Newspaper Page Text
4
GETTING MARRIED
By DOROTHY DIX.
M T DEAR ROBERT—Who was
the wise guy that said "the
remarriage of a widow or
widower was the tinal triumph of
hope over experience'".’ Anyway, he
was there with the goods w hen it
. ame to sisfng up the nerve of those
who, like yourself, are contemplating
entering thal Mendelssohn Rag
Now. I am not knocking second
marriages. I am strong for them.
Rut- I confess they always fill me
with anmiment, If a man or woman
has been happily married the first
lime. I should think that lie or she
' ould not dare to even attempt to
, place the angel he or site Has lost
with another husband or wife, be-
ause he or she would realize that
no one ian always make matrimonial
ten-strikes.
Os the other hand, if a man or
woman has been unhappily married. It
has always seemed to me that tlie
' cry sound of wedding bells would be
inathema to him or her. and that
-having been mercifully delivered by
death or divorce from the partner
who made life a torment, such a one
would no more rush buck Into the
holy estate than the soul who his
lust won out of purgatory would vol
untarily return to it.
Opinion of the Public.
However, the general public does
no? sharp in thesr opinions. Every
day we see the truly bereaved con
soling themselves by taking new
partners, and the freed hastening to
put their necks once more under the
yoke: for marriage is the only human
experience from which we learn no
wisdom.
Perhaps this- is just as well, if we
weren't all plungers, none of us would
ever get married, for matrimonv is
the big gamble of life. In it we stake
<»ur ail on'the turn of a card, tnd
whether we win or lose is pure luck,
since there is no earthly way of tell
ing beforehand what sort of a hus
band or wife a man or maiden will
turn out to be.
Your first venture into matrimony
"as so disastrous that you can at
least comfort yourself with the
thought that you have been through
the worst disillusionment that do
mesticity can offer. Any other of the
fifty-seven known varieties of wives
must be better than the one you had,
whose only claim to your gratitude
was established when she packed her
trunks and hiked for Reno.
As T said before, it is strange fha
' our previous experience of matri
mony should incline you to try it
over again; but, since'it does, let us
hn'pe that you are making a more for
tunate choice in a wife this time and
that luck wilt be with you.
* Of Our Own Making.
Rui did you ever think, son. that
'Uck in matrimony is a good deal like
!uck in business—principally of our
own making? Opportunity and hap
piness knock on our door, but unless
we are on the job, ready to welcome
them in. they pass us by. They don r
.force their way in with a club. They
The Exact Time
L
“T
F you are interesting in getting
mother off on the train you’d
better make some arrangement
10 set my clock right,” suggested Mrs.
Binkum.
T certainly am interested.” replied
Binkum. ”But you know, Betsy, that
I have no way of setting your clock
because my watch loses from eight
to eighteen minutes a day. ' 1 never
know whether it has lost eight or
eighteen minutes and 1 do not like
to gamble on any such important
evern as your mother's catching her
train."
"My clock gains about thirteen
minutes a day. ’ said Mrs. Binkum.
Wouldn't that make it easier to get
to set it by your watch?"
"Bet me think-—let me think."
mused Binkum. "If a watch loses
from eight to eighteen minutes a day
and a clock gains thirteen minutes
a day how can a watch be used in
setting the clock? And at 12 o'clock
fast watch time, what would be the
hour by slow clock? I give it up."
"If they would only blow a whistle
at noon in this town.” said Mrs.
Binkum "I could tell the time at least
once a day. and the rest of the time
I should be able to tell about what
time it was.”
"The situation is serious 1 admit,
said Binkum. "If we keep on this
way you and I will be two or three
days apart. There will come a time,
fact, when it will not even be the
same year by our respective time
pieces.
"The railroad clock
is correct, I
suppose:
“Without a doubt. I can go down
to the station, say at 12 o’clock, and
start for home immediately. The
station is eighteen blocks away. It
takes me thirty minutes, about- "
Y About! We want the exact time.
And, besides, as likely as not you 11
stop to talk to somebody. You do not
know* how long it takes you to w r alk
eighteen blocks."
"I admit that I do not know how
long it takes me to walk eighteen
blocks. But there is one thing that
I can time myself by. You know 1
was a bricklayer. I can lay just 60
bricks an hour. I am absolutely cor
rect to a dot.”
"But how does that help us7
"It is the only thing I can time
myself on."
"Then T will go to the railroad
station and at 12 o’clock I’ll give you
some sort of signal, and you can be-
gine to lay bricks. Then as soon as I
get home we can count the bricks and
know how many minutes have elapsed
since i left the station.”
"All right. I'll order the bricks and
have the mortar ready. But what sort
of signals are you going'to give me?"
"I have read that the sound that
carries farthest is the sound of a bass
fiddle. I’ll borrow Uncle John’s bass
fiddle. Then at precisely 12 o’clock
l will get a good big sweep at the
bow, and you’ll hear it and begin to
lay bricks. So when 1 get hom§ 1
will know the exact time and set my
clock and mother can catch her
train."
"Fine:" ejaculated Binkum.
He’s Too Kind
“I
BETTER THAN SPANKING
Spanking does not cure children of
bed-wetting. There is a constitutional
ause for this trouble. Mrs. M. Sum
mers Box W, Notre Dame. Ind., will
send free to any mother her success
ful home treatment, with full in- s
structions. Pend no money. but )
write her to-day if your children (
trouble you in this way. Don t \
blame the child: the chances are it '■>
can’t help It. This treatment also j
cures adults and aged people trou- <
bled with urine difficulties by day >
or nigbt
HAVE no use for the hospitable
man!” declared the young
architect, who had come in
from dining out. and was at the mo
ment engaged in rooting around in
the pantry for something to eat.
"I hate a man who carries you
proudly off to dinner when you don’t
want to be entertained. There’s Rob
inson, the soul of hospitality! - He’s
always trying to drag me home with
him for dinner, and I have always
managed to get away from him until
to-night.
"This night he nailed me, and I
couldn’t get away. You should have
seen Mrs. Robinson’s expression when
he shoved me in through the door.
"He shoved me right into the din
ing room, into the bosom of his fam
ily. His poor wife grabbed some
things that were airing by the fire
place, and then hurried out and
changed her dress. Then T heard the
kitchen range rattling and knew that
the unfortunate woman was cooking
dinner all over again.
"Robinson was very entertaining for
a while. He caught part of what I
said, and I caught part of what he
I said. But he was uneasy and soon
bolted out into the kitchen, where de
bate was immediately in order.
"In due time we had a very un-
festive meal. Every once in a whi'e
Robinson gave hi" wife a dig. and she
gave him a dig—sort of tennis fash
ion. I was the net for their little
contest and every now’ and then I got
the ball.
"The three kids got spanked and put
to bed in relays. That was not ex
actly delightful for me!
• Robinson is one of the best fellow s
I ever saw! And I, went to school
with Emily, his wife. But I am
blessed if I like to drop in there for a
meal at night and have them piay
tennis across me in the manner de
scribed.
*T like to be treated formally. If a
man wants to invite me to dinner, let
him take me to the club or proceed to
make adequate arrangements with his
family ahead of time!”
A—l\
Bubbles s
L'opDgiht. ial3. by ti.tprnatlonil Xevrs SerHc#
Bv NELL BRINKLEY
have to be cajoled across the thresh- i
old.
So, if you want this second mar
riage of yours to turn out success
fully, it’s going to be up to you to,
strike the keynote, and make it either
a grand, sweet song or a scream.
What? ' That's right.
H's the husband’s ’ace to make the
home happy. Of course, the wife is;
due to chip* in with her little contri
bution to the general felicity: but no
woman, working alone and unaided,
can carry out that contract. It's too
big for her. It's a man's size job.
'To begin with, son, make of your
divorce papers a torch to light you on
the ro;trl of happiness wiih (his mar
riage. Think back and remember the
things that you and your wife quar
reled about. Was there a perpetual
conflict between you on the money
question ?
Tell Your Income.
Avoid that snag by telling the girl
you are about to marry exactly what
your income is, and what she wilt
have to spend. Tell her that she will I
have to do without many of the
things that rich women have, per
haps without many of the luxuries
that she has been in the habit of hav
ing. That will start out fair with
her and give her. at least, a chance
to keep out of the box of becoming
a poor man’s wife, unless she loves
you enough to prefer you to fine ;
clothes and an automobile.
Then, when you are married, give
her a definite allowance for the house
and for her own personal expenses,
and give it to her as her due. without 1
making her conu* to you for it like a
beggar. And make her live w ithin her
allowance. That's the way to train
her into being a good business woman
Did you and your first wife have' a
never-ending light because you stayed
out lai ■ at night? Don’t marry, son.
until you are done stowing your wild
oats. If you dance attendance on
chorus girls and joy-ride them
around: if you want to play poker
and drink with the boys, stay sin
gle. where you’ll have perfect liberty
to do se. Don’t be selfish enough if* !
take a girl away from her home and
put her to watching through weary
nights for the drag of a drunken hus
band’s footsteps.
Dreary for Girl.
Aside from the heartbreak and the
anguish and the anxiety of it all.
think how dreary it must be. for a
woman to spend her evenings alone.
No girl would, marry if that was
what she expected to get in matri
mony, so be just and don’t ask one
to leave her happy home for you
unless you are going to give her one
just as happy in. return.
A man's idea of doing his full duty
by his wife is to give her food and
elothps. That isn’t enough. He owes
her consideration and tenderness and
comradeship besides. It’s just as
much his place to try to be enter
taining to her. and meet her with a
glad, sweet smile of an evening, as
it is hers to try to interest and en
tertain him/ And when a man does
this, son, he never has to pay ali- i
mony.
Make your own matrimonial luck
in the second marriage, son, and may
heaven prosper the brave! #
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14 Whitehall St., Atlanta, Oa.
The longest hunger strike on record
was carried out some years ago by a
Frenchman named Granie, who was
arrested for murder in circumstances
which left no doubt as to his guilt.
He determined to starve himself to
death in order to escape the guillo
tine, and from the day of his arrest
refused to eat in spite of every effort
on the part of the prison authorities,
who first tried tempting him to eat
by placing the most dainty meals in
his cell, and when that failed, at
tempted forcible feeding. Granie held
out for sixty-three days, at the end of
which time he died.
It is reported that all German sub
marines are to be fitted with guns.
Two types have been selected a 12-
pounder. which can be housed and a
1-pounder, which will be permanently
in position. The older boats wiil
probably carry 1-pounders only. The
12-pounders are on special high-angle
mounting for use against aircraft if
recessary. The crew of these guns
consists of four men, three to work
the Sun and one to hand the ammu
nition. The newer boats will carry
two of these guns.
Farmers in the Boyertown district
of Pennsylvania came for miles round
to attend a sale held at Boyertown
of a number of heavy rolled steel cof
fins. A burial casket company pur
chased i he coffins fifteen years ago,
but they were too cumbersome and
could not be disposed of. The coffins,
which were sold at prices ranging
from ten cents to a quarter each, will
be used by the farmers for watering
troughs for their stock.
A new machine, called the stenotype.
has been invented, which enables th* j
shorthand writer to get from 400 tc 600 j
words a minute upon paper in an abso- j
luteiy correct and accurate form. The •
basis of operating the machine is pho- /
iietic spelling, while the work done is
virtually the same as .done by short- |
hand, it has the advantage of being re- I
corded in plain English characters. •
Nell Brjnkley Says:
I WALKED with a sceptic who
nas saarcely a rag of a dream
to his name to believe in,
dose under a garden wall, warm
ed by the sun and cuddled close
by the fragrant arms of cherry
trees in spring bloom. On the
broad, flat top of it was a gypsy
like girl of ten, maybe, with a
bowl of iridescent suds between
her scratched, sun-tanned knees
and a head as velvety black as
the poplars in the garden must be
when night comes. Up into the
still scented air she was sending
big elastic soap hubbies, hued
like a box of loose gems with a
shaft of sunlight lying on them,
frail discs of perfect beauty
which are the vanishing soul of
a drop of crystal water. Idly
they floated, some long breathless
seconds, some hut an instant, giv
ing to th.e wind changing and
glowing wHh swift-running riv
ers of color before they snapped
into thin air with a tiny shat
ter of splintering light. \
"There, by my new straw hat!"
quoth the sceptic, "there is the
stuff that dreams are made of;
there the blowing of them, there
the rainbow coloring, there the
vanishing into thin air. What
are they? Nothing. Why blow
them through our little thin pipe
in the first place? Only the ver
iest child takes joy in blowing
soap hubbies, and only the sim
ple-minded among grown-ups
(your pardon, mad’moiselle> find
tiie making of dreams delectable.
They only snap and vanish, and
where once our eyes saw a sphere
. of unutterable beauty there is
nothing! Ah, ah, I don’t dream
any more, my child. They
amount in the end to just a bit
of elastic color that we cannot
touch or breathe upon—pf!—there
Is nothing there Dreamers are
fools, out of a. drop of ether, col
orless it is true, but very real
and material stuff which they can
at least possess. Out of this tiny
hut satisfactory thing they insist
on stretching a gorgeous thing
that a breath will break."
"Nevertheless," quoth I in re
turn, I who am so much less
wise and who have so much a
better time, "nevertheless, the
little kid on the w r all is having
a better time than you. The
bursting of one thin bubble is
just nothing. There are count
less more in the bow’l between her
knees. What is the vanishing
of one lovely-hued thing when
you have the making of endless
more? What is the breaking of
one little tiny dream of yours
when you have the source of
countless more in your head and
heart? There is the big dream
of all—wise man—the bowl—the
howl! Real it is, too—just soap
and water There is the big
dream of all. wise man, the head
and the heart that are the source
of frail and lovely dreams! Real
they are, too—red blood and brain.
There is where you are poor,
m'sieu. You have considered the
bubble too deeply, and you
haven’t the bowl!”
The little black head on the
wall went on blowing thin, lovely
planets into the spring air, and
her eyes were thoughtful enough
to make me think she saw child
dreams of the things that are to
he in their opalescent sides. It
looked lots of fun, and it IS fun
to blow dreams, for without
dreams (real dreams are ambi
tions) where would we be? Af
ter all. would we care about a
bubble at all if we could hold it
in our hand and play with it? For
that matter, we can go buy us a
big < rystal or a pretty marble
any day.
Hasn’t Found It.
Jackson- Bunker has got himself
into a nice fix.
Johnson—How?
Jackson—He wrote an article on
“The Ideal Wife" for a ladies’ paper
last month.
Johnson- Well, what’s that got to
do with his present fix?
Jackson—Somebody told his wife
about it. and she’s been reading the
thing over during the past two days
trying to discover a single trait
wherein his ideal resembles her. She
hasn't found it, and Bunker dines in
the city now.
Up-to-Date
Jokes
A minister in a small country vil
lage, who was noted for his absent-
mindedness, was once observed to
stop suddenly in the middle of his
sermon and heard to mutter:
"I knew’ she would—I knew she
would! ’’
After the service was over some
one asked him the reason.
"Dear me," said he, "did I? Well,
you know’, from the pulpit 1 can just
see old Mrs. Rogers’ garden, and this
morning she was out pulling up a
cabbage, and I thought to myself,
‘Now, if that cabbage comes up sud
denly she’ll go over,’ and just then
it came up and*over she went."
Brown—I’ve got an excellent plan
for getting rid of duns.
Green—Ah! That so?
Brown—I have. Never fails.
Green—Then, old fellow, you must
let me into the secret, for I'm worried
to death by ’em.
Brown—Well, I’ve tried it several
times of late and I find the man never
comes back again.
Gre/en—Aye. aye! what do you do?
Brown—I pay him.
"I want you to put up some wall
paper I have bought." said the coun
try clergyman, meeting the local man-
of-all-work. "When can you do it?”
"Well, sir,” he exclaimed, “you see
I’m rather busy just now. I hung
Mrs. S yesterday; I'm hanging
your churchwarden tg-day; but. if
it’s convenient, I’ll drop round and
hang your reverence on Wednesday."
"What's .the matter, dear?" asked a
woman of her troubled-looking hus
band.
"Oh, I'm worried about the money
market." he testily responded.
"And I'm bothered about the mar
ket money.” quietly remarked the
, woman as she counted the contents
* of her purse.
o
WITHIN THE LAW
A Powerful Story of Adventure, Infringe and Lboe
Copyright, 11>X3. by the H. K. Fly Com
pany. The play “Within the Law" is
copyrighted by Mr. Velller and this
novelization or it is published by his
permission. The American Play Com
pany is the sole proprietor of the ex
clusive lights of the representation
and performance of “Within the Law”
in all languages.
By MARVIN DANA from the
Play by BAYARD VEILLER.
TO DA Y’sTnSTALLMENT.
The father looked at Mary with a
reproach that was pathetic.
"See.
lie
lid. and his voice wa.-
J for once thin with passion, "see what
you’ve done to my boy!"
Mary had held her ryes on Dick.
There had been in her gaze a conflict
of emotions, strong and baffling. Now,
however, when the father spoke, her
face grevy more composed and h?r
eyes met his coldly. Her voice was
level and vaguely dangerous as she
answered his accusation.
"What is that compared to what
you have done to me ?” *
Gilder stared at her in honest
amazement. He had no suspicion as
to the tragedy that lay between him
and her.
"What have T done to you?" he
questioned, uncomprehending.
Mary moved forward, passing be
yond the desk, an<^ continued her ad
vance toward him until the two stood
close together, face to face. She
spoke softly, but with an intensity
of supreme feeling in her voice.
“Do you remember what I said to
you the day you had me sent away?"
The merchant regarded her with
stark lack of understanding.
“1 don’t remember you at all,” he
said.
The woman looked at him intently
for a moment, then spoke in a color
less voice:
"Perhaps you remember Mary Tur
ner, who was arrested four years ago
for robbing' your store. And perhaps
you remember that she asked to speak
to you before they took her to prison.”
The heavy-jowled man gave a start.
"Oh, you begin to remember. Yes?
There was a girl who swore she was
innocent—yes. she swore that she was
Innocent. And she would have got
1 off—only, you ftsked the judge to
make an example of her."
The man to whom she spoke had
gone gray a little. He began to un
derstand, for he was not lacking in
1 Intelligence. Somehow’, it was borne
in on him that this woman had a
grievance beyond the usual run of
injuries.
"You are that girl?" he said. It
was not a question, rather an affirm
ation.
Mary spoke with the dignity of long
suffering—more than that, with the
confident dignity of a vengeance long
delayed, now at last achieved. Her
words were simple enough, but they
reached to the heart of the man ac-
; cused by them.
"I am that girl."
There was a little Interval of si
lence. Then Mary spoke again, re-
| morselessly.
"You took away my good name.
You smashed my life. You put me be
hind the bars. You owe ,for all that.
. . . Well, I’ve begun to collect.”
Burke Shouts a Warning.
The man opposite her, the man of
| vigorous form, of strong face and
keen eyes, stood gazing intently for
I long moments. In that time he was
learning many things. Finally he
spoke:
“And that is why you married my
boy."
"It is." Mary gave the answer cold
ly, convincingly.
Convincingly, save to on?—her hus
band. Dick suddenly aroused and
spoke with the violence of one sure.
"It is not!” •
Burke shouted a warning Demu
rest, more diplomatic, made a re-
i straining gesture toward the police
j official, then started to address the
young man soothingly.
But Dick would have none of their
1 interference.
"This is my affair," he said, and
the others fell silent. He stood up
and went to Mary and took her two
hands In his, very gently, yet very
firmly.
"Mary,” he said softly, yet with a
strength of conviction, "you married
me because you loved me."
The wife shuddered, but she strove
to deny.
1 "No,” she said gravely, "no, I did
not!"
"And you love me now!" he went
on. insistingly.
“No, no!” Mary’s denial came like
a cry for escape.
"You love me now!" There was a
masterful quality in his declaration,
which seemed to ignore her negation.
"I don’t," she repeated, bitterly.
But he was inexorable.
"Look me in the face and say that.”
He took her face in his hands. lift
ed it, and his eyes met hers search-
ingly.
"Look me in the face and say that, ’
he repeated.
There was a silence that seemed
long, though it was measured in the
passing of seconds. The three watch
ers dared not interrupt this drama of
emotions, but at last Mary, who had
planned so long for this hour, gather
ed her forces and spoke valiantly. Her
voice was low, but without any weak
ness of doubt.
“I Do Not Love You.”
"I do not love you."
In the instant of reply Dick Gilder,
by some inspiration of love, changed
his attitude.
"Just the same," he said cheerfully,
“you are my wife, and I'm going to
keep you and make you love me."
Mary felt a thrill of fear through
her very soul.
‘You can’t!" she cried harshly.
"You are his son!"
"She’s a crook!" Burke said.
"1 don't care a d—n what you’ve
been!” Dick exclaimed. "From now
on you'll go straight. You’ll walk the
straightest line a woman ever walked.
You’ll put all thoughts of vengeance
out of your heart, because I’ll fill it
w’ith something bigger—I'm going to
make you love me."
Burke, with his rousing voice, spoke
again:
”1 tell you, she’s a crook!"
Mary moved a little and then
turned her face toward Gilder.
"And. if I am, who made me one?
You can't send a girl to prison and
have her come out anything else."
Burke swung himself around in a
movement of complete disgust.
"She didn’t get her time for good
behavior.”
Mary raised her head haughtily,
with a gesture of high disdain
"And I’m proud of it!” came her
T
instant retort. "Do you know what
goes on there behind those stone
walls? Do you, Mr. District Attor
ney, whose business it is to send girls
there? Do you know what a girl is
expected to do to get time off for
good behavior? If you don’t, ask the
keepers?"
Gilder moved fussily.
"And you——-'*
Mary swayed a little, standing there
before her questioner.
I served ever.\ minute of*my time
every minute of it. three full, whole
years. Do you wonder that f want
to get even, that some one has got
to pay? Four years ago you took
away my name and gave me a num
ber. Now I’ve given up the num
ber--and I’ve got your name."
CHAPTER XV.
Aftermath of Tragedy.
''HE Gliders, both father and
son. endured much suffering
throughout the night and day
that followed the scene in Mary
Turner’s apartment, when she had
made known the accomplishment of
her revenge on the older man by her
ensnaring of the younger. Dick had
followed the others out of her pres
ence at her command, emphasized by
her leaving him alone when he would
have pleaded further with her. Since
then he had striven to obtain another
interview with his bride, hut she had
refused him. He was denied admis
sion to the apartment. Only the maid
answered the ringing of the telephone,
and his notes were seemingly un
heeded.
Distraught by this violent inter
jection of torment into a life that
hitherto had know n no important suf
fering. Dick Gilder showed what met-
H*' of man lay beneath his debonair
appearance. And thyt mettle was of
a kind worth while. In these hours
of grief the soul of him put out its
strength. He learned beyond perad-
venture of doubt that the woman
whom he had married was in truth an
ex-convict, even as Burke and De-
marest had declared.
Nevertheless, he did not for an in
stant believe that she was guilty of
the crime with which she had been
originally charged and for which she
had served a sentence in prison. For
the rest, he could understand in some
degree how the venom of the wrong
inflicted on her had poisoned her na
ture through the years till she had
I worked out Its evil through the
• scheme of which he was the innocent
1 victim.
He Remained Loyal.
1 He cared little for the fact that re
cently sho had devoted herself to de
vious devices for making- money. t<
ingenious schemes fop legal plunder
In his summing of her. he set. as mori
than an offset to her unrighteousness
in this regard the desperate struggh
she had made after leaving prison t(
keep straight, which, as he learned
had ended in her attempt at suicide.
He knew the Intelligence of thi*
woman whom he loved, and in hi!
heart wa no thought of her faults ai
vital flaws. It seemed to him rathei
that circumstances had compelled her
and that through all the suffering o
her life she had retained the mori
beautiful qualities of her womanli
ness, for which he reverenced her. Ir
the closeness of their association
short as it had been, he had learnec
to know something of the tenderei
depths within her. the kindliness 01
her, the wholesomeness.
Swayed as he was by the loveliness
of her, he was yet more enthralled b\
those inner qualities of which ths
outer beauty was only the fitting svm-
bol.
So in Hie face of this catastrophe
where a less love must have been de
stroyed utterly, Dick remained loval
His passionate regard did not faltei
for a moment. It never even occurred
to him that he might cast her off
might yield to his father’s prayer?
and abandon her. On the contrary
his only purpose was to gain her foi
himself, to cherish and guard her
agains! every ill. to protect with his
love from every attack of shame oi
injury.
To Be Continued Monday.
TWO WOMEN
SAVED FROM
OPERATIONS
By Lydia E. Pinkham’s
Vegetable Compound—
Their Own Stories
Here Told.
Beatrice. Neb.—"Just after my mar.
riage my left side began to pain me
and the pain got so severe at times
thal I suffered terribly with it \
visited three doctors and each one
wanted to operate on me. but I would
not consent to an operation. I heanl
of the good Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vege
table Compound was doing ror others
and I used several bottles of it, with
the result that I haven’t been both
ered with my side since then. I am
in good health and I have two little
girls.”—Mrs. R. B. Child, Beatrice,
Neb.
The Other Case.
Cary, Maine.—“I feel it a duty I
owe to all suffering women to tell
what Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable
Compound did for m*. One year ago
I found myself a terrflile sufferer. I
bad pains In both sides and such a
soreness I could scarcely straighten
up at times. My back ached, X had
no appetite and was so nervous X
could not sleep, then I would be so
tired mornings that I could scarcely
get around. It seemed almost im
possible to move or do a bit of work
and I thought T never wonld be anjf
better until I submitted to an opera
tion. but my husband thought I had
better write to you and I did so, stat
ing my symptoms. I commenced
taking Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable
Compound and soon felt like a n?*
woman. I had no pains, slept well,
had good appetite and could do ail -
most all ray own work, for a family
of four. I shall always feel that I
owe my good health to your Vege
table Compound’’—Mrs, Hayward
Sowers, Cary, Maine,