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Copyright, 1899, by Jeannette H. Walworth.
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“No. You see things are entirely dif
ferent with you. Some women are put
into the world just to fill up chinks—
substitutes, as it were, for better things
that are unattainable. That’s me. The
Lord makes them plain, so that they
shan’t be tempted by man’s homage to
forget what they are put here for, and
meek, so that they shall not disdain
their mission. I’m only a chink filler,
my dear. Other women he makes so
pretty that they must be loved, so
tender that they must be hovered un
der sheltering wings, so sweet that it
is happiness just to do for them. That
is you. You could no more fill my
place, Ollio, than 1 could fill yours.”
Ollie lo'v’red at her disconsolately.
“No, 1 don’t suppose there is any
chink in the world so small that I
could fill it respectably.”
“No, but you can have your pick and
choice of lovers.”
“I have made my choice.”
Miss Malvina’s face was fairl/ il
luminated. With that flashing ring
gone and Westover eliminated, was
the road made clear for her dear Tom?
Almost involuntarily she called the
name aloud. Olivia recoiled with a
frown.
“Don’t mention his name. I have
chosen you. You and I are going to
live on just this way until you get to
be an old lady hobbling about with a
stick and I am wearing nose glasses.
You will have to wear a mob cap, be
cause you won’t have any hair at all,
and I will have just a few gray wisps
left. I’m never gbing to marry any
body.”
“You ridiculous child!” said Miss
Malvina and fell to crocheting again,
with an inscrutable smile hovering
about her thin lips.
The first snow of approaching win
ter was powdering the earth when
Olivia dispatched a letter to Thomas
Broxton. She wrote:
Dear Thomas—Miss Malvina and 1 start for
Nice in about two weeks’ time. We will spend
the winter there. She has a cough that makes
me very uneasy. Dr. Govan recommends Nice,
but she will not consent to go without me. She
has been everything to me since my father died
and all my other friends forsook me.
She begs me to ask you if you cannot find time
to spend one evening with us before we start. She
says I am to ask you to come at once. She espe
cially wants to see you, and a refusal will give
her great pain. We had hoped you would come
to see us some time without waiting for a formal
invitation, but since you have not we are sending
the invitation. We understand that you are one
of the busiest men in the world and that you
have invented something that is going to make
you rich and famous. Come and tell us all about
it for auld laug syne’s sake. Your friends,
Malvixa Spillman and Olivia Matthews.
With the pen suspended over her
own signature Olivia fell into a som
ber reverie. Quite a year now since
her father with his last breath had
bidden her marry this man, almost as
long since, in the spirit of compromise,
she bad sent from her the man she
loveu and declared her intention to
marry no one. Surely the hurt she
had inflicted upon herself might be
taken as expiation for lack of obe
dience. If she had denied Thomas
happiness, she had also denied it to
herself.
Would Clarence come back, as he
had said he would? She doubted it. She
marveled languidly at her own utter
indifference to his coming. Was she
becoming like Miss Malvina in her
frank indifference to all men? She
knew that the Westovers had come
back to Broxton Hall, for Jeanne had
come once to see her, only once, to up
braid her for her maltreatment of
“poor dear Clarrie.” But from him nev
er a word had come Jjack. Of him the
papers kept her well informed.
Now he was in St. Petersburg, again
in Florence. Then a woman’s name
crept in, and the Mandeville Morning
News informed its readers that ru
mors from a reliable source announced
the pleasant fact that when Mr. Clar
ence Westover did return to America
Broxton Hall would become the home
of a lovely Parisienne. The lady was
the foreign born daughter of a one time
American embassador to France.
Ollie had read this item among the
local brevities and had passed the
morning’s paper across to Miss Mal
vina. Miss Malvina had read it and
looked at the girl so timidly that Ollie
had laughed aloud, “l'ou are watching
to see me swoon ? I am wondering my
self why I don’t feel any of the proper
emotions on the occasion. It must be
because I am so much more interested
in Granny Maxwell’s winter flannels.”
All of this came back to her when she
wrote that note of invitation to Tom
Broxton.
“Could anything be bolder?” she ask
ed, blushing a vivid pink as she affixed
the stamp.
“Could anything be more studiously
polite?” Tom asked himself as he
crammed the letter in his pocket to be
reread after business hours.
A letter from Olivia was not in itself
a disturbing occurrence. They had nev
er ceased writing to each other in a
desultory way. The total lack of men
tion of Westover’s name, especially as
he always made free use of it himself,
struck him as a piece, of uncalled for
consideration for himself. Somewhat
in the old time fashion she wrote to
him about his work. He dwelt upon it
rather lengthily in reply, as much to
cover space as anything else. The line
was comfortably taut between friend
ship and the old disturbing sentiment.
Miss Malvina considered it a bad
sign that Ollie always passed Tom’s
letters over to her to read. Together
they rejoiced over his rapid ascent cf
his chosen ladder, but she mourned
over the absence of sentiment.
“Oh, I always knew,” Miss Malvina
would say after every letter, “that
you could not down Tom Broxton! He
is bis father all over again, and when
that is said all is said that need be
to describe a grand man. 1 wish he
would marry some good, sweet girl
that would make a real home for him.
“So do I,” Olivia would reply
promptly.
But as the months rolled by Ollie’s
“So do I” grew less and less emphatic,
and when the prospect of a long ab
sence from home stared her in rne
face she was distinctly conscious of a
longing desire for the dear old com
panion of her childish days. Folding
up iiis latest letter, this longing bad
found wistful utterance.
”1 wish we could see the dear boy
before we cross the ocean.”
And Miss Malvina, always lying in
wait for her opportunity, had echoed
the wish with such fervor that the let
ter Tom called “formal” and Ollie
“bold” was the logical outcome.
A week after it had been dispatched
Miss Malvina, passing through the
library with her arms piled high with
slip covers to shroud the parlor furni
ture, halted to rouse the girl from one
of her somber reveries.
“Has Tom sent any answer to our in
vitation yet, dear?”
“Oh, yes! 1 meant to have shown
you his note. It has just come—very
short. I am glad he did not make his
stenographer typewrite it.”
Said Miss Malvina with ready cham
pionship, “No doubt Thomas is a very
busy man, but I am sure he could
never do a discourteous thing.”
Olivia read the short note aloud with
her pretty head held at an angle of re
sentment:
My Dear Little Friend—1 am truly glad that
you and Miss Malvina are going to leave Mande
ville for a change, but am sorry to think you go
on account of her health.
If you will let me come to you on the Sunday
before your departure, it will give me the great
est pleasure to dine with my old friends on that
day. 1 promise to be punctual. Taking your
consent for granted, I am faithfully yours,
Thomas Biioxton.
There were two red spots burning in
Olivia’s cheeks as she flung this note
down upon her desk. “Could anything
be more insufferable? He graciously
accords us an hour or two of his valu
able time.”
Miss Malvina looked imploringly at
the flushed young face over the pile of
covers she was resting on the desk.
“Disappointing, Ollie, decidedly, but
not insufferable.”
“I say insufferable and abominably
patronizing. His dear little friend, aud
he is glad 1 am going away! Not that
I wanted or expected him to be sorry.”
“I think he meant he was glad on our
account, dear. Perhaps he thinks—1
mean he did not think he had any
right to—you know he don’t— Perhaps
he thinks you are—you are”—
“That I am what. Miss Malvina?
Please do finish at least one of your
sentences. 1 don’t know anything more
trying than such verbal convulsions.”
“I meant that perhaps he thinks you
are moping about Clarence Westover,
or perhaps he don’t know about the
breaking off. But, yes, he does.”
“ ‘Yes, he does?’ What does he know
about Mr. Westover and myself?”
Miss Malvjua blushed guiltily. “I am
afraid I did—I did—I wrote to him
about the engagement being broken.”
Olivia looked at her icily, but the hot
blood of humiliation dyed her cheeks
and forehead. “Oh, you did! And per
haps you also asked him to come and
assume the task of consolation?”
“Olivia, you know 1 did not.”
“You have covered me with confu
sion. I am sorry that invitation ever
went to him. He has only accepted it
because he could not refuse. Oh, it is
all horrid, just too horrid for anything!
He has a right to think me a bold, in
delicate wretch. I don’t doubt for a
moment that he does.”
At which Miss Malvina flamed up.
“l’ou never were just to Thomas Brox
ton, and I suppose you never will be.
You are always judging him by com
monplace standards, aud they don’t tit
him at all. He is a man incapable of
harboring a mean thought or commit
ting a mean action. If you had ever
been worthy of him, Olivia, you never
would have played at being in love
with a man not worthy of breathing
the same air with him.”
With which burst of eloquence Miss
Malvina gathered up her chair covers
and went about her business. She ob
served with secret satisfaction, how
ever, that as the time approached for
Thomas’ arrival Ol'ie’s spirits rose
most unaccountably. Her black dresses
made her look pallid alwavs now.
but on that Sunday morning the soft
est of pink flushes dyed her delicate
skin, and—oh, the guile of woman!—
Tom’s favorite shade of chrysanthe
mums, a rich mahogany color, was
piled high in a great glass bowl upon
the hall table.
Tom timed his arrival carefully, just
in time for dinner, but when dinner
was over Miss Malvina herself sudden
ly developed an amount of guile no one
would ever have credited her with.
“I’ve got so much to do. Tom, that 1
can’t afford to remember the Sabbath
day to keep it holy. I am going to
count all the silver this afternoon and
interview Reuben about a caretaker he
wants us to leave in the house. I will
have to leave you on Ollie's hands for
a little while, but don’t you dare to run
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He took a chair near Vie sofa on which
she was sitting.
away until 1 have had my private in
terview. There are some things I want
you to do for me about the Lodge.”
She nodded her little corkscrew curls
gayly and trotted away, leaving Olivia
almost gasping for breath.
It was left to Tom to relieve the
strained situation. He had been in
specting a newly executed portrait of
his guardian while Miss Malvina had
rattled off her apologies. Olivia had
asked his opinion of the painting, and
he had given it. He came over now
and took a chair near the sofa on
which she was sitting. It was as if he
had put up a bar between them. Sim
ple as the act was, it made it very hard
for her to hold fast by a resolve she
had come to. She wished he had seat
ed himself on the sofa by her side. He
would have done so once. She lifted
shy eyes to his as he said easily:
“And so my little sister is going out
to see the great world? Tell me some
thing of your route.”
She was so intent upon her own line
of thought that she did not answer.
How calm and self possessed he look
ed! What a strong, forceful face his
had become! Scarcely a vestige was
left of the shy, bashful boy she used to
patronize and torment, sure of his al
ways loving her. Tom had grown
away from her.
“Or perhaps,” said Tom, filling in
what threatened to become an awk
ward pause, “you have not marked
out any arbitrary route. So much the
better. Are you going direct to Nice?”
“Yes, I suppose so. I don't know.
It will be the innocents abroad when
Miss Malvina and I slip our moor
ings.” ,
She laughed hysterically. How could
she ever say “it?” How could she go
away without saying “it?” She felt
like a leaf in a winter storm. How
cool and steady his voice was!
“You will meet with agreeable sur
prises in that respect. Everything is
so simplified and systematized nowa
days that women can travel over the
world with impunity. 1 am sure you
will enjoy it.”
“And I am sure I shall not. I never
expect to enjoy anything again, Tom.
as long as 1 live, never—anything at
all.”
Her eyes were wet with unshed
tears; her cheeks were hot with un
bidden blushes; her clasped hands
trembled visibly; her excitement was
getting beyond her control. Broxton
looked at her in grave surprise. Then
a smile of pity came into his fine face.
“l’ou are young yet. Ollie, so young,
and to the young sorrow has such a
dreadful finality in seeming. But it
is only in seeming, little friend. We
can outlive and live down about _a 11
the troubles a malicious fate can con
ceive of for our torment if we will
only believe in ourselves, be true to
the best in us.”
She looked at him with the ghost of
a smile on her lips. “That sounds
dreadfully experienced, Tom.”
“And am I not experienced? Not.”
he added, with quick thought for her,
“that I am quarreling with destiny.
My philosophy is that all that is is
right.”
“That is fatalism, and I do not think
fatalism is healthy, especially for so
young a man. You see, 1 have not for
gotten how to find fault with you,
Tom.”
“No. Come, now, this grows promis
ing. I lived in Germany just long
enough to acquire a taste for meta
physics and to miscall myself a philos
opher. We don’t indulge along that
line at the works. Let me hear you
define fatalism.”
His - cool acceptance of the existing
status of things exasperated her most
unreasonably.
“You are turning my meaning into a
jest, Thomas. I suppose I am not
worth a serious thought nowadays, so
you are obliged to think of me as a
good joke. No; I don’t mean that at
all, for that implies that you do some
times think about me.”
“I am glad you do not mean it. We
have been good friends too long to
quarrel with each other just as you are
about to put the ocean between us, and
we would have no chance to make up
inside of a whole year.”
Nothing could be more matter of
fact, nothing less loverlike than his
entire bearing from the moment of his
arrival. If only she could think he
was acting a part, if only she could
think he felt as he had once felt to
ward her, wanted what he once want
ed—her—it would make it easier for
her. Before he had come she, standing
before her father’s portrait, had regis
tered a silent promise.
“I will try to do your bidding to the
utmost, father. Heretofore I have only
The Chinese ask “how is your liv
er?” instead of “how do you do?”
for when the liver is active the
health is good.De Witts Little Early
Risers are famous little pills for the
liver and bowels. H. B. MCMaster.
refrained from doing tnat wmen
would have come between me and it.
I am going to marry Thomas Broxton
Then your sad. pleading voice will die
out of my memory perhaps.”
But Tom was making it so dread
fully difficult. She took the plunge
presently. Her voice trembled at the
start.
“Thomas. I am going to ask you
question before we part. Will you an
swer it very honestly/’
“That depends.” He smiled down
calmlv into her troubled face.
Her eyes fell before the cool steadi
ness of his. She clasped her hands
tightly upon her lap.
“I want to ask you how long you
were standing in the doorway of fa
ther’s room that—night—before you
closed the door so softly that I thought
it was the night wind?”
A troubled look came into his eyes.
He had not expected this direct cate
chising. He answered inconsequently:
“Reuben is a bungling old idiot. He
told me his orders were to send me di
rect to my guardian. When i got there.
I found you were with him, and it was
no time for me to intrude.”
“Nora saw you close the door. She
told me long afterward. I want to
know, Thomas, how long you had
be*n there.”
He moved restlessly in his chair.
For her sake he wished he might evade
the truth. "Not very long—in fact, only
a second or two.”
“Were—you—there—long enough to
hear iny father's last words?”
He remained stubbornly silent. She
raised her eyes in desperation. lie was
looking at her pityingly. It was in
tolerable. She lifted her head defiant
ly-
“You will please answer me, Thom
as. It is necessary that you should.
Did you hear my father's last words?”
“I heard him lay a command upon
you,” came with slow reluctance in an
swer.
“And I—am—ready—to obey the—
command.”
The words escaped her in a husky
whisper. Her head drooped as if
weighted earthward by the dreadful
humiliation of the moment. Would he
never say anything to ease the smart
of those words?
The darkening air was heavy with
the fragrance of the flowers she had
plucked for him. A boy’s shrill whistle
came through the window to her ears
discordantly. She could hear old Reu
ben call the dogs to their dinner. Ev
ery sense was on the alert. It was as
if her nerves had been laid bare by a
surgeon’s knife. She had tried to ful
fill .the command of the dying. She
had offered herself to Thomas Broxton.
She was vindicating her tardiness aud
questioning the cruelty that kept him
silent in the same breath. Tom’s voice,
entirely unshaken by its burden of
feeling, brought her back to the mo
ment she had to deal with.
“Poor little girl! My poor little Ollie!
And you thought so meanly of me as
all that?”
“Meanly of you, Tom?” she managed
to ask.
He went on rapidly, as if mistrust
ing his own strength of purpose. “I
was very unhappy when I heard you
had broken with Westover. I was
afraid you had done it through a mis
taken sense of duty to your father.
But I could not help you nor my
friend. The dying often hamper the
living in some such cruel fashion, but
I do not hold that one is called upon
to sacrifice happiness to any such
deathbed mandates. Westover is a
splendid fellow, and 1 know that he
loves you dearly. If it were not for
the pain that I know you have endur
ed in the effort to obey your father’s
command, I would be glad of this op
portunity to free you from your fan
cied obligation. Now, with a clear
conscience, Ollie, dear, you can recall
Westover.”
“I shall never marry Clarence West-
over, Tom, never!”
He seemed not to hear her. “Once,
when I thought I could support you
as my wife should aud must be sup
ported, I asked you to be my wife.
All through my early boyhood I enter
tained a sweet vision of a future
blessed by your love. I loved you
and asked you to marry me. You
Her hot cheeks were buricO, in the cushions
of the sofa.
did not love me, and you refused to
marry me in terms which I in my
boyish sensitiveness called merciless.
1 could not now accept, either from a
belated mercifulness or an overween
ing sense of filial duty, a reversal of
the decision which years ago 1 accept
ed as final.
“In that letter”—a bitter curve
marred the corners of his mouth for a
second—“you said your ‘No’ was final.
It must stand at that. If I have been
brutally plain, it is because there must
not be the possibility of any misun
derstanding between us in the future.
The negative of years ago cannot by
any sophistry be turned into an affirm
ative of today.”
He stood up and held out his hand.
She made no response. Her hot cheeks
were buried in the cushions of the
sofa. Only the coil of her golden hair
was turned toward him. He left her
so. He thought of her tenderly as the
flying landscape shot past the window
of the car that was bearing him away
from her.
Now that she had done all in her
power to obey her father’s command
she would feel at liberty to recall the
man she loved. Ah, well! That was
just as it should be, but she would
never know what it had cost him to
give her up a second time.
Another installment of this interesting
story will appear in our paper next week.
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FREIGHT TRAINS COLLIDE.
Wreck Occurs at Quitman—One Man
Killed.
Quitman, Ga., June 24.—An accident
occurred at Pidcock which cost one life
aud considerable loss of property. A
freight train backed into the siding to
allow another train to pass and failed to
clear the main line. The other freight
train ran into the standing train, tear
ing up several era's and turning the mov
ing engine over on its side. The engine
struck first a car of lumber and tele
scoped it with a box car. A tramp was
stealing a ride on the lumber car and
was killed.
Passenger trains were delayed five or
six hours.
All who suffer from plies will be
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Hazel Salve will give them instant
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ware of counterfeits. H. B. MCMaster
Will Invite the President.
Atlanta, June 22.—It is possible that
President McKinley and Governor
Roosevelt may come to Atlanta July 20
to be present at the reunion of the blue
and the gray, to be held at the old bat
tlefield of Peachtree creek. At all events
a determined movement with that end
in view has been started.
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)
APPALLING LOSS OF LIFE.
Thirty-One People Perish In Wreck
Near McDonough.
Atlanta, June 25.—The worst wreck
ever known in the south occurred near
McDonough, Saturday night, 28 miles
from here.
The entire train crew of six men, five
of them and 20 passengers, were killed.
Only nine passengers were rescued, all
of whom were more or less seriously in
jured.
The wreck occurred at Camp creek,
miles uorth of McDonough, and was
caused by the underming of the culvert
at that poiut aud the caving of the em
bankment.
The crew consisted of J. T. Sullivan,
engineer; W. A. Barclay, conductor; H.
R. Cressman, Pullman conductor; W.
W. Bennett, baggagemaster; J. J.
Quinlan, flagman, aud W. H. Green,
Quinlan being the only cue to escape
death.
Arriving at McDonough, the usual
stop was made, when the train pulled
out for Atlanta.
The train was running pretty fast
when it reached Camp creek, but the
culvert was so well constructed that
Engineer Sullivan gave no thought to
the possibility of a washout there, and
before he knew of his danger he had
plunged 50 feet into the raging torrent
below, the coaches piling up on top of
the engine in the gorge.
Fire followed the wreck aud three
who would otherwise escaped with their
lives perished in the flames. The scene
beggars description. All that remained
of the train was a mass of ruins, the
coaches being completely demolished.
Flagman Quinlan, although badly in
jured, escaped from the wreckage aud
carried the news of the disaster to Mc
Donough.
The northbound freight was held up
aud a rescuing party hurriedly organ
ized, but when they reached the wreck
they were unable to do anything, owing
to the heavy rain, until daylight, when
the banks of the swollen stream were
strewn with dead bodies.
Of the 40 people on the train many of
them were employes, who live in At
lanta, and were returning home to spend
Sunday with their families.
Dead and Wounded.
The killed were:
Passengers—W. W. Parks, Atlanta.
W. F. Maddox, Atlanta.
Georws W. Flournoy, Atlanta.
W. J. Pate, Atlanta.
Jesse Pate, aged 13, sou of W. J. Pate,
Atlanta.
D. C. Hightower, Stockbridge, Ga.
J. L. Florida, Nashville.
The Crew—J. T. Sullivan, engineer
of the wrecked train, Atlanta.
W. A. Barclay, conductor of the
wrecked train, Atlanta.
H. R. Cressman, Pullman condnctor,
Asheville, N. C.
W. H. Green, fireman on the wrecked
train, Atlanta.
W. W. Bennett, baggagemaster on
the wrecked train, Atlanta. .
Other employes — J. H. Hunnicutt,
conductor, Atlanta.
J. E. Wood, coductor, Atlanta.
G. Y". Griffith, supervisor, Flovilla,
Ga.
W. R. Lawrence, foreman, Stock-
bridge, Ga.
W. O. Ellis, bridgeman, Stockbridge,
Ga.
John Brantley, fireman, Atlanta.
J. H. Rhodes, flagman.
W. L. Morrissette, Pocahontas, Va.,
repairer.
Ed Bird, negro fireman.
Robert Spencer, negro porter.
Unidentified—Bodies of four white
men; one supposed to be Robert Bu
chanan of Atlanta aud one G. M. See-
wall of Chicago.
Bodies of five negro men.
Injm'ed—J. C. Flynn, Atlanta.
Walter Pope, Atlanta.
Miss Mary B. Merritt, Boston.
Miss Clara Alden, Boston.
Jesse F. Rohr, Baltimore.
E. Schryver, Chattanooga.
E. E. Mack, Chattanooga.
J. J. Quinlan, flagman on wrecked
train.
T. C. Carter, porter on wrecked train.
Some of the bodies were badly man
gled, showing they had been crushed to
death, while others were partly burned.
It is presumed that several met death
by drowning.
The occupants of the Pullman all es
caped death, but were all more or less
seriously injured.
The rescued tell harrowing tales of
the sceues immediately followiug the
wreck as well as detailing many deeds
of heroism.
The culvert was examined 30 minutes
before the wreck, and reported all right.
The culvert and embankment simply
gave way under the unprecedented
pressure and volume of water, for it was
a magnificent piece of masonry of gran
ite and brick over a stream usually 6
niches deep aud 5 feet wide, and in four
hours it was 40 feet deep and 500 feet
wide and no piece of masonry could
have withstood this immense flood.
Ikinniuiureil
AVege fable Preparationfor As
similating ttieTood and Regula
ting the Stomachs andBoweis of
Infan is Children
For Infants
Promotes Digestion,Cheerful
ness and Rest.Contains neither
Opium,Morphine nor Mineral.
Not Narcotic.
Jiectpe of Old DrSAMUELPl 'lXIHER
Pumpkin Seed'
dlx. Senna
PoditUe Salts -
plnisc Seal *
Peppermint -
Pi CarionatoSaJa *
fftrm Seed -
Aperfecl Remedy for Constipa
tion, Sour Stomach.Diarrhoea,
Worms .Convulsions .Feverish
ness and Loss OF SLEEP.
Tac Simile Signature of
NEW YORK.
Atb months old
J5Doses-JJCents
EXACT COPY OF WRAPPER.
I The Kind
Always
Bears the
Signature
of
For Over
Thirty Years
THE CENTAUR COMPANY. NEW YORK CITY.
tas &-
rfoo
i ii a
Co.’s
TI I
£ I
Everyth i r-g th at w i i i
and attractive,
of ver
r a pr F
On HVvJ.
make yeur home comfortable
I-.-RCC
Brass and Enameled Beds,]
$4.95 to S25. j and Chiffoniers.
Large Double Beds, light and chirk finish
Cur Keck of Brass and Enameled
B.are new in design, low in price,
and can be used with Golden Oak,
nahegany, Bird’s Eye Maple and
white enameled Dressers, Wash-
stands, French Dressing Tables
Bedroom Suits, solid oak
Wardrobes.
Chifouiers
• . . $9 to $85
.$'5.75 to $35
$2, $2.50, $3
$13.50, $15, $20
Dressers $4 to $35
W ash.stands $1.75 to $20
ODD PIECES PARISH iiMsmiH AT CLOSING OUT PRICES.
China Closets,
~ >es,
' U t i: Vsy
Coir.i
hnUlcn Cs
Book C;
Ladies
5 Writing
Dining
Tables,
Ij Side Tables, Sideboards,
H! Kitchen Tables,
! i'ii ! -'vb•->
lid; h0
tl.
Rsokc
rs and Chairs for Bedrooms, Dining
Parlors, Kalis and everywhere, in
ari-.ty, at prices that will please the
pocket—50c. to $8.00 each.
Polished Golden Oak or Mahogany finished
Rockers $8.95 each, worth $5.
Reduction sn
IDEAL NEW HOME (com:
Reliable DOMESTIC
150 SECOND-HAND MAS
e with
' ES
Ml
W' W £
o
o
1/ £
>70
;ng Machines.
:>!! attachments) $25, $35, $45
* “ 25, 40, 50
each 5, 10, 12
Tthe homeK
live without it.
is guaranteed fora liK-
tinse,
Farrancl 8c Voter’s
-1
oratea
_ Organs for
parlor, church and lodge. If you have not all
the money, we will make terms to suit.
BABY CABS, $4.75 tojSO.
^ 0.-51
Fo
lds
v r
1 .A.£5 AI.E
Rugs, Art Squares rnu\ Luce C
34 x 58 inch Union fringed Rags
20 x 46 inch Smyrna “ fibre Ru^s
30 x 60 inch “ “ “ ^ "
36 x 72 inch “ “ “ 1
200 rolls Spring Mattings, 4 J yards or!:
500 pairs Lace Curtains 20c, •
ri . !0;
1.00;
68c a
& B1CYOLLS.
tf)0 high gmae SOUDANS, with guaranteed tires. $• 9.
AGENTS FOR BEST FITTING S'EANDa'rdTaTTIiR5S.
pfjj
O a
706 to 710 Broadway, Aug-
Free Elevator rur --’• • •••
|| ii Unm
■sf? - U 3 k -? te '• ' ■ 1 • »• -
__ _ REmEmBER
NOVEMBER AND DECEMBER
Is the time to plant Fruit Trees.
Now is the time to order them. . .
CEDAR HILL NURERY COMPANY
WINCHESTER, TENNESSEE,
Is the Nursery to order from. Thev grow what you want and yon get what you
HONEST PRICES, Jgg“ We pay Reasonable Salaries for Good Salesmen.
For further inlormation and Wholesale Price-List. Address. _ „„
ulyl.’99—by J. W. SHADOW,manager, Winchester.Tenn,
buy si
£BP ECT ” Sc AL£ s
1 LAST FOREVER. ^
STEEL TRUSSED LEVERS
COPPER PLATED,
COMBINATION BEAM WITH BEAM BOX,
CATALOGUE FREE.
JONES OF BINGHAMTON,
BINGHAMTON, N. Y.
W. D. BECKWITH,
RESIDENT DENTIST,
Office Over Gray’sJ Waynesboro, ki>-
Office houis: 8 to 1 a. m., and
p. m. Specsal attention to crov n aud ^ ; g
• Satisfaction guaranteed, ena * _
work.
reasonable. The expense
large city saved patrons.
to *
° f s a epvI-W