By RALPH DYER WENTY dollars is my price," said Papa Jacobson, in his thin, wheedling voice. "For a fiddle that is too much yet. But you are my friend. To you I pay a little more. Well, Herr Baum, it is a bargain-yes?" "Hein! You are like all the others," Old Ludwig complained, bitterly. "My violin is priceless. Priceless, do you not understand?" He looked down at it and an old, half forgotten tenderness crept back into his grey eyes. “All through the night I could not sleep, thinking how soon I must part with it. But times are hard. Engagements are scarce. My wife and I will starve unlessHis slender, artistic fingers were suddenly flung out in a gesture of hopelessness. Papa Jacobson nodded sympathetically, after the manner of pawnbrokers with an eye for business. "Yes, yes," he said, his eyes already upon another customer; "times are hard-so I make for you a special price. Come, decide!" "I will wait until tomorrow," Old Ludwig muttered, closing the cover of his violin case and carefully tucking the bulky object under the folds of his long, black cloak. "There will, perhaps, be news before then." Leaving the shop, he started homeward, footing his way cautiously across the icy pavements. At the first open corner a heavy wind nearly caused him to lose his balance and his lethal ray which will shrivel up or paralyze human beings. The final form of human strife, as I regard it, is germ warfare.” Think of it! Can the mind of man picture anything more terrible? International disarmament is the most vital question before the world today and Mr. Irwin's book should be read by every citizen of this country that the conscience of the people may not be dulled by thoughts of national glory builded on military strength. Germany had this dream and ruin and desolation followed. Let us build for World Peace. Mr. Irwin's book is published by E. P. Dutton and Company, New York. Mr. Percy Walton Whitaker, whose story "The Lost Owners" appears in this number of the Overland, is the brother of the late Herman heart pounded furiously at the thought of the precious violin under his cloak. His tightened about it protectingly. arm For twenty years, ever since that glorious day in Munich, when his brothers of the Symphony Orchestra had presented their leader with this token of their love and esteem, the violin had been the one big thing in his life. Each year he devoted his best hours to it, nursing, scolding, cajoling it, all with the patience that is born of love and genius. Under his supple fingers the responsive strings of the instrument revealed new beauties in the works of the composers of even the great Mozart himself. Had not the Kaiser insisted that Baum was the only man to play the former's "Jupiter"? And had not he, Ludwig Baum, given a "command" performance that was the talk of musical Germany? Glowing with the memory of this and many other triumphs, the old musician was scarcely conscious of his direction. As was always the case when this absent mood was upon him, he trusted instinct to lead him in the right path. In the present instance it lead him to a mean little street whose twin rows of shabby, red brick lodging houses gave it a certain, belated air of respectability. At one time the place had been known as the "residential quarter" (Continued on page 71) Whitaker, author of "The Planter" and other novels. Mr. Percy Whitaker has written a number of clever short stories which have appeared in eastern publications. He is a resident of this state. A book of timely interest and one which should prove particularly enlightening to members of labor unions is Marshall Old's "The High Cost of Strikes." The author presents statistics sufficient to convince any sane person that organized labor can be very tyrannical and unfair when it sets out to be and very detrimental to the progress of the community. Mr. Olds is an advocate of the Open Shop which is, at least, American in principle in that it stands for a fair deal all around and permits a worker some liberty of action, which the Closed Shop denies him. The book is published by the Putnam's New York. SILVERTIP (Continued from Page 61.) shouted old "Windy" Smith. "Here's his carnival outfit? All he needs is the gal. Know any female gal who'll have a nice sheriff, warranted not to bite, or pitch under the spurs?" "Yes, I do, Mr. 'Windy' Smith," retorted Annie, "but I'm not going to tell you who she is." The boys looked at her, and then at "Silvertop." Then all hands marched away and left them alone. "Silvertip" took her hand. "Tell me, Annie darling," he whispered, boldly. "It's the girl who loves you, Mr. 'Silvertip' Lamb," replied Annie Neal. THE LAZIEST MAN IN THE SETTLEMENT (Continued from Page 26) that clung to mighty, far-reaching limbs. Once he heard a loud crash, and, peering through the tangled undergrowth in the direction from whence it came, caught a glimpse of black, shaggy fur a few feet distant. He waited to see no more, but plunged ahead with increased rapidity, the thoughts of a former experience with Bruin adding speed to his momentum. High over the crests of bleak ridges, the trail led him, from which he could see the shining river creeping noiselessly below or thundering madly against opposing boulders. Now he followed a winding course along shelving walls of rock made smooth in ages past by the feet of hurrying red-men, now carefully walking the slender, swaying trees thrown across the mountain streams that mingle their crystal waters with those of the sombre Queets, then threading the bushy, boggy lowlands where the poisonous "devil club" stands forever armed with its projecting spears. The sun had sunk in the west, his last golden arrow had pierced the great, slow-breathing forest, a lone frog blew a bugle-note from among the rustling reeds by the river's marge, a night-hawk circling in the deep, upper blue plunged earthward with a sullen cry, and the grand, old peaks of the towering Olympicsveritable kings in purple robes-looked down upon a darkening landscape, as Hiram, trembling from his toilsome journey, neared the dingy home of Pete Sampson. As he approached the house, unearthly moans, shrieks and howls, mingled with the din of rattling tin pans and beating "tomtoms" assailed his ears. Instinctively he knew what was going on inside. Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers Bring Out the Hidden Beauty Beneath the polled, discolored. faded or aged complexion, is one fair to look upon. Mercolized Wax gradually. gently absorbs the devitalized surface rkin, revealing the young. fresh, beautiful skin underneath. Used by refined women who prefer complexions of true naturalness. Have you tried it? in one ounce package with direc Mercolized Wax tions for use, sold by all druggists. Make $5000 a Year Retail Rawleigh Good Health Products. Spices, Fla- Expenence not necessary. We furnish Dept B. Oakland, Calif. "Them blamed fools is a-doctorin'," he said, entering the doorway. one. a Seated upon the ground in semicircle were the relatives and friends of the afflicted child, all wild with excitement as they swayed to and fro, wailing like demons, tearing their hair, beating their breasts, and rooting like swine the hard-beaten earth, sincerely believing that by such weird demonstrations they would drive away the evil spirit hovering around the injured So engrossed were they in these strange proceedings, that Hiram's arrival was apparently unobserved by them. Advancing into their very midst, he shouted: "Shut up yer infernal yawps!" at which they lapsed into silence as deep as their wails were loud. One of the swarthy group, the medicine-man, not wishing to be quieted, glared at him savagely, occasionally giving utterance to a series of gutteral ejaculations. Mr. Green glanced about him. The rows of dried salmon hanging above his head, the firelight flickering on the mother as she moaned over her suffering child, the bright flames flinging a golden glow over emaciated, blear-eyed creatures who clutched with lean, hooked fingers the red blankets enwrapping them, the tangled manes of black hair half concealing dark, evil faces, the small, glittering eyes peering at him from beneath scowling brows, and the surrounding gloom formed a picture wild and fascinating. Hiram quickly made his way to the rude bunk in the corner, over which the blazing pitchwood cast a tremulous light, and tenderly looked upon the little form lying there. "Here's a apple fer ye, baby," he said, huskily, putting in her hand the diminutive Rambo for which he had labored so hard. A glow of childish gratitude shone in the marvelous, upturned eyes. She tried to raise it to her mouth, but her strength was too far gone, so contented herself with cuddling it against her chubby neck; then her eyelids drooped wearily. "Thank God, I wuzn't too late," murmured Mr. Green, bending over her. She smiled at him faintly. Thus nestling the apple between her brown, dimpled hands, she sank into a deep sleep, from which Hiram knew she would never waken; and as he dashed a hot tear from his cheek and walked out into the glorious twilight, the stars came flocking out to see him, and the moon showed a sympathetic face from the crest of a lonely ridge. "Hiram, hain't ye 'feered ye'll lame yerself 'n' hurt yer constitution, a-luggin' 'n' liftin' all the time?" asked Mrs. Green, looking admiringly at her husband as he threw a good-sized Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers log on a burning heap of rubbish; "ye hain't stopped fer a week." "Waal, the truth air, Sally, I hain't goin' ter hev no more kerlections tuk up fer me,' he replied, wiping his sweaty face with the back of a grimy hand. "Somethin's changed ye mightily, Hiram," she said. But Mr. Green was too much absorbed in his work to make reply; and after watching him a moment in silence, she slowly walked to the cabin, saying: "I 'low somethin' queer come over him the night he wuz out so late; he hain't bin th' same man sence." 99 THE LOST OWNERS (Continued from Page 45) ingly about, and MacKinnon stepped forward, curiously hesitant all at once. "You here, Grace?" he said wonderingly, half unbelievingly yet. Then she saw him, and came quickly forward, with a glad little cry, and the man in khaki, remembering the own little cry which he had heard but an hour before, walked from the room, and, though it was public, closed the door in the face of one who would have entered. "The wind brought me," she explained, reaching up to softly touch his face where it now glowed red, after the white. "All during the summer it kept blowing, softly, beckoning me, urging me to come. I held back from its pleadings, but as the autumn days came, it grew more insistent. Then came the storms, driving Westward, pointing the way. And I could hold back no longer. I followed the East wind West -to you." "And it has swept away the bitterness," said MacKinnon slowly. "Yet I consider it my enemy-back there twenty miles. But it has always been my friend. It has brought me. you. It pointed me to the Land of Promiseand it has fulfilled the Promise." THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER (Continued from Page 37) Poor Kim Kee! He was summoned into court and sentenced to do penace at the kang. Each day he was led out into the streets, his legs shackled, and his shoulders bore the heavy, teakwood board which bit cruelly into his flesh. 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Apart from the agent, operator, or contractor, there is much to be found in its contents that will prove of great value to all who wish to be posted on Valuation, Contracts, Mortgages, Leases, Evictions, etc. The cost might be saved many times over in one transaction. Valuable Poultry Catalogue FREE Leading varieties pure bred poultry, high class breeding birds at moderate prices. Blue Ribbon Poultry Farm Altoona, Iowa Many the urchin that stunned him with a rock, spat at him, and cast evil words at him. "Fool! Snail!" they mocked and jeered. "A coolie would keep company with a princess. And the princess is also obsessed with a craziness." But Kim Kee paid small attention to their jibes and thrusts; his mind was filled with anxious thoughts of his betrothed. Had she survived? Was she well? Why had she not sought him out? Suddenly a stillness smote the street. People conversed in awed, gutteral whispers, and passed ominous looks about. What meant it? Then a tremor rippled the throng. The motley crowd scurried about, and into the dark doorways, as though some leprous beast pursued them. "Unclean! Unclean!" they cried. Who was unclean? The Princess Li Moon was unclean. Superstition reigned highest. It was beyond the conception of the simple minds of the populace that a princess could suffer with such an affliction. They believed that some great calamity would descend upon them if they were touched by her. Down the alley-street she came, clad in robes of mourning, her arms extended before her, jostled about like a bit of driftwood in turbulent waters. Rage rose within Kim Kee and he wept in tender pity at her plight. He called out in anger to the crowd who followed at her heels. "Cease, dogs of the canal!" he stormed. "Oh, but were I free, that I might slay the gang of you." Though her sight had departed she found her way to his side. She cried out aloud at his condition and clung to his neck, smothering him with tremulous affection. "Set him free," urged the mongrel crowd, "so that we may banish the twain of them from the clean shores of China." And they were set free. They were put aboard of a huge, bat-winged junk, the sails were set, and they were put off from the shores. "Vipers!" laughed Kim Kee, to the fair one who lay in his arms at the junk's prow. "Had they but looked they would have seen that your sight had vanished but for a short space. The sands of the desert were cruel to have treated them so." Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers |