MRS.MAREN
WAS MADE WELL
By Lydia E. Pinkham’s Veg
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That’s Why You’re Tired- it of Sort!
—Have No Appetite.
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“Do you believe it pays to get next
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“It did me when I went out pros
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AT THE FIRST SIGNS
Of 'Falling Hair Get Cuticura. 'It
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Touch spots of dandruff and Itching
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You may rely on these supercreamy
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Sample each free by mail with Book.
Address postcard, Cuticura, Dept. XX,
.Boston. Sold everywhere.—Adv.
Girls shoold beware of young men
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they are apt to develop into lemon
drops.
rots own kki/Ooiht mu rail rot
Try Mirrtae Ere Bemedr xor Bad, Weii. Waters
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Because one is not leading the pro
cession it is no sign that he is down
and out.
Housework h a Burden
It’s hard enough to keep house if in
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back has a heavy burden.
Any woman in this condition has good
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| Doan’s Kidney Pills hare cured thou
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An Iowa Case
Mrs. M. Clinker,
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mi mi nn
MARY MIDTHORNE 1)
BY
GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON.
Author of "Graustark,” “Truxton King,” etc.
I Copyright, 1911. By Dodd. Mead A Co. Jy
mi Illl III!
CHAPTER XI— (Continued).
He undressed in the dark, leaped
into bed and although the night was
very warm, pulled the coverlet over his
shivering frame, and closed his eyes
so tightly that they hurt, in the ef
fort to go to sleep instantly whether
his brain willed it or no. Many minutes
passed and sleep came not because he
courted it so zealously. He heard the
muffled strokes of the ancient clock
in the hallway below. He remembered
that it was out of repair—it had been
ever since he could recall—and was as
likely to strike 15 as it was one; it
never struck the correct number. The
hour was 3, he knew, but he foii&d
himself wondering Tiow faT out of the
way the futile timepeace would prove
to be. He counted 11. Then the silence
was more deathlike than before. The
Incongruous thought flashed through
his mind that his uncle, being a me
thodical person, was singularly remiss
In allowing the clock to go on such a
prolonged tantrum as this.
Suddenly he remembered that he
had not said his prayers. He never
had missed saying them before. Mr.
Presbrey had been particularly Imper
ative about the prayers. Formerly he
had knelt at the rail of the bed to say
them, but of late he had been mum
bling them in bed, asserting an inde
pendence that rather pleased him, al
though he was careful not to apprise
Mr. Presbrey of the departure. Im
pelled by a strange power which would
not be resisted, he slipped out of bed
and knelt once more in the old, ac
cepted way. Before he knew what had
happened, in the course of the set
prayer which the minister had pre
pared for him, he mumbled the sen
tence, “bless Uncle Horace and Aunt
Rena and Cousin Chetwynd and bless
my dear sister—”
But there he stopped. Chetwynd!
The name seemed to strike back at his
lips. The prayer was ended.
As he started to rise, a long, quaver
ing cry came from Mary’s room. He
sprang to his feet, electrified, his
whole body rigid from the shock to his
overwrought nerves. With bated breath
and glaring eyes, he waited for a repe
tition of the sound. It came a mo
ment later, this time louder and with
a note of terror.
"Eric!”
It was Mary's voice after all. A wave
ef relief surged over him. In two
bounds he was at her door.
"What is it? What is the matter.
18
Mary sat bolt upright and cried oui
In alarm.
"What are you saving. Eric? Glad?
Why—why are you glad?”
He caught his breath. The thrill ol
exultation passed in a flash; his tur
bulent thoughts crowded into a narrow
channel that led him back to safety.
For tlie first time since the events of the
afternoon, lie found himself In full pos
session of Iris wits. A wonderful cun
ning took lodgment where despair and
remorse had been. God had punished.
It was God, after all. Adam had said
so. Mary had hoped It would be so.
God had punished, through him—the
one best qualified jo be His agent. It
was as it should be.
His fcraln worked quickly. "I’m glad
we know Just the kind of a scoundrel
he Is, There won't be any row between
us, Mary, but I'm going to tell him
In the morning that he's got to let you
alone. Thats' all. I can settle his case
by telling what I know about the girl
he’s keeping In New York.”
Then, to ease his own mind, he brief
ly told her of that single phase in the
unsavory life of their cousin, carefully
refraining from any mention of his
peculations, leaving that to the devel
opments of another day. Mary was ap
palled by the disclosure.
"What would Aunt Rena say if she
knew?’’ she whispered, in awe.
He plied her with questions, eager to
obtain further justification for himself,
and succeeded in getting a rather tear
ful statement of facts. Chetwynd had
made vile proposals to this 16 year old
girl, and had threatened her in no
vague terms. The hateful encounter
took place at the noon hour, Just before
she started out for her drive with Joan.
"Won't It be fine if they will let me
go to Miss Sinnox's with Joan,” she
cried in the end. "It only to get away
from Chetwynd. I—I don't believe I
could stay here next winter, Eric, with
you away at college. I am so afraid
of him. Why—why. I placed a chair
against my door tonight. I was afraid
he might try to come in before you got
home.”
He started. “Before I got home?”
"I looked into your room at 10 o'clock
and you were not there."
He turned very cold. "It was so hot
In there that I went outside for a little
while,” he explained dully.
“I listened nearly all night for him.
He was out, too. Go and listen at his
door. Eric. See if he is in there.”
“Nonsense. I can't go snooping
around like that. He's in. of course.
He won't dare come In here. You’re
foolish, dear. Go to sleep.”
“Heave your door wide open, please,”
she begged.
He was silent for a moment. “I'll
tell you what I'll do. You’re nervous,
and I don't blame you. I’ll get a blan
ket and a pillow and lie here on the
floor by your window.”
She was satisfied. In 10 minutes she
was sound asleep, secure in his pros
ence. He lay very still and tense undei
the window ledge, staring wide eyec
up into the darkness, the soft nighl
wind blowing across his face.
At last his hands unclenched them
selves and his whole body relaxed lr
surrender to the new despair as lie la>
there thinking it all out.
He could not go on being the sweet
heart of Joan Bright!
avi <11 y :
"Come here, Eric,” she cried plain
tively. "Oh, I've had such a terrible
dream. Please light the gas, Just for
a minute. It was so real. I wonder if
it could have been true. Did you hear
any one go out of my door?”
“No,” he replied, stopping In the
middle of the room, conscious of a
strange premonition. "You wrere dream
ing. No one has been here.”
“Light the gas. I am so nervous. I
thought Chetwynd was in the room,
standing at the side of my bed, with
his hands reaching out to grab hold
of me. He had the most awful look
In his face. He was saying something
to me. I couldn’t catch all of the words,
I was so frightened, and his voice was
so thick and hoarse. But I did under
stand part of it. It was had, oh, so vile.
I don’t know why I should dream such
things. Won’t you light the gas,
Eric, please?"
But he stood there as If turned to
stone—the blood in his veins congealed.
She heard strange, mumbled words on
his lips.
“Oh, God, I wonder if he was here.
Can he be here now, in this room?”
“No, no, you ninny,’’ cried she, with
a shrill little laugh. "Of course, it was
a dream. I’m wide awake now. I’m
sorry I disturbed you, Eric. But—
please stay with me for a little while.
It was so real, and I’m such a cow
ard. You know how frightened I am
of him, anyway. Sit down on the bed,
Eric.”
"I shan't light the gas.” he said res
olutely. He would not leit her see his
face. That was out of the question.
He sat down on the edge of the bed.
In the darkness her eager little hand
sought his, and found it as cold as Ice.
"How cold your hand is.’’ she cried.
“Is It?” he asked mechanically.
•'Listen, Eric, and I’ll tell you why
I had the dream. They say there is no
explanation for one's dreams, but 1
don’t believe it. I think. If one can only
go back Into one's mind, in Borne little
forgotten corner of it, he will be Bure
to find an Impression, or a thought, or
a memory, that will furnish the cause
for every single dream. Sometimes we
may have to go back of our present ex
istence, into the one before this, or
maybe we project ourselves into a fu
ture incarnation, but we—”
"Don’t talk nonsense, Mary,” he in
terrupted gruffly.
"It isn’t nonsense," she cried. "Joan
and I were talking about reincarnation
today. She believes in It. Just as I do.
"She thinks when we die our souls pass
on to another body, and the good in us
grows while the bad decreases.”
"Tell me: what caused this dream of
yours?”
Her hand began to tremble. "I ought
not to tell you,” she said nervously.
"You will quarrel with Chetwynd. You
—you—Oil. Eric, you might do some
thing dreadful.”
"■What, for instance?” he asked de
liberately.
At 10 o’clock Adam Carr presented
himself at the bank and Inquired foi
President Blagden. He was informed
that Mr. Blagden had not vet oome
down. He had not been late before In
the memory of the oldest employe.
’’OverBlep, I dare say,” remarked Ad
am laconically.
"He never does that, sir,” replied the
ancient person who served as janitor
and day watchman.
“I’ll wait," said Adam. “By the way,
is his son here?”
“No, sir. That’s what makes me think
there's something wrong up at the
house.”
“Have you telephoned?"
“Mr. Gray did, a moment ago. No
one is ever late here. sir. That 's
among the employes. It’s Mr. Blagden’s
rule. Sickness is the only excuse. Or
a death in the family.”
“Umph!" said Mr. Carr.
Horaoe came in at 10:30. His first
glanue was in the direction of the
teller’s cage occupied by his son. Adam
noticed a slight contraction of his eye
brows, and a no uncertain pursing of
the lower lip.
He intercepted Mr. Blagden before lie
reached the door leading to his private
office.
“Just a word. Mr. Blagden—” he be
gan.
“Not at present, If you please,” In
terrupted Horace, so Irritably that ths
listening clerks forgot themselves and
looked up. Mr. Blagden was never any
thing but suave.
“I can’t wait,” announced Adam
shortly.
Horace paused. His austerity seemed
to crumble before the very eyes of the
furtive watchers. Indeed, they were
permitted to witness an amazing met
amorphosis. He had turned sharply at
Adam's curt remark. For a second or
two his haughty stare held. Then his
lips parted and his hand went up with
a spasmodic jerk as if to reclaim phy
sical control of his features, but no
power of his own could conquer the
sudden feeling of dread and appre
hension that rushed up from within to
reveal Itself in his eyes. Intuitively he
knew- that calamity was upon him. A
blow was about to be struck.
"Come Into my room,” he said harsh
ly. It would never do for those fel
lows behind the counters to see the
blow fall, and to go forth with the
story of how he shrivelled beneath It.
Adam followed him into the private
office.
"Well,” said Horace, turning upon
him as soon as the dor was closed.
"I have discovered the thief,” said
Adam quietly.
For a full minute the two men
faced each other.
“How much do you ask? What is
your price, Adam?” asked Horace, a
deathly pallor In his cheek. He put out
his hand to steady himself against the
table.
"Price?” demanded Adam, w7ith a
frown. “What do you mean? I ask for
nothing but the private reward you of -
fered In the name of the bank.”
“It—It Isn’t young Payson?”
"No, It isn't. If I were you, Horace,
I’d put that fellow back in his job here.
He’s honest.”
"Speak out, man. Tell me the truth.
Have done with it." cried Horace, sud
denly losing control of his nerves. He
was shaking like a leaf.
“You were bent on punishing the
hlef. Horace. You said you’d give $1,000
to see him put where all thieves ought
to be. In all the history of the bank,
there had not been a thief among its
employes. Tills thief was the only
thief. You were determined to make
i lasting example of him. You were go
ing to punish biui it It took years to
i
*T'Ou must promise me first that you
won't—fight him. Oh, I am so afraid.
Brie, that you will let your temper get
the bitter of you."
"What has he said to you—what has
he done?” demanded her brother, his
hatred for his cousin lifting itself
above all other sensations. Oddly, he
Pit a sudden, fierce desire to fall upon
and destroy a living Chetwynd.”
“Premise me.”
"All right. I—I shan't do anything.”
he groaned, and she mistook the tone
for one of bitter resignation.
"Weil, he insulted me today. I_I
can't tell you what he said to me, Eric.
It was too vile. I could have killed
him myself. He—■*’
“What did he say?” demanded Eric.
She was struck by the sudden, exultant
note in his voice. It was as if he were
glad that she had been subjected
to the affront.
"I can't tell you. He Is the vilest
thing In all this world. Oh, I hope God
will punish him—I know' he will. When
I cried and told him never to speak to
me again, he said—Oh, Eric, dear, I
can’t tell you."
“Go on, go on!"
"He said I wasn't any better than
mother was. and for me to stop whin
ing. He scared me by threatening to
tell people that I—I had already been
bad—like the girls at French Fannie's
—and if I didn’t—”
Fric stood up and lifted his clenched
hands to heaven, a great sob of Joy
bursting from his throat.
“Oh. nov it's all right! It's all right!
I’m glad! Curse him, I’m glad!”
find the necessary proof. Well, I’ve got
the proof, all of It. There's enough of
it to put him comfortably where nil
thieves ought to be.”
Horace made a great effort to pud
himself together.
"Will you be more specific. Carr?” ho
said, but his voice shook.
Adam looked at him in wonder, and
with a trace of pity in his eyes.
“It’s going to be pretty hard, Horace.
I hope you'll take it like a man.”
Horace straightened up; his gaze
tried to meet that of the detective
without quailing.
"I have asked you to be quite specific,
Carr." he repeated.
"Where is your son?” demanded
Adam abrutly.
Horace seemed to draw his shoul
ders in as if his body wus undergoing a
tightening process.
"My son? He—See here, Carr, wh.it
do you know of him? Where is he?
Don't waste words. For—for God's
sake, out with it.”
“Do you mean to say that you don't
know where he is?” demanded Ad im
loudly. "Isn’t ho at home?”
"Sh! Not so loud, please! No, he is
not at home. I will be quite frank
with you, he did not come home last
night. He's—Re’s gone.”
"Are you speaking the truth?”
“Sir!”
"I understand, Horace. It is natural
for a father to shield his son. He con
fessed to vou. You* are going to Btand
h>' MOlwhJlSr-"
T‘Cafr, lis God is my witness. I lid
not suspect my son until I looked In
to your eyes out there In the bank a
few minutes ago. Then, something
seemed to tell me what it was you had
come to say—and to do. Now, Adam, I
am asking you how much you want.
What Is your price?”
Adam Carr drew back his arm as if
to strffee. A savage light leaped into
his eyes.
"That's the second time you’ve asked
me that auestion. I'll answer it this
time.” He stuck his hands into his
coat pockets and faced Mr. Blagdon
squarely. ”1 have a price and you’ll
have to pay it. You'll be a long time
doing it, Horace, but it’s got to be paid.
Once you accused me of being a thief.
You drove me out of this town, dis
graced. You—''
"I was a boy then, Adam. We are
men now. I ask you to overlook
that—"
Adam held up his hand. "You have
never publicly admitted your error,
even though you knew you were wrong.
All these years you have allowed Co
rinth to believe that you are still un
convinced. I want to say to you now
that I wouldn't sell the knowledge I
have of your son’s rottenness for all
the money in this bank. You can’t pay
my price in money, Horace. You can
only pav it with suffering. You are i
good man. Good men suffer harder
than bad men. You had no mercy on
your sister. You are pleased to say
that she’s In hell; that’s enough for
you. Your children? You—well, we
won't speak of them. I suppose you
can’t help being what you are.”
"I am an nonest, God fearing man—
a Christian whose—”
hi < i i .. *1 _i _
man, you have a prodigal son. Will
you have the courage to kill a fatted
calf when he returns to you, blackened
with shame, or will you publicly con
sign him to the devil as you did your
sister because she was not good enough
to come In for your passover?”
“My boy can be saved. The cases
arc not the same.”
"How about the Widow Payson’s
boy?”
"Have you done with this! What do
you mean to do?”
“I am going to put my proofs—and
they are unassailable—before the peo
ple of Corinth.”
Horace eyed him quite calmly. He
was master of himself once more, so
far as outward appearances are con
cerned.
"This Institution will not prefer
charges against the son of Its presi
dent. I shall restore all of the money
that is missing. That will be the end
of It.”
"Not exactly.” said Adam, with a
smile. "You forget me. I am going
to hunt this world over until I find
the thief. Then I shall bring him back
to you. It rests with the bank, of
course, whether he shall be sent to
prison But I shall do my part, never
fear. You can't keep me from hunting
him down, and you can't keep me from
giving the story to the world. Sit down,
Horace. I want to tell you Just what
I know of your son’s actions.”
Half an hour later. Adam Carr left
the bank. Before 5 o'clock In the af
ternoon. representatives of New York
and Boston papers were In Corinth In
vestigating the report that the son of
Horace was a defaulter, and that he
had fled.
The whole blighting story of Chet
wynd's crime was to find Its way Into
the great newspapers.
Corinth was appalled!
Once more Todville rejoiced, and
along the water front the denizens
spoke without fear or restraint. The
smug little city was shaken as by a
monster convulsion.
A Blagden had gone wrong! A malo
Blagden! A son of The Blagden at
that!
(Continued next week.)
Paris Tries Hard to Be Herself Again
By Edith Wharton, In Scribner's.
It is a good sign to see the crowds pour
ing into the shops again, even though the
sight is less Interesting than that of the
other crowds streaming dally—and on
Sundays In Immensely augmented num
bers—across the Pont Alexander III to
the great court of the Invalldes where the
German trophies are displayed. Here the
heart of France beats with a richer blood,
and something of Its glow passes Into for
eign veins as one watches the perpetually
renewed throngs face to face with the
long triple row of German guns. There
are few In those throngs to whom one of
the deadly pack has not dealt a blow;
there are personal losses, lacerating mem
ories, bound up with the sight of all those
evil engines. But personal sorrow Is the
sentiment least visible In the look of Paris.
It Is not fanciful to say that the Parisian
face, after six months of trial, has ac
quired a new character. The change seems
to have affected the very stuff It Is mould
ed of, as though the long ordeal had hard
ened the poor human clay Into some dense
commemorative substahCe. I often pags
In the street women whose faces took like
memorial medals—Idealized Images of
what they were In the flesh. And the
masks of some of the men—those queer
tormented Gallic masks, crushed-in and
squat and a little Batyr-like—look like the
bronzes of the Naples museum, burnt and
twisted from their baptism of Are. But
none of these faces reveals a personal
pre-occupation; they are looking, one and
all, at France erect on her borders. Even
the women who are comparing different
widths of Valenciennes at the lace counter
all have something of that vision In their
eyes—or else one does not see the ones
who haven’t.
It Is still true of Paris that she has not
the air of a capital In arms. There are as
few troops to be seen as ever, and but for
the coming and going of the orderlies at
tached to the war office and the military
government, and the sprinkling of uni
forms about the doors of barracks, there
would be no sign of war in the streets—no
sign, that Is, except the presence of the
wounded.
Lusitania Is the ancient Latin name
for a country whose borders were al
most Identical with those of modern
Portugal.
Several hundred women in Flrwood.
Pa., have started a crusade to place
under the ban every store, theater and
other business that uses bill boards as
an advertising medium.
I
Canada is CallingYbn
to her RichWheat Lands
""She extends to Americans a hearty in
vitation to settle on her FREE Home
stead lands of 160 acres each or secure
some of the low priced lands in Mani
toba, Saskatchewan and Alberta.
This year wheat is higher but Canadian land just
as cheap, so the opportunity is more attractive than
ever. Canada wants you to help to feed the world
by tilling some of her soil—land similar to that
which during many years has averaged 20 to 45
bushels of wheat to the acre. Think what you
can make with wheat around $1 a bushel and
land so easy to get Wonderful yields also of
Oats, Barley and Flax. Mixed farming
is fully as profitable an industry as grain
growing.
The Government this year is asking
farmers to put increased acreage into
• grain. Military service la not com
pulsory in Canada. There is no conscription and no war tax on lands. The
climate is healthful and agreeable, railway facilities excellent, good schools and
churches convenient Write for literature and particulars as to reduced railway
rates to Superintendent Immigration, Ottawa, Canada, or to
1 g MacLacblan, Drawer 197, Watertown, S. 0.;
V. V. Bennett, 220-17tti St., Room 4, Bee Bldg, Omen*, '
Ret, and R. k Barrett, 311 Jackson St, St. raid, Minn.
Canadian Government A sente.
SAW NO REASON FOR SPEED
Some Food for Thought in Epigram
Made by Moroccan Statesman
About the Lusitania.
■ -L
The sinking of the Lusitania recalls
an epigram about this ship which the
sultan of Morocco's grand vizier made
to Jules Huret.
The grand vizier, a very old man,
received M. Huret. who is a French
journalist, in Fez. M. Huret described
the wonders of modern science and in
vention to his host. He told him about
the Lusitania, then just completed,
which could do her 27 knots an hour.
"Tiiink of it!” said M. Huret, en
thusiastically. “Think of it! A great
ship that goes 27 knots an hour!”
But the vizier yawned and said:
“Why do you Christians always
want to go so fast, when all roads
alike lead to the grave?”
Two Kinds of Water.
It was a training school for navy re
cruits and the young ensign had been
detailed to teach the “rookies” the ru
diments of learning.
“Name the various bodies of water,”
wrote he on the blackboard, “and state
how many there are.”
It was a simple Question to big John
Henry.
“Two kinds of water,” wrote be,
"earm and rouf.”
Aggrieved.
"Did you say that my production
Is a thoughtful, educational and moral
entertainment which couldn’t offend
the most refined sensibilities?” aBked
the manager.
“Yes,” replied the playgoer. “Isn’t
it true?”
“Maybe it is. But I don't see why
you should want to knock business by
talking about it”
A Test.
“At last," said the young woman,
“I am sure that I have made my com
mencement essay properly profound
and dignified.”
“How do you know?”
"I read it to father and he didn't
understand a word of 1L”
A man is too credulous when his
only reason for believing a thing is
that his grandfather said it was so.
It Depends.
He—W-w-wlll you k-k-kiss m-m-mel
She (shyly)—How long will the reel
thing take?
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Fine for Love-Making.
"The planet Jupiter has five moons.1
’’How romantic the nights must b«
there!”—Kansas City Journal.
In the Kitchen.
The Vanilla Bean—I have a great
association with epicures as a flavor
ing for desserts.
Nutmeg—Ah, but I have a grater.
The Modern Brand.
Omar—That new barber is an up-to
date artist, all right.
Henry—How do you know?
Omar—He gave a friend of mine a
cubist haircut the other day.
---- * r i
The Truth Comes Out.
The Lawyer—But how did you man
age to rob that big corporation so sys
tematically without being discovered?
The Former Employee—Oh. the big
corporation was too busy working the
same kind of a game on the public to
notice me.
its Handicap.
"First the Russians took Przemysl
from the Austro-Oerman forces, and
now the latter are attacking It in
turn.”
"Well, that is one place where I
don’t see bow anybody can make a
pronounced success.”
A Last Resort.
Mr. Tompkins was obliged to stop
over night at a small country hotel,
says Harper's Magazine. He was
shown to his room by the one boy the
place afforded, a colored lad. --s
“I am glad there’s a rope here )cv
case for fire,” commented Mr. Thomp.
kins as he surveyed the room, "but:
what’s the idea of putting a Bible
the room In such a prominent place?"
“Dat am Intended foh use, sail,” re
plied the boy, "in case de fire am too
far advanced for yo’ to make you' es
cape, sah."
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