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JOSEPH VANCE
AUTHOR OF “THE BRASS BOWL"” ETC. „ /
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SYNOPSIS.
David Amber, starting for a duck-shoot
ing visit with his friend. Qu&ln, comes up
on a young lady equestrian who has been
dismounted by her horsd becoming fright
ened at the sudden appearance In the road
of a burly Hindu. He declares ho Is
Bffharl Lai ChatterJl. "The appointed
mouthpiece of the Bell.' addresses
as a man of high rank and pressing a
mysterious little bronze box. "The To
ken." into his hand, disappears in the
wood. The girl calls Amber by name.
He In turn addresses her as Miss Sophie
Harrell, daughter of Col. Farrell of the
British diplomatic service in India and
visiting the Qualns. Several nights later
the Qualn home Is burglarized and the
bronze box stolen. Amber and Quain go
hunting on an island and become lost and
Amber is left marooned. He wanders
about, finally reaches a cabin and rec
ognizes as Its occupant an old friend
named Hutton, whom he last met In Eng
land, and who appears to be In hiding.
When Miss Farrell is mentioned Hutton Is
strangely agitated. Chatterji appears
and Summons Rutton to a meeting of a
mysterious body. Rutton seizes a revol
ver and dashes aftt-r Chatterjl. He re
turns wildly excited, says he has killed
the Hindu, takes poison, and when dying
asks Amber to go to India on a mysteri
ous errand. Amber decides to leave at
once for India. On the way he sends a
Iqtter to Mr. Labertouche. a scientific
friend in Calcutta, by a quicker route.
Upon arriving he finds a note awaiting
him. It directs Amber to meet his friend
at' a certain place. The latter tells him
he knows his mission Is to get Miss Far
rell oul of the country. Amber attempts
to’ dispose of the Token to a nioney-len
dciv Is mistaken for Rutton and barely
escapes being mobbed. A message from
Labertouche causes him to star' for Dar
jeeling; on the way he meets Miss
Farrell, and nt their Journey’s end asks
her to become his wife. A Hindu con
duct* Amber to a secret place, and Into the
presence of a beautiful woman who mis
takes him for Rutton. Later Amber is
drugged. The Hindus plot rebellion.
CHAPTER XVII. (Continued).
“Hazoor,” the native quavered in
fright, ‘‘it was cold upon the water
and you kept me waiting overlong. I
landed, seeking shelter from the wind.
If your talk was not for mine ears,
remember that you used a tongue I
did not know.”
“So you were listening!” Amber
calmed himself. “Never mind. Where’s
your boat?”
“I thought to hide It in the rushes.
If the hazoor will be patient for a lit
tle moment . . .” The native
dropped down from the bund and dis
appeared into the reedy tangle of the
lake shore. A minute or so later Am
ber saw the boat shoot out from the
shore and swing In a long, graceful
curve to the steps of the bund.
“Make haste,” he ordered, as he
Jumped in and took his place. “If I
have kept you waiting, as you say,
then I am late.”
“Nay, there is time to spare.” Dulla
Dad spun the boat round and away,
“if did but think to anticipate your Im
patience, knowing that you would as
suredly come.”
“Ah, you knew that, Dulla Dad?
How did you know?”
“I, hazoor? Who am I to know
aught? . . . Nay, this have I
Heard” —he paused cunningly: “‘You
shall find but one way to Kathlapur.' ”
Amber, realizing that he had invited
this insolence, was fair enough not to
resent it, and held his peace until he
could no longer be blind to the fact
that the native was shaping a courso
almost exactly away from the Raj
Mahal. “What treachery is this, dog?"
he demanded. “This is not the
way—”
“Be not mistrustful of your slave,
hazoor," whined the native. ‘‘l do the
bidding of those before whose will I
am as a leaf In the wind. It Is an
order that I land you on the bund of
the royal summer pavilion, by the
northern shore of the lake. There will
you find one waiting for you, my
lord.”
He landed on the steps of the bund
and waited for Dulla Dad to join him;
trut when, hearing a splash of the pad
dle, he looked round, it was to find
that the native had already put a con
siderable distance between himself
and the shore. Amber called after
him angrily, and Dulla Dad rested
upon his paddle.
“Nay, heaven-born!” ho replied.
“Here doth my responsibility end. An
other will presently appear to be your
guide. Go you up to tho jungly path
leading from the bund.”
The Virginian lifted his shoulders
indifferently, and ascended to discover
a wide footpath running inland be
tween dark walls of shrubbery, but
quite deserted. He stopped with a
whistle of vexation, peering to right
and left. “What the deuce!” he said
aloud. “Is this another of their con
founded tricks?”
A low and marvelously sweet laugh
sounded at his elbow, and he turned
with a start and a flutter of his pulses.
“Karaini!” he cried.
“Tell me northern art disappointed,
O my king!” she said, placing a soft
hand firmly upon his arm. “Didst
thou hope to meet another here?”
“Nay, how should I expect thee?”
His voice was gentle though he
steel6d his heart against her fascina
tions; for now he had use for her.
v Had Dulla Dad conveyed me to the
palace, then I should have remember
ed thy promise to ride with me to
Kathlapur. But, being brought to this
place . .
“Then thou didst wish to ride with
ne?” She nodded approval and satis
laction. “That Is altogether as I would
lave it be, Lord of my Heart. By this
lave I proven thee, for thou hast con
tented to approach the Gateway, not
altogether because the Voice hath
Mmmoned thee, but likewise, I think,
«cause thine own heart urged thee, ■
Nay, but tell me, King of my Soul,
did it not leap a little at the thought
of meeting me?”
With a quick gesture she threw her
veil aside and lifted her incomparably
fair face to his, and he was conscious
that he trembled a little, and that his
voice shook as he answered evasive
ly: "Thou shouldst know, Ranee."
“Thou wilt not draw back in the
end?” Her arms clipped him softly
about the neck and drew his head
down so that her breath was fragrant
in his face, her lips a sweet peril be
neath his own. “Thou wilt brave
whatever may he prepared for thy
testing, for the sake of Naraini, who
awaits thee beyond the Gateway. O
my Beloved?”
"I shall not he found wanting."
Lithe as a snake, she slipped from
his arms. “Nay, I trust thee not!”
she laughed, a quiver of tenderness in
her merriment. “Let my lips he mine
alone until thou hast proven thyself
worthy of them.” She raised her
voice, calling: “Ohe, Runjit Singh!”
The cry rang bell-clear in the still
ness, and Its silver echo had not died
before it was answered by one who
stepped out of tho black shadow of a
spreading banian, some distance away,
and came toward them, leading three
horses. As the moonlight fell upon
him. Amber recognized the uniform
the man wore hr that of the imperial
household guard of Khandawar, while
the horses seemed to be stallions he
had seen in the palace yard, with an
other but Utile their inferior in mettle
or beauty.
“Now,” announced the woman in
tones of deep contentment, “we will
ride!”
She turned to Amber, who took her
up in his arms and set her in the sad
dle of one of the stallions.
The sowar surrendered to Amber
the reins of the other stallion and
stepped hastily aside. The Virginian
took the saddle with a flying leap, and
a thought later was digging his knees
into the brute’s sleek flanks and saw
ing on the bits, while the path flowed
beneath him, dappled with moonlight
and shadow, like a ribbon of gray
green silk, and trees and shrubbery
streaked back on either hand in a
rush of melting blacks and grays.
Swerving acutely, the path ran into
the dusty high road. Arnber heard a
rush of hoofs behind him, and then
slowly the gauze-wrapped figure of the
queen drew alongside.
“Maro! Let him run. my king!
The way Is not far for such as he.
Have no fear lest he tire!”
But Amber set his teeth and
wrought with the reins until his
mount comprehended the fact that he
had met a master and, moderating his
first furious burst of speed, settled
down Into a league-devouring stride,
crest low, limbs gathering and stretch
ing, with the elegant precision of
clockwork. His rider, regaining his
poise, found time to look about him
and began to enjoy, for all his eares,
this wild race through the blue-white
night.
They circled finally a great, round,
grassless hillside, and pulled rein in
the notch of a gigantic V formed by
two long, prow-liko spurs running out
upon a plain whose sole, vague bound
ary was the vast arc of the horizon.
Before them loomed dead Kathlapur,
an island of stone girdled by the shal
low silver river. Like the rugged
pedestal of some mammoth column, its
cliffs rose sheer threescore feet from
the water’s edge to the foot of the
outermost of its triple walls. From
the notch in (he hills a great stone
causeway climbed with a long and
easy grade to the level of the first
great gate, spanning the chasm over
the river by means of a crazy wooden
bridge.
A gasp from the woman and an
oath from the sowar startled Amber
out of somber apprehensions into
which he had been plunged by contem
plation of this impregnable fortress
of desolation. Gone was his lust for
peril, gone his high, heedless Joy of
adventure, gone the intoxication which
had been his who had drunk deep of
the cup of romance; there remained
only the knowledge that he, alone and
sing’e-handed, was to pit his wits
against the invisible and mighty
forces that lurked in hiding within
those walls, to seem to submit to
their designs and so find his way to
the woman of his love, tear her from
the grasp of the unseen, and with her
escape. . . .
Naraini had, indeed, no need »o cry
aloud or clutch his hand in order to
apprise him that the Eye was vigilant
He himself had seen it break forth, a
lurid star of emerald light suspended
high above the dark heart of the city.
Slowly, while they watched the
star descended, foot by foot, dropping
until the topmost pinnacle of a hidden
temple semed to support it; and
there it rested, throbbing with light,
now bright, now dull.
y Amber shook himself Impatiently.
“Silly charlantry!” he muttered, Irri
tated by his own susceptibility to its
sinister suggestion. . . . “I’d like
to know how they manage It, though;
tho light ltselfs comprehensible
enough, but their control of it. . . .
If there were enough wind, I’d suspect
a kite. . .
“Thou art not dismayed, my king?”
He laughed, not quite as successful
ly as he could have wished, and, “Not
I, Naraini,” he returned in English; a
tongue which seemed somehow better
suited for service in combating the es
oteric Influences at work upon his
mind. “What’s the next turn on the
program?”
“I like not that tone, nor yet that
tongue." The woman shivered. “Even
as the Eye seeth, my lord, so doth
the Ear hear. Is It meet and wise to
speak with levity of that in whose
power thou shalt shortly be?”
“Perhaps not," he admitted, thought
fully. “ ‘ln whose power I shall short
ly be.’ . . . Well, of oourse!”
“And thou wilt go on? Thou art
not mind to withdraw thy hand?”
“Not so that you’d notice it, Na
raini.”
“For the sake of the reward Na
raini olTers thee?" she persisted dan
gerously.
“I don't mind telling you that you’d
turn ’most any man’s head, my dear,”
he said, cheerfully, and let her inter
pret the words as she pleased.
She was not pleased, for her ac
quaintance with English was more in
timate than she had chosen to admit;
but if she felt any chagrin she dis
simulated with her never-failing art.
“Then bid me farewell, O my soul,
and go!”
“Up there?” he inquired, lifting hts
brows.
“Aye, up the causeway and over the
bridge, into the city of death."
“Alone?”
“Aye, alone and afoot, my king.”
“Pleasant prospect, thanks." Am
ber whistled, a trifled dashed. “And
then, when I get up there—?’’
“One will meet thee. Go with him,
fearing naught."
“And what will you do, meanwhile?”
“When thou shalt have passed tho
Gateway, my lord, Naraini will be
waiting for thee.”
“Very well." Amber threw a leg
Came Toward Them Leading Three Horses.
over the crupper, handed the stallion’s
reins to the sowar, who had dismount
ed and drawn near and dropped to his
feet.
Naraini nodded to the sowar, who
led the animal away. When he was
out of earshot the woman leaned from
the saddle, her glorious eyes to Am
ber’s. “My king!” she breathed in
tensely.
But the thought of Sophia Farrell
and what she might be suffering at
that very moment was uppermost—
obtruded itself like a wall between
himself and the woman.
“Goodnight, my dear,” he said amia
bly; and, turning, made off toward the
foot of the causeway.
When he had gained it, he looked
back to see her riding off at a wide
angle from the causev/ay, heading out
into the plain. When he looked again,
some two or three minutes later. Na
raini, the sowar, and the horses had
vanished as completely as if the earth
had opened to receive them. He
rubbed his eyes, stared and gave it
up.
So he was alone! . . . With a
shrug, he plodded on.
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Hooded Death.
The causeway down which the
horsemen of forgotten kings of Khan
dawar had clattered forth to war, in
its age-old desuetude had come to de
cay. Between its great paving blocks
grass sprouted, and here and there
creepers and even trees had taken
root and in the slow immutable proc
ess of their growth had displaced con
siderable masses of stone; so that
there were pitfalls to be avoided.
Otherwise a litter of rubble made the
walking anything but good. Amber
picked his way with caution, grumb
ling.
After some three-quarters of an
hour of hard climbing he came to the
wooden bridge, and halted, surveying
it with mistrust Doubtless in the old
en time a substantial but movable
structure, strong enough to sustain a
troop of warriors but light enough to
he easily drawn up, had extended
across the chasm, rendering the city
impregnable from capture by assault
If so. It had long since been replaced
by an airy and well-ventilated lattice
work of boards and timbers, none of
which seemed to the wary eye any too
sound. Amber selected the most solid
looking of the lot and gingerly ad
vanced a pace or two along It. With
a soft crackling a portion of the tim
ber crumbled to dust beneath his feet.
He retreated hastily to the causeway,
and swore, and noticed that the Eye
was watching him with malevolent in
terest, and swore some more. En
tirely on Impulse he heaved a bit of
rook, possibly twenty pounds In
weight, te the middle of the structure.
There followed a splintering crash
and the contraption dissolved like a
magic-lantern effect, leaving a solitary
beam about a foot in width and six
or eight inches thick, spanning a
flight of twenty and a drop of sixty
feet. The river received the rubbish
with several successive splashes, dis
tinctly disconcerting, and Amber sat
down on a boulder to think it over.
“Clever Invention,” he mused;
“one’d think that, after taking all this
trouble to get me here, they’d changed
their minds about wanting me. I’ve
a notion to change mine.”
There seemed to be no possibility
of turning back at that stage, how
ever. Kuttarpur was rather far away,
and, moreover, he doubted if he would
be permitted to return. Having come
thus far, he must go on. Moreover,
Sophia Farrell was on the other side
of that Swordwldo bridge, and such
being the case, cross it he w'ould
though he were to find the next world
at its end. Finally he considered that
he wa3 presently to undergo an ordeal
of some unknown nature, probably ex-
tremely unpleasant, and that this mat
ter of the vanishing bridge must have
been arranged in order to put him in
a properly subdued and tractable
frame of mind.
He got up and tested the remaining
girder with circumspection and in
credulity; but it semed firm enough,
solidly embedded in the stonework of
the causeway and immovable at the
city end. So he straddled it and,
averting his eyes from the scenery be
neath him, hitched ingloriously across,
collecting splinters and a very dis
tinct impression that, as a vocation,
knight-errantry was not without its
drawbacks.
When again he stood on his feet he
was in the shadow of the outer gate
way, the curtain of the second wall
confronting him.
Casting about, he discovered the sec
ond gateway at some distance to the
left, and started toward it, forcing a
way through a tangle of scrubby un
dergrowth, weeds and thorny acacia,
but bad taken few steps ere a heavy
splash in the river below brought him
up standing, with a thumping heart.
After an irresolute moment he turned
back to see for himself, and found his
apprehension only too well grounded;
the swordwide bridge was gone, dis
placed by an agency which had been
prompt to seek cover—though he con
fessed himself unable to suggest
where that cover had been found.
He gave it up, considering that it
were futile to badger his wits for the
how and tjie wherefore. The impor
tant fact remained that he was a pris
oner in dead Kathlapur, his retreat
cut off, and — Here he made a sec
ond discovery, infinitely more shock
ing: his pistol was gone.
Turning back at length, he made his
way to the second gateway and from
it to the third, under the lewdly
sculptured arch of which he stopped
and gasped, forgetting as for the first
time Kathlapur the Fallen was re
vealed to him In the awful beauty of
its naked desolation.
A wide and stately avenue stretched
away from the portals, between rows
of dwellings, palaces of marble and
stone, tombstones and mausoleums
with meaner houses of sun-dried brick
and rubble, roofless all and disinte
grating in the slow, terrible process
of the years.
As Amber moved forward small,
alert ghosts rose from the under
growth and scurried silently thence;
a circumstance which made him very
unhappy.
The way was difficult and Amber
tired. After a while, having seen
nothing but the jackals, an owl or
two, several thousand bats and a
crawling thing which had lurched
along in the shadow of a wall some
distance away, giving an admirable
imitation of a badly wounded man
pulling himself over the ground, and
making strange guttural noises—Am
her concluded to wait for the guide
Naraini had promised him. He turned
aside and seated himself upon the
edge of a broken sandstone tomb. The
silence was appalling and for relief
he took refuge in cheap irreverence
“Home,” he observed, aloud, "nevei
was like this.”
A heart-rending sigh from the tomb
behind him was followed by a rattle
of dislodged rubbish. Amber found
himself unexpectedly in the middle of
ihe street, and, without stopping to de
bate the method of his getting there
with such unprecedented rapidity,
looked back hopefully to the tomb. At
the same moment a black-shrouded
figure swept out of it and moved a few
paces down the street, then paused
and beckoned him with a gaunt arm.
“I wish,” said Amber, earnestly, “I
had that gun.”
The figure was apparently that of a
native swathed in black from his head
to his heels and Beemed the more
strikingly peculiar in view of the fact
that, as far as Amber could deter
mine, he had neither eyes nor features
although his head was without any
sort of covering. He gulped over the
proposition for an instant, then
stepped forward.
“Evidently my appointed cicerone,”
he considered. "Unquestionably this
ghost-dance Is excellently stage-man
aged. . . . Though, of course, I had
to pick out that particular tomb.”
He followed In the wake of the fig
ure. which sped on with a singular
motion, something between a walk
and a glide, conscious that hts equa
nimity had been restored rather than
shaken by the incident.
He held on in pursuit of the black
shadow, passing forsaken temples and
lordly pleasure houses, all marble
tracery and fretwork, standing apart
in what had once been noble gardens,
sunken tanks all weed-grown and
rank with slime, humbler dooryards
and cots on whose hearthstones the
fires for centuries had been cold —his
destination evidently the temple of
the unspeakable Eye.
As they drew nearer the leading
shadow forsook the shade of the walls
which he seemed to favor, sweeping
hastily across a plaza white with
moonglare and without pause on into
the black, gaping hole beyond the
marble arch.
Here for the first time Amber hung
back, stopping a score of feet from
the door, his nerves a-Jangie. He did
not falter in his purpose; he was go
ing to Ater the inky portal, but
. . . would he ever leave it? And
the world was sweet to him.
He took firm hold of his reason and
went on across the dark threshold,
took three uncertain strides Into the
limitless unknown, and pulled up
short, hearing nothing, unable to see
a yard before him. Then with a ter
rific crash like a thunder-clap the
great doors swung to behind him. He
whirled about with a stifled cry, con
scious of a mad desire to find tbe_
doors again, took a step or two to
ward them, paused to wonder if he
were moving in the right direction,
moved a little to the left, half turned
and was lost. Reverberating, the
echoes of the crash rolled far away
until they were no more than as a
whisper adrift in tho silence, until
that, was gone. . . .
Digging his nails into his palms, he
waited; and in the suspense of dread
began to count the seconds.
Onfe minute . . . two . . .
three . . . four . . .
He shifted his weight from one foot
to the other. . . .
Seven . . .
He passed a hand across liis face
and brought it away, wet with per
spiration. . . .
Nine . . .
In some remote spot a bell began to
toll; at first slowly—clang! . . .
clang! . . . clang!—then more
quickly, until the roar of its sonorous,
gong-like tones seemed to fill all the
world and to set it a-tremble. Then,
insensibly, the tempo became more se
date, the first clamor of it moderated,
and Amber abruptly was alive to the
fact that the bell was speaking—that
its voice, deep, clear, sound, metallic,
was rolling forth again and again a
question couched in the purest Sans
krit:
“Who is there? . . . Who is
there? . . . Who is there? . .
The hair lifted on his scalp and he
swallowed hard in the effort to an
swer; but the lie stuck in his throat;
he was not Rutton and . . . and
it is very hard to lie effectively when
you stand iq stark darkness with a
mouth dry as dust and your hair stir
ring at the roots because of the in
tensely Impersonal and a!oof accents
of an inhuman beil-voice, tolling away
out of nowhere.
"Who is there?”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Wants Longer Nights.
"Have you joined the More Daylight
club?" he asked.
"I should say not. It’s all I can do
now to get home before daylight,” re
plied the old rounder. —Detroit Fra*
Press.
Prejudice Is aw
Serious MenacS
Prejudice Is a hard thing to overcome,
bat where health is at stake and the
opinion of thousands of reliable people
differs from yours, prejudice then be
comes your menace and you ought to
lay it aside. This is said in the inter
est of people suffering from chronio
constipation, and It is worthy of their
attention.
In the opinion of legions of reliable
American people the most stubborn
constipation imaginable can be cured
by a brief use of Dr. Caldwell's Syrup
Pepsin. You may not have heard of It
before, but do not doubt Its merits on
that account, or because it has not been
blatantly advertised. It has sold very
successfully on word of mouth recom
mendation. arents are giving it to
their children today who were given ft
by their parents, and it has been truth
fully said that more druggists use tt
personally in their families than any
other laxative.
Letters recently received from Mr.
J. N. Catlett, Commerce. Ga., ana . -s.
Rose Garvin. Ridgeville. S. C.. are bul
a few of thousands showing the es
teem in which Dr. Caldwell's Syrup
Pepsin Is held. It is mild, gentle, non
griping—not violent, like salts or ca
thartics. It cures gradually and pleas
antly, so that in time nature again does
Its own work without outside aid. Con
stipated people owe it to themselves to
use this grand bowel specific.
Anyone wishing to make a trial of this
remedy before buying it ir. the regular
way of a druggist at fifty cents or oi>
dollar a large bottle (family size) < 1
have a sample bottle sent to the hoLt
free of charge by simply addressing (
W. B. Caldwell, 201 Washington S
Monticello, 111. Your name and addre
on a postal card will do.
THE PESSIMIST.
Policeman —That fellow is hunting
trouble.
Mr. Want-to-Know —Why?
Policeman —He’s looking far tH©
marriage license bureau.
A Hunting Story.
An old backwoodsman that Abra
ham Lincoln often told of had very
heavy, over-hanging eyebrows, and
wore big spectacles with brass rims.
One day he came rushing into his
cabin and seizing his rifle, aimed tt
carefully through a crack of the drxrr
at a great oak tree that stood near,
and fired.
‘‘What is it?” whispered his wife.
“A wildcat, Sairy,” he said, ex
citedly, “an' 1 missed him?”
He hastily loaded and fired again,
and then again.
“Now, hold on, Joshua,” said hts
good wife. “Let me look at you. Why,
laws-a daisy, it’s nothin' but a little
bug on one o’ your eyebrows!”—
Housekeeper.
His Honor Unimpaired.
"No,” said the old shoemaker,
sternly, “I will not do it Never have
I sold anything by false representa
tions, and I will not begin now.”
For a moment he was silent, and
the shopman who stood before him
could see that the better nature of
his employer was fighting strongly
for the right.
“No,” said the old 1 man again, “1
will not do it. It is an inferior grade
of shoe, and I will never pass it off
as anything better. So just mark it
‘A shoe fit for a queen,' and put it *»
the window. A queen, you know, does
not have to do much walking.”
A BRAIN WORKER.
Must Have the Kind of Food That
Nourishes Brain.
"I am a literary man whose nervous
energy is a great part of my stock ia
trade, and ordinarily I have little pa
tience with breakfast foods and the
extravagant claims made of them. But
I cannot withhold my acknowledg
ment of the debt that I owe to Grate-
Nuts food.
“I discovered long ago that the very
bulkiness of the ordimiry diet was not
calculated to give one a clear head,
the power of sustained, accurate think
ing. I always felt heavy and sluggish
in mind as well as body after eating
the ordinary meal, which diverted the
blood from the brain to the digestive
apparatus.
“1 tried foods easy of digestion, but
found them usually deficient in nutri
ment. I experimented with many break
fast foods and they, too, proved un
satisfactory, till I reached Grape-Nuts.
And then the problem was solved.
“Grape-Nuts agreed with me per
fectly from the beginning, satisfying
my hunger and supplying the nutri
ment that so many other prepared
foods lack.
“I had not been using it very long
before I found that 1 was turning out
an unusual quantity and quality ot
work. Continued use has demonstrat
ed to my entire satisfaction that
Grape-Nuts food contains the elements
needed by the brain and nervous sys
tem of the hard working public wri
ter.” Name given by Postum Co., Bat
tle Creek, Mich.
“There’s a reason,” and it is ex
plained in the little book, “The Boaex
to Weliville,” in pkgs.
Ever read (he above letter? A new
one nppenrß from time to time. They
ure genuine, true, uud lull of Lu:uuu
lutcretfi.