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▼ m A Romance of Great Wealth and the Game of Finance as Played by Money Kings. THE FIVE FRANKFORTERS A Novelization of the Successful Play of the Same Name Now Being Presented in New York. By KATHRYN KEY. Copyright, 1913, by the New York Even ing Journal Publishing Company. PROLOGUE. The Ride from Waterloo. O N a crest of the rolling plain that sweeps upward to Mont St. Jean, and just back of the road to Ohain, stood two men. Or, rather, <»ne of them stood and the other • rouched beside him. Before them, I Ht the edge of the plateau, dim masses of scarlet and black moved back and i forth. Horsemen dashed past them without a glance. Par beyond and 1 down the slope was that which dne of I jthe men longed and dreaded to see— <’the army of Napoleon deploying for the fight. Save a spyglass as powerful as money could buy, there was nothing about him to mark a military man. His clothes were black and his cra- \ at white. His stockings were black siik, but "he was mired from head to foot. His short, crisply curled, black hair hung dank and limp, framing a . strong face that way gray and drawn • with agony of mind and weariness of body. None of his colleagues on the Lon don Exchange would have recognized Nathan Rothschild as he stood on the field of Waterloo on that gloomy June morning nearly a hundred years ago. His servant now looked anxiously at his face, now nervously at the misty scene before them, and now longingly toward the dark wood at their rear, where a man held two thoroughbred horses. Both men were shaken with dread, but their terrors were of far different kinds. The servant plainly J eared for his own skin. The master was heedless of their physical peril. The servant touched his coat. "Master,” he said, timidly, "let us go back to the wood. We can see just as a well from there.’* Without lowering the glass, his master threw him an impatient look. A Caesar of Finance. "Go back,” he said. "Wait for me there.” The next instant he was alone. His sleep-hungry eyes were weak and un certain and he lowered the glass and moved slowly forward for a nearer view. For more than two months he had scarcely slept. For many, many days this cool and immovable Caesar of finance had led the life of a com mon soldier and had.seen the grim- ness of camp and campaign. Three months before he and his brothers* - the famous Frankfort sons of the founder of their house—had, heavily backed the peace of Europe. It was a time of reconstruction, the dawning of a new era. The day of blood was done. The plowshare and . the ledger were to supplant the sol dier and the sabre. He had seen the vision of the new and wonderful prog ress of mankind. With a liberal hand he had poured out his gold to give the life-blood to commerce that should clear the way for the triumphs of science and establish the empire of brains and industry. And then Fate had laughed at him. ^ lion had burst the twigs that bound him. The Man of Destiny had struck his foot on the rim of France and from far Gibraltar to the capes of Jutland Europe trembled to his tread. Armies sent to take him had kissed the hoofs of his horse. Kings and princes had fled at the sound of his name and their thrones swayed emp tily behind them. And with them the house of Rothschild swayed and tottered. Nathan could stand it no longer. He left London and hastened to the battle field. Here he had seen fresh proof that fate was mocking him. The Man on Horseback was riding through Europe. He had fought fourteen battles in sixteen days and his enemies had drawn back from his invincible arm. shattered and stunned. He struck and wheeled and struck again and the might of Europe crumbled before him. And now but one slender hope re mained to this man of banks and books and to the peace and welfare of generations yet unborn. On the far edge of the plateau where he stood was massed the fighting power of the unconquerable English. He knew them. He had lived among them—an alien and yet one of therm And because he knew them he had poured out his fortune on the founda tion of peace. These, his countrymen, were there to make good the pledge they had given him—that the peace of Europe would he maintained. He strode quickly on, stepping- over his ankles in pools ot rain water, ajia not seeing where he stepped. He barely noticed that his servant, shamed, had come up with him again. He was making for another rise far- ther to the left, which, he believed- (commanded a view of the French army. A Corsican Thunderbolt. It was a dim day, following a night of rain, but with his glass he could make out the dark masses of the matchless infantry of France and the dark, heaving clouds of borse. It v as nearly noon and he wondered why the battle had not begun. At: that very moment he was answered. I ne ground beneath his feet trembled and Its varlfVr Q TpmfiO TOAT. (he died,” she added softly, "as some day soon, perhaps, they will pray for me." Jacob quickly put out his hand and covered hers. "Nonsense, Grannie, you mustn’t talk that way," he said i cheerily. '’Why, I never saw you ; looking younger or more beautiful in i my life.” The Frau rapped his knuckles with I a spoon. "You are a flatterer, little Jacob," she rebuked him, tenderly. "But this Is the only home I’ve ever known,” he said gently, taking up her command as to marriage. "And It’s the only one I ever want to know, grandmother.” A Race for Homemakers. “That’s what you say, now. my dear, returned the old lady, wisely. But one of these fine days some pretty girl will come along and make you more ambitious, my dear. Re member, we come of a race of home makers, we Jews. Home is the very foundation of our race." Jacob thoughtfully munched a roll and made no comment, and the Frau gently turned the talk into less per sonal channels. “How long are your holidays to be?” she asked. "I don’t know,” he replied. "I don’t i even know why I’m here. Uncle Solo mon sent a message saying I was 1 to leave everything and come at ! once.” "Nathan came yesterday^ said his I grandmother. "He had the same mes sage. Neither he nor Amschel knew . what it was for. Carl is coming from I Naples—he is on his way. 1 heard | from him—Solomon had told him ; nothing.” Jacob drank his coffee slowly. “There must be some very big mat- [ ter on hand,” he guessed. He reeled to his horse and hung, limp, at the bridle. The red lines of the English were moving back from the edge ot the plateau. the air w*s split -with a terrific roar. It was a salvo bf two hundred guns, the first thunderbolt the 0 orsiean demigod launched at his tmplacable foe The English guns replied A sinister gray vapor slowly blotted otit the line*. The die was cast. Ear barism and civilization closed in a death gTapple. . thp His gl8ss could not pieri e the smoke. A round shot tore up the curt and spattered him with mud and slowly and reluctantly he drew hack At Fountains & Elsewhere ) Ask for “HOWS” he Original and Genuine MALTED MILK The Food-drink for All Ages At reFt.auiants, hoVels, and fountains. Delicious, invigorating, and sustain ing. Keep i: cn your sideboard at home. Don't travel without it. A quirk lunch prepared in a minufe "us 1 ::; “horlick’S” Not in Any .Vliik Trust and back toward the forest and watched the rear of the English lines. Hour after hour slipped by and he saw nothing. The shrieking roar of the cannon and gusty roll of the musketry swept down on him in an unbroken flood. "Let us go, master." begged the • servant again and again, but there was no reply. Suddenly at his left a broken stream of soldiers appeared running pell-mell for the shelter of the woods. They were followed by cavalry. The servant darted for the horses, but the master stood rigid. The next instant a horde of French horsemen w r as in the midst of the fugitives, their sabers gleaming dully as they rose and fell. For an instant Roth schild was about to follow his ser vant. Then through his glass he saw that the uniforms of the fugitives were black—the Brunswickers. He guessed the truth and groaned and mopped the cold sweat out of his eyes that he might see more clearly. The French had carried La Haye Sainte. One of the wings of the army was broken and the terrific uproar far down below the plateau In the other direction told of the stern assault on the other. But still he stood—the English lines had not wavered. Again for a long time there was no grim word from the front, save the long lines of wounded and the fright ened skulkers. His servant was al ready mounted and waiting, and in stinctively he drew back as if he felt that a crisis was approaching. The Numbness of Despair. And then It came. He reeled to his horse and hung, limp, at the bridle. He raised the glass to make sure. The red lines of the English were moving back from the edge of the plateau. It was over! ' “God!” he groaned. “God! It is over.” With his servant’^ aid, he swung himself to the saddle. “Let us go,” he said in a dull voice. But he could not bring himself to turn his horse’s head. The numbness of despair, the bitter despair that re volts against the truth, was upon him But there was no doubt in the mind of his foe. At the moment that Na than Rothschild mounted to the sad dle the man in the plain beyond turned to an aide with the light of savage triumph In his eyes: "Ride like the wind to Paris and tell them the battle is won!” Barbarism had triumphed. The scourge of God was free to lash Eu rope. The banker looked again for a last despairing view' of the field and a cry burst from his lips. Where the wavering, swaying lines had been a moment before, there were thirteen red blotches on the gray face of the plain. And at that moment the lit tle man on the white horse in the plain beyond ordered the cuirassiers of the guard to charge the English on the plain of Mont St. Jean. One crushing blow, and he would have ful filled the bigger half of his plan to drive the English into the sea and hurl the Germans into the Rhine. In front of the crimson squares the cannon shot up jets of gray earth. The English guns bellowed in angry menace. Between the agonized watcher and the silent squares was a small clump of horsemen—the flower of England's cavalry had been cut to pieces and their bodies lay among the blazing ruins of Ra Haye Sainte. Ney Leads the Charge. j As he Stared and listened, the roar of the guns died away and there fol lowed a stillness more awful than the thunder of the fight. What had hap pened? He peered through his glass and could see nothing hut the nerv ous swirling of the Highlanders in the square and th* shifting of the Dutch battalions. Then his ears ram'- to * and rose and swelled until the ear was jarred and the ground shook. He knew now! The heavy cavalry of the Corsican was advancing to the final assault. A speck appeared above the rise of the plateau—a dozen, a hun dred, a thousand—and the long line of horsemen surged onto the *plain. The watcher groaned and prayed Even at that distance his glass had caught the gleam of the decorations of the leading horseman, and he knew that that man who rode a dozen lengths In the forefront was the brav est of the brave—the reckless Ney, and behind him rode the might of France. The watcher’s eye swept the front of that mile-long line, and for the moment he forgot that he was a man of peace, forgot the tremendous stake to himself, his family and mankind that hung in the balance, forgot that for centuries his people had not known the sword. The blood leaped to his pale face and a sparkle to his eye as there stirred within him the spirit of Maccabeus, of the race that was before Israel’s spear was broken and her place made desolate. Rank on rank, wave on wave, on they came, tossing manes and drumming hoofs and rippling banners and the war cry. "Long live the Emperor!” boomed out over all. A hoarse answering shout came from the Dutch, the pipes of the Highlanders shrieked a last defiance, the guns belched death into their ranks, but there was no sound or quiver In the squares of the English —theirs was the silent, stern wel come of a warrior breed to the feast of blood. Suddenly a gap opened in the roar ing flood. The sunken ditch of Ohain had swallowed a thousand horsemen. But the rest surged over them and on. Now they were upon the squares. The watcher closed his eyes and ] prayed. For a hare instant the wave hung like a billow above the rocks. Its sides were giant horses and giant men. and Its crest was flecked with the flash of heavy blades and the gleam of helmets. A moment thus hung the terrible wave, and then with an earth-splitting roar it burst. Six Out of Thirteen. When the watcher looked again be fore him on the plain was nothing but a great seething blur. This was the last and final blow. No mere men, however brave, could stand before tin* weight of the tremendous, steel-clad missile the Corsican had hurled. But slowly, as he looked, the wave ebbed. Where the squares had been he saw nothing but ghastly, writhing smears on the plain. Further back the horsemen drew and his heart gave a mighty throb. Out of the inferno, like a rock from the waters, emerged an unshaken clump of red—then an other and another. Six he counted where there had been thirteen. But he knew that was enough. Those six would hold the field of Waterloo. He was but little more skilled as a horseman than as a soldier, but he drove the spurs Into the sides of his mount even as his lips moved in i prayer of thanksgiving. Beyond the f?ea in London lay the wealth of the world for his taking if he could be first on the ground with the news of the battle. "Ride, Isaac, ride!" he shouted to his servant, and together they thun dered down the Brussels road, while behind them the Old Guard turned their faces to the starlight and the Prussian bayonets completed the work of Destiny. * * * Brussels was a city of terror when he galloped up to a deserted inn in the black night and fell from the sad dle utterly exhausted. His servant dragged him in and demanded beds. "Bed! No, my carriage!” cried the banker, rallying his strength with a mighty effort. "But, my Lord, there is none." stammered the landlord. He seemed to be listening with one ear to iiis guests, the other for the roar of the French musketry. "None!” exclaimed Rothschild. “Where Is my own?” "Your own?” echoed the landlord. And then through the mud and the lines of weariness he recognized the Croesus who had left the blooded horses and carriages in his charge two days before. The word that the battle was lost, brought by hundreds of skulkers and wounded who had seen the English fall back, was on every lip, and .the landlord was only too glad to offer his services as coachman and leave his inn in other hands. In ten min utes after they had dismounted the banker and his servant were on the road to Ostend. driving through the lines of refugees at break-neck speed. “A Boat for Dover.” A rainy, misty dawn was breaking when the wornout horses were pulled up at the waterfront of Ostend, where now is the broad bathing beach and bath houses and hotels. Then there was nothing but the huts of the fish ermen. At the door of one of these Rothschild knocked and the fisher man. came out. "I want a boat at once and a skilled sailor to take me across to Dover,” he said. "To Dover!" echoed the fisherman. "Yes.” "To-day! ” "Yes, yes—to-day," repeated the banker, impatiently. "What is re markable about that?” The door of the next hut opened and another man came out. In a few minutes the word had spread along the row of houses and half-a-dozen rough, weather-beaten men were gathered in the gray light about the hanker and his servant. "He wants a boat to take him to Dover," explained the first fisherman, who was called Jaquc - by his friends. "And they all stared at the banker as at some queer and possibly dangerous animal. "Well, what of it?” he demanded, angrily. "Which man among you wants to make five hundred francs in a day?” “But, my lord.’ protested Jaques, “look at the sea! 1 wouldn't venture out into it for a thousand francs.” "My lord" did not more that* glance at the sea, but his servant took a long look and shivered. A gale from the North Sea was driving hordes of roaring billows upon the shore "I’m not afraid of it. Why should you be?” demanded the banker. The fisherman looked him over with a tolerant but respectful eye. "We know the sea and you don’t,” growled one of them. "That’s why.” ‘‘Two Thousand Francs.” Rothschild looked at the sea and the rack of dirty gray clouds and then at the fishermen and then he thought of London. "You wouldn’t go out into it for a thousand francs?” he said turning to Jaques. "Would you go for two thousand ?” The fishermen gasped and stared at him anti then at each other. Two thousand francs! It was a small for tune. But Jaques shook his head. "I have a wife and four little ones," he said. "And I five,” muttered another. "And my old mother as well,” added a third with a decided shake of his head. The banker had opened his lips to offer a larger sum when a young man stepped forward. “Have you the two thousand francs here?” he said. “Yeai” replied Rothschild, eagerly, and produced a heavy wallet. "If you will pay them to my wife now I’ll risk it." he said, quietly. "Young fool!” growled one of the grizzled veterans of the sea. "Not so, papa.” laughed the young man. "I have no little ones, and if I should be drowned Marie would have a fine dowry for a new husband.” It was night when the "young foot" helped his passenger ashore at Dover pier. He was alone. His servant had emphatically declined to embark, and, indeed, his master had not urged him. He was given money and told to fol low in a safer way. The banker s'hook hands fervently with the fisherman. "God was with us," he said piously, looking out over the dark water. “And you are a brave man. Here!" He jerked out his wallet, stripped it of a handful of banknotes and pressed them tnto the young man’s hand. Half an hour later he was riding at top speed on a fresh horse down the road to London. Twice in the night he changed horses, and when the Exchange opened the next morning the awed and frightened brokers s«aw the head of the great house of Rothschild lean ing against a pillar on the floor more dead than alive. They asked him no questions, these men who had bet he would lose. They were only too anxious to reap the harvest of crowns. The defeat of England was written on his gray, emaciated face, in his wild and bloodshot eyes, and they spent the day picking his bones. And he said nothing. They went to bed that night mildly sorry that he was ruined, regretting that England was beaten and Europe again given over to blood and rapine; but they were glad they had had the foresight to make something out of It. And the best securities in Europe were dumped in a flood onto the market and sold for anything. The next morning,, when banks were tottering and the cataract of securities had weakened because there were no more to dump, Nathan Rothschild, newly tailored and bar- bered, smiling and joyous, appeared on the floor of the Exchange and told the news. Blucher had defeated Grouchy at Ligny and Wellington had beaten Napoleon, and the combined armies had crushed the military power of France, For a generation the peace of Europe was assured. In a few hours it was confirmed from half a dozen sources, and se curities rose in leaps and bounds. The rocking banks settled firmly back on their foundation*'. That night Nathan Rothschild went to bed nearly $10,000,000 richer and dreamed of the future of the great Frankfort house * * * It was just seven years later that a great banker in Vienna, confidant of court officers and power near the imperial throne, sent out four letters. A week or so afterward a great bank er left Vienna, another left Naples, another Paris and another London, all traveling as swiftly as the means of the day would permit toward a little old house In Jews’ Lane, in Frank fort-am - Main. It was a custom, amounting to a superstition, with these men. that whenever anything of great im portance was to he discussed, any grave decision to be made, it must be done in the old house ip Jew’s Lane, where their father, Maier Amschel, died, and where their mother, the wonderful Frau Gudula, still lived. Amschel. the eldest, who was Con sul of Bavaria, still lived in Frank fort, but not in Jews’ Lane. He had received a letter from Solomon noti fying him that the family was gather ing for a council. None but Solomon knew what might be the subject of the conference, hut all obeyed the summons without question—even to Jacob, the nephew, and the Joy of the house, who was accomplishing great things in Paris. Frail Gudula was overjoyed, but un moved at the prospect. There was no busy bustling about of servants in her quiet house Everything in that simple home was always ready for as maty guests as it would hold, and If the guests did not like thpir enter tainment they need not come again. Frau Gudula was the mother of the Rothchilds, but she was principally Frau Gudula. Amschel had built her a splendid house, where she might live in a state commensurate with the foitunes of her sons. She told him to sell it for a profit if he could—and he did. She continued to live quietly in Jews Lane. Her Wise Choice. "Here I am loved and respected,” she said, "by everyone, high and low. There I should be no longer respected by the high nor loved by the low." The Romans erected a statue to a woman whose only claim to a distinct personality was that she was the mother of the Gracchi. Frau Gudula had no sympathy with her. She was as proud pf her sons as was Cornelia. She was proud of their achievements and of the esteem In which they were held, but she had no wish to be known as "The Mother of the Roth- chllds.” She was plain Frau Gudula, an old-fashioned, homely old woman, with an eagle nose and a soft, gray eye that hardened and flashed at a tale of wrong or fault in honor. H*r children were still her children to her, and no matter how many kings begged them for loans or heaped dec orations and honors upon them she found time and occasion to talk to them as a strong mother talks, when she felt that their honor might swell their heads to the point of breaking. And this was one of the reasons that all councils of importance were held in the old nouse In Jews’ Lane. Not one of these men before whom ministers of finance fawned for favor would have felt comfortable before the eyes of the shrewd old woman If the stroke that might vitally affect the future of the house were deter mined upon without her counsel. So she lived, loved and respected, tn the old house where the foundation of the groat financial structure of the Rothschilds was laid. Prince and beg gar found their way to the door of that house, and it was more fre quently the prince who turned away from it unsatisfied. The old lane was too narrow for the great carriages of those days, but for two days past couriers had clattered up t*o Frau Gudula’s door to prepare her for the coming of her s<Ln» and her loved grandson. "Little Jacob.” For all their haste and excitement they failed to make much of an Im pression on the old household. Frau Gudula merely told "old Rose ” the housekeeper who had been with her since Amschel was born, that all of the family would be there for din ner that night. Then she went ov°r the place and gave It a perfunctory inspection. Her house was always ready. ‘‘Little Jacob” Arrives. Doing this she missed a touching scene in the old dining room, wher* Rose threw heraelf on a young, black- haired dark-eyed man, with tears and choking greetings. The young man hid behind a curtain and .Rose tip-toed to the kitchen when they heard the Frau’s foosteps in the hall. The young man waited until the dame was deep in the Inspection of a linen closet and then he slipped softly out from his hiding place. "Grannie!" he called suddenly. The old woman started and turned. The young man was 9miling and hold ing out both hands to her. She blinked as If in a strong light and slowly at first, and then with a rush she ran to him and threw her arms about him "Jacob!" she cried, with something like a sob of joy. "Little Jacob! How you startled me!" He laughed happily as they hugged and kissed each other. "Where have you sprung from?” demanded the old woman, wiping her eyes. "Paris," he said. She took him by the shoulders and stood him off at arm’s length and gazed into his far* with swimming eyes. He was a grandson to be proud of. she thought With his long black hair, and pale face and soft dark eyes he looked more of the dreamy philosopher or poet than the keen-witted financier he had proved himself to be. All this passed through Frau Gudula’s mind, hut she said nothing of it. She only shook her head and exclaimed with wonder: "How people travel nowadays! I think your Uncle Carl iR in Naples and suddenly a courier comes an nouncing his arrival. But he hasn’t been here yet. Ah. it is good to have children! There is only one thing better, Jacob, my little boy,’" and she folded him to her grandmotherly bosom again, "and that’s to have a fine, splendid grandson like you." Jacob acknowledged the compli ment by kissing her gray hair ten derly. Whereupon his grandmother drew bac k and looked him over once more. His Promptness. "How long have you been in Frank fort, my dear?” He smiled. "Five minutes." "And you came straight to me!” He was kissed again. “Of course,” he laughed. "My ser vant has taken my things to Uncle Amsehel’s, but I haven't been there yet." “You have arranged to stay with Amschel?” "Yes.” "And you’ve had nothing to eat," guessed his grandmother, giving the bell-pull a vigorous yank. "I expect you are famished!" Jacob laughed merrily. He was still a little, ever-hungry hoy to the old woman. "Oh, no, I'm not,” he pro tested. "You must be, child!" returned the Frau, severely. She haled him to the table and had Rose bring roils and coffee and settled herself to watch him eat. There was some method be sides much love in this move. There i was an air of the world about her favorite that gave the old Frau some uneasiness and she began to pump him adroitly. Even in those days Paris was a cause of concern to elderly ladies with young men in the family. She began by remarking that he looked pale and he reassured her by explaining it on the grounds of the hard journey. Then she went on to say that she felt lonely sometimes and uneasy about all of her children, scattered to the four quarters of Europe. "You should have a wife and a home,” she told him gravely. "Why don’t you come to Paris, ‘Grannie,’ ” he smiled, "and look after me?” She shook her head "Ah, child, I am an old woman, and l like to live with my memories—here—where my husband lived. We want peace and quiet when we are old. you know. I have just come from the synagogue— I love to go there. It is a real rest to sit in that quiet corner where my father used to sit—and later my hus band. There we prayed for him when "Most likely.” agreed his grand- I mother, a little indifferently. *T shouldn't be surprised if some king were very hard pressed for money.” T HE young man chuckled his ap preciation of the old lady’s matter-of-fact view of the im portance of the house. "Well, Grannie, that’s no novelty,’’ he said. "Our family has known kings to be hard up before. Many of them regard us as the world’s philan thropists.” "Well," said the frau. pursing her lips judiciously, "if this particular king is respectable and reliable, I don't see why we don’t accommodate him as we have many monarchs be fore.” Jaiob nodded sagely. "Ah, yes, that’s the main point—as long as he Is reliable.” lie suddenly remembered that he had brought a present for his grand mother and he fished out a small par cel and presented it to her. "Some old lace—Bruges.” he ex plained, as she hastened to a window to examine it with little cries and exclamations of delight. "How beautiful! It is quite a hun dred years old.” "It Is supposed to have belonged to the Countess of Speyer,” the young man remarked. “Speyer!” repeated the old woman, softly, and slowly lowered her hands and gazed at him. "My mother came from Speyer, and perhaps her fa ther had to step into the ditch when the princess rode by—and now I am to wear her lace! Ah, hut life is strange.” It was hear time for afternoon cof fee when Amschel arrived. He sel dom failed to arrive at about that time. He was large, especially about the waist, with a placid, Teutonic countenance that had sometimes lured the unwary into thinking they could take advantage of him. He greeted his nephew with simple, open German affection, than which there is nothing more beautiful and whole some in the world. He was dressed in badly fitting buff clothes with a decoration or two on the left breast. Jacob recognized that conversation would be impossible until his uncle’s creature wants had been attended to. When he was comfortably seated in a big armchair, with a cup of coffee in one fist and a large buttered roll in the other, his nephew addressed him. "You have become Consul of Ba varia since I last saw you, uncle. 1 congratulate you.” Uncle Amschel hastily swallowed on enormous mouthful and waved the congratulations aside with the roll. "Don’t, nephew.” he said, as soon as he could articulate with compara tive distinctness. "Honors and title make you a mark for beggars—don’t covet them!” "But he Is very proud of his bits of ribbon, nevertheless,” put In his mother, with pride. "And I am very proud of them, too.” Thus supported Amschel took an other swallow of the coffee and ex panded. "My friend, the Landgrave of Hesse,” he remarked, "patted me here —he indicated the ample pajunch— and said, ‘Amschel, you must get stouter to make room for another decoration I want to give you.’ The Duke of Fulda was there—and laugh ed,” chuckled Uncle Amschel. To Bo Continued To-morrow. KODAKS “The Beit Flnlehlno and Enlart- Inq That Can Be Produced." Eastman Films au<i rom- plato stock amateur suppUea. 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