| Summary: | Newsletter of the North Dakota School for the Deaf. The North Dakota Banner. VOL. XIX. DEVILS LAKE, N. D., MAY 1010. No. 10. Bill’s Questions. AT school we nicknamed Bill Clarke "The Living Human Question Mark.” You never saw a chap so spry At- asking "When?” and "How?” and "Why?” But chiefly, "How?” That things were so Was not enough: Bill had to know "The inner works,” we used to say. Why, Billy.studied how to play! We knew a twist wo jld curve a ball; But Billy asked the teacher all The reason why; and after that He threw some curves you eoukln t bat! We went, one Saturday, for fun; To watch the roaring engines run At Holden’s Works. But Bill was queer; He chatted with the engineer * And firemen a 11 afternoon Of wheels and shafts: and pretty soon He made-.an. engine that could turn His little lathe and work the churn. I’ve met with boys who asked a lot Of questions, jnnt to talk: but not Our Bill! You .‘•ee. his questionings Went hand in hand with doing things. Our Bill is building navies now; .His uestions helped to teach him how. 1 greeted him in Central Park Hast week \vith, "How’s tlie Question Mark?" He laughed and blushed’—the same old Bill,— And answered. "Asking questions still!” —Youth's Companion. ««-2 *33 £*:&■ -5-2-2 333 ^ James Gordon Bennett Janie* Gordon Bennett: Born at Xtor York, Ah/// 10, AUf. THE average person, (loop in his heart, firmly believes that, ho could edit a newspaper if ho had a mind to, hut I never yet have met a man willing to admit that he could live in Europe and run a great newspaper in New York. Yet that is what James Gordon Bennett, proprietor of ‘'The New York Herald" and its evening edition, the Telegram,” does. Mr. Bennett’s visible body has inhabited Baris for man\ years; his astral body abides in the classic temple at Herald Square, New York. This is almost literally true. Mr. Bennett approximates the physically impossible feat of being in two widely separated places at once. The popular mind pictures him as a millionaire living at his ease in Paris on the immense revenues of a journal conducted by subordinates in New York. In reality he is often up with the dawn, preparing his elaborate daily instructions by cable to the staff. One of Mr. Beonettfs great feats, in days gone by, was to lay a -trails-Atlantic cable of his own, in partnership with Mr. Mackay. By means of this cable today he is constantly in touch with the whole machinery of the ‘'Herald.” But that is not all. His private office in New York is always in readiness for him; the desk dusted, everything in order. The light is left burning at night, and there are flowers on the fab le, for at any rnomeut the master may enter unannounced. "Above all. Mr. Bennett is the ‘‘Herald,” the "Herald" is Mr. Bennett. His individuality, ani his alone, is dominant. Mr. Bennett's wit is laeon.ie. A certain capitalist once elded him: "What, is the lowest price far which you will sell the "Herald"? Back came the answer: “Tnive omts daily, five cents Sunday.” Mr. Bennett inherited the "Herald” from his father many years ago. Now, as then, it is first of all a newspaper. That is why,in the face of tierce competition, it is one of the most prosperous journals in the world. This prosperity-lias enabled its proprietor to do some startling things. He sent Stanley to Africa; he rescued Ireland from famine: he sent an expedition to the Arctic. —o — The Sightless Horseman. Joseph Pulitzer: born at B rtdapext, Hungary, April 10, 184-7. A blind man ruling the most spirited of horses is a sight tne does not often see. Yet those who happen to be about when Joseph Pulitzer, the sightless proprietor of the “New York World” and the “St. Louis Post-Dispatch,” takes a little exercise, can see it. Riding is second nature to him, and the loss of his eyesight made no appreciable different. A servant rides behind him, but Mr. Pulitzer often gets exhilarated and leaves the servant far behind and even out of sight. Most of his time now is spent on his yacht, but he always keeps in touch with his newspapers, and edits them just as of old. Joseph Pulitzer was a penniless Hungarian boy. Once, at the height of his fame, and before his eyes had given way, a wealthy St. Louis man visited the “World” office with his wife and presented her to the editor. “Madam,” said he instantly, “1 have had the pleasure of seeing you before.” “I am afraid not,” she laughingly said; "if that had been my good fortune 1 should never have forgotten it.” "It is true, however,” said Mr. Pulitzer. "One bitterly cold night in St. Louis you held a social reception at your house. Outside the drivers of the guests* ea r ria ges we re sta m ping aro u n < l the snow in a vain effort to keep warm. Suddenly the door opened, and you stood there, with a number of servants behind you, bearing large trays holding cups of smoking coffee, which you ordered them to give to the* drivers. I was one of the coachmen. ” At the close of the Civil War Mr. Pulitzer then a soldier, out of a job and penniless, tried to enter French’s Hotel in New York. Hc was pr<>mp11 y kicked out. Many years later be bought the site of French’s Hotel lo erect the "World” building upon, and those who know him say that that, day he literally danced around his office with glee. He had wanted to tear that building down for a quarter of a century. Now his chance had come. —o- The Never-Idle Millionaire. Joh,n Plerpont Morgan: Bor hat Hartford, Coti net‘t ica t, April 17, 18-17. If J. Pier pent Morgan has any philosophy of life it is this: Keep moving; keep busy, never be idle. On his seventieth birthday a friend, a banker many years younger than himself, called at his office and fou.d the great financier as busy as a boy when he is. killing shakes. “Why don't you retire, or at least take a rest'!” said the friend: “Here you are celebrating your seventieth anniversary by working just- as you (to all the rest of the time.” Mr. Morgan looked at him keenly from under his bushy brow. “When did your father” (whom he knew very well, and who was also a banker) “retire?” he asked. “Five years ago,” replied the younger man, somewhat astonished, for Mr. Morgan knew the date as well as he did. “And when did he die?” pursued Mr. Morgan. “Two years ago,” was the reply. “Well, if he had done as 1 am doing he would be alive today,” commented the banker, returning to his work. When Mr. Morgaus was engineering
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