The Lampasas Daily Leader. (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 3, No. 644, Ed. 1 Thursday, April 5, 1906 Page: 2 of 4
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Desirable Ignorance
Jim Peebles is a foolish cuss., he don't
know nothin’ much;
Pie don’t know where the Poles hang out
nor where abide the Dutch.
He scarcely knows enough to get unhurt
acros-t the street.
An’ when a feller has him down he don’t
know when he's beat.
He gets slammed back at every turn, he
has tarnation luck
An’ less hard sense Ilian any man that I
have ever struck,
But ignorance is blis-s with Jim, unhin-
dered by defeat.
Pie’s bound to get along because he don’t
know’ when lie’s beat.
—Philadelphia Bulletin.
Rand made his last change of cars
and boarded the single passenger
coach on the absurd little train. It
was a branch road running out into
the country, a road managed by a
few rustic officials who ran their
trains with a fine disregard of sched-
ule, and would gladly slow down to
exchange items of local -gossip with
a farmer at a crossing.
It was, nevertheless, the home road
and Rand had not come home since
he had gone away to the city ten
years before, a lad of seventeen. He
recognized the old brakeman and the
conductor, but they eyed him as a
stranger. It was small wonder. Ten
years had dealt kindly with the big
clumsy boy whose green crocheted
tie and ill-made coat one scarcely saw
because his face was so sincere and
strong. The conductor of the little
train beheld now a successful busi-
ness man, “a city fellow,” yet one,
if he had looked more closely, whose
eyes were still frank and true.
Rand did not make himself known
to them. He caught himself wishing
that they had known him, but was
aware at the same time that he was
unreasonable to expect it. To them
the years had no doubt seemed long-
er than to him. He had worked hard
not pausing to observe the flight of
time. And since he had met Helen,
how short the months had been,—
sweet little Helen who was soon to
be his wife.
There were only a few other pas-
sengers in the car. Rand scrutinized
each one imagining that he might
find in them some old friends of his
youth. A few seats ahead of him sat
a young woman to whom his eyes re-
verted questioningly several times.
There was something about the wave
of her black hair or the low coil of
it against her neck that haunted him
with a vague familiarity._ Once she
turned a little and he caught a
glimpse of her cheek. Ruth Hayes!
The name unthought of for so mapy
years flashed into his mind. Ruth, the
pretty little tom-boy playmate of
those early days! But was this sure-
ly Ruth? Suddenly she rose to put
some package into the rack overhead
and in so doing faced him squarely.
Her eyes met his for a second uncer-
tainly and then a smile of happy rec-
ognition lighted her face. She ex-
tended her hand. Rand hastened to
grasp it with many assurances of de-
light at his good fortune. The girl
was silent at first, but her glad eyes
welcomed him.
They sat down together and soon
fell to recalling old times. One recol-
lection led to another in swift suc-
cession. Did he remember the Sun-
C4&OZMZ ZZZVZZP
(Copyright, 190C, by Doily Story Pub. Co.)
Her voice wTas low and
little sad.
clear.
“It was you,” she was saying, “who
suggested going there by moonlight.
You said that the moonpath across
the water was the most beautiful
thing in the world.”
“Did I say that?” he laughed. “How
could you ever remember?”
“How could I ever forget?” she cor-
rected and her voice was low with
a little tremor in it.
Rand became suddenly uncomfort-
able. He was sorry that she had
not forgotten, and wished that old
times did not seem so important to
//s -
Recounted joyously many of their old
escapades.
day school picnic when they ate so
much ice cream, or would they ever
forget the time it poured so on the
straw ride to Weaver’s Valley? Ruth,
he soon noticed, could supply many
little details that he had forgotten,
things even that he had said or what
he had worn on some particular occa-
Bion. She recounted joyously many
of their old escapades. He became
silent listening and studying her. Her
face had lost some of its old mirthful-
mess; it was very sweet, but just a
“Ruth," he said, unsteadily.
her. He hastened to change the sub-
ject.
“You’ve been away on a visit?” he
asked.
“Yes,” she said simply, “and I in-
tended to stay until Thursday, but
something seemed to tell me I must
come to-day. It was a premonition,
don’t you think?” and she smiled into
his eyes.”
Rand’s embarrassment increased.
He glanced out of. the window nerv-
ously wishing the ride was at an end.
Could it be possible that she had
been remembering him, caring for
him all these years?
“Why did you not write?”' she con-
tinued after a pause. “You stopped
writing before you had been gone a
year. I wranted to hear so much, and
you promised.” *
Rand offered some confused expla-
nation, and racked his brains for a
safe topic of conversation. Never had
he been placed in so trying a posi-
tion. Here was a woman who had
obviously cherished his memory for
ten years and expected that he had
done the same for her. How foolish
he thought her to cling to those child-
ish promises. A business man had
no time for writing letters to play-
mates of his boyhood. Helen, he
thought, would not betray herself
like this. Yet there seemed to be
nothing coarse about Ruth’s betrayal;
she was very self-forgetful, very
sweet.
The windows of the train were
open and the evening air blew in lad-
en with the old familiar fragrance of
the hayfields. The sun had just set
behind the hills that he knew so well.
How beautiful it was, and he had
been away so long. Ruth turned to
him again from the peaceful scene
and there were tears on her lashes.
“Your native hills and meadows
have missed you, John. We have all
missed you so.”
Rand could not meet the beauti-
ful light of her eyes. A hot flush
swept over his face. He must stop
her, must tell her of Helen and go
away at once. She laid a hand gent-
ly on his arm.
“You know, John,” she whispered,
“you are very, very welcome home.”
Rand’s agony at the girl’s tone and
gesture was annihilated by a thun-
derous crash. Darkness came upon
them with the shivering of glass, the
cracking of strained timbers. The
long shiftlessness in the management
of the road had borne fruit in a fear-
ful collision.
Rand lay stunned for a few seconds
and then by powerful wrenchings
freed himself from the debris. He
stood dazed as a realization of the
disaster forced itself upon his numb-
ed senses.
“Ruth,” he cried, “Ruth, where are
you?” Frantically he tugged at the
splintering beams. A few men ' had
rushed to the wreck and were at-
tempting to rescue the passengers.
The mass had taken fire from the en
gines and the men bent every energy
to outstrip the flames. Rand worked
alone at that end of the car near
which they had been sitting. From
time to time he called Ruth’s name
and once he thought a faint cry an-
swered him. He bent down and peer-
ed into the wreck fin the fading twi-
light.
“John.” The word came to him
scarcely audible as he stooped. She
was held beneath a beam that it took
his mightiest effort to remove. He
raised her tenderly and carried her
to the little grassy bank beside the
tracks. Very gently he held her with
great bitterness in his heart for he
knew that she was dying and that
she had given him a love which he
could not return. At last her eyes
unclosed and he bent to catch the
words that her lips were struggling
to form.
“I don’t mind, John—because you
came.” She hesitated.
“Oh, Ruth,” he began in an agon-
ized voice half intending to tell her
all. A faint smile crossed her face
and she interrupted..
“I always knew you would come,
John, for you promised, but it has
been so long.”
The man was completely unnerved.
Pie could not let her die without one
kind word—this girl who had found
the years so long. He had promised
nothing at parting more than a boy’s
thoughtless “I’ll come back.”
“Ruth,”’ he said unsteadily. Her
eyes opened again very slowly.
Looking into those eyes, all words
failed him, and, stooping, he kissed
her brow.
Later they found him th
starlight, with the dead
ar;ms. He was wondering
all.
HAD GOOD TIME OCcl
Relatives of Millionaire Had
Wasting Sympathy.
“The Pittsburg millionaire qJL the
Waldorf” has become tfieToffi'cial goat
in New York for all stoffes of the
“gay old sport” variety. Here is the
latest tale: At the Waldorf they are
telling of a Pittsburg millionaire who
is over 70, and the way he fooled his
son and nephew on a recent visit to
the city of the great white way. The
two young men dined with “father”
every evening and then watched him
take the elevator to his * quarters.
“Too bad father has to go to bed
every evening at 9,” said the son.
“Wonder if he goes to sleep right
away, or if he’d like us to stay and
talk to him?” “Let’s go up and see,”
said the nephew, feeling the full grip
of compassion. They found his shoes
outside the door waiting for the com-
ing of the bootblack, and there was
no light in the transom. “Poor old
man, he does not have a very good
time over here,” they chorused. They
went out into the night in a cab
and toward midnight turned into one
of the gilded mirrored lobster places.
"When they were finally seated about
a table and had given the waiter his
order they looked about the room. The
first individual to meet their aston-
ished gaze was “father,” in full even-
ing dress, pouring champagne into a
glass which was held by an actress.
“How about .he shoes in front of your
door?” they asked him afterward. “It’s
a pity a man of my age and money
can’t have two pairs of shoes, my chil-
dren,” he said with a wink. “Those
were my old shoes.”
Thellgy who TdlKs
wfie'nlHHHrHI
m
A
m
Singer of One Song.
He sang one song and died—no more but
that!
A single song and carelessly compete.
He would not bind and thresh his chance-
grown wheat,
Nor bring his wild fruit to the common
vat,
To store the acid rinsings, thin and flat,
Squeezed from the press or trodden under
feet.
A few slow, beads, blood red and honey
sweet.
Oozed from the grape, which burst and
spilled its fat.
But Time, who soonest drops the heaviest
things
That weight his pack, will carry diamonds
long.
So through the poets’ orchestra, which
weaves
One music from a thousand stops and
strong.
Pierces the note of that immortal song:
“High over all the lonely bugle grieves.”
—Henry Augustin Beers.
Better Than the Rack.
Nero grew weary of the bloody com-
bats in the arena.
“They are getting stale,” he yawned;
“if I would avoid ennui I must get
something new.”
“What shall it be, O illustrious
one?” asked the Roman senator.
“Well, i think I’ll found a naval
academy. Then I can get some vari-
ety in the torture line.”
And with the authority of an em-
peror Nero began appointing cadets
from the young men of the emplro
who were noted for their cruelty.
Perhaps the strangest case of com-
munication and understanding be-
tween man and animals ever investi-
gated by scientists has come to light
in eastern Alabama—in the section of
cotton country between Wedowee and
Rockdale. The astounding reports
from the case have startled the stud-
ents of psychology and the possibility
of the establishment of complete un-
derstanding between man and the
lower animals is suggested by the
facts of- the case.
Howard Erwin, a 6-year-old boy, is
reported by competent authority, and
the reports are • substantiated wholly
or in part by the investigations recent-
ly conducted, to be able to converse
with, to understand, and to make him-
self understood perfectly by animals
of all kinds. By some mysterious
power—not yet understood and not un-
derstood at all by himself, this boy,
otherwise a perfectly healthy and nor-
mal lad, holds long talks with cov^s,
with mules, with dogs, horses, sheep,
cats—even with the barnyard fowls—
and he understands and reports to his
father or the others just what the ani-
mals want, all their grievances, their
sicknesses, and their wants.
Acts as Their Interpreter.
How he does it the boy does not
know. The power, it seems, was born
in him. While fond of animals he
seems not to be more so than any
healthy child, nor do they seem espe-
cially attached to him, with the excep-
tion of Trace, his old coon dog, and
the relation he appears to bear to
them is simply that of a friendly trans-
lator—or intermediary between them
and their masters.
Nor has any one yet been able to
discover whether it is by spoken lan-
guage or by some mystic transference
of thoughts that they understand each
other. It is known that when he is
near an animal they both make sounds
occasionally, but he speaks nothing
that any one can understand nor does
the alleged language sound in any way
connected or to have any meaning
whatever.
The discovery that the child is pos-
sessed of a strange power has thrown
a veil of mysticism and superstition
around him. The negroes avoid him
and watch him with a strange mix-
ture of fear and admiration.
And also within the last six months
it. has been observed that his power of
communicating with the beasts of the
field appears to be waning—and those
who have studied the case declare that
within a few years the strange power
will vanish entirely.
Could Read Minds of Humans.
WThen the child was just beginning
to toddle around the house it was , no-
ticed he was not the same as other
children when he was in the presence
of human beings. He was extremely
intelligent from the time he first be-
gan to notice things—and he. read the
minds of his mother and father and
his sister Lizzie before he could talk.
The mother, who worked hard, had
little time to spend with him in play
and his companions were his sister,
three years older than he, and Trace,
the coon dog. The mother noticed
first that she did not have to speak to
her child when she wanted him to do
something. Often, she says, she
started to tell him it was time to take
a nap—and, before she could speak, he
either cried in protest against being
put to bed, or toddled towards the
trundle bed and rolled into it.
She is not a particularly bright wom-
an, nor yet one of much education, al-
though she can read and write, but
even she puzzled her brain about the
child. And, when he learned to talk,
she noticed it still more.
Dog Tells Him the Truth.
One evening she and her husband
were sitting with the children on the
porch of their little home, when How-
ard, who had been stretched out on
the floor, with his head on the dog’s
body, wabbled : to his feet and said:
“Maw, Trace says the mule is in the
corn patch.”
“What will that child say next?”
asked Mrs. Erwin. “He’s all the time
telling me what the dog says, or what
the pigs told him. I never saw. such
a child. He must be crazy.”
Half an hour later the mule was
found in the corn patch.
“I reckon the dog told the kiddie the
truth,” remarked the father when he
Came back. “I reckon I ought to have
gone out then. Shouldn’t be surprised
if old Jem had foundered herself.”
After that the child’s strange power
was watched with the greatest inter-
est and with increasing amazement.
The negroes vowed he had second
sight.
At times the child would get up as
if he had been called and trot out
through the yard and into the barn lot
—to some animal. Then he would
come back and report. He always used
the expression, “The horse says,” or
“The dog told me,” or “The hens say,”
just as if he had been talking with
them.
Told by Mule of Its Injury.
One evening his father, tired from
the day’s work, was lying on the grass,
when Howard came trotting in from
the barn.
“Paw,” he said, “Jem told me her
knee hurt her. She says she sprained
it plowing to-day.”
“I reckon that mule lied to you,
son,” remarked his father. “I reckon
she’s jes’ powerful lazy and don’t want
to work to-morrow.”
“She says she can’t work to-mor-
row,” said the boy. “Her leg is so
sore she can’t hardly touch it to the
ground.”
“I reckon she’s just tellin’ you that
so’s you’ll tell me,” remarked the
father.
The next day Jem was put to work,
but before noon her leg was so swollen
that Erwin was forced to abandon his
plowing and bring the suffering animal
into the barn. And for weeks she was.
unable to work.
“I don’t understand it,” remarked
the man. “There wasn’t a mark or
a swelling on her, for I examined her
closely before taking her out to work.”
Persuades Dog to Cease Killing Sheep.
“Maw,” said Howard another day,
“Trace says he had a fine time kill-
ing sheep the other night.”
“Listen to the boy,” said the moth-
er. “The idea of Trace killing sheep.
Why, there isn’t any sheep around
here, except Mr. Tomlinson’s and.
none of them has been killed.”
“Well,” argued the boy, “he says
him and the Norton dog killed two
sheep in Mr. Tomlinson’s back pas-
ture.”
And the next day the carcasses of
two sheep were found in the bushCJ
at the edge of the pasture.
“You’d better tell Trace he’ll be
killed if he does that any more,” said
the father.
Shortly afterward Howard report-
ed that Trace had promised never to
kill sheep any more—and, so far as
is known, he never has, although the
Norton dog was caught and killed a
few weeks afterward while eating the
body of a sheep.
Bull Explains Cause of Madness.
When the child was five years old
his power seemed at its greatest. He
was sent for by planters from all the
country around when valuable animals
got sick. He would walk to the side
of the sick animal, slowly stroke its
head with his hand—and then come
away and tell exactly what the matter
was. Once, when Major Pettit’s Dur-
ham bull got wild, refused to per-
mit any one to come near it, and
raved around its pasture lot as if mad,
the boy calmly walked up to it, and,
after a time, came away and reported.
“The bull says that there is some-
thing hurting its foot and that the
pain is making it mad.”
The negroes, under orders, lassoed
the bull, and a wire nail was found
sticking in the cleft of its front foot,
rusting while the wound festered. He
reported that a valuable horse belong-
ing to Gen. Dunston, merely had the
toothache, after veterinarians had
tried in vain to cure it—and, when
the tooth was removed the horse got
well.
He told what the pet rabbits said,
he even talked with the pigs, and in
time, as the facts became known, he
was regarded with superstitious awe.
The animals seemed to know by in-
stinct that he. understood them and
even the wild rabbits and the pos-
sums would come to him, and the .
wild birds did not seem a bit afraid
of him. Often when he sat in the
front yard in front of the house he
would be surrounded by a flock of
birds.
The facts reached Prof. Shaw, who
investigated and reported that the
child seemed possessed of a strange
and peculiar power—which gradually
was dying out. Without drawing any
definite conclusions he reported the
facts of the case as they were report-
ed to him.
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Vernor, J. E. The Lampasas Daily Leader. (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 3, No. 644, Ed. 1 Thursday, April 5, 1906, newspaper, April 5, 1906; Lampasas, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth895072/m1/2/: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Lampasas Public Library.