Newspaper Page Text
yWillj
BY CHARLES J. BELLAMY.
Coorriebted by the Author, and published
by arrangement with him.
“That’ll never be,” giggled the other;
“t*u don’t say you didn’t know she eloped
with that Curran fellow, though it’s been
kept pretty still r
“Do tell!” Philip shuddered. Why were
creatures like these* permitted to touch names
Jik< Bertha’s? “Married another chap, eh?
Well, young Breton never was much for
looks, anyhow.”
“Married!” Philip started at her tone.
“Who said she was married? The shoe’s on
the other foot. She aint married at all.
Handsome fellow like him has a wife in every
town, such as they lie. That proud minx
is only one on ’em.” How they relied the
shameful story, like a sweet morsel under
their tongues, as if it relieved the blackness
of their contemptible souls, that one woman
more had singed her angel wings in the piti
less flame of disgrace.
Philip had struggled to his feet. The
women blushed like fire and tried to look un
conscious, but he did not even glance at them
as he moved down the aisle. He could not
see very well.. Was the chapel full as it
seemed? and was that an usher in white kids
who was coming toward him and saying:
“Just one minute more; the bridal couple
are just coming in.”
Bolt upright he sat where he had been
guided, and saw as in a dream a white phan
tom of a woman it seemed and a black
shadow of a man go by. “Married! who
said she was married? Ah! it was horrible!
Perhaps they two, those women fiends, were
ail that knew the shameful secret. Would it
do any good to pray them for the mercy of
God to keep it? Would money hire a woman
to keep a disgrace that had fallen on a fair
sister’s name?”
“Aren't you going to salute the bride?”
smiled an acquaintance. “This is the mar
riage of Labor and Capital at last.” He had
I >erpetrated his witticism a dozen times at
least, and this was the first hearer who had
not laughed. Jane Graves and Silas Ellings
worth, Bertha’s father—were they mad, or
was he?”
“I am ill,” he muttered incoherentJy, as he
pushed his way almost roughly out.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE NEW STOCK COMPANY.
The terrible seeds of suspicion sown in
Philip Breton’s mind bore the bitterest fruits
through the dreary winter months. No efforts
of his w ill, nor course of reasoning could com
fort him. For a moment he might find re
lief, but his torment would only return
afresh. Humanity are slow to believe good
of fellow creature , but nothing seemed too
had to be true. He thought it might have
calmed him to have been assured even of the
worst. He believed that lie might despise
the woman he had elevated to the highest
pinnacle of his ideal temple of womanhood,
if she had made so little of the most sacred
gift of God. But it would have liecn a vio
lence to his feelings to inquire of those who
must know. Her father must know, but his
smiling face will reveal nothing, and his
vp y reserve was peopled with horrors for
Philip. His wife Jane must know, too, but
he could not bear to think of the malicious
pleasure she would tuke in detailing the
shameful story to him. She would sate her
hate in his misery. But what if it were not
a shameful story ? Still he could not form his
lips to ask. The humiliation of such a ques
tion from him, a discarded lover, about her
at whose feet he had been proud to sit,
shocked him into silence. He even dreaded
lest they might speak to him of her, although
it had lx*en months since he had heard Ber
tha’s name once breathed.
One evening at the very close of the winter,
Philip Breton called a meeting of his help,
and the old market hall was jwicked from
door to platform. Reporters were planted
hy their tables, to catch every word of the
mysterious proceedings. Representatives
from all the factories in the country elbowed
the crowd for their three feet of standing
room, eager to learn some new device for
making money out of their help as good as
the other. But the great audience was
strangely silent. It knew not what to ex
pect. Perhaps the economical mill owner
"as going to announce anew reduction in
their wages; everybody said he was reducing
everywhere. The feeling in their hearts was
more-of fear than hope, and it was a look of
piteous terror, almost, that they cast at the
slight lorm in black, that came forward on
the platform. They reminded Philip of a
floek of frightened sheep that had never had
a shepherd. Then lie thought of a great
army massed lie/ore the smoking cannon
mouth, an army that had never had a gen
er *P He saw they feared him.
' l have been for a longtime trying to think
ot some way to make your lives more fair for
}° u , and yet be fair to myself and my class,
have been cutting on expenses to make the
*hole business machinery as economical ns I
knew. Now, at last I am ready to take you
into my confidence and make you a proposal.”
1 here was a stir in the great audience, as if
every man changed his position at the same
moment, so as to be sure not to lose one
pterions word of the new gospel.
‘‘l cannot feel that I ought to give you
anything. And I cannot see that it would l>e
•easonable to pay more wages than others
bay; that is, than you have now.”
A hush had fallen upon the people like
Ueath. There was no hope for them, then,
the speaker went on.
"But if your labor is profitable to me, so
!; it I can pay you your price, and pay my
' tiler expenses, and pay me for the time I
IVe to the business w hat such service as I do
f paid elsewhere, and then have something
besides”
Tlie reporters dropped their pens in aston
ment; was the man mad?
* am disused to think that you have
yarned a sliare in it.” He paused to catch
f. 1, Weat h, and one could have heard a piu
,l hi that crowded room. “My capital
S 10u bl lie allowed for, too. In a word, I pro
to divide the profits of my mill, after
expenses am paid, into two equal parts
if 1 ai ter, one for labor, yours and mine, and
’i’-e for the interest on my money. The part
U( ‘h belongs to labor will lie distributed
fording to the worth of each one’s year’s
The one that earns the largest year’s
win have the largest per cent, of that
tdV * en B hall all be stockholders
'Aether, each w ith a share large or small ac
niing to the value of his work.”
* he building trembled with the roar of ap
that went up, and it was several mo-
G./ 'r * >ef ' ore BbJip could make himself
r again. He had thought there was
It . n,l & kTt in his life, with- love gone out of
S }j l as be stood that moment with the glad
be P°° r ringing in his ears, and felt
thr ‘j*** b‘d them out of bondage, his heart
1 with a proud joy that was almost
*ctasy. His wealth had brought him a hap
piness that made even a life like his worth
living, had conferred oft him a glorious
sense of the dignity of manhood which lifted
him as on wings.
They must listen while he explained the
terms of his plan more fully. He motioned
to a dozen boys and took a printed sheet of
paper from the pile of similar sheets which
he ordered distributed among the workmen.
He then read aloud the following from the
paper in his hand:
The first divided will be distributed Aug. 1
for the year ending July 1. The surplus is
$‘.300,000; SIOO,OOO is set apart as the allow
mce for capital invested, which leaves SIOO,-
000, to lie distributed to the labor in propor
tion to the wages or salary earned by each.
The whole amount of wages and salaries
earned in the mills was about $200,000. There
fore the rate per cent, of dividend is about
27 7-10 to be calculated on the wages or salary
of each man, woman and child as shown by
the paymaster's book for the past year. For
example, the man whom the pay roll shows
to have earned s.‘loo for his year’s work,
will receive 27 7-10 per cent, on s.‘loo in ad
dition. or about $83.10 as his dividend.
The paymaster, who received a salary
of $2,000, will receive about $544,
ami as manager worth a salary of $5,000,
I shall receive more than twice the dividend
of the paymaster. Certain restrictions will
is* imposed. First, only one-half of the an
nual dividend will be in cash, for it
would hurt the interests of the mill
to withdraw so much from the busi
ness. The other half _ will be in stock,
which will draw dividends as the rest of the
capital. Second, stock cannot be transferred
except to operatives, but will be redeemed at
the counting room, after notice, when
holders leave the mills, as stock will yield
dividends only while holders work in the
mills. Holders of stock may hold meetings
and choose a committee to examine the books
of the company,before the annual distribution
of dividends.
When Philip Breton sat down a noisy hum
of voices followed as the people read and
commented upon the prospectus. The figures
looked anything but dull to them. The bright
possibilities that came up before their imag
inations as they read were such as no gentle
cadence of poetry could have given them.
Apparently they would never have tired of
reading the wonderful words of hope and
good cheer over and over, except that the
outer door swung open and a tall man's form
entered. Philip Breton from the platform
saw it and the pride sickened on his heart.
The crowd about the door passed the whjsper
around, and it was hardly one short minute
when the building shook again with cheers
as they shouted the name of Curran.
Yes, it was he who pushed his way well
into the room, and then stopped and took
one of the printed sheets, as if he were un
conscious of their cheering, and read till his
fjl.ee, that had looked so stern and terrible,
softened like a child. Then he mounted a
settee for his platform and uncovered his
head with anew grace that became him as
well as his strength. The old bitterness had
gone from his lips; it had given place to a
touching sadness that sobered every face that
was turned toward him.
“He means to deal well by you; he wants
to make you shareholders in your work.”
Philip had risen excitedly to his feet. The
sight of the man who had been with Bertha,
who came perhaps but this instant from the
woman he lir*l wronged so terribly, was at
first almost maddening to him. Ah, how r
grand and beautiful he was, with his deep
mighty chest and shoulders, and his limbs
like pillars of some temple. There were no
laws for such men as he; the holiest and
purest of women love to make themselves
base and common things to win smiles from
his proud eyes, and men forget their venge
ance, and only remember how small and
mean they seem before him. But who could
look at his melancholy face and the calm
dignity that rested upon him always, and be
lieve he could be vile? Yet perhaps nothing
was vile or low to him, and even sin was
glorified in his eyes when it suited his caprice
to sin.
Philip had come to the very edge of the
platform and beckoned a friend to him.
“Do you see the man talking—the man with
the auburn hair curling about his neck ? no,
don’t look yet;” his voice wtA husky with
excitement. “Get behind him while he is
talking and stop him before he goes out. I
must see him and speak with him; I would
rather SIO,OOO than lose him. Quick, now,”
As Philip sat down again and watched his
friend trying to make his way through the
close packed crowd he heard Curran’s voice
again. What was there changed in it? It
had lost its old ring, there was a queer drag
in it sometimes, and when he used to raise
his voice till every nerve tingled for sym
pathy, he seemed now to let it fall, and his
long, sonorous sentences died down at the
end like a muffled bell.
“If others were like him,” he was saying,
“the reform I would die for would come
soon, would be upon us.” ,
How slow his friend moved. Philip actu
ally hated the peopltrwho were too stupid to
get out of his messenger’s way.
Had Curran finished, was this all that was
left of his eloquence? Yes, he was stepping
down and moving toward the door. Philip’s
friend was almost there, the man must not
eseajie thus, and plunge again with the wo
man whose life he had blastOd into the ob
scurity lie seemed to love. Philip leaped to
his feet and almost shouted to the people.
All turned their faces expectantly toward
him, Curran with the rest his pale worn face.
Philip’s friend was come almost to him now.
If Curran could only lie detained for one
moment more.
“It will of course be for the interest of all
of you,” he knew he was talking weakly, but
it was no matter, “to earn the most wages
you can, to lose the fewest day , to turn off
the most piece work.” Of course, he spoke
too stupidly; Curran turned on his heel and
moved toward the door. Almost instantly
then Philip Breton gave a sudden short bow
to the audience and disappeared back of the
platform. He bounded down the narrow
stairs, four at a time, and rushed around to
the front of the building like one mad, to
stare for a moment in the faces of the escap
ing crowd. Then, wilder than ever at the
thought that Curran might have gone out
among the first, he ran back and forth
after one group and another, but all
in vain. Then he forced himself to
stop and think, and forthwith made
inquiries for Curran's boarding place. He
reached the place at last and ran breath
lessly up the stairs. In another moment he
would know the truth if it killed him to bear
it. He must remove the poisonous shadow of
suspicion that was polluting all the holiest
precincts of his nature. Certainty was bet
ter far, for the nerves can brace themselves
against the clearly defined features of ever so
hideous a monster; far better certainly than
this crawling sli#iy terror that made him
ashamed of a manhood that could cherish it.
He dared ask Curran for the truth, he did
not shrink from it. If the man were inno
cent he might strike him down for the insult
to the purity of his wife. Philip thought
such atonement would seem just and proper.
But if he were guilty, ah, if Bertha was
guilty through him What death was terrible
enough for his penalty!
A portly woman, with the unmistakable
expression of the expectant boarding mistress
on her face and in her attitude, met the pale
faced young man at the top of the stairs. Fl.'
did not recognize the proprietor of the l>
ton mills, in his slight form. She would b*vi
looked for a man of lofty stature and com
manding mien, apd not a mere lvl whom
nobody would glance twice at on r.e street.
“Where is Curran? I—l wuuthim.”
“Why, he’s just gone; he drove off to Lew
iston.”
“To Lewiston? Are you sure?” Why, this
must be some important personage after all,
he was so peremptory. Poor people can bully,
but there is a shamefacedness or an over af
fectation of authority that betrays them;
their self consciousness lets the whole secret
out.
“Either Lewiston or Raleigh; I can’t tell,
really, sir. Shall I get you a carriage, Mr. —
Mr. ?”
“Two horses and a buggy; a driver, too.
Tell them it is for Mr. Breton; and,” he
shouted after the woman, “if they give me a
poor horse he will be dead before they ever
see him again.”
It seemed an hour before the horses drew
up before the boarding house door, and an
other hour before they had left the village
behind. Then the little patience Philip had
forsook him. He caught the reins from the
astonished driver, and at the threatening
snap of the whip the horses took their fastest
gait.
It was a little past 9 o’clock the next morn
ing that Philip Breton, pale from a sleepless
night, knocked at a low studded door in an
ill ventilated tenement house, where they
told him Curran lived. Within was Bertha,
the high bred woman, wonted to the costliest
luxuries of wealth. And she was willing,
then, to live in such squalor as this to be
with the man she loved. Could change have
been cruel enough-to have touched her? Per
haps an infant hung hungrily on her bosom,
and Curran, fallen back into his vulgar tradi
tions, lounged in red flannel shirt sleeves in
her presence. Could he bear the sight ? But
she might be alone; his heart beat faster with
terror and hope. She would lift her sweet
eyes pleasantly to him—so easy it is for wo
men to forget the agony they have caused.
She would hold out her shapely hand to him,
but it would be stained and worn from hard
ships. Should he fall at her feet? Would he
be able to remember she was another's—dead
to him?
He knocked again, possibly no one was at
home.
“Come in.” It wns a man’s voice
As Philip opened the door he saw the man
he sought by the window, eagerly looking up
and down the street, as if waiting for some
sign. There was no guilty fear or shame in
the calm face that was turned to his visitor.
“Breton.” He gave him his hand with
hearty good will. “Somehow I could not
speak last night, but you have begun a noble
work. Why, I had rather feel the proud sat
isfaction you must have, I would rather be
in your place than the greatest man in the
whole world.”
Philip was afraid to look about him. Per
haps Bertha had no wish to speak to him, or
else she was not here; there was no atmos
phere of a woman’s love and care in the
place, somehow. But Curran went on in his
quick, eager way, “The rich men have the
most glorious privilege ever men had. Each
man of wealth can let the fountains of light
and joy into the lives of a village in some
way which shall make his name blessed for
ever. Instead of that, whole generations of
us have to break ourselves in pieces in the
effort to wear away their rock. We fail, as
the wretched 2,000 creatures who strike here
today will fail, to gain one privilege more
for ourselves, yet our children may profit
from our sacrifices, perhaps, or their children.
Anything is better than spiritless, eternal
submission.”
Philip released his hand from the man’s
clasp and turned to look about him. No wo
man’s shawl hung on the rack. No baby’s shoes
or toys were in sight. A man’s rude hands had
set the chairs in an awkward row. A mail's
hands made the comfortless looking bed that
stood in one corner. There was no soft scent
of perfume, such as Bertha would have left
behind her if she had but lately gone. Why,
Bertha could never have breathed for a
moment there. Love can do much, but it
cannot make a woman over.
“Where is your wife?” Philip asked in a
low, breathless voice. “Bertha.”
“ Where is your wife?'
The eager look faded from Curran’s face,
and his blue eyes grew’ troubled. For an
instant he did not answer, but stood with
folded arms gazing out into the street.
“What is a wife?” he said at last. “A
woman who loves a man and lives in his love,
who pines in his absence and listens to the
coming of his foot steps, as the sweetest
music in the world to her; to whom all the
gifts of life would be nothing without him;
to whom poverty and disgrace would lose
their hatefulness if he shared them. A wife
is a sweetheart, a hundred times tenderer and
happier.” His voice grew- bitter and hard
for a moment as he added, “No, I have no
wife, Bertha has left me.”
He heard a shout, and a score of hurrying
forms rushed by his window. He turned
from the window in a sudden passion of ex
citement.
“The strike has begun. What pity do the
rich deserve? Even their women are taught
only to break honest men’s hearts. They are
beautiful as the angels of heaven and cruel
and pitiless as the angels of bell.”
“But wait,” cried Philip, catching him by
the arm. Curran had not yet spoken the
longed for words to protect Bertha’s name
from the insult of another suspicious thought.
But a shout rolled up from the street, and
another and another in quick succession.
Curran shook him off and, catching his hat
from the table, sprang down the stairs.
CHAPTER XVIII.
WHY COULDN’T SHE HAVE WAITED?
The new maid, who showed Philip Breton
into Mrs. Ellingsworth’s parlor, was not near
ly as pretty as her predecessor in office, but
he was too much absorbed with his delicate
errand to take any notice of her. Bertha
was alone somewhere, deserted, unprotected.
Something must be done for her. It was a
strange place to seek pity for her, in the
woman s bosom which he had seen heaving
in hate of her; but a magnanimous heart is
w’ont to count on the generosity of others.
The maid had said Mr. Ellingsworth was uot
in, and so he was left to appeal to the woman
ly tenderness of his wife.
lie rose suddenly from the satin covered
sofa and looked wondenugly at a woman’s
form iu the doorway. Could thislie the i>oor
little factory girl, this fashionably dressed
woman, with . in in like a queen's? lie had
' apidly enough expected to find her iu the
i .mc old calico dress, perhaps with the
dingy, plaid shawl about her shoulders.
But the girl was not so sensitive ns to lie an
noyed. Had not she kept him waiting while
she dressed on purjxise to enjoy a triumph?
And now she was quite pleased at the plain
evidence of it. She smiled rather consciously
as she extended her jeweled little hand to
him.
“Why haven't you called before?” Her
voice had lost the desperate or sullen tone he
remeHiiered in it of old, but he was not sure
he liked it any better. He bowed, like any
gentleman, as he touched her hand, and
noticed the great gold bracelets on her slim
wrists. Philip was unpleasantly reminded of
manacles, and then the massive chain around
her neck, with a huge locket shaped like a
padlock, had suggest!- ~ too, of a sort, he
fancied, the girl would hardly have liked if
rhe had thought of them. He glanced at her
olive cheeks, and the slightly oblique eyes,
and the voluptuous fullness of her form.
How could an American village have pro
duced so perfect an odalisque?
“I did not wish to interrupt your honey
moon.” He seated himself again.
She was looking oddly at him, as if curious
whether he had forgotten her indiscreet visit,
when she had told him of her own broken
heart.
Philip suddenly met her eyes as she sat op
posite him. “The truth is, Mrs. Ellings
worth, I have hardly been in the mood for
polite calls of late. I suppose you under
stand.”
“How should I?” She elevated her dark
brows rather unpleasantly as if to dismiss,
once for all, any further confidences with
him. Philip smiled, in spite of himself, at
her tactics.
“Do you know where Bertha is?” he asked,
simply.
A sudden flash of color lit up her cheeks.
“I hate the very name of her,” exclaimed,
as she rose as if to leave him. She was not
yet wonted to the customs of her new rank.
“Don’t go,” he urged, “I am so anxious to
know where she is. No doubt you have
cause to be angry with her,” Philip did not
notice the growing passion in the girl’s eyes,
“but you surely would not have her starve to
death, or suffer and die alone.”
“Perhaps not;” June meant to smile, but
she only produced the effect of showing the
cruel white of her teeth. “Hasn’t she got—”
the word stuck in her throat, “him?”
“Why' didn’t you know,” cried Philip
breathlessly, “she has left him? She is alone
somewhere, for all we know, in want; think
of it, and she 100 proud to ”
“Left her —husband*”
“If he was her husband I didn’t know,” he
hurried on, as if afraid of the answer that
would come; “I never heard, and I didn’t
like to ask.”
She had seated herself on the pink satin
beside him and caught his hands as she bent
toward him to read his thoughts before he
spoke.
“Did you hear they were not married?” she
almost hissed at him.
“Why, yes, that is—” he looked away in
his shame. “It was told about the village,
but you know better, of course.” He tried to
laugh, then grew sober again. “llow vile of
them to whisper it, ami it was vile of me to
let even the taint of a fear into my mind.”
But she did not answer him yes or no. Her
eyes had grown preternatural!y large, and
thefe was a happiness in them as if she looked
right into the gates of heaven. All the com
mon expressions were gone from her face.
One could read there now nothing but purity
and sweetness, such as makeup the substance
of dreams of Jove.
“And he is alone. Oh! where is he? I
must know. I must go to him. It cannot
be true.’’ The angelic look flitted, the ex
quisite drooping at the corners of her mouth
was gone.
“If you have dared to lie to me.” Philip
was perfectly astonished at the sudden
change in her face and voice. Her black
eyes blazed ungovernable passion into his.
The quick transition from the height of
blissful hope to the depths of deep despair
seemed to bear her over the line of humanity.
“Tell me, have you lied to make a show of
me.'”
She trembled for an instant, like a wild
creature before a spring, then she clutched
with her hot supple fingers at his throat,
magnificent as a tigress and in every motion
u perfect, terrible grace. Philip threw her
from him as he would some untamed animal;
it was hard to remember her womanhood
then.
She sat where he had left her, as if just
awoke from a terrible nightmare, her fingers
parted and curved and moved spasmodically
as if she yet held him by the throat. Then
she buried her face in the cushion iu a flood
of teal's.
“I didn’t know what I was doing,” she
sobbed. “Don’t remember it,” I was mad.”
Sue rose tremblingly to her feet and came
forward covering her face with her hands.
She might have been an abused child, sc
gentle and sweet she seemed now. She took
down her hands from her faee; what man
could be so cold and hard as to stand against
such e}*cs as hers looking through their tears.
But she was alone.
CHAPTER XIX.
A RADICAL.
“Oh, my God, my God, why couldn’t I
have waited ?”
She tore the gold chain from her neck and
cast it on the floor. Her husband had given
it to her, and she hated him at this moment
and the proud name he had put upon her.
She had rather one smile of that other’s than
all those empty golden favors.
“I am sick of their soft ways and tlieir
lying longues,” she moaned; “why didn’t I
wait?” Jane Ellingsworth began to walk
rapidly about the room, wrenching the great
gold bands about her wrists, unconscious
that she chafed and bruised the skin
“I might have known God would not deny
him to me, I wanted him so much. Oh, my
love, my darling, I would have fought for
you, I would have starved for you. It would
have been sweet with you, and I could not
wait one year. I might have known it would
come, but I could not wait.” She drove her
nails into her flesh as she clasped them in her
anguish. She panted for breath; her rich
silk dress seemed to suffocate*her, and the
perfumed air was too heavy aud dead; it
seemed to strangle her.
“He is free; he would have opened his arms
to me. lie may be coming now to ask me to
go with him. He could’never have loved
that cold, bloodless creature. Ah, how- I
could have loved him. I would have taught
him that a woman can love.”
She unclasped her hands and let them fall
gently to her side, and her convulsed face
took on anew, soft tenderness. “I would go
with him,” she murmured. “A hungry heart
cannot feed on such things as these. Oh, but
lie would not have me, a low creature who
has sold herself; he would not have me. He
would despise me; he would not even look at
me.
She fell back in one of the satin covered
chairs she had bought with her husband's
money, and cried and sobbed till the salt
tamtams dried up. It was then, while she
tat silent ami tearless, looking at her bruised
wrists and at the wounds her nails had made,
that she heard a familiar, delicate tread in
the hall. It was es well Mr. Ellingswortli
did not catch the expression on her set, weary
face as his tall form appeared in the doorway.
He seem*d to her fancy that moment the
most terrible monster in the world, this ele
gant figure of a man, whose disposition was
the very essence of refinement, and she
dropped her eyes to the carpet as he came
toward her with his eternal smile.
“All alone, Jennie? Why you have dropped
your chain, here it is on the floor.”
“Oh, thank you,” but she shuddered in spite
of herself as he seated himself near her and
warmed her hands fondly between his own
soft white ml ms.
TO BE CONTINUED.
A beautiful line of zephyrs, toil du
nords, novelty cords, ebambray, ging
hams, etc., etc., just in at
Montgom er y *s.
Magic Compound.
The greatest known remedy for Burns,
Tetter, Ring-worms, Ulcers, Itch and dis
eases of stock. Removes grease from
cloth or wood. Removes dandruff. 25
cents a box. Eyery box* guaranteed.
Only at Word’s may 11 tf
Don’t forget to smoke Sullivan's fine
hand-made cigar. “The Virginia Seal,”
“Hibernia,” “Starlight,” “Sullivan's No.
1.” Ask your dealer for them. 6-8 Ini
T. I. N. C. is cot a cure-all, but a quar
ter of a century of constant use has de
monstrated beyond question that Tan
ner’s Infallible Neuralgia Cure is the
only known infallible cure for all kinds of
neuralgia and for neryous headache. 50
cents per box. Manufactured by Rangum
Root Medicine Cos., Nashville, Tenu.
Sold by all druggists. m 20-lm
The Howard Bank,
CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA.
Does a General Banking Business.
Deposits Received, Subject to Check.
Exchange Bought and Sold.
Collections Made in all parts U. S.
Discounts Desirable paper.
ALL ACCOMMODATIONS CONSISTENT WITH SAFETY
EXTENDED TO ITS CUSTOMERS.
A SPRING MEDICINE!
To go through the hot summer months without sickness one should go to work in
early spring to get his system in thorough order. Nothing brings about better results
than
Curry’s Liver Compound,
=n==A PURELY VEGETABLE COMPOUND.^-
Endorsed and used by the best people in Northwest Georgia and Northeast Ala
bama. It is
SAFE, SURE AJNT) RELIABLE,
Cures INDIGESTION,
LIVER COMPLAINT,
CONSTIPATION,
All diseases brought about by Disordered Liver.
Get Your System in Order
BY EARLY USE.
Sold by Druggists and Dealers in general, and Merchantsjthroughout this whole section
feTsoe. and 1.00 BOTTLES and 50c. PACKAGE?.-^*
Manufactured by owner,
DAVID W. CURRY,
Broad St. Cor. Howard, Rome, Ga.
JOHN T. NORRIS,
Real Estate and Fire Insurance,
(UPSTAIRS.)
First Door South, of Howard’s Bank.
febKMy
Throughout its various scenes. Who use the Smith’s Bile Beans.
Smith’s BILE BEANS purify the blood, by acting ——
directly and promptly ou the Liver, Skin and Kid- The original Photograph,
neyt*. They consist of a vegetable combination that P ane l size, of this picture
lias no equal in medical science. They cure Const! pa- ®? nt on r S^P t of io * 10
tlon, Malaria, and Dyspepsia, and are a safeguard Btan Siii> d Kp\a
a “f o ™ ,s of fevers, chills and fever, gall stones, ® L £.
8 disease. Send 4 cents postage for a sum-
miPi2i C^ age and lj 8 * of what we say. Price, 25 cents per bottle.
maUod to any address, postpaid. DOSS ONE BEAN. Sold by druggists.
'f* **• SMITH <db CO., PROPRIETORS, ST. LOUIS, MO.
D/1V Ten Thousand Trial the impowum of pretentious reme
■• W t mtuled to pa- Af dies for these trouWo*, and all Quacks,
ft nTrnn tienta a lar<? proportion AMf ffl VJV whosewly aimia to bleed their no-
arhoin took a full treat BMf PSSIXZArsr wßßbnis. Take a SURE Rkmedt that has
■sent and were restored to health by use of tA EMLiSsLHAftM JpfSciJRED thousand*, does not Interfere
PROP* CFIfUNAI DftCTII ICC ' riu ' “ katlon **> business, or cause pain
HARRIS'OCHIInnIi rAdl ILLbYV dWf or inconTOß>eac in anr WIT Founded
A RadicalCureforNervonsDobility,
WeakneasandPhysical Decay in Voting nr hi i to the seat of disease its specific
die Asd Men. Tested for Right Tears in tannenceis felt without delay. The natural
thoumnd cases they absolutely restore prnaturalr^T!*“!^i fnn^tlon ® of tho h u ™*n organism restored. The
aged and broken down men to th* full enjoyment of ■“■**" elwnents of life sre given back, the patient
perfect and full M anly Strength and Vigorous Health. *>“• cbeeriU and rapidly gains both atreacth and health
TBEATIIHIT.— t3 UtmO,t3. Tt, KcUL fhm,
HARRIS REMEDY CO., Mrs Chemst*
fcEIhD PACKAGE FRKR. with lUaat’d PamphleUTc. SOS* M. Tenth Street. ST. LOUIS. MO.
RUPTURED* PERSONS (MM Iwvt PRES Trial of our Appliance. Ask for Trm4
SHOW CASES CASES
ARTISTIC STOUR FIXTURRS. CiIUHFT WORK,
CKUiKt itKsT. Wants. AaSfor Pamphlet. Addrr^s
TERRY SHOW CASE CO., Nashville, Tenn.
FREEjoALLT
wjgtflr/ Our Illustrated Catalog**
of 100 Pages, containing &
complete assortment of the
ptants< ft oo ** Bulby
and Seeds m
cultivation. Satisfaction
guaranteed. Address,
1 NAN & NEUNER,
\r Louisville, Ky.
nv\n Of the good things of this
life are sorrowfully let
alone on account of Dyspepsia. Acker’s
Dyspepsia Tablets will cure Dyspepsia,
Indigestion and Constipation; sold on a
positive guarantee at 25 and 50 cents, by
For sale by J. R, Wikle & Cos., Druggist
The Be-t Thing
for your liver is Lemon and Orange Elixir
Every bottle is guaranteed or money re
funded. Also have in stock Simmon’s
Regulator, Curry's Liver Compound and
Lemon Elixir, all reliable medicines.
Word’s Drug Store. hu.yll-tf
To the Consumers of Oils.
We handle all kinds of lubricating and
machinery oils, and are manufacturers’
agents and can offer special inducement*
in this line, either by the gallon or barrel,
Very respectfully,
J. R. Wikle & Cos.