Newspaper Page Text
SYNOPSIS.
—9—
I The chief characters are Ethel Wil
■loughby, Henry Streetman and Capt.
■Larry Redmond. The minor characters
■are Sir George Wagstaff of the British
■admiralty and Charles Brown, a New
■York newspaper correspondent. Ethel,
■a resident of Sir George’s household,
^■secretly married to Streetman, a German
■spy. though she did not know him as
^fcuch. Captain Redmond, her old lover,
■returns to England after long absence.
■From him she learns the truth about
■Streetman; furthermore, that he has
■ betrayed her simply to learn naval se
■|crets. The European war breaks out.
■Ethel prepares to accompany Streetman
■to Brussels as a German spy in order to
■ get revenge and serve England. Captain
■ Redmond, Ethel and Charlie Brown turn
■ up at a Belgian inn as the German army
■ comes.
| Here is a big opportunity for
■ Charlie Brown, the New York
■ newspaper correspondent, to
■ show either a world of good sense
■ or a state of mind bordering on
■ insanity. The problem is up to
■ him—whether he will stick by
■ his friends, no matter what oc
■ curs, or consider the safety of
■ his own person. There is a big
■ thrill in this installment. It de-
I scribes the meeting and plan-
fl ning of spies.
CHAPTER Xll—Continued.
Ethel consented to the arrangement.
She was immensely relieved that the
■quick-witted journalist so readily ac
•cepted her alias.
“Good, good!” their delighted host
■exclaimed. “Sweet consomme, eh?
Boiled chicken, an artichoke, a bit of
salad, and some coffee—real American
coffee, without chicory, eh, m’sieu?”
He was already edging toward the
door that led kitchenward, to begin
bis preparations for a meal that should
forever perpetuate his inn in the mem
ories of his two guests.
“Great! Sounds immense!” Mr.
Brown rejoined with enthusiasm.
"Yes, m’sieu —immense! That is
your good American word. ... I
shall serve such a dinner as the Lion
«TOr never has seen before!” And
Henri disappeared in high spirits.
After the depressing dullness of the
past weeks it was Indeed exhilarating
to minister to two appreciative pa
trons.
By the time Christophe had van
ished Ethel Willoughby had quite re
covered her self-possession. And when
■Charlie Brown turned to her with a
look of inquiry upon his face she was
ready to meet his scrutiny with a stout
heart. |
“You seem surprised—and quite nat- i
urally,” she said, “at hearing that man
call me Madame de Lorde.”
“Well, that afternoon I knew you
as Miss Willoughby,” he replied.
“But I was then Madame de Lorde,”
Ethel explained glibly. “You see, Mr.
Brown, I’d been married secretly.”
“Secretly?”
“There were reasons—good rea
sons,” she rejoined. “I could not ex
plain what they were then; nor can I
now.”
“Surely—surely!” he acquiesced, for
he had not the slightest desire to pry
into her private affairs. “But what
■on earth are you doing in this dead
and-alive spot?” And then, in the next
breath, he exclaimed, as a sudden in
spiration came to him, “Oh, by George!
How dull of me! You’re honeymoon
ing, of course!”
“Not exactly!” Ethel replied, just a
bit lamely, perhaps. “My husband
isn’t here —just now. He had some
business In Brussels, but I came on
ahead.”
She had, Indeed, left Streetman In
the Belgian capital. “Shall you be
staying long?” she asked Mr. Brown.
“No! I’m off in the morning,” he
informed her.
The information relieved her vastly.
She had not relished the thought of
having to confess to the American that
Monsieur de Lorde was no other than
bis erstwhile acquaintance of the tea
party—Henry Streetman. But as a
spy in his majesty’s service, Ethel took
as easily to subterfuge as a duck to
water. She surprised herself often by
the readiness with ■which plausible
tales sprang to her lips.
“Oh! Then you won’t be able to
meet Monsieur de Ix>rde,” she said
with a note of regret. “I don’t expect
him till tomorrow.”
Charlie Brown murmured his regret
at that circumstance.
“But what are you doing here?”
Ethel asked him then. “Perhaps you’ve
a secret in your past too?” she added
gayly.
But Mr. Brown could lay claim to
no such romantic excuse.
“Oh, I came over looking for a war,”
be explained.
“And you haven’t found it?”
“Nothing like it at all!” he replied.
■“The day after I saw you I got a
straight tip to beat it for Belgium. I
bought yon one-and-a-half cylinder
1846 bicycle, and I’ve pedaled away for
'three days, till I feel all legs and back.
iMy right name, this minute, is George
/W. Achewell!’’ And Charlie Brown
sat down by the table upon which Ma
dame de Lorde was resting her trim
^ibow.
“Mr. Brown,” Ethel said, “you’re not
English. I am; but you are an Anglo-
Saxon, and you must sympathize with
the allies.”
“Sure I do!” was his prompt re
sponse.
“Then, whatever happens while
you’re here,” she continued with an air
of great earnestness, “whatever hap
pens, I want you to remember that I
am English, and that it is England I
serve always. . . . You will believe
it?”
“Oh, of course I will!” he assured
her And immediately a thought came
into Charlie Brown’s head that made
him start. “And by the way,” he said,
“while I think of it, I want to warn
you about that chap I met at tea at
your place. Streetman, he called him
self. You remember him?”
To hide her confusion Ethel rose and
moved a few steps away from the
table.
“Yes, I remember him very well,”
she answered.
“I happened that night to get some
dope on him,” Charlie went on, in en
tire innocence of the effect his words
had upon her. “He’s what you might
call a professional spy—working for
the German secret service now. That’s
why he stuck up for them that after
noon; but really he’s a Russian.”
“A Russian!” Ethel exclaimed, star
tled, in spite of herself, by that sur
prising news.
“Yes,” he continued. “He got kicked
out of Russia ten years ago for some
dirty business. Then he worked for
the English against the Boers. They
couldn’t stand him either —he’s an aw
ful rotter. I don’t know much about
him after that. Now he’s with the
Germans. . . . You’ll forgive my
speaking of this,” he said, “but I
thought perhaps as you’re in the ad
miral’s family, he might be trying to
pump you about some of the navy’s
secrets.”
“Oh—thank you for telling me!” she
exclaimed gratefully. And, somehow,
she felt the least bit guilty that she
could not be frank with him. “And
one thing more—” she added, as he
seemed about to leave her, “you won’t
speak of meeting me here? . . .
You’ll promise, won’t you, even though
I can’t explain?”
“My dear girl,” he protested, “I’ve
been on so many stories, I've inter
viewed so many people, I’ve seen so
much of human nature, that I know
pretty well when to print a story and
when to kill it—and I'll go through for
you any way you want me to.”
Ethel turned to him impulsively,
gratefully.
“Thank you—you’re a dear!” she
told him.
And at that moment the French spy
—he of the newspaper—returned.
And, paying scant heed, apparently,
to Ethel and her companion, he sat
down at a table, lighted another ciga
rette, and resumed his intent reading
once more.
As soon as he caught sight of the
stranger Charlie Brown warned Ethel
with a quick “Ssh!”
“It must be nearly time for dinner,”
Madame de Lorde remarked carelessly, j
as if their conversation bore only upon
trivial matters.
“That’s so. And if we’re going to
dine together I think I’ll go wash up—
or the folks will think I belong here,”
Mr. Brown said, glancing down at the
wreck of his once immaculate new
English suit. “Oh, I almost forgot my
vanity bag!” he exclaimed. And he
retrieved his paper parcel from the
table where he had dropped it. Then
he went joyfully to his room.
CHAPTER XIII.
Der Tag.
Meanwhile Ethel Willoughby, alias
Madame de Lorde, strolled aimlessly
to the cigar counter and leaned neg
ligently against it. Her feelings were
decidedly mixed —compounded of pleas
ure and uneasiness. As it turned out,
she found it agreeable to meet Mr.
Brown. It was a distinct relief to be
able to talk to someone against whom
she was under no necessity of being
on her guard. But at the same time, a
matter of business had brought her to
Courvoisier, and the inn. To be sure,
Streetman expected to join her there
later. But in the meantime Ethel ex
pected to meet someone else first. Who
that person might be she did not know,
except that the unknown was a spy
in the service of the French.
No sooner did he find himself alone
with Ethel than the little Frenchman
dropped his paper.
“Bonjoar, madame!” he said.
“I beg your pardon!” Ethel said.
“Do not look around—stay where
you are!” the stranger told her crisply.
All at once it occurred to her that
this somewhat inferior-looking indi
vidual might be he whom she sought.
But she could not be sure. And she
resolved to bide her time.
“Really, sir,” she said, with assumed
hauteur, “I beg you to explain this
mystery—this—”
“Mystery—” he took the word out
of her mouth —“shall we say rather
the mystery of General Jacques,” he
corrected her politely.
“Oh, you are—”
THE BULLETIN, IRWINTON, GEORGIA.
“A friend of France! . . . And
your password?”- He waited for her
to supply the mystic word.
“Courvoisier!” she said 1 in a low
voice.
“Good!” he exclaimed with satisfac
tion. “The other day to General
Jacques at the fort you offered your
services for France,” he ventured.
“Yes!”
“He wishes now to take advantage
of your offer.”
“I am ready.” she answered quietly.
He proceeded swiftly to the busi
ness in hand.
“The Germans will be here tonight,
and here the road forks, one turn to!
the right, the other to the left—you
know?”
“It is important, the general says,
that he should know which road the
Germans take —whence comes the at
tack. . . . You are to inform him
by telephone.”
“But they will cut the wires,” Ethel
objected.
“All that they can find,” he agreed.
“But last night, while the others slept,
we have strung a wire from the fort
to—that chimney!" By the merest nod
he indicated the huge fireplace that
projected into the room.
“Here?” she exclaimed.
He bowed.
“I have beneath my coat a tele
phone,” he continued hurriedly. “If
madame will be good enough to change
places with me and keep watch, while
I connect the instrument, the affair
will be simple.”
“Os course!” Ethel responded.
The Frenchman stole to the fireplace
and crept inside the wide opening.
And while his head and shoulders
vanished momentarily up the chimney
he busied himself with his work of at
taching the instrument to the dangling
wire within.
“All is well?” he called in a low
voice, as his deft fingers twisted the
ends of the wire.
“It is done,” the little man declared.
He quickly brushed a few clinging
particles of soot from his sleeves.
“The telephone is in the far corner,” :
he explained, “beneath some tree
branches. It cannot be seen.”
“And what am I to do?” she asked.
“At the earliest possible moment
after the Germans arrive and you
have found out which road they take,
call on that instrument. An officer
will be waiting every moment from
now on. I have signaled that the con
nection is made.”
“I understand—and you may depend
on me,” she promised.
And he had already reached the door
to take his departure when he came to
a sudden halt. "Now may I ask you
are Madame de Lorde?” he inquired in
his quaint English.
“Yes!”
“Now it is perhaps best that you be
told,” ... he continued. “Before
you came a gentleman in the service
of your country, a gentleman who met
you in Brussels —he ask for you.”
Ethel started at his announcement.
And she drew nearer to him.
“Captain Redmond!” she exclaimed
in a low voice.
“Ssh—ssh—madame!” he warned her.
“It was he,” he whispered.
“Is he here?” she asked eagerly.
“He could not wait. He must re
■ turn to his work,” he enlightened her.
“But what was he doing here?” she
demanded in alarm.
The little Frenchman waved her to
a nearby chair.
“Not so close, madame!” he begged.
She sat down obediently.
“What was he doing here?” she
asked.
"He came to arrange about the tel
ephone.” the fellow told her. “It is
,411 s plan.”
। “His plan! Then he will come
| back—”
“He could not be certain, madame.”
“But he’s alive, and well—” She
, could hardly wait for his answer.
“Yes, madame, quite so.”
“Oh, thank God!” Ethel murmured,
. in a tone of vast thankfulness.
Her fellow-spy smiled at that—a
happy smile.
“I am glad I have told you,” he
, said. “I had thought perhaps it was
an affair of the heart He had the
look. . . . And now, madame, for
what you will do permit me to thank
you. It is for France.”
“And for Larry!” Ethel murmured
softly.
। It was Ethel’s turn to warn him
then. For a door opened. Henry
. Christophe had returned.
, “Good day, m’sieu!” the little man
. said cheerfully. And he departed.
“Ah, madame! Dinner is ready!”
Christophe announced to Ethel. “And
, where is the American gentleman?”
“I fancy he will be here directly,”
she told him.
“Ah, good, good! But we must not;
, spoil the chicken,” he said. He had
taken especial pains with that chlck
. en, and he wished it to be served at
. just the proper moment.
■ “I say!” Mr. Brown exclaimed. “I
just happened to glance out of my win- 1
dow. What's going on over there?”
“Why, nothing, m’sieu!” his host re
■ plied happily. “And your dinner is
i ready. It is delicious, I promise you.”
Curiously enough, Mr. Brown's In
terest in dinner had suddenly abated.
“But something is happening! Look
i for yourself!" he urged.
Henri Christophe went to the door
and gazed down the village street
And while he stood there, looking
through the shimmering heat-waves
> that flickered above the cobblestones,
Charlie Brown took another survey
. of the commotion he had witnessed
: from his room.
“Yes, yes, m’sieu —you are right!”
: Christophe exclaimed presently. “There
■ is a cloud of dust and people are run
■ ning down that road; some are coming
this way.” ... He turned away j
from the door. And upon his broad,
face there was an expression akin to
bewilderment. “What can it mean,
m’sieu?” he asked.
“It’s the Germans!" Charlie cried in
great excitement.
“Oh!” Despite the tight rein she
tried to keep on herself, that one low
cry would come leaping to Ethel’s
lips.
Half fearful, half incredulous, Henri
Christophe stood stock still and gazed
stupidly at the American.
“That I cannot believe!” he said at
last. But in a moment more he had
to believe it. Even little' Jeanne
knew it. She came flying into the
■ room and flung herself into her fa
ther’s arms.
“Mon pere, mon pere! The Ger
mans are coming!” she-cried in terror.
Her father looked down at her ten
derly.
“There, there! Do not cry!” Chris
tophe said, trying as best he could to
calm her fears. “They will not hurt
you or me.”
As for Charlie Brown—he promptly
forgot all personal considerations. He
became at once the newspaper man.
the news-gathering machine.
“The Germans are coming! And I’m
in the thick of it! God, what a story!”
he exclaimed. It was what he had
dreamed of.
Henri Christophe put his daughter
away from him, as an uneasy thought
crept over him.
“Go to your room, Jeanne, and stay
there till I call you,” he said gently.
A ‘confused murmur, as of many
voices shouting in the distance, pene
trated that still room where they wait
ed. And with every moment that
passed it grew louder.
From his post in the window Char
lie Brown beheld a column of people
sweeping up the road. They were still
some distance off. But even through
the dust he could see that it was a
horde of frightened people, men, wom
en. children.
“Where are they from, my friend?”
Charlie asked his startled host.
“They come from many miles away,
I think, m’sieu,” he answered. “I
know everyone in this neighborhood;
and these are strangers to me.”
“Here they come!” the American
said excitedly, as the vanguard of the
rabble poured up the street almost to
the place where he waited and
watched. "You’d better go to your
room, Madame de Lorde,” he told
Ethel.
“Yes, perhaps I had,” she admitted.
But she still lingered, fascinated by
the contagious fear that impelled those
peasants onward. A man, disheveled,
wild-eyed, thrust his head in at the
door of the Lion d’Or.
“The Germans are coming!” he
warned them. "You’d better get out—
they’re coming this way!” he repeat-
wOS
$jU vA f a
\ h/
■/ WH'I
r w
' //'mV
j 'hwTi
“I Have Beneath My Coat a Tele
phone.”
ed breathlessly. It was plain that he
had run, far. And immediately he
started on again. But Chatlie Brown
called to him.
“Wait a minute!”
“You are sure?” Christophe inter
posed.
The man came inside then.
“Sure! Sure! They're not a mile
ahead!” he gasped between great sob-
Ilke breaths. And already Christophe's
! neighbors crowded through the door
j way and peered curiously at the fel
low. “They came through our town—
I saw ’em—l—l, Andre Lemaire. . . .
I saw ’em—ail graylike—millions of
’em—and they’re still coming! There’s
no end to them!”
“But we have done nothing. They
will not hurt us,” the innkeeper told
t him innocently.
The man turned his piteous eyes
upon Christophe — upon Christophe,
who had not yet learned what was in
store for him.
Does it occur to you that
Madame De Lorde may be dis
covered as a spy by the Ger
mans the first time she tries to
make a move? There is a fine
piece of graphic descriptive
work in the next installment.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
A Philadelphian is the inventor of
a paper bag the top of which is re
j enforced and so cut that it forms a
, bundle.
taraoNAL
suwsoiooi
Lesson
(By E. O. SELLERS, Acting Director of
the Sunday School Course ot the Moody
Bible Institute, Chicago.)
(Copyright, 1916, Western Newspaper Union.)
LESSON FOR SEPT. 3
PAUL, THE HERO.
LESSON TEXT—II Cor. 11:21-12:10.
GOLDEN TEXT—My grace Is sufficient
for thee; for my power is made perfect
in weakness.—ll Cor. 12:9.
This letter raises interesting ques
tions for research and discussion, such
as:
1. What is the difference between
Paul’s heroism and that of a soldier?
2. Is war essential to the development
of heroism? 3. Which courage is high
er, moral or physical?
I.Paul, the Hero (11:21-22). To a man
of a sensitive nature, craving perfec
tion, sarcasm stirs up the deepest bit
terness of the soul. We do not believe
Paul primarily desired to refuse these
false charges—they were unworthy of
him—but the knowledge of his suffer
ings for the cause of Christ and the
truth of the gospel would augment his
power to serve the church. For the
sake of those whom he had reclaimed i
from heathenism he was willing to i
seem to be boasting. Literally he :
says: “I speak byway of disparage- ■
ment (of myself) as though we had !
been weak,” yet he adds: “Whereinso
ever any is bold, I am bold also.” Paul
had as much to boast of as any one
of his Jewish opponents (v. 21). “Are '
they Hebrews? (Os the purest blood, ;
of one nation and language?) So am i
I.” Are they Israelites, worshiping |
only one God? Are they of the seed of
Abraham, inheritors of the ministry of
the promise and the Messianic hope ,
and the kingdom of God? Are they ■
ministers of the Messiah, seeking to ;
bring all men into his kingdom? “I i
speak as a fool. I speak as one beside
himself. I am more.” In labors he
was more abundant; he had occupied
a larger field with greater results. In
stripes above measure—those inflicted
by the heathen were not limited to
forty blows —’besides other beatings re
ferred to In this list. In prisons oft
(Acts 16:23). Frequently exposed to
death and to the perils of robbers by
land and sea (v. 24). “Five times I '
received forty stripes, save one, from ;
the Jews” (v. 25), ‘Thrice was I
beaten with rods; once was I stoned" !
(Acts. 14:19). “Thrice I suffered ship- I
wreck,” evidently not recorded in Acts. ;
for his shipwreck on the way to Rome !
was later. “A night and a day in the ■
deep,” this not otherwise recorded. I
“In journeyings often,” suffering from
the perils of hard travel, often on foot
in uncivilized regions. “In perils of
water,” literally “in rivers.” Bridges ’
were rare, and floods sudden and fre- j
quent. “In perils of robbers.” Every j
road in Asia Minor then as now was '
infested with robbers. “In perils of
his own countrymen;” “In perils by j
the Gentiles;” “In perils in the city;” |
“In perils in the wilderness;” “In per- I
ils in the sea” from storms, rocks, pi
rates; “In perils among false breth
ren” —Judaising teachers who were
self-seeking instead of making the gos
pel first (Gal. 2:4; II Cor., 11:13). “In
weariness and parnfuiness,” literally in
labor and travail; "In watchings oft
en ;” repeated nights of sleeplessness
due to anxiety or pain. “In hunger and I
thirst, in fastings often," hunger un- '
satisfied for a long time. “In cold and
nakedness;” in the mountain passes ।
badly shod and badly clothed. Besides >
these things which were without, in- I
numerable other trials such as the '
care of or anxiety over the churches i
(vv. 32, 33).
11. God’s Sustaining Grace (12:1-10).
To Paul God gave one of the greatest i
tasks over committed to man, viz., the ;
planting of the gospel in heathen ■
lands; founding churches; teaching !
them the gospel truths of the Lord Je- j
sus. He wrote to these churches two- ■
fifths of the New Testament, thirteen I
of its twenty-seven books, and this j
work was accomplished under the I
greatest difficulty, trials and suffering.
To sustain and guide, the Lord gave
him "visions and revelations” (v. 1).
These revelations came to him from
the very beginning of his Christian life
and continued in every great crisis. ;
The first was given at his conversion. I
twenty years before this letter was I
written, when he saw Jesus in His j
glory and received his marching or
ders. Again (vv. 2-4), fourteen years
before, or about A. D. 43, when he was
in Antioch and first entered upon his
foreign missionary work. He obtained
his gospel directly from the Lord. Sub
sequently he had other visions to sus
tain and guide him.
Teachers ought to study this entire
section, beginning at chapter 10. Paul
says that as an apostle he did not la
bor in the fields of others (10:14-15).
He was not much concerned by what I
his enemies might say.
As to his opinion of them, read !
chapter 10. Ashamed to boast, yet for
thtic sakes he meets their foolish
charges by giving us this record.
Because of these sufferings (v. 10) he
takes pleasure in infirmities, reproach
es and persecutions; “For when I am
weak” (in my own strength) then I
am strong through Christ who
strengthens me.”
He vay be a fool in glorying, com
pelled to as he had been, yet his work
bad been accompanied by the signs of
an apostle, and he was not to be be
hind the very chlefest, although him
self he was nothing.
HOW MRS. BEAN
METJECRISIS
Carried Safely Through Change
of Life by Lydia E. Pinkham’s
Vegetable Compound.
Nashville,Tenn. —“When I was going
through the Change of Life I had a tu-
Timor as largo as a
child’s head. The
doctor said it was
three years coming
and gave me medi
cine for it until I
was called away
from the city for
some time. Os
i; course I could not
|go to him then, so
g my sister-in-law told
snae that she thought
Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com
pound would cure it It helped both
the Change of Life and the tumor and
when I got home I did not need the doctor.
I took the Pinkham remedies until the
tumor was gone, the doctor said, and I
have not felt it since. I tell every one
how I was cured. If this letter will
help others you are welcome to use it”
—Mrs. E. H. Bean, 525 Joseph Avenue,
Nashville, Tenn.
Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com
pound, a pure remedy containing the
extractive properties of good old fash
ioned roots and herbs, meets the needs
of woman’s system at this critical period
I of her life. Try it
If there is any symptom in your
case which puzzles you, write to
the Lydia E. Pinkham Medicine
Co., Lynn, Mass.
Forget to Pay.
Patrons of Winchester barber shops
i seem to have a mania for forgetting
|to pay their tonsorial bills. In many
; cases it is done unintentionally.
One evening, recently, a former Win
; Chester resident who now lives in CaJi-
I fornia entered a barber shop for a
I haircut and shave. He was in a hurry,
j His business for the evening included
a lodge meeting, and, most important
of all, catching a train for his home.
Many of his old-time friends were in
the shop when he stepped from the
chair. He bade them all good-by and
started to leave the shop. He had not
yet paid his bill.
“Did you forget something?” the bar
ber asked as the customer was leav
: ing the shop.
“Oh, yes, I beg your pardon,” the
- customer replied. “Good-by. good-by.”
And the bill still remains unpaid.—
I Indianapolis News.
CLEANSE THE PORES 1
. Os Your Skin and Make It Fresh and
Clear by Using Cuticura. Trial Free.
When suffering from pimples, black
heads, redness or roughness, smear
the skin with Cuticura Ointment.
' Then wash off with Cuticura Soap and
hot water. These super-creamy emol
lients do much for the skin because
: they prevent pore clogging.
Free sample each by mail with Book.
Address postcard, Cuticura, Dept L,
Boston. Sold everywhere—Adv.
Case of Necessity.
Ex-President Taft was congratu
lated, at a New Haven luncheon, on
the work he has done in the cause of
peace.
“Let me tell you,” said Mr. Taft
i smiling, "an appropriate story.
“ ‘Why is it’ a fat man was once
I asked, ‘that you fat chaps are always
। so good-natured?'
“ ‘We have to be.’ the fat man re
plied. ‘You see. we can neither fight
! nor run.’ ”
Identity of the Uproar.
“Ah! The chiming of the wedding
: bells—”
“No. That Is the bride’s father, who
- has to pay the bills, wringing his
I hands.” —Judge.
—
THIS IS THE AGE OF YOUTH.
Yoa will look tan years younger if you
darken your ugly, grizzly gray hairs by
। using “La Creole' Hair Dressing. —Adv
How a girl dislikes riding in a
buggy with a one-armed mau!
The man who doesn't know himself
is easily fooled.
i — "■ ...
I —
That Knife-Like Pain
Have you a lame back, aching day
and night ? Do you feel sharp pains
after stooping? Are the kidneys
sore? Is their action irregular? Do
you have headaches, backaches,
rheumatic pains,—feel tired, nerv
ous, all worn-out? Use Doan's Kid
ney Pills —the medicine recom
mended by so many people in this
locality. Read the experience that
follows:
A Florida Case
C. P. Johnson, 535 “FwiV
Seventh St.. Miami, mwa fidwt
Fla., says: “My kid- Wbt
neys were In such li J'/sStaj"
bad shape that I was Tjf
turned down when I >ll
tried to take out Ute I \
Insurance. My back /f/ .\ » \
pained me terribly. V 1 VW \
The kidney score
tlons were filled with f
sediment and caused I riff ZAjB
me much annoyance. » I -dsewTa
Doan’s Kidney Pills
fixed me up all right r •w/
after everything else / I nl
failed. I was later I //V
examined again for ”
Insurance and was able to take out a
policy.”
Get Dou’s at Any Stors, SOc a Boz
DOAN’S
FOSTERAULBURN CO.. BUFFALO. N. Y.
W. N. U., ATLANTA, NO. 36-1916.
