Another beautiful bronze statue soon to be placed here is the fine figure by Theo. A. Ruggles Kitson, in memory of the university warrior students, who died for their country in the Philippines. Professor Arthur Haynes was the instigator and prime mover in causing this statue to be erected.

Parallel always with the development of a great city, and forming no small factor in that development, is the rise and growth of an influential and substantial daily press.

The "St. Anthony Express," the first newspaper, was established in 1851, and edited by Isaac Atwater. At the present time, four dailies and no less than forty weeklies are published in the city. The "Minneapolis Daily Tribune" came into existence in 1869, and has been published continually since that time. It is one of the most important papers in the Middle West. Three editions are published week days, besides a Sunday edition. Its great success is due to Mr. Charles Hamblin, who has been manager and head of the editorial staff for the past thirteen years.

The "Minneapolis Journal" has been published continually since its inception in 1878. It is a publication of which the metropolis might well be proud. For the past twenty

the bone and sinew of its editorial staff, and has made it one of the cleanest and most progressive papers in the country.

The "Minneapolis Times" was established in 1889, and has always been a credit to the city. Recently it came under the management of Mr. Albert Dollenmayer, who is keeping it in the foremost ranks of western newspapers.

An important publicity bureau is the Minneapolis Commercial Club, with a thousand members. This club provides a Public Affairs Committee, which is a sort of unofficial city government, with Mr. Wallace Nye as its very efficient mayor. This committee is jealous of every business and municipal interest, and accomplishes an unmeasurable amount of good in the interests of Minneapolis.

During the summer just past, Minneapolis celebrated her semicentennial, and well should she take pride in reviewing her achievements done in the short span of fifty years. In 1855 an Indian reservation, in this year of grace 1905 she may truthfully be called a city of magnificent fulfillment; and yet compared to what the future holds in store for her-if one may reckon on her wealth of advantage and opportunity-she is even yet but a city of promise.

A

S everybody, who is at all observant, knows, there are two types of little men :those who think they are bigger than everybody else, and are consequently arrogant; and those who think everybody else is bigger than they, and are correspondingly modest. Pettit belonged to the latter class. For some years he had been painfully conscious of his lack of size. He woke up to it just before he entered college, and took as industriously to athletics as to his studies in the hope of encouraging niggardly Nature to greater liberality. But Nature was as stubborn as niggardly, and, though he gained his full share of muscle and skill, the limitations were impassable.

"Clever little devil," said Bulkley, the two-hundred-and-ten pound centre of the 'Varsity eleven, one day as Pettit passed from the gymnasium to the shower room after a stiff bout at single sticks with a man who had thirty pounds the better of him. "He's so chock full of ginger and grit that he'd be a corker if he just had any size to back up his nerve."

Pettit heard, and sighed, but with regret rather than bitterness, for he was beginning to realize the inevitable, and he was too decent a fellow to become bitter about something that was nobody's fault-certainly not his own. For Pettit was "white"; every man in college agreed to that. Little he was in body, but not in heart and soul.

The boys, without a thought of offense being given or taken, called him "Thumb" Pettit; but his parents, who, of course, were unable to foresee to what stature and diffidence their first born would grow up, had started him in life with the name of Bayard Victor Pettit. That this was an appellation rather difficult for a boy to grow up to, never occurred to them; and being, as it proved, their last born as well as their first born, they were as proud of him and as well satisfied with his achievements as if he held every heavyweight championship in the 'or class. Thus he was their idol while they lived, and when they passed to the great beyond, it was a comfort to them to know that in addition to a good náme, they were able to leave him able to leave him a patrimony, which, with any kind of management, would make his material existence comfortable for the rest of his days.

And so, at twenty-four, Bayard Victor Pettit found himself blessed with enough resignation concerning his limitations to make him unaggressive and, on the whole, a very pleasant fellow.

It was, no doubt, this very consciousness, combined with his neverfailing good-heartedness, that gave him such an ever ready sympathy for the weak and timid, the imposed upon or the oppressed. And this really is the reason why it all came about.

The afternoon sun was low

"Look here, young feller, you just mind your own business, and I'll look after my dog all right." "Where did you get it?" demanded Pettit.

"None o' your business, you little runt!" replied the man angrily. "And you better be running right along, or I'll lay you across my knee and spank you."

Pettit's flush ran clear down under his collar, and he gripped his stick tightly.

"Where did you get that dog?" he insisted, through his closed teeth. The man took a step forward, and aimed a blow, a slap, at Pettit with an open hand.

Now, as big Bulkley had said back in the old college days, Pettit was a clever little devil, especially with the single stick. He stepped quickly back, and the stick which he had been gripping so tightly flashed in a short circle and landed dazingly across the face of the threatener.

The man gave a fierce cry of pain, and, dropping the rope, clasped his hands over his eyes. For the moment he was blinded, and the spaniel, taking advantage of this, fled up the dozen steps of the house in front of which the clash had occurred, and crouched on the door step.

The man, getting a grip on his dazed senses, took his hands from his face, and glared about him wildly for a moment. Then his eye fell on Pettit, who stood his ground with stick on guard.

With a growl the man contracted his muscles for a lunge at Pettit.

"I'll show you, you

in his ear, as a powerful grip on his collar jerked him backward.

Heavy as had been the tread, neither had noticed burly Sergeant of Police Hannegan as he turned the corner of the building ten feet away, just as Pettit got into position again after delivering his effective stroke.

"He smashed me in the face with his stick, that's what!" growled Mike, fiercely.

"And what had you been doing?" Comparing the size of the two men, Sergeant Hannegan assumed that the assault had not been unprovoked.

"I hadn't been doin' nothin'! I was just "

"Mr. Policeman, Mr. Policeman!" An agitated girlish voice mingled with the sound of wheels grating against the curb, and a slender figure half leaned out of the carriage door. "It was my dog, Mr. Policeman, and that man had stolen it! He was kicking it brutally until this gentleman made him stop, and hit him with his stick. I saw it all from across the street, but I didn't know it was little Pixie at first, and was afraid to come over."

The words of explanation rushed from her, tumbling over each other and trembling with excitement.

"There!" she exclaimed, pointing at the crouching spaniel in the doorway. "There he is!"

Sergeant glanced from the girl to the dog, and looked at the man he still held firmly by the collar.

"How about it, Mike?" he demanded, shortly.

"I didn't know it was her dog," replied the man surlily.

"Well, that'll do for you, I guess,

"What's all this, what's all this, now, Mike?" demanded a deep voice

no business up in this end of town. Now, let me see you get out of here without losing any time; and if I

He released his hold, and, without a word, the man turned and walked rapidly down the street.

Meantime, the girl had sprung from the carriage and run quickly up the steps. Pettit followed her diffidently. She looked up as he approached.

"Poor little Pixie," she said, patting the dog gently, "he was so terribly frightened."

"Yes, poor little chap," murmured Pettit. The situation was unusual, and he was rather at a loss for words.

The dog pressed close to the girl as she stooped, and looked up at her appealingly with its big, soft brown eyes, while it wagged its tail feebly.

"I don't know how I can thank you," the girl went on. "It would have broken my heart to lose little Pixie-"

"Oh, it's nothing at all, I assure you," interrupted Pettit hurriedly. "Really, I'm very glad to-" As he paused for a word, he glanced around and saw the Sergeant starting away. "Oh-er-excuse me a moment, please," he interrupted himself, as he sprang down the steps.

"Oh, Sergeant!" he called.
The policeman turned.

"Here is my card in case there is any trouble about this, and I am wanted for-for any reason."

"Yes, I know," said the Sergeant, as he took the card without looking at it. "You're Mr. Bayard Pettit, of the Palisades Club."

He smiled at Pettit's look of surprise, and went on with the pride of a man who knows his business.

"I've been in this district a long time, you know. But there won't be any trouble unless it's for Red

around here though, and let me know, there will be trouble for him. Good afternoon, sir." And the Sergeant resumed his dignified stroll along the street.

Pettit turned again to the steps. The girl was coming down with the dog in her arms. He ran up to meet her.

"Can't I help you?" he asked, eagerly.

"Oh, no, thank you. He has had such a scare that any one else would make it still worse."

"But isn't he rather heavy for you?"

"Not to carry just to the carriage, you know."

When she put the dog in the vehicle it snuggled comfortably down in one corner as if it had found a familiar place of refuge at last.

"He doesn't understand all you did for him-yet," she said, smiling; "but I shall tell him."

"You're you're very kind, I'm sure," stammered Pettit.

"Home, James," she said, turning to the coachman.

Then with a nod and another smile to Pettit, she stepped into the carriage. He closed the door after her, and stood, hat in hand, and watched the carriage drive away. At the next corner it turned and passed out of sight.

Pettit drew a long breath, and looked about him. He was alone in the street where so much had happened in so short a time. As he put on his hat a ray of light on something bright at his feet caught his eye. It was a woman's purse. He picked it up and turned it about curiously. It was a dainty trifle of soft, dark leather, with gold mountings. Near the clasp was engraved the name "Amabel."