Newspaper Page Text
i/ustraM with Photo? fim theP/ay
cornua
SYNOPSIS.
Congressman Standish and the Woman,
ibellevlng themselves In love, spend a
trial week as man and wife In a hotel
in northern New York under assumed
names. The Woman awakens to the fact
that she does not love Standish and calls
their engagement oft. Standish protests
undying devotion. Wanda Ifelly. tele
fihone girl at the Hotel Keswick. Wash
ngton, Is loved by Tom Blake, son of the
political boss of the house. He proposes
marriage and is refused. She gives as
one of her reasons-her determination to
?et revenge on Jim Blake for ruining her
ather. Congressman Frank E. Kelly.
Congressman Standish, turned Insurgent,
is fighting the Mullins bill, a measure in
the interests of the railroads. The ma
chine Is seeking means to discredit Stand
ish in the hope of pushing the bill
through. Robertson, son-in-law of Jim
Blake, and the latter’s candidate for
speaker of the house, tries to win Stand
ish over, and falling, threatens to dig
into his past. Jim Blake finds out about
the episode of five years back at the
northern New York hotel. He secures all
the facts except the name of the Woman
and proposes to u»j the story as a club
to force Standish to allow the Mullins bill
to pass. Jim Blake lays a trap to secure
the name of the Woman. He tells Miss
Kelly that he Is going to have a talk with.
Standish, and that at its conclusion the
latter will call up a number on the tele
phone to warn the Woman. He offers
Miss Kelly SIOO for that number. At the
■conclusion of the Interview with Blake.
Standish gets a New York wire and calls
Plaza 1001. A few minutes later Robert
son tells Miss Kelly to call Plaza 1001 and
get his wife or one of the servants on the
ghone. Miss Kelly refuses to give Jim
lake the number called by Standish.
Blake has a story of the Standish episode
prepared ready to send out as soon as the
Woman’s name Is learned. Blake’s daugh
ter Grace arrives with her husband. Gov
' -ernor Robertson. Miss Kelly calls on
Grace to warn her that her good name Is
threatened by Impending exposure of
Standish and is insulted for her pains.
-Grace appeals to Standish to give up the
fight in order to protect her name. He
refuses. Grace sends for Miss Kelly,
apologizes for her rudeness and begs
Wanda’s assistance. Wanda declares she
will never betray the Woman. The ma
chine attempts again to force Standish
out of the fight, without success. Blake
•calls up the Associated Press to order the
publication of the story, but is cut off and
■communication is restored too late to get
the story into the morning papers. Rob
ertson attempts to force Miss Kelly to
reveal the Woman’s name. She is threat
ened with imprisonment for cutting off
Blake’s conversation with the Associated
Press because of her refusal to give the
number called by Standish. Grace admits
-that she knows the name of the Woman
and her husband demands that she tell it.
CHAPTER XXI.
Jim Blake, Loser.
And so for an Instant they stood. It
was an odd tableau: Grace, helpless,
shaking, dumb; Wanda, her arms
clasped protectlngly about the unheed
ing Woman, who did not so much as
realize their presence nor feel the
warm sympathy of their embrace;
Mark, his triumph tinged with impa
tience at his wife's hesitation; Blake,
:still gripping the telephone and glow
ering in angry surprise at the lawyer;
Van Dyke grim, alert, master of the
moment, his lean face set in lines of
■unwonted sadness.
And it was Van Dyke who broke the
brief silence. His precise dry voice
was tinged by a note of something al
most solemn as he addressed Robert
son.
“Mark,” he said, “Miss Kelly has
told us that she promised the —the
Woman not to tell. When did she
make that promise?”
“What does that matter now?" snap
ped Mark. “We —”
“She never heard of the affair until
early this evening. So it must be
since then that she talked with the
Woman about it. Miss Kelly has been
on duty downstairs ever since six
•o'clock. She has not left this hotel.
How could she have communicated
with the Woman?”
“By telephone. If —”
“I think not,” denied Van Dyke, the
■cold sorrow in his voice now apparent
to every one. “The Woman is here
in this house,”
“So much the better!” declared
Blake, again picking up the telephone,
j Van Dyke, in gloomy wonder, turn
' ed on his chief.
“You have often boasted, Jim,” said
he, “that you owe your success to the
fact you see things just a second soon
er than other people. Don't you un
derstand —even yet?”
“No,” growled Blake, “I don’t. Out
with it, man! What are you trying to
get at? Don't beat about the bush.
You’re wasting time that we haven’t
got.”
Van Dyke faced Roberston; his lean
face working.
“Mark,” he said, tapping the dupli
cate telephone list, “your house in
New York is charged here with two
calls. We thought it was a mistake
A wordless gurgle from Jim Blake
interrupted him. The telephone was
set down by a hand that shook as
though from palsy. For a single in
stant the heavy-lidded eyes were whol
ly, starkly unveiled in a glare of un
believing horror. Then they turned
stupidly upon Grace who bowed her
head in a spasm of hysterical uncheck
ed weeping before the panic query in
their gaze.
Wanda Kelly wound her arms tight
er about the heavy body. But Grace
neither felt the contact nor heard the
whisper of eager futile comforting.
Blake stared open-mouthed, his face
greenish and flabby, the stern jaw
loose, the keen eyes bulging. Mark
Robinson was still frowning perplexed
ly at Van Dyke.
“Don’t you understand?” pleaded the
latter.
“No, I don’t,” returned Mark. “What
have the two phone calls to my home
got to do with —?”
“Suppose the second call were not
a mistake—?” hesitated Van Dyke.
Robinson’s face went purple. The
big veins near his temples swelled
.a^WOMAN
) Modify Pwon
/ Terhune
' founded on
William G de Wie's Play
grotesquely. He took an involuntary
step toward Van Dyke. The latter
raised a protesting hand.
“Mark,” he said, flinching not at all
before the bloodshot fury In the hus
band’s little eyes, “we are here as law
yers, making an investigation. At last
we have struck the right trail. I am
sorry It leads where it does. I —”
He got no further. At a stride Rob
ertson was beside his wife.
“You hear what this man insinu
ates?” he cried thickly. “I don’t ask
you to foul your lips by denying it.
I’ll attend to him later. But give me
the right to do that by telling the
Woman’s name at once.”
“Grace!" croaked Blake, his throat
sanded with a horror that he would
not /confess, "don’t you hear what
they’re saying, girl?”
In his harsh eagerness, Mark forci
tly lifted his wife’s bent head and
forced her eyes to meet his.
“What’s the matter?” he demanded
sharply. “Why don’t you speak? Tell
Van Dyke he lies. Tells him he lies, I
say! Oh!”
His fierce appeal broke off in a cry
of pain. He had at last raised her
face and had read it. For the briefest
moment he stood stupefied, expression
less.
“Why, Grace!” expostulated Blake,
in pitiful bravado. “You’re crazy!
You don’t know what you’re implying
—what you’re letting them think. I
won’t believe It. Not a word of it.
It’s a trick to —to —”
She caught his shaking hand and
murmured a broken incoherent sylla
ble or two amid the passion of her
sobs.
“Almighty!”
Blake’s legs gave way and he
sprawled inert into a chair, his head
on his breast. He had all at once
grown old —very, very old. Meantime,
Robertson had forced his own dazed
brain back Into a semblance of its
former strong control.
“Van Dyke,” he said as calmly as if
he were giving a routine order, “you
will have every trace of this story de
stroyed tonight. U must never get
beyond this room. *1 can count on
you?”
“Certainly,” agreed Van Dyke with
equal coolness.
There was no hint in his voice or
in his manner that Mark’s command
entailed the defeat of a bill, the col
lapse of millions of dollars -worth of
stocks, a probably panic on Wall
street and the money Interests’ total
if temporary loss of power in con
gress. For the moment, the great
corporation lawyer chanced to be also
a man.
On his way from the room, Van
Dyke paused beside Blake’s chair.
“Jim,” he said hesitatingly, "I'm go-
r 7?
Os
Gathered Her Into His Arms as
Though She Were a Baby.
ing over to the capitol. Shall I tell
Mullins to let the bill come to a
vote?”
“Yes,” answered Blake, without stir
ring or so much as looking up.
“Yes,” he said again, and his voice
was dead. “Yes —I’m—l’m licked.”
As Van Dyke opened the dor, Wan
da made as though to follow him.
“If you don’t need me any further,
Mr. piake,” she said gently, “I’ll go.”
Blake lifted a palsied hand in nega
tion.
“In there," he muttered, pointing to
ward the door that led to the inner
rooms. “I must speak to you—after
ward.”
When the old man raised his eves,
Mark and Grace alone were left in the
room with him. Robertson was stand
ing moveless unseeing. Grace’s sobs
broke the tense silence, as she fought
weakly for self-control. Blake crossed
over to her. She rose at his approach.
“Daughter,” said Blake, almost tim
idly, “they’ve all gone. None of them
will tell. But there’s one thing we've
got to know. I'm with you, no matter
what you’ve done. But —but —tell me
—that —that this was all over and —
THE BULLETIN, IRWINTON, GEORGIA.
and done with—before you married
Mark!"
“Father!”
The Woman faced him In dry-eyed
horror. Every trace of weeping was
seared away by the flame of sudden
Indignation. And, at the sight, Jim
Blake gave a great wordless cry and
gathered her into his arms as though
she were a baby.
"Oh, my little girl!” he choked,
“Dad's own, own little girl! We’ve
been tearing your poor heart to pieces
and your old father was the bitterest
against you. It’s all right, I tell you,
girl. It’s all right. Dad’ll see you
through. You shan’t be bothered.
There, there! Oh, don't cry like that,
darling. Don’t!”
His voice grew husky. Leaving her
abruptly, he crossed to Robertson.
“Mark,” he faltered, avoiding his
son-in-law’s eye, “you promised to pro
tect her. This is the time to do it. It
was ‘for better, for worse.’ If that
vow is any good at all, it’s a good
for ‘worse’ as for ‘better.’ Mark —be
gentle with her, boy.”
Slowly, with bent shoulders and
dragging step Blake made his way to
the big room’s farthest end. There, in
the window’s embrasure, out of ear
shot, |iis back to the others, he halted.
Drawing aside the curtains he
glanced out into the night. The gloom
of the sleeping city was below and
around him. But, in one black mass,
tiers upon tiers of garish lights
glowed. There, in the capitol, the
Mullins bill was coming to a vote.
There, Matthew Standish, freed by a
miracle from the toils that -craftier
men had woven about him, was win
ning the victory which was to clear
for him the pathway to the very sum
mit of political power.
But He found his subconscious self
straying from the picture he -was so
ruthlessly drawing. His mind would
not fix itself on the lighted capitol and
the wreck of his life-work; but crept
over back into the dim room behind
him. Even his tongue tricked him.
For when he would have made it re
cite further the tale of his losses, it
muttered brokenly:
“My own little girl! Dad’s own,
own little, girl!”
CHAPTER XXII.
The Hour of Reckoning.
Mark Robertson and his wife, left
alone, together, in the other end of
the great library, faced the situation
for which Grace had so long been pre
paring and for which her frightened
years of preparation had proved so
useless.
Mark strove for speech. But for the
first time in his roughly aggressive ca
reer, suitable words were denied him.
Alternately he longed to tell her in
naked terms what she was and how
utterly he despised her. Again, a
gush of self-pity urged him to reproach
her for the wrecking of his ideals, the
blasting of his happiness. Vanity
coming part way to his aid. he framed
—and left unspoken—a curt sentence
of farewell. And, in the end, all he
could say was:
“Why didn't you tell me?”
It was not what he had intended to
say. It was banal. It expressed none
of the stark moods that seethed in
him. Yet as she did not answer, he
found himself asking once more:
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
And now, unknown and unwished
for, there crept into his bald question
a note that was almost of entreaty.
“Tell you?” she echoed. “Oh, if you
knew how I’ve wanted to!”
“Then —”
“I didn’t dare. I didn't dare.”
“Truth and honor surely—”
"Your love meant more to me than
truth and honor. I sacrificed them to
keep it. I would sacrifice them and
everything else to get it back. Is
that shameless? Perhaps. The truth
usually is. If I had told you, you
would never have forgiven me. You
know you wouldn’t. If I’ve wronged
you—”
“If you had loved me as a true wom
an loves, you would have told me.
You would have had to. You could not
have deceived me like this. Love
doesn’t feed on lies. It was my right
to know everything, so that I could
decide my own course. Instead, you
have led me into this trap. There is
no escape now. And it is too late to
reproach you or to try to make you
realize what you have done. You say
your love for me kept you from tell
ing? Believe that, if it is any com
fort to you. I—”
“You say I don’t know what true
love is,” she laughed bitterly. I’m
afraid I can never learn it from you.
So your love has died? Love can’t
die, any more than God can die. You
have never loved me."
“I—”
“Never. I see now that you didn’t.
For you don’t know what love means.
I lived for you. Every thought and
word and act of mine was shaped for
you. And for you alone. I knew you.
I knew your faults, your follies, your
brute savagery. And I loved you for
them as well as for the good that was
in you. But what was it you loved?
The woman you married —or a snow
white saintly reputation ? If you cared
only for the reputation—that is gone
forever. But if you loved me —the
woman I am—then I've been every
thing you thought I was and wanted
me to be—ever since the first moment
you had the right to' think of me at all.
I gave you my life, from that time on
and forever. And it has been all yours.
Before then, it was mine.”
"And yet you let me believe it was
everything—your whole life—your
first love.’
"It was. All that was worth the
giving. All that had ever been worth
the giving. It was my self. Oh. can’t
you see that a woman’s body and
heart and soul belong not to her first i
lover but to her first love? No woman :
can even guess what love is until she
has found it. And I found it only )
when I knew you. I gave you every
thing.
“I’m trying to make it easy. We’ve
never had a real quarrel, you and I.
Mark. So don’t let us wind up our
married life with one, now. You are
in the right. I am hopelessly in the
wrong. I have cheated you. I admit
it, and I’ll accept the consequences. It
is in the blood. There Is much in
heredity. My father is a —politician.
I don’t know who my grandfather was.
And if he had been worth knowing
about, I’d know. There is a bad strain
running through the family. It cropped
out in me. Yes, I have cheated you.
You had the right to demand in our
bargain the hard-and-fast terms the
world has decreed: All of a wife’s life
in exchange for a frayed and battered
remnant of her husband’s. I can’t
meet those terms, though I tried to
fool you into believing I could. So I
must meekly give up the love whose
price I can’t pay. Don't let’s make it
harder by having a scene over it.
I ©
s1 w
I ।
I ! F ’
f J
"Haven’t I Paid? Won’t You Say
We’re Square?”
Good night. I’ll stay with father until
you can decide just what you want to
do and on what basis we’re to sepa
rate. If it would do any good to ask
your forgiveness I’d ask it. That’s
all. Good night, Mark.”
She held out her hand with a shy
wistfulness. He was staring straight
into her tortured eyes and did not see
the gesture. The hand dropped back
limply to her side, and she moved to
rejoin Blake.
But at the first step, Mark barred
her way. She looked at him in tired
wonder. His face was set and hard.
He made no move to touch her. His
voice, when he spoke, grated like a
file, as he forced it between his un
willing lips.
"Grace,” he began. “I’ve told you my
love is dead. And I lied when I said
it. I planned to put you out of my
life. And, even while.l planned, I
knew I couldn’t do it. It doesn’t mat
ter what I want to do or what I ought
to do. Out of all this hideous tangle,
blazes forth just one thing that I must
do whether I want to or not. I must
go on loving you with all my strength
and life.”
“Do you mean,” she panted wildly,
“do you mean that you can—that you
will—”
“I mean,” he cried brokenly, his self
control smashing to atoms under the
hammer blows of his heart, “I mean
there is nothing in all this world for
me, dear love, away from you! I love
you. And I can’t go on without you.
You are earth and heaven and hell to
me. I love you. And I have forgotten
everything but that. Girl of my heart,
will you let me make you forget, too?
Oh, I love you! I love you!”
CHAPTER XXIII.
The Victor?
"They didn't seem exactly 'to be
hankering after my society in there,”
observed Wanda Kelly, “so I came
back.”
Jim Blake turned from the window
at sound of the telephone girl’s pur
posely raised voice. Just within the
threshold from the inner rooms of the
i PRAISED WORK OF CANNIBALS
i
Henry M. Stanley Found Them Faith
ful Followers, Intelligent and
T rustworthy.
Henry M. Stanley was among the
first to negative the prevailing idea
that cannibalism was the mark of a
special allotment of original sin
among aborigines. In fact he pre
ferred cannibals because of their
■ greater intelligence and greater fidel
ity. Now we have the opinion of Mr.
Torday, who has just returned from
the neighborhood of Lake Tehad in
equatorial Africa. He says that he
was virtually unarmed, and unescort
ed except by one friend and twenty
Bitnbalaland porters who were all can
nibals. He says they were “the most
devoted and reliable companions 1
could ever wish to have in a tight cor
ner.” The practice of cannibalism
was originally confined to the bodies
of relatives and was intended as a
mark of respect. Enemies were eaten
lin order to absorb their valor. Prob
ably the most degraded form of can
> nitalism is to be found in Thibet,
suite, Wanda, with elaborate care, was
shutting the door behind her.
Blake glanced quickly about the
room.
“Yes,” eaid Wanda, answering the
question in his look and jerking her
pretty head back in the direction of
the rooms she had just quitted. “In
there. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”
Jim Blake’s grim face took on a
light as incongruous as the play of
sunset rays on a mummy. The mask
of age and defeat seemed to melt be
neath it. He took an eager step to
ward the inner door.
“Just a minute,” Wanda halted him.
“You asked me to wait. If you don't
need me here any longer—”
“Yes,” hesitated Blake, trouble flit
ting acroes the new light in his eyes.
“I wanted to ask you—to—not to let
Tom know about this. His sister —’’
“I’ll never tell him," she promised.
“I sent him away so he wouldn’t find
out.”
“You’re white, clear through," grudg
ingly admitted Blake. “Will you do
one thing more?”
“What?"
“Bring him back tp me.”
“If I meet him again,” she assented
primly, “I’ll send—”
“I didn’t say ‘send,’ ” corrected
Blake, “I said bring.' ”
“That’s different. I —"
“I’m out of politics. My own game
has broken me at last. I’m old. I
know it now. I never did till tonight.
I’m old and I want my children around
me.”
“I’ll tell Tom.” she agreed, softened
despite herself by the new suppliance
in a voice that had never before been
turned to the uses of entreaty. “I’ll tell
him. I'm sure he’ll come back to you
—when he understands. Good night,
Mr. Blake.”
"There’s another thing,” he broke
in roughly, staying her departure, “a
thing that isn’t easy to say.”
“Then, why say it?”
“Because,” he growled, “like ail
things that aren’t easy to say, it’s a
thing that's got to be said. Miss Kel
ly, hasn’t tonight pretty nearly squared
the old debt between you and me?
You and yours have suffered a lot at
my hands. But, after what’s hap
pened here this evening, I guess you’ll
admit, as far as suffering goes, you
haven't got much on me. Haven’t I
paid? Won’t you say we’re square?”
“We’re —we’re square, Mr. Blake,”
she returned in a tone she could not
make wholly steady nor impersonal.
“And,” pursued Blake, “and —Tom J"
"That’s different, too," she faltered.
"I—”
The jangle of the telephone Inter
rupted her. Blake, who was beside
the desk, picked up the instrument.
“Hello,” he called into the transmit
ter. “Ye—yes—she’s here. Who
wants her? Oh! Yes, put him on this
wire.”
He lowered the telephone.
“Some one to speak to you. Miss
Kelly,” he reported.
Mechanically, she took up the re
ceiver, and, by long habit, her voice
took its professional drone:
"Hello!” she called.
Then, turning on Blake, in surprise,
she cried:
“Why, it’s Tom!”
“Yes,” drawled Blake. “So I gath
ered from the name. I’m glad. Glad
clear down to the ground. For both
of you. Tell him so. won’t you?”
The winter sun was butting its way
over the eastern sky-line. The dawn
was bitter-cold, mercilessly clear.
And into the track of the first white
glittering rays walked a tired man. A
man who that night had won a mighty
victory. A victory that foreshadowed
the richesi gifts his country could be
stow. Before him the future stretched
bright as that winter’s dawn. As daz
zlingly brilliant, and as cold and stark
ly empty.
In Matthew Standish's ears, as he
returned toward the loveless abode
that he hated to call home, still rang
echoes of the pandemonium that had
broken loose in the house when the
Mullins bill had gone down to defeat.
“There is only one lasting victory,”
he muttered disjointedly to himself,
as he moved onward in the dazzling
ice-cold trail of light. "At the last, it
won't be the world’s applause that the
world's great men will remember. It
will be the love smile of a Woman.
And —I shall never have known that
memory. What is the rest worth?”
(THE END.)
where it is the custom to expose the
bodies of the dead for disposal by
beasts and birds. But where the dis
ease is of so loathsome a nature as
to repel nature’s scavengers the body
is eaten by the priests, which shows
that official piety has its uses.
Ought tc Be, Anyhow.
At dinner Mollie gazed for a long
time at a bachelor guest, and then ex
claimed:
"Mother, what is an old bachelor?”
A frown was the only reply. But a
laugh burst forth from the assembled
company when Mollie answered the
question to suit herself.
"Oh, 1 know! An old bachelor is
an old maid's husband!"
Pleasant for Mamma,
“And what did my little darling do
in school today?" a mother asked of
her youngest son —a second grader.
"We had nature study, and it was my
turn to bring a specimen." said the
boy. “That was nice. What did you
do?” “I brought a cockroach in a
bottle and 1 told teacher we had lots
more and if she wanted I would bring
one every day.”
“IT SEEMED
I_WOULD DIE”
Expression Used by Mrs. McGee
in Describing the Terrible
Agonies She Underwent
Stephenville, Texas. —“For ten
years,” says Mrs. Jay McGee, of this
place, “J suffered from womanly trou
bles. I had terrible headaches, pains
In my back, etc.
My husband told me to try Cardui,
the woman’s tonic, but I did not think
anything would do me any good.
It seemed as though I would die, I
suffered so! At last. I consented to try
Cardui, and it seemed to help me right
away. I was interested, and continued
its use.
The full treatment not only helped
me, but it cured me. It will do the
same for all sick or suffering girls or
women —both married and unmarried.
i will always praise Cardui, the
woman’s tonic, highly, for it has been
the means of saving my life and giving
me good health.”
Other women, who suffer as Mrs.
McGee did, should profit by her ex
perience, and get relief, as she did, by
taking Cardui, the woman’s tonic.
For women’s pains, for womanly
troubles, for nervousness, weakness,
etc., its 50 years of splendid success,
has proven that Cardui is a good rem
edy, prompt, reliable and harmless.
Cardui is almost sure to help you
and will leave no disagreeable after
effects. Try it
N. B.— Writs to- Chattanooga Medicine Co„
Ladies' Advisory Dept.. Chattanooga, Tenn., for
Steoial Instructions on your case and 64-page book.
"Home Treatment for Women,” sent in plain
wrapper. Adv.
Survival of the Fittest
Employer—Yes, I advertised for a
strong boy. Do you think you can fill
the bill?
Applicant —Well, I just finished lick
in’ fourteen other fellers that were
waitin’ out in de hall. —Boston Even
ing Transcript.
TAKES OFF DANDRUFF
HAIR STOPS FALLING
Girlsl Try This! Makes Hair Thick*
Glossy, Fluffy. Beautiful —No
More Itching Scalp.
Within ten minutes after an applt
cation of Danderine you cannot find a
jingle trace of dandruff or falling hair
and your scalp will not itch, but whac
will please you most will be after a
few weeks’ use, when you see new
hair, fine and downy at first —yes —but
really new hair—growing all over the
scalp.
A little Danderine Immediately dou
bles the beauty of your hair. No dif
ference how dull, faded, brittle and
scraggy, just moisten a cloth with
Danderine and carefully draw it
through your hair, taking one small
strand at a time. The effect is amaz
ing—your hair will be light, fluffy and
wavy, and have an appearance of
abundance: an incomparable luster,
softness and luxuriance.
Get a 25 cent bottle of Knowlton’s
Danderine from any store, and prove
that your hair is as pretty and soft
as any—that it has been neglected or
injured by careless treatment —that’s
all —you surely can have beautiful hair
and lots of it if you will just try a lit
tle Danderine. Adv.
Not Yet
“Do you not propose to marry?“
asked Miss Flitters of young Mr. Bain
bridge.
“Well, I haven’t proposed yet." re
plied he, in a tone which forbade a
further prosecution of inquiries.—•
Puck.
Rather.
“I had a great surprise the other
day.” '
“What was it?”
“I got a square deal from that
rounder.”
Rub It On and Rub It In.
For lame back and soreness, sprains
and strains, sore throat and stiff neck,
you must rub on and rub in thorough
ly Hanford’s Balsam of Myrrh. Re
member that one good application at
first is better than several light ones.
Adv.
In Another Category.
Sapleigh—There goes Miss Roxley.
They say she just hates men.
Miss Knox —Quite true. Come, let
me introduce you. It's your great
chance.
If you can't get Hanford's Balsam of
Myrrh write: G. C. Hanford Mfg. Ca»
Syracuse. N. Y. Two sizes: 50c and
SI.OO. Adv.
It sometimes happens that a boy
learns some very good habits by not
following in the footsteps of his fa
ther.
For sprained wrist rub on and rub in
Hanford s Balsam thoroughly. Adv.
The state manufacture of quinine
yielded Italy last year a profit of about
SIBO,OOO
For obstinate sores use Hanford’s
Balsam. Adv.
But a woman doesn’t care to boss
the job if she can boss the boss.
Made since 1846 —Hanford’s Balsam.
Adv.
It’s improper to eat pie with a knit*
—but au ax is permissible.
