Newspaper Page Text
MAGAZINE
$£ The Coiffure of Refinement
<0>
(0)
Four Pretty Styles and as Many Pretty Girls
<a>
Specially Posed for This Page hy Members
of “The Madcap Duchess” Company
* o *-
-* o-*-
* •
/
I
4 DMTRATION of the latest styles in coif-
i\ fnres is largely tinged with rejoicing
that the day of the grotesque hay
stack bunch of jute is passed, and that the
simple, graceful coiffure is coming back into
its own.
Beginning with left to right, a very effect-
f re and simple style of hair-dressing is shown
by Miss Ann Swinburne as Seraphina in the
ntle role of “The Madcap Duchess.” The ef
fect is that of a Psyche knot with the added
gracefulness achieved by a braid worn over
'he forehead, with the side hair brought low
over the ears.
The style adopted by Miss Margaret An
drews is in direct contrast, with the effect al
most as simple. The hair is bunched at the
crown 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
loosely over the ears, and is gathered in a low
knot at the back.
Miss Glen Ellis has the perfectly rounded
head that permits of the hair being drawn
into a low bunch at the back, with a fluffy ef
fect in front redeeming it from the trying
severity this style would otherwise become.
Meeting the Difficulty
TTj
Ann Swinburne.
Margaret Andrews.
Peggy Wood.
Glen Ellis-
A GOOD story Is told of a worthy Quaker who lived
In a country town. The man was rich and
benevolent., and his means were put In 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 wa3
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. 80 one of their number
went and explained to him their project—the old ohurch
was to he removed and such and such steps taken
toward the construction of a new one.
“Thee wast right,'' said the Quaker, "in supposing that
toy principles would not allow me to assist in building
a church. But didst thee not say something about pull
ing down a church? Thee mayat put my name down
for a hundred pounds to pull it down."
a-*~
fNovelized by!
(From Owen Davis’ play now being pre
sented at the Playhouse, New York, by
•William A. Brady —Copyright, 1913, by
International News Service.)
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 had made
this moment come relentlessly to her
at last. The instrument was held close
o her ear—as she waited for Charles
Colson's voice—while her gaze never
Mt the room behind whose curtains
ter son and his was making prepara -
ion for—his—long journey. Could she
save him—now at last? Could anything
now l be saved from the wreck of love
nd—honor—and zest to llve?_ „ _ A
At last a voice. His voice Art efiTJfls-
and was there at the other end 6f the
'tie 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 Is going to—Oh, I can’t tell you,
Charlie. Come to me! Come to save
him! How long?—Five minutes?—I’ll
try and keep him! No more! No! No!
I love you, Charlie! Come!"
She dropped the instrument that
nrvght yet be of salvation and fell into
the chair sobbing wildly—her strength
a 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 tearir^r these
into small pieces. As he heard his
mother sob he dropped the paper to the
floor—a white shower—and went 10 her
side.
Don’t! Don't do that!” he said in a
f>ne so frozen by the horror of all he
had come to know of life that it sound-
*1 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?"
.lust going away. I can’t stay here,
you know. I am not flt. I can't face it!
I can't face—life." he mumbled almost
to himself. But her heart defined what
her ears could not hear.
Emily Nelson rose and followed her
boy toward the door.
"It is my fault. I was a had mother!"
"We did not understand—any of us,"
said Kenneth, in that quiet voice of
doom.
Dear, 1 have suffered! I think I
understand now," said his mother,
Kently,
fighting the Moments.
In ths boy's face was that grim sor-
tw that seemed to be bearing his soul
A ay from life and light and any hu-
^ nan 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—I do. It isn’t
a 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—
f am going."
r 'ne step farther from her—one step
Hearer the door—and after that—4rhat?
"Wait!"
The mother came hastily between her
•on and the door—that door she must
Hot let him pass. Could she hold him?
Could she hold him? Her agonized
hraJn kept reiterating that question
?ven while she was bending every en-
er 8y, every power, to the successful an-
CASTOR IA
For Infants and Children.
The Kind You Have Always Bought
e of C^*
i 3ears the
I Slgaaturi
swering 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. I 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 differ
ence does 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 waken him too abrupt!
lest reason totter—lest 'he push- higr
roughly aside and go on with what nj
had determined.
"Just a moment, dear! When did she
go?”
"Just now."
••Why?"
"She was tired . . ( Sbe couldn’t
stick. . . . That's what the old man
said—poor old beiggar-—she^ couldn't
stick. Well . . .^J must go!"
Again he smarted for** that , door of
strange doom. Against he frantic mother
seized upon'any‘pretext* to stop him.
"Did—did she’go alone?"
"No."
"With Whom?"
"Please! I CAN’T UVE IT OVER
AGAIN! I CAN’T LIVE IT ALL, OVER
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 his nature he could
scarcely bear to live at all for these
few extra moments that 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 his agonized
young-old mind. Life had offered Kenr
neth Nelson a rude awakening—would
he indeed interpret his 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 give up hope,
and cease fighting her battle against
the odds of a disordered brain?
"Oh, Ken!"
He stopped.
"Yes?’’
“Man - Burk was ’’
"Mother, dear! I am—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—and 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
she might yet be the "Rose of the
World" for Ken! And Emily Nelson’s
grow th 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 I 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!"
The boy came back to his mother’s
° "Yes But it doesn’t matter. She
gays she is going to leave me. Since
I gave up the house there is really
nothing for her to do—and she knows
[ can’t afford to keep her. But it will
be hard for Mary to hunt ’’
To Be Continued To-morrow.
AT BAY A Thrilling Story o f Society Blackmailers
(Novelized by)
(From the play by George Scar
borough, now being 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
his evil deeds, had been reached by a
higher law. And the dealer of justice
must be meted 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 r stack of
Bibles that I saw a tin box settin’ right
a-top of that there cabinet,” said Don
nell, rubbing his eyes to make tfure that
some strange magic was not all that
kept him from seeing it now
"Well, who moved it?" asked the in
spector sternly.
"I 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 his 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 was the daugh
ter of his 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 "white
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.
Like a mad thing Aline had gone
through the streets after that scene
of strangling and choking and strug-
llng—and striking-in the den of the
spider. In fear she had left her own
home to enter the web she had 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 fled 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
voic^ 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 hiding In shadow at the
terror of a crackling twig, now doub
ling on her tracks that the inevitable
pursuer might be thrown off the trail—
she reached her own doorway at last.
But there was one enemy she could
not shake off -one danger sbe could not
flee. That was borself 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
worn in the rooms of Evil. She flung
them In a heap on the floor; they could
not be touched now; her maid would
hang them away. And in flinging aside
| the habiliments of that dark night
Aline forged another link in 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: w'armth
and comfort must lie there. But w’armth
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 bel) -lAud talklng-'-bhe must know
what it portended—sRe .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
in. 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. Tsawrence Holbrook had his 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 his wjndow 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
tlme-mellfAved and rare hunting prints.
Above the fireplace was fine moose
head; and on the breast of the mantel
were shining barreled guns Over door,
ways and hung above the monster buf
fet and wide book shelves were swords,
knives, a Manila kriss, 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 far 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 his
Irish heritage with the smiling at-
homeness with the world that had al
ways been his—up to the time of dan
ger—Captain Holbrook swung into his
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 I*
ye don’t mind, I’ve got something up
me sleeve."
He took that long black box of .lap
anned metal from his sleeve. Barney
looked curiously at the other sleeve.
The captain produced a queer little
w’ooden 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
his 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 room. Barney looked
after his 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
the 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 w'ith nar
row. twitching black eyes came at the
cal!.
"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 I
mula, "Don’ know’."
"It’s not there!” cried the captain in j
exasperation he must have the means J
of developing this plate—he must know I
—the worst the very, very worst.
He spoke with slow patience.
"Big bottle—says H-Y-P-O on the
label—big Poland water bottle.''
Barney bobbed his head vigorously; j
he went over and knelt at the buffet. |
"Oh, yis. sir vis. sir."
The captain dropped the work of his
hands and straightened up to the oc- j
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, air.”
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 I
yourself."
"Yia, 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 tho j
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 dan "
A new plan was hatching In the pro- |
lifle brain of this soldier of fortune.
"Docker Ell-yut," repeated Barna-
dlno gravely.
"Yes His number’s In the little bonk.
E-two L's-I-O and two teas!”
Barney’s nose was buried 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 went
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
Ble. Barnadino went back to his book
and Uuv formula, "E-two L's-I-O and
two teas!"
"3-8-1 Main."
The Captain came hack to the door
way for a brief second.
"Tell him I’m near dead."
The door slammed after him with a
ton* of finality—an<I Barney was left
alone with the room and its precious
contents.
"Yis, sir " said Barnadino. In the
pause of waiting for the mysterious pro
ceeding* that made thnt little black
thing at his ear talk to him
To Bo Continued To-morrow.
The Only Seat.
A famous pianist;used to be greatly
bothered by requests for free seats at
his concerts.
On one occasion h1s appearance hart
been advertised for weeks, and on the
day of the concert every seat was
booked Just before he was 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!”
Lea ding her to the steps yp to the
platform he pointed to the seat at
the piano When he turned round
she had fled
His Turn.
Two motorists, having almost ruined
their tempers—and their tires—in a
vain attempt to And 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
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
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 his
snoring friend.
"What’s the matter?" growled the
other. "It can’t he time to get up
yet!"
"No, It Isn’t,' retorted his friend,
continuing to shake him, "but it’s my
turn to sleep on the feathori’
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
HOPE to goodness we don't.
1 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 week, and I am
getting kind of scared and nervous
about 1L My father’s father fought
in the Civil Rebellion, George, and
got one of his 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 1
I couldn't help thinking when I seen
his 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 j
that there ain’t much class to one of !
them old fashioned wooden legs, big j
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 ho is of!
fighting stock, and you would think
to hear him go on that his ancestors
had alj went to West Point and
! served Uncle Sam all over the world.
His old man was the only one that
j ever smelled gunpowder, and he didn’t
| come out of It with no flying colors
' except the wooden leg. as I was Bay-
1 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 i
gentle, shrinking poet nature of hid,
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
1 .
Internal Evidence.
At a certain college custom ordains
that at examination time each of the
candidates shall write the, following
P edge at the bottom of his papers:
"I hereby declare, on my honor, that
; f have neitKpr 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."
all. On account of his lamps beln*
weak and his small size being; against
him. but between him and the old
gent all we hear now is war, war,
war.
' It kind of grates on mother and.
us girls, because we ain’t of a fight
ing nature, and the only fun me and
Mayme gets Is kidding the life out of
Wilfred when he tells how he would
charge the ramparts of the enemy and
save the country's flag. We told him
last night that the only thinr he
could charge was his board bill, and
Mayme fc ;nd a war poem that he had
wrote and was going to send to the
Washington Heights Flour and Feed
Courier. This Is how It goes. George “
'Don’t read It If It Is long." said
the Head Barber. "Me and the Missus
had a few words before I left home
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 creeping
things.
You most assuredly will be beat
If Uncle Sam on you his soldiers
flings.
I shall volunteer for the Stars and
Stripes
And fight like a hero our flag to
save,
And if your navy with ours does clash.
You will surely go to a watery
grave.
And if I die on the battlefield
The world will say that I done my
best,
And my greatness it will be revealed
When my hinds are folded on my
breast.”
'He ain’t giving himself any the
worst of it in that poem," said the
Head Barber. “It sounds kind of fool
ish to me.”
CHICHESTER S PILLS
. ™* : IB A MONO hi; AM)
' I*-A
E v
Tea
Lovers
will appreciate the in
viting fragrance and
exquisite flavor ot
• «®» j*ar i>rugg|
< hl.rbr».t«r’i l>i*rw n » JTtraad
I IIIn in Ked and ilold metallic
sealed with Blue Ritboo
1 no other finf of
Druvalnl. A - It for(’|| TKbH
IHaVond RRANDPlLL*fi5f»
years known as Best.Safot. Always Reliable
SOLD BY DRUGGISTS EVERVWHFOS
Maxwell Hcuae
Blend Tea
It meets every reanh*-
ment of Quality and
purity.
v Ik. H-tb. 1-lb. Ah Debt Cirtr
CWbK- 1 C.OM
C«M**D
Zubilla •*
J,ctM
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 < 'enter 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
age 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-
i!v a course of the great medicine, and
if more healthy-lookfng 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
When 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 Coursey 6i 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 Is be
ginning to manifest some of the symp
toms of pellagra He knew’ that tne
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
they are easily shaken off. just take
a w’alk over to Mr. Howder’s residence
on Center street and ass him person
ally what he knows of the Quaker’s
medicines lie’ll he 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 tbc
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 oure, one that has cre
ated over 300 permanent cures right
here in your own city, right on your
very threshold, so to speak, where
ou have the privilege to investigate
cm at your will.
These wonderful remedies—Quaker
Extract, 6 for $5.00, 3 for $2.60 or $1.00
it bottle; Oil of Balm. 26c, or 6 for
>>•• obtained at Coursey &
Munn’s Drug Store, 29 Marietta street.
:■ 1 >;press charges on all or
ders of $3.00 or over.
fh