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By Virginia T. Van De Wat«r. CHAPTER XXVIII. S UMMER slipped into autumn, and autumn faded into winter, and the life In the Middlebrook cot tage continued on It* somewhat monoto nous way. Mary Fletcher knew few of her neighbors, for, although several of the villager* called to see her, ahe did not return their visits. She found them to be kind, good-natured people, but those with whom she was brought into contact had tastes and manners entire ly different from hers. It was now that she appreciated for tha first time that in marrying a man on a lower plane of education, breeding and refinement from herself, she wan cutting herself off from the class to which she belonged There wen* in Middlebrok families of culture, but none of these came to see her The men of such families, meeting Bert Fletcher on the train, found him coarse and common and took it for granted that his wife was like htm, therefore never suggested that their wive* and daughters should call on her and her mother. The peo ple of whom Bert Fletcher would have made friends considered his wife •'stiff and haughty.” Mary went out little, for her household duties kept her at home much of the time and she did not like to leave her mother alone Moreover she herself was not well and shrank from making new acquaintance* Early Breakfast. Bo one day was much like another to the young wife Each morning she pre pared her husband's early breakfast, then cooked her mother’s breakfast, tak ing her own morning repast after Bert had started for his train. He was a heavy sleeper, and awakening him at 6 o’clock on a winter’s morning was not an easy task He usually lay abed so late that he had time to gulp down only a hasty breakfast before leaving the house. Under these conditions the wife could not eat with him, and he did not ggeat that ahe do so, but seemed very willing to have her wait upon him, bringing him his cereal, egg oread and coffee as he was ready for them When the furnace fire was started at the beginning of the cold weather. Bert had attended to It morning and night Soon, however, he detailed the morning shaking down of the furnace to Ids wife, and. as she did not demur, he got into the habit of letting her perforin this work. Several times lately he had come home at night with his breath smelling of liquor, and on these oc casions Mary had advised him timidly to “go to bed early,” an<i she had banked the fires for the night and. when necessary, pumped the water into the tank for use in kitchen and bathroom. In the hours between her husband's leaving and returning home. Mary toiled, not only because In a country house there la much actual toil to be tier- formed. but to keep herself from think lng Sometimes Bert remained in town all night, and she was conscious of a sense of relief when he did this, even while she was afraid to wonder what he was doing and if his breath smelt again of whisky. Her father hail never cared for liquor in any form and she had the horror of drunkenness felt by women who have known only temperate men. It seemed to her as if a dark shadow were creeping stealthily into her life, but she feared to face It. There were days w) en Burt would ap pear as his good nat red, clear-headed self, and then his wife tried to love him She made herself consider his good traits, and to talk of them with her mother. When her mother-in-law came out at Christmas to make a visit. Mary played her part so well that the preju diced matron remarked to Bert that perhaps, after all. he had “picked a bet ter wife” than she had at first feared. “But she ain’t very strong. Bert.” she warned him ”!f you don’t want a sick ly woman on your hapds, make her take care of herself ” Herbert Fletcher laughed comfort* bly. "Oh. don't you bother about her. ma." he said "She never complains, and she would If she was sick Besides, she don’t work near as hard as she did be fore I married her Then she was In Pearson’s all day. and doing housework at homo morning and night ns well.” She Did Not Answer. Only once did Mary venture to speak to her husband of the fear that gnawed at her heart It was the day after New- Year's Mrs Fletcher. Senior, returned to town on January I. declaring that she had "stood the lonesomeness of the country” as long as she could Bert had escorted her back to New' York, stating bis Intention of staying in town that night Mary took It for granted that he would dine with his mother, but when, the next day Sunday he came out on the dimming train, she saw by his heavi « yes that he had been tip late the night before, and noted that there were still the fumes of stale to bacco on his breath She said nothing about the matter, however, until, the noon meal dispatched, he threw himself on the parlor sofa to read the Sunday papers Then he held out his hand to nef “Bit here by me. why don’t you. Ma mie 0 Perhaps the smell of mv pipe makes you sick, does it?" he asked. Solicitude for her welfare was not fre quent with him these days, and his kindly inquiry touched the unhappy woman. She came to him swiftly, and. drawing a chair up to the edge of the sofa, spoke eagerly, yet embarrassedly, touching his huge hand lightly with trembling fingers “Bert, 1 she began gently, “I don’t mind the smell or tobacco. But lately —I have worried Bert worried, dear because your breath smells often of whisky, and 1 have been afraid Her husband threw back his head with a boisterous laugh “Little goose!” he exclaimed. “Have you let a silly thing like that worry you? Look her. Ma mie. I do take a glass of liquor with a friend sometimes, but It don’t hurt me. I’ve been doing It for years, and I don't propose to stop it now, see?' His wife did not answer, and he went on: “You don’t know life, and you don't know roe. If you did you would under stand that business demands that I treat a chap n -w and thet^ and drink with him, too. If I would not seem like a cheap skate And. child,’’ becoming se rious as he saw her anxious face. ”1 never take a drop too much, so don't let's talk about the matter f^ln I’m free. white and a good ways past 21. and I don't need management, even by you Moreover.” setting his square law stubbornly. "I don’t mean to stand it from any woman Don't forget that I won't be bossed!” There was no danger of her forget ting the fact, the wife mused bitterly. THE TUNNEL GREATEST STORY OF ITS KIND SINCE JULES VERNE tTrrm tt)» of JHlwmsaa— flrrman »*T«ins CepTOxhted. IS1H. bj *■ p,„her V#rl»f. Berlin. KnflUh translation an* Why Don't You Get Rid night? TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. “No; but sometimes our benefits are so much like impositions that a near sighted and quick-tempered man is likely to get th< two mixed up in the meantime all we can do Is go ahead. But don . mistake the motives of your investors. You’ve simpiy given them a new expetieftca—g new song, a song In keeping with the age. You’re digging a hole and you’re go ing to make them rich It s like tho roar of the subway—they can under stand it But that doesn't make them like paying for rides to pay Interest on watered subway stock.’’ “Let’s go In and get one little drink,’’ suggested Allan, rising with laugh. “I think you need It. Your mental vision Is obscured." “No," returned Hives, as he, too, rose, “my mental vision is again busy regarding the ruins of the Tower of Babel." A Crisis. f'l'^HAT same afternoon Maud Allan [ had a somewhat casual visitor, an occurrence that might have had strange results if Destiny had no? at once begun to move In the great tunnel drama with Inconceivable sud denness The visitor was Ethel Lloyd. There was no reason why she should not have called on M s. Allan at the Tun nel City, excepting that she had not done ao for several years Also, there was no reason why she should have two several and distinct ex uses. And, furthermore, then was no occasion for her to blush when she gave either one of them—but she did all of these things. Mrs. Allan was somewhat flustered at first herself when the caller was announced, hut she received the girl with sweet cordiality. She had Just been talking to her husband over the telephone, and possibly this had some thing to do w'ith It. He told her Hives was on 11s way down to Tunnel City and that he, Allan, had just been called to Montreal “It has been a long time since I have seen you," she said, as she pressed the girl's face and looked Into the lovely face “Yes.” said Miss Lloyd. “I have never been so busy. Papa gives me more and more to do all the time, and It seems to me I have hardly breathed for a year " “Mr. Allan tells me he sees you occasionally." Their glances flickered and crossed for an Instant, and Maud felt a long- formed sub-conscious suspicion leap Into a conscious certainty. “Yes," the girl was saying, calmly, “papa has given me most of the de tail of the tunnel work to handle. But " she smiled like a child, “I didn’t come to talk about my work— I want to see yours." "Mine?" Mrs. Allen smiled a little vaguely, “Yes I’ve heard so much about your model hospital and kindergarten and all the rest of it for the working people here. You know. I’m greatly interested. In that sort of work, too, In my leisure time." A Peculiar Tone. Mrs. Allan felt that the tone some what belittled the great humanitarian work she had carried on in the Tun nel City, and resented It; but she smiled as little Edith trotted out onto the veranda where they were sitting. "I can give It only my leisure time, too." she said. "This Is my real work.’ Miss Lloyd cooed over the child In tho most approved fashion, and then suggested that she would love to see the hospital and recreation building If Mrs. Allan could sj^are the time to guide her. This was safe ground, and the two women passed an interesting hour on an inspection tour. In the course of which Miss Lloyd instated that she be allowed to complete the somewhat Inadequate library. "Mr. Allan is not here?" she In quired. with Just faint suggestion of an effort to be natural. They had re turned to the house and she was pre paring to make her adieu. 4 i \ TJ, unfortur Allan, w! nfortunately," replied Mrs. Ith regret. “He tel ephoned just as you came that he had been suddenly called to Montreal. I was expecting him this evening .’’ "That's too bad!" exclaimed Miss Lloyd, sympathetically. “How Is he?” “Very well. I think, but badly over worked. Sometimes he Is unable to come home for even a few hours for weeks together My only fear is that he will break down under it. He ha* kept thts up for years, but he think* that the work will he lighter from now on.” Miss Lloyd shook her head ns ona who longs to be optimistic, but can not conscientiously. Her wonderful eyes were filled with concern and Mrs Allan resented this, too. “And now he has this new worry," said the girl. Another Lie. Mrs Allan eyed her. questioning. ”1 mean the financial one Yon know it was understood that we would not try to raise the second $.1,000,000,000 until the work was practically half completed. The ser pentine tunneling at Bermuda ate up such«an awful lot more than was ex pected that it won’t be possible’to finish more than a quarter of the en tire work on the first subscription, and Mr. Allan Is trying to figure out how he can make the showing s good as possible. But, of course, yyu know about It," she broke off “I knew something of It," lied Mrs. of That Corn To=ni Where V reasot. In paring, peel ing. picking and gouging at that corn, when you have been at it for months and it hurts more than ever 0 You can't remove the whole corn that way, but you can and do endanger yotirself to blood poisoning. Yes. many deaths have resulted from a careless slip of the blade and an irritated, bleeding corn. Jacob*’ Mag c Corn Liquid is a scien tific formula from our own laboratory which we have thoroughly tested and guarantee to be successful. There is positively no pain and no danger in this method, and it will bring out any corn, hard or soft, completely, root and all. no matter how„ deep the growth It is the surest and safest com remedy that we hav ever sold. Use it to night a:. . get rid % H:at painful, torturing c« 20c, by .»ail 22c.— (Advt) To Women 2 Do Not Delay B If you are convinced that zz your sicknese i* becauee of some arrangement or dis z: E ease distinctly feminine. — Z1 you ought at once bring * = to your aid Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescription U' / V •V >• v, islU, »«<< W, .V- A ill ii i/a i ., » •. ' v»,> ( -v * Maud Allan and Jack Rives, tw«o human beings to whom what was, perhaps, the inevitable, had happened. It acta directly on the IS ~ organ* affected and tone* ■— jjZ tha entire system. 5 Atk Your Druggist 2 Allan, and she was angry because she knew that Miss Lloyd could tell she was lying. There was no reason for her re sentment, she told herself, on tins particular count when her visitor was gone. It was natural that Mar shoul 1 talk over many business things with Lloj <Ys daughter, m it t< rs that he had no time for In the' few softer mo ments of his visits homo. But while the Intimacy between her husband and Miss Lloyd might have been, and might still be, all business on his side, Maud Allan knew that there was something beside business in Miss Lloyd’s attitude toward her husban 1. Was this also true of him? She asked the question with a calm ness that startled her. Was this the reason that he did not And or mails time for more frequent trips to Tun nel City? Something gripped her tight something at her heart—when the thought came; but she was shocked to find that It did not bring the desolation she would have been sure would have followed. She had leaped to arms Instinctively when she divined Miss Lloyd's attachment for her husband hut how much of her readiness to do battle was prompted by pride and the right of possession? Was it true that he had grown away from her and toward this wonderful and masterful young woman in these years? And, more amazing, was it possible that she had ceased to re gard him as the mainspring of her life? Possibly it was In all that long afternoon in which she struggled with new and strange thoughts she did not once consciously recall to herself the fact thnt Mac was the father of F.dlth, and when Rives came up the steps In tho twilight she greeted him In a sudden warmth of feeling she had never known be fore. It had not been a very pleasant afternoon for Rives He had hur ried to hls office where he had sat for an hour gazing at the piles of work before him. and hls thoughts were far awa v from It His thoughts were not altogether unpleasant, but he. too, was undergoing a cross ex amination at the hands of himself. He came out of it well, he told himself, but Conscience still kept step with him. He had a sternly re pressed feeling of Joy. a feeling that a man forbids himself to recognize. It arises from the knowledge that what we have secretly desired to hap pen Is happening, though we have striven our hardest In our duty to prevent It. Bad New*. "I have had news for you. Maud.’’ he said, as he came up the steps. She smiled at him—easy-moving, sun-blackened and handsome, and dressed In white from collar to shoes. “Have you?" Her tone was light and here eyes soft. ‘T>o you know what you look like?" He was a trifle taken aback, hut he laughed Joyously to find her In a light-hearted mood. "No—tell me I guess I can stand It." “You look like a photograph nega tive when you hold It up to the light.” she bubbled. He threw his hat on a table and slumped into a seat with an affecta tion of affront "That’s nice," he reproached her. “Here I’ve been playing tennis to keep my pristine grace and gone hat less to get a fine, athletic color—and even now I am fresh from a bath and a shave. I expected at least that you were going to say I looked like a young god alighting before a mor tal damsel Instead of which I anil told I look like a dolled-up nigger," I “The reward of foppishness. ' she told him. But what Is the bad news?” "Mac can’t get down to-ntghl.” She nodded. “I knew it, ’ she in WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE The story opens with Rives, who is In charge of the technical work ings of the great tunnel from America to Germany, on one of the tunnel trains, with Baermann, an engineer, in charge of Main Station No. 4 They are traveling at the rate of 118 miles an hour. Rives is in love with Maude Allan, wife of Mackendrick Allan, whose mind first conceived the great tunnel scheme After going about 250 miles under the Atlantic Ocean Rives gets out of the train. Suddenly the tunnel seems to burst. There is a frightful explosion. Men are flung to death and Rives Is badly wounded. He staggers through the blinding smoke, realizing that about 3.000 men have probably perished. He and oher survivors get to Station No. 4. Rives finds Baermann holding at bay a wild mob of frantic men who want to climb on a work train, somebody shoots Baermann, and the train slides out. The scene is then changed to the roof of the Hotel Atlantic. The greatest financiers of the country ure gathered there at a summons from C. H. Lloyd, "The Money King ” John Rives addresses them, and introduces Al lan Mrs Allan and Maude Lloyd, daughter of the financier, are also pres ent Allan tells the company of hls project for a tunnel 3 100 miles long. The financiers agree to back him. Allan and Rives want him to take charge of the actual work. Rives accepts. Rives goes to the Park Club to meet Wit- j tersteiner, a financier. At Columbus Circle news of the great project is being flashed on a screen. Thousands are watching it. Mrs. Allan becomes a lonely and neglected woman nnd is much thrown In the company of Rives. Sydney Wolf, the money power of two continents, plots against Allan and Rives. Now Go On With the Story. formed him gravely. “He telephoned this afternoon. He has been called to Montreal.” “To Montreal?" "That's what he said.” "Hm! Oh. yes,—that Canadian steel. Well, that won’t take him long." "I hope not. In the meantime, we needn't wait dinner until he gets back." Rives smiled back at her as they went into the dining room, but hls smile was a little puzzled. He nad never seen her in quite this mood be fore. It was not hei custom to take disappointment in the matter of Mar’s visit in this seeming off-handed way. But his heart leaped as ho told him self he had never seen her so lovely, so alluring. A Bad Meal. It whs a mad sort of meal. Maud, in some filmy white dress, sat across the table from him and laughed and talked in light-hearted abandon. There was softness in her eyes as she looked at him. a softness in her sil ver voice as she laughed at him and softness in her fine-spun hair in the mellow light and all of it went to his head like wine And through all of it there was a barely sensed tense ness as of expectancy. At last she rose and held out her hand to him with a bewildering smile. "Come out on the piazza," she said. "We can have our coffee and your cigarette out there." Looking back and laughing like a child she led him out to the piazza where the coffee and cigarettes were served It was a wonderful night, and the magic of it came upon them so that they sat long in dreamy silence. Out beyond in the white moonlight the great white horses of the Atlantic were racing shoreward and the swish of their manes and the thunder of their charge came up to them from the strand. The fresh salt air was scented with perfume of sweetpeas that grew in the thick tangle along the rail. The beat and clamor of the tunnel working far inland were only a faint murmur. Rives’ gaze was out to sea. His cigarette burned down to his fingers; until, at last, he tossed it over ths railing and turned to her with a sup pressed sigh. There was only a small low stand between them and their chairs faced the sea. Maud was leaning her elbows on the arm of her chair, w’atching him Her lips were parted in a wonderful little smile. The piazza was in shade, but there was a light in her eves that shone through the darkness. He was conscious of no will to move, but as if drawn by the witchery of her eyes, his hand crept out slow ly and closed over the slender fingers of her own. She made no move un less it was to sway, ever so slightly, toward him. Nearer and nearer ahe came, unresisting like a flower bend ing its head. Hor feathery hair touoh- ed his face and—their lips met. “Maud! Maud' Maud!” he whisper ed brokenly and her head rested lightly on his shoulder. Then suddenly he almost pushed her from him and sprang up. "My God!" he exclaimed. The Reaction. Maud sat with her head bowed and he could not see her face. His head was whirling and there was singing in his ears. He could not seem to grasp that that which had happened had happened, and when realization came it brought with it a stab of an guish. "Now—I’ve done it!” he exclaimed in a low r voice. "Maud—Maud—can you ever forgive me?" » The pain in his voice rather than the question made her look up at him. Her own voice was low and steady. “There Is nothing to forgive on your side.” H R stood for a moment in rigid silence and then suddenly sat beside her again and took her hand. “Maud-—Maud," he began. "I can’t —I don’t ** “Don’t try, Jack,” she interrupted gravely. “It wasn’t your fault" “But it was—it was!" he cried, dropping her fingers and clutching his hair with both hands. Hls "code”— hls system of honorable living—had been shattered from end to end. “If there was any fault," she said, slowly and distinctly, "it was mine, Jack.” He could only groan miserably. “You see. dear boy." she went on softly, stroking his hand with her An gers. “I’ve known that you loved me for ever so long." At this he straightened with a sort of gasp and stared at her She smiled gently upon him “Didn’t you suppose that I knew? Why, Jack, you are so open and frank and honest that I am glad that there have not been other women around here much. They would have seen it a* easily as I have.” “But why—why did you let me " Her eyes fell. "I knew you loved > me and—I let you stay. If I had been aa clever with myself as I was with you I would have known why. But I didn’t know—really—until to-day." Her voice*was very, very low. “Now —both of us know!" He rose and stood before her, look ing down. "And I never dreamed that you guessed I—oh, Maud! I believed that you never thought of anyone but Mac—that you never loved any one " Oast Aside. "I wonder," she said, slowly, “if I ever loved him. I know I could have. Jack—I know that! But I was so young when we were married. I had never seen any other men, and Mac was so masterful and sure of himself —Just the sort of a man to take a girl by storm. When he proposed to me and I put him off I got a not* the next day—like a business letter—giv ing me 24 hours to decide. That took me. But the woman in me never truly loved him—it was only the girl's ado ration for a strong man. He won the girl and he never thought it neces sary to win the woman.” "Do you mean " he began won- deringly. “I mean, my dear boy, that the love of the woman was cast aside for the honor of digging a bigger hole than anyone had ever dug before," she said, without bitterness. "Please don’t think I am spiteful or small or ungenerous. I glory in Mac’s achieve ments and am proud of his greatness. I told you that one night when we rode up the Lakewood road. But a man doesn’t win and hold the love of a woman by digging remote holes in the grouhd." "You don't think Mac doesn’t love you!" he exclaimed. “You know that everything he does Js for you.” “Sit down. Jack," she gently ordered him. And when he had mechanically obeyed: “That is a very beautiful thought. It is what young girls be lieve of the man they love; hut grown women krrnw better. A man's love doesn't Ann expression in steam shov els. You know and I know that Mac would have built this tunnel no mat ter whether he had ever seen me or not. When a man says that every thing he has done is due to hls wife, it is merely i beautiful compliment. The wife, if she has any sense, knows that it isn’t true. Can you imagine yourself building a skyscraper at Rio Janeiro as a proof of your love for me?" “Not that, exactly," he conceded, feebly, "but ” "Let me finish," she interrupted. “You have been nearly as busy as Mac. You have been called awav from here when It would have been easier for you to stay a week—bht you have come back. sometimes every night, at the cost of sleep and rest and comfort to have an hour with me. Your work Is just as im portant to you as Mac’s to him—-but you could always find time for me— because you loved me!" He was silent for a moment, con fused and groping. Then tho sense of his position came over him with a rush. "But, Maud! Maud! Mac is my best friend in life and—look! I’ve broken every line of decency, of honor, of " He filled the hiatus with a groan. A Woman's Story. “I understand, dear," said the wom an. Why is it that at a time like this a woman is so much the older and surer of the two? She took his limp hand and pressed it to her cheek “But you couldn’t help it, could | you?" | “No,” he groaned. “I couldn’t he'p loving you, dearest—God knows! But I could help the—your knowing it— this way." She laughed a little low. tremulous laugh. “Haven’t I told you, my big honest boy, that I’ve know It for ever so long?" “Yes, but I didn’t know that you knew—and that is where the hell of it lies. And there is no hell quite as hot as the one that waits for r he man who violates the home of hls friend." She pressed his fingers hard. “I know, Jack, dear. I've thought about this—I know how you feel. But this is different. 1 wonder if that cove was invented by men so that they mieht neglect their wives with im punity? A man’s wife ought to be the biggest thing in his life, and no one has a right to tamper with the big gest thing in anyone's life. Bur I am not the biggest thing in Mac’s life. He would feel less the wrecking of his home than the wrecking of his tunnel. If I love<Y him in spite of it. this would be all wrong but I have not loved him for a long time." "But, Maud." he protested, aghast, as the future opened before him. “What can we do? I can’t go to Mac and tel! him ill this. Ah—I don’t see what else I can do and hold any semblance of honor.” “The trouble about ‘honor,’ Jack," she said, gently, “is that it admits of too many definitions—all of them made bv men. Do you think it ‘s honorable—or even moral—for a woman to hold the place and position of a wife when she no longer has for a man the attachment that should accompany that position?” Rives shook his head and groaned again. VI can’t think—I can’t think about it to-night,-dearest, ’ he said patheti cally, and he ros»e to go. "I’ve got to go down to the end of the workings to-night—should have gone there earlier. I’ll see you to-morrow, and by that time we’ll have it thrashed out. Good-bye—and God bless you!" He took both of her hands in hh> and, stooping, kissed them. She watched, with that soft light in her eyes, the bowed head, with its wavy hair, and she suddenly took it in her hands and kissed it. “Good-bye—till to-morrow," she whispered, "and take good care of yourself." She s f ood at the head of the steps and watched him until his white fig ure was lost in the white background of the road. \ To Be Continued To-morrow. The Engaged Girl By FRANCES L. GARSIDE. Y T THAT shall a girl say when she V/y receives an engagement ring? Well, now’, what da you think of A question like that? Who gave you the ring, little sis ter, and what did you think when he gave it to you? Do you love htm, were you so happy you could scarce ly breathe? Well, then, why didn’t you say so, and be done with it? What shall you say, how shall you act; is this proper; is that right? The heart is the best judge when it comes to things like this. Is Your Heart Frozen? What have you done to your heart —frozen it up solid, reading a lot of stuff about what is “the proper thing’’ and “what isn’t done,” and who ought to speak first and who must never, never say a word though the whole world be hanging in the bal ance? Etiquette—what etiquette is there about being engaged? What do you think you’ll do when you come to die—ask some one to read an etiquette book to tell you how to shut your eyes and bid fare well to this vain world? When they put your first baby in your arms, how in the world will you know* how to act unless some Mrs. Grundy is there to tell you? What! Shocking! Oh, yes, of course, babies are dreadfully shock ing. aren’t they, and so Is life and so is death and so is love and so are lots and lots of things, but they are real just the same. And so. why don’t you meet them like a real wo- man and not like some little, painted, jointed doll that has to wait till'you pinch her even to say "Mamma” or “Papa" in her squeaky little artificial voice. What must you say when he gives you the ring, dear heart, what must you say when he’s sick and wants you to hold his hand and make him something good to eat and pull down the shade and make the room comfy and tr-ad him something to send htm to sleep. What Must You Say? What must you say when you and he stay up all night watching for the daw n to tell you whether she’s going to live or not?—the little girl you both love so dearly. What must you do wh°n somebody tries to take him away from you and your heart is breaking and you don't really know r whether he cares or not? What are you, little sister, any how; a girl—a real live girl—or Just a make believe, cut-out of some fashion paper with bits of feet that couldn't walk an honest step to save anybody's life and tiny hands that couldn’t put a biscuit Into shape if the fate of a nation depended on it? What must you say?—why, say what you think, say what you feel, say what you mean—and stop think ing about it. that’s all. Before the decisive battle aFTshtib an ingenious method of signaling on the (.part of the enemy was discovered by the Servians. A cowherd was taking five cows out to pasture on a hill half- w r ay between the two camps. He drove them about, sometimes two together, then one at a time, then three, thus conveying Information to the Bulgarians as to the position and strength of the Servian battalions. • The Mountaineering Club of Baber- hauser, In the Harz Mountains, has pre sented a diploma to Frau von Hanstein, a 75-year old lady, who last month made her sixtieth ascent of the loftiest peak of the range, a snow-clad crest 4,000 feet high. TTiree nuns have just left Montreal to spend the remainder of their lives in the leper colony at Rheeklung Island, near Canton All three are only a little more than twenty years of age. For a time, at all events, they will be the only nuns to care and tend for four hundred Chi nese women suffering from the awful disease of leprosy, and a separate hos pital has been erected for them by Father Cohrardy and hls few assistants Who Was? Little Biffins—Jolly party that at the Highflyers last night. Is it true you were the only sober man in the room after I left? His Reverence (shocked)—No, cer tainly not! Little Biffins (innocently) — By Jove, you don’t mean that? Who was then? The Best Food-Brink Lunch at Fountains 33T Insist Upon oiuim u/>DI GEHUINE rs Yg *1 a-1 w sr% <2$ Avoid Imitations—Take No Substitute Rich milk, malted grain, in powder form. For infants, invalids and growing children. Pure nutrition,upbuilding the whole body. Invigorates nursing mothers and the aged. More healthful than tea or cofree. Agrees with the weakest digestion. Keep it on your sideboard at home. A quick lunch prepared in a minute. Funeral Design* and Flowers FOR ALL OCCASIONS. Atlanta Floral Company 455 EAST FAIR STREET. As Easy To Keep The Hair From Turning Gray As To Keep The Scalp Glean SOFT AND SILKY KINKY HAIR STRAIGHT Don’t be fooled by using some fake preparation which claims to straighten your hair. Kinky hair can not be made straight. You are 1u»t fooling yourself have t<> hav© hair before you can straighten ft. Now this EXEL- ENTO QUININE POMADE Is a Hair Grower which feeds the scalp and roots of the hair and makes hair grow very fast and you soon can see the results after using several times It is a wonderful hair grower. It cleans dandruff and stop* falling hair at once. It Rave* harsh, stubborn, nappy look.ng ha!r soft and silky, and you can fix up your hair the way you want ft. We give money back if it doesn’t do the way we claim Try * box. Price 25 oenta by all druggists or A 0* nt « Wanted Everywhere. Write for . particular* to-day. by mail oa receipt ot cUuxipe or cola. uziiiTfl medicine cmpajit. atlaita. si AND there is no reason In the world ^ why you should hesitate to restore to your hair its lost color and vitality, :f it is fading and turning gray, any more than that you should foolishly refuse to use a remedy for dandruff or any other scalp trouble. Sickness, nervousness. Impoverished blood or deficient scalp nutrition may cause premature gravness; sometimes It is Inherited Whatever the cause, gray hair acids from 10 to 20 years to the age, and a young woman, even 25 or 30. with very gray hair is passed as old. Roblnnalre Hair Dye is a pure tonic restorative to bring back to faded or IW toW iu» am wijftfim epM &VV lost beauty. It ts cot to bleach or change the original color, and should not be confused with such. It la pre pared In our own laboratory from a formula we know to be beneficial, and we guarantee It to be non-injurloua. It keeps the hair soft, lustrous and In Its beautiful, natural color, and as it does not stain the scalp cannot be detected. Prepared for light, medium and dark brow n and black hair and is for sale at druggists and toilet goods departments. 75c. By parcel post. 83c. Send u* the name of your druggist If he cannot supply you, and we wOf send you FREE samples of the famous Roblnnalre Face Powder and Rosa Cold Cre*m. Jacob*’ Pharmacy Co. 4 At I apt