New Camera Takes Tall Buildings at Close Range

1915

Aid to Photographic Art

With a new camera, invented and patented by an Elgin, Ill., man, a tall building may be photographed from the ground showing the upper portions as plainly as the lower. Such a building will be the exact size at the top as at the base of the picture. Formerly such a thing was considered impossible and photographers have been hunting some invention for the past twenty years to overcome the fault.

The inventor has many pictures of tall buildings taken from a distance of only a few feet which prove his invention worthy. The invention is simple and requires only the turning of the lens to the proper angle, which is determined by the height of the building and the distance which the camera stands from it.

—Saturday Blade, Chicago, Dec. 18, 1915, p. 9.

Watching for Flirts

1915

Would'st flirt? Oh, no you won't! Not if this little miss — or any other miss similarly attired — sees you first. And the changes are they'll see you first, too, for if you come close the periscope'll get you.

The periscope bonnet is absolutely new. It may show up round your locality any time. Hence a detail of its mechanism is herewith revealed.

A tiny mirror is tucked at an attractive and innocent angle in the periscope bonnet so that it reflects the actions of pedestrians behind the wearer. Thus, if some male person trailing along behind the periscope begins straightening his coat, fixing his tie or dusting off his shoes, these actions reflected in the mirror warn the young woman that a masher is preparing to flirt. Being warned, she may watch for a policeman and Mr. Flirt is taught a neat little lesson.

So beware, flirts, or the periscope'll get you.

—Saturday Blade, Chicago, Dec. 18, 1915, p. 9.

Flying Bicycle Given Test; It Works Great

1915

Latest Air Traveler Is Triumph of Chicagoan's Genius — Goes by Foot Power or Motor

Now comes the bicycle of the air — a noiseless and engineless flying machine operated by foot and hand power.

A. C. McClaughry of Chicago, son of former Warden I. W. McClaughry of the Federal penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kan., discovered the craft and its inventor in a basement on the Northwest Side of the city. The identity of the inventor is kept secret. McClaughry is now interested with the inventor in the welfare of the new type of flying craft. He has brought the matter to the official attention of army officers in the Federal building, and before representatives of foreign governments.

Col. H. O. S. Heistand, adjutant general of the central department, turned McClaughry over to M. A. Loosley, master signal electrician of the army, who will inspect the new craft. McClaughry said the first one tried out by the inventor was a success, but that it was torn down and a new one is now being built, which will soon be ready for official tests.

"There is no doubt but that we have a flying machine that can be operated without any power other than that produced by foot and hand and that the craft can be sold dirt cheap," said McClaughry.

The inventor figures that one of the machines can be put up for less than $500, and that in quantities they can even be turned out for $200 each. The craft, for which patents are now pending is operated much like the old fashioned bicycle. A farmer boy can take one of them and he and his lady friend can saunter away thru the air as easily as they can travel on land in an automobile.

"If one wishes he can buy a $50 motor and use it to alternate with foot and hand. In his first test the inventor remained in the air more than half an hour and traveled at a speed of forty miles an hour."

—Saturday Blade, Chicago, Dec. 18, 1915, p. 9.

Joke Is Played on Peddler

1915

Victim Makes Queer Discovery Next Morning

A peddler arrived one evening at a small town and went to the only hotel there. Every room had already been engaged, but the hotel-keeper offered him a room which he could share with a negro. The peddler agreed, and asked to be awakened early the next morning.

Several jokers overheard the proceedings, and while the peddler slept blackened his face.

The next morning, being in a hurry to catch a train he made straight for the station when he was awakened. While passing the mirror in the waiting-room he stopped suddenly and exclaimed: "Hang it all! They've called the wrong guy!"


True to the Last

"Yes," said the traveler, "my wife's mother was the most admirable housekeeper that ever lived. Poor soul, she was eaten by cannibals in Africa."
"You don't mean it!"
"Alas! it's true. Why, when the savages had thrust her into the cauldron and she was beginning to cook, she cried out faintly with her last breath, 'Don't forget the salt and pepper.'"


Can't Look the Part Now

"John, dear," said his wife, "there was a poor man here today asking for old clothes and I gave him that shabby old overcoat of yours that was hanging in the attic. You didn't want it, did you?"
"Of course I wanted it!" exclaimed John wrathfully. "That's the one I always wear when I swear off my taxes."


About Five

[From the Pea Ridge (Ark.) Pod]

Mr. French who lived one mile south of town died Tuesday, of last week, and was buried at Siloam Springs, Wednesday. He leaves a wife and about five children to mourn his death.


Detects Smokeless Powder

United States naval officers have developed a colored glass which renders visible the fumes from smokeless powder.

Building Old As U. P. Road

1915

Its Proprietor Still Lives, a Victim of Generosity and Poverty

LARAMIE, Wyo., Dec. 16. — In the ordinary city which began no further back than 1868 the oldest building would be of little consequence, but in a city in the West, whose existence dates from May 9 of that year, when the Union Pacific Railroad laid its first rails into and thru the townsite, the oldest house seems very old indeed to the residents and to the people generally.

Laramie's oldest building today is a long two-story building which was built by Patrick Doran, who is living here at present, as a hotel, and in which hundreds of transient and regular boarders were accommodated for years.

Doran had his own way of keeping books. He chalked the accounts on the inner side of the front door. If a customer disputed the bill, mine host would go to the door, carefully erase the score and tel1 the dissatisfied customer that they would start all over again.

The old building is of logs, cut in the mountains several miles southwest of the city and floated down the Laramie River. The building is now used for a blacksmith shop.

In the early days of the frontier hotel Mr. Doran would charge a dollar a meal from those who could pay a dollar and lesser sums from those who could not afford to pay. No man ever went away hungry that had any money at all, and Mr. Doran would never take the man's last cent, so that one can imagine the large number of accounts the inward side of that door used to carry. Doran himself was quite wealthy at one time, but accepts charity from the county.

Comb World In Vain for Arnold Girl

Dec. 1915

Relatives Give Up Hope as Five Years Pass Without Trace

Folks Wear Mourning

Disappeared Five Years Ago This Week

Following is the order of Dorothy Arnold's actions December 12, 1910, so far as known up to the time of her disappearance:
11:30 A. M. — Left her home at 108 East Seventy-ninth street, New York, telling her mother she intended to buy a new dress.
12:00 Noon. — Bought a box of candy at Fifth avenue and Fifty-ninth street.
2:00 P. M. — Bought a book at Brentano's and had it charged, altho she had between $20 and $30 in her purse when she left her home two hours and a half earlier.
2:45 P. M. — Met a girl friend at Fifth avenue, near Thirtieth street.
2:50 P. M. — ? ? ? ? ?

NEW YORK, Dec. 16. — Five years ago this week Miss Dorothy Arnold vanished so completely that no detective in the world has been able to discover a clew to her whereabouts or her fate.

"What happened to Dorothy Arnold?" is a question that has been asked in every house where newspapers printed in any language are read.

For answer such men as William J. Flynn, now head of the United States Secret Service; Sir E. R. Henry, chief of Scotland Yard; William J. Burns, George S. Dougherty, former deputy police commissioner in charge of the New York detectives; Joseph A. Faurot, present chief of detectives, and Lieut. Grant Williams, who as the director of the New York police department's bureau of missing persons, has investigated thousands of strange disappearances, give the reply that they are at a loss for a way to fathom the mystery.

If Dead, Where Is Body?

Dorothy Arnold was last seen, so far as is known to the police or other investigators, at Fifth avenue and Thirtieth street, on Monday, Dec. 12, 1910. The time was 3 o'clock in the afternoon or a few minutes earlier.

The aged father of the missing girl, who has spent many thousands of dollars to search every city in the world by wireless, cable, telegraph, telephone, mail and detectives, wears as a silent answer to the query of Dorothy's fate a wide mourning band on his hat, a mourning necktie and a suit of black. He is a wealthy importer of French and Russian perfumes.

"She is dead," he said to reporters this week.

"But where is her body?" is the question asked by trained investigators.

"Any morgue keeper in the entire country would at once take notice of a woman dressed in expensive lingerie or clothing," Lieutenant Williams says, in discussing the statistics of his bureau, which show that on the average one woman a year is left unidentified.

Description of Dorothy Arnold.

Dorothy Arnold on Dec. 12, 1910, when she went away from her home, was 26 years old. She was about 5 feet 4 inches tall and weighed in the neighborhood of 140 pounds.

She was of striking appearance; her complexion was bright, her hair was dark brown and her eyes were grayish blue.

She wore a tailor-made blue serge suit and a black velvet hat trimmed with two silk roses.

The hat had inscribed in its lining the name of a fashionable milliner. Similarly, the name of the maker was embroidered on the tailor-made underwear which the young woman wore.

In her hand bag Miss Arnold carried about $20 or $30; yet she asked the clerk in Park & Tilford's Fifth avenue and Fifty-ninth street store to charge a pound of candy, and requested the cashier in Brentano's store to send her father the bill for a book — "An Engaged Girl's Sketches" — which she bought within a few hours after she was last seen by her mother.

Search Made All Over World.

The search for Dorothy Arnold has never been equaled for thoroughness. Here was the case of a mature young woman, highly educated, to a degree literary, and physically strong enough to balk any attempt at kidnaping. She was not in the habit of "slumming" or doing "settlement work," but, on the contrary, was more inclined to afternoon visits to such places as Sherry's restaurant and the Plaza tearoom. Her evenings were mostly spent in the company of her relatives or near friends. For almost six weeks following the disappearance of Dorothy the search was conducted along "confidential" lines. Her father, the descendant of a proud New England family, which traces its lineage back to the landing of the Pilgrims, loathed publicity. Her mother, a Canadian by birth and highly sensitive, equally abhorred the thought of letting the prying eyes of the public get a glimpse into the family circle.

The Man in Her Life.

There was a man in Dorothy Arnold's life. A few months preceding her disappearance the "affair" was such that it became a matter of family discussion. The first act after the young woman failed to respond to advertisements inserted in the personal columns of newspapers was to communicate by wireless with steamships bound for Europe. Then detectives were sent to Pittsburgh, Pa., to find out where George S. Griscom, a 44-year-old engineer, was staying at that time.

Griscom was in Florence, Italy. And there Mrs. Arnold hastened to confront him with the story of her daughter's disappearance. Even at the time of her sailing, the Arnolds were determined not to take any more persons than absolutely necessary into their confidence. Arnold had written to his brother in Germany a letter saying that a "terrible calamity had befallen the family," but they "did not wish to spoil their Christmas holiday by telling about it." As Mrs. Arnold sailed her husband cabled briefly to his brother telling him to furnish her with funds if needed.

Like the public, Dorothy Arnold's uncle and aunt got the first intimation of what had happened on the morning of Jan. 26, 1911, when the story of the disappearance appeared in all the newspapers of the leading cities of the United States and Europe. Deputy Police Commissioner Flynn, now chief of the Secret Service, on the day before told Arnold that his detectives had to have the aid of the newspapers. The "confidential" search had failed.

At the same time that the reporters were asked to aid the family. Word of Mrs. Arnold's visit to Florence and her meeting there with Griscom was kept a secret. "She is too sick to be seen," was the only explanation offered when reporters inquired for her. Two days later, however, it became known that George S. Griscom "was the man in the case." It then became known that the young woman less than two months before she left her family had been in Boston, where, according to the records of a loan company, she had obtained $60 for a quantity of jewelry that had been pawned.

George Griscom was Boston at the time, but if he and Dorothy met there at the time the information was never communicated to the public. It was admitted Dorothy on her return to New York rented a mail box in the general postoffice and that she quite regularly corresponded with Griscom. The letters she wrote him were in his possession the day Mrs. Arnold and her elder son John, saw him in Florence. As she demanded them John Arnold felled Griscom with a blow on the jaw. Then a promise was exacted from Griscom that he would never reveal the contents of the letters. Griscom has until this day kept his word as far as known.

Mrs. Arnold, on entering the lower bay on the steamship Pannonia, received a message from her attorneys and her two sons, John and D. Hinckley, met her at the pier. On their advice she declined to go into any details of her daughter's disappearance. John Arnold, in an interview with the then District Attorney Whitman, six days after the arrival of his mother from Italy, said he was convinced that Dorothy had committed suicide. He did not suggest that she might have met with foul play, nor did he ask for a grand jury investigation of her disappearance.

House in Pittsburgh Raided.

That the family lawyers at first shared with the detectives the belief that Dorothy Arnold bought a box of candy and a book with the intention of passing away time while riding on a railroad train was evident some time after the investigation was under way when John Keith, head of the Arnolds' legal representatives, said he had searched a sanitarium on the outskirts of Pittsburgh which was raided in April, 1913, by the Pittsburgh County authorities, who charged its proprietor with the death of a young woman who had been missing from her home for nearly a year.

A few days after this raid and the mention in the newspapers of Dorothy's name in connection with the investigation of the place, Arnold sent for the reporters and invited them to go thru his East Seventy-ninth street house from cellar to garret. He repeated his belief that his daughter would never be found.

The police records show that of the women who are daily reported as missing there are but few who, under any compulsion, give up the luxuries of homes so that they may wander about as fancy dictates. Some go away because of quarrels, others because they tire of being "pampered" by indulgent mothers, brothers and sisters, and others want to get away from the scene of some lovers' quarrel.

Dorothy Arnold was a girl of romantic ideas. She incorporated some of these in manuscripts, hoping to have them published. She was a graduate of Bryn Mawr, and after her schooling she began writing novels — which were never published.

——————

Did Dorothy Arnold take her family into her confidence? Has everything been told? Has any evidence been found to point to the theory that she is dead? Could she have been murdered and her body disposed of? Was there a suggested motive for murder? Did she by act or word suggest a reason for leaving home? These questions have been asked by the leading detectives of the world.

—Saturday Blade, Chicago, Dec. 18, 1915, p. 3.

Note: The case was never solved.

Threw Wife Over Cliff; Hurled Dog After Her

1915

Husband Did This, Says Man Who Helped Him

Confesses They Took Mrs. Frederick T. Price to Lonely Spot, Gave Her Fling Over Embankment

—————
CONSIDERED SIGNIFICANT

Mrs. Frederick T. Price met her death in a mysterious manner Nov. 28, 1914, one day after she had been given $60,000 by her father.
—————

MINNEAPOLIS, Minn., Dec. 16. — Confessing, according to George Armstrong, county prosecutor of Hennepin County, Minnesota, that he aided Fredrick T. Price of Minneapolis in hurling Price's wife to death over a cliff, Charles D. Etchison, a traveling salesman of Washington, D. C., is in Minneapolis where he must face legal action.

Etchison was arrested in Washington by operatives of a private detective agency and was brought here. Accompanying him was Armstrong, who announced that the prisoner had confessed.

"Mrs. Price was the daughter of David B. Fridley, member of one of the oldest Minneapolis families," Etchison is reported to have said in his confession, "and the day after she got the money, she and Price and I went to a matinee. Later Price suggested an auto ride.

"She sat in the rear with her dog — Price and I in front. Price stopped the ear near a steep embankment. He muttered something about tire trouble, and asked his wife if she didn't want to get out and give the dog some exercise.

Threw Wife Over Cliff.

"As Mrs. Price stepped out, Price put one arm in front of her, and I put an arm in front and we gave a fling. Down she went. Price picked up the dog and threw it after his wife."

When they climbed down the embankment, Etchison is reported to have said, they found the woman still alive and Price struck her head with a stone.

"We told everybody that she stepped over the cliff to save her dog," the officials said Etchison confessed. "Price canceled my notes for $1,200 he held and gave me $3,500 to boot."

—————

"I deny it all. I swear it is not true," declared Fredrick T. Price, when told in his cell at the county jail of the confession of Charles D. Etchison, that he aided Price in the murder of the latter's wife Nov. 28, 1914. "I do not care to say anything further except to reiterate that the confession is not true."

Price was indicted by the county grand jury for bigamy and murder.

After his wife's death Price sued the city of Minneapolis for $7,500 for leaving the river bank unprotected where he said his wife had fallen over. A detective revealed that Price had been married twice before and he dismissed his suit.

Last Christmas Price married Miss Carrie Olson, a Minneapolis bookkeeper. While his wife was living, it is said, he promised Miss Olson to get a divorce. It is charged he did not get a divorce from one of his three wives.

—Saturday Blade, Chicago, Dec. 18, 1915, p. 11.

Note: Price was convicted of the murder by a jury in district court, Minneapolis, in Jan. 1916. Etchison repeated the substance of his confession from December.

Wave Tosses Fisherman Out of Dory in Storm

1915

Victim of Accident Drowns Out From Boston

BOSTON, Mass., Dec. 16 — Just as the fishing schooner Elk, Capt. Patrick Murphy, arrived at the Fish Pier, South Boston, in the gray of dawn the other morning, with her colors at half-mast, Philip Kusa, aged 24, one of two men lost from the schooner a fortnight ago during a gale on Browns' Bank, came in aboard the Yarmouth steamer, reporting that his dorymate, Gordon Goodwin, aged 22, of East Publico, Mass., had been washed from his dory and drowned.

The drowned man was a brother of Griffin Goodwin of the schooner Flavilla.

The Elk had been fishing on Browns' for several days. One morning recently, the dorymen, fishing two in a boat, were out hauling trawls. At sundown, Kusa, making his first fishing trip, and Goodwin failed to report aboard.

There was a high wind blowing and a terrific sea. Captain Murphy sailed about searching for the two men, but without success.

Meanwhile the two dorymen were battling with a terrible sea. Their little boat was tossed about like an eggshell. Finally a vicious wave washed Goodwin clean out of the boat, while Kusa clung on for dear life.

Unable to do anything to save his companion young Kusa clung to his boat and watched his companion sink. All that night he was tossed about by the waters and all next day. About 5 o'clock that night, weak from lack of food and drink and unnerved by the fearful experience of seeing Goodwin drown, Kusa was picked up by the schooner Pauline.

The schooner landed him at Shelbourne and he secured passage to this port.

He Never "Collars Down"

1915

One of the proudest boasts of "Cyclone" J. H. Davis, the Congressman from Texas in the new House, now in session, is that he has "never collared down to anybody." As a matter of fact, "Cyclone" Davis doesn't allow anything to graze his neck but his flowing beard, the largest yet seen in the halls of Congress.

—Saturday Blade, Chicago, Dec. 18, 1915, p. 11.

Gone Are Days of Flim-Flammers

1915

"Very Simple, Dear Friends. Doesn't Hurt a Bit."

Nowadays in country towns there are those who occasionally take a desperate chance at impromptu crimes, robberies, holdup or sneak thief jobs, but the day of the professional flim-flammer who set out deliberately to bamboozle the people — and invariably did — is gone. The people of the rural communities have grown too "wise." They recognize a four-flusher the moment he hits the town and his "line of stuff" simply doesn't go.

And how the professional Doctor Bunkmores long for "the good old days!"

Take the old-timers who worked the medicine game. They carried a full outfit, including orchestra, band and specialty performers, to attract and hold the attention of the population of the localities they worked. These good people, uninitiated into the workings of this highly specialized graft game, would stand gaping while Doctor Bunkmore would explain how his particular "cure all" was discovered by a missionary in some far-off land, who noticed the natives were never sick, and that they lived to a ripe old age without any pains or aches.

Doctor Bunkmore would dwell upon the wonderful effect of his "Liveo" plant — the basis of his remedy — and how the natives in the far-off lands derived great benefit from eating it.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he would say, "I have here a remedy that will make you feel like an entirely new person. No longer will you need to suffer — no matter what your ailment. My good friends, the greatest trouble I experience is to induce a trial by the afflicted."

Then he'd ask for volunteers to demonstrate the curative effect of his medicine. He would urge those who suffered from toothache to pay special attention.

"I want you to come up to the platform," he would say in his most persuasive tones, "and see how easily and quickly I can save you further annoyance with your teeth. You can have your molars removed without pain by the mere rubbing of the gums with this 'miracle.'"

And then he'd arrange his chair and instruments.

"Come right up! Don't be a doubter!"

The cry of the doctor could be heard at a great distance for his voice had been trained to address large assemblages. Then a couple of supposed outsiders who traveled with Doctor Bunkmore all the time would step up, one with his jaw bandaged and claiming he had four teeth that several dentists had refused to remove, fearing to break his jaw and cause lockjaw.

With an air of confidence, the doctor would seat him and apply the remedy to the gums prior to an examination; whereupon the patient's legs would cease waving as from relief of pain.

While the operator inserted an instrument into the man's mouth, the audience would watch with breathless interest.

Old Doc Bunkmore Yanks Out the Offending Molars

Doctor Bunkmore would get a hold with his instrument of a tooth which he had slipped in while making his diagnosis. He would give a slight twist and pull and presto! out would come the tooth. After showing the offending molar to the crowd, the "doctor" would drop it into a tin pan so that all might hear it strike, and repeat the operation until three or four were extracted.

The patient, who had acted as tho asleep, would be asked to stand. Then he would open his eyes as tho awakened from a pleasant dream.

Doctor Bunkmore began to appear to the audience as a wonderful person and expressions of amazement could be heard on all sides. Then patient No. 2, another hired worker of the flim-flammers, would do his stunt equally as well.

And then came the big rush!

Often there'd be as many as fifty men — real, live ones, willing to pay cold cash — ready and anxious to go thru the "painless" operation of having their teeth removed by the great Doctor Bunkmore.

While the band would play so as to drown the squeal of the native as the "doctor" yanked out a tooth, the other victims-to-be would crowd and push ahead for their opportunity to have "Liveo" rubbed across their teeth before the simple — emphasis on the simple — operation was performed. The poor chump would have no chance to move for the doctor would stand straddling his knees as tho they were in a vice, while two husky attendants would hold down his arms and shoulders. No matter how much he squeaked, the slam, bang, bang, ta-rah-rah, of the band would out-noise him. When the teeth were out, one of the assistants would pat him on the back and say: "Ah, you're a game fellow, all right. You've got plenty of nerve." The patient would seek to cover up his yellow streak. He'd slip into the crowd without a murmur. Often he'd deliberately lie that the operation "didn't hurt a bit."

Doctor Bunkmore, having demonstrated the beneficial effects of his "Liveo" would start to place it on sale at $1 a bottle. How cheap! Cheap at twice the price. The bottles of "Liveo" would go like a house afire.

The story is told that one of such "doctors," whose home was in Illinois, who sent barrel after barrel of teeth home to gravel his walk and driveway.

An old-time circus man, speaking of this flim-flamming game, spun this yarn the other day:

"I was once spending the cold months in a Florida city years ago, and from reason of having owned a concession the season just passed was living on easy street. I was particularly impressed with the number of afflicted and crippled people, white and black.

"I had been there about three weeks when advance notice was posted of the coming of a 'classical concert and colossal band,' which was billed for the following week.

"Well, the following Monday the concert company blew into town like a circus. They owned a large waterproof tent seating about 2,000 people, carried a large number of musicians as well as performers, and distributed handbills announced that, commencing at 7:30 p.m. Monday, and every evening during the week, a free concert would be given on the ground.

"Monday night the tent was filled with working people and not a single speech from the doctor or even an intimation of the object of the visit.

"Tuesday evening the crowd was increased by half, and during the intermission between orchestra and vaudeville parts of the program the doctor arose and quietly announced that he proposed selling an absolute instantaneous cure for any swelling or trouble resulting in lameness or nonuse of limbs, as well as rheumatism or kindred ailments, informing them that not one bottle would be sold until acceptable proof had been given, and asked any present to bring a suffering friend, no matter how badly afflicted, the following night, for he desired proving his assertions by relatives and others who lived in the city, whom they knew, and in whom they had confidence.

:A victim was being led toward the stage by two friends. As he drew near I recognized him as 'Uncle Joel' who sold papers in front of the post office and who I understood was a preacher.

"I had seen him daily, seated in his chair with his crutches by his side and legs tied up in a bow knot, from reason, as he said, 'sitic rhum'tism' that had troubled him for 'fo-teen years.'

"He was gently lifted to one of the half dozen cots that had been placed on the elevation.

"Then the doctor pointed to the Col. Wilder negro and another man who from reason of his condition had been laying on the ground, and they were assisted up, groaning, swearing and praying in turn.

"The Wilder patient gave his name as Rufus Johnson, and said he had been hurt by a falling tree striking his back 'six years gone.'

"They were a queer bunch, each with his crutches and bandages, and the audience seemed to hold its breath in suspense as to what would come next, as the doctor quietly ordered his attendants to strip Rufus from the waist up.

"After his old coat and shirt had been removed, one of the attendants held a brilliant light while the doctor diagnosed the case, and that part of the crowd in his rear gasped when they saw the scars on his back.

"One of the assistants handed the doctor a bottle, from the contents of which he saturated a cloth and began applying to the back bones, then forced the patient to lean over in his chair with his head down, while he laid a strip of cotton along the vertebra and soaked it with the remedy, cautioning Rufus not to move, informing the audience that paralysis of the lower limbs was caused by pressure on the spinal cord and that it might require some time to secure results.

"The doctor then requested absolute silence as he turned to Rufus, felt his pulse gently, turned down the top of the cotton which plastered his back, and noted the result of the application; then motioned for his first assistant, who came over and took a peep, nodded his head and smilingly shook the doctor's hand, and it looked to me as tho the doctor dropped his worry mask.

"Turning to the negro he ordered him to raise his right foot. The man groaned and made effort, but failed.

"Turning suddenly, and in a commanding voice, he said: 'Stand up!'

"Rufus stood up with his mouth open and felt his legs, first the right, then the left; a peculiar look passed over his face as he carefully pinched his lower limbs.

"His walk improved with every step until he suddenly stopped and said, 'Gimme them crutches!' and when they were handed him he threw them off the platform to the ground, saying, 'Good-by, old sticks, we's pahted, and I'se gwine to walk widout you after this.'

"The audience began to sit up and take notice, and when one of the men who had been carried in on a cot sprang from his bed and jumped up and shouted a half dozen times and dropped on his knees to give thanks, then joining the four who were now walking around in excitement, it was then the crowd broke loose like crazy people. Then hundreds crowded up and demanded to purchase the medicine. Hundreds of bottles were sold at $2 per bottle, or two bottles for $3. I bought a bottle, tho I had to put up a hard fight to get to the platform.

"That night the doctor and his crowd left the city to fill an engagement somewhere, and early the next morning I packed my grip and went to New Orleans to dig up the best chemist money could induce to analyze the stuff.

"I paid $150 to be informed that the analysis showed only a few cheap ingredients, all harmless, and without curative properties.

"I learned later that the doctor had in his employ a dozen 'high-class' white men and about twenty picked negroes, whom he had carefully trained and divided into two or three companies, one of which would be sent to a city about three weeks in advance of his entry.

"The whites were furnished with plenty of money, stopped at the best hotels, and, as good mixers, under pretext of tourist or speculator, made friends with the best people. All were under strict instruction not to associate with one another; the negroes to always claim residence in the county, hobble on crutches in public, and each, under assignment of the white boss, asked to carefully cultivate the acquaintance of certain business or professional men, so that the latter would afterward recommend them for cure when called upon by the doctor's assistants.

"The company carried a good artist, who, prior to the public appearance of the patients, would paint scars, cancers and knots true to life on the person of the 'patient.' He could also shade a leg or arm to look large or small, and, naturally, when the doctor applied the remedy, under cover of the cotton, he would rub away the painting."

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Dec. 18, 1915, p. 12.

Pats and Slaps

1909

People are sometimes "killed by kindness" — in books.

Charity is a cloak sometimes used to cover an amateur concert.

How did poor Eve manage to get along without complexion lotions?

Some women use a gallon of words to express a teaspoonful of thought.

When it comes to being charitable, most of us have wonderful self-control.

The income tax is popular with the majority because it only hits the minority.

And many a man does his growling at home because he is afraid to growl anywhere else.

Some people would be able to acquire a lot of knowledge if they didn't think they knew it all.

Nothing annoys the average woman more than to have a clerk try to hurry her along when she is shopping.

The dictionary doesn't say anything about the mother of ten children being a heroine, but that's just what she is.

"Old Moneybags is afraid that prince he bought for his daughter is a bogus one."
"Why so?"
"When it came to settling up he asked for the prince's debts, and the fellow told him he hadn't any."

Sapleigh — The doctor says there's something the matter with my head.
Sharp — You surely didn't pay a doctor, to tell you that!

"In places of trust women are said to be more honest than men."
"Why?"
"Oh, they have no women to steal for."

"Man was made to mourn," quoted the moralizer.
"Yes," rejoined the demoralizer, "and woman was made to see that he does it."

Oxpropylendlisoamylamine is the name of a new heart stimulant. The dose is one syllable three times a day after meals.

Wright Defeats Gale, Thousands Applaud

1909

Flies 21 Miles Up Hudson River and Returns

NEW YORK, Oct. 7. — Over a tumbling sea of air waves that swept from the walls of skyscrapers Wilbur Wright made a sensational flight in his aeroplane from Governor's Island north above the Hudson River, around the British cruiser Drake, and anchored 1,000 feet north of Grant's tomb, and back to the starting point again without mishap.

Wright was in the air 33 minutes and 33 seconds and flew approximately twenty-one miles, including the turn over the warships, an average speed of thirty-seven miles an hour. At no time was he more than 500 feet above the waters of the river. The average height at which the machine traveled was 200 feet. A part of the way it went as low as twenty feet.

To use the bird man's own words: "It was a rough but exhilarating flight, and everything worked beautifully."

Hundreds of thousands of eager men and women massed in the towers and on the roofs of all the tall buildings, crowded in the streets close to the river and spread over the entire riverside section, gazed in wonder at the flying man as he deftly manipulated his slender machine in the changing currents of the upper air. Cheering that he never heard greeted him throughout his majestic flight.

Flying at a forth-mile clip at an elevation of 100 feet, Wright quickly passed the Battery, which was black with humanity and encountered for the first time rough air waves flung from the roofs of the down town skyscrapers. The tall Singer tower, standing between the aviator and the rushing wind, was responsible for an angry swirl of currents, and Wright was quick to see that it was ticklish going. The aeroplane bobbed and fretted at this point, but the master hand at the levers overcame the attack of the almost baffling air waves, the airship literally riding over them, now dipping, now rising sharply, like a steamer in a tumble of waters.

The machine passed the foot of Fulton street at 10 o'clock, 200 feet in the air. Finally he turned off toward the Jersey shore and settled down to an altitude of about 150 feet. The machine appeared to behave better after this maneuver and traveled at a fast clip.

In a wide-sweeping curve to the right, the plane dipping slightly and gracefully, the biplane circled the British cruiser and headed down stream again.

After the aviator had made his turn, he glided swiftly toward the Jersey shore and when the machine was about 1,000 yards out he turned sharply to the left again and began his triumphal journey back to Governor's Island.

From a height of 150 feet off the Battery the great bird began the descent where a little group of patient men, that included Major General Wood and James M. Beck, chairman of the aeronautic committee of the Hudson-Fulton celebration, had been waiting since the start. Finally it glided to earth only a few feet from the starting point with scarcely a jar.

Bruin as a Fisherman

May 1902

Old hunters say that the black bear does a good deal of fishing at this season. It is said that carefully studying the sun and approaching so that his shadow will not be cast upon the waters, bruin creeps cautiously to where he sees the telltale fins, and dexterously throws the fish out of the water with a sweep of his paw.

A couple of lads came across a different kind of bear at St. Mary's Lake, near Hull, Canada.

This one preferred having some one else do the fish catching for him.

The boys had got a good sackful of pike, which they had left near a stump while they amused themselves on a raft they had thrown together. They looked ashore after a time to see a big bear walking off with the bag of fish over his shoulder.

He paid not the least attention to their shoutings, having, as it transpired, taken the precaution of breaking the stock of their gun across at the grip before carrying off the fish.


Lovers' Thrilling Experience

Fred Tieman and Miss Rosie Beard, living a few miles below Evansville, Ind., in trying to reach a preacher's house to be married, were forced to cross a long streak of bottomland covered with about ten feet of water. The buggy was upset and the occupants thrown out. Tieman held his sweetheart in his left arm while he cut the harness, freeing the horses from the buggy. The lovers then held on to the horse's tail until the shore was reached, a distance of nearly a mile. The wedding ceremony was postponed for a day. — St. Louis Republic.

Old American Bottles

1902

In early American glassware the history of our national art progress has been written. Choice and precious indeed are the crude blue-green and brown amber bottles made early in the nineteenth century — the portrait bottles bearing busts of Washington, Franklin, Lafayette, De Witt Clinton, Zachary Taylor, Kossuth and Jenny Lind.

Local decorative subjects on many lines of idea were treated by the first American bottle-makers; and the most exquisite Venetian bottle cannot outrank in value, to a patriotic American collector, the primitive old flasks ornamented with Indians, Masonic emblems, the eagle, stars, flags, log cabins, cannon and steamships, or such outdoor themes as the seasons, birds, fruits, trees, sheaves of wheat, the fisherman, deer, the gunner and his hounds, and the first bicycle. The earliest American railway, with a car drawn by a horse, is historically celebrated on a glass flask, as well as the bold Pike's Peak pilgrim, with his staff and bundle. — The Century.


Frog Farming

After laughing at the French people for their frog-eating proclivity, the United States is doing very well in that line, for the Food Commission estimates that we catch in this country about 2,000,000 frogs.

These frogs, which have been hopping for years more and more into gastronomic favor, are sought for in all parts of the country, furnishing a paying industry, not only for the hunters of them in their natural haunts, but for scores of persons who have frog farms and raise them as they might raise chickens. To these persons the frogs mean an annual investment of $100,000, according to the report of the commission, and that means $150,000 to the consumers.