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7 he Coiffure of Refinement Four Pretty Styles and as Many Pretty Girls Specially Posed for Tins Page by Members <W> of “The Madcap Duchess” Company ♦ o ♦- -♦ O'♦ d 4 " A dmiration of tin* * latest styles in coif fures is largely tinged with rejoieing that the day of the erotesqtie hav- staek bun eh of jute is passed, and that the simple, graceful coiffure is coming back into its own Loginning with left to right, a very effect ive and simple style of hair-dressing is shown by Miss Ann Swinburne as Seraphina in the ‘itlc role of “The Madcap Duchess." The ef feet is that of a Psyche knot with the added gracefulness achieved by a braid worn over the forehead, with the side hair brought low over the ears. The style adopted by Miss .Margaret An drews is in direct, contrast, with the offeet al most as simple. The hair is bunched at the . rown with the effect of a soft drooping pom padour in front. The style so well suited to the piquant face of Miss Peggy Wood is simplicity itself. The hair is parted in the middle, allowed to fall Ann Swinburne. Margaret Andrews. Peggy Wood. Glen Ellis- loosely over the ears, and is gathered in a low knot at the back. Alias Glen Ellis has the perfectly rounded head that permits of the hair being drawn into a low hunch at the hack, with a fluffy ef- • feet in front redeeming it from the trying severity this style would otherwise become. | Meeting the Difficulty | A GOOD story is told of a worthy Quaker who lived in a country town. The man was rich anti benevolent, and his meant; were put la frequent requisition for purposes of local charity or usefulness The townspeople wanted to rebuild their parish church and a committee was appointed to raise funds. It was agreed that the Quaker could not be asked to subscribe toward an object so contrary to his principles, but then, on the other hand, so true a friend to the town might take it amiss if he was not at least consulted on a mat ter of such general interest. So one of their number went and explained to him their project—the old church was to be removed and such and such steps taken toward the construction of a new one. "Thee wast right," said the Quaker, "in supposing that my principles would not allow me to assist in building a church. But didst thee not say something about pull ing down a church? Thee mayst put my name down for a hundred pounds to pull it down." -W-0-W- Ct~*- THE FAMILY CUPBOARD A Dramatic Story of High Society Life in Ne<w York [Novelized by! (From Owen Davis’ play now being pre sented at the Playhouse, New York, by William A. Brady —Copyright, 1813, by International News Bervlce.) TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT There was a pause. Emily Nelson stood trembling with emotion such as she had forgotten to know through long guarded years of life that bad made ibis moment come relentlessly to her at last. The Instrument was held close to her ear as she waited for Charles Nelson's voice—while her gaze never left the room behind whose curtains her son and his was making prepara tion for his—long Journey. Could she save hi in—now at last? Could anything now be saved from the wreck of love and—honor—and zest to live? At last a Voide. Ills voice—her hus band was there at the other end of the little wire that might be the instrument of saving their boy. “Hello! Charlie! It is Emily! I am at Kenneth's! He Is In dreadful trouble! He ie going to—Oh, I can’t tell you, Charlie. Come to me! Come to save him! How long?—Five minutes?—I'll tjy and keep him! No more! No! No! I love you, Charlie! Corns!” She dropped the Instrument that might yet be of salvation and fell Into the chair sobbing wildly her strength • 'most spent. Kenneth came Into the room—walking as In a daze—like a sleep-walker. He held some letters In his hands—with the most minute care he was tearing these Into small pieces. As he heard his mother sob be dropped the paper to the floor a white shower—and went to her side. “Don’t! Don't do that!” he said in a tone so frozen by the horror of all he had come to know of life that It sound ed remote—like a voice from another plane. Emily Nelson looked up. Five min utes! Could she hold her son that long? “What are you going to do, Ken neth r* “Just going away. 1 can’t stay here, you know I am not fit. I can’t face 4t' 1 can't face- life,” he mumbled almost to himself. But her heart defined w’hat her ears could not hear. Emily Nelson rose and followed her boy toward the door. “It Is my fault. 1 was a bad mother!” “We did not understand—any of us.” said Kenneth, in that quiet voice of doom. “Dear. I have suffered! I think 1 understand now." said his mother, gently. Fighting the Moments. In the boy’s face was that grim sor row that seemed to be bearing his soul away from life and light and any hu man consciousness. "That's what father meant—that suf fering would open my eyes. It has. He said that I should see myself and her as we really are—and—1 do. It isn’t *. pretty sight.” His eyes deepened- and then again there came across them that film—that faraway look. “I want to get rid of it—mother, so— 1 am going.” One step farther from her—one step nearer the door—and after that—what? “Wait!” The mother came hastily between her son and the door—that door she must not let him pass. Could she hold him? Could she hold him? Her agonized brain kept reiterating that question even while she was bending every en ergy, every power, to the successful an- AT BAY A Thrilling Story of Society Blackmailers CASTOR IA For Infant* and Children. The Kind You Haye Aiways Bought Bears the mature < sw r ering of the question on which fate was balanced. “You did not love her! Ken. It Is not sorrow I see In your eyes—It is bit terness!” “Perhaps. T don’t know.” The boy spoke in a sort of lethargy of indiffer ence He felt that nothing that had passed mattered now all that counted was what was coming. "What diffur- ence doe* It make*' Are you coming down? I can't wait.” He did not call her by the sacred name of mother—It was scarcely to his mother he spoke—Just to some one who was, strangely enough, showing interest in him, now that it was too late, and trying to change his plans—too late! He turned courteously—but Impatiently —to the door. As he started Emily Nelson put her hand on his arm very gently she scarcely dared to caress him he seemed to her like one In some strange trance - she dared not w’aken him too abruptly— lest reason totter—lest he push her roughly aside and go on with what he had determined. “Just a moment, dear! When did she go?” ’’Just now.” "Why?” "She was tired She couldn't stick. . . That’s what the old man said—poor old beggar she couldn't stick. Well ... 1 must go!” Again he started for that door of strange doom. Again the frantic mother seized upon any pretext to stop him “Did -did she go alone?” “No.” “With whom?" ’’Please! 1 CAN’T GIVE IT OVER AGAIN! I CAN'T LIVE IT ALL OVEK AGAIN! LET ME GO!” The mother heart knew that he could not live it all over again -that with that memory searing boyhood and hope and Idealism from Ills nature he could scarcely bear to live at all for these few extra moments thut she was trying to hold him - to save his sanity -to save his life itself! And yet she must an swer him as If she knew nothing sus pected nothing of the wild storms that were sweeping through hls agonized youtig-old mind. Life had offered Ken neth Nelson a rude awakening -w’ould he Indeed interpret hls knowledge In terms of death? “Yes, dear, of course." said Emily, soothingly. He passed her—on, on toward that door. There seemed nothing to say— nothing to do all had been tried in vain. Would the mother gtvc up hope, and cease righting her battle against the odds of a disordered brain? “Oh, Ken!” Ho stopped. “Yes?” » "Mary Burk was “Mother, dear! 1 atn very tired — and and—I have a lot to do.” Emily strove for an easy tone. If only some stray gleam of love for the girl whose unselfish devotion for the boy she had been coldly told was "too good for her was worlds above her”— could brighten the gray gloom of Ken’s outlook on life ami love and woman! Mary was, as Emily Nelson had come well to know, the one rose In the tan gled and weedy Nelson garden, if only i she might yet he the “Hose of the World” for Ken' And Emily Nelson’s growth in womanhood was measured by her simple Judgment that her penniless social secretary's love was the one gleam of hope In the life and for the life of the wayward boy whom both women loved. Perhaps Mary’s name would be the talisman to save Ken! “I am very tired and 1 have a lot to do,” said Ken. "Naturally go dear—how silly for me to keep you. Poor Mary's troubles are nothing to you.” There was deep subtlety in that! “Mary’s troubles!" Tbs boy came back to bis mother's side. ”Yes But it doesn’t matter. She says she is going to leave me. Since I gave up the house there is really nothing for her to do—-and she knows I un't afford to keep her But it will be hard for Mary to hunt ” To Be Continued To morrow. (Novelized by> (From the play by George Scar borough. now neing presented at the Thirty-ninth Street Theater, New York. Serial rights held and copyrighted by International News Service.) TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. The chief and the inspector looked at each other. Well, Flagg, Invulnerable to all state weapons that had searched for the vulnerable spot in the armor of hls evil deeds, bad been reached by a higher law. And the dealer of Justice must be muted human Justice now and pay the penalty to human law—the pen alty for spilling the blood of this base brother. “Inspector, I'd swear on a stack of Bibles that 1 saw a tin box settln’ right a-top of that there cabinet," said Don nell, rubbing hls eyes to make sure that some strange magic was not all that kept him from seeing It now. "Well, who moved it?" asked the in spector sternly. “1 don’t know, sor." "Who’s been In the room since you saw the box?” “Only ourselves, sor.” There was a moment’s pause. Then the flinty smile played about the firm mouth of Chief Dempster. There was a trail plain for hls eyes to see. Only he could not see Just where It would lead, and well for him, and for the friendship he had ever had for the Dis trict Attorney of the United States that he could not see that the trail led to the- white-faced girl who w-as the daugh ter of hls friend. “Only ourselves,” repeated the In spector. chief Dempster put a grin period to the sentence. “And Holbrook,” said he quietly. But Holbrook was speeding through the night—speeding on to his cham bers—speeding to the final revelation of that tell-tale plateholder he had filched from the camera Donnell held In hands that should never have been trusted • with such valuable evidence. A Night of Terror. The victims of the scourge Insom nia call a night of sleeplessness a “w'hlte night"—they dread even through the golden day the coming of the long stretch of hours when all life sleeps and they alone wake. A “white night” measures horrors of twitching nerves and unresting mind—of weariness and despair too great for normal man. wrapped in sweet slumbers, to meas ure. But the terrors of such a night are multiplied a thousand fold—are raised to the power of desperate agony when they come to a girl whose past is a degradation, whose present is a liv ing horror of death itself—and whose future Is only a pitiless toll extorted from her own mistakes. Uke a mad thing Aline had gone through the streets after that scene of strangling and choking and strug- ling and striking in the den of the spider. In fear she had left her own home ,to enter the web she bad allowed to be woven about her six years be fore by the summer sea. But fear was an unmeasured thing—fear was a weak word to picture the tortured agony she must endure as she tied back to what could no more be a refuge for her—to what was called Home—Home whose sacred precincts she had defiled. Aline rushed from the spider’s do main she ran from that writhing thing that had lately been called a man— she fled from Insult and degrading in nuendo from that leering face and silky voice that dared ask of her. nay. de mand of her. “a hundred days strung throughout the year." Now running like a hunted thing— like the hunted thing she must soon become; now' biding in shadow at th# * ling < ’. ! • : tracks that the*lnerlt tbla pursuer might be thrown off the trail— «he reached her own doorway at last. But there was one enemy she could not shake off—one danger she could not flee That was herself and her own bla. k knowledge of Aline Graham. At last she reached her own room. She tore from her the polluted gar ments that the master of pollution had touched—the poisoned things she had w’orn in tho rooms of Evil. She flung them In a heap on the floor; they couki not he touched now; her maid would hang them away. And In flinging aside the habiliments of that dark night Aline forged another link lri the chain that must soon bind her fast. At last her soft white “robe de nuit” encased her cold form and she tumbled into the sanctuary of her white bed. Like a child that shuts out darkness, she pulled the covers over her eyes; warmth and comfort must He there. But warmth and comfort lay nowhere. The girl lay shivering in fear and horror of all she had learned this night and all she did not guess. For the full terror of her visit to her enemy Aline did not know; she did not realize that Judson Flagg— had died! Suddenly she heard the jangle of the door bell—loud talking—she must know what it portended—she must have real ity Instead of this numbing terror of what might be. She leaped from her bed and crept to the top of the stairs. Aline Graham had become an eaves dropper In her father’s house! She came on down the stairs and stood trembling at the library door. She listened—and new terror tore at her face like a monster with evil claws. Like a fugitive thing she crept back to her room at last—and stealthily, lest any might hear her, she began dressing In street clothes. Then In the sinister black of the midnight hour Aline Gra ham again left the protection of her father’s house—and crept out Into the streets. A man’s room will often tell what he Is. In one of the side streets of Wash ington—in one of the luxurious apart ment buildings of Washington—where secretaries of legation and young for eign diplomats, where dilettanti at liv ing, where Washington’s eligible bach elors prove how homelike may be a home even without woman’s magic touch, Lawrence Holbrook had hls quar ters. To-night a white-clad, black-haired. Oriental-eyed Filipino boy stood with Eastern stoicism and patience and gazed out of a high studio window into the blackness of the midnight streets. Master would come soon and in the meantime the “boy” would stand and gaze into the same blackness that held his island jungles. Back of him and hls window lay a huge living room wainscoted high in panels of soft brown Circassian walnut. Above the wood was a wall covering of forest green burlap. Against this background were hung half a dozen time-mellowed and rare hunting prints. Above the fireplace was a fine moose head, and on the breast of the mantel were shining barreled guns. Over door ways amt hung above the monster buf fet and wide book shelves were swords, knives, a Manila krlss, some foils, a travel-worn knapsack and wavy daggers of a rare Spanish make. Sconces lit the dark wainscoting and shone on the heads of elk and caribou and on hunt ing horns from iar German forests. A “world-man” indeed was the dweller in this great room. Suddenly tne keen-eared Filipino boy turned arranged glasses and decanter on the great table in the center of the room—drew the deep Russian chair closer to the gleaming fire and stood at attention at the open door with a quiet dispatch that seemed to disprove all theories about Oriental slowness. In His Home. With the easy grace that was hls J Irish heritage- with the smiling at- homeness with the world that had al- I ways been his—up to the time of dnn- l ger—Captain Holbrook swung into hls own domain. The servitor he had trained to wear livery Instead of Fil ipino skins and fiber took his hat and coat with a military precision. “Wait a minute, Barney. Hold on. D ye don’t mind, I’ve got something up me sleeve.” He took that long black box of Jap anned metal from his sleeve. Barney looked curiously at the other sleeve. The captain produced a queer little wooden thing from his pocket and put It on the table. Off came his dinner coat and draped its well-cut blackness over a chair; then the captain’s hands slipped through the unaccustomed opening in hls shirt sleeves, leaving the cuffs standing away from his arms Just below the elbows.. He picked up the curious thing that was a plate-holder and van ished into an inner Yoom. Barney looked after hls master speculatively, touched the black box with a long, curious finger —shook his head, and picking up the topcoat and fedora marched into anoth er room. Had Larry Holbrook forgotten the emerald brooch that lay in telltale care lessness in the pocket of that coat that he had so Idly hung over the back of tho chair? For a moment there was stillness in the deserted room. Then the captain’s voice called, “Barney! Barney!” No answer. Back came Holbrook carrying a red lamp unlighted and a pan for a photographic plate* The Missing Hypo. “Barney!” “Yes, sir,” and the servitor with nar row, twitching black eyes came at the call. “There was a bottle of hypo in my cupboard. Where Is it?” Holbrook was now quite intent on lighting the lamp. "What, sir?” “The stuff you’ve seen me pour in this pan.” “Bah-tle?” queried Barney, with great precision. "Yes.” ‘‘Don’ know'. Captain.” “You must find it, Barney.” “Don’ know!” He started across the room, shaking his head gravely and repeating his for mula, “Don’ know.” •’It’s not there!” cried the captain in exasperation he must have the means of developing this plate—he must know —the worst—the very, very worst. He spoke with slow patience. “Big bottle—says Tl-Y-P-O on the label—big Poland water bottle.” Barney bobbed hls head vigorously; he went over and knelt at the buffet. “Oh, yis. sir—yis. sir.” The captain dropped the work of his hands and straightened up to the oc casion. “My word—in the buffet!” “These. Captain?’’ “That’s it . . . Barney, did you give anyone a drink of it?” “Not yit, sir.” answered Barney re spectfully. “Well, wait till I tell you before you do!” “Yis, sir.’’ The captain started back to his own private sanctum to immerse the plate that would tell all in its hypo bath. “And, Barney—don’t drink any of it yourself.” “Yis, sir.” The captain lingered at the door and spoke with the grave emphasis he used in training this ignorant “boy”—and yet there was in eye and voice the twinkle that had won him the friend ship of women and savages. A New Plan. “That’ll send you back to Manila, Barnadino—in a pine box. . . . Now get Dr. Elliott on the phone and tell him I’m sick—to come as fast as ever he can ” A new plan was hatching In the pro lific brain of this soldier of fortune. “Docker Ell-yut,” repeated Barna dino gravely. “Yes.' His number’s in the little book. E-two L’s-I-O and two teas!” Barney’s nose was burled in the lit tle book while yet he knew’ that precious formula. “Yis, sir.” “And after that get me a pot of tea.” Barney dropped the book—and gazed at his master in something akin to horror. “TEA!" TEA!” Repeated Captain Holbrook late of the U. S. A. and late and soon of the world. There was something in this brief dialogue to suggest that tea was not a beverage for the preparation of which Barnadino had a vast num ber of calls. "Yis, sir,” said Barney In a chastened tone. The Captain took the plate and w r ent into the dark room that would soon give him light that should be as sinister and dark as the ruby-lit gloom In which the mysteries of the camera come to life. Barnadino went back to his book and the formula, “E-two L’s-I-0 and two teas!” "3-8-1 Main.” The Captain came back to the door way for a brief second. “Tell him I’m near dead.” The door slammed after him with a tone of finality—and Barney was left alone with the room and its precious contents. “Yis, sir," said Barnadino, In the pause of waiting for the mysterious pro ceedings that made that little black thing at his ear talk to him. To Be Continued To-morrow. THE MANICURE LADY “I The Only Seat. A famous pianist used to be greatly bothered by requests for free seats at hls concerts. On one occasion hls appearance had been advertised for weeks, and on the day of the concert every seat was booked. Just before he w’as about to go on to the platform an excited lady made her way to the artists' room and begged for a ticket, saying that all her efforts to buy one had proved futile. “Madam,” answered the musician, “there Is but one. seat left In the whole building. If, however, you care to take It you are welcome to do so.” "How can I thank you!” answered she. ”It makes no difference to me where the seat Is.” "Then, madam,” said he, "come this way!” Leading her to the steps up to the platform, he pointed to the seat at the piano. When he turned round she had fled. Kis Turn. Two motorists, having almost ruined their tempers—and their tires—In a vain attempt to find a hotel with a vacant bed. were at last forced to make the best of a small Inn. Even then they had to share a bed, which was—and on this the landlord I laid great stress—a feather bed. They turned In. and one of the pair ■ was soon fast asleep; the other was [ not. He could not manage to dodge I the bumps and heard hour after hour strike on the church clock until 3 a. m., when he also struck. He did this by violently shaking hls snoring friend. I “What’s the matter?" growled the i other. “It can't be time to get up yet!” “No, it Isn’t,” retorted hls friend, continuing to shake him, “but it’s my turn to sleep on the feather!'* By WILLIAM F. KIRK. HOPE to goodness we don’t never have a real war with them Mexican fellows," said (he Manicure Lady. “That is about all the talk I have heard up to the house for the last w’eek. and I am getting kind of scared and nervous about It. My father’s father fought In tpe Civil Rebellion. George, and got one of hls legs shot clean off at the battle of Missionary Ridge. I used to see him hobbling around the house when I was a little kid, and I couldn’t help thinking when I seen hls wooden leg that war was every thing Mister Sherman said It was. I suppose the scars of war is honorable scars, George, but you got to admit that there ain’t much class to one of them old fashioned wooden legs, big in the calf and little in the ankul and no instep on them. "Every time the old gent gets a little lit up he tells that he is of fighting stock, and you w’ould think to hear him go on that his ancestors had all went to West Point and served Uncle Sam all over the world. Hls old man was the only one that ever smelled gunpowder, and he didn’t come out of it with no flying colors except the wooden leg. as I was say ing. I think he got that leg shot off In the only battle he was ever In. But the old gent is full of the war fever now, and he has even got brother Wilfred talking war and strategy. Wilfred wouldn’t make much of a boy In blue, with that gentle, shrinking poet nature of hls, but he thinks that if war broke out with Mexico he would be right down there with bells on. I don't believe they would take him for a soldier at Internal Evidence. At a certain college custom ordains that at examination time each of the candidates shall write the following pledge at the bottom of his papers; “I hereby declare, on my honor, that I have neitfTer given nor received as sistance during the examination.” Now, recently, it so happened that a young fellow’, after handing in one of the papers, suddenly remembered that in his haste he had omitted to write the oath. On the following day, therefore, he sought out one of the examiners and told him that he had forgotten to put the required pledge on his paper. The old man looked at him over the top of his glasses and dryly remarked: "Quite unnecessary. Your paper in it self is sufficient evidence. I’ve just been correcting it.” CHICHESTER S PILLS , THE DIAMOND BRAND S A#k . y . 0,lr f years known as Best, Safest. Always Reliabl, SOLD BV DRUGGISTS EVERYWHFP5 all, on account of hls lamps bein; w’eak and hls small size being again.* him, but between him and the ol gent all w*6 hear now is w r ar, wai war. "It kind of grates on mother an U3 girls, because we ain’t of a flght ing nature, and the only fun me an Mayme gets Is kidding the life out o Wilfred when he tells how he woul charge the ramparts of the enemy an save the country’s flag. We told hlr last night that the only thing h could charge was hls board bill, an Mayme fc :nd a war poem that he ha wrote and was going to send to th Washington Heights Flour and Fee Courier. This is how It goes, George. 'Don’t read It If it Is long," sal the Head Barber. “Me and the Missu had a few words before I left hom this morning, and I don’t feel non like listening to poetry.” "It ain’t much, George. Listen; “Oh, Mexico, thou land of heat And cactus thorns and creepin things You most assuredly will be beat If Uncle Sam on you his soldier flings. 1 shall volunteer for the Stars an Stripes And fight like a hero our flag t save, And if your navy with ours does clas You will surely go to a water grave. And if I die on the battlefield The world will say that I done m best. And my greatness It will be reveale When my hands are folded on m breast” “He ain’t giving himself any th worst of it in that poem,” said th Head Barber. “It sounds kind of fool ish to me.” Yea Lovers will appreciate the in viting fragrance and exquisite flavor of ; Maxwell House Blend Tea It meets every require- ment of quality and purity. V lb.. H-lb. »->»■ TteM CfcMk-Naal C®H»* Cottpasy. c. MMfrrttU ■*•**- JsckaMvUt* A Friend of Quaker for Twenty-Two Years We have moved to our new store, 97 Peachtree Street. ATLANTA FLORAL CO. Mr G. R. Howder, 63 years of age. who lives at 110 Center street, this city, has been a friend of Quaker Ex tract for twenty-two years. When he first became acquainted with its won derful virtues he had been ailing for years from stomach troubles, and had used quite a few of the many remedies on the market at that time, but found nothing to give real permanent relief until he at last found the first pack- uge of Quaker Herbs, put up at that time in a dry form. He was cured by a few weeks’ use of them, and since then each year usually at the spring time, he gives himself and all the fam ily a course of the great medicine, and if more healthy-looking and vigorous- feeling man at the age of 63 can be found In Atlanta it will take more than the normal eyes to find him. Mr. Howder has raised two children on “Quaker,’' and they have never had the puny. pale, sallow complexions of the average child, nor have they suf fered from the many ills that beset the growing child, more especially the hundreds of worms and other intesti nal parasites that infest the human system of those who do not properly cleanse the digestive tract each year. Y\ hen Mr. Howder first began to use the Quaker medicine himself he weigh ed just exactly 130 pounds Now’ he tips the beam at 198. and it’s all good, healthy muscle and sinew* and steady nerves, not a lot of bloat. This gen tleman called at Coursev & Munn’s drug store and. after talking to the Quakers a while, took three more bot tles of Quaker Extract, which he in tended giving to a friend who i* be ginning to manifest some of the symp toms of pellagra. He knew that the same remedy had already cured a case in Marietta, and is doing yeoman ser vice in six or seven other cases right in Atlanta Now. those of you who are Inclined to doubt that the Quaker Remedies are permanent in their cura tive virtue, or who think that when once the remedies have made a friend /w vwyyvvvvvvvvvyvvvvvv they are easily shaken off, just take a walk over to Mr. Howder’s residence on Center street and ask him person ally what he knows of the Quaker’s medicines. He’ll be only too glad to explain why he has used them for so many years, when there are over 200 other remedies that are sold on the druggists' shelves to-day. And re member, too, that if you suffer from any possible branch of stomach, liver, kidney or blood troubles, or you and your little ones have worms of any kind, here Is a cure, one that has cre ated over 300 permanent cures right here in your own city, right on your very threshold, so to speak, where you have the privilege to Investigate them at your will. These wonderful remedies—Quaker Extract, 6 for $5.00. 3 for $2.60 or $1 00 a bottle; Oil of Balm. 25c, or 6 for C1 ^ be obtained at Coursey & Munn’s Drug Store, 20 Marietta street- vve prepay express charges on all or ders of $3.00 or over.