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 all those people, when the stupid interest set that surrounded Mr. Pitt kept them all in the background?"

November 11.—This evening I remained with Lady Hester about three hours. She was better, but complained of great pain in the left hypochondrium, and could not lie easy on either side, or on her back. Yet, notwithstanding her ailments, talking was necessary for her; and from the incidental mention of Mr. Pitt's name, she went on about him for some time.

"Nobody ever knew or estimated Mr. Pitt's character rightly. His views were abused and confounded with the narrow projects of men who never could comprehend them; his fidelity to his master was never understood. Never was there such a disinterested man; he invariably refused every bribe, and declined every present that was offered to him. Those which came to him from abroad he left to rot in the Custom House; and some of his servants, after quitting his service, knowing he never inquired about them any more, went and claimed things of this sort: for Mr. Pitt would read the letter, and think no more about it. I could name those, who have pictures hanging in their rooms—pictures by Flemish masters, of great value—procured in this way.

"Mr. Pitt used to say of Lord Carrington, when he saw him unable to eat his dinner in comfort, because he


text:
Twilight (Custance)

 * "Twilight", in Opals (1897)
 * "Twilight", in Opals (1897)

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

title: Twilight (Custance)


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Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/48

14

Is reached. ’Tis Time that maketh grow

All new-born things, and Time doth show

How all things change, and wear and waste;

’Tis he that hath our fathers chased

From off the earth. Of mighty kings

And emperors the dirge he sings,

And all, through Time, must pass away,

For he ’tis marks our dooming day.

And Time, who ne’er forgetteth aught,

Hath Eld forgotten not, but brought

His hand to bear upon her so

That feebler doth she surely grow

From day to day, until no more

She hath of strength, or notes of lore,

Than child that on its mother’s knee

Or laughs or smiles unconsciously.

Yet natheless had Eld been in youth

A damsel fair, and sweet forsooth

To my sure knowledge, but I trow

Is sadly metamorphosed now—

Changed to a world-worn doting thing.

A great fur cloak for wrappering

She wore (methinks around her form

I see it yet) to keep her warm,

For aged folk still dread the cold.

By nature’s law, through many a fold.

The image standing next was fit

To show right well a hypocrite.


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 Rh have imposed it on the Turks and the Turkish Empire, and even on Musulmans in general. In this case it seems that the word is used to imply a 'stranger,' or 'barbarian'; but it is a curious example of the length to which misapplication can go, for it constitutes an absolute reversal of the usual and original sense of the word. In the Tarikh-i-Rashidi, among other books, we find Hazára used for 'hill-men,' or 'mountaineers,' without reference to its original meaning or to any racial consideration, while in modern times the term has become the name of a specific race or people. Hazára meant simply "a thousand," and was the name, it appears, which was given to a particular section of cavalry or other troops, who were perhaps the original settlers in the hill districts in question. What Mr. Ibbetson has told us above, of the employment of the words Turk and Moghul in the Punjab, is another instance of mere misapplication or irrelevent nomenclature; but we need hardly go far from home to find a telling example of the same thing. From Earle's Philology of the English Tongue we learn, with regard to the Cymraeg, or British language now spoken in Wales, that "the Anglo-Saxons called it Wylse, and the people who spoke it they called Walas, which we have modernised into Wales and Welsh. So the Germans of the Continent called the Italians and their language Welsch. The word simply means foreign or strange. At various points on the frontiers of our race we find them affixing the name on the conterminous Romance-speaking people The French  in the reign of Edward the Confessor, are called, by the contemporary [Anglo-Saxon] annalist, tha Welisce men, by which was meant 'the foreigners.

Thus, the evidence on this subject (apart from that of nicknames or terms of contempt) points to three distinct conclusions. The first is that, in reading the histories of Musulman authors, the tribal names they use must not always be


text: Opals (Custance)/Twilight

title: Opals (Custance)/Twilight


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Page:The Tarikh-i-Rashidi - Mirza Muhammad Haidar, Dughlát - tr. Edward D. Ross (1895).djvu/123

 92 taken to have a racial significance; or, in other words, it is necessary in every case where either the term Turk or Tatar occurs, to see whether the writer is applying it in its general and sociological acceptation, or in a specific and discriminating ethnic sense. The second conclusion is that the word Moghul, even where it is used in an ethnic sense, is frequently misapplied, and so extended, at certain periods in history, as to comprise many tribes of real Turki race (among others), until large numbers of people who were not of Moghul race came to be called Moghuls. This habit appears to have been prevalent first in the time of Chingiz and his immediate successors, and subsequently during the ascendency of the Chaghatai (or so-called Moghul) dynasty in India. The third conclusion is that the application and significance of all three names—Turk, Tatar, and Moghul—varied at different times and in different countries. It appears to me that a due appreciation of these three points will help to clear up much that has been regarded hitherto as inconsistent, and even contradictory, in the Musulman histories, and has occasioned no little controversy among European writers. That the ethnographic nomenclature of Persian, Turki, and Arabic writers is anomalous, cannot but be granted; but in Asiatic nomenclature what is there that is not anomalous? They had no knowledge of the scientific ethnology that guides the modern European commentator on their works, but merely followed the common speech of the time, and employed the terms that had grown into use among the people around them. In reading their books, therefore, it is futile to look for systematic nomenclature; but if they are read with a due regard to date, locality, and other circumstances, they will seldom be found, I think, to contain actual contradictions; for loose and inaccurate though Asiatics are in some respects—such as in figures, measurements, geographical details, etc.—they are usually remarkably clear on such subjects as blood relationship, family lineage, and racial descent.

But here we must leave the Moghuls, and glance briefly at those original Turks, or Uighurs, who may be regarded as the immediate ancestors of the population of Alti-Shahr (and indeed all Eastern Turkistan) and the main stock of their race. Who the Uighurs were in remote times, and what. was their origin, are speculative questions which need not be investigated here. The best notices of them during early historic times point to their home-land as lying in north-western Mongolia;


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 Rh but in the ninth century they are recorded, in the Chinese annals, to have been displaced from that region and to have been driven southward by the Kirghiz, who were themselves, at that time, beginning to rise to power, and tending, like other Turki tribes, to press towards the south and west. In early times there seem to have been at least two confederacies of Uighurs in the further east: one living in the region now known as Zungaria, and called the Naimán Uighur, or "Eight Uighurs," while the other inhabited the country watered by the Orkhon and the Tula, and were known as the Toghuz Uighur, or "Nine Uighurs." When the latter were driven to the south and west, the former remained in their old country, where they are found at the time of Chingiz Khan. The Toghuz Uighur settled in the eastern ranges of the Tian Shan, and gradually built up a new kingdom, extending over all the eastern portion of that chain. Here one of their states seems to have been established on the south of the mountains, and subsequently another on the north. The first had for its chief town the representative of the modern Kara-Khoja (called at different periods Si-Chao, Ho-Chao, and Kao-Chang), and embraced, at some periods at least, the modern district of Kuchar, then known as Kui-tze; while the capital of the second was Bishbálik (the Five Towns), which stood on, or near, the site of the present Urumtsi. Very little is known of even these later Uighur kingdoms, although the date when they flourished is not a very remote one. It is chiefly from the Chinese chronicles that any knowledge of their history is to be gathered, but even these do not appear to have been compiled with completeness, nor to have embraced the entire Uighur nation, which must have been a large and influential one for a long period.

In addition to these Uighurs, always so named, and living in the Eastern Tian Shan, there was a third section of the race dwelling farther west. They are called sometimes the 'Karlughi,' and their seat of power was originally at Ili-bálik and on the head waters of the Chu. During the eleventh and twelfth centuries, they appear to have dominated Western Turkistan and perhaps the whole of Alti-Shahr, while one of


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Rh

Popeholy was the name she bore,

And on her face a mask she wore

Of righteousness, for her great care

It is to take men unaware,

And play them some base, shameful trick.

On first acquaintance is she quick

To waken pity by her sad

And simple piteous look, beclad

With simple, sweet, and saintly seeming;

But in this world no evil deeming

Exists, that rolls not through her brain.

The painting gave to her amain.

Kind, gentle semblance; debonair

And simple all her features were.

And both her pose and raiment done

In guise of some good convent nun.

A psalter held she in her hand.

As though the throne of God she fanned

With holy prayers, and saints invoked:

But never laughed she, smiled nor joked.

Good works pretendeth she to do.

As though nought else did she pursue

Since first she donned the shirt of hair.

Her wretched body, lean and spare.

All bloodless looked and deadly white,

Through daily fest and sleepless night.

For her, and those who share her lot,

The gate of Paradise I wot

Ne’er openeth, for the Gospel says:

They fast and make long prayers for praise

Of men, and thus they cast away

God’s Kingdom at the dooming day.


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took Jane Conley, “The Gun Girl,” to one of the swankier night resorts that evening. They both enjoyed such high-powered diversion and it always brought back memories. It was at Ike Bloom’s that Tony first had seen her and been struck by her beauty. It was at the Embassy Club, while they sat waiting for Jerry Hoffman to come in so that they could carry out the death sentence pronounced on him by their employer, Johnny Lovo, that they really had become acquainted.

Tony, his evening clothes immaculate and perfectly fitted save for a slight bulge under his left arm where an automatic hung suspended in a shoulder holster, looked about the luxurious but crowded and noisy place, then glanced at Jane with satisfaction glowing in his expressive eyes. She was the most beautiful woman in the place, or the “joint,” as he mentally worded it. He wondered, with a sudden twinge of jealousy, if she would stick with him after the thirty-day probationary period had expired.

title: Page:Scarface.pdf/174


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 view on Fetish in West Africa. I was of course fully aware of the accepted view of the innate antagonism between religion and witchcraft when I published in a deliberately scattered form some of my observations on Fetish, being no more desirous of giving a mental lead to white men than to black, but only wistful to find out what they thought of things as they are. The consequence of this action of mine has been, I fear, on the whole a rather more muddled feeling in the white mind regarding Fetish than ever heretofore existed; a feeling that, if what I said was true, (and in this matter of Fetish information no one has gainsaid the truth of it), West African religion was more perplexing than it seemed to be when regarded as a mere degraded brutal superstition or childish foolishness.

However, one distinguished critic has tackled my Fetish, and gallantly: the writer in the Edinburgh Review. With his remarks on our heresy regarding the deification of ancestors I have above attempted to deal, owning he is quite right—we do not believe in deified ancestors. I now pass on to his other important criticism, and again own he is quite right, and that "witchcraft and religious rites in West Africa are originally indistinguishable." This is evidently a serious affair for West Africa and me, so I must deal with it carefully, and first quote my critic's words following immediately those just cited. "If this is correct there can be no doubt that such a confusion of the two ideas that in their later forms not only stand widely apart, but are always irreconcilably hostile, denotes the very lowest stage of aboriginal superstition wherever it prevails, for it has been held that, although the line between abject

title: Page:West African Studies.djvu/213


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Page:The Yellow Book - 03.djvu/20

 æsthetic sense, but all the moral qualities as well. Every grace of every fair woman he has ever met—the best attributes of his mother, his sister, and his aunt—are freely hers. None of the slight blemishes which occasionally tarnish the high lustre of virtue, none of the caprices to which sirens are constitutionally liable, are permitted. Faultless wife and faultless mother must she be, faithful lover and long-suffering friend, or he will have none of her in his temple. Now, this is surely a wholly unreasonable, an utterly extravagant demand on the part of man, and if analysed carefully, will, we believe, be found to yield egoism and gluttony in about equal parts. How, we venture to inquire, would he meet a like claim, were it in turn presented to him? A witty and light-hearted lady—a remnant yet remains, in spite of the advent of the leaping, bounding, new womanhood—once startled a selected audience by the general statement, "All men are widowers." But even if this generous utterance can be accepted as absolutely accurate, it can hardly be taken as a proof of man's fitness for both the important roles involved.

For our own part, we are convinced that, broadly speaking, the exception only proving the rule—whatever that supporting phrase may mean—woman, fresh from Nature's moulding, is, so far as first intention is concerned, a predestined wife or mother. She is not both, though doubtless by constant endeavour, art and duty taking it turn and turn about, the dual end may, with hardness, be attained unto. For Nature is not economic. Far from her is the fatal utilitarian spirit which too often prompts the improver man (or—dare we confess it?—still more frequently woman) to attempt to make one object do the work of two. From all such sorry makeshifts Nature, the great modeller in clay, turns contemptuously away. Not long ago we read in a lady's journal of a 'combination gown' which by some cunning arrangement, the

title: Page:The Yellow Book - 03.djvu/20


text:
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 accurate, all right, but he was wearing a bulletproof vest.

In the comparative shelter of the narrow hall that led to the stairway, he turned. Already his automatic was out, ready for execution. He could see two of his men firing upward at the windows of the small hotel across the street. But with his own disappearance the vicious stuttering of the machine-gun had ceased. He imagined that the attackers already were in flight, trying desperately to make their escape before the arrival of the police. And his own men must do the same, to avoid arrest and serious charges. A daylight gun battle in a downtown street was no simple matter to adjust with the authorities.

He stepped to the doorway and searched the windows of the hotel with a quick but careful glance. He saw nothing suspicious.

"Cut it!" he snapped. "Into the cars, quick! Let's go!"

He made a flying leap for one of the sedans and clambered in. The men piled in around him and into the other machine. The two big cars roared away down the street. With only inches to spare, they swerved around a traffic cop who was frantically blowing his whistle at them, and raced on

title: Page:Scarface.pdf/215


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 The examples we have already given of great workers in various branches of industry, art, and science render it unnecessary further to enforce the importance of persevering application in any department of life. It is the result of every-day experience that steady attention to matters of detail lies at the root of human progress; and that diligence, above all, is the mother of good luck. Accuracy is also of much importance, and an invariable mark of good training in a man. Accuracy in observation, accuracy in speech, accuracy in the transaction of affairs. What is done in business must be done well; for it is better to accomplish perfectly a small amount of work than to half-do ten times as much. A wise man used to say, "Stay a little, that we may make an end the sooner."

Too little attention, however, is paid to this highly important quality of accuracy. As a man eminent in practical science lately observed to us, "It is astonishing how few people I have met with in the course of my experience who can define a fact accurately." Yet, in business affairs, it is the manner in which even small matters are transacted that often decides men for or against you. With virtue, capacity, and good conduct in other respects, the person who is habitually inaccurate cannot be trusted; his work has to be gone over again; and he thus causes an infinity of annoyance, vexation, and trouble.

It was one of the characteristic qualities of Charles James Fox, that he was thoroughly painstaking in all that he did. When appointed Secretary of State, being piqued at some observation as to his bad writing, he actually took a writing-master, and wrote copies like a schoolboy until he had


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 ward, bound for home and safety. Tony's eyes were glittering with cold, deadly fury but within him he felt a great exultation. The war was on again!

“They was on the third floor of the hotel, boss,” panted one of the men. “We seen 'em plain—two of 'em. One of 'em was usin' a Thompson and the other one had a automatic.”

A “Thompson” is that particular type of machine-gun which is the favorite weapon of the modern gangster, an easily transported but wicked death machine which can be handled with the ease of a rifle and which, while weighing only ten pounds, will hurl one hundred bullets per minute. When they reached headquarters, Tony went immediately to his private office and telephoned the District Attorney.

“They just tried to get me from the third floor of the Victor hotel,” he said almost gleefully.

“I know. I just got a flash on it from the detective bureau.”

“Must have been some of the Bruno mob. What are you going to do about it?”

“Just what I promised at that last conference. As many of the North Side mob as we can get our

title: Page:Scarface.pdf/216


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16

Last Poverty, of whom I vouch,

No penny lay within her pouch,

And buy a rope to hang herself.

Naked as any wretched worm,

She oft, in direful winter’s term,

Nigh dies with misery and cold.

Nought else her body did enfold

Except a sack, from whence hung torn

Foul rags, for robe and mantle worn;

Therewith alone did she dissemble

Her nakedness, her limbs a-tremble,

Down in a corner, on the ground

Couched, like a beaten, shamefaced hound.

Alas! a dolorous fate hath she,

Cast out from all men’s company.

Accursed the hour when man is born

To live in poverty forlorn:

Far better had he never been

Than naked, houseless, friendless seen.

Before these images I stayed

Some space; each one was well arrayed

In dazzling gold and azure bright.

By skilful limner deftly dight.

The wall was high, and built of hard

Rough stone, close shut, and strongly barred,

Enclosing round a garden vast.

Wherein no swain had ever passed;

Beyond all doubt a place most fair.

And I most gladly entry there


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 secret whereof was only known to its lucky possessor, would do alternate day and night duty with equal credit and despatch. We have no desire to disparage the varied merits of this ingenious contrivance, but at the best it must remain an unlovely hybrid thing. Probably it knew this well, for gowns, too, have their feelings, and before now have been seen to go limp in a twinkling, overcome by a sudden access of despondency. Such a moment must certainly have come to the omnibus garment referred to above, when it found itself breakfasting with a severe and one-idea'd "tailor-made," or, more cruel experience still, dining skirt by skirt with a "mysterious miracle"—the latest label—in gossamer and satin.

We dare to go even further, and to declare that every woman knows in her heart—though never, never will she admit it to you— within which fold she was intended to pass. Is it an exaggeration to say that many a girl marries out of the superabundance of the maternal instinct, though she may the while be absolutely ignorant of the motive power at work? Believing herself to be wildly enamoured of the man of her (or her parents') choice, she is in reality only in love with the nursery of an after-day. Of worship between husband and wife, as a factor in the transaction, she knows nothing, or likely enough she imagines it present when it is the sweet passion of pity, or the more subtle patronage of bestowal, one or both, which are urging her forward into marriage. Gratitude, none the less real because unrealised, towards the man who thus enables her to fulfil her true destiny—the saving of souls alive—has also its share in the complex energy. Well for the husband of this wife if he allows himself gradually to occupy the position of eldest and most important of her children, to whom indeed a somewhat larger liberty is accorded, but from whom also more is required. In return for this submission boundless will be the care and devotion bestowed upon his upbringing day by day.

title: Page:The Yellow Book - 03.djvu/21


text:
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 hands on will be rounded up to-night, questioned and brought into court in the morning,”

Which sounded fine, thought Tony, but didn't mean a thing. The chances were very strong that the actual assailants had made a clean getaway, none of the others would talk—in fact, they would probably know nothing of the attack until they saw it in the papers or were arrested—and the D.A.'s office would be able to prove against them nothing more serious than a charge of carrying concealed weapons. Tony realized that the whole round-up and subsequent activity would really amount to nothing more than a grand gesture for the benefit of the newspapers to pass on to the public.

But Tony felt that a round-up like that was too great an opportunity to be lost. He called in a dozen of his most reliable gunmen and for an hour drilled them in the details of a plan which would be the most daring gangland gesture the city had yet seen.

The evening papers—always more sensational than those published in the morning—made a great fuss over the afternoon attack, giving it huge headlines and a great deal of space. And some of the information was of great interest to Tony. The

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 police, in the search of the hotel following the attack, had found in a third-floor room fronting the street a Thompson machine gun, an empty automatic and a dead man with half a dozen bullets in him. And the dead man later had been identified as Steve Libati.

"The dirty!" breathed Tony venomously. "Turned traitor, did he? And some of the boys got him. Either that or his own partner shot him in the back, afraid that he might turn him up later. Well, anyway, he sure had it coming to him."

Tony studied over the various angles of the occurence for some time. The identification of one of the assailants as his former lieutenant brought in a new element. There was a chance, of course, that Steve had carried out the attack as a matter of personal vengeance. But it wasn't likely. He didn't have that much brains. No, the affair had been planned out by the crafty Schemer Bruno, who had used the ready Libati as a cat's paw. The chances were that Steve, upon being fired by Tony, had joined the North Side outfit, being admitted because of the valuable information he could furnish Bruno and because of his avowed hatred of Tony.

The morning papers, while showing a trifle more

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text:
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 reserve about the whole matter, carried the news that the most thorough dragnet of years had been sent through the North Side during the night, with the result that a large portion of the notorious North Side gang—including the wily Schemer himself—had been rounded up and were now reposing in cells, from which they would be removed for court appearances that morning on various charges.

At nine-thirty, Tony loaded his dozen carefully selected gunmen into two big sedans and set forth on the little expedition he had planned the day before. When slightly less than a block away from the police court where Tony knew the North Side mob would be arraigned, he ordered the cars parked—but with their engines kept running for an instant getaway—and instructed his men to spread out along the street. He watched them take their stations then smiled coldly with pleased anticipation. When Schemer Bruno and his men came out—as they were sure to do—they would get a terrific surprise. And of course, just coming from court, they would be unarmed. It looked as though this morning would put a terrible dent in the North Side mob.

Suddenly the double doors of the police station

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 He will be foolish if he utters aloud, or even says in the silence of his heart, that motherhood is good, but that wifehood was what he wanted. It would be but a bootless kicking against the pricks. For he has chosen the mother-woman, and it is beyond his power, or that of any other specialist, to effect the fundamental change for which his soul may long. It only remains for him to make the best of a very good bargain, and one to which it is very probable his strict personal merits may hardly have entitled him.

If such a marriage is childless, it may still be a very useful one. Nature's accommodations often verge on the miraculous. The unemployed maternal instincts of the wife easily work themselves out in an unlimited and universal auntdom. It must be confessed that bad blunders are apt to ensue, but where the intentions are good, the pavement should not be too closely scanned. In fiction these are the Dinahs, the Romolas, the Dorotheas, the Mary Garths. Dear to the soul of the female writer is the maternal type. With loving, if tiresome frequency, she is presented to us again and yet again. In truth we sometimes grow a little weary of her saintly monotony. But as it is given to few of us to have the courage of our tastes, we bear with her, as we bear with other not altogether pleasing appliances, presented to us by earnest friends, with the assurance that they are for our good, or for our education, or some other equally superfluous purpose.

With the male artist this female model is not nearly so popular. It may be that he feels himself wholly unequal to cope with her countless perfections. Certain it is that he makes but a sad muddle of it when he tries. Witness Thackeray's faded, bloodless Lady Esmond, as set against his glowing wayward Trix—she, by the way, a beautifully-marked specimen of the wife-woman—though whether it would be pure wisdom to take her to wife must be left an open question. Still, we have in our time loved

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text:
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 —the court was above a station—swung open and a stream of detectives and uniformed officers streamed out and bore down on Tony's men.

“Hell!” gritted Tony, who had remained sitting beside the chauffeur in one of the cars. “The cops have seen ’em. Step on it!”

The big car roared into life and swerved around the corner, but not before two shots had rung out in the street and two bullets had thudded against the rear of the machine.

“Stop!” commanded Tony, and the car ground to a halt. Close as they were to the station, they were out of sight of it. “Gimme your gat!”

The chauffeur quickly handed over his revolver and Tony calmly dropped it down a convenient open sewer. He tossed his own heavy automatic after it then removed his small vest-pocket auto matic from its customary position and shoved it down inside of one sock. When two detectives came puffing around the corner with ready revolvers—he knew they would—he was standing calmly beside the car.

“Did you want to talk to me?” he demanded with a frown.

“I'll say so,” panted one. “It's lucky Lieutenant Grady looked out the window and recognized some

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Page:The Tarikh-i-Rashidi - Mirza Muhammad Haidar, Dughlát - tr. Edward D. Ross (1895).djvu/125

 94 their chief towns was Kashghar, then known as Urdu-Kand. Their rulers were the so-called 'Ilak-Khans,' or 'Kara-Khans,' whose history is more or less known through the works of Arab and Persian authors, since the conversion of one of the line—a certain Sátuk Kara Khan—to Islám, in the first half of the tenth century. That the state and dynasty of the Ilak Khans were in reality Uighur, there seems to be sufficient evidence to prove, although the name of Uighur was not used by Musulmán authors till a much later date. They seem to have been known by the name of Ta-gaz-gaz until the thirteenth century, when they begin to appear under that of Uighur in Western annals, though the Ilak Khans were then no more. From these same Musulman historians we learn that, during parts of the tenth and eleventh centuries, the kingdom of the Ilak Khans extended from Khorasán to China, which is perhaps scarcely to be taken literally, but is only another way of saying that it extended a long way to the east; for the Chinese, in their chronicles of the same period, speak of transactions between their Emperors and the Khans of Kao-Chang and Bishbálik, as if these were independent chiefs.

We come to surer ground about the year 1124, when Yeliu Taishi, the Gurkhán of the Kara Khitai, overran the whole of Eastern Turkistan and captured Balasághun, together with much of the country to the northward, which was then under the sway of the Ilak Khans. This invasion put an end to the kingdom of the Western Uighurs—the Kárluks, or Karakháni—while the Eastern Uighurs became tributary to the conquerors. But it was a conquest that probably had little influence on the people by whom the land was inhabited. It is uncertain what tribes the army of the Gurkhán was composed of; in all probability it was much mixed in race, while in any case, it was a mere army of invasion and by no means constituted the migration of a people. The dominion of the Kara Khitai, moreover,


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 of them gorillas of yours hangin’ around outside, or we'd a had a whole streetful o' murders on our hands.”

"Lieutenant Grady, was it?" queried Tony pleasantly. "I'll have to remember that."

"I don't care what you remember. Just come along quietly, both o' you muggs."

"Got a warrant?"

"Naw, 'course not."

"What's the charge?"

"Carryin' concealed weapons."

"But I'm not carrying concealed weapons."

"Naw?" exclaimed the burly detective incredulously. "Humph! Tryin' to stall, eh? Keep the rod on 'em, Jim, while I frisk 'em."

Quickly and thoroughly he searched Tony, but of course he did not extend it below the knees. Obviously puzzled, he hauled the chauffeur out of the car and searched him—without result. With evident bewilderment he surveyed these two men on whom he knew he should find guns. Then an idea occurred to him, as it sometimes does to an unusually bright police detective.

"I got it! " he exclaimed with sudden enthusiasm. "You dropped 'em on the floor or hid 'em in the

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 her well, and some of us have found it hard to forgive the black treachery done in bringing her back in her old age, a painted and scolding harridan. For these, well-loved of the gods, should, in fiction at least, die young.

Truth compels us to own regretfully that man in his self-indulgence shrinks from both the giving and receiving of dull moments, whilst woman, believing devoutly in their saving grace, is altruistic enough to devote herself with enthusiasm to the task of their administration. Now, dull moments are apt to lie hidden about the creases of the severely classic robe, which, in the story-books at any rate, these heroines always wear. We must all agree that during the last twenty years this type, with its portentous accumulation of self-conscious responsibility has increased alarmingly. To what is the increase to be attributed? The too rapid growth of the female population stands out plainly as prime cause. Legislators are athirst for things practical. Is it beyond their power to devise some method of dealing with this problem? The Chinese plan is painfully obvious, but only as a last and despairful resource, when the wise men of Westminster sitting on committees and commissions have failed, can it be mentioned for adoption in Europe. We are, alas! Science-ridden, and are likely to remain thus bridled and saddled for weary years to come. Every bush and every bug grows its own specialist, and yet we, the patient, the long-suffering public, are left to endure both the fogs that make of London one murky pit, and the redundant female birthrate which threatens more revolutions than all the forces of the Anarchists in active combination. Meanwhile these devotees of the abstract play about with all sorts of trifles, masquerading as grave thinkers, hoping thus to escape their certain judgment-day. The identification of criminals by the variation of thumb-prints is a pretty conceit; so too is the record of the influence of the

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 car some place. That's an old trick of birds like you."

He went at the car as if he were going to take it apart. And he did as well as he could without the aid of dynamite or tools. But he found nothing incriminating.

"You see?" said Tony. "I told you the truth. I'm just out for a little drive this morning. And I don't like being shot at without reason when motoring." He produced two $50 bills and passed one to each of the puzzled detectives. "Now, boys, buy yourselves some cigars and forget that you ever saw me in this neighborhood this morning. And I won't tell anybody what a silly trick you pulled."

He climbed into his car and drove away, within three blocks removing the small automatic from his sock and placing it in his coat pocket ready for an emergency.

“Jeez! Boss, that was smooth work!” exclaimed the chauffeur admiringly.

"If the cops was as sharp as we are, we wouldn't have a chance!" answered Tony wisely.

From his private office at his headquarters, he telephoned Captain Flanagan. “This is Tony Camonte!” he said brusquely.

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