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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (March 29, 1917)
No sick headache, sour stomach, biliousness or constipation by morning. * Get a 10-cent box now. Turn tlie rascals out—the headache, bIH awness. Indigestion, the sick, sour sromarti anti foul gases—turn them on* to-night ami keep them out with Cnsfiirflts. • MHHtme of men and women take a Cnscaret now and then and never know tlie misery caused by a lazy liver, clogged bowels or tin upset stom ach. Don’t put in another day of distress. Let Onatnrets cleanse your stomach; remove the sour fermenting food; take the excess Idle frfim your liver end carry out all the constipated waste matter and poison In the bowels. Then you will feel great. A Oasonret to-night straightens you out by morning. They work while you sleep. A 10-cent box from any drug store means a Clear head, sweet stomach and clean, healthy liver and bewdi action for months. Chil dren love Cnscarets because tlnjy never gripe or sicken. Adv. He Ran Out of Ink. V *wp»-;cur-old hoy grew rather ■peeved id his eleven-year-old sister. He 'bolter* fl that diplomacy rests largely In note writing, so, instead of deliv ering lilw opinion by word of month, lie rotht'd in n safe ,hik1 private place, where he took Ills pen In hand and jwrote the following: 1 “Hush* Is n holio. ‘■.Strste Is a hone head. “Husks Is a stennk. j ts a wart hog. “Hush; Is a polecat. ■ “ttusle rs a hog. “1 eotfld say more, but I will not he too hard <tn her.” BOSOHEE’S GERMAN SYRUP ■ ^ Why take ordinary cough remedlea tvhen Boschee'3 German Syrup has jbecn used for flfty-one years In an towns tn tlie United States, Canada, jAnrttrrflla, and other countries, for roughs, bronchitis, colds settled in the fchrmrt, especially lung trouble. It Rives the patient a good night’s rest, free from coughing, with easy expec toration in the morning, giving nature n chanco to soothe the inflamed parts, throw off the disease, helping the pa tient to regain his health, assisted by pure nir and sunshine when possible. Triifl size 25c, and 75c family size. Sold It all towns In tlie United States, 'Canada, Australia, and other coun tries.^—Adv. Victor Hugo's Grandson. George Victor Hugo, the grandson of the great Victor Hugo, Is now show Jng In Paris about 100 sketches which nro attracting great attention. At the t beginning of the war he was a censor, an occupation In which he appreciated too keenly the humor of exercising suck a function by the grandson of this grandfather. So, in spite of his while hair, he gave up the censorship and set out for the army. lie did not become a general, but lie Is a lieuten ant. After a year and a half at the front he has returned from Champagne with a hundred choice ucqnnrelles, which all Paris is running to see. He lias added somewhat to the splendor of the name of Hugo, as he bus been .twice in the course of the war cited j in tlie order* of the day for meritori- j -ousvonduet. -A, I TAKES OFF DANDRUFF HAIR STOPS FALLING Girls! Try This! Makes Hair Thick, Glossy,, Fluffy, Beautiful—No More Itching Scalp. Within ten minutes after an appli cation of Danderine you cannot find n j single trncy» of dandruff or falling hair i and your scalp will not itch, but what • will please yon most will be after a j few weeks’ use, when you sec new [ hair, fine and downy at first—yes—but j really new hair—growing nil over the j •scalp. A little Danderine immediately don- ! hies the beauty of your hair. No dif- ; Xerence how dull, faded, brittle and scraggy, Just moisten a cloth with * Danderine and carefully draw it i through your hair, taking one small strand at a time. The effect is amaz ing—your hair will be light, fluffy and wavy, and have an appearance of abundance; on incomparable luster, softness and luxuriance. Get a 26 cent bottle of Knowlton's j Danderine from any store, and prove | that your hair Is as pretty and soft ns any—that it lias been neglected or Injured by careless treatment—that’s all—you surely eUn have beautiful hair and lots of It If you will just try a lit tle Danderine. Adv. Fqrce of Habit. Cop- You’re drunk. I’ll have to loc k you up. Auto Fan—No, I'm not, officer. Il's just my steering gear out of order. Pure blood is essential to Good Health. Garfield Tea dispells imparities, cleanses the system and eradicates disease. Adv. The sou) wilt not travel the better, cr straight*!-, for blind bridles. The Man Who Forgot A NOVEL By JAMES HAY, JR. GARDEN" CITY NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 1915 t— ■ I "■.. . CHAPTER FIFTEEN.—(Continued). “It doesn’t at all.” “But I hear it everywhere! Mrs. Grover told inc—and Colonel Orimshaw—and Mrs.' Ellis—and that Miss—oh, what’s her name? She's single, but at the same time doublcmindcd—Miss Tevers—Car rie Tovers. And Elizaboth Beaure mnn—and—and the whole of Washington!” This time Edith smiled. “Really,” she said, “it doesn’t annoy me in the least.” “Edith Mallon, do you mean to tell me you’d think of marrying a reformer — this agitator?” Mrs. Kane’s astonishment was stupen dous. “He hasn’t asked me, Nellie.” Edith gave her the information with a little laugh. “But if he does ask you?” “If I tell you, you won't tell?” “No.” ‘ “If he asked me, I’d marry him tomorrow this minutte — any time.” “But you don't know who he is!” i uon i, care. “iVnd you love him?” “Don’t you think so?” Mrs. Kane began to'langh, and changed her mind. She leaned far hack in the ridiculously large chair and looked at Efdith with a glance that, for onc6, was preter natorally solemn. Something like tears—something like the mist after rain—came like a curtain over the soft blue of her eyes. Then, impulsively, she sprang up and wont over to Edith and kissed her. “Anyway,” she said, a little wildly, “I think you’ve more sense about it than anybody else in tho wrorld. My God] I got so tired of those imitation men with their money and these other men with their imitation money that 1 could scream! What I’d like to have is what I once had—some man to make mo feel that he was the whole world, some man with real thoughts and real arms, some body to laugh at me when I. tried to tyrannize over him, somebody to make me know that I was noth ing but a woman—for him!” Edith, looking up at her, was tremendously surprised. “Why Nellie,” she said, taking one of her hands, “I never — I never dreamed you thought this way about—things.” Mrs. Kane laughed, to cover up the fact that she was ashamed of having shown so much real feel ing. “Oh, you’re like all the rest,” she jeered lightly. “You think because a .woman’s a widow she has solved the problem of how to turn her heart to stone! But you take my advice: The man’s the thing. There isn’t anything else in the world that matters that much.” She snapped her fingers by way of illustration. Edith patted the hand she held. “Of course,” she said, “you’re right. And now you know why I don’t like to think of his being annoyed by this crazy talk about an engagement.” Mrs. Kane went hack to her chair and sat down. She wore an air of contrition, as if she had , broken her code or infringed on her rules by exposing her own ’ heart. “Tell me,” she asked, putting ■ lightness into the query; “you I think he’s going to ask you to I marry him?” Edith laughed whole-heartedly. “I feel very sure.” “Well,” Nellie gave it as her critical judgment, “I don’t know what the man’s past has been, but I will say this: he has a glorious ! future ahead of him.” j Wales lifted the hangings at the ‘ door. “Miss Downey,” he announced. Elise made her entrance exactly as she had built it uf> in her own mind and rehearsed it before her own bedroom mirrow. Then* was in it only one tlaw: something in her manner indicated vaguely that she regarded with awe tho wooden-faced Wales. She was glad, it appeared, to get past him. “I wanted to see Miss Mallou,' she said, her concluding high note in perfect working order. Edith weut forward to meet her « “I am Miss Mallon,” she said, “and this is Mrs. Kane.” Elisc shook hands with Edith and, fh the midst of it, gave Nellie a bow slantwise. “Glad to meet you I” She made the statement include both women. Edith motioned her to a chair, which she took carelessly, not ex pecting the resilience of the springs, which let her down too far and bounced her hack too high. “1 didn’t come to ask for any help”—she began the conversa tion us she had intended before hand—“fact is, .1 came to give some. ’ ’ She looked at Mrs. Kane and turned again to Edith. “Could I have a confidential talk with you?” she inquired blandly. Her skirt was too narrow, and the unexpected action of the chair springs had resulted in lifting it too high. The lack of ease that she felt on his account hurried her to the ymiu point. •KT-.11- ..- i. _. 11VIHV> lUOC Ul/ UI1VV. “Why, of course,” she said. “I’m going into the music room. Shall 1 play, Edith?” “Yes, please.” Miss Mallon turned to Miss Downey with a look of inquiry. Nellie, in the music room, opened the piano and began on “Nights of Gladness.” Elise tucked one of her blond locks hack up under her little round hat and passed her hand over her right cheek. She was sure the purchased com plexion was faultless. “Suppose I make a little ex planation first?” she suggested. “Why, certainly,” Edith agreed, really expecting some pre liminary to a request for help of some kind. “Then, I'll tell you”—Elise leant forward in her chair and be came confiding—“I’ve a lot of heart. You know what I mean, don’t you? I’m romantic. I mean I like real romance. It appeals to me. I suppose it appeals to any girl who’s got real heart—don’t you?’ ’ “Of course.” Edith was all en couragement. “Well, that’s me. I’m really romantic. I don’t mean any of this mush the men try to hand you, hut great, big heart events— the real things in life. They in terest me. You take a girl with the right sort of feelings, and she likes love stories and things like that, don’t she?” “Naturally.” Miss Mallon was thinking that Miss Downey was paraphrasing in her own language some of the things Mrs. Kane had said. Elise’s words flowed more and more freely. Miss Millon, she de cided, was like all other girls— with heart. “And you can’t fool a girl who’s like that, can you? I mean her ideas and her intuitions. I’ve got heart and I’ve got intuitions. And I know I’m right. Intuitions make up some of this story I’ve got to tell you. You,believe a girl who has real deep feeling knows things, don’t you?” “Yes.” Elise was ' completely satisfied^ “I knew you would! From all I’d heard about you, 1 knew you were all right. That’s why I came that, and I do love real romance! My name’s Elise Downey, and I’m a stenographer in Congressman Mannersley’s offices when he’s in town.” ‘ ‘ M r. M annorsley’s ? ’ ’ For some reason which she j could not explain then or after ! ward, Edith’s attention was i caught by the girl in a remarkable j manner. She felt at once*that j what she was about to hear con : corned herself nearly. I “Yes, Mr. Mannersley’s. That’s why I’m here/ You know, [ know now, just as soon as I've looked at • you, there ain’t anything to that j story about your being in love 'with him. There ain’t—is there?’’ Elise's evident and deep con j cern took out of her question all ■ its impertinence. Edith smiled. “No. nothing,” she answered. “I’m so glad!" Elise sighed audibly. “It shows 1 was right. I fell yo*,’ a girl who has heart is almost always right. Now, I’ll tell you — there's somebody in this I town trying to ruin that Mr. , Smith—you know the man they ;say you’re in love with.” "flow do you mean — ruin him?” Edith asked the question j very slowly. “There’s somebody that knows [something about his past.” j ."Who knows it?” This time it I was the older woman who leaned forward. "A horrid man—a man named Simpson.” ^ ‘ What does he know ? Tell me, child, what does he know?” El iso gave her opinion. "It’s something awful,” she ! said, her doll like eyes looking like moons. Edith got up and went over and I sat down beside her. ! “Snmnlbinof awful?” she ones tinned. “So awful that it's going to ruin Mr. Smith.” Edith unconsciously grasped her by the arm. “Tell me! Tell me!” she said, a little fiercely. “What is it?” While Edith clung to her arm, Elise elaborated her story. “Mr. Simpson was up in the of fice looking for Mr. Mannersley. lie said he had something impor tant to tell Mr. Mannersley. Then he ran into Mr. Mitchell, the whisky man, and I heard him tell Mr. Mitchell lie knew who Mr. Smith was. I couldn’t hear much because 1 was over at my desk in the corner and llioy talked low. Mr. Mitchell looked around in a minute and saw I was listening. So they went into the committee meeting room and had a talk, and then Mr. Mitchell left the Simp son man in there while he went in to talk to Mr. Mannersley. It was the day Mr. Smith came up there —and Mr. Waller was there, and “You say Mr. Waller was there —when?” Edith’s brows were drawn together. She was trying to visualize everything Elise was saying. “Mr. Waller didn’t hear any of the conversation. He came in a little ahead of Mr. Smith, but he saw the funny look Simpson gave Mr. Smith when he met him on his way out.” Edith still had hold of the girl’s arm. “Tell me!” she said tensely. “What is it you think this man Simpson knows?” “It’s something about a woman —something disgraceful.” Elsie made the statement positively. “Why do you say that? Tell me! Why do you say that?” “I caught the word ‘woman’ and something about ‘left’ before they went into the next room,” Elise * explaining how she .had worked out her theory. “And— and the rest was intuition t woman’s intuition, you see.” For a moment Edith was sus picious. It flashed into her mind that, for some reason, the agita tor’s enemies wanted to discredit him with her. “Why have you come to me with this story?” she demanded, shaking Elise’s arm. Elise looked at her in unfeigned “Why” — she took a great flight into the high notes—“you and Mr. Smith love one another, don’t you?” Edith still was avid of informa tion. “And that’s why you came to me?” “Why, of course! Didn’t I tel! you I liked romance, real ro mance? Ain’t I got a heart, deep feelings, and all that? Everybody knows you’re crazy about him. And I don’t blame you. His eyes are just dears! And I said to my self you ought to hear this story— and I couldn’t go to him. But with you, being a woman, it was different.” “Yes, of course,” Edith agreed dully. She was groping for ideas, some thought pf what to do or say. “I know it’s important,” Elise insisted, “because Mr. ■ Mitchell came to see me day before yester day and took me out to dinner last night. He bought me three cock tails and wanted to buy me some more, but I wouldn’t take ’em. I ain’t been under 'the influence of : alcohol—that is, strictly speaking !—in all my life.” “What did he want?” j “He wanted to find out what 1 ! had heard, how much I had heard, of that talk in the office that day between him and Mr. Simpson, But I was too wise for him. In deed. I was. You see, as soon as I ho began talking about it, I knew i it must lie important. So that made me shut up. I let on that 1 I hadn't heard a word. I thought. I as it was important, I ought to tell it to you because you love the I man. See?” “Yes, ob, ves; I see.” It did not occur even in a re ! mote way to Edith to deny or dis cuss her love f%r John Smith. All she sensed was that the girl before her had told her a story which might mean his ruin and he^s— the destruction of their hope of happiness. And blindly, vaguely, i the pity of it came home to her. It was as if she had heard the I story of a plot to stab a man in the back, to strike him from the dark—a great, strong man who, at that moment, was doing a thing which commanded the attention of the whole country, a thing that must result beneficently *for the nation. “You think,” she said, “it is about a woman?” “Yes. And I think they’re go ing to show him up. That’s what I think.” “It may he. It may be.” “I’ll tell you why. When I wouldn’t tell Mr. Mitchell I had heard anything, he was awful im polite about it, real rude. lie said I thought I was awful slick about it, not to toll him everything I’d heard, but there wasn’t any use in mo thinking I could help anybody else with it. He said if I tried to interfere, it wouldn’t matter, be cause they had the goods on Smith. That was what he said.” Edith took her hand from Elise’s arm. “I think I know what to do,” she said, with no great show of confidence. “I think 1 do. You won’t—of course you won’t say anything about this to anybody else—anybody else at all?” The insinuation hurt Elise’s pride. “Don’t ask me that!” she an swered indignantly. “Have I said anything about it? Didn't I come up here with it because I knew the man loved you, and you loved him?” “Forgive me,” Edith begged anxiously. “I didn’t mean that— really.” Elise was mollified. “It’s all right,” she smiled. “I’m glad I could do you the favor. I thought you’d know what to do. You know, you can’t fool a girl that’s got heart—and intuition. ’ ’ Edith already was making up her mind as to what she should do. “You don’t know where I could —where this Simpson could be found?” she asked. “No. I haven’t seen him since. You might find him in some sa loon, I reckon. Maybe Mr. Waller might got hold of him.” “That,” Edith said, “was what I was thinking.” CHAPTER SIXTEEN. Bishop Rexall, tlie head of the biggest diocese-of a great church, had been glad to receive Mr. John Smith. “Tell me,” he said, “what is it you wish?” His thin, sensitive lips moved slowly, as if he had learned long ago the power of all spoken words, lie drummed lightly on the arm of his chair with his long, slender fingers, and his clear, gray eyes, i as he looked at the .agitator, were ! eloquent of wisdom and under j standing. In spite of his white ! hair and his great age, he was strong. His strength was evident even as he sat far down in his chair, so that lie seemed to rest on the small of his back, his legs crossed, his .right foot moving slowly up and down with the reg ularity of a pendulum. His benevolence was upon him like a mantle. Any one, upon seeing him, sensed it and knew it, almost as j if it had been a tangible, visible j thing. ! It was within three weeks of the date set for the “prohibition pa rade”—this being the name the public had given the demonstra tion. Smith, his wonderful viva city undiminished by the work he had done and was doing, had come into the room with his ac customed flamelike ardor —- and this had suggested to the bishop the atmosphere of youth that al 1 ways was about John Smith. The ; older man marvelled that one who j seemed so young could have ae ! complished so much, or could have | persuaded others to go with him ! into the undertaking. “It is very simple, what 1 have j come to ask,” Smith explained. | "1 am very anxious t <9 have you | load the multitude in prayer, up • there on the east steps of the capi i tol at noon on December 10.“ | The bishop put the tips of his j slender fingers together so that, : with his elbows resting on the j chair arms, they made a gable j over which he looked at the agi l tator. He smiled gently. “There will be prayer?” he asked. j “Why, certainly!” , The bishop moved his hands ! slowly so that the gable divided j a'i<l then shut again. (Continued Next Week.) [ GREAT DEMAND l FOR CANADIAN LAND I I - Americans Are Buyers and Be coming Settlers—Anxious to Get Cheap and Produc tive Land. ^ Reports are to hand that there will be a large influx of settlers from the i United States into the Canadian West during the coming Spring. For a time there has been a falling off, on account of the fear of conscription, which of course was not possible, and which the Canadian Government gave every as surance would not be put into opera tion. In any case it would not affect the American settler, and more than that the man who was working on the farm, helping to produce the grain that goes to feed those who are at war, would not be affected. • The excellent yields .of the Western Canada crops, and the high pricep se cured is having its influence on thosp looking for homes. The authenticated reports that have been sent out from time to time that this farmer and that farmer had paid for their entire farm holdings out of one crop has reached the ears of the man looking for a farm. When he hears that G. H. Beatty of Nanton, Alberta, had 07!) bushels of wheat from 12 acres or an average of 56% bushels to the acre, he becomes Interested. When he learns that Sid ney E. Phillips of Beddeford, Alberta, threshed ten hundred and fifty-three , bushels of wheat, the average being ’ 52% bushels per aero, his interest is further aroused. Thos. Long of Leth bridge bad 120 bushels of oats to ihe acre from a field of 25 acres, W. Quinn of Milk r.iver had 6.094 bushels of wheat from 100 acres, an average of 60 bushels per acre, and Robert Tackaberry of Noblefopd makes affida- Y vit that he had an average of seventy- ^ six bushels of wheat per acre from a J field of 10.63 acres. Thos. Bonlton 'of the ’ same place makes affidavit that from ^ fifty acres he had a yield of fifty-three bushels of wheat per acre. Newdll J. Noble’s affidavit of getting 54 bushels per acre from 1,000 acres stands out most strongly as evidence of wltat the wheat grower can do. Tills afirtnxyt is strengthened by a paragraph stating that he had 122 bushels and 3# lbs. per acre from 394.69 acres. Mrs. Nancy Goe makes affidavit that on her farm at Nobleford she threshed fflx thou sand one hundred and ten bushels of wheat from one hundred and fifteen acres, or fifty-three bushels and eight lbs. per acre, and from a flsix field (Stubble field) she got 20 bushels and 36 pounds per acre. It cannot be said that these \yere freak yields because so many had such great success. When these reports are read, the man looking for a farm be comes convinced. i These are only a few of tlie reasons that will cause a large influx of Amer ican farmers into the Canadian West during the coming Spring. The farmers now resident, in Mani toba, Saskatchewan and Alberta are purchasing additional lands. Prices are low and Free homestead land can be had in many districts and the horne i steader is welcome.—Advertisement. I •_/ The “Grand Passion.” j Tea definitions of love, culled from the literature and history of file ages, are presented in the Pelican, Univer- i srty of California comic periodical, f just issued. \ The Pelican says tills \ is what the j ten chosen each to represent an era, ' thought of the tender passion: ; Shakespeare—Sweet folly, i De Maupassant—Hunting fleas to gether. Milton—Paradise regained, j Balzac—Passion, j Harry Thaw—Madness. Mrs. Grundy—Marriage. ‘ Otiipurnia—1The curse of the gods. J Dumas—Merely an incident of (he - eveuiiig. . Buddha—One of the ten gates which keep man out of heaven. ; Hrerybody Else—Love. i |! YES! MAGICALLY! ! 11 CORNS LIFT GUT j |! WITH FINGERS i i i I You day to the drug store man, ■ "Bive mo a small'bottle of freeasone." * i This wiU cost very little bn! will positively remove every hard or soft . °°Pn or callus from one's feet, j A few drops of this new ether com | pound applied directly upon a tender, ' aching corn relieves the soreness iu j stantly, and soon the entire corn or % ' j callus, root and all, d’ie up and can j he lifted off with the fingers, j This sew way to rid one’s feet of [ corns was Introduced by a Cincinnati j w*an, who says that freestone dries in ; a moment, and simply shrivels up the 1 corn or callus without irritating the J* ' surrounding skin. ” i If your druggist hasn’t any freestone | tell him to order a small bottle from j Ili* wholesale drug house for you—adv. i --I-•' rler Experience. ! Temperance Worker—Does Mr. Mil ligan live here? i Mrs. Milligan-—Sure. Carry him in . Barfield Tea, taken regularly, will correct both liver and kidney disorders. Adv. | It doesn’t really matter what we live done’’—and didn’t.