Newspaper Page Text
i =rpTLJTTe
Toll
Da vsev Mayme
And Her Folks
FASHION’S LATEST, THE “1. C. U.”
WAIST, A DISAPPOINTMENT?
By FRANCES L GARSIDE.
I T Is not given to the grosser mas
culine sex to understand the full
' significance to the world when a
claes of girls step through the school
door with diplomas in their hands.
Of materialistic minds, they sec
only another hatch of girls to hang
around home till they are married off.
They see only girls in white dresses;
some pretty, some ugly, some serious
and the majority giggly, hut all Just
girls who are great bores because
they know so much they don't know
anything
A Big Task.
The editor, realizing that such a
great event hf a commencement
merited the work of an appreciative
mind, detailed Daysey Mayme Apple-
ton to write up the graduation exer
cises of the Parthenon High School, a
task for which she felt well-fitted,
having only recently delivered a com
mencement address to a world that
waited outside her school room door
“There were twenty-seven girls in
the class that was graduated from
Parthenon High School last evening,
she wrote, “and the audience that sat
spellbound through twenty-seven
orations and essays till 1:30 next
morning regretted there were not
more.
“Every problem to which mankind
is heir was solved, from the tariff to
eugenics. Though a tunnel has been
completed through the Alps, making
It no longer necessary for the gradu
ate* to Inspire us to greater efforts b>
telling ns that Beyond the Alps lies
Italy,' such encouragement was not
lacking, and again we crossed the
Alps, surmounting every obstacle that
lay in our way.
“Demosthenes was excelled; Socra
tes was rolled Into oblivion by the
superior wisdom of tlie class; Ru-
phrides Aristotle, Uonfucius, Solo
mon. Lincoln and all who have left
names that blazed in history were
extinguished by the flood of wisdom
that poured forth last night Had
Napoleon been present he would have
learned of his great mistake; Moses
could have sat at the feet'of last
night's class, and Atlas never again
will have to bear tin* burden of the
world alone.
“They conquered the superstition
of the ages; their souls soared supe
rior to mundane considerations; a
perfect constellation of talent and ge
nius. they shone in the heavenly
firmament as guiding lights to a
world groping in a labyrinth of dark
ness.
“They showed by the depth of their
investigation, the eloquence of their-
delivery, the mastery of their style,
and the intrepidity of their bearing
that at last the world has found a
deliverer!
Many Deliveries.
“A deliverer, did I say? Nay. it
has found twenty-seven of them!"
With the report of the commence
ment Day say Mayme sent a personal
note to the editor.
“I regret," she wrote, “that 1 lack
words In which to express the stu
pendous Importance that last night's
commencement bears to the world."
T
Served Him Right.
UiK following story of an English
nobleman now deceased was re
cently told in a West End club: |
“The Duke was once in church when
a collection was announced for some
charitable object The plate began t°
go round, and the Duke carefully put
his hand Into his pocket and took
a florin, which he laid on the pew*
fore him ready to be transferred to
plate.
“Betfide him sat a litlle snob, wh
noticing this action, imitated It by os- I
tentatiouslv laying a sovereign alongside
the ducal florin. This was too much for
his Brace, who dipped his hand into
his pocket again and pulled out another
florin, which he laid by the able of the
first. The little snob followed suit by I
laying another sovereign beside the first.
H’s Grace quietly added a third florin,
which was capped by a third sovereign
on the part of tlie little snob. Out came
a fourth florin to swell the Duke’s dona
tion. and. then the little snob triumph
antly laid three sovereigns at once upon
the board. The Duke, not to be beaten,
produced three florins.
"Just at this moment the plate ar-
r ved T^be little snob took up his hand-
f il of sovereigns, ostentatiously rattled
them into the plate, and then turned
defiantly toward his rival, as if he would
aav. *1 think that takes the rise out
of you.’
“Fancy his chagrin when the Duke,
\ ith a grim smile, put one florin Into
the plate, and quietly swept the remain
ing six hack into his pocket!”
AHK
hit
C II" waist, the * very
in feminine apparel, lias
reached the United States from
With it <-a me the modified
i-skirt second cousin to the mod-
I Murathon—because you can run
Par
spl
Ifie
in
Both are important, we arg told,
but neither is anywhere near as
startling as the first descriptions
from Hv French capital hud led us
hem—hope they might be.
The
i cable
dlsp
atohes
had ft
that th*
new
waist
WUJ
* a
’’diaphanous’’—
tnctffk
word
—aff
air that had
the old
peek-.
H -boo
faded
that c
ven the
“peek
was
take
n out
of it.
Imagine
WITHIN THE
LAW
the fame of the dressmaker that
could claim the reputation as being
the one that had taken the peek oul
of “peek-a-boo.”
We were told in the dispatches that
the new waist “had a transparent
body, generally made of the filmiest
mousselJne dc sole, the only opaque
material used being a silk sash
around the waist; the rest, sleeves
included, being of absolutely trans
parent inatorial, in some cases so
much so as to Indicate a wish on
the part of the wearer to outdo the
most daring fashion of the directoire
period.”
Th.- real thing has come, but
it is not at all startling In the way
expected.
There is worn under the transpar
ent waist, beside the girdle described,
a delicately embroidered intimate
garment, besides a heap of ribbons
and such —a he-reporter is doing
this word daubjng—so that the grand
ensemble is artistic, sensible and a
continual delight to the eye.
As for the new skirt, it, also, will
be disappointing to the “lookers.”
The lines of this garment arc not
changed in the new model. The nar
row width at the knee f s is to he main
tained. and therefore there must be
some allowance made for my lady to
i 1 ') her West on tag. The allowance Is
there. Yes, it is a longer- and wider
slit.
Thought Them Samples.
A young man who had sj>ent hifc life
;i country village came td New York
•« seek his''fortune. On.ihft day rtf his
arrival he walked Into a restaurant and
rdered dinner. I
The waiter brought the meal in all
o e little side dishes sacred to restau-
• nt keeping, and arranged them .in
empting array around the young man's
date.
For half an hour he sat and looked at
e untouched dinner, untij. overcome
>y hunger, he called the waiter, who
id been watching him wonderingly, and
“Look here, mister, if you don't hurry
nd bring my dinner IT. eat up jour
m pies."
Serve Velva
On YOUR Table
You can’t know how really good Velva Syrup is,
unless you serve it to vour family not at any one
meal—but at all three. There’s a use for Velva three
times a day—on griddle cakes, muffins or hiscuits in
the morning, in dainty desserts at noon, in cakes and
cookies at night. Besides that, you’ll find that
makes the best candies and fudge that you ever munched—
chewy taffies, kisses, pulled candies and sugary sweets—and the
fudge; you can’t beat it, try as you will. Nearly a
hundred ways of using Velva, the svrup in the red can
—clean, sanitary, delicious. Send for the book of
Velva recipes. No charge. Velva in the green can,
too. if you prefer it. Both kinds, ten cents up,
according to size.
Cranberry Sherbet
l cupful Red Velva Syrup, 2 Quarts cranberries. (
lemons. 2 me whites, 1 1-2 cupfuls sugar. 1 quart
water Coxrr the cranberries with water and boil until
soft Strain and add the syrup, sugai and lemon
juice Freeze, and when partly frozen add the
■ .v wnites of cjgs and freeze to the desired con-
t 1 }| sistenc\ This is excellent with turke .
PENICK & FORD, Ltd.
New Orleans. La.
On one occasion a well-known man
ager went to the theater for the ex-
pre>*s purpose of encouraging a young
actor who had shown signs of ner
vousness in a new part. When the
promising young man made his exB
into tin* Wihgs perspiration was
streaming down his face. The man
ager looked at him for a moment and
tnen said, in tones of intense admira
tion :
"How well your skin acts!”
A funn> mistake occurred lately in
printing labels for a meat preserving
company. The printer had been In
the habit of labeling tins of beef or
mutton, as the case might be. with
the words “without bone" prominently
displayed. The company having add
l'd kidney soup to its list, the new ar
ticle was duly ticket: ! as “Kidney
soup—without bone."
slip out: “Gentlemen, if everybody
will be silent we shall be better able
to discover who makes the row."
This reminds us of a medical re
port. which began thus: “There exists
a great number of families in Dublin
who have died of cholera.”
A—You don’t seem to have any life
in you. Is there nothing or nobody
over which you can enthuse?
B.—Nothing at all. 1 once became
enthusiastic over somebody, and a
short time afterward she became my
wife. That was a sad warning to me
to avoid enthusiasm.
Tear
what i
her—John, can you tell me
s meant by « steward?
John A ;
ard is a man
who
doesn’t mine
1 hit
• own business.
Teacher-
Whe
■iv did you get
that
idea ?
John We
11. I
looked it up in
• the
dictionary u
ml i
it said: “A man
who
attend- to t
he *i
iflairs of others."
Mrs Snoo
per-
-Men make me tired.
Mis. Svvav
k - What’s the matter
Mrs. Snoc
- AJ> husband
sa w
Mrs. Keedic
k > t
‘sterday. and I a
pked
and he repli.
much no
the following naivete half was in front.”
Taken Literally
The parish tea was over, and the
curate stood up to say a few v ords to
tlie recipiehts before they dispersed.
He spoke in eloquent i • m» of the
impecuniosity of curates <n general,
and then went on to say , in apparent
ly touching tones:
“Why. even as 1 stand before you
now I have only half a shirt on my
back."
A few day? later the rev rend gen
tleman received a parcel itaiivng
half a dozen new shirts, accompanied
by a card bearing the name of one of
his fair (though, alas! no longer
young) parishioners. At th earliest
opportunity he called upon the lady
and thanked her for the gif;, and -hen
proceeded to ask what bad prompted
the kind action.
■ Why." she replied, "you told us
the other night that you had only ha'f
a shirt to your back.”
“True,” he answered, "but tb otherj
Copyright, m3, by the H. IC Fly Com
pany The play “Within the I^aw" is
[ copyrighted by Mr. Veiller and this
1 novflizatlon of it la published by his
permission The American Play Com
pany Is the sole proprietor of the ex
clusive rights of the representation
and performance of “Within the Law"
in all languages.
Bv MARVIN DANA from the
Play by BAYARD VEILLER.
TO-DA Y S INSTALLMENT.
He would not believe that the girl
did not care for him. Whatever had
been her first purpose of tiling him
only r as an instrument through which
to strike*ugainst his father, whatever
might be her present plan of elimi
nating him from her life in the fu
ture. he still was sure that she had
grown to know a real and lasting af
fection for himself. He remembered
startled glances from the violet eyes,
caught unawares, and the music of
her voice In rare instants, and these
told him that Jove for him stirred,
even though it might as yet be but
faintly, in her heart.
.Out of that fact he drew an imme
diate comfort In this period of his
misery. Nevertheless, his anguish
was a racking one. He grew older
visibly in the night and the day. There
crept suddenly lines of new feeling
into his face, and, too. lines of new
strength. The boy died in that time;
the man wag bom. came forth in the
full of his steadfastness and his cour
age and Ills love.
The father suffered with the son. He
was a proud man, intensely gratified
ovei the commanding position to
whicli he had achieved in the com
mercial world, proud of his business
integrity, of his standing in the com
munity as a leader, proud of his social
position, proud most of all of the son
whom he so loved.
Realized His Son’s Love.
Now. this hideous disaster threat
ened his pride at every turn—worse,
it threatened the one person in the
world whom he really loved. Most fa
thers would have stormed at the boy
when pleading failed, would have
given commands with harshness,
would have menaced the recalcitrant
w ith -disinheritance.
Edward Gilder did none of these
things, though his heart was sorely
wounded. He loved his son too much
to contemplate making more evil for
the lad by any estrangement between
them. Yet Tie felt that the matter
could not safely be left in the hands
of Dick himself.
He realized that his son loved the
woman—nor could he w onder much at j
that. His keen eyes had perceive'!
Mary Turner's graces of form. h°
loveliness , of face. He had appre- j
hended, too. in some measure at least,
the fineness of her mental fiber an 1
the capacities of her heart.
Deep within him, denied any outlet,
he knew th*re lurked a curious, subtie
sympathy for the girl in her scheme
of revenge against himself. Her per
sistent striving toward tlie object of
her ambition was something he could j
understand, since the like thing m '
different guise had been back of his I
own business success.
He would not let the idea rise to i
the surface of consciousness, for he
still refused to believe that Mary Tur
ner had suffered at his hand unjustly.
Hr* would think of her as nothin? els^
than a vile creature, who had caught
his son in the tolls of her beauty an 1
charm for the purpose of eventually
making money out of the intrigue.
Gilder, in his library this night, was
pacing impatiently to and fro, eagerly
listening for the sound of his son’s re- ,
turn to the house. He had been the j
guest of honor that night at an impor
tant meeting of the Civic Committee,
and he had spoken with his usual clarity :
and earnestness in spite of the trouble !
that beset him. Now, however, the re
generation of the city was far from his
thought, and his sole concern was with |
the regeneration of a life, that of his son.
which hade fair to be ruined by the
wiles of a wicked woman. He was anx
ious for the coming of Dick, to whom
he would make one more appeal. If
that should fail—well, he must use the
influences at his command to secure the
forcible parting of the adventuress from
his son.
“Dick at Last,’’ He Muttered.
The room in which he paced to and
fro was of a solid dignity, well fitted to
serve as an environment for its owner.
It was very large and lofty. There was
massiveness in the desk that stood oppo
site the hall door, near a window This
particular window itself was huge. high,
jutting-in octagonal, with leaded panes.
In addition, there was a great fireplace
set with tiles, around which was wood
work. elaborately carved, the fruit of
patient questioning abroad.
On the walls were hung some pieces of
tapestry, where there were not book
cases. Over the octagonal window, too,
such draperies fell in stately fines. Now,
as the magnate paced back and forth,
there was only a gentle light in the room
from a reading lamp on his desk.
The huge chandelier was unlighted.
. . . . It was even as Glider, in an
increasing Irritation over the delay, had
thrown himself down on a couch which
stood just a little way within an al
cove, that he heard the outer door open
and shut. He sprang up with an ejacu
lation of satisfaction.
“Dick at last!" he muttered.
It was. in truth, the son. A moment
later he entered the room and went at
once to his father, who was standing
waiting, facing the door.
“I’m awfully sorry I’m so late. Dad,”
he said simply.
“Where have you been?’’ the father
demanded gravely. But there was great
affection in the flash of his gray eyes as
he. scanned the young man's face, and
the touch of the hand that he put on
Dick s shoulder was very tender. “With
that woman again?"
The boy’s voice was disconsolate as
he replied:
“No. father, not with her. She won't
see me.'
The older man snorted a wrathful ap
preciation.
Gilder Was Impressed.
“Naturally:” he exclaimed with ex
ceeding bitterness In the heavy voice
“She's got all she wanted from you—my
name!' He repeated the words, with
a grimace of exasperation. “My name!"
Then# 1 was a novel dignity in the son’s
tone as he spoke.
“It's mine, too, you know, sir." he,
said quietly.
To Be Continued To-morrow. *
BACHELOR WHO WOULD BE A JILT
He Thought He Was in Love, Proposed. Was Accepted, and Now He Is Sorry
By DOROTHY DIX.
A N old bachelor, who in an un
wary moment allowed himself
to be captured by some skill
ful lady fisher of men, is wriggling
on the hook and has appealed to me
for assistance In getting free again.
He writes a doleful letter in which
he says that although the girl to
whom he is engaged is all that is
nice and charming and would make
some other man an admirable wife,
he doesn’t want to marry her or any
other woman, because It will inter-
f< i<* with .ill qf his old bachelor ways.
He Is settled in his habits and he
doesn't feel that he could change
them to please a wife. For instance,
it upsets him for the entire day to
have anybody alter the position of
his brushes on his chiffonier. And
what he should do if he found a long
hair in his comb he trembles to con
template.
Also of an evening he likes to sit
by himself and smoke his pipe in
silence* an amusement which in his
opinion is a million times more
pleasurable than listening to the
chatter of any wife. He dreads to
think of this unsociable custom be
ing broken up, and he palpitates with
horror lest he should not only get a
wife who would want io talk and be
talked to of an evening, but who
might put the taboo on pipes al
together.
Wants Advice.
The poor fellow is in a terrible,
dilemma, and he asks me what I
think he should do under the circum
stances.
My advice to him is to break off
the engagement, not for his own
sake, but in common humanity to the
girl. He has become fossilized, and
fossils have no business getting mar
ried. Their proper place is on a shelf
in a museum, or at a seat at a club
window, and not in cluttering up the
holy estate.
What would a young and blooming
girl, full-of vitality and enthusiasm,
brimming over with interest in life,
do with a man who was nothing but
a bunch of peculiarities and cranki
ness? A woman with “ways” is bad
enough, goodness knows, but heaven
help the poor girl who marries a man
with “ways." There are many men
who are hard to live with, but the
sissy man with all sorts of little fin-
nicky habits has gotten all the bal
ance of them beaten a city block.
However, I commend my corre
spondent for one thing. He is can
did and honest with himself and with
the girl. He knows he wouldn’t
make a good husband, and he warns
the girl of his cantankerousness be
fore marriage Instead of waiting to
let her rtnd it out afterward when it
is too late.
This is, at least, playing the game
squarely, and it’s a pity that more
men don’t show the same sportsman
like attitude toward matrimony, U
they did there would be fewer mar
riages, but happier ones.
For example, the man who is sting'
and who feels as if he were parting
with his life blood every time he
spends a nickel, knows very well that
matrimony isn't going to work any
DOROTHY DIX.
liracle in him that will make him
g^n^rous. He is perfectly aware of
how grudgingly he is going to pay his
family expenses. Why shouldn't he
emulate the example of my corre
spondent and be frank w ith the wom
an he asks to marry him? He might
say to her when he popped the ques
tion. “I love you, kid. but oh. my
pocketbook!”
That would give the girl a chance
to know the difficulties she was sure
to confront in matrimony, and if she
thought i’he would not enjoy cork
screwing money out of a tightwad
husband, she could decline the Job.
But the man never says a word to her
concerning his miserly habits, and so
the poor, ignorant girl goes blunder
ing along into a lifetime of begging
and coaxing for pennies, and of get
ting scolded because she can’t run a
house on air.
Certainly the man who does not like
to talk, or to be talked to, and who
has the fixed habit of spending his
evenings in solitude over pipe and pa-
\wr, is in honor bound to warn the
woman he marries that that is what
she has got to expect if she becomes
his w ife. And. believe me, there would
be a mighty falling off in the ringing
of wedding bells if girls knew how
often they were getting a dummy in
stead of a live husband.
You see the poor things marry for
companionship. They dream of the* ,
jolly times they are going to have go/
ing about with their husbands, or th&
dear heart-to-heart talks they are
going to enjoy across their own drop
light, and when they find out that
hubby is always too tired to go out to
any place of amusement, and that his
entire stock of domestic conversation
consists of a few grunts, they get tho
jar of their lives* and wonder why >
they left their happy homes* for this., f
Nor is it very lively Tor a woman to'
spend the evening at home alone be
cause her husband has the club habit
and prefers to play poker with a lot
of men to making himself agreeable
to his wife. Few girls have to marry
in this day for support. They have a
good home, or else they can make one
for themselves. Also, they have their
friends and amusements, and there is
nothing meaner, nor crueller, for a
man to do than to take a young wom
an out of her own gay and pleasant
environment and dump her down in a
strange place and leave her by her
lonely. Unless he means to bear her
company and to make her life happy
and cheerful he lias no right to marry
her.
Another Don’t.
Likewise, the man who knows him
self to be fickle, and that his errant
fancy is snared by every pretty face
that passes, should give himself the
benefit of the doubt and stay single.
He shouldn’t marry to tear his wife's
heart with jealousy.
And no man should marry until he
has finished sowing his wild oats
crop. As long as man wants to run
with the boys, and come home at all
hours of the night, he should be hu
mane enough not to inflict on an in
nocent woman the sad lot of the
drunkard’s wife.
In a word, unless a man can make
up his mind to change his habits, if
they are bad ones, and adapt his ways
to those of the woman he marries, he
should stay single.
THE FIVE FRANKFORTERS ,
A Romance of Great Wealth as Played by Money Kings
By KATHRYN KEY.
Copyright, 1913, by the New York Even
ing Journal Publishing Company.
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
“Money? He can have as much
money as he wants for all I care.”
“Come, sit where Grannie and I
were this morning. It is so cosy
talking across her dear little, round
breakfast table—sugar and cream,
sir?" She laughed at her tner-y
fancy.
“Don't Charlotte—that hurts," he
said, in a voice that he tried to keep
smooth and impassive. But the
thought of pretty Charlotte in the
gentle Intimacy of the breakfast hour
was almost more than his heart coum
bear.
Charlotte dismissed her game, since
it appeared, for some reason which
she could not fathom, to be most un
welcome. “Then if the Duke is wel
come to our money—which Is most
important. I should think—what is it
you object to?” There was a long
pause—Jacob wondered dully ho v
much a man might bear. “Oughtn’t I
to ask? Dear Jacob, shall we forget
I tried to pry into your private—
and. no doubt, very good—reasons?”
Jacob laughed roughly and uneven
ly—a laugh in which there was no
mirth. “ ‘My reasons.’ I must t**ii
you—I must. Little Charlotte, yofir
fate is being sealed in that room up
stairs. Now you know."
“My fate! But I do not understand!
How does it concern me?"
"The Duke will ask for you in mar
riage—he is to marry you as part jf
the bargain—in return for the ser
vices our family is rendering him. It
is all your father’s clever idea. He is
the cleverest of us all. He can turn
almost anything to good account.
Even his own daughter." So flowered
the seed of bitterness Solomon had
sown in Jacob’s heart.
Charlotte answered with gentle ear
nestness: "You must not speak like
that of my father. Remember that I
love him—and although you and even
I may not understand all he does—he
loves me and he tries to do his best
for ine.”
“So you will marry the Duke?"
Jacob in turn questioned gently—
but he had not dreamed that her love
for her father would carry the girr
so far—where, in truth, was her re
sentment at being the puppet for
for use in her father’s tremendous
schemes? Charlotte did not an
swer.
Jacob spoke again: “You like him,
don’t you?” Masculine jealously sug
gested a solution of Charlotte’s
strange attitude. She must like the
man, else how coud she so calmly
take the great news of how her fate
was being settled ip the room above.
"I like him—yes. He is clever—
more so than he pretends to be. And
he has a kind heart, too—though he
likes to appear bitter sometimes—but
he ought to outgrow that. He is quite
young.” Charlotte spoke her thoughts
aloud, in calm consideration of this
most unexpected turn of events. But,
after all, she was accustomed to her
father’s wizardry.
Life Had Been Easy.
“ ‘Young’—‘And handsome,’ ” said
Jacob.
The girl continued in her train of
thought. "Yes. He Is handsome and
he is not conceited.’
"In fact, he has a perfect character
—as well as a grand position. What
more could a girl of my people—of
ANY people—want?”
Charlotte answered dreamily—the
bitterness of her cousin's tone had not
yet echoed its way into her conscious
ness. “It would be a very different
life from what I have always pic
tured for myself.” She paused a mo
ment and looked at the man witlK
whom she was so dispassionately dis- *
cussing her marriage to another man.
In his face she beheld the fires of an
emotion tar greater than she had ever
known—or seen. Life had been lilies
and roses and violets in a garden for
Charlotte—of life’s governing forces,
of the roots from which the flowers—
and we humans alike—spring she had
known no real fact. Vaguely and
dimly aho sensed now in Jacob's burn-
ingly tender eyes something very big
—very far and very real. Elemental,
primitive love—the guardianship of a
man for his mate. For a second the
girl looked into Jacob s soul and then
she spoke uneasily: “Why do you dis
like the Duke so?”
"Because I am jealous of him!”
Jealous?’’
“Only because he is so self-pos
sessed, and I am just the opposite!
He makes me feel stupid, awkward.
I know* I am far beneath him. I have
nothing against him. and just be
cause I haven’t T feel”
“What? asked Charlotte very
gently.
The boy’s iron self-control broke.
He buried his face in shaking arms
and breathed one word. “Miserable.”
A tender light broke over the girl’s
face. Another second of weakness on
Jacob’s part, and the course of lives
might have been changed—little Prin
cess Evelyn in Neustadt Castle, who
knows what a man’s strong feeling
of family one-ne.ss and family honor
did for your gentle fate?
"What troubles you, Jacob? Let me
help.” The woman’s tender heart
spoke in the girl’s tones—and Jacob
knew that the victory lay with him£
and his to choose what the victory'
must be.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
A stubborn backache
that hangs on, week after
week, is cause to suspect
kidney trouble, for when
the kidneys are inflamed
and swollen, bending the
back brings a sharp
twinge that almost takes
the breath away.
It’s hard to work and
just as hard to rest or
sleep.
Doan’s Kidney Pills re
vive sluggish kidneys—
relieve congested, aching
kidneys. The proof is an
amazing collection of
backache testimonials.
Here’s an Atlanta case.
Oh! My Back!
A
Atlanta Proof
“Every Picture Tells a Story.”
Testimony of a Resident of
Cooper Street
E. W. Brooks. 198 Cooper
Street, Atlanta, Ga., says: “I
can recommend Doan’s Kid
ney Pills. Some months ago
I procured a box of Doan’s
Kidney Pills at Jacobs’ Drug
Store for one of my family
who had been suffering with
kidney disorders. They
quickly removed all traces of
the trouble. I advise all suf
fering from kidney disorders
to give Doan’s Kidney Pills a
trial.”
“When Your Back is Lame—Remember the Name”
DOAN’S KIDNEY PILLS
Price 50 cents. Foster-Milbum Co, Buffalo. N. Y„ Proprietors