“‘The boat comes sailin’ ’round de ben’,Good-by, my lovah, good-by;She’s loaded down wid wimin an’ men,Good-by, my lovah, good-by!By-by, my ba-bee,By-by, my ba-bee,Good-by, my lovah, good-by!’
“‘The boat comes sailin’ ’round de ben’,Good-by, my lovah, good-by;She’s loaded down wid wimin an’ men,Good-by, my lovah, good-by!By-by, my ba-bee,By-by, my ba-bee,Good-by, my lovah, good-by!’
“‘The boat comes sailin’ ’round de ben’,Good-by, my lovah, good-by;She’s loaded down wid wimin an’ men,Good-by, my lovah, good-by!
By-by, my ba-bee,By-by, my ba-bee,Good-by, my lovah, good-by!’
“It was sung to a long, plaintive tune, carrying with it the agony of parting forever. As it rolled out into the darkness, now and then illumined by the red glare from an opened furnace, the black man seemed to have come into his kingdom; a kingdom peopled with weird shapes and enveloped in the mysticism of a dark continent. He was no longer a humdrum hewer of wood and a drawer of water, but a part of the sublimity of the great river. The steady move of the engines, the cascades from the steam pipes, and the pleasant quiver of the boat seemed the natural accompaniment of the negro’s lullaby, and the whole scene was so enchanting that few passengers retired to their staterooms until late in the night.
“The boat swept on past the great Vulcan ironworks, where the blasts showed red against the houses, and gave them the appearance of a town on fire; on past ‘Bloody Island,’ where statesmen met to shoot holes into each other for honor’s sake, and then down the broad water avenue by the mountains of iron the steamer sped, throwing behind great billows that sparkled back the lights from the rear cabin.
“Far down the stream is a light close to the shore. The pilot knows what that means. It is a wild-cat landing, where a freighter awaits with a lot of goods, or some passengers who want to take the boat. In either event somebody has probably been waiting by the riverside some six or eight hours. The pilot pulls a ring in the top of his little house, and the triple whistles above it give the peculiar signal of the line.
“The steamer runs far past the landing, turns labori[Pg 60]ously around under the chiding of the small bells and baby whistles, and forges up to the landing, where the boat is made fast to a tree, and the gangplank runs out, assisted by the rapid-fire comments of the mate. If there was much freight to go on, the place was lighted by burning pine knots in an iron basket placed near the gangplank.
“Promptly, as if glad of the call to duty, the deck hand was up and ready for the work of loading. In those days he was a trusty machine, and was proud of his great strength, of his boat, and even of the rich vocabulary of his mate. He loved, when ashore, to talk of the big towns he made, and of the way-up people he knew in them. He had a sweetheart in every place where his boat put up over twelve hours, and his standin was good until she was courted by a man from a bigger and faster boat.
“A large and fast boat never had had much trouble in securing plenty of deck hands. But there was no prestige in accepting employment on a small stern-wheeler, devoted mostly to freight traffic, although the wages might be better. The aristocratic travelers patronized the fine side-wheeled boats, with their white-and-gold cabins, and the roustabouts liked best to work where they could be seen by patrician eyes.
“Like everybody connected with the boat, from cabin boy to pilot, he thought he was the whole show. He liked to show his strength, and the ease with which he could carry a coffee sack or a pig of lead. Yet he would permit a little, one-gallus mate, whom he could pick up and shake like a mouse, to make public reflections on his family tree in words that sizzled. The roustabout supposed the mate was hired for his proficiency in that particular line, and if he hadn’t kept it up it would have meant to him that the mate was ailing or neglecting his employer’s interest.”
William Davis, twenty-three, a farmer of Jasper, Ala., has confessed to wrecking the Seminole Limited train near Nauvoo by putting a spike on the track. Davis declares he put the spike on the track “just to see it get flattened out,” and had no idea the train would be ditched.
A cyclone played a freakish trick on the farm of John Burns, near Perry, Mich., when it picked up a coop of chickens and the old hen and carried them forty rods over a fence into another field, where it deposited them without any damage being done.
A saddle has been patented by a New Jersey inventor which includes leather flaps to cover the buckles which frequently wear out riders’ clothing.
A device patented by a Virginia man can be used to hold a fishing pole on land or in a boat, to signal with a bell when a fish has been hooked, to dig bait, and to cut and clean fish.
A Kansas farmer has just invented a tool that takes the place of four. It is a combination saw, sickle, corn knife, and pruning knife. The tool is made to serve the various purposes by simply turning a ratchet.[Pg 61]
A new arrangement for mosquito bars has been devised by a Texas woman. There is an elastic band at the bottom, which keeps the netting firmly secured to the bed or cradle, making it impossible for mosquitoes or other insects to annoy sleepers. There is an opening on the side of the bar, through which the person enters the bed.
A Minneapolis woman is the patentee of a strip of flexible material to be inserted in a buttonhole to facilitate the work of sewing over its edges.
So that baggage cannot fall out on passengers’ heads, a new rack for railroad cars is almost completely inclosed, access being provided by sliding doors.
To save a housewife bending over while sweeping, a dustpan has been invented that is heavy enough to stay where it is moved with the foot and with a guard to retain accumulated sweepings.
A novel sketching table for artists is supported by a single leg to which an umbrella also can be clamped to provide shade.
Saloon keepers in Bellaire, Ohio, are so careful in their efforts to obey the law that all have Bibles behind their bars to be used when any question arises as to the age of the person buying a drink. When the bartender is in doubt, he compels the seeker for liquor to swear on the Bible that he is over twenty-one years of age.
The most beautiful man in the world has been found. According to spectators at recent outdoor pageants near Boston, Mass., he is William Alfred Williams, of Pittsburgh, Harvard, ’15, who has delighted by his esthetic dancing.
He performs bare-legged, very bare-legged, in fact. The only one compared to him is Paul Swan, a New York bare-legged dancer, but Williams is rated more Adonis-like. Experts say he has a perfect masculine profile.
Mayor Curley, of Boston, prevented bare-legged dancing on the stage in Boston during the winter, but this spring pageants with bare-legged dancing by both sexes have been given on a number of estates of wealthy folk in and about Boston. Williams has been a leading figure in all of them. His costume surely has been suited to the most tropiclike day. The girls have been bare-legged, and that’s about all, but Williams goes much farther than that.
A reporter found him bare-footed, bare-legged, and bare-headed, practicing in the back yard of Miss Virginia Tanner, who directs the pageant, and dances bare-legged duets with Williams. He said he had been dancing a year and a half and was thinking of adopting it as a profession after graduating from college. This was his defense:
“The attitude of the body, in dances, is the most graceful and artistic way of telling a story.”
Jacob Newman, a clothier, living in Washington Street, Tarrytown, N. Y., owns a rooster that crows backward. He has another rooster that crows naturally. The other day, as two strangers were walking by Mr. Newman’s yard, the natural rooster crowed, and the other answered.
“Did you ever hear such an echo?” said one of the[Pg 62]men. “It’s backward.” Then they looked over the fence and heard one rooster crow and the freak rooster answer.
Mr. Newman, who was in the yard, explained that the rooster crowed backward, and it had always puzzled him.
Last fall Mrs. John Hoffman, of Lewistown, Pa., bought some pumpkins and put them away for use in making pies. A short time ago she cut one of them open and was surprised to find a pumpkin patch growing inside. The seeds had all sprouted and were growing fine, lusty vines, some of the vines having leaves.
Coal will disappear from the earth in three hundred years, although there are seven and one-half trillion tons left. Then, instead of freezing to death or descending in one mad rush on the tropics, humanity will know a cleaner, more comfortable existence than ever.
Huge solar engines will gather the sun’s rays and transform them into heat, light, and power. Millions of horse power will be developed from waterfalls now unnoticed.
The farmer will guide an electric plow instead of a team of horses or a gasoline tractor. When the flat dweller yells down the speaking tube for more heat, the janitor of A. D. 2200 simply will throw a switch that regulates current coming perhaps clear across or under the Atlantic from the Sahara Desert.
The ideas belonged to Professor J. Paul Goode, of the University of Chicago until he gave them to an audience at Mandel Hall on a recent night. He is certain there will be no more coal in three hundred years, but equally sure some genius will have perfected by then all the wonders he described.
Out of the mass of humbug and charlatanry about mind reading, fortune telling, clairvoyance, et cetera, there emerges an occasional definite fact apparently proving that the human intellect may possess psychic powers. A case in point is the exhibition of mind reading made by “Professor” Bert Reese in Judge Rosalsky’s court in New York, N. Y.
Arrested and previously convicted in a magistrate’s court for posing as a fortune teller, Reese strikingly demonstrated his possession of clairvoyant powers. He read names written on concealed slips of paper, gave the amount of the judge’s bank balance, and performed other feats showing familiarity with what was passing in the minds of his examiners.
Obviously, a man who can do these things under conditions making collusion impossible, shows himself endowed with mental gifts as rare as they are inexplainable. Washington Irving Bishop possessed them in even greater degree; older New Yorkers readily recall his extraordinary exhibitions of occult intelligence a quarter of a century ago.
More recently, Beulah Miller, a ten-year-old Rhode Island girl, gave manifestations of the possession of such powers which aroused great scientific expectations, but her later achievements or present whereabouts seem to be unknown.
The mind-reading feats which won Reese his liberty unfortunately will give a new impetus to imposture. But[Pg 63]on the other hand they stimulate a legitimate interest in questions relating to the possibility of the development of a new sense and add to the data through which science may some day solve the problem of human consciousness.
“This man is not a fortune teller, but a scientist and I offer him as an exhibit,” said the counsel for Reese, the accused seer, to Judge Rosalsky.
The judge selected two newspaper men to assist in the experiment. They went into an adjoining room and wrote on slips of paper the maiden names of their mothers. They also wrote two questions each on slips. The slips were brought into the room where Reese was waiting. They had been folded so that no writing was visible. Under his direction they were placed in a hat and mixed up. Then the slips were placed in the reporters’ pockets.
Each man then took out a slip, still folded, and pressed it against the exhibitor’s bald head. He turned to one man and said:
“Your mother’s maiden name was Electa Winans.”
To the other he said: “You want to know if Charley Becker is guilty. He is not really guilty.”
The reporters then took two other slips from their pockets.
“You want to know how old Henry C. Terry is,” promptly said Reese. Then plainly puzzled, he shook his head and went on to a question as to what was the floor covering. The next question was: “Where did I do my first newspaper work?”
He gave correctly the answer. The last slip Reese took in his hand, but did not open it. He handed it back and directed the writer to hold it. Then Reese said:
“Emma Drew was your mother’s maiden name.”
The answer to the first five questions had been given in a room adjoining the court, but for the last Reese walked into the courtroom and gave his answer in the presence of the judge and jury.
Judge Rosalsky wrote several questions, as follows:
“What was the ruling in the Shelly case?”
“How much money have I in the bank?” and
“What is the name of my favorite school-teacher?”
The demonstrator not only told what the questions were, but gave the correct replies. Reese is seventy-four years old.
“I don’t know myself how I do it,” he said. “The answers just sort of flash on my brain as a picture, just as ordinary objects are seen through the eye.”
So many days during the last two months have been rainy or cloudy that a great many people are led to believe that so much wet weather is owing to the war in Europe. “Our heavy rainfall is probably caused by so much firing over there,” is a remark frequently heard. Indeed, as long as man can remember, it has been a theory accepted by many that constant or heavy explosions in the air will produce rainfall. Tests of this kind have been made in various parts of the country—more often in the west and southwest—and sometimes with evident success, yet skeptics were quick to say: “Shucks, it was time they had a shower, anyway.”
Now let us see how the ancients looked at this question. Almost since the beginning of history there has been a theory—a silly one, says one scientist—that battles caused rain. Battles, not explosives, observe, for in the early[Pg 64]centuries, A. D., there were no gunpowder or similar explosives.
“Banish the thought,” says Forecaster Pennywitt, of the United States Weather Bureau, in discussing the question of explosives and rainfall. “There never was a more absurd idea. Not in all the history of the world is it recorded that human endeavor wrung rain from the skies, either intentionally or unknowingly. Rain falls by the will of nature only, and the influence of man over nature, in so far as producing rain is concerned, does not exist.
“None of men’s activities on earth has the slightest effect on the rainfall. If nature decrees it shall rain, then rain it will; no other power or force can bring precipitation.
“Almost since the beginning of history there has been a silly theory that battles caused rain. This was the case even before gunpowder came into use. The Greek writer, Plutarch, as far back as the year 150 A. D., held the belief that the glitter and clash of the sabers of the ancient Greek and Roman warriors on the field of honor produced rain. He believed it because it generally rained after every battle. As a matter of fact, it had to rain after every battle, because they fought only on clear days in those times; and, besides, it always rains once every three days in the year, according to average.
“After gunpowder became an instrument of destruction, rains during time of war were blamed on it. Even the United States government has shared this belief that powder will produce rain, and it wasted thousands of dollars trying to make it rain in Texas. Similar experiments were made in Europe several years ago, and in France one scientist thought that by employing the explosive he could transform hail into more harmless rain.
“Strange as it may seem to a good many people, there has been less than a normal rainfall in western Pennsylvania and other eastern districts during the last six months.”
The wanderlust of summer got into the blood of a swarm of bees belonging to Leo Nickoli, 448 Bellaire Avenue, Kansas City, Mo. They circled in the air and flew away. Mr. Nickoli followed.
The awning in front of the drug store of the Klee Drug Company first attracted the bees. But finding no place to alight there, the bees transferred their attentions to a mail box near by. In a moment the box was the center of the swarm, who were preparing to settle down among the letters.
Mr. Nickoli, however, had different plans. With a hive baited with honey comb, he began coaxing the bees into a new home. A crowd of two hundred persons watched his operation, which lasted several hours.
An only sister, whom he had not seen nor heard from for more than forty-five years, and whom he believed to be dead, has been found by Reverend W. H. H. Ruble, of Harrison, Ark., and immediately after the locating of the long-lost sister, he has received news that sight has been restored to the woman who has been blind for many years, as a result of cataract.
Reverend Ruble’s sister is Mrs. E. J. Willis, of Knoxville, Tenn. She is ninety-two years of age, and was last seen by her brother more than forty-five years ago in[Pg 65]Cleveland, a small town of Tennessee. As many people do, the brother and sister kept in touch for a time, but gradually ceased writing, until each had changed address and the old addresses were forgotten.
Receiving no word for years, each believed the other to be dead, until last January, when the annual conference of the M. E. Church was held in Harrison, Ark. At that time Reverend Ruble met Reverend Murphy, a delegate, who told him of the whereabouts of Chaplain J. A. Ruble, of the Old Settlers’ Home in Johnson City, to whom Reverend Ruble wrote, believing that the chaplain might be his nephew. The belief was true, and the letter from Harrison was forwarded to Mrs. Willis, who was overjoyed when she wrote again to her brother, the first time in nearly half a century.
Miss Matilda Sorey, of Higley, Ariz., may not be the only girl in the United States who carries mail on a R. F. D. route, but she is probably the only one who does so on horseback. When a new route was established out of Higley, Miss Sorey, who is just twenty-one years old, was appointed carrier. Her friends supposed she would use a horse and buggy, but, instead, she covers the route six days a week on her handsome gray saddle horse. She carries the mail in a sack swung over the pommel of her cowboy saddle.
A short time ago C. J. Debes, who lives on a farm a few miles south of Hagerman, N. M., arose early, as was his custom, and, after lighting his gasoline stove and placing his kettle on, sauntered out through the delightful morning air to feed his stock, without changing his night robe for the more substantial clothing of the day.
Debes being a bachelor, and there being no near neighbors, everything went well with him until he started to return to his house and found it almost consumed by fire. His predicament seemed precarious, when the neighbors, seeing the flames, rushed to the scene. Debes, however, took refuge in the barn until a friendly neighbor brought in some heavier raiment. The gasoline stove had exploded and enveloped the entire building in flames, making quick work of its destruction.
Recent widespread newspaper accounts to the effect that the United States Department of Agriculture is offering ten thousand dollars reward to the person finding a passenger or “wood”-pigeon nest containing two eggs, resulted in hundreds of letters being sent to the department.
The report is not based upon facts, as the department has offered no such reward, and there is every reason to believe the passenger pigeon which formerly roamed the country in flocks of millions is extinct. In 1910 about one thousand dollars in rewards was offered by Clark University for the first undisturbed nests of the passenger pigeon to be found in the United States. This was a great stimulus to action. The hunt for this pigeon was fruitless. The offer of rewards was renewed for several years, until it was fully established that the pigeon was extinct.
The passenger pigeon up to 1885 ranged the American continent east of the Rocky Mountains. The mourning dove has often been mistaken for the passenger pigeon,[Pg 66]which in a general way it resembles. However, this bird is quite distinct from the passenger pigeon; it is shorter and has different color markings.
The press reports stated that the now extinct passenger pigeon was valued because of its usefulness in destroying the gipsy moth and other moths and pests which are doing millions of dollars of damage. Although the preservation of this pigeon is much to be desired, it would be of absolutely no value in eliminating the gipsy moth, as the pigeons are almost entirely vegetarian in their diet.
A dog belonging to Edward Dougherty, of Spring Grove, Pa., was shot through the head twice with a thirty-eight-caliber revolver by Dougherty. The dog lay on the same spot for seven days and seven nights, but on the beginning of the eighth day he came back to his old home, hardly able to drag himself along. After being fed and given water to drink, the dog seemed to be all right.
The dog ate eggs from the nests in Dougherty’s henhouse before his punishment and since his extraordinary experience he has not eaten one egg. Mr. Dougherty is sure he put two bullets through the dog’s brain.
Lew McQuiston, a well-known angler of Bellefonte, Pa., witnessed a unique battle a few days ago between a muskrat and a two-foot trout.
McQuiston went to Spring Creek shortly before dusk to try and land some big trout. While whipping the stream, he saw something doing on the other side of the creek, about sixty feet away from where he was standing. In the quickly gathering shadows it was hard to tell at first what it was, but after closer inspection he saw that it was a mammoth trout and a muskrat.
They were engaged in mortal combat, and they slashed around through the water until it was churned into foam. Then the muskrat managed to get out on the bank, pulling the trout along with it. But the big trout seemed to be able to fight on land as well as in the water, flopping around and holding on to the muskrat’s nose until they finally both fell back into the water.
Then there was another lashing and foaming, and the noise died away. A few ripples told that the struggle was ended.
McQuiston looked around in the water for evidence of who had won the battle, but found neither the muskrat or the trout. He does not know whether it was a fight to the finish or a draw.
Tongue fenders for salted-peanut vending machines. That’s the latest slogan of Montclair, N. Y., which already has put a legal muffler on barking dogs and crowing roosters. It was proposed by Health Commissioner James McDonough after he saw a small boy thrust his tongue into a cup container of a vending machine to get the “crumbs.”
Roy Bowsher, of Ashville, Ohio, went fishing last week and caught a turtle, which he sold to C. R. Cook, proprietor of a saloon. When Cook opened the turtle, preparatory to serving it on his lunch counter, he found two hundred and thirty-four pennies in it.[Pg 68][Pg 67]
The Nick Carter Stories
ISSUED EVERY SATURDAYBEAUTIFUL COLORED COVERS
When it comes to detective stories worth while, theNick Carter Storiescontain the only ones that should be considered. They are not overdrawn tales of bloodshed. They rather show the working of one of the finest minds ever conceived by a writer. The name of Nick Carter is familiar all over the world, for the stories of his adventures may be read in twenty languages. No other stories have withstood the severe test of time so well as those contained in theNick Carter Stories. It proves conclusively that they are the best. We give herewith a list of some of the back numbers in print. You can have your news dealer order them, or they will be sent direct by the publishers to any address upon receipt of the price in money or postage stamps.[Pg 69]
730—The Torn Card.731—Under Desperation’s Spur.732—The Connecting Link.733—The Abduction Syndicate.738—A Plot Within a Plot.739—The Dead Accomplice.746—The Secret Entrance.747—The Cavern Mystery.748—The Disappearing Fortune.749—A Voice from the Past.752—The Spider’s Web.753—The Man With a Crutch.754—The Rajah’s Regalia.755—Saved from Death.756—The Man Inside.757—Out for Vengeance.758—The Poisons of Exili.759—The Antique Vial.760—The House of Slumber.761—A Double Identity.762—“The Mocker’s” Stratagem.763—The Man that Came Back.764—The Tracks in the Snow.765—The Babbington Case.766—The Masters of Millions.767—The Blue Stain.768—The Lost Clew.770—The Turn of a Card.771—A Message in the Dust.772—A Royal Flush.774—The Great Buddha Beryl.775—The Vanishing Heiress.776—The Unfinished Letter.777—A Difficult Trail.782—A Woman’s Stratagem.783—The Cliff Castle Affair.784—A Prisoner of the Tomb.785—A Resourceful Foe.789—The Great Hotel Tragedies.795—Zanoni, the Transfigured.796—The Lure of Gold.797—The Man With a Chest.798—A Shadowed Life.799—The Secret Agent.800—A Plot for a Crown.801—The Red Button.802—Up Against It.803—The Gold Certificate.804—Jack Wise’s Hurry Call.805—Nick Carter’s Ocean Chase.807—Nick Carter’s Advertisement.808—The Kregoff Necklace.811—Nick Carter and the Nihilists.812—Nick Carter and the Convict Gang.813—Nick Carter and the Guilty Governor.814—The Triangled Coin.815—Ninety-nine—and One.816—Coin Number 77.
NEW SERIES
NICK CARTER STORIES
1—The Man from Nowhere.2—The Face at the Window.3—A Fight for a Million.4—Nick Carter’s Land Office.5—Nick Carter and the Professor.6—Nick Carter as a Mill Hand.7—A Single Clew.8—The Emerald Snake.9—The Currie Outfit.10—Nick Carter and the Kidnaped Heiress.11—Nick Carter Strikes Oil.12—Nick Carter’s Hunt for a Treasure.[Pg 70]13—A Mystery of the Highway.14—The Silent Passenger.15—Jack Dreen’s Secret.16—Nick Carter’s Pipe Line Case.17—Nick Carter and the Gold Thieves.18—Nick Carter’s Auto Chase.19—The Corrigan Inheritance.20—The Keen Eye of Denton.21—The Spider’s Parlor.22—Nick Carter’s Quick Guess.23—Nick Carter and the Murderess.24—Nick Carter and the Pay Car.25—The Stolen Antique.26—The Crook League.27—An English Cracksman.28—Nick Carter’s Still Hunt.29—Nick Carter’s Electric Shock.30—Nick Carter and the Stolen Duchess.31—The Purple Spot.32—The Stolen Groom.33—The Inverted Cross.34—Nick Carter and Keno McCall.35—Nick Carter’s Death Trap.36—Nick Carter’s Siamese Puzzle.37—The Man Outside.38—The Death Chamber.39—The Wind and the Wire.40—Nick Carter’s Three Cornered Chase.41—Dazaar, the Arch-Fiend.42—The Queen of the Seven.43—Crossed Wires.44—A Crimson Clew.45—The Third Man.46—The Sign of the Dagger.47—The Devil Worshipers.48—The Cross of Daggers.49—At Risk of Life.50—The Deeper Game.51—The Code Message.52—The Last of the Seven.53—Ten-Ichi, the Wonderful.54—The Secret Order of Associated Crooks.55—The Golden Hair Clew.56—Back From the Dead.57—Through Dark Ways.58—When Aces Were Trumps.59—The Gambler’s Last Hand.60—The Murder at Linden Fells.61—A Game for Millions.62—Under Cover.63—The Last Call.64—Mercedes Danton’s Double.65—The Millionaire’s Nemesis.66—A Princess of the Underworld.67—The Crook’s Blind.68—The Fatal Hour.69—Blood Money.70—A Queen of Her Kind.71—Isabel Benton’s Trump Card.72—A Princess of Hades.73—A Prince of Plotters.74—The Crook’s Double.75—For Life and Honor.76—A Compact With Dazaar.77—In the Shadow of Dazaar.78—The Crime of a Money King.79—Birds of Prey.80—The Unknown Dead.81—The Severed Hand.82—The Terrible Game of Millions.83—A Dead Man’s Power.84—The Secrets of an Old House.85—The Wolf Within.86—The Yellow Coupon.87—In the Toils.88—The Stolen Radium.[Pg 71]89—A Crime in Paradise.90—Behind Prison Bars.91—The Blind Man’s Daughter.92—On the Brink of Ruin.93—Letter of Fire.94—The $100,000 Kiss.95—Outlaws of the Militia.96—The Opium-Runners.97—In Record Time.98—The Wag-Nuk Clew.99—The Middle Link.100—The Crystal Maze.101—A New Serpent in Eden.102—The Auburn Sensation.103—A Dying Chance.104—The Gargoni Girdle.105—Twice in Jeopardy.106—The Ghost Launch.107—Up in the Air.108—The Girl Prisoner.109—The Red Plague.110—The Arson Trust.111—The King of the Firebugs.112—“Lifter’s” of the Lofts.113—French Jimmie and His Forty Thieves.114—The Death Plot.115—The Evil Formula.116—The Blue Button.117—The Deadly Parallel.118—The Vivisectionists.119—The Stolen Brain.120—An Uncanny Revenge.121—The Call of Death.122—The Suicide.123—Half a Million Ransom.124—The Girl Kidnapper.125—The Pirate Yacht.126—The Crime of the White Hand.127—Found in the Jungle.128—Six Men in a Loop.129—The Jewels of Wat Chang.130—The Crime in the Tower.131—The Fatal Message.132—Broken Bars.133—Won by Magic.134—The Secret of Shangore.135—Straight to the Goal.136—The Man They Held Back.137—The Seal of Gijon.138—The Traitors of the Tropics.139—The Pressing Peril.140—The Melting-Pot.141—The Duplicate Night.142—The Edge of a Crime.143—The Sultan’s Pearls.144—The Clew of the White Collar.145—An Unsolved Mystery.146—Paying the Price.147—On Death’s Trail.148—The Mark of Cain.
Dated July 17th, 1915.
149—A Network of Crime.
Dated July 24th, 1915.
150—The House of Fear.
Dated July 31st, 1915.
151—The Mystery of the Crossed Needles.
Dated August 7th, 1915.
152—The Forced Crime.
Dated August 14th, 1915.
153—The Doom of Sang Tu.
Dated August 21st, 1915.
154—The Mask of Death.
Dated August 28th, 1915.
155—The Gordon Elopement.
Dated Sept. 4th, 1915.
156—Blood Will Tell.
[Pg 72]
PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY.If you want any back numbers of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained direct from this office. Postage stamps taken the same as money.STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Ave., NEW YORK CITY