r: - I I r ’I r O i ; {2V Allva TWENTY MINUTES FOR DINNER. BY J0 KING. Twenty minutes here for dinner'. What a joyful piece of news. To a faint and fairished sinner Who cannot the call refuse. Never mind our toilets, hurry‘ Faces black with dust and smoke! No time here to stop and worry, | But how slow those people poke! Hurry out for mercy’s sake, there, Jainmed in getting out the door; Don’t stand for a mortal week there, Time is half-way up or more! \Vhat a scramble for the table! What a tumbling over chairs! What a noisy babble Babel! No time here to put on airs. Jing. what a little bit of room here, Squeezed as in a vise’s clutch. One would meet his mortal doom here, Not much space to fill up much. Here, my friend, if you’d eat faster You’d be eatln not at all; There. some one as wrecked the castor, Nothing in it, loss is small. When your meat is on your fork so, You can‘t get it to your chops, Neighbors do their elbows work so, Punch you once and down it drops. Everybody in a bluster, Crying, " Waiter.” till ears ache. Gentleman in linen duster Siufiing pockets full of cake. Do not scrouge so if you please, sir, With that butter on your sleeve! There's my coffee on my knees, sir! Train is just a—going to leave. In a jiffy off we scamper, And into the cars we pour. False alarm. oh, what a damper, Train won’t stait for half an hour! Mercy on me. what a pity, Didn’t hardly eat a bit. Here, boy, hand me up that kitty, 1 will have my dinner yet. The Harpuuner’s Death. BY C. D. CLARK. THE old Acteon lay in the North Pacific, in the track of the whale, floating idly upon the calm surface, with hardly wind enough to raise the pennant, and even that coming in titful puffs. The watch on deck were at their stations, it is true, but they did not seem to have any work to do. Two were seated on the fore cross-trees, one idly whittling at a whale’s tooth, which he was preparing to engrave in sailor fashion with India ink, and the other engaged in tattooing a foul anchor upon his left wrist. The man with the tooth was a grizzled, hard-featured sea vete- ran, seamed and scarred by battles with the monsters of the deep; the other was a fresh-look- ing youngster, tall and sinewy, with a handsome face—strikingly in contrast with his coni- anion’s. Yet they were “chums,” for 011 oard ship every man seemed naturally to choose a mate, and perhaps the taciturn har- pooner. Jackson, had chosen Charley Floyd be— cause they werc direct opposites in character, for Floyd was a merry, careless fellow, full of life, while Jackson rarely spoke to any one ex— cept his chum. ‘ You are a great believer in fate, Jack,” said Floyd, putting an artistic touch upon the cable which he was working on his wrist. “ But I tell ye it's so, boy,” replicd John J ack- son, in a solemn voice. “ I've killed ninety—nine whale with my own harpoon since I first took the steel in my hand. I’ve killed ninety—nine, 1 say, and I’ll never live to kill the other. for the hundredth will kill me.” “ You don‘t believe that, old man,” said Floyd, uneasily. “ Pshaw! I never thought a man like you could believe such nonsense.” “ I wish I could think it wa’n’t so, Charley,” replied the old sailor; “but it’s got to be, and you’ll see it done.” “ If you believe that, why don’t you quit the sea, J ack?” “Quit the sea? Jack Jackson quit the sea acause he’s got to die? I thought you knowed the old man better than that, Charley. No!” he cried, rising in the top, and waving the tooth above his head; "I’ll die as I’ve lived, on the heaving water. ‘Ha! There she blows! blows! blows! There she blows!” The call was heard on deck, and the second mate, who had been leaning idlya ainst the heel of the bowsprit, answered the ai : “ In the fore-top! Where do you see the spout!” “ Three points on the lee bow!” replied Jack- son. All was now confusion in the ship, but it was a confusion which led to results. The officers were on deck in a twinkling, and with the speed and celerity which only long practice can im- part, the boats were in the water, speeding away toward the spouts. The tough ash bent, as the sturd rowers laid their strength upon them, and t e boats. sprung as if alive and eager for the ame. , “ asy, my sons,” whispered the captain as be swayed his body to and fro in the stern; ‘ easy my doves. Don’t break your backs until I tell you, and when I tell you, break them for my sake. Jack, there’s a son of a gun in the third mate’s boat that says he can beat you. Don’t let him beat on; don’t let him beat my old har- pooner. here she blows! Pull, my sons, pull!” Jack Jackson smiled grimly as he bore his wei ht upon the oar. “ et out!” hissed the captain, with sudden energy. giving the steering-oar a sweep. “ Pull, if it opens all your seams. Pull, if it breaks your backs. Start her lively, and pull. Away you go. Splinter your oars and pull. Do some- thing for my sake, infants. Crack your joints, you sleepers. Rouse and bilt. Now she moves.” Away toward the white water, glancing be- fore them with set teeth, swelling muscles and flashing eyes, the crews rowed on. But, who was like Jackson and his crew? At every stroke the frail boat seemed to leap, and the captain continued his exordium more from habit than necessity. “Soundings!” he cried, and, as he spoke, the gigantic prey they followed went down into the depths of the ocean, far out of sight, and the sea was blank. The captain sat down tranquilly and waited, and the men bent forward like tigers ready for the spring. “ Ha! There’s his hump!” hissed the captain. “Stand up Jack!” Up rose ohn Jackson with the harpoon poised in his hand, and planting his foot, sent the keen barb to its sockets in the vitals of leviathan, and, as if im elled by some rcat shock, the boat flew bac ward, out of t e reach of the grand monster in his fury. A moment of fear- ful commotion, and then he sounded, with the iron fast, and they felt a writhing serpent pass- ing across their wrists. It was the whale line running out, the slightest kink in which might take them down. They saw it writhing and twisting in the tub, in seemingly inextricable confusion. The eyes of the younger members of the crew dwelt with peculiar feelings u n this object, as they thought how little won (1 carry them down to destruction. But, John Jackson sat in his place, after changing with the captain, who went forward with his lance, stern and sad, and Charley Floyd looked at him. “The hundredth whale, Jack,” he whispered. “ What do you think now?” “ Wait and see,” was the reply. He had scarcely spoken, when there was a sharp click; the line had caught upon a splinter no larger than a pin; it sprung upward, and caught the old harpooner about the neck. There came a horrible choking sound, and the unfor— tunate man was whirled out of the boat. “ Cut!” screamed the captain, who had taken up the lance. The knives fell, but too late for the doomed sailor, about whose neck the loop had twisted three times, and the boat lay danc— ing upon the surface of the water, while Jack Jackson was dragged out of sight, into the fathomless depths. He had struck his hundredth whale, and, as the vision told him, had perished in the act. lVe struck the whale again when he rose, and killed him. The harpoon was still fast in his back, and when we hauled in on the line, we dragged out the body of poor Jack, with that look of horror still frozen on his face. Whether or no there are times when men have a fore— knowledge of, coming fate I cannot tell, but this man perished as he had himself foretold. The Ambidexter Trick. BY ANTHONY P. MORRIS. “PLEASE count that money carefully, Mr. I’Va de.” ll r. Fordyce Clare came into his rear office and addressed his confidential bookkeeper in an easy way, handing him at the same time a hand- ful of greenbacks. VVayde ran them over rapidly. “ Just two hundred and fift V, sir.” “That is correct. Messrs. ptum & C0. sent around the payment in full for their last invoice. Credit them with it.” With which information, the elderly Clare withdrew to his own private office. Almost simultaneously the telephone call sounded. . “'ayde answered and was engaged for some minutes at the instrument with a distant cuS« toiner. As he turned back toward his desk, he saw that Mr. Clare had unexpectedly returned and was at the chief bookkeeper’s desk, examining the money—drawer. Suddenly Clare wheeled, saying: “Stand where you are, gentlemen—every one of you—and face inc—face around. And do not make a motion. I am goin to have this matter settled at once and Iiere. Not three minutes ago I saw Mr. Wayde place two hundred and fifty dollars in this drawer. Now there are only two hundred and thirty! I have had my eyes on the drawer from the mo- ment the money was placed in it; I know that it has not been 0 ned since the money was so placed. No one as been near it. There is a mystery here which I am determined to fathom; for this is not the first time I have missed money in a similarly mysterious manner.” He raised his voice and called the porter—an [ old man who had been in the office of Fordyce Clare, the wholesale millinery dealer, for many ears. y “ James! Come along with that hatchet!” The man entered, having evidently been in waitin for the summons and the task before him. Vith a hatchet, he began, without cere- mony, to demolish the desk entire, and Clare bent over him on the lookout for something that might lead to the discovery of the missing money. But the desk was reduced to actual splinters without anything being revealed. “ Now, gentlemen, if you plwand you will not hesitate if you are entirely innocent—you will permit me to search you,” said the mer- chant, and he forthwith proceeded to examine the persons of Vt'ayde and the other two clerks in a most rigorous manner. Twenty dollars had disappeared, that was cer- tain, and it seemed to require the ocular powers of a magician to trace it. Clare went again into his private office. A small-statured and twinkling-eyed man was seating himself there at the moment. “ “’ell?” the merchant said. interrogatively, “Did you watch the countenances of the clerks?” “ I did. I saw everything through the pane.” “ Have you deduced anything?” “ I am puzzled, Mr. Clare. But I have had cases that have puzzled me before to-day. I think I shall unravel this mystery in some way. Do you still want me to look into the case?” “ I certainly do. I am losing money in small amounts, and in such a way that they baffle me and may aggregate considerable in the end. I will give five hundred dollars for a solution of the mystery. That will be cheaper, I imagine, than to have the thing go on.” “Very well; I will go earnestly to work. For the present. good—day.” The detective withdrew. Mr. Clare had summoned one of the shrewdest detectives of an independent office in the city to 'the town of L— to unravel. if he could, the mysterious drain on his money drawer. Of course, he never once suspected that his confidential bookkeeper, Harris VVayde, could know any more about the mystery than himself; for Wayde and Leonie Clare, the merchant’s daughter, were soon to be married, on which oc— casion Clare had promised to give the young man a third interest in the business. But Dick Darrel, the detective, had formed other conclusions. He knew that no one had ap— roached the money drawer but Harris lVayde. here was no discovery after demolishing the desk. W'ayde must be the thief. But the young man had submitted cheerfully to the searching of his person, and, moreover, the detective, spy- joining office, had not observed anything like a movement to secrete anything in a sly manner. The question with him then was, how did Har— ris Wayde manage to make away with the money? As he was leaving the establishment, he en- countered a lovely young lady. “ Ah,” she said, immediately upon looking into his face, “ I think you must be the detective my father is employing in regard to this money mystery. Are you not?” "‘ Your father has informed you of the matter, then?” rejoined Darrel. “ Yes. And since that seems to be a confession that you are the detective, I would like to em- ploy you, while you are here, in a little matter of my own. It is very delicate, but circum- stances will warrant my speaking plainly with you. I am the betrothed of Harris lVayde. I love him dearly; and it is because of that I shall ask our assistance.” “ ow can I serve you, miss .3” “ A simple matter,” she said, with a forced shortness. “My affianced scarcely ever, since the hour of our betrothal, missed an evening in my company. His visits to our house have now lapsed to intervals of twice or thrice a week. I want to know the actual cause of it. I will pay handsomely for the information.” “ I will undertake it, miss.” She bowed and passed on into the store. At about the hour of dusk that same afternoon Dick Darrel experienced a surprise. A handsome turnout passed him going at a high rate of speed out at a side road to the town. In the seat were Harris “’ayde and an extraor- dinarily beautiful lady——at least, her attire of gorgeous material and furbelows made her ap- pear so. But the keen glance of the detective saw through the disguise worn by the woman, and he gazed after the couple thoughtfully. Going to the hotel, he scanned the book of ar- rivals. Among the names was that of Eloise Hester, who had engaged rooms at the place about four days previous. By careful inquir ', he ascertained that Harris lVayde and the la y —who was known to be an actress sojourning there for a rest prior to fulfilling an engage- ment—were uite intimate, and had seemed to be acquain from the very moment of her ar- rival. For a reason, Darrel loitered about the hotel to shadow the actress. It was after nightfall when she returned from the drive with Leonie’s lover. Darrel saw a small boy approach her as she ascended the stairs to her room, and the two disappeared within the apartment. The following morning a small boy left the hotel by the rear way; it was the same who was in company with the actress on the hi ht gone. But the lad was now attired in something like a shabby manner. He went straight to a vacant lot at the side of the store wherea window open— ed' from the clerk’s office. This window was now raised to admit the freshness of the morning air in that somewhat sultry month of June. The boy produced some marbles and began a game with himself in a great ring which he marked out. He had not played long before he suddenly arose and made a grab at something that came flying through the air—something like a small green ball. Instantly gathering up his marbles, he ran awa '. As3 the boy turned one corner, the face of the detective appeared around another corner of the building and gazed in through the open window at Harris VVayde, who was just then at the tele- hone. p At sight of the detective the young man’s face grew pale as death. He hurriedly left the tele- phone and from the office to a yard in the rear. e did not see the man who came noiselessly gliding in at the gate and tip-toeing after him. Reaching a turn in the fence, Wayde pro- duced a revolver. “ The game is up!” he exclaimed, in a breath that was intense and short. “ That man at the window was the detective employed by Clare to ferret out the money mystery. He must have seen what passed between the boy and myself. But I shall never be caught—I had sworn to that before I yielded to the charms of Eloise. Per- haps I have been a fool; but it is too late now to lament. At least I shall not live to bear the brunt of m own disgrace.” He lac the muzzleof the weapon to his tem- ple. 11 another instant his brains would have bespattered the fence around. But a firm hand interposed. “ Hold,” said the voice of Dick Darrel, as that personage held the wrist of the would-be suicide in a gripe that was like the clamp of steel, “ there is no need of that crime too!” The revolver dropped from V’Vayde’s hand; he stood before the detective tremblineg while he gagpedz _ , I expected it. Well, take me along. I don t care what becomes of me now.” “ I heard on say, young man, that you had been a fool. You never spoke the truth straight- er in your life. Now, I want you to let me have the whole racket about the money disappear- ances as straight as a string. For, of course, “ Yes, I am the guilty one.” “ How have you accomplished it?” VVayde hesitated for an instant, then said: “ I am an ambidexter. The money, when counted before the very eyes of Mr. Clare has never been placed entire in the drawer. Vi hile running over the notes with my right hand, I have managed with the third and fourth fingers of my left or under hand to roll 11 ) into a small ball the under note—having look at it first to ascertain its denomination. This tiny ball 1 easily kept com ressed in the hollow of my hand while havin t e use of all the fin ers of that hand. At rst opporturnity, whic occurred when called to t e telephone, I shot the ball throu the window, by a jerk of the first joint of my humb, to a boy who was ready there to receive it.” “ “'here did the money go?” “ To Eloise, the actress.” “ So, you are in love with a man, eh?” “ A man! that do you mean?” Darrel laughed. “ You said you were a fool—I say you are a fool and a big du )e besides. Eloise, the actress? ——w ere did you rst come across her?” “I met her at the hotel at which I stopped when last sent to New York to meet the foreign invoices for Mr. Clare.” “ lVell, I’ll giVe you some information. That same Eloise, the actress, is no other than one of the youngest rogues in New York; this mas- ucrade of an actress is one of his old games. You have been nicely played by Kiddy, the coquette, as his pals cal him—a smooth—faced rascal of about eighteen years. Now, about how much money as he succeeded in getting out of you?” “ lVayde’s face was the picture of paleness and astoundment. “ At least three hundred dollars,” he managed to articulate. Then he added, impetuously: “Let me have that revolver. It were best that I should blow my brains out, anyhow—” “ Stop a bit- Come, you’ve been fool enough. You know that there is a pure and love] girl who loves you very dearly in this town—ll r. Clare’s daughter. I mean. And since your offense against Mr. Clare, through your infatuation for an actress who led you into the crime, has not amounted to anything very great, thanks to his early calling in of official aid, suppose you make a fresh start. I know I can’t exactly com- promise with a criminal; but the party to the There came a. horrible choking sound, and the unfortunate man was whirled out of the boat. loss can refuse to prosecute, and there are more ways than one for you to redeem yourself—” “I would never confess to Mr. Clare!” broke in the young man. “ Leave it to me, then. First come to the hotel. I will convince you of the part Kiddy, the coquette. has played upon on.” _They went to the hotel, ayde permitting himself to be entirely guided by the detective, if itiot actually feeling that he was under ar- res . A surprise was there for Darrel. The actress had departed on a train that left the station a quarter of ‘an hour before. She had left a note, to be handed to a “ gentleman who would call to see her shortly.” Darrel opened the missive and found that he was the expected one, for the lines ran: " DICK BARREL, price/ire" :—1 know that you have spotted my little brother and me. He has just told me you saw him catch the last installment of money from that soft-head up at Clare’s store. But you‘ll have to be Spry to get onto me, for we’re off while I am writing this. l guess we‘ve got enough out of Mushy Wayde to carry us out of your reach. Ta-ta! “ Yours, Kinny.” “ Remain here,” said Darrel to the young man, after reading aloud the revelation. “ I am go- ing to see Mr. Clare. I shall trust you here, for I tell you that I can fix things all right—I will do it, too, for the sake of the youn lady you are enga ed to marry. Nor will give you away to t e old man. “'ill you promise me on your word of honor to await me?” “ I promise,” replied “'ayde, apathetically. The detective had an interview with Fordyce Clare. He told that gentleman of the discovery of a noted criminal in the actress at the hotel, who had precipitater fled when finding that he, Darrel, was working up the counting-room m 's- tery. How Kiddy could have performed his legerdemain, Darrel would not undertake to ex- 1ain', but he assured the merchant that the rob- ries would now cease and pledged his reputa— tion as a gentleman to that effect. Clare felt that there was more behind what the detective said than he was willing to give. But he argued that perhaps ignorance to a cer- tain extent was better thantoo much knowled e, and while inward] convinced that one of is clerks must have n in collusion with the criminal masquerader—not suspecting W'ayde for a moment—he was willing to overlook, in his own mind, the offense, provided it would not be again repeated, in accordance with the de- tective’s assurance. ' Darrel received the promised five hundred dol- lars. Out of it he counted three hundred and handed it to Mr. Clare. “ That is the amount of which you have been robbed, Ibelieve,” he said. “The thief left it behind him, supposing that, by returmn' g the ing upon him keenly through the pane of the ad- you have been manipulating the little game?” money, I would be induced to leave his trail. I shall follow up this Kiddy the coquette, how— ever, for he is wanted for other offenses.” Returning to the hotel, he informed VVayde of what had transpired. “ I may be doing a wrong in thus letting you off, young man,” he remarked. “But I do it for the sweet girl who would )robably be heart- broken on your account, an because i know you are a really good man at heart, barring this one infatuation which induced you to commit a crime. It is all right. Clare does not know. It will remain with you whether he or any one else shall ever know.” “'ayde grasped both hands of the man who was in reality his preserver, and tears sprung from his eyes. . “May God bless you, 811‘!" he cried, almost overpowered b ' emotion. .“ That was my first crime—it will my last, if Heaven will only forgive me!” Leonie never received from the detective the explanation of her lover’s recently altered be- havior, for which she had bargained. Darrel at once leftthe town of L——-. It is almost needless to say that the m 'steri— ous robberies in Mr. Clare’s oflice ceased a rupt- ly after the day of the detectives visit. The day of the wedding came around, and Wayde, after embracing the devoted girl who was his bride, was received into the establish- ment as a partner with one—third interest. Throughout the years that havo followed since that nearly fatal time, the secret has becii locked ti ht in the bosom of the husband. who, with 0t er em 10 ees of the store, has grown gray: while bot t e detective and t1!01]0l301‘l0115('l‘lllll— nal, Kiddy, the coquette, have passed away from life, leaving only the principal in the money— drawer mystery in possession of the secret of Harris “'ayde’s guilt. Interesting Foreign Items. THERE are more idle men in London now, says the Telegraph of that city, than for many years past. A RECENT census gives the population of Japan as $7,442,906, of whom 18,950,159 are males. PARIS hotelkeepers and managers complain that this is the dullest winter they have known for years. NEW ZEALAND, with a population of only half a million, su ports 100 newspapers, thirty of which are da' y. AMONG the fashionable waltzes now taught in London are “The Boston Slouch,” “The New York Pum handle,” “ The Kensington Crawl” and “ The nglish Straight.” THE canal across the Isthmus of Corinth, which baffled several of the Roman emperors. and was a favorite scheme of Julius Caesar’s, is approaching within a measurable distance of completion. A NUMBER of planters at Matamoras, Cuba, have determined to use the molasses produced on their estates as manure, the low rices received for it falling short of paying t e expenses of freight, storage, etc. IT is a remarkable distinction to be the father of eleven daughters, but much more remarkable to be the father of eleven married daughters. This is the privilege of Mr. Burnaiid, the editor of Punch, who has not been in good health of late. IN China they have recently introduced a new tea for summer drink which is called “ Yu 'l‘si Lam.” or fish eggs flowers. from the fact that the seeds extracted from the flowers resemble fish eggs in shape and size. “'hen steeped they give a light yellow-colored tea which is palat- able and fragrant. It is used largely by the women of the Empire. THE hatching of lobster and fish is making great progress in Norway. Last year the As— sociation for the Promotion of the Norwegian Fisheries hatched 7.000.000 fish, chiefly cod and haddock, and this winter between 50,000,000 and 60,000,000 more will probably be turned out. The experiments which were made of placing the ova of lobster in hatching appara- tus have been attended with great success. KRUPP, the famous nmaker, employs 20,000 men. His whole esta lishment comprises the factories at Essen; three coal mines at Essen and Bochum; 547 iron mines in Germany; several iron mines in the north of Spain, in the environs of Bilbao: the blast furnaces; a range at Mep- pen, seventeen kilometers in length, for gunnery experiments; other smaller ran es, and four steamers for marine transport. e number of blast furnaces in use is eleven, of other furnaces 1,542. There are 439 steam boilers, eightga-two steam hammers, and 45OSteam engines, of 1 ,000 horse—power altogether. He is now manufactur- ing for the Italian Government a monster gun, which will weigh 130 tons. Telephone Echoes. AN Englishman has just lifted 2.200 unds. He “lifted” it out of the safe, though. is em- ployer looks upon so many pounds as a heavy oss. . THE Chicago Times says: “Mary Skiziwin- ougkezenolowsk, a Bay City girl, has been sent to the Adrian (Mich) Reformatory,” but neg- lects to say what else there was charged against her. CHILDREN get hold of pretty conceits some- times. “What does God send the snow for?" asked one little irl of another. “ “'hy, the ' snow-flakes are t e umbrellas He covers His flowers with,” was the answer. THE bell of a public school in Monticello, N. Y., was heard ringing the other day at an un- usual time, and on investigation it was found that a “new teacher” was using the end of the bell rope to correct a refractory pupil. AT Athens, Ga. during a recent performance at the “ Opera House,” the local orchestra played “ Billy in the Low Grounds ” durin the execu— tion of the “Earl of Essex.” w ile “Queen Elizabeth” yielded up the ghost to the tune of “Dixie.” EDGAR FA\\'CETT pronounces New York the most unrefined city in pro )ortion to its size and civilization that has )roba ly ever existed. The ie served to Mr. awCett in New York must ave had less than the usual allowance of dried apples between the crusts. FIRST UNDERGRADUATE (reading out)—“ Will this do, Gus? Mr. Smith resents his com li- ments to Mr. Jones, and fin s be has a cap which isn’t mine. So, if you have a cap which isn‘t his, no doubt they are the ones.” Second Under- gradua “ Oh, yes—first-rate.” UNCLE Jonx—“ “'ell. J immy,‘ have you en- joyed yourself to—day?” J immy—“ No. I haven‘t. ’ve had a miserable day.” Uncle J ohn— “ Miserable day? How’s that?” Jimmy —— “ Aunt Betsey told me to eat all the diimer I wanted. and I couldn’t.” IT is now stated that Henry M. Stanley, the great African explorer, wears a swallow—tail coat. “'e can now understand why he was able to travel among the cannibals for years without being roasted and eaten. No man looks juicy in a swallow-tail coat. It makes him appear old and tough. . “ No,” said a Vermont deacon, “ I don’t ap- prove of horseracin’, but when another member of the church becomes so godless as to try to ass me on the road comin’ home from ineetin’, Ifeel it my duty to let out a little on the reins, just to keep him from puttin’ his trust in earth- ly things.” ASSES’ ears, when dried, form the latest de— velopment in the trimming of ladies’ bonnets and hats. When a woman once breaks the ice, there is no knowing where she will stop. There are a lot of girls for whom we should like to have a contract for the su ply of these new orna- ments. Others we won] not cater for at any price. .,.ms»~ .2; i «Whale??- ...'( I I 0".."- I], -" v \\ t y ‘n \ A ¢ ‘- i- h 4 ., a , , ‘~