But Grail, as though recalled to himself, sharply closed the book.
“Oh, that one is of no consequence,” he insisted; yet he knew that it was, for he had already noted the name with the telltale check opposite.
In Sasaku’s stiff, angular handwriting was set down: “Mrs. Otto Schilder!”
TO BE CONTINUED.
THE NEGRO AND THE HORSE.
There is a time for everything, and the secret of success in life lies in doing things at just the right minute.
A veterinary surgeon had occasion to instruct a colored stableman how to administer medicine to an ailing horse. He was to get a common tin tube—a bean blower—put a dose of the medicine in it, insert one end of the tube into the horse’s mouth, and blow vigorously into the other end, and so force the medicine down the horse’s throat.
Half an hour afterward, the colored man appeared at the surgeon’s office, looking very much out of sorts.
“What is the matter?” inquired the doctor, with some concern.
“Why, boss, dat hoss, he—he blew fust!”