North Carolina Newspapers

$I.OO a Year, In Advance. " FOR GOD, FOR COUNTRY AND FOR TRUTH. " Single Copy s VOL. XVII. PLYMOUTH, ' N, C FRIDAY, JUNE 22, i906 NO.j until 8 W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM. HERE were times when $ m t'l'arlic Bartle could take O I o his- straitened circtun $ stances with a light heart. TWS3f When the sky was blue and the ;iir of Paris keen yet balmy, .was more exhilarating than wine, his studio in the Rue Breda lost its shabbi ness. On such days as these he went down into the street and watched gay women make their purchases for lun cheon. The disarray of llieir costume in the morning contrasted with the splendor with which he had .seen them tn"!ei'2f flTim tllfMl- linnoilu tlin nln-l, 1,,. ! lllv, uv-, lore, iney lingered at the door of rcen grocers bargaining for their veg etables with the strenuousness of mod Pi housewives. Several had sat for him, and with these ho exchanged the gossip of the quarters. Then, his eyes ailed with the vivacity of that scene, he returned to his studio, and sought 10 place on canvas the dancing sunlight f the Parisian street, lie felt in him the courage to paint masterpieces. But when gray clouds and rain made the olors on his palette scarcely distin guishable from one another, his mood hanged. lie could scarcely bear the dingy shabbiness of his studio. lie looked with distaste at the picture on which he had been working for a month and saw that ic was bad. His poverty appalled hiin. It was on such a:i occasion that Charles T-S.utle sat. pipe in mouth, con templating with deep discouragement The work of his hands. He smoked gloomily. Presently, with a sigh, he took si palette knife aud prepared to iscrapc ('own ail that he had done. There was i knock at the door. "Ciiii'.o in." cried Charlie, looking round. It was siowiy opened by a little old man. with u bald head, a hooked nose of immense size, and a gray beard. He ": shabbily dre-sed, but the rings on his linger, the diamond iu his tie. and his massive watch chain, suggest ed that it was v.nc from poverty. "Monsieur Leir:" said Charlie, with a smile. "Clone-hi. I'm delighted to sea you." . "I knew .vol i couldn't paint iu this won Mm:-, so I thought I shouldn't be in ihe way.-' He can!-' into the room and looked nt Batiie'.s unfinished canvas. The painter w.i relied iiim anxiouslj, but no change ui the Frenchman's expression t elrayed bis ojinio!. "Do yo!i think it's utterly rotten?" asked Charlie. "My (!eir fellow, you young men are so impatient. You buy a canvas, and you buy paints, and you think you can produce marvels immediately. You .won't give time to it. aud you won't idve pa'huu.e. The old. masters weren't in such a hurry. Read Yasari and you'll see how they worked." diaries Bar lie impatiently threw aside his palette knife. "I wish I'd ..een a crossing sweeper rather than a painter. It's a dog's life that I lead. I do without everything that gives happiness, and 1 don't even tio work that'.-, fit to look at." Mousieur Leir sat down, took from his waistcoat pocket the stump of an unfinished cigar, rubbed the charred end with his finger and lit it. He smoked this wilb. apparent satisfaction. In his day he had known mauy painters. Some had succeeded, but. most had failed, and he knew that the profes sion, even for the fortunate, was very liard. Genius itself starved at times, aud recognition ofteu did not arrive till a man was too embittered to enjoy it. But he liked artists, and found a pecu liar satisfaction in their society. Mon sieur Leir was a dealer. He had early reen the merit of the impressionists, had bought their pictures systemati cally, thus saving mauy of them from disaster and at the same time, benefit ing himself, and finally sold them when tfie world discovered that Ma net. Monet ami Sisloy were great painters. His only daughter had mar ried Rudolf Kuhn, a dealer in New York, so Monsieur Leir felt justified iu upending the years lhat remained to him in a condition of opulent idleness. But he (l ittered himself that the paint ers whose works he nad bought for a gong weiv his friends- iis well as his customers, ami it pleased him still to potter about the studios of those who vet lived. When Charlie Bartle settled in the lnu:.,e in which lie himself had an apartment, Monsieur Leir gladly made his acquaintance. The young man was delighted to hear stories of the wild life they led in Montmarte in the seventies, aud he was taken, too, by the kindliness of the retired dealer. There was an unaffected amiability in Monsieur Leir's mauiier, which led the foreigner quickly to pour into his sym pathetic ear his troubles and his ainbi-t!cn.-i ,The dealer was a lonely man, juiijJWsoon began to feel a certain. (X ecUo? for the young painter. KOjf wmmm E3 V- that ho was no longer in the trade he could afford to put. charms of manner before talent, and the mediocrity of his friend's work touched his gentle old heart. "It's one of your bad days, mon vieux," said the dealer. "I wish to goodness I was a dealer, like you," laughed Charlie. "At least, I shouldn't be worried to death by the approach of quarter day." "The picture trade is no place for an honest man now," returned Monsieur Leir, reflectively. "It was all very well !.. i ji , . ' JU olu uaySi -vvnen we nad it in our own Hands. We drove hard bargains, but it was all above board. But now the Christians have taken to it there's a good deal . too much hocus-pocus." "I simply can't go on this way. I have to pay 300 francs for my rent to morrow, and I shan't have a penny left to buy myself bread and butter for the next month. No .;o will buy a pic ture." Monsieur Leir looked at him with good-natured eyes, but he said nothing. Charlie glanced at the portrait of a very pretty girl which stood in soli tary splendor, magnificently framed on the chimney piece. "I had a letter from Rosie this morn ing. Her people want her to give me up. They say there's not the least chance of my ever earning any money." "But will she do that?" asked the dealer. "No. of course not." answered Char lie, with decision. "She's a good girl. But it means waiting, waiting, wait ing: and our youth- is going, and we shall grow sore with hope deferred. When at last Ave marry we shall bo disillusioned and bitter." He sighed deeply. He brooded with despair on the future, and the old man did not venture to disturb him. He watched the painter with compassion. At last, however, ha spoke. "What are the exact conditions on which the father of your fiancee will allow you to marry her?" "They're insane. You see. she has five thousand pounds of her own. He refuses to consent to our marriage un less I can produce the same sum or show that I am earning two hundred and fifty a year. And the worst of it is that I can't help acknowledging he's right. I don't want Rosie to endure hardship." "You know that my daughter's hus band is a dealer in New Y.ork," re turned Monsieur Leir. presently. "I vowed when L sold off my stock that I would never deal in pictures again, but I'm fond of you, my friend, and 1 should like to help you. Show me your stuff, and I'll send it to Rudolf: he may be able (o sell it in America." "That wculd be awfully good of you." cried Char'ie. The dealer sat down, while B.irtle placed on his easel one after the other his finished pictures. There were, per haps, a dozen, and Monsieur Leir looked at them without a word. For the moment he had gone back to his old state, and he allowed no expres sion to betray his feelings. No one could have told from that inscrutable gaze whether he thought the paiutiug good or bad. "Thai's the lot." said Charlie, at length. "D'you think the American public will seize their opportunity, and allow us to marry V" "What is ttij.t?" asked the dealer, quietly, pointing to the last canvas, it's face against the wall, which Bartle had not shown him. Without a word the painter pro duced it and fixed it on tue easel. Mon sieur Leir gave a slight star;, and the indifference of his exn-essiou vanished. "Watteau."' he cried. "But, my dear fellow, how did you get that? You talk of poverty and you have a Wat teau. Why. I can sell that for you in America for double the sum you want." "Look at it carefully," smiled Char lie. The dealer went up to the picture and peered into it. His eyes glittered with delight. It represented a group of charming persons by the side of a lake. It was plain that the ladies, so decadent and dainty, discussed pre ciously with swains, all gallant in multi-colored satins, the verses of Racine or the letters of Mine, de Sevigne. The placid water reflected white clouds, and the trees were russet already with .'approaching autumn. It was state ly scene, with iti gtecu woodland dis tance, and the sober opideneo of oak and elm, and it suggested ease and loug tending. Those yellows and greens and reds glowed with mellow light. "It's one of the few Y'atteaus I've ever seen wiH a sigii.iture," said the dealer. "You flatter me," sr. id Charlie. "Of course, it' only a copy. The original belonged to some old ladies in England Y,'fctUJ I knew; and last summer .when It mined. I spent my flays In copy, ing it. I suppise chance guided my hand happily;' every one agreed it -was not badly done." "A copy?" cried Monsieur Leir. "A copy? Where is the original? Would your friends sell it?" "The ruling instinct is as strong as ever." laughed the painter. "Unfor tunately, a month after I finished this the house was burned down, and every thing was destroyed." The dealer drew a deep breath, and for a moment meditated. He looked at Charlie sharply. "Didn't you say you wanted three hundred francs for your rent?" he asked very quietly. "I'll buy that copy off you." "Nonsense, I'll give it you. You're taking no end of trouble for me, and you've been awfully kind." t "You're a fool, my friend." an swered Monsieur Leir. "Write me out a receipt for the money." He took from his pockerbook three banknotes and laid them on the table. Bartle hesitated for an instant, but he wanted money badly. He shrugged his shoulders. He sat down and wrote the receipt. But as he was about to give it. an idea came to him and he quickly drew Jt back. "Look here, you're not going to try any hanky-panky tricks, are you? I won't sell you the copy unless you give me your word that yon won't try and pass it off as an original." A quiet smile passed across the deal er's lips. "You can easily reassure yourself. Just paint out the signature and put your own name on the top of it." Without a word. Bartle did as the old man suggested, and presently his own name was neatly painted in place of the master's. "I don't mistrust you." he said, as he handed the receipt, "but it's well not to put temptation in the Avay of wily, dealers." Monsieur Leir laughed as he pock eted the document and took the Wat teau in his hand. He pointed with a slightly disdained finger at Bartle's pictures. "I'm going to take the copy along with me. and I'll send my femmc de menage for the others," he said. But at the door he stopped. "I like your pictures, my friend, and when Rudolf knows that I take an interest in you, I dare say he'll h i able to sell them. Don't be surprised if in another mon h I come and tell you that ; oe can marry your fiancee." Monsieur Leir packed the Wat tea u with his own hands, and dispatched it without delay. He wrotes a discreet little letter to his son-in-law announc ing its immediate arrival and suggest ing that they should share the profits of its . rale. It was growing late, so ho went to his cafe and drank the absinthe with which he invariably pre pared for the evening meal. Then, with a chuckle, he wrote the following note: To the Chief Officer, U. S. A: Customs, . New York. Sir: An attempt will shortly bo made io pass through the Customs a copy of a picture by Watter.u. It is signed Charles Bartle. If, moreover, you scrape away ta. name, you will find the sig nature of a French painter. I leave you to make what inference you choose. Yours fa.ih fully. AN HONEST MAX. Less than this was necessary "io ex cite the suspicions of the least trust ing section of mankind. It was scarce ly to be wondered at, therefore, that when Rudolf Kuhn went to the Cus tom House at New York to pass the picture .hat had ':een rent linn, he was received with incredulity. He asserted with conviction that it was only a copy, and produced tfce receipt which Monsieur Leir had been so cautious as to send him. But the official who saw him merely laughed in his face. lie was quite accustomed t'v the tricks whereby atute dealers in works of art sought t; evade the ;-:uty. T suppose you'd be surprised If I told you that the picture was signed by Antoine Watteau," he said, with a dry smile." "More than that. I should be amazed beyond words," answered Ru dolf Kuhn confidently. Silently the customs officer took a palette knife, scraped away the name of Charles Bartle. and there, sure enough, was the French artist's sig nature. "What have you got to say now?" he asked in triumph. A curious light parsed through the dotier's eyes as he stared at the can vas, but he made no other sign that Monsieur Leir's astuteness had sud denly Hashed across him. "Nothing." he replied. With meekness lie paid duty on the estimated value of an original Wat teau. aud a very heavy fine into the bargain for his attempt to defraud the customs. He took 1hc picture away. But when he reached home that night he kissed his wife on both cheeks, with unusual warmth. "You father's still the smartest dealer-iu Europe, Rachel," ho said. But when she asked for an explanation of his words, he merely shook his head and smiled. In New York the newspapers learn everything, and pe.-haps it was not strange taat within twenty-four hours of these events an important journal had tut amusing account of how Ru dolf Kuhn, the well-known dealer, had been foiled, in hi3 attempt to puss through the customs, as a copy of some obscure painter, a very perfect ex ample of the art of Watteau. It was a triumph for the officials, and the newspapers gibed freely, because they had got the better of a wily Hebrew. Now Rudolph Kuhn had a client who chose ii spend much of his vast wealth in the acquisition of Old Masters, and no sooner had he read these entertain ing paragraphs than he hurried to tha dealer's shop. When he saw the pic ture he burst out laughing. "I like your impudence, trying to pass that off as a copy." "I showed them the receipt." smiled Rudolf, with a deprecating shrug of the shoulder. "I propose to sell it r.s a copy. It was sold to my representa tive in Paris as such." The millionaire looked at the dealer and chuckled. "Wed, Uncle Sam's Customs are good enough guarantee for me. I'll give you fifty thousand dollars for it." "I'll take sixty," answered the other, quietly. "Not bad for a cony." smiled the buyer. "Fl hav it at that." He carried the piciure off, and with it the various documents which the Custom House had delivered to Rudolf Kuhn in proof that he had paid both duty and fine. In fr.ee o". these it would have been a skeptic indeed who doubted the authenticity of so delight ful a work. Some weeks later Monsieur Leir again knocked ft Charlie Bartle's door. He advanced into the middle of the studio, and without a wo'd counted out fifty English banknotes of a hun dred pounds i.ach. "What the dickens are you doing'." cried j-r.rtlo, who thought ho had sud denly taken leave of hi.-, smses. "Five thousand poundr,: said the old man. "I thought you'd like to see the mon':y actually before you, so I changed it into these notes.' "What do you mean""'" "It's your sh. re of the profit on the sale of your pictures, aud you marry yourTiOsie whenever you choose." Bartle stared at Monsieur Leir, help lessly. He thought it mttot oe rDiue heartless jest, but the old man's eyes gleamed with their usual kindliness. Ho rubbed his hands joyfully r.s ho g'.oat ed ove.- the painter's utter consterna tion. At last he vouchsafed to explain Bartle understood vaguely that a Cali fornia millionaire had bought his pic ture, all the pictures, and this money was the result. He v -.nted to write to this amialjio and discerning patron, but Monsieur Leir hastily told him that was impossible. The Californian had bought the pictures and taken them away without leaving his address. Mon sieur Leir assured him that the Ameri can millionaires were not' riously eccen tric. Bartle drew a long breath and looked at the pile of notes. "Take them to the bank, my boy," said the old dealer, encnanted with the young man's pleasure, "and send a wire to a certain lady." He made the notes into a bundle, and put thetn in Barge's pocket, and led him out of the house. The painter walked as though he were iu a dream. But when Monsieur Leir had seen the young man safely on his way to the bank he went to his own apartment. He took out Charlie's pictures, wnich had remained in the safe obscurity oi a well locked cupboard. One by one he ripped them off their stretchers, and one by one he put them in the fire. Ho laughed as he saw them crackle in the flames, 'then he took hatchet and cut up the stretchers : eatly. "Here is some excellent firewood," he chuckled, as he gave the bundle to his maid. He rubbed his bauds when lie thought that thus he saved several coppers. It had slipped his memory completely that he had just made his friend r present of 5000. New York Tribune. The Avernce Age of llird. The doctrine of vegetarianism ap pears to be slightly shaken by the re sult of an investigation that an Eng lish newspaper has made into the subject of the longevity of birds. With one notable exception, the carrion or meat feeding birds are the longer lived. The exception is the swan. The aver ago ages of some of the best known birds are given in the following: Black bird lives twelve years; blackcap, fif teen; canary, twenty-four; crane, twenty-four; crow, 100; eagle, 100: fowl, common, ten: goldfinch, fifteen; goose, fifteen; heron, fifty-nine: lark, thirteen; linnet, twenty-three; nightin gale, eighteen; parrot, sixty; partridge, fifteen; peacock, twenty-four; pelican, fifty; pheasant, fifteen: pigeon, twenty; raven, KM); robin, twelve; skylark, thirty; sparrow hawk, forty; swan, 100; thrush, ten, and wren, three years. The average age of the boarding house variety of chicken is still undetermined New Orleans Times-Democrat. Japanese .V.olcitin. U. Iwatani. a Japanese soldier on hH way home from prison in Russia, com mitted suicide on receiving a letter from his father saying that his con duct in being taken alive would spoil the reputation of the Japanese army and cast odium on the names of the family and the Villagers, and con cluding by ordering him not to return lir.me alive. New York has just been paid by the National Government for equipment sullied in the War of 1812 op- INTEREST STUDY EACH FIELD. Each particular field requires special and careful treatment. One plot of land may bo better adapted for a cer tain crop than another, and the farmer must study the requirements of each field and crop. DEHORNING CATTLE. Dehorning has passed the experi mental stage and has now become a necessity. Practically no one now de nies the benefits derived from having a herd deprived of the dangerous weap ons of defense. The question arises as when and how can it best be done. The fall, or preferably early spring, are the best seasons of the year for doing this work, say the middle of March. The idea is to get the Avounds thoroughly healed before the flies come. Animals dehorned in early spring and cared for, usually shrink but little and the wounds very soon heal over. It is not necessary co put anything on the wounds. BURNING CHARCOAL FOR HOGS. Allow the wood or corn cobs to be come well ignited after piling in cone shaped piles, 'then cover lightly with dry earth. Combustion will then bo incomplete and a bed of charcoal will result. Another way is to have ready a tub of water and as soon as the wood burns sufficiently to form a live coal retaiuii. the original shape, re move with a pair of tongs rud im merse in the tub of water to extin guish the fire, then lay aside to dry. This is a simple r-hin and one that is practicable whenever it becomes ad visable to. burn charcoal at home. The value of charcoal as an aid t- diges tion is underestimated. C. B. Barret. DEVELOPING GOOD HOGS. A really good hog cauuot be pro duced from scrub stock. It is abso lutely necessary to choose the breed for the purpose, that is, some breeds are better for bacon and hams when leau meat is preferred and others for lard or at pork. Have an ideal animal and work for it. Breed from matured and well-bred sows. Don't sacrifice individuality to pedigree. Breed pro lific bows only. Avoid cross-breeding and feeding too much corn and ice water, as this lessens the vitality and tends to make too light a bone Feed young stock and the breeding sows oats, shorts, bran and V.1 meal, with but little corn. Give plenty of exer cise. In finishing off a fat hog noth ing is ahead of corn and pure water. Give plenty of room iu sleeping quar ters and teach young pigs to eat early. March or April litters are best. Keep salt and charcoal by them at all ttmes. The growing of frame fcr the first six mcnths end the keeping of equal sized pigs together must be looked to. After the ideal hog is secured it re quires extra good judgment and care to keep it and not allow it to degenerate. E. R. Beach. TIANO BOX SMOKEHOUSE. The thirfty farmer prepares his own pork for home consumption, and if he is short of cash with which to build an up-to-date smokehouse he will appre ciate the following plan, which will enable him to carry out his ideas at small cost. Buy an old but good up right piano box, and after making it smoke tight with paper, set at in the desired place and dig a trench so that the piping will enter at one end of the box through the bottom. Then take an old wash boiler with a good copper bottom and have a tinsmith make a hole in one side near the bot tom, and in this fasten a piece of tin water pipe or four-inch stovepipe. Then buy additional lengths of pipe aui make the connections yourself, having an elbow to go into the box. Make the smoke tire in the boiler, the smoke will pass Into the box, and, on a small scale, one will have a first-class smokehouse. As little heat is required to keep up the fire suf ficient to give the desired amount of smoke, there is no dapge. of the wash boiler being too frail for the purpose. The illustration shows the plan per fectly, the details of the piping being shown in the lower part of the cut Philadelphia. Record. flit THIS LITTLE BOY WAS Said Peter Paul Augustus: "A grown a man, I'll help my dearest mother the I can. , 1 I'll wait upon her kindly she'll mv arm: I'll lead her very gently, and kee from harm. "But, when I think upon it, the be so lone." Said Peter Paul Augustus, "befor and strong, I think it would be wiser to be and iov By helping her my very best wL little bov." The Brown Memorial Mi FLY FEATHER, Some games suited to yottn flren will be given to-day. Fly is an English play which of fun. Playera put their ch gether to form a close circle. J downy feather with a very sho Is procured and thrown as h gh sible in the air. It is then bio object of each player being no touched by it. The person it f on pays a forfeit, and the e deemed at the end of the game. It must not be blown too violet It will fly so high that it will tl cult to reach, at"', the one who It outside the circle must also forfeit. When children play it they v prefer to dance around in pursui but they must not let go each hands to catch it in lis descent. player who goes through three i! without being touched wins the Philadelphia Record. THE CUNNING vTW. Once a chained-up watch-dog front of his kennel lazily pick bone. A hungry crow looked on longing eyes, and hoped that I verting the attention of the d might tuceeed in securing the bor Itself. So it came as choe to tb mal as it dared, and began to im In all sorts of ridiculous antics dog, however, took not the slig notice. Then the crow hurrieu1 off fetched a friend, who seated hit on the bough of a tree just behin kennel, while the first crow a danced before the dog. As the an continued to remain aDsoiuteiy i ferent, the crow friend flew into air, suddenly swoopin.v down. struck the dog's spine a tremens blow with its beak. The dog started with surprise pain, and dropping the bone, mac fierce but unsuccess" il grab at ffssailant. Meanwhile, the first snatched '.he bone as quick as li ning, and flew off with it; the two spirators than shared tne stolen f erty between them. Baptist Argu HOW A MALTESE WAS WHirF! One day while standing at my v dow watching the shiftiDg clouds drowsy swaying of the trees, my tention was called to the peculiar tions of a large maltese cat in field beyond our lawn. It would era along, stop, fumble sotnetring, til go on a little distance, keepiug t stopping and rumbling up tor soil time. At last the lawn was reached, th through the fence the something can followed by the cat. Then I saw wl rlil ti ail It was. A poor little mouse that cat had been tormenting. The cat was too well fed to kill ai eat its prey, but just indolent enouif to -torment and worry its poor vi tim. On and on they came across tl: lawn. The cat would catch the poet little thing in its claw, mouth it, an then let It go. Poor mousie, thiukin he was free, would try to make goo his escape, but the respite was onl for a few minutes, when he would b grabbed again. Across the lawn and up the terrac thtv came. 1nst below the window where I was standing. When the toy of the terrace was reached, the cat gave his victim one more squeeze, looking delighted at the poor exhausted! thing, as much as to say, "I couldj kill and eat you If I wanted to." 1 You know it was the last straw! that broke the camel's back, so this! last squeeze and indignities were too much. The mouse turned round, faced the czi, eat on his hind legs like a squirrel w7hen It eats a nut, and when the cat made another attempt to mo lest him the mouse slapped the cat In the face with its little fist I mean, paw with a blow equal to Fitzsim cnons' own. The cat was taken so completely by surprise and so thoroughly disgusted with himself that he turned and fled, like the coward he was. and the mouse disappeared in a hole close to the cellar well. I was as surprised as the cat, and thoroughly enjoyed the discomfiture of poor pussy. I think it was Ux most imusing thing I ever saw. and if I had not seen the whole thing I -would have been tempted to doubt the story If it had been told me. E. Gray, ia Philadelphia Ledger.