• ** • •* ^ n J.V,
«*-— ^L—-___,.jl—-__=r^-~
il
.
CHAPTER XIX—(Continued.)
Her heart rankled. Joan had looked
past her during service without so
. much as the pretence of smile or nod.
Mary’s sensitive, high strung nature re
belled against this exhibition of Intol
erance on the part of her old time
friend and playmate. While Eric was
squirming in the seat, eager to be off,
Mary was resentfully digging up the
memory of Joan’s first sign of coldness
and disfavor, which was followed later
on by the cut direct. It all came about
after an all night automobile trip, she
recalled, when she had taken an up
state trip in company with Jack Pay
son and a couple of friends from New
York. It was of no consequence to the
gossips, who told the tale, that Mr.
and Mrs. Bates were in the party.
What hurt Mary most, even though
slxe was loth to admit it to herself, was
the conviction that, next to Eric and
Payson, she still loved Joan Bright
better than anyone else in the W'orld.
Therefore, she was privileged to hate
her with particular unreasonableness.
“Where is Eric, my dear?” asked her
uncle, peering about in all directions.
She could not conceal her nervous
ness. “I think he hurried out to see
Joan Bright. She’s back from the
south, uncle.”
"Indeed. She wasn’t expected bo
soon. Why did she change her plans
so liasitly?”
v- 41L'jn sure I don’t know.”
^a&ven’i vdu—
“No, I haven't seen her,” Interrupted
Mary, answering the perfectly obvious
question before it could be uttered.
Mr. Blagden hemmed rather awk
wardly. "Probably came in last night,”
he vouchsafed. “I daresay Eric is
walking home with her. We shan’t see
him until—Ah, how do you do, Pres
brey. Splendid sermon, wasn’t it? Good
morning. Julia.”
82
She forgot Erie and Adam Carr and
the sinking feeling she had experienced
on seeing them together not five min
utes before. There is something im
measurably selfish In young love.
Jack Payson came striding toward
her. Perhaps from a window in the
Briscoe house Horace saw them meet
and move off together, down the street.
An hour later she said goodby to her
lover at the gate and hurried up the
walk toward the suddenly attractive
portals of "the Giant’s Castle.” There
was a gladness, a brightness in her
eyes; a song in her heart. Somehow
the world was brighter, the sun was
warmer, the buds on the trees were
greener than they had ever been be
fore. She tripped up the Bteps and
fairly danced across the porch. There
was in her mind a great resolve to do
something she had never done before;
to put her arms about her uncle’s neck
and kiss him, not once, but many times.
She paused for a moment Just out
side the library door, to compose her
self. As she stood there, breathing
quickly, the curious stillness she had
noticed on entering the house became
more pronounced. She recalled, with a
shudder, having been in a house once
where a dead woman was lying up
stairs In the winding sheet. The ut
ter stillness of that well remembered
house was not unlike this that now
Closed in about her, smothering the
Joy that so lately radiated from her
warm, throbbing heart.
Half in fear, she laid her hand on
the knob of the library door. A mo
ment passed before she turned it. The
sense of impending disaster increased
w'ith each second of delay. What had
happened? Who in the house was
dead?
ilia aoor opened quiet, siowiy, ana
she looked Into the partially darkened
room. No voice called out a welcome
to her.
The shade In the big front window
was high; that end of the room was
flooded with sunlight. Her eyes were
slow to take in the details of the pic
ture that lay before her. So immov
able, so still were the four figures that
made up the tableau that she could
think of them only as statues.
First and naturally, her gaze fell
upon the square, thick set figure in the
window. Adam Carr was standing
there, his back to the room, his hands
clasped behind him, staring at the
porch through the white lace curtains.
It was as if he had turned his back
upon a particularly harrowing scene.
Eric leaned against the mantleplece,
his chin lowered, his arms folded
across his breast—the picture of utter
dejection. On the sofa before him sat
his uncle and aunt, the former stiffly
upright and tense, the latter droop
ing limply against him, her hands
covering her eyes.
It was all over. Eric had confessed!
The blow had fallen.
After what seemed an Interminable
length of time, her brother lifted his
eyes and saw her standing there,
stunned, Irresolute. He stared for a
moment with haggard eyes, and then
let his arms droop limply to his side.
The act was in itself an acknowledg
ment of potent despair. Then, with a
movement of his head, he directed her
to attend the stricken pair on the sofa.
As she glided across the room. Adam
Carr turned from the window and
swiftly left the room, without so much
as a glance at the four persons who
were left to play out the drama. With
deliberate intent, he banged the library
door In closing it. The Bhock served
its purpose It broke the spell.
With Infinite gentleness, Mary drew
Mrs. Blagden’s stiff, cold hands away
from her face and held them close to
her own warm, heaving breast. Mrs.
Blagden stared blankly, even wonder -
ingly, at the face of the girl. The
white, drawn lips moved in a voiceless
question.
posite way, acknowledged the greet
ing with a most ceremonious bow. It
did not occur to them to inform Mr.
Blagden that they had listened to the
sermon in the Second Congregational
church.
“A most admirable discourse,” said
Mr. Presbrey blandly.
“Scholarly,” said his wife, as she
bestowed her sweetest smile on Mary.
“So you are back, are you, my dear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Presbrey,” said Mary, also
smiling sweetly.
Then their ways diverged.
A little later, Mary awoke to the fact
that her uncle was speaking, not so
much to her as to the world in general.
“Yes, I am sorry for Presbrey. I
suppose he realizes what an old foggy
he was toward the end. Still he was—
I should say he is a good Christ-like
man. He can’t have any bitterness of
' heart, although I daresay he—er, ahem!
deplores the fact that this new broom
is sweeping so thoroughly. Dear me,
he never saw a congregation so vast
as—but what am I saying? Yes, yes,
I am sorry for Presbrey. I don’t mind
saying to you. Mary, that he has been
on my conscience not a little during
the past few months. I can’t help feel
ing that I took a rather unfair advan
tage of him at the time of—”
“Nonsense!” broke in Mary. “It was
a fair fight between you. Uncle Hor
ace.”
“A fair fight, my dear? Fight?” said
Mr. Blagden with a stare.
“And he began it,” she added suc
cinctly.
Mr. Blagden cleared his throat. “Bo
that as it may.” he said hastily, “I
feel that I owe him some form of repa
ration. I have quite fully decided to
put him in charge of the new library.”
Eric and Adam had turned a distant
corner. Mary breathed freely again.
“The new library?” she repeated.
Horace affected a dry chuckle. “You
will see it all in tomorrow’s Courier,”
he said. “Eric’s to build it. The hand
somest structure outside of Boston, if
I do sav It.”
xxicj iwiuw evcxyxiuixg, came in
hoarse tones from Eric.
The tears sprang to Mary’s eyes.
Through the mist that blinded them,
they asked the great, important ques
tion of him.
‘‘How can I ask them to forgive me?"
he groaned, and that was his answer to
the question that lay in her eyes.
Mrs. Blagdon’s lips parted. A dead,
lifeless voice uttered these words:
"Let me be alone with you, Horace.
Let me die with your arms about me."
Then it was that Horace relaxed.
His strong gaze wavered. A great
shudder ran over his frame.
“There is nothing more to be said,”
fell clearly, mechanically from his lips.
His eyes were upon the white face
of his nephew. “We know all there
is to know. It Is all over. The truth at
last." His voice rose to a sort of wail.
"I—I can’t understand why you have
allowed us to suffer all these years,
Eric, when one word from you would
have ended our misery, our uncer
tainty, our—our endless waiting. See!
See what it has cost us!”
“God forgive me/' groaned Eric,
burying his face in the arm that now
rested on the mantel.
With an effort, Horace struggled to
his feet. Slowly he crossed over to the
young man’s side, towering above the
bent, shaking figure. After a moment’s
hesitation, he laid his hand on Eric's
shoulder. His nephew cringed.
“Give me time,” he began, but went
back to correct himself, revealing tjie
new phase that marked his rhanfifer'in
these days. "Give us time, Eric. It is
hard to take ail this in at once. We
must work it out for ourselves and
by ourselves. Just your aunt ana I.
When the shock has worn off." He
was speaking jerkily, brokenly, as if
the effort to control himself was try
ing his every power. "We do not want
to be harsh, or unjust, Eric. We shall
seek—’’
Eric looked up, amazed. “Harsh?
Unjust?" he said bitterly. “Why, I’ve
forfeited all claim to—’’
“Hust. mv boy/’ said Mr. Blagden.
“Give us time—give us time.”
Mgry, in the intensity of a great
emotion cried out shrilly: "He didn't
mean to—to kill him, Uncle. You know
he did not mean—”
Mrs, Blagden shook herself free and
turned on the girl. There was a wild.
Insane glare in her eyes.
“He treatened Chetwynd 100 times,”
"He threatened Chetwynd 100 times,”
He hated him! He wanted to kill
him!”
“My dear, my dear!” pleaded Horace.
“Calm yourself. Let us Judge this poor
boy as God will judge him. Remember,
we called him our son but yesterday.”
“I cannot—I cannot forgive” mourned
his wife, falling back limply. “Don’t
touch me—now!” she cried out to the
girl, who would have caught her in her
arms. Mary shrank back, repulsed.
A full minute passed, frought with
tragic misery. Eric was the first to
speak.
“I have told you everything. Adam
Carr has supported my story. If you
about. Uncle Horace.”
“Of course you don’t. I am to talk
• It over with Eric in the morning. The
Courier is now in full possession of the
details.”
The eager, excited questions that rose
to her lips were left unuttered. John
Payson approached from the opposite
direction. Mary’s heart gave a great,
wild throb, and then seemed to stop
beating entirely. Her face was very
pale.
Payson did not pause, but went by
with a warm smile for her and a po
lite bow for Horace Blagden. The smile
„ she gave in return was a wavering, pa
thetic effort that went straight to his
heart. He glanced over his shoulder,
and was disappointed because she con
tinued to look rigidly ahead, instead of
turning as he had done.
“Wasn’t that young Payson?” de
manded Horace, his Jaw setting hard.
t “Yes. Uncle Horace,” she replied in
a low voice.
Silence fell between them, a chill si
lence that voiced their thoughts os
plainly as spoken words. She cast a
covert look at the stern face of her un
cle. A flush was in his cheek. A mo
ment later he turned his head slightly
for a brief glance at the girl’s profile.
Her eyes were lowered. She was star
ing miserably at the brick sidewalk
which they traversed so evenly, so
steadily.
Horace’s lips seemed to tighten. The
veins In his thin grey temples stood
out like cords. Suddenly he relaxed;
his stiff shoulders sagged; a queer
smile forced its way out of the hard
set lines about his mouth, and his eyes
grew wistful. His lips parted twice in
the effort to uttter wordhs that came
up from his heart, words he hated yet
longed to utter, for he knew they would
give happiness to her. Something tight
ened in his throat. He cast an invol
untary glance over .his shoulder. A
shadow crossed his face, dispelled an
Instant later by a conquering smile.
“Mary, my child,” he said gen
tly, “I think, if you don't mind,
1 will drop In at Mr. Briscoe’s for a few
minutes. He is down with rheumatism.
I—But wait; I will be perfectly frank
with you. John Payson is standing at
the corner back there, looking at you
as if—well, I fancy if I were to efface
myself he would not be long In taking
my place at your side. I believe I’ll
make the experiment."
Mary's wonder changed to Joy. Her
face was suddenly as radiant as the
sunshine which fell about them.
“Why—why, Uncle Horace,” she be
gan breathlessly.
He laid his hand on the gate leading
to the rheumatic Mr. Briscoe’s lawn.
“Try the experiment yourself, my
dear," he said with a smile. "I will
stroll home alone after I’ve cheered
poor old Briscoe up a bit.”
She stood at the gate, watching his
rather swift progress up the gravel
walk.
"I wonder—” she murmured half
aloud, and then turned her eager face
In the direction of the corner above.
think he would He to save me or him- j
self—”
"No." said Horace grimly. "Adam
Carr would not He. He hates' me too !
well to He to me. The truth always
hurts worse than a lie. and he knows it.
I believe you. Eric. You have never I
been anything but honest. It Isn’t that. |
It’s the other thing. The long years ,
we’ve been allowed to suffer."
’’You would have sent me to the gal- *
lows If you had known all this five
years ago. You were different. You
would have had no mercy, no pity in ,
those days.”
"You think I’ve changed? You were j
not afraid to risk confession today. Is ;
that It?"
“No. no.” cried Eric hastily. "I ,
don’t mean that. But I was afraid at
the time. Afterwards it was too late.
I—but I’ve said all this before. Why
go over It again. I am the confessed
slayer of your son, my own cousin. Now
I ask to be given a fair trial, a Just
hearing. That’s all.”
Mr. Blagden said nothing for a few
moments. He was studying the young !
man’s face.
“You came out with the truth be
cause you were sorry for us," he said at
last. "Because you wapted to end our
suffering and suspense?”
■’Yes," eald Eric. "I could have gone
forever without telling If I had so de
sired.”
“And you were not afraid that some
day Adam Carr would betray you? You
have never felt that he had a weapon
to hold over you and to strike If he
saw fit, to suit purposes of his own?"
Eric hesitated. "No, I’ve never really
been afraid of Adam Carr. If I had
been afraid of him I should never have
come to you with the truth. He did
hold It over my head, but—well, here I
am. sir. I was not afraid of him.”
‘‘It had to do with Mary and John
Payson ?" ^
"Yes. I will ba frank.”
"You told us the truth because you
were eorry for us—because—” His
voice faltered. "Because you loved us
after all and could not let It go on any
longer?"
"Yea.”
conscience naa nommg 10 uo wun
it? The fear of God was not in your
heart?”
Eric did not hesitate. "No. My con
science, so far as the death of Chct
wynd is concerned is clear. I had no
fear of God, for God was ray witness.”
Mr. Blagden again laid his hand on
his nephew’s shoulder.
“Is it love or pity?" he asked, his
voice shaking.
Eric was honest. He looked squarely
into his uncle’s eyes.
“I don’t know, sir. I can’t explain.
I used to hate you and Aunt Rena. I
do not hate you now. Somehow, I
have changed.”
"Somehow, we have changed,” said
Horace, correcting him. “We should
not have expected you to love us, when,
God forgive me for saying it—when
our own son did not love us. Do not
interrupt. If ho had loved us he wopld
not be where ho is today. My boy I
will not say to you now that I forgive
you. It is not yet in my heart to do
so. I must have it all out with myself
with God as my counsellor. You took
the life of my son. You—Rena, I beg
of you!”
Mrs. Blagden had risen, and stood
wavering before the two men, on the
verge of utter collapse. She put out
her hand and touched her husband’s
arm.
"I want to be alone with you, Horace.
Will you come?” she said duly.
“Yes, yes,” he cried, putting his arm
around her shoulders. “We will go, we
will go. mv dear.”
“Walt,” she said. Then she turned
directly to Eric. “Eric, you should not
have let your uncle suffer nil these
years. It was cruel of you to—”
“Come, come, my dear,” broke In Mr.
Blagden, unsteadily “You were the
great sufferer. I—I was going about
among men all the time. You sat here
alone and—mv God! How long the
years have been! My dear, my dear!
How long we have waited together, you
and I!”
He broke down completely. With
the frail form of his wife clasped tight
lv to his breast, he lowered his head
until his face was burled in the silken
white hair.
Erick's lips moved in a mute appeal;
his hands went out toward them and
then fell to his sides. With a dry,
racking sob in his throat, he turned
away, staggering blindly toward the
window. Mary came up with him
quickly. She slipped her arm about his
shoulders and whispered words of com
fort and hope.
The shuffling of unsteady, dragging
feet drew their visual attention once
more to the pair at the other end of
the room. Mr. Blagden had started to
leave the library; he was making his
way toward the door with the bent
figure of his wife at his lde, his arm
about her waist for support. The old
man’s head was held high and his eyes
were get.
Eric sprang forward to assist him,
but wras waved aside. Humbly the
young man walked before them and
opened the door for them to pass out
into the hall.
(Continued next week.)
MRS. BELMONT WILL
HEAD GREAT WOMAN
VOTERS’ CONVENTION
Mrs. O. H. P. Belmont.
Mrs. 0. H. P. Belmont of New
York, wealthy suffrage leader and
philanthropist, is one of the most in
teresting of the throng of nation*]
figures who will be in San Francisco
next month for the great Woman
Voters’ convention, to be held at the
exposition, September 14-16. As gen
eral chairman of the conference she
Is the figure in the immediate fore
ground.
♦ -f
•* HAS WAR PROVED ♦
♦ DEMOCRACY FAILURE? -f
♦
♦♦♦♦♦♦
H. Q. Wells In the New Republic.
The war has shown the weakness of the
democratic state. It Is no use denying
that the central powers were not only
better prepared for this war at the out
set, but that, on the whole, they have
met the occasions of the war as they
have so far arisen with much more col
lective Intelligence, will power, and en
ergy than any of the allies, not even ex
cepting France.
They have succeeded not merely In
meeting normous military requirements
better, but In keeping the material side
of their national life steadier under great
er stresses. It is Idle for this writer to
pretend to think that the United Statts
would make any better showing in this
matter than Great Britain.
The British government has been excel
lent In argument and admirable In rhet
oric, but It has been slack, Indolent, and
unready In all matters of material organ
ization; It has muddled and wasted na
tional feeling, and It has been manifestly
afraid of the press and over sensitive to
public clamor. It has shown all the mer
its and failures one might have expected
from a body of political lawyers, trained
n the arts of making things seem right,
wary and prepared to wait and see what
chances the adversary will give, and as
Incapable of practical foresight, as re
mote from the business of making real
things go right, as enclosed nuns.
If the present governments of Great
Britain and the United States are the
best sort of governments that democracy
can produce, then democracy Is bound, If
pot this time then next time or the time
gfter, to bo completely overcome and su
perseded by some form of authoritative
fctate organization.
WHY THE MOON GROWS DARK.
(Copyright, 19J5, by the McClure News
paper Syndicate.)
Many, oh, ever so many years ago,
before there was anything grown up:
when all the horses were colts and all
the dogs puppies, and all the cats lit
tle kittens, the stars were made and
painted all bright and shiny with light,
just as you see them now on a clear
bight.
They were all very large, however,
and so, In order not to crowd one an
other, they said:
"Let us all get off a long, long dis
tance into the sky, where we will have
plenty of room, each one for himself,
and not be jostling one another or
fussing and moving against each other
to make room like children In a trun
dle bed." So they all moved out and
out and out, farther and farther Into
the sky, until they looked no bigger
than candles, just as you see them to
day.
Now, among the stars there was one
called the moon. She was not a very
big star at all; Indeed, she was one of
the very smallest. But, like all very
small things, she was very vain and
conceited. The moon was very vain
over her new coat of bright and shin
ing light, and when she found that, if
she moved off far Into the sky, she
W'ould appear very small to the people
on the earth, she said to herself:
“I am so very beautiful that It
would be a shame to move so far away
that I would appear like a little candle
In the sky. I am going to stay down
close to the earth, where people can
admire me every single night and con
sider me tho most beautiful of all
stars. What Is the sense of my having
all this shining light If not to have
people admire me. Move ’way out
yonder? Indeed, I’ll not!"
And, with that, she went whirling
about in the sky. turning ’round and
’round like a vain girl, so that people
could see and admire her every night
of the world.
When the other stars saw what the
moon was doing they were very much
disgusted with her.
That vain little piece!" they twin
kled one to another. "She ought to
have the conceit taken out of her!"
Then Arcturus, a smart old star, got
behind a cloud, whore he wouldn’t be
disturbed, and thought a long time—
for it was a rainy spell and he could
ff »' HfSjlf*- *
*rrv4 >- 04.0S4
r-& r/vi" SMXfW f/
stay quietly hidden for quite a time—
and when he came forth he twinkled
to the other stars something about like
this:
“Oh! my friends, we will teach that
vain little moon a lesson thus. You
remember when nlcht was made,
there was a lot of darkness left over.
I have found that It is all lying now
down in the bottom of tho Great Dip
per. Can we not arrange to paint over
the moon with some of It?"
“Indeed, we can can," twinkled the
stars In the Great Bear. "And I will use
my tall for a brush.”
“No." twinkled the other stars, “that
would be too severe a punishment to
turn all her vain little light Into dark
ness. Let us agree upon some milder
plan."
"Very well,” twinkled big Jupiter,
“I will suggest this. We will have
Great Bear splash the darkness over
her face every month. It will take the
poor thing a month to wash it off, and
then, when she gets It off. Great Bear
will snlash It over with darkness
again."
"Good, good,” twinkled all the stars.
And that Is why, every month, you
see the moon gradually growing
darker; It Is the Great Bear splashing
with his tail over the face of the moon
the darkness that was left in the bot
tom of the Great Pipper. And then,
when you see the moon gradually
growing brighter again, It Is the moon
herself slowly washing the darkness
off.
And have you ever noticed the scowl
on the face of the man In the moon?
That Is because he hates to have the
ugly darkness splashed all over his
shining features.
I know the astronomers will tell you
that all this Isn’t so, and that the
moon grows dark because sho gets her
light from 4he sun, ahd at times her
back Is turned toward that great light,
but the astronomers don’t know; It’s
because the Great Bear Is splashing
the darkness over her face with his
tall. I knowl
4- By Walter Savage Landor. A
• - Oh! Don Peplno, old trees In their 4
-► living state are the only things 4
• ► that money can not command. Rlv- 4
- • ers leave their beds, run Into cities 4
«. and traverse mountains for It; obe- 4
-» Ilsks and arches, palaces and tern- 4
• ► pies, amphitheaters and pyramids 4
. r rise up like exhalations at its bid- 4
<► Ming; even the free spirit of man, 4
- - the only thing great on earth, 4
. - crouches and cowers in Its presence 4
. ► —It passes away and vanishes be- 4
- * fore venerable trees. 4
" t44 4 4 4 4 4 4 44444444444444444
I
THING THAT MIGHT HAPPEN
Skeptics, However, Will Want Affida
vit That Old College Chums Took
Only One Drink.
“Well, of all things that live and
breathe. If It Isn't my old college
chum, Bill Edworthy!”
With these fow well-chosen words, a
tall, well-built young fellow slapped
another W. B. Y. F. in the small of
his back with such a resounding
whack as to almost put his lights out.
Even a blind baggage car could see
that tho young men were old college
chums.
“Ding my slats,” said BUI Edworthy,
the young man who had been struck;
“if it isn't Henry Allison, the stroke
oar of the class of umpty-steen. Well.
If you aren’t a good sight for tangled
lamps.”
"Why,” continued Henry, “It must
be ’steen yearB since I mot you at the
last alumni dinner. How’s things?”
“Fine. Say, do you remember the
night when we got lit up and came
down with tho chickenpox?”
“Sure do. Sort of a stewed chicken
pox. Well, I’ve got about five min
utes to spare. Let’s drop into this
cafe and have just ono drink."
So the two college chums who had
not met In so many years sidled Into
Dinkeldorfer’s cafe and Hank gave his
order and Bill said: "Make it ditto.”
The bartender did that little thing for
them. They had one drink and BUI
said good-by to Hank and Hank said
good-by to Bill.
Just ono little drink, and each went
his way.
CURED OF BRIGHT’S DISEASE.
——U——M—MNBMMarfli'' ^
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General Roofing Manufacturing Co.
WorId', largest manufacturer! of Hoofing
H#w T.rk City" gt. U«k
Itttm CknkaJ
I
S One
of the
rood
1915
Fall al
styles Now a
Many being shown a
others by dealers g
Be sure of hat satisfaction. 1
ASK FOR THE
PattersonttoC 1
T. W. 81 BYENSON CO., HHOLKSAI.B, MINNEAPOLIS 9
7fi Close to Buffalo, near Minneapolis. Splen
10 Acres did house, bams, silos, orchard, flowing
wells, lake, stream, must soil UiacBBOUt, Buffsio, Ml**,
SIOUX CITY PTG. CO., NO. 40-1915:
Mrs. A. L. Crawford, Medfleld,
Mass., writes: "Dodd’s Kidney Pills
cured me of Bright's Disease, and I
am healthy and strong to-day and
fhave been blessed
with good health ever
Bince my cure. When
the doctors pronoun
ced my case Bright’s
Disease I was in such
a serious condition
that they could not
do anything for me.
I kept getting worse. My limbs from
my ankles to my knees swelled and
my eyes were so swollen that I
couldn’t see. As a last hope I thought
I would give Dodd’s Kidney Pills a
trial. I gradually improved and kept
on taking them and they cured me
thoroughly.”
Dodd’s Kidney Pills, 60c per box at
your dealer or Dodd’s Medicine Co.,
Buffalo, N. Y. Dodd’s Dyspepsia Tab
lets for Indigestion have been proved.
10c per box.—Adv.
Sticking to His Prediction.
Two workmen met in the street and
stopped to chat about their friends.
“Casey seems to be doing well where
he is.” remarked one presently.
"He’ll not stop long at that Job,” re
plied the other with a gloomy shake of
the head.
"Why not? He seems to be quite
comfortably placed.”
"But he’ll not stay there a month.
I say it, and I’ve said it ever since he
got that job eighteen months ago.”
Rewarded.
"John and James went up the hill
to fly their kites. John had a new
ball of twine. He gave James ten
yards for his kite and kept the re
mainder of the ball for his own use—”
"I got the answer,” shouted one
boy.
“Well, what is it?”
"Johnny got a good mark for being
perfect at short division.”
YES, FATHER PURSUED THEM
In Fact the Old Gentleman Overtook!
and Stuck Very Close to the
Eloping Pair, •/
When the conversation turned ta
the subject of romantic marrlagei
this little anecdote was volunteered!
by H. H. Asker, a North Dakota poll-},
tlclan:
One afternoon Green was standing
on the corner looking at the Jitneys
when he was suddenly confronted by
an acquaintance of other years. Sooni
they were comparing notes and recall
ing happy hours.
"So you were married ten years;
ago?” said the acquaintance in rei
sponse to a statement made by Brown:
"Took place in the church, I supposo:
with bridosmalds, flowers, cake and
the brass band?"
"No,” answered Brown, with a re«
flective expression, “it was an elope-!
ment.”
"An elopement, eh?" returned the
acquaintance. "Did the girl's father
follow you?"
“Yes,” answered Brown, with somej
thing akin to a sigh, "and he has beetle
with us ever since.”
ONLY A FEW PIMPLES
Out Many More May Come If You
Neglect Them. Try Cuticura Free.
Cuticura Soap and Ointment are
most effective In clearing the skin of
pimples, blackheads, redness, rough
ness, itching and irritation as well as
freeing the scalp of danJruff, dryness;
and itching, besides satisfying every
want of the toilet and nursery. !
Sample each free by mail with Boo*,
Address postcard, Cuticura, Dept, f,
Boston. Sold everywhere.—Adv.
Prepared to Obey Orders.
"Ticket, sir, please,” said an inspeo-,
tor at one of the local railway station*
to a gentleman who, as a season-ticj $t|
holder for some time, believed "■i
face was so well known that thsro
was no need for him to show Vi*
ticket.
“My face is my ticket,” replied *L*
gentleman, greatly annoyed.
“Indeed,” said the inspector, roll-J
ing back his wristband, and displaying!
a powerful wrist. “My orders ar«i to
punch all tickets!”
About all that can be said for Tog]
Watts is that he saved Mrs. Wattq|
from being an old maid.
When all others fall to pleas*
Try Denison’s Coffee.
Marriage is the longest sentence *j
Justice of the peace can Impose.
If you are fixed for life the insurant*
agent will fix you for death.
--—
Where He Learned.
"Why, Willie, I’m surprised to hear
you use such language. You have
been playing with those naughty boys
again, haven’t you?”
"Truly I haven’t, mamma. I was
just over to Tommy Brown’s house
playing with the parrot his uncle sent
him from Chicago.”
Important to Mothers
Examine carefully every bottle of
CASTORIA, a safe and sure remedy for
infants and children, and see that It
Bears the
Signature of
In Use For Over 30 'Years.
Children Cry for Fletcher’s Castoria
Get Busy.
Mr. Bacon—The public debt of Aus
tralia averages $278 for every man,
woman and child in the country; that
of the United States is only $11 for
each person.”
Mrs. Bacon—There! I told you we
were ’way behind the times!”
Naturally.
"How was that cave mystery exhibi
tion?”
“Nothing but a hollow mockery.”
Fat women retain their husbands
Detter than lean ones.
10c Worth of < >
Will Clear $1.00 Worth of Land
Get rid of the stumps and gn
big crops on cleared land. Ni
is the time to clean up your farm
while products bring high prices. Blasting is
quickest, cheapest and easiest with Low Freez
ing Du Pont Explosives. They work in cold
weather.
Writ* for Free Handbook of Explotioe? No. 69F,
and name of nearest dealer.
DU PONT POWDER COMPANY
WILMINGTON DELAWARE jjj