, sir,” insist
ed the inspector.
The passenger flamed into sudden
wrath.
The man looked up again, and his
face expressed anger and astonish
ment.
“I told you f*d got a season; are you
• fool?” he snapped.
-
“I must sec your ticket,” repeated
the inspector.
“You can’t see it, you idiot, be
cause I haven’t got it with me,” he
shouted.
A hand tugged gently at the in
spector’s sleeve, and an awed whis
per said in his ear:
“That’s John Bailey, the million
aire; you’re making a bad mistake.”
The inspector suddenly dropped
his air of smooth civility', and he an
swered the interfering passenger
loudly and rudely:
“You infernal fool!” broke in the
millionaire, “you don’t know me, and
you don’t know what I can do to you.
It’s the last d;iy you’ll be on this
line.”
“Come on,” replied the inspector,
“none of your bullying to me. Show
me your ticket or pay your fare.
You can’t, frighten me, millionaire or
no millionaire.”
“I don’t care tuppence wffio he is!
He’s got to show, his ticket*or pay.”
John Bailey jumped to his feet in a
frenzy of rage, and for a moment it
looked as if he intended to strike the
inspector, but the passenger who had
whispered to the inspector stepped
between the two men.
“Come, come, Mr. Bailey,” he said,
soothingly, “it’s not worth while
getting excited about it. It s easy
to see the man’s a fool! Here, let
me pay for a ticket, and you can see
that the insult is not repeated.”
The millionaire suddenly calmed.
“Will you be kind enough, sir,” he
remarked, in a cutting voice, to le»
me attend to my own business,
A sudden slackening in the speed
of the train warned them of their
near approach to the terminus. John
Bailey resumed his seat, but, though
outwardly calm, the workings of his
face showed the depths of his rage.
The ticket inspector spoke again:
“I must take your name and address
if you won’t pay.”
“You’ll know my name well enough
before the day’s over,” snarled John
Bailey, “and you'll be sorry you ever
heard it.”
Just then the train stopped, ana
the whole party stepped on to the
platform.
The millionaire immediately hailed
a cab, and the tieket inspector heard
him direct the cabman to drive him
to the offices of the railway com
pany.
“You’ve made a nice mess of it, my
man,” said the other passenger, con
temptuously. “You’ve about made
your last trip on the line.”
The inspector turned on his heel
without answering.
The secretary received John Hailey
in his private room, and listened quiet
ly to his complaint. .
When the millionaire had finished
speaking the secretary touched a bell,
and to the clerk who answered the
summons said: “Find the name of the
inspector who checked tickets on the
10:30 train.”
The clerk returned almost immedi
ately. “Janies Bayliss, sir,” lie re
marked.
“Bayliss,” said the secretary, reflec
tively. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bailey.” he con
, “that t cannot accede to your
request to dismiss this man. lie is a
good servant, and has a good record
with the company. Evidently he did
not know you; but we cannot dismiss
u man for doing his best to carry out
our instructions.”
“Is that your answer?” jerked the
millionaire.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Bailey, but it’s
the only one 1 can give you.”
“Let me have n telegraph-form,
please,” asked the millionaire, sud
denly.
“Certainly, Mr. Bailey,” said the sec
retary, affably.
There was silence for a few minutes
as John Bailey tilled up the form.
“Read that,” said the millionaire.
“It's to my broker.”
The message was: "Buy me con
trolling interest in Sewer’s, Limited,
Bailey.”
The secretary rose to his feet, hut
as he did so the millionaire snatched
tin: message from the table and left
tlie room swiftly. Bis final remark
was: “1 think Bayliss will go now.”
Hut his exit was too hurried to allow
him to see the satisfied smile on the
secretary’s face.
Shortly after the millionaire’s de
parture the secretary’s private secre
tary returned from his holiday. He
entered the secretary’s ollice in the
dress of a ticket inspector.
The secretary received him with a
hearty shake of the hand. “Bayliss,”
he remarked, “that was a capital-no
tion of yours, but I’m afraid your ca
reer as a ticket inspector is at an end.
Hailey is buying a controlling interest
in tlie line to-day for the sole purpose
of dismissing you. However, I’ll pul.
50 shares to your credit, and I’ve no
doubt the directors will do as much
i when they understand.”
The private secretary smiled quiet
ly. “I thought 1 judged Hailey correct
ly,” he replied; “he’d go to any lengths
to satisfy his anger.”
"Well,” said the secretary, “a willful
man will have his way, but I’m glad to
know my shares are worth something
more than waste paper now.”
“What’s the matter with Sewer’s,
Limited, to-day?” asked a broker of
a colleague on the exchange that same
afternoon. “The stock is jumping like
blazes.”
“What! haven’t you heard?” replied
his friend; “the news is all over the
place. Hailey lias bought a controlling
interest in the line, and talks of con
verting it into an electric system,
modernizing and improving the car
riages, reducing the fares and so on.
Take my tip and buy ‘Sewer’s,’ if you
get the chance.”—Black and White.
Austria has only 24 persons pos
sessed of $200,000 incomes. Yet she
, seems to worry alone somehow.
V7HAT THEN?
SMOTHERED BY DRIFTING SAND
“Garilen of Moray” Now an Absolute
Denert'itlie Names of Its Iliam
1 e<« Forgotten.
Along the coast of Morajs Scotland,
from Nairn to the Findhorn stretches
a series of low hills composed entire
ly of sand so fine and so loose that it
drifts with every wind. The area cov
ered is about 4,000 acres, the sands
extending for some ten miles from
east to west and three from north
to south.
Save an occasional seabird wheel
ing overhead, not a living thing is to
be seen, and hardly a blade of grass
breaks the yellow monotony of the
sand. It is a place of absolute waste
and desolation, says the People’s
Friend.
Yet 250 years ago this area was
known as “the Garden of Moray.” It
was the fairest part of that fair
county. The soil was fertile, the
climate kindly, and crops were early
and luxuriant.
In the middle of the seventeenth
century, according to a local author
ity, the valued rental of Culbin was
larger than that of the neighboring
estate of Darn away, the principal
possession of the earl of Moray.
Now the lands of Culbin are but a
name and a memory. Fields, or
chards, gardens, dwellings, are alike
buried deep under those mountains
of sand.
Early historians record an inunda
tion by the sea of part of Moray
early in the twelfth century, when
laud under cultivation was covered
with sand. It does not appear, how
ever, that this occurrence worked any
serious permanent injury to Culbin.
But for hundreds of years sand
seems to have accumulated on the
western borders of the estate, car
ried thither apparently by a power
ful current from other parts of the
Moray Firth seaboard. There it lay
harmlessly until the latter half of
the seventeenth century, when the in
| habitants of Culbin, in their igno
| ranee, brought upon themselves, or
at any rate precipitated, the catas
! tropbe that drove them from their
tie Ids and homes.
Along the coast to the westward
there was at that time a big sandhill
called in Gaelic Cul-bein, or yie Black
hill—from which, of course, the name
“Culbin” is derived. The hill was
called black because it was covered
with a vigorous growth of whins,
broom, heather, and bent, which gave
stability to the sand, and protected
it from the wind.
This undergrowth the people ruth
lessly uprooted for thatching pur
poses, leaving the sand loose and
naked, with the result that the west
erly winds gradually drove it farther
and farther over the adjacent lands.
When the mischief became apparent
the pulling of bent was prohibited by
the authorities, but for Culbin this
came too late. Nothing could avert
its doom. Gradually the whole es
tate was engulfed.
Sometimes a year or two would
elapse without any serious encroach
ment, and then would come a violent
storm, and in a single night many
fields would he absolutely obliterat
ed. Frequently a field plowed during
the day was buried during the night,
and at the present day one often sees
in the valley among the sand hills
furrows that were turned up more
than 200 years ago.
In the closing years of the seven
teenth century a terrific storm all
hut overwhelmed the mansion house
itself, so that it had soon after
wards to he abandoned, and a few
decades later a single farm was all
that remained of the once broad and
fertile acres of Culbin.
Of even that poor remnant not a
wreck now remains. The very names
of the hamlets and holdings are as
completely forgotten as if they had
never been.
The sand is still moving eastward
in great drifts. Its further progress
along the coast is arrested by the
Findhorn. although the river itself
now reaches the sea by a circuitous
course, and at a point two miles east
of where its mouth used to be.
But the barrier, after all, is only
apparent. Slowly, but surely, the
river is being headed eastward, and
the village of Findhorn, perched on
an unstable hank of sand and shingle,
seems marked out for destruction no
less complete than that which over
took Culbiu.
FRUIT-EATING AND TEMPER.
It Is II cconi in ended for Children a*
Being Conducive to Agreeable
Dispositions.
At a meeting of horticultural en
thusiasts in Minneapolis the other
day one delegate declared that the
eating of fruit was conducive to
equanimity of temper and that chil
dren who were fed on fruit instead
of meat could be easily distinguished
by their agreeable dispositions. He
accordingly urged that the consump
tion of fruit should be encouraged at
home and in school and by all other
means available, reports the Phila
delphia Press.
The speaker may have thought that
he had made a profound discovery. In
fact, he was only restating an old^
truth. Good temper waits on good
digestion and good digestion is large
ly the result of diet. And no kind
of food so aids digestion as good,
ripe fruit in its season. Henry Ward
Beecher used to say that some day
people would call things by their
right names. They would not say
that this man has a good temper and
that man a bad temper, but they
would say this man has a good diges
tion and that man a bad digestion.
This would be more explicit and more
in accord with the facts.
Fruit eating, by aiding digestion,
undoubtedly does encourage good
temper, and good temper is an im
portant factor in national life. The
good-tempered man rarely commits
crime and he works with more ener
gy and produces more than the bad
tempered man. A sunny-tempered
wife is sure to have a beneficial ef
fect upon a husband’s usefulness. So
it is worth while to create a good
temper and a pleasant disposition,
even in a material sense; and as fruit
eating leads to this result its con
sumption should be encouraged. A
saturnine disposition in a public man
has done more than one nation harm
and should be avoided if possible.
Shakespeare was undoubtedly ac
quainted with the good effect of fruit
on temper, for he says in “Macbeth”:
“Now, good digestion wait on appe
tite, and health on both.” There can
be no appetite without good diges
a:_ * T. .l
there is rarely a good temper with
out all three. And as fruit eating
contributes to this condition its con
sumption cannot be encouraged too
much.
A Cane of Telepathy.
A curious case of telepathy is re
ported from Athens. M. Lazare Ly
a Greek sculptor, was quietly
talking to his wife, when suddenly he
became greatly excited and began ut
tering’ incomprehensible phrases.
When his excitement had subsided
somewhat he told his wife that he
had heard a voice saying that his
brother’s wife was dead. The sculp
tor and his wife noted the date and
hour of this strange occurrence, and
some days later a letter was received
announcing that the lady in question
had died exactly at this time at a
place COO miles distant.—London
News.
Abode of Kolna.
From the Lipari islands of myth
ology, the abode of Eolus, the ruler
of the winds, and the scene of his
meeting with Ulysses, to the Lipari
island of to-day, is a very far cry
indeed. There are no hotels, and the
islands are almost unknown to tour
ists, while the .13,000 inhabitants are
almost in a state of primitive and
patriarchal simplicity. They tender
their services voluntarily as guides
and refuse payment, regarding all
visitors as their guests. The don
key is the only means of locomotion.
Horses are unknown in the islands._
London Mail.
lie Knew.
Teacher (to class in geography)—
And who knows what the people who
live in Turkey are called?
Class (unanimously)—Turks!
Teacher—ltight. Now who can tell
me what those living in Austria are
called?
Little Roy—riease, mum, I know.
Ostriches!—Troy Budget.
Her Idea of If.
“Do you believe in short engage
ments?”
“Yes, indeed, and lots of them!”—
Detroit Free Press.
V
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FOR INFORMATION CALL ON OB
ADDRESS
WM. M. GREGG, Agent,
NEWPORT, ARK.
H. C. Townsend, G. P. A.,
ST. LOUIS, MO.
THE BANK OF NEWPORT
CAPITAL $50,000 jT*i
surplus, $25,000.
OFFICERS AND DIRECTORS.
G. W. Decker, President. A. D. Bailey, Vice-Pres^^^*^
R. M. Johnson, Cashier. T. D. Kinman, Ass’t. Ca^^^^®*
V. Y. Cook, Thos. J. Graham, A. E. Shoffner
Jno. T. Flynn, J. W. Grubbs, Jos. M. Stayton.
- .1
RIPF FXPFRIFNPF Is an important factor in successful banking. With n1
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tention to a brief review of the long business career of th
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FOURTFFN YFARS Experience in the affairs of Banking in this com immy~
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P-.: . —...-. I I ■— M
■ "■ .-. ■ ---' .. $