“Very well, then.  If you have no one from whom to get permission, I will trust you without reference.  I expected to pay a faithful and competent man, who was willing to go with me, and encounter any danger or privations which we may meet, fifty dollars a month; and of course he would live the same as myself.  Now, I’m willing to divide that sum between you two lads, if you do well and earn it.”

This offer sounded very large to Diego and Lee, who neither of them had a copper of their own, especially when the excitement of discovery and adventure was to be thrown in, and they closed with Professor Higley’s offer immediately, only stipulating that they were to go back to take old Aunt Dolores her money and bid her good-by.

“Well, go; but be sure to be back here by three o’clock at the latest, or I shall conclude you’ve changed your minds.”

“Ah, it is settled at last,” said the Spanish clerk.  “Now that the gentleman has been suited, he will leave me in peace to smoke my cigar.  These Americans and English have no idea of quiet, but must always be on the go,” he mumbled to himself, as he turned into his darkened retreat.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

PLANTS IN A ROOM.

There is a widespread belief that the presence of growing plants and cut flowers in a room is in some way prejudicial to those who sleep therein.  This belief is probably due to the fact, learned at school, that plants give off at night carbonic acid, which is known to be deleterious to health.

A recent writer has published the results of some experiments made in a closed green-house, showing how fanciful are these fears.  In this green-house there were 6000 growing plants, and the average of three experiments made early on three different mornings after the place had been closed for more than twelve hours exhibited only 4.03 parts of carbonic acid per 10,000.

We can judge by this experiment that from one or two plants the quantity of gas given off must be far too small for recognition, and certainly many hundred times less than that formed by a burning taper or given off by one pair of lungs.

A CORNER IN ALLIGATORS.

by GEORGE ETHELBERT WALSH.

“’Gator hides worth three dollars, and big ones four.  That’s our game, Jed, and we’ll make enough in ’gator hunting to get that pony.”

“You bet, for there’s plenty of ’em down in Loon Lake—­big ones, too.”

“We’ll have a regular corner in ’em.  Come, let’s get off.”

The two young Southern hunters felt as if they had already captured a small fortune, and Stam—­short for Stamford—­made a rush for the house.

“Where’s my gun?  It’s never in its place.  Mother,” raising his voice, “I can’t find my gun anywhere.  It’s so provoking!  Have you taken it?”

“And my game-bag is gone,” echoed Jed, in an irritable voice.  “We’re in such a hurry, too.”

“It’s money out of pocket standing here looking for these plaguey things.”