Newspaper Page Text
€ The Coiffure of Refinement
Four Pretty Styles and as Many Pretty Girls
Specially Posed fur This Page by Members
of “The Madcap Duchess" Company
i
!
- ♦ O ♦
DMIRATION of the Ihtr*«t styles in coif-
fures is largely tinged with rejoicing
that the day of the grotesque hay
stack bunch of jute is passed, and that the
s.mple, grtcef... “oiffuft is •>
its own ^
Beginilitlg With left to rigii!. » Very eff.'i t
ive and simple style of hair dressing is shown
by Miss Ann Swinburne ns Seraphina in the
title role of ‘ The Madcap Duchess ” The ef
fect ia 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 atyle adopted by M;ss Margaret An
drews is iu direct contrast, with the effect al
most as simple. The hair is hunched 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 Pegg> Wood is simplicity itself. The
hair is parted in the middle, allowed to fall
O ♦
o ♦
loosely over the ears, and is gathered irs^e-lper
knot at the back.
Miss Glen Ellis has the perfeatly rounded
head that permits of the hair being dram®
into a low bunch at the back, with a fluffy-ef
feet in front redeeming it from the trying
severity this style would otherwise become.
Li:
Meeting the Difficulty
Ann Swinburne.
Margaret Andrews.
Peggy Wood.
Glen Ellis-
A GOOD story is told pf 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 thetr parish church
and a committee was appointed to raise funjls. 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 churoh
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 mayet put my name down
for a hundred pounds to pull it down.!'
-♦ Ct ♦
-«.£♦-
-• o-»
THE FAMILY CUPBOARD
A Dramatic Story of High Society Life in Mew York
[Novelized byl
fi
(Fmm Owen Davie* play now being pre
aented at the Playhouse, New York, by
WiHiam A Brady.—Copyright, 1913, by
International News Service.)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT
There wan n pause. Emily Nelson
stood trembling with emotion auch 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
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 him now at last? Could aits thing
now be saved from the wreck of love
and honor- ami zest to live?
At last a voice. His 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 le going to—Oh, I can’t tell you,
(tharlie. 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
might yet be of salvation and fell into
the chair sobbing wildly—her strength
aJmost spent.
Kenneth came into the room walking
aa in a daw like a sleep-walker, lie
held some letters in his hands with the
most minute care he was tearing these
Into small pieces. As ho heard his
mother sob he dropped tho paper to the
floor - a white shower—and went to her
ski''.
“Don’t! Don’t do that! he said in u
tone so frozen by the horror of all lie
had come to know of life that it sound
ad 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-
nath ?’*
“Just going away. I can't stay here,
you know. I am not fit. I can’t face It!
I ran t face—life." lie mumbled almost
to himself. But her heart defined w hat
btr ears could not hear.
Emily Nelson rose and followed her
boy toward the door
“It Is my fault. I was a bad mother!"
“We did not understand -any of us,”
•aid Kenneth, in that quiet vole. of
d«um.
“Dear, I have suffered! 1 think 1
tinderatand 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 w r ould open my eyes. It has.
He said that I should see myself and her
as we real c an
a pretty sight."
His eyes * dee p. i • •! .<u.i ...... •
there came across them that Him that
faraway look.
“1 want to get rid of ii -mother, so
1 am going.”
One step farther from hei our 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
I even while she was bending every en
I ergy, every power, to the successful an-
CASTORIA
Tor Inf&n’s and Children
The Kind You Have Always Bought
a we ring 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. 1 don't know.” The boj
spoke In a aont 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? T 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 ft was too late, ami
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 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! I CAN’T LIVE IT OYER
AGAIN! 1 CAN T LIVE IT ALL OVER
AGAIN! LET ME GO!”
The mother heart knew that he could
not live it all over again—thai with
that memory searing boyhood ami hope
and Idealism from his nature he could
scarcely bear to live al all for these
few extra moments that she was trying
to hold him to save Ills 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 Ken
neth Nelson a rude awakening would
ho indeed Interpret bis knowledge in
terms of death?
"Yes. dear, of course.* said Emily,
soothingly.
Ho 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 n disordered brain
“Oh. Ken!"
Jle stopped.
“Yes?"
“Mary Burk was
"Mother, dear! 1 am- very tired—
and and 1 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 site 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 hail come
well to know, the one rose in the tan
gled and weedy Nelson garden. If onl>
, she might yet be the “Rose of the
World" for Ken! Ami 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
w omen 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
j to keep you. Poor Mary's troubles art
[ nothing to you."
There was deep subtlety in that'
"Mary’s troubles!"
The boy came back ; • Ids mother's •
“Y. i But tt ou» mi'i mallei i>h< j
says she Is going to h ave ti . Slo*•« !
I go • 111» the house there > ady
i thing for her to «!<• . she 1 ,«
To Pe Cont tund To-morrow.
AT BAY A Thrilling Story of 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 reaches! 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 a 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 sure 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 haul for the Dis
trict Attorney of the Fnited States that
he could not see that the trail led to
the white-faced girl who was the daugh
ter of his friend.
“Duly 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 uf 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. Hut the terrors »\f such a night
are multiplied a thousand fold are
raised to the power of desperate agony
w hen 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 stvug-
ling- and striking in the den of the
spider. In tear 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 tied back Jo 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 tom that leering face and silky
voice that dared ask of her, nay. de
mur.-! of } - -ft hrn.li- . 'ays strung
throughout the year."
N 1 'w running like a hunted thing
like i «• hunted thing she must soon
■’ • '• iii shadow at ihe
i i ror oc , crackling twig now doub
ling r -r tracks tha; the inevitable
purs might he thrown off the trail-
sin ! i . .-hi ii In r «ovn doorway at last.
i ; there v s one «-uemy she could
1 At last she reached her own room.
She tore from her the polluted gar-
j ments that the master of pollution hail
touched—the poisoned things she. had
worn in the rooms of Evil.it 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 hind her fast. At last
her soft white “robe de nuit” encased
her cold form and she tumbled into the
sanctuary of her white bed. bike u
child that shuts out darkness, she
pulled the covers over her eyes, warmth
and conifort must lie there. But warmth
ami comfort lay nowhere. The girl lay
shivering in fear and horror of ail she
had learned this night and all she did
not guess. For the full terror of l\er
visit to her enemy Aline did not know;
she did n<»t 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
y
/
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
liome even without woman's magic
touch, Lawrence 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 tlie 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 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 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 the keen-eared Filipino boy
turned arranged glasses and decanter
on jlhe great table in the center of the
room -drew the deep Russian chair
closer tt> the gleaming fire and stood at
attention at the open door with a quiet
dispatch that seemed tt) disprove a!i
theories a pout Oriental si. \\ ness
In His Home.
With the easy grace that was his
Irish heritage- with the smilitig ai
homeness with the world that hail al
ways been his -up to the time of dun-
ger —Captain Holbrook swung into his
own d< main. The servitor he had
trained to wear livery instead of Fil
ipino skins ami fiber took his hat and
coat with a military precision.
"Wait a minute. Barney. Hold on p
\ - don't mind, i'vt got something tip
nu -dt vc.'
He took tha; : u ’o a k box of .lap
an-'., met a! t * u >1« . w Barney
" “kc ; .1' .: . a; . • <• 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
his shiri sleeves, leaving the cuffs
standing away from his arms just below
the elbows, lie picked up the curious
thing lhat was a plate-holder and van
ished into an inner room. Barney looked
after his master speculatively, touched
the black bpx with a long, curious finger
shook his head, and picking up the
topcoat and fedora marched Into a noth-,
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 hack of
the chair? .
For a moment there was stillness in
the deserte.d room. Then the captain’s
voice, called, “Barney! Barney!" No
answer. Back v came Holbrook carry ing
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—be must know
— the worst—the very , very worst.
He spoke with slow patience.
“Big bottle- says H-Y-P-O on the
label big Boland water bottle."
Barney bobbed his head vigorously;
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
casion.
‘ My word—in the buffet!"
"These, Captain?’’
••Thai ■ it . . • Barney , did you give
;in> ::c a drink.of it'
"Not y it!-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 trainir\g this ignorant "boy”—and
yet there was in ej’e 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 e\er
he can "
A new plan was hatching in the pro
lific brain of this soldier of fortune.
“Locker KU-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 buried in the lit
tle book while yet he knew that precious
formula.
"Yis. sir."
"Ami after that get me a pot of
• tea."
Barney dropped the book—aniL gazed
I at his master in something akin to
horror
I "TEA!"
We have moved to our new store,
97 Peachtree Street.
ATLANTA FI OP AL CO
“TEA!” Repeated Captain Holbrook
late of the V. 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 as sinister
and dark as the ruby-lit gloom in which
the mysteries of the camera come to
life. Barnadino w’ent back to his book
and the formula. “E-two L’s-I-O and
tw'o teas!"
"3-8-1 Main.”
The Captain camo 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 my sterious pro
ceedings that made that little black
thing at his ear talk to him.
To Be 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 his appearance had
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
w’hole 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.
His 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
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 hi»
snoring friend.
’ What’s the matter?” growled the
other. “It can’t be time to get up
i yet!”
No, it isn’t," retorted his friend,
continuing to shake him, “but it’* my
turn to sleep on the feather!’
THE MANICURE LADY
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
HOPE to goodness we don’t
I never have a real war with
them Mexican fellows,” said
the 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 it. My father's father fought
in the Civil Rebellion. George, and
gqt one of his legs shot clean off at
the battle of Missionary Ridge. I
used to see h'rh hobbling around the
house when I was a little kid, and
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
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 would think
to hear him go on that his ancestors
had all went to West Point and
served Uncle Sam all over the world.
His 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 his,
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
all, on account of his lamps being
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
Mavme gets is kidding the life out of
W llfred 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 thing he
could charge was his board bill, and
May me fcv.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 none
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.
1 shall volunteer for the Stars and
Stripes
And flght like a hero our flag to
save,
And if your navy with ours does clash:
Y’ou will sureiy go to a waterjn
grave.
And if I die on the battlefield
The world will say that I done mvn
best. 1
And my greatness It will be revealed
When my hands 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.”
Internal Evidence.
At a certain college custom ordains
I that at examination time each of the
j candidates shall write the following
[ pledge at the bottom of his papers:
“I hereby declare, on my honor, that
I have neitKer 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 lie 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
f thk diamond BRAND.
* A»L year lli-agglut 'or /A I
(■hl.chM.ter* iM.mo.T^re. J/^S
■HI* ln an d t-old nirtall<c\%#J ‘
scaled with Blue Ribbon. 'MS 1
Take no other. Bur of roar ▼
A<.lc for ( II I.< ifFS-TFK'S
DIAMOND BRAND PILLS, for**!
years known as Rest, Safest. Aiwa vs Reliable
SOLD BY DRUGGISTS EVERYWHFPS I
will appreciate the in
viting fragrance and
exquisite flavor of [
Maxwell Houee
Blend Tea
It meeta every require
ment of quality and
purity.
W «. l-lb. Alt T)«M *»■{►
CWk-Nwl Cciio.
CwW' «
KuktlKt.
JecheoaviU' _
A Friend of Quaker forTwenty-Two Years
Mr <; R. Howder, 63 years • »f age.
who lives at 1LO renter street, this
city lias been a triend of Quaker Ex
tract for twenty-two years. When he
first became acquainted with its won
derful vlrtiles he had been ailing for
tears from stomach troubles, and had
used quite a few of the many remedies
on ihe 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
men each year, usually at the spring
time, he gives himself and all the fam
ily a course of the great medicine, a ml
if more hea! hy-looklng and vigorous-
feeling .mp ai the age of 63 ran be
found m Atlanta it will take more
i inn the normal eyes to find him. Mr.
Howder has raised two children on
"<h: 'her." nrd t!’*••••• a' - ., never had
the puny. pale, sail**.' * oinplrxion.s < f
ihe av'"vsc child, or hive tbr\ suf
fered fn m the many ill-; 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 trai t 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 Courses & Murin'*
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-
gimrine to manifest some of the symp
toms of pellagra He knew that the
same remedy had already cured a case
in Mnriet’a. and ! s doing yeoman ser
vice in six or seven other cases right
in Atlanta Now. those of you who
c.re inclined to doubt that the Quaker
Rerrc- • - :re pc r.i or at hi their euro
' • ’ ii .. or wY» flunk’ that when
the remedies lun .- made a friend
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 lhat 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 in speak, where
you have the privilege to investigate
them at your will.
These wonderful remedies -Quake**
Extract. 6 f.. r *500. 3 f , r 12.50 or m.99
n bottle oil of Hahn. :,V. or ?* for/
• b»- obtai' "d hi Coursey A- ;
Mum's Drug I ore, Marietta ctreei
!' • !'• PI rH charges on nil r r
del s of >3.Of. .ir <i\ or.