Newspaper Page Text
The Blind Man’s Eyes
FAYETTEVILLE NEWS. FAYETTEVILLE. GEORGIA.
By
WILLIAM MacHARG
EDWIN BALMER
Copyright by Little, Brown and Company
BASIL SANTOINE
Gabriel Warden, Seattle capital
ist, tells his butler he is expecting
a caller, to be admitted without
question. He informs his wife of
danger that threatens him if he
pursues a course he considers the
only honorable one. Warden leaves
the house in his car and meets a
man whom he takes into the ma
chine. When the car returns home,
Warden is found dead, murdered,
and alone. The caller, a young
man, has been at Warden’s house,
but leaves unobserved. Bob Con
nery, conductor, receives orders to
hold train for a party. Five men
and a girl board the train, the
Eastern Express. The father of
the girl, Mr. Dome, is the person
for whom the train was held. Philip
D. Eaton, a young man, also
boarded the train. Dome tells his
daughter and his secretary, Don
Avery, to find out what they can
concerning him. The two make
Eaton’s acquaintance.
CHAPTER IV—Continued.
The canyon through the snowdrifts,
bored by the giant rotary plow the
night before, was almost filled; drifts
of snow eight or ten feet' high and,
in places, pointing still higher, came
up to the rear of the train; the end
of the platform itself was buried un
der three feet of snow; the men stand
ing on the platform could barely look
over the higher drifts.
“There’s no way from the train in
that direction now,” Harriet Dome
lamented as she saw this. “What shall
we do with ourselves?”
“Cribbage, Harriet? You and I?”
Avery invited.
She shook her head. “If we have to
play cards, get a fourth and make it
auction; but must it be cards? Isn’t
there some way we can get out for a
walk?’’
“There’s the top of the cars, Miss
Dome,” Eaton suggested. “If we
could get up these, we’d get a fairly
decent walk and see everything.”
“Good!’’ the girl applauded. “How
do we get up?”
"I’ll see the conductor about it,”
Eaton offered; and before Avery could
discuss it, he started back through the
train.
CHAPTER V
The Hand in the Aisle.
The man whose interest in the pas
senger in Section Three of the last
sleeper was most definite and under
standable and, therefore, most openly
acute, was Conductor Connery. Con
nery had passed through the Pullman
several times during the morning, had
seen the hand which hung out into
the aisle from between the curtains;
but the only definite thought that
came to him was that Dome was a
sound sleeper.
Nearly all the passengers had now
breakfasted. Connery, therefore, took
a seat in the diner, breakfasted lei
surely and after finishing, walked
back through the train. Dome by
now must be up, and might wish to
see the conductor.
As Connery entered the last sleeper
his gaze fell on the dial of pointers
which, communicating with the push
buttons in the different berths, tell
the porter which section is calling him,
and lie saw that while all the other
arrows were pointing upward, the ar
row marked “3” was pointing down.
Dome was up, then—for this was the
arrow denoting his berth—or at least
was awake and had recently rung his
bell.
Connery looked in upon the porter,
who was cleaning up the washroom.
“Section Three’s getting up?” he
asked.
"No, Mistah Connery—not yet,” the
porter answered.
“What did he ring for?” Connery
looked to the dial, and the porter
came out of the washroom and looked
at it also,
“Fo’ the Ian’s sake. I didn’t hear
no ring, Mistah Connery. It mus’ have
been when I was out on the plat
form.”
“Answer it, then,” Connery directed.
As the negro started to obey, Con
nery followed' him into the open car.
He could see over the negro’s shoul
der the hand sticking out into the
aisle, and this time, at sight of It,
Connery started violently. If Dome
had rung, he must have moved; a man
who is awake does not let his hand
hang out in the aisle. Yet the hand
had not moved. The long, sensitive
fingers fell in precisely the same posi
tion as before, stiffly separated a
little one from another; they had not
changed their position at all.
“Wait!” Connery seized the porter
by the arm. “I’ll answer it myself.”
He dismissed the negro and waited
until he had gone. He looked about
and assured himself that the car, ex
cept for himself and the man lying
behind the curtains of Section Three,
was empty. Walking briskly as
though he were carelessly passing up
the aisle, he brushed hard against the
hand and looked back, exclaiming an
apology for his carelessness.
The hand fell -back heavily, inertly,
and resumed its former position and
hung as white and lifeless as before.
No response to the apology came from
behind the curtains; the man in the
berth had not roused. Connery rushed
back to the curtains and touched the
hand with his fingers. It was cold!
He seized the hand and felt it all
over; then, gasping, he parted the cur
tains and looked Into the berth. He
stared; his breath whistled out; his
shoulders jerked, and he drew back,
instinctively pressing his two clenched
hands against his chest and the pocket
which held President Jarvis’ order.
The man in the berth was lying on
his right side facing the aisle; the left
side of his face was thus exposed;
and it had been crushed in by a vio
lent blow from some heavy weapon
which, too blunt to cut the skin and
bring blood, had fractured the cheek
bone and bludgeoned the temple. The
proof of murderous violence was so
plain that the conductor, as he saw
the face In the light, recoiled with
staring eyes, white with horror.
He looked up and down the aisle
to assure himself that no one had
entered the car during his examina
tion ; then he carefully drew the cur
tains together again, and hurried to
the forward end of the car, where he
had left the porter.
“Lock the rear door of the car,” he
commanded. “Then come back here.”
He gave the negro the keys, and
himself waited to prevent anyone
from entering the car at his end.
Looking through the glass of the door,
he saw the young man Eaton standing
in the vestibule of the car next ahead.
Connery hesitated; then he opened
the door and beckoned Eaton to him.
“Will you go forward, please,” he
requested, “and see if there isn’t a
doctor—"
“You mean the man with red hair
In my car?” Eaton inquired.
“That’s the one.”
Eaton started off without asking
any questions. The porter, having
locked the rear door of the car, re
turned and gave Connery back the
keys. Connery still waited, until Ea
ton returned with the red-haired man.
He let them in and locked the door
behind them.
“You are a doctor?” Connery ques
tioned the red-haired man.
“I am a surgeon; yes.”
“That’s what’s wanted. Doctor—”
“My name is Sinclair. I am Doug
las Sinclair of Chicago.”
Connery nodded. “I have heard of
you.” He turned then to Eaton. “Do
you know where the gentleman is who
belongs to Mr. Dome’s party?—Avery,
I believe his name is.”
“He is In the observation car,” Ea
ton answered. "
“Will'you go and get him? The car-
door is locked. The porter will let
you in and out. Something serious
has happened here—to Mr. Dome
Get Mr. Avery, if you can, without
alarming Mr. Dome’s daughter.”
Eaton nodded understanding and
followed the porter, who, taking the
keys again from the conductor, let
him out at the rear door of the car
and reclosed the door behind him.
Eaton went on into the observation
car. i,
Without alarming Harriet Dome, he
got Avery away and out of the car.
“Is it something wrong with Mr.
Dome?” Donald Avery demanded as
Eaton drew back to let Avery pre
cede him into the open part of the car.
“So the conductor says.”
Avery hurried forward toward the
berth where Connery was standing
'"You See Him as We Found Him,
Sir.”
beside the surgeon. Connery turned
toward him.
“I sent for you, sir, because you are
the companion of the man who had
this berth.”
Avery .pushed past him, and leaped
forward as he looked past the sur
geon. “What has happened to Mr.
Dome?”
“You see him as we found him, sir.”
Connery stared down nervously beside
him.
Avery leaned Inside the curtains
and recoiled. “He’s been murdered!”
“It looks so, Mr. Avery. Yes; if
he’s dead, he’s certainly been mur
dered," Connery agreed. "You can
tell”—Connery avoided mention of
President Jarvis’ name—"tell anyone
who asks you, Mr. Avery, that you
saw him just as he was found.”
He looked down again at the form
in the berth, and Avery’s gaze fol
lowed his; then, abruptly, it turned
away. Avery stood clinging to the
curtain, his eyes darting from one to
another of the three men.
“Will you start your examination
now, Doctor Sinclair?” Connery sug
gested.
The surgeon, before examining the
man in the berth more closely, lifted
the shades from the windows. Every
thing about the berth was In place,
undisturbed; except for the mark of
the savage blow on the Bide of the
man’s head, th«* was no evidence of
anything rautfual. It was self-evident
that, whatever had been the motives
of the attack, robbery was not one;
whoever had struck had done no more
than reach in and deliver his mur
derous blow; then he ln/1 gone on.
Sinclair made first an examination
of the head; completing this, he un
buttoned the pajamas upon the chest,
loosened them at the waist and pre
pared to make his examination of the
body.
"How long has he been dead?" Con
nery asked.
“He Is not dead yet. Life Is still
present,” Sinclair answered guardedly.
’’Whether he will live or ever regain
consciousness is another question.”
“One you can’t answer?”
“The blow, as you can see"—Sin
clair touched the man’s face with his
deft finger-tips—“fell mostly on the
cheek and temple. The cheekbone is
fractured. He is in a complete state
of coma; and there may be some frac
ture of the skull. Of course, there Is
some concussion of the brain."
Any inference to be drawn from this
as to the seriousness of the injuries
was plainly beyond Connery. “How
long ago was he struck?” he asked.
“Some hours. Since midnight, cer
tainly ; and longer ago than five
o’clock this morning.”
“Could he have revived half.an hour
ago—say within the hour—enough to
have pressed the button and rung the
bell from his berth?”
Sinclair straightened and gazed at
the conductor curiously. “No, cer
tainly not,” he replied. “That is com
pletely impossible. Why did you ask?”
Connery avoided answer. But Avery
pushed forward. “What is that?
What’s that?” he demanded.
“Will you go on with your exami
nation, Doctor?” Connery urged.
“You said the bell from this berth
rang recently I” Avery accused Con
nery.
“The pointer in the washroom, in
dicating a signal from this berth, was
turned down a minute ago,” Connery
had to reply. “A few moments ear
lier all pointers had been set in the
position Indicating no call.”
“That was before you found the
body?"
“That was why I went to the berth
—yes,” Connery replied; “that was
before I found the body.”
“Then you mean you did not find
the body,” Avery charged. “Someone,
passing through this car a minute or
so before you, must have found him!’’
Connery attended without replying.
“And evidently that man dared not
report it and could not wait longer
to know whether Mr.—Mr. Dome was
really dead; so he rang the bell!”
"Ought we keep Doctor Sinclair any
longer from the examination, sir?”
Connery now seized Avery’s arm in
appeal. “The first thing for us to
know is whether Mr. Dome is dying.
Isn’t—”
Connery checked himself; he had
won his appeal. Eaton, standing qui
etly watchful, observed that Avery’s
eagerness to accuse now had been
replaced by another interest which
the conductor’s words had recalled.
Whether the man in the berth was to
live or die—evidently that was mo
mentously to affect Donald Avery one
way or the other.
“Of course, by all means proceed
with your examination, Doctor,"
Avery directed.
As Sinclair again bent over the
body Avery leaned over also; Eaton
gazed down, and Connery—a little
paler than before and with lips tight
ly set.
CHAPTER VI
“Isn’t This Basil Santoine?”
The surgeon, having finished loos
ening the pajamas, pulled open and
carefully removed the jacket part,
leaving the upper part of the body of
the man in the berth exposed. Con
ductor Connery turned to Avery.
“You have no objection to my tak
ing a list of the articles in the berth?”
Avery seemed to oppose; then, ap
parently, he recognized that this was
an obvious part of the conductor’s
duty. “None at all," he replied.
Connery gathered up the clothing,
the glasses, the watch and purse, and
laid them on the seat across the aisle.
Sitting down, then, opposite them, he
examined them, and, taking every
thing from the pockets of the clothes,
he began to caralogue them before
Avery. He counted over the gold and
banknotes in the purse and entered
the amount upon his list.
“You know about what he had with
him?” he asked.
“Very closely. That is correct.
Nothing is missing,” Avery answered.
The conductor opened the watch.
“The crystal is missing.”
Avery nodded. “Yes; it always—
that is, it was missing yesterday.”
Connery looked up at him, as
though slightly puzzled by the manner
of the reply; then, having finished his
list, he rejoined the surgeon.
Sinclair was still bending over the
naked torso. It had been a strong,
healthy body; Sinclair guessed its age
at fifty. As a boy, the man might
have been an athlete—a college track-
runner or oarsman—and he had kept
himself in condition through middle
age. There was no mark or bruise
upon the body, except that on the
right side and just below the ribs
there now showed a scar about an
inch and n half long and of peculiar
crescent shape. It was evidently a
surgical scar and had completely
healed.
Sinclair scrutinized this carefully
and then looked up to Avery. "He
was operated on recently?”
“About two years ago.”
“For what?’*
“It was some operation on the gall
bladder.”
"Performed by Kuno Garrt?”
Avery hesitated. “I believe so.”
He watched Sinclair more closely
as he continued his examination. Con
nery touched the surgeon on the arm,
“What must be done, Doctor? And
where and when do you want to do
It?”
Sinclair, however, It appeared, had
not yet finished his examination.
“Will you pull down the window cur
tains?” he directed.
As Connery, reaching across the
body, complied, the surgeon took a
matchbox from his pocket, and glanc
ing about at the three others as
though to select from them the one
“H* Was Operated On Recently?”
one most likely to be an efficient aid,
he handed it to Eaton. “Will you
help me, please? Strike a light and
hold it as I direct—then draw it away
slowly.”
He lifted the partly closed eyelid
from one of the eyes of the uncon
scious man and nodded to Eaton:
“Hold the light in front of the pupil.”
Eaton obeyed, drawing the light
slowly away as Sinclair had directed,
and the surgeon dropped the eyelid
and exposed the other pupil.
“What’s that for?" Avery now
asked.
“I was trying to determine the se
riousness of the injury to the brain.
I was looking to see whether light
could cause the pupil to contract.
There was no reaction.”
“His optic nerve is destroyed.”
“Ah! He was blind?”
“Yes, he was blind,” Avery admit
ted.
“Blind!” Sinclair ejaculated. “Blind,
and operated upon within two years
by Kuno Garrt!" Kuno Gartt operat
ed only upon the all-rich and powerful
or upon the completely powerless and
poor; the unconscious man in the
berth could belong only to the first
class of Gartt’s clientele. The sur
geon's gaze again searched the fea
tures in the berth; then it shifted to
the men gathered about him in the
aisle.
“Who did you say this was?” he de
manded of Avery.
“I said his name was Nathan
Dome,” Avery evaded.
“No,'no!" Sinclair jerked out Im
patiently. “Isn’t this—” He hesi
tated, and finished in a voice suddenly
lowered: “Isn’t this Basil Santoine?”
Avery, if he still wished to do so,
found it impossible to deny.
“Basil Santoine!” Connery breathed.
To the conductor alone, among the
four men standing by the berth, the
name seemed to have come with the
sharp shock of a surprise; with it had
come an added sense of responsibility
and horror over what had happened
to the passenger who had been con
fided to his care, which made him
whiten as he once more repeated the
name to himself and stared down at
the man in the berth.
Conductor Connery knew Basil San
toine only in the way that Santoine
was known to great numbers of other
people—that is, by name but not by
sight.
Basil Santoine at twenty-two had
been graduated from Harvard, though
blind. His connections—the family
was of well-to-do southern stock—his
possession of enough money for his
own support, made it possible for him
to live idly if he wished; bijit SunSsine
had not chosen to make his blindness
an excuse for doing this. He had
at once settled himself to his chosen
profession, which was law. He had
not found it easy to get a start in
this, and he had succeeded only after
great effort in getting a place with a
small and unimportant firm. Within
a short time, well within two years,
men had 'begun to recognize that in
this struggling law firm there was a
powerful, clear, compelling mind.
Santoine, a youth living in darkness,
unable to see the men with whom he
talked or the documents and books
which must be read to him, was be
ginning to put the stamp of his per
sonality on the firm’s affairs. A year
later his name appeared with others
of the firm; at twenty-eight his was
the leading name. He had begun to
specialize long before that time, in
corporation law; he married shortly
after this. At thirty the firm name
represented to those who knew its
particulars only one personality, the
personality of Santoine; and at thirty-
five—though his indifference to money
was proverbial—he was many times a
millionaire.
“A sound came to his ears—a
young girl suddenly crying in
abandon.”
tTO BE CONTINUED-*
SCOUTS
(Conducted by National Council ot the Boy
Scouts of America.)
CHAMPION CHILDREN’S CAUSE
On Children’s day during the recenl
Safety Week campaign in Greater New
York, boy scouts directed traffic, gav«
demonstrations of first-aid and
marched 7,000 strong in a mammoth
children’s parade. The scouts wor«
buttons containing the Safety Week
slogan, “Don’t Get Hurt!” and carried
impressive mottoes emphasizing the
need of caution, such as: "The A. B,
C. of Safety Is, Always Be Careful,’ 1
“Better Be Alert Than a Cripple,” “A
Rash Minute and a Human Wreck,"
“Better Belated Than Mutilated,"
“Scouts Are Trained for Safety,” "Be
Prepared Is Our Motto.”
At the foot of a monument erected
In Central park to the memory of th<
1,054 children of Greater New York
whose lives were lost In 1921 through
preventable accidents, the mayor deo
orated with a gold medal Scout Sam
uel Levine, who, because of his thrill,
ing rescue of two boys under desperatl
circumstances had been selected as tin
boy scout of Greater New York who
had performed the most merltorous ad
of life-saving. The medal was especial,
ly designed and was the gift of Judge
Elbert C. Gary.
Because of the number of acts ol
heroism performed by scouts, the com
mittee who selected the boy to receive
the medal found It difficult to reach a
decision. Among the outstanding cases
were the rescue by individual scouts
of a small girl, whose dress had caught
afire while she was playing near a bon
fire; of a small boy who fell from a
dock into deep water; of a girl who
had broken through ice while skating;
of a young woman who had discarded
her water-wings, and unable to swim,
ventured too far out in the surf; and
of a boy, not a scout who was being
carried away by a swift current. The
last mentioned rescue was performed
by a scout who had sight in only one
eye.
AN ENGLISH SCOUT LEADER
At the Invitation of the American
delegation at the recent international
conference of scout officials at Paris,
Capt. Francis GIdney of England, at
tended the national biennial confer
ence of scout executives at Blue Ridge,
North Carolina, in September.
Capt. Francis Gidney is one of the
most prominent leaders of scouting in
England. He has been a scoutmaster
since the early days of the movement,
and for the past three years has been
camp chief of the well-known Gilwell
Park training school for scout lead
ers, Chingford, Essex, England. Cap
tain Gidney has placed in his camp
many of the picturesque features of
American Indian and cowboy life. He
is an expert in lassoing and rope work
of various kinds, and gives credit to
our own AVill Rogers for much of his I
knowledge, Captain Gidney brought
with him an extensive exhibit of Eng- 1
lish scouting equipment and handi* j
work. He says: “The only continent
on which I have not had the oppor
tunity of studying scouting at first
hand is Australia, and I am looking
forward with keen interest to my visit
to this country and to meeting the
scout executives at their conference, j
It Is a privilege which is much ap- j
predated not only by myself personal- j
ly, but by the whole scout movement
in Great Britain. I do sincerely hope
that it will prove a link in scouting
operation between the two great coun
tries."
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No Place for the Wife.
Green—So you are taking your wife
to the lakes of Klllarney? That’s a
wonderful place; there are echoes there
that repeat the sound of the human
voice 40 times.
Breen—I guess we won’t go to Kil-
lamey.—New York Sun.
Mother Says
Babies Never
Get Real Sick
Quick Footwork.
“Hello! Hello! Is this you, Mac?"
“Aye.” ;
“Is this Mac MacPlierson I’m talk
ing to?”
“Ay; spe’kin’.”
“Well, Mac, it’s like this. I want td
borrow fifty dollars—”
“All right. I’ll tell him as soon as he
comes in.”—The Monitor.
HIKING HELPED
Although he had suffered when a
child with infantile paralysis which
left one leg in a weakened condition,
Frank Bedson, seventeen-year-old Tren
ton scout, walked every mile of the 224
miles hiked by the Trenton scouts ou
their recent trip to Fort Ticonderoga.
At the close of the trip Bedson said to
Scout Executive Abriels: “I feel won
derfully improved. I don’t believe any
thing else could have limbered me up
as this hike has done.”
AID COMMERCIAL TRAVELERS
Scouts contributed assistance to the
recent convention of the New England
councils of the United Commercial
Travelers at Springfield, Mass., by
maintaining information and aid sta
tions, by furnishing a bicycle safety-
first squad, a comfort squad, tratfic
guards and a fife and drum corps, and
by entering a float in the pageant of
industry, a feature of the last day of
the convention.
THE HEART OF SCOUTING
Believing in, loving, and being wil
ling to serve one another in the right,
is the heart of scouting.—Clarence H.
Howard.
MAYOR HAS OWN TROOP
In Springfield, Mass., Troop No. 12
has both paid honor to and been hon
ored by the city’s chief executive,
Mayor Edwin F. Leonard, who is one
of the community’s strongest support
ers of the boy scout movement. Last
February during twelfth anniversary
week, his honor, as mayor, received
the badge of honorary tenderfoot
scout. Recently, as private citizen,
he was decorated with a veteran pin
for ills service*. Troop No. 12 Is “Thg
Uayor’s Own"
That Teethina, the famous baby
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the greatest medicine on earth for
keeping little children well and happy
all the time is conclusively proven by
the statement of Mrs. R. B. Bogart,
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says:
“I have three boys, the oldest five,
the next will soon be four and the
baby is eighteen months old. I have
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they showed the slightest sign of feel
ing bad, and not only have the results
been wonderful, but none of them
have ever been really sick in their
lives. I believe their good health is
due entirely to Teethina.”
Teethina is sold by all druggists, or
you can send 30c to the Moffett Lab
oratories, Columbus, Ga., and receive
a regular size package and also a copy
of the valuable Baby booklet.—Adver
tisement.
A Hot One.
She—Of course you threw some rice
at Jack’s wedding.
He—No; I felt more like throwing
a few grains of common sense.
She—I see. but you couldn’t spare
them.—Boston Transcript.
Sore Eyes, Blood-Shot Eyes, Watery Eyei
Sticky Eyes, all healed promptly with night
ly applications of Roman Eye Balsam. Adt
A Boy and His Goat.
Ed and his brother Harry were the
proud possessors of a goat. One day
their mamma said: “Eddie, I saw
Nanny standing with her fore feet on
the fence.”
“Oh, no, mamma,” came the reply.
Nanny had only two feet on the
fence.”
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the shoes leave the factory.
Refuse substitutes. Prices - ~
are the same everywhere.
IV, L. Douglas name
and portrait is the
b&t Jbnoten shoe
Trade Mark in the
world. It stands J or
the highest standard
of Quality at the low
est possible cost. The
name and price is
plainly stamped on
the sole.
To Merchants: ff no drain'
in your hvm hand!... IV,
Douolat shoN.wnte today for W.Z.JJougla* Shot (7<_
ejccluiirenglUslohandletfns 10 Spark Street
Quid leliing. Quid tuni-oier line. Mrockton, Ham.
Not There.
"Philosophers are plentiful.”
“You never run aci’oss one in the
waiting room of a dentist.”
Sure Relief
FOR INDIGESTION
)A
6 Bell-ans
Hot water
Sure Relief
OU TO KwlIGT
Bell-ans
25$ AND 75$ PACKAGES EVERYWHERE
LET PARKS’ STRAIN
Bred-to-Lay Barred Rack
COCKERELS
Stamp the lay on your flock liko they
have for thousands of other., Kanina
, Exp. Sta. reports over 94% increase
Mr. Carr made $800 from 53 he.
/ Circular free. 80-page catalogue 25c!
J. W. Parks, Box Z, Altoona, Pa.
AGENTS WANTED—To sell Syntono Radio
Sets. Attractive discounts. Easy to demon
strate In purchaser’s home. Write for par
ticulars. UNITED RADIO & ELECTRIC
CO.. 71 Sixth Avenue, BROOKLYN, N. Y.
FLORIDA CALLS YOU
Shall we send catalog orange groves, (arms
and bungalows? Ten-acre orange groves and
living for life. We pay your fare. CORNELL
COMPANY, 810% Franklin St.. Tampa. Fla.
MAKE BIO MONEY
We furnish everything. No red tape. Send
fifty cents In stamps to help pay postage.
Warren Trading House, Front Royal, Virginia.
PENS—DU* IN WATER WRITES WHOLB
LETTER. No Ink required. 25 cents. MID
WEST DISTRIBUTING CO., Springfield, lit
W. N. U., ATLANTA, NO. S2-1922.