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■ S!!n!nnnu!n:nnnnnn!!n!:n!n:?!nunnn!!n!nnnnn"n"nnnnnHnnnn:nE _I S3 mm# ■ ? [AN ?ICBTW RKBBSTBD. ? 5 FATAL FINGERS II æ By WILLIAM LE QUEUX, Author of The Money Spider," "The Riddle of the Ring," .kc. i i-li[iii I I I iiiii I iiiii iiii iiiii-b! iiiii ililiiiiiiii:irr-.s CHAPTER IV (Continued). I YET ANOTHER PROBLEM. I But what was the motive? Why should isir George, feeling himself dying, see k to remove all traces of his secret VJBlt to bar 1 wood Street? The affair was a com- plete enigma, and the only chance of a solu- tion lay in the keeping of the actual facta ^ut of the papers. Already most of the London jouinals*con- tainod a brief paragraph recording the #udden death of Sir George Raveuscourt and hinting at suicide, but of the death of the obscure recluse in Pimlico there was no I 111ention. Throughout the day many inquiries wero afoot by Scotland Yard. At noon a council of the heads of the various branches ^f the Criminal Investigation Department had been held, as is usual in important tases, when all the known facts wero thoroughly discussed and dissected. Then "tae whole machinery of the higher branch of the Metropolitan Police was set in Biotion, and the. most searching investiga- tion was being made into the recent move- ments and correspondence of the baronet. At Carlton House Terrace the big house "Vrith the wide portico and drawn blinds was plunged into mourning. Poor Lady Ravens- eourt remained inconsolable, while Maidee ,sat with her hour after hour, weeping in syl-nl)atliv. Towards eight o'clock, tired out with cry- ing, her ladyship lay down an d slept upon the iŸJta in her pretty upstairs boudoir. "Whereupon Maidee rose and, leavi;^ her, on tiptoe went to her own room, where sho liaatilv put on a black walking frock and a hat with black veil. She glanced at the little silver clock upon iier dressing-table and saw that it was already hall-past eight Hurriedly drawing on a pair of black gloves, she put on her long turncoat and ^esc?nded the stairs. "I shan't be very long, Burgess," she said as she passed him. "Lady Ravenscourt is sleeping, jU:t now." Very well, miss," replied the stout uas he let her out and watched her turn round the corner in "the darkless by tho statue towards the Athenaeum Club. Believing that she had gone upon some rand for her ladyship, it did not strike hlm as at all curious that she should walk 'Out at that hour. Yet had he followed her, -his curiosity would certainly have been housed. SHe "crossed Waterloo Place and walked up Regent Street as far as,, Piccadilly Circus, WCere she hailed a passing taxi and, giving man cn address, entered the conveyance. The cab, turning back, crossed Trafalgar ?T?re. and quickly sped along Whitehall,  Westminster Br?ge, continuing to e Et<'phant and Cutte, and afterwards P''oepcJ:ng along the populous Walworth 1 u n ?l Isudgenly it turned into a short, muet? obscure thoroughfare, known as '?ansey Street, where all the grimy eight- honied houses were uniform, with base- ments, and each with eight front-door steps. Before one of tpese a decidedly dark and dismal abode, alighted and, asetnd- ing the steps, hurnedJ-y rang the bell. arrival was evidently expected. A pale- faced lad, whom she greeted" as "Harry.. admitted her, and passing in shp, pushed open the door of the shabby sitting-room on th;' )i?ht, where a mn rose slowly, hia thin white "hand outstretched in greeting as he eried: "Ah! -)Iai(leel Why, you are late—oh! so late. I really feared that you were pre- sented from coming. And I waited to see YOII-vei,' N, particularly to-night-very par- ticularly indeed." You know the terrible affair that has h<br:Pl'¡,W;:1, Uncle John!" exclaimed the gL'l breathlessly. "How know—I know. Poor Sir Geore in- terrupted the man in a low-hu,3ky voice. And as he held her hand the light of the gas-jet, falling full upon his face, revealed him to be a thin, fragile-looking old gentle- man with a white beard and dark, pene- trating eyes—an old man wearing a shabby old dark blue dressing-coat-the exact counterpart of the mysterious Richard Go c<< rick. CHAPTER V. t IS ABOUT UXCLB JOHIT. I Ma idee Lambton, loosening her rich furs, Beaded herself in the frowsy old arm-chair before the lire, while the quick-eyed old man before her stood upon the hearthrug regard- ing her long and earnestly, as though hesi- tating to place confidence in her. Lett an orphan at the age of three, Lady Ravenscourt had'adopted her, and she had lived with Sir George and his wife as their niece, for she usually called them aunt and uncle. It was only about nine months ago tha .t she had returned from school to make I her debut, and to live permanently at Carl- ton House Terrace. On coming of age she had become entitled to an income from her lah father of nearly eight thousand a year. Her acquaintance with old Mr. Ambrose, "whom she always called "Uncle John," was certainly a very romantic one, and begau full? twelve years before. Seated with Miss Denman, her governess, one spring afternoon in Kensington Gar- dons, the t' ol d gentleman had entered into conversation with them. At first Miss Den- man was disinclined to talk, but finding him to be quite a harmless and benevolent old gentleman, they chatted. He seemed much struck with little Maidee, and promised that if they came there next day he would bring her some chocolates. At first the governess was reluctant, but Maidee, child-like, was anxious for a pre- sent, and finally persuaded Miss Denman to take her to keep the appointment. To the child's great delight the chocolates proved to be a most beautiful and expen- sive box, and Miss Denman marvelled that an old gentleman, so meanly dressed, could afford to give such elaborate presents. But lie seemed infatuated with the child, and I thus the curious friendship began. At first. Miss Denman was always with her "when they met, and was nothing loth to re- ceive now and then a little present for her- self but as Maidee grew older and was allowed to go about alone, she grew into the habit of meeting the old man in secret «t various places, and sitting at his side, chatting as a young girl will chatter. He seemed never tired of hearing all About her home-life-<>f Sir" George and his "wife, of the brilliant dinners and dances at Carlton House Terrace, and of the visitors who called there. Ashe grew up she often wondered who the strange, dark-eyed old man could really Jbe, and who were his friends. Once, when she was about fourteen, he had said to her in reply to a question: v es, child. Once I had very many fr tends, just, as you have; but that was long ;i!p. To-day I-I have only you." "Only me!" she echoed, opening her big eyes widely. And he had smiled at her, and taken her small hand in his own. They generally met in one or other of the parte, but most frequently in Kensington ^rard^ns, for it was more rural and more C¡U iÐt there. Then she went away to school, and the Meetings became few and in-frequent, Yet they exchanged letters regularly. Indeed, never through all the years until that night had they been out of touch with one another. "Maidee," he said, crossing the room, and seating himself on the opposite side of the fireplace, "I want you to toli me all about the terrible affair at home—all as far ae you know. How wns the murder dis- covered ? She looked at him in surprise, for it srd'- denly occurred to her that the pa]>?r3, 'chough hinting at suicide, had not sug- gested i.,iiirdera "How do you know, Uncle John, that qii George was murdered?" she asV'Hl him looking across at his fnee hidden in the shadow. Her voice told him that slie was greatly surprised at his quest ion. He started perceptibly, and, fidgctting slightly in his chair, replied: "Er—well—I—I, of course, saw what was in the papers, child, and jumped to a con- clusion. Perhaps I'm wrong—eh? And he cursed himself for his foolishness. The girl was no longer a child; lit3 had forgotten t„>t fact. His remark had aroused faint suspicions within her mind. Always, through all these years, he had been deeply interested in Sir George's saying and doings. Was he now in possession of some secret knowledge con- cerning tiie tragedy. Or had he actually guessed the truth? "Ah! she replied, "you are not wrong. Sir George was, no doubt, killed while in the act of writing in his library." "Bv whom?" "The police have not yet ascertainNl," WPS her response. "He seemed to have written a record of some extraordinary character, f.)r wlHn Burgess discovered, .him he was still conscious, and begged him wjtl his last breath to destroy what he had penned." "ArJ1 wag it destroyed?" "No; Burgess gave it to the police." "What was its nature?" "I do not exactly know. Burgess showed it to my a,.i-nt, wlio.orclerea it to be given to the police. She told me that it gave tke name of some man who lived in Pimlico." Ambrose started in his chair, and bend- ing forward towards her in sudden eager- 11), asked in that curious husky voice of his: c4Dneern i ng him? Ttil "What did he write concerning him? Tell me. It is mcat?impor?an.t that I should I:now—most important. Don't conceal any- thing from me, child. Some day you will know the reason I ask this." "My aunt told me nothingxcept < that my uncle had' put on record the fact that on the evening before his death he had visited the person in question, and made eome extraordinary discovery." "A discovery gasped the old man, with a strange, haunted look. "Of what nature?" "I don't know." "But you must at once find out for me," he said anxiouilir. HYOll. say Burgess read what; Sir George wrote- before his death. Then lie would tell .you, if you, asked', lim The original you will not, see now that the t police .i poose.,s,sion' of it. Burgess I was a fool-an infernal fool!" Why aske,(I'tlig girl in surprise. "He should have carried out his, master's wish, and destroyed i tr. A promise to the dying should, always be held sacred." "Save in such an event as occurred early this morning. For aught the police, know, this man living in Pimlico may be the assassin! Perhaps,,he killed Sir George in order to prevent some secret of his being betrayed "Who suggests that?" asked Ambrose quickly, again leaning forward in eager- "Do the police suspect it?" "I am entirely unaware of their suspi- cions," replied the girl. "Daring to-day Burgess has been submitted to the closest examination by one detective after another. The police informed my aunt this afternoon that they intended to presume suicide at the inquest, *n order to be allowed a clear ground in which to hunt for the assassin." "But they have no suspicion, eh?" asked the old man in a low, hard voice, scarce above a whisper. "How can 1 tell? "The detective did not mention this mysterious person living in Pimlico?" he asked' anxiously. 0 "Well, ves-lie did." "What did he say?" "Only that Sir George had evidently made some remarkable discovery which he intended to place on record for the eyes of his executors only, and they, in turn, were to preserve the secret for ten years after his death." "Then, no doubt, the record upon which he was engaged when he was so swiftly and silently d'one to death revealed his dis- covery! gasped the old man hoarsely. His nails pressed themselves into his palms, for next instant he saw, by the girl's manner that, notwithstanding all the pre- cautions he had taken, he had betrayed himself by his suggestion that Sir George death was not a ease of suicide. A hard, sinister light shone in the old man's eyes. If the girl suspected, then she mus t 1)4 si. l eiic* d e co l ?S eett ed, then she must be silenced. He could not afford to run any further risks. CHAPTER VI. I SUSPICION I John Ambrose knew that he had com. mitted a fatal faux pas. Maidee Lambton had had her suspicions aroused! The sus- picions of a girl of her age are not easily removed. He had been a fool-an arrant fool. The girl was silent. She was filled with wonder at the apparent slip the old man had made. He was eccentric, but eccen- tricity could not account for that intimate knowledge of the exact circumstances of Sir George's death. Through her mind ran reminiscences of I how he had petted and spoiled her in her childhood; of their liecret meetings; of his calm and good advice, and his apparent happiness whenever she was nigh. Yes, there had been some strong yet in- explicable reason for his attachment. A thousand times in the pensive hours of her youth had she sat and wondered who could be this strange, shabby old gentleman who had taken such a deep and continued in- terest in her. One day, about two years before, he had introduced to her a kindly old Italian priest, Don Mario. Whenever she saw a Roman Catholic priest sfle always recollected that calm, ascetic, soft-spoken old man, who had sat beside her in Kensington Gardens chatting so quietly and sympathetically. Several times afterwards when she met Uncle John, old Don Mario had been with him, until they had grown to be quite friendly. She had learned Italian at school, and delighted to talk with the grave, deep-eyed old priest in his own tongue. For the past year, however, she had not seen him. He had returned to Italy, Uncle John had told her-returned without a word of farewell to her. "Maidee," Ambrose said at last in a low I voice, after they had been silent for some time, "Sir George has fallen by an assassin's hand, and we—you and I—must endeavour to fathom the mystery and bring th" murderer to justice." » "I am only too anxious. Uncle John," replied the girl, her manner changing. "If I can help in any way I will certainly do so. How can I assist?" "By carrying out certain instructions which I shall give you," replied the old man. "Answer me a question. Have you ever spoken to your lover, Gordon Cun- ningham, regarding me?" "Nev-er. You have always imposed upon me a promise to keep our friendship a strict secret. The old fellow breathed a sigh of distinct relief. "Never break that promise, child, for if you did-wcll "—he added in a low, changed voice—"if you did it might go very hard with me." "Hard with you!" she echoed, opening her fine eyes widely. "How?' But the old felloe 'did not r ply. He was ever evasive when she asked him any point- blank question. You suggested that we should combine together to endeavour to solve the mystery of my uncle's death," she said a few moments later. "Yes. The police have yet to discover some very remarkable facts—facts which will, I know, greatly puzzle them," he said. "The murder of Sir George was, as you sur- mise, no ordinary vulgar crime, but the work of a master hand. It was carefully planned and carried out with a deliberate attention to the most minute detail. The assassin ran no risk. He was too clever for that." "How do you know all this? You seem to possess a wider knowledge than even the police themselves." "Do I?" he ejaculated with a start. "I— I don't think I do. The police have misled the Press—misled them purposely, of course. But, Maidee," he added quickly, "you wilL ere long learn something which will cause you .i, reit astonishment." "What?" "You spoke of a man living in Pimlico." "The person mentioned in the statement which my uncle wrote immediately* prior to his death "Yes," said the old gentleman, with a slight tremor in his thin voice. "Well, that man has also died "Died!" she cried in surprise. "The police told me nothing of that." "Yes; he, too, has been murdered. Oh, don't betray undue alarm," he added quickly. "As I have told you, this affair is no ordinary crime. All the combined talent of Scotland Yard will. fail to elucidate it if onlv- "If what?" asked the girl anxiously. "If I make my own inquiries—and hold my tongue," he said slowly. "Then you know the truth, Uncle John she cried eagerly. "Tell me—do you know who killed poor Sir George?" "If I knew I should at onee denounce the assassin," was his severe rebuke. "Have I not suggested that you should assist me in carefully seeking a solution of the problem?" "But you said that as long as you re- mained silent the police would b3 powerless to learn the truth," the girl remarked. "And I repeat it. It is for. you and me to know the truth first—to establish the iden- tity of the assassin, and we can then de- nounce him to the authorities. You, on vour part, must question Burgees regarding it, and let me know, if not the whole, then the gist of it. It is most important that I should know this at once. Will you commence by doing this fc. me?" "But how have you learnt that the man in Pimlico has also been murdered? the girl said. "There is nothing in the papers ^con- cerning it." "I have no certain knowledge, except that as Sir George was killed there was every reason why the other man should be killed also." "In order. I suppose, to conceal some secret or other—eh?" asked Miss Lambton- "Exactly. The secret is now in the hand of one person only—myself. But before I tell the truth I desire, with your aid, to make quite certain of the identity of the assassin. Assist me, and leave all to me— and depend upon it we will together bring thr murderer of poor Sir George b to justice "Very well," she said. "1 will question Burgess in the morning, and ascertain what was in that statement left by my uncle. Then I will come over here and tell you all that I have ascertained." "Yes; but further," said the old man,, whose craft and cunning were unsurpassed, "when next you see Gordon he will probably question you very closely, for I anticipate that he may have learnt something—that he may have had his suspicions aroused. You rmst keep him in entire ignorance of every- thing—everything, remember Though lie may be your lover, and devoted to you, as I know, yet lie, by indiscretion, might spoil 1 all our plans." The girl had risen, buttoned up her rich fur coat to the throat, and taken up her muff. "Very well," she said, "if that is your decision I will carry it out. I shall return to-mcrrow a bout no-on, I hope. I must get back now, for it is growing late," she added anxiously. He bent and, as was his habit, imprinted a kiss upon the girl's white brow; then, taking her hand with final injunctions, he unlocked the door and showed her out to the taxi which had been awaiting her. John Ambrose stood upon the step for a few moments watching the tail-lamp of the taxi until it disappeared around the corner into the brilliantly-lit Walworth Road. Then the cunning old man turned,. and, re-enter- ing, closed the door and passed back into his room. Casting himself into the arm.chir which the girl had vacated, a grim smile crossed his thin, hard features, and, removing h-s white beard, he slowly smoothed his chin as he sat staring into the fire, thinking deeply. Motionless he sat, his dark eyes fixed upon the dying embers, ignorant of the fact that in a deep doorway on the opposite side of the street a spare, ill-dressed man in a dark overcoat had been standing hidden for the past couple of hours intently, watching the house, or that soon after the departure of his visitor the watcher had emerged from I the shadow and with a low chuckle had walked leisurely up the quiet, dismal street, and, iike the taxi, disappeared round the corner. < (To be Continued.)
BATTLESHIPS IN WAX.I
BATTLESHIPS IN WAX. I The model testing tank at Washington is declared to be the finest of its kind in existence, having a total length of 500 feel and a. water surface breadth of 24 feet. ThE object of theic novel basins with their intri. cate and delicate machinery is to ascertain the correct design of a warship car liner: that is to say, what should be het size tc obtain a given speed. A model of the pro- posed ship is first fashioned in wax. It it then attached to a travelling platform and towed through the water at varying speeds The model is free to rise and fall of its own will, and by the special instruments ypon the carriage the behaviour of the miniature hull in the water below is faithfully re- corded. For instance, the wax model of th< huH of a ship 10 feet long is tested. It ie possible to ascertain how a ship 200, 250 300, or more feet in length would behave ii designed upon this model, the power neces- sary to obtain certain speeds, etc. The models are made of paraffin wax, and when they have fulfilled their purpose are in- variably melted down again. In the case of a new type of warship or liner several models are made and tested. Indeed, often twenty to fifty models will be used. Our own Admiralty kas a tank at Haslar, near Portsmouth, while the great shipbuilders also possess these novel basins where models of liners and yachts are first built in was and subjected to exhaustive tests.
—_ I - ' ' | THIS WEEK IN…
—_ I | THIS WEEK IN THE GARDEN, t = In all town extensions I would like to see the greatest care exercised = = d d D 1z = H to promote good gardens." -Mr. Proth ero. S iimii!iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiii!iiiiiiiiiuiiiiuiimi!iiiiniiiiiiii]iiiiiiiiiii!iHi;iiiiiiniiiiii(iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii:iii]iiiiiiiiiiF. Late Planting —With the conditions of weatjier recently prevailing planting came to a standstill. There need be no fear of failure owing to late planting if everything is in readiufas. < Autumn Fruiting Rasydterries —The canes of these should 1)(, cut. down each vear. The present is a good time to prune away the whole of the shoots The canes which spring itli after tiiis pruning arc those which pro- duce berries in the autumn; if autumn fruiting raspberries are pruned in i,he or- dinary way they are of no value for late fruiting. Planting Asparagus —The month of April is most .suitable for making new asparagus beds. These are usually raised aliovc the ground level, but beds on the Hat also give good results. If the former system is chosen the beds should l»e 4-ft. wide with IHifl. alleys between. Each bed will accommodate three rows of plants lit. apart. When grown on the fiat, which is preferable on light soils, double row planting is rccornrnendable, 11). The rows are set at lMin. apart, a space of 8ft. is then lelt, when another double row is planted, and so on. Yearling crowns, A, may be used, but for a supply of produce as early as possible, two or even three year old crowns, n, arc advisable. Plant the crowns 4in. deep The ground should he thoroughly trenched and well manured, in advance of Crops such as lettuce and radishes may lie taken off the beds tne first year, but not afterwards. Canlillowere may, however, be grown up the alleys. < Peaches and Nectarines.—The work of pruning and securing the growths in posi- t.inn may now have attention. Allow ample space for each shoot; it should he remem- bered that peaches bear on the shoots of last season's growth. Cutting back is not ad- vised so much as thinning out. If pruning back must be done the cut should be made at a growth bud, usually placed between two fruiting buds. < Peach Trees in rlower.-It should >be ro- membered at this season that peachcs will seldom set blossoms I)rolA-rly unless with some assistance. Have ample ventilation at mid-day in sunny weather. It is a good plan to touch each bloom lightly with a camel- hair brush each day when dry. A sharp tap to the wires is at tunes sullicient, but not always. Gooseberry Busbe-q.-Dirdo; will do much damage to gooselierries in small gardens un. less jjrecautions are taken. linclosing the bushes in wire netting is the best method of meeting the difficulty, but. is too expensive for many of us. Fish netting can he placed over the buds, and is more or less effective, but the objection to this is that it would in some places need to he on the whole of the winter and this would involve log. of net- ting. Tho use of cotton can be recom- mended: scattering lune and spraying with different washes aro useful but not always effectual. Fruit Trees in Tots—Where trees in pote have been kept outs ide until now they shoald at once be placed inside if conveni- ence can be found for them. The plants will soon be coming into flower and- will need protection. A light top-dressing of rich soil or a sprinkling of some approved fer- tiliser may be applied to the surface soil. Sowing Parsnips on Heavy Soil.—Whilst February is the month generally recom- mended for the sowing of parsnips, it is un- wise on heavy soils to sow earlier than March, whilst April has often to be chosen: although thatt is somewhat late, in good seasons serviceable roots result. An impor- tant matter is the preparation of the site; unless it is deeply dug and well broken up, forked, unshapely roota will largely prevail, owing to the inability of the roots to de- scend freely. Where the soil is well worked and no manure added, the roots go down deeply and good shapely parsnips result. Seed should be sown lin. deep in drills 15in. to 18in. apart. A common practice is to sow seed all along the drills; this is wasteful, and makes needless labour l in thinning. Sowing about six seeds at intervals of Din. is a better method; thinning is then easily and expeditiously adopted. Lime Spraying.—Where it is intended to carry out this work a start ought soon to be made. There is but a short time in which the work can be safely and profitably done. To spray with lime when the blossoms have opened is to court disaster. Have the lime and implements in perfect readiness and get the work done quickly. Celery.—It is well to get a littje seed of either of a white variety of celery sown under glass during the present week. This has an advantage over pink or red varieties, for it needs less time to become properly blanched, a great consideration whera "sticks" are required for exhibition or early use. Turnips.—Before sowing seeds of early turnips, make the soil firm by treading. Sow in drills, rather than broadcasting the seed. The distance between the rows de- pends largely upon the variety, but Oin. is a safe distance to allow. Spinach.—Seed of the round or prickly varieties may now be sown. Avoid ground to which no manure has been added. A poor soil is mainly responsible for many failures to obtain good results from an early sowing. Sow in drills an inch-and-a-half deep, a foot or more apart, reducing the seedlings to 9in. apart in the row. Artichokes.—Both the Globe and Jerusa- lem artichokes deserve to be more largely grown by amateurs. The first-named is a decided ornament to any garden, while, if gathered at the proper stage, the large, thistle-like heads form a very acceptable vegetable. The Jerusalem artichoke is one- of the most useful vegetables grown. Both should be planted this month; they need neither special soil nor manure.
MORE DRINKING TIME.
MORE DRINKING TIME. The Central Control Board have made a General Order relaxing a number of the re- strictions upon the rale of intoxicating liquors in licensed premises and clubs. The Order applies to all scheduled areas in England and Wales In one area the hours for "on" consumption have been 6 to 8 p.m., while in all other areas they have been either 6 to U p m. or 6.30 to 9.30. The new Order provides that in all areas they shall be G to H.30 p.m. The Order extends the week-day evening opening for "off" sales in every area. Thua period will henceforth be the uniform one of 6 to 8.30 p.m. TlIe restriction WHICH prevents oraers ior spirits for "off" consumption from •being given personally on licenced preiui»cs except durmg the midday hours its withdrawn. The new Order enables a resident in a hotel or club to obtain drink with his evening ineal up to 11 p.m., whether on week-days or on Sundays. Hitherto intoxicating liquor could, with certain exceptions, he despatched from licensed premises only during tho mid-day and evening periods allowed for "ofT" sales, hut the new Order, subject to a limitation to 8.-JU p. m re- moves all such reD tnctllllls
[No title]
Elizabeth Countess of Wilton, widow of the third earl, died on Saturday. William Middleton, a smallholder, of Rowe Holt, nar Wimborne, who was shot i?o we big toe with a gun during a quarrel, has died from lockjaw. A proclamation issued by the Australian Minister of Customs prohibits the importa- tion into the Commonwealth of all goods other than those of British origin. —■ ■ i i ■ ii ——
-,,ii= I 1 THE POULTRY YARD.…
ii= I 1 THE POULTRY YARD. I ê: Helpful HicH for Backyarders." By "COCKCROW." mmiuiHimuiuiiiiuiiuuiiiiiiiiiiiiHiuumiiiuiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii i ;1 í II IIJll1lllUII UI II III un UIIIIIII Ii 111111 I II 1111 ¡ I II 111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111 Ii: So poultry-keepers are now recognised by the Government as people who have "done the State some service. So, at any rate, it appears from the statement made on be- halt of the Government at the International Conference on the. Poultry Industry. The importance of the poultry industry, from the standpoint of food prcduction and be- cause of its commercial value, is recognised to the full. There may be poultry-kcej-ers who, recalling tho treatment meted out -to them during the last year or two, will have their doubts Cll this score, but we have now the assurance from the Board of Agricul- ture that we really do count. Sir Arthur Boscawen, the spokesman for the Board, touched on the circumstance-s which make the poultry industry of special importance to-day. We are endeavouring to reconstruct villago life; to bring people back to the land; to interest more people in country pursuits. We are engaged in a big scheme to settle soldiers and sailors on the land as smallholders. He. would be a wise man, said Sir Arthur, who would add to his pro- fits and to his interest in life by devoting part of his time and skill and land to poul- try-rearing. GrOVERNMENT ACTION. Sir Arthur Boscawen proceeded to tell what the Government had done and was doing to help poultry-keepers. A most im- portant matter had been to provide stocks at reasonable prices in order that stocks shpuld not disappear altogether, and he claimed that the action of the Board had, o-i the whole, proved satisfactory. The lines. upon which the Board wished to pro- ceed were three in number: (1) More prac- tical instruction; (2) demonstration; (3) more research. We needed small poultry farms, where the latest and most up-to-date methods, were employed; farms run upon a commercial basis, where these latest methods were made to pay. The root of all things was more research. The future progress of this and all other industries would depend upon sound research and investigation. In collaboration and consultation with the Poultry Advisory Committee, the Board of Agriculture hoped to proceed on the lines he had suggested—it might be by the form of some National Institute, where practical instruction—which would be in the nature of educating inetruetors-would be given, and in this way knowledge would be disseminated throughout the country. THE HAMMERING METHOD. Most people know that people who want anything from Governments are not likely to get it except by their continual impor- tunity. They must ask early and often, and make a good deal of noise about it. Poul- try-keepers are no exception to this rule. Sir Arthur Boscawen gave them excellent advice when he told them to make their aims and objects known to the public and the Government. Sir Arthur, before he oc- cupied an official position himself, had a considerable experience in the gentle art of worrying Government departments into doing things which they were not particularly keen on doing. Out of his experience he de- Glares that the only way to get anything done is to hammer at the doors of the de- partments. Those who hammer loudest will get served first, he says, and that his ad- vice is entirely disinterested is shown by his I confession that he will be one of the first to have his slumbers disturbed by the ham- I mering. No doubt poultry-keepers will act on this wise counsel. Having rcade up their minds what they want, they will ask for it I and refuse to be quiet until they get it. I THE WILD NORTH-EASTER. A north-carterly wind,. such as we often get a good deal of at this time of year, brings discomfort for fowls. It is not good either for egg-production or for the rearing of chicks. The wise poultry-keeper, having I anticipated the north-easter, has no doubt taken steps to counteract its ill-effects. Plenty of heat-producing food i., one of the most important of the counter-measures. Do not forget what I wrote a .week or two ago about the need for an extra ration in the 1 cold weather. Warm water should be given twice a. day. Then the birds should be sheltered from the cold wind by such screens and fences as can be contrived. The fowls should be kept under cover as much as pos- I sible, but see that they are able to get suffi- cient exercise. I THE YOUNG CHICKS. The north-easter is no friend to youna chicks; neither is damp weather. They need warmth and dryness, and the coop tfor the hen and her brood should be wind-tight and water-tight. Rain must not be allowed to drive in at the front, and the coop must have a wooden floor. Coops out of doors without floors in winter are sheer crueitv. The best kind of ccop is that with two com- partments, one with a slatted front, and another, nice and snug, for sleeping. In such a coop chicks reared out of doors can always be kept warm and dry in any weather. If the coops are under shelter, the wooden floor is not essential, though it is always desirable. Out of doors, the coop should be placed, if possible, under an open- fronted shed facing south. It will then be turned away from the point where the worst weather cornea from, and will get the benefit of the sun, if there happens to be any. If there is no open-fronted shed available, the south side, of a wall or thick hedge is the next best thing. ICHICKS IN THE GARDE-N. ) To have hens running about the garden is not, as a rule, much to the liking of the gardener, though they might do him good service when he is digging, by gobbling grubs which would otherwise develop into garden pests. Chicks, however, are a dif- ferent proposition. Up to the age of six or eight weeks they do little harm, and may ) do themselves much good if they are allowed i "to range over the garden. Care must, of course, be taken to prevent their spoiling young and tender dops. If plenty of freh green food is provided for them near the coop and far enough away from the crops they will probably leave the young peas alone-. The exercise and freedom, and the variety of food, will do the chicks a world of good. Poultry-keepers who have gardens should let the chicks have the run of the place.
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Dr. J. King Warry, medical officer tor Hacknev since 1892, died at his house on Clapton Common shortly after his return from church.
I ? FOOTBALL NOTES I zjm •…
I ? FOOTBALL NOTES I zjm • mmm = By "WANDERER." S: illllillllllllllllllllllllllilillllllllllllilllllF. As I suggested in these notes a week ago, the League clubs assembled at Manchester iecided to extend the First and Second Divisions of the Football League to twenty- two clubs each, and when the extension had duly gone through the real excitement of the day began—the election of the clubs to fill the vacant places. Never in the history of football had there been so many aspirants to such few places, and even a few minutes before the meeting, when I asked several of the League club delegates what they thought would happen, scarcely one of them would venture on a prophecy. Chelsea, of course, got a unanimous vote, and thus, was justice done to the West London club. Chelsea's companions in luck proved to be the Arsenal, and perhaps of all the people at -Manchester, the representative of Totten- ham Hotspur was the most disappointed. Still, the Arsenal had won a lot of sympathy beforehand, and an energetic propaganda did the rest. THE SURPRISE OF THE DAY. The surprise of the Second Division elec- tion stakes was the success of South Shields. Personally, I thought their geographical position wopld be likely to rule them out, but it is evident that the clubs did not consider very seriously the question of travelling expenses in the election of clubs- Otherwise, Rochdale and Port Vale would have received mcre support, but perhaps the clubs outside considered that Lancashire already had sufficient representatives. Any- way, South Shields got through, and so did the other extreme club—West Ham-while two Midland towns, in Rotherham and Coventry, will have Second Division foot- ball next season. Incidentally, the choice of West Ham and Coventry is a big blow for the Southern League, but they will not get much sympathy, for there is a feeling in the football world that the Southern League is not too well managed. KICKS OF FORTUNE. Now that demobilisation is in full swing, and the footballers are drifting back to their old,haunts, it is interesting to cast our minds back over the war, and to look at its effects on the various big football organisa- tions. And in the world of football, just aa in the world outside football, we find that the great conflict was incidentally the making of some clubs and the ruination of others. Kicks and halfpennies have been distributed most unevenly, and it 6eems safe to say that from the great war there are some football clubs which will never. ag-ain recover their former positions, while other fortunate organisations will be able to look back on Armageddon as the beginning of wonderful days for them. rHE CLUBS OF THE SEASON. It seems to be safe now to award the tionours in the thr-ee leading tournaments— the Lancashire and Midland sections and the London Combination. Everton cannot veJl be approached as Lancashire cham- pions, while in the Midland section, which has produced the most interesting fight of the three, Nottingham Forest are now high and dry at, the head of affairs, and so far in front of their nearest rivals that they cannot be touched. A series of reverses, coupled with consistent success on the part of somo other club, might yet rob Brentford of the honour of champions of London, but it is a contingency against which it would.. | be 6afe to lay long odds.