REMARKABLE
RECOVERY OF
MRS. SPINK
Cannes Lydia E. Pinkham’f
Vegetable Compound
Full Credit
Won. Jane., Wia.—“I was under trea\
snort, but nothing seemed to help me,
tHSMigtlinlffd Lr^fftSTi
had to remain in bed
much of the time and
was like an invalid.
I had pains in my
abdomen and in the
female organs, and
my stomach both
ered me. My hus
band saw Lydia E.
Pink ham’s Vegeta
ble Compound ad
I IK.Hn.art thought It
tart be good, and brought it home to
_y» and advised me to try it After
taking one bottle I was able to eat, and
after six bottles I was doing my own
wrack, which I hadn’t been able to do for
1 years. I have a new baby who ia doing
nicely, and 1 am still taking the Vege
table Compound and feelingbetter than
1 bane for four years. The medicine is
auiely wonderful andagood thing to have
ia the house.’’—Mrs. Georoe Spink,
.Minnesota Junction, Wisconsin.
A eoontry-wide canvass of purchasers
-of Lydia EL Pinkham’s Vegetable Com.
pound reports 98 per cent benefited.
For sale by druggists everywhere.
t
l.._-■=
insects Well Provided
by Nature With Eyes
Some Insects are liberally provided
j*rMfc eyes. In general, they have two
.Hklnds—simple and compound. Simple
feyas are like our own, though less
•«tiieient, while compound eyes are
'«wmm|ms£4 of numerous facets or
£ Meat people know how difficult It
,1a to catch the common house-fly.
This Is not surprising when one real
ises that a fly’s eye possesses 4,000
facets. Consequently there Is not
-much that Is out of Its line of vision.
The dragon-fly's eye has 12,000 facets,
and the Mordelln beetle's eye Is made
up of no fewer than 25,000.
While the compound eyes never ex
-eeed two, the single eyes vary In num
Jjjber from one to eighteen or twenty.
-They are situated In groups on each
<sk)e of the head.
Spiders and scorpions hnve both
single and compound eyes, though
whey appear to derive little benefit
tfrorn them.
De Bergerac Real Perton
Rnvlnler Cyrano de Bergerac was a
••'reach autln-. who was horn In 1019
land who died In 1055. Edmund Ros
itnnd wrote a drama In which De Ber
gerac was the he»-o, nnd the play was
in many ways true to facts. The real
lf>e Bergerac was distinguished for his
.♦eoamge la the field and for the duels
Sought. These numbered more than
a thousand, most of them fought on
account of his monstrously large nose.
Agalnet All Tradition
Approaching the great director, the
young chap proceeded to say: "1 think
you had. better get another camera
•nan for the next production, sir.’*
"You mean ‘Barbara Frlctchle’?”
"■Yes."
"But ( have watched you for a long
gliue. You can do excellent work.
Why not carry on?"
"History forbids. My name is Jack
won. 1 can’t shoot Barbara Frletchie."
—Louisville Courier-Journal.
\
. Our own faults always look small
9a comparison with those we see in
Withers.
■ Culture Is odious when it is em
tploycd for showing ofT.
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Champion Spark Plug Co.
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CHAMPION
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I Ragged Edge j
i Harold MacGrath g
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Presently the unhappy puzzle
ment left her face; and an in
ward glow began to lighten it.
The curtain before one mystery
was torn aside, and she saw ixl
reality what lay behind the Im
pulse that had led her into the
young man’s room. Somebody
to whom she would be necessary,
who for days would have to de
pend upon her for the needs of
life. An inarticulate instinct
which now found expression. Up
on what this instinct was based
she could not say; sh8 was con
scious only of its insistence.
Briefly explained, she was as the
child who discards the rag baby
! for the living one. Spurlock was
no longer a man before this in
stinct; he was a child in trouble.
Her cogitations were dissipat
ed by a knock on the door. The
visitor was the hotel manager,
who respectfully announced that
the doctor was ready for her. So
Kuth taok another step toward
her destination, which we in our
vanity call destiny.
“Will he live!” asked Ruth.
“Thanks to you," said the doc
tor. “Without proper medical
care, he would have been dead
by morning." He smiled at her
as he smiled at death, cheerfully.
The doctor’s smile is singular;
there is no other smile that
reaches the same level. It is the
immediate inspiration of confk
dence; it alleviates pain, because
we know by that smile that pain
is soon to leave us; it becomes
the bulwark against our depres
sive thoughts of death; and it is
the promise that we still have a
long way to go before we reach
the Great Terminal.
In passing, why do we fear
death T For our sinst Rather,
isn’t it the tremendous inherent
human ouriosity to know what is
going to happen to-morrow that
causes us to wince at the thought
of annihilation f A subconscious
resentment against the idea of
entering darkness while our
neighbour will proceed with his
petty affairs as usualf
“It’s nip and tuck,” said the
doctor; “but we’ll puli him
through. Probably his first seri
ous bout with John Barleycorn.
If he had eaten food, this would
n’t have happened. It is not a
dissipated face.”
“No; it is only—what shall I
say t—troubled. The ragged
edge."
“Yes. This is also the ragged
edge of the world, too- It is
the bottom of he cup, where all
the dregs appear to settle. But
this chap is good wine yet. We’ll
have him on his way before many
days. But ... he must want
to live in order that the inclina
tion to l'epeat this incident may
not recur. The manager tells me
that you are an American.
So am I. For ten years I’ve
been trying to go home,
but my conscience will not
permit me, I hate the Orient
It drives me mad at times. Super
stition—you knock into it which
ever way you turn. The Orient,
al accepts my medicines kowtow
ing, and when my back is turn
ed, chucks the stuff out of the
window and burns joss-sticks. I
bate this part of the world.’’
“So do I,” replied Ruth.
“You have lived over heret”
—astonished.
“I was born in the South Seas
and I am on my way to Ameri
ca, to an aunt.”
“Well, it*8 mighty fine of you
to break your journey in this
fashion—for someone you don’t
know, a passer-by.”
—- He held out his dry hard hand
into which she placed hers. The
manager had sketched the girl’s
character, or rather had inter
preted it, from the incidents
which had happened since din
ner. “You will find her new.”
New T That did not describe her.
Here, indeed, was a type with
which he had never until now
come into contact—a natural
woman. She would be extra
ordinarily interesting as a meta
physical study. She would be
surrendering to all her impulses
—particularly the good impulses
—many of which society had
(condemned long since because
they entailed too much trouble.
Imagine her, putting herself to
all this delay and inconvenience
for a young wastrel she did not
know and who, the moment ho
got on hia feet, would doubtless
pass out of her life without so
much as Thank you 1 And it was
ten to one that she would not
comprehend the ingratitude. To
such characters, fine actions are
in themselves sufficient.
Perhaps her odd beauty—and
that too was natural—stirred
these thoughts into being. Ashen
blonde, a shade that would never
excite the cynical commentary
which men applied to certain
types of blondes. It would be
protective; it would with ago
turn to silver unnoticeably. A
disconcerting gray eye that had
a mystifying depth. In the arti
ficial light her skin had the tint
and lustre of a yellow pearl. She
would be healthy, too, and vigor
ous. Not the explosive vigour
of the north-born, but that which
would quietly meet physical
hardships and bear them tri
umphantly.
All this while be was arrang
ing the medicines on the stand
and jotting down his instructions
on a chart sheet. He had ab
sorbed her in a single glance,
and was now defining her as he
worked. After a while he spoke
again.
“Our talking will not bother
him. He will be some time in
this comatose state. Later, there
will be fever, after I’ve got his
heart pumping. Now, he must
have folks somewhere. I’m going
through his pockets. It’s only
right that his people should
know where he is and What has
happened to him.”
But he searched in vain. Aside
from some loose coin and a trunk
key, there was nothing in the
pockets: no mail, no letter of
credit, not even a tailor's label.
Immediately he grasped the fact
that there was drama here,
probably the old drama of the
fugitive. He folded the garments
carefully and replaced them on
the chair.
i m atraid we'll have to dig
into his trunk,” he said. “There’s
nothing in his clothes. Perhaps
I ought not to; but this isn’t a
case to fiddle-faddle over. Will
you stand by and watch me?”
The contents of the trunk only
thickened the fog. H*re again
the clothes were minus the labels.
All the linen was new and‘stamp
ed with the mark of Whiteaway,
Laidlaw & Co., British merchants
with branches all over the East.
At the bottom of the trunk was a
large manila envelope, unmark
ed. The docor drew out the con
tents hopefully.
“By George!” he exclaimed.
“Manuscripts! Why, this chap
is a writer, or is trying to be.
And will you look! His name
neatly cut out from each title
page. This is clear over my
head.”
“A novelist?” cried Ruth,
thrilling. And yet the secondary
emotion was one of suspicion.
That a longing of hers should be
realized in this strange fashion
was difficult to believe: it vague
ly suggested something of a trap.
“Or trying to be,” answered
the doctor. "Evidently he could
not destroy these children of his.
No doubt they’ve all been reject
ed; but he couldn’t throw them
overboard. I suspect he has a
bit of vanity. I’ll tell you what.
I’ll leave these out, and to-mor
row you can read them through.
Somewhere you may stumble
upon a clew to his identity. To
morrow I’ll wire Cook’s and the
American Express in Hong-Kong
to see if there is any mail. Taber
is the name. What is he—Eng
lish or American?”
“American. What is a-Yale
man?”
“Did he say he was a Yale
man?”
‘ ‘ He and Ah Cum were talk
ing. • . .”
‘11 see. Ah Cum is a Yale putn
and so is this Taber.”
“But what is it?”
An American university.
Now, I’ll be getting along. Give
him his medicine every half
hour. Keep his arms down. I’ll
have my man Wu over here as
soon as I can get in touch with
him. We’ll get this chap on his
feet if only to learn what the
trouble is/*
Downstairs he sought the
hotel manuger.
“Can you pull him through?"
was the anxious question.
“Hope to. The next few hours
will tell. But it’s an odd case.
His name is Taber?"
“Howard Taber."
“Confidentially, I’m assured
that he has another."
“What gives you that idea?"
“Well, we could find no letter
of credit, no letters, no labels in
his clothes—not a single clew to
his real identity. And stony
broke.”
“Not quite," replied the
manager. “He left an envelope
with some money in it. Perhaps
I’d better open it now." The
envelope contained exactly five
hundred dollars. “How long
will he be laid up?"
“Three or four weeks, if he
doesn’t peg out during the
night."
The manager began some com'
putations. “There won’t be much
left for you," he said.
“That’s usual. There never
is much left for me. But I'm
not worrying about that. The
thing is to get the patient on his
feet. He may have resources of
which we know nothing," the
doctor added optimistically.
“But, I say, that girl is a queer
one."
I shouldn’t call her queer.
She’s fine. She’ll be mighty in
teresting to watch.”
“For an old bachelor!” v
“A human old bachelor. Has
she any funds!”
“She must have. She’s headed
for America. Of course, I don’t
belive she’s what you would call
flush. Bdt I’ll take care of her
bill, if worst comes to worst. Evi
dently her foresight has saved
me a funeral. I'll remember
that. But “fine” is the word.
How the deuce, though, am I go
ing to account for her! People
will be asking questions when
they see her; and if I tell the
truth, they’ll start to snubbing
her. You undersand what I mean.
I don't want her hurt. But we’ve
got to cook up some kind of a
story to protect her.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. It
wouldn’t do to say that she was
from the hospital. She’s too
pretty and unusual. Besides, I’m
afraid her simple honesty will
spoil any invented yarn. When
anybody is natural, these days,
we dub them queer. The contact
is disturbing; and we prefer go
ing around the fact to facing it
Aren’t we funny! And just as
I was beginning to lose faith in
human beings, to have someone
like this come-along! It is almost
as if she were acting a role, and
she isn’t. I’ll talk to her in the
morning, but she won’t under
stand what I'm driving at. Born
on a South Sea island, she said. ’ ’
“Ah! Now I can get a per
spective. This is her first ad
venture. She isn’t used to cities.”
“But how in the Lord’s name
was she brought up! There’s a
queer story back of this some
where.”
The manager extended his
hands at large, as if to deny any
responsibility in the affair.
“Never heard of a sing-song girl;
never heard of a geisha I Flower
of the Lotus: the sing-song girl
called her that.’’
“The White Hollyhock would
fit her better. There is some
thing sensual in the thought of
lotus flowers. Hollyhocks make
one think of a bright June Sun
day and the way to church 1”
“Do you suppose that young
fool has done anything?”
The doctor shrugged. “I don’t
know. I shouldn’t care to ex
press an opinion. I ought to stay
the night through; but I’m late ,
now for an operation at the hos
pital. Good night.”
He departed, musing. How
plainly he could see the patch
of garden in the summer sun
shine and the white hollyhocks
nodding above the picket fence 1
Ruth sat waiting for the
half hour, subconsciously Her
thoughts were busy with the pos
sibilities of this break in her
journey. Somebody to depend
upon her; somebody to have need
of her, if only for a little while.
In all her life no living thing had
had to depend upon her, not
even a dog or a cat. All other
things were without weight or
consequence before the fact that
this poor young man would have
to depend upon her for his life.
The amazing tonic of the
thought I
From time to time she laid her
hand upon Spurlock’s forehead:
it was still cold. But the rise of
the chest was quite perceptible
now.
From whore had ho oome, and
why! An author! 1\ her he
would be no less interesting be
cause he was unsuccessful.
Stories . . . love stories: and
to-morrow she would know tht
joy of reading them I It was al
most unbelievable; it was too
good to be true. It filled her
with indefinable fear. Until now
none of her prayers had ever
been answered. Why should God
give particular attention to such
a prayer, when He had ignored
all others! Certainly there wal
a trap somewhere.
So, while she watched, distress
ed and bewildered by her tumb
ling thoughts, the packet, Can
ton bound, ruffled the plucid
waters of the Pearl River. In
one of the cabins a man sat on
the edge of his narrow bunk. In
his muscular pudgy hand was a
photograph, frayed at the cor
ners, soiled from the contact of
many hands: the portrait of a
youth of eighteen.
The man was thick set, with a
bright roving eye. The blue jaws
suggested courage and tenacity.
It Was not a hard face, but it was
resolute. An he balanced the
photograph, a humorous twinkle
came into his eyes.
Pure luck! If the boy had
grown a moustache or a beard, a
needle in the haystack would
bave been soft work. To stumble
upon the trail through the agency
of a bottle of whiskey I Drank
queer; so his bottle had rendered
him conspicuous. And now, only
twenty-four hours behind him
. . . that is, if he wasn't
paddling by on the return route
to Hong-Kong or had dropped
down to Macao. But that possi
bility had been anticipated. He
would have to return to Hong
Kong; and his trail would be
picked up the moment he set foot
on the Praya.
Pure luck I But for that bottle
of whisky, nobody in the Hong
Kong Hotel would have been
able to identify the photograph ;
and at this hour James Boyle
O’Higgins would have been on
the way to Yokohama, and the
trail lost for ever.
Ho-hum 1
(TO BE CONTINUED) "
An Airplane For Everyone.
A. M. Low. In the Continental Edi
tion of the London Mall.
We are not far from the day when
we shall be able to buy a safe, swift
airplane for something like $300. It
is simply a question of certain ob
vious improvements, combined with
mass production. Such a machine
would be of about three and one-half
horsepower (which will actually give
as much as twenty-seven horse
power). t would have a span of
wings of perhaps forty feet. It
would be comparatively cheap to
run, for there would be no coat of
tires, few upkeep expenses, and a
running capacity of not less than
one hundred miles to the gallon.
The airplane of the future will be
widely different from the- airplane of
today. It will, for example, be able
to land in a space little larger than
its own dimensions, either by the use
of electric air brakes or by landing
on highly magnetic ground, which
would pull the airplane to rest as a
magnet pulls a bunch of iron slugs.
The engine will, moreover, be able to
run at a comparatively low speed by
using some such system as is em
ployed by the marine Diesel engine.
Most important of all for the gen
eral public, it will be safe. Half the
accidents of the present day are due
to fires in the engine. That is hardly
surprising, since the aviation spirit
generally employed is more inflam
mable than ordinary petrol. The air
plane of the future, however, will not
only contain engines of far greater
horsepower than at present, but may
be run on either a mixture of alcohol
or heavy oil, with tiny engines, com
pletely enclosed and concealed, driv
ing several propellers.
Such a development is bound to
imply a vast change not only in the
machines themselves, but in the
architecture of the cities with which
they come in contact.
Only Campfire Smoke.
From the Indianapolis News.
At the recent State G. A. R. en
campment In Frankfort the annual
campfire was the big public event
and created much interest. The
meeting was held In Howard Hall,
the Frankfort High School gymna
sium.
One woman who lives a short dis
tance from the hall did not attend.
Her husband returned home about
9 o'clock, while the gathering was
still in session, and as he opened
the front door, remarked, "I smell
smoke, something must be burn
ing.”
His wife looked up from the book
she was reading. ‘‘I’ve been smell
ing that," she said. And then a light
spread over her face and with all
seriousness she said, “Oh, I know.
It's the campfire.”^
A Japanese Election Joke.
From the Christian Science Monitor.
Many "amusing" incidents—if one
may call them such—occurred during
the recent Japanese elections, though
most of them constituted "Jokes" of
4 nature simitar to some of the
legislative "stunts" pulled off in
America In recent years.
In Morloka, for example, the oppo
nents of Mr. Takahashl, the Selyukai
leader, Informed the fire brigade that
the Selyukai headquarters was burn
ing. The brigade immediately
answered the call and flooded the
building, which was crowded with
election workers, only to find, after
it had thoroughly drenched them,
that there was no conflagration. The
question might suggest Itself of the
advisability of keeping a plentiful
supply of water for similar use In
many legislative assemblies of the
world.
TODAY
BY ARTHUR BRISBANE
Of all the news today, for perman
ent value nothing is mf» Important
than the importation by the state of
Ohio, of seven thousand wasps from
France. These peculiar French
wasps, are brought here to fight the
corn botei . They and their children’s
children might save the country hun
dreds of millions a year.
All candidates have their troubles.
President Coolidge's friends worry
because they think many, extremely
conservative, will prefer Davis to
Coolldge.
La Follette’s friends fear that
many, extremely radical, will vote
for William Z. Foster rather than for
La Follette, who opposes the ex
treme radicalism of ‘’action’’ as
earnestly as Davis or Coolldge.
What would happen If La Follette
should follow the advice of some of
his friends and put Governor Bryan
on his ticket as vice president? Ths
democratic candidate for vice presi
dent might get more votes than any
one of the three presidential candi
dates.
Whether Governor Bryan would al
low his name to be used is another
question, and doubtful.
Cyrus H. K. Curtis’ editorial says
that Governor Bryan was nominated
to “placate Bryanlsm and the great
open spaces.”
Mr. Curtis has probably never seen
Governor Bryan, and Is too busy to
see much of the great open spaces.
He will know more about Governor
Bryan as the campaign progresses.
Charles W. Bryan, of Nebraska,
brother of William Jennings Bryan,
is an able, siacere, genuine repre
sentative of mere than half the people
of the United States.
He took the state of Nebraska
away from the republicans. And he
will take from the republicans among
farmers a number of votes that will
urprise some editorial writers.
If kind words can elect, John W.
Davis will be elected. No man has
been more universally praised for
his “personal qualities” and the
praise Is evidently sincere. Those
that praise him Include the men that
opposed him.
William Jennings Bryan, for in
stance, who told this writer over the
telephone last night what a fine man
Mr. Davis Is, and W. G. McAdoo. who
■aid to your humble reporter yester
day: “I’ve known John W. Davis for
a long time. He Is a fine man and
an able lawyer."
The wittiest said about the demo
cratic nomination was said by the
admirable “Bugs” Baer: “The name
of the national anthem Is to be
changed to ‘The Star Spangled Ban
ker’.”
Here's news of miserable bolshevlst
Russia to shock our great democracy.
The Russians intend to establish a
fleet of nationally owned freight
ships to make Russia independent of
foreign shipping.
And Moscow announces that the
soviets will abolish prize fighting
even disguised as “boxing” because
It Is a “degrading sport."
Here we peddle off our “scrap”
sliips that the people paid hundreds
of millions for, announcing that as a
nation we are not capable or honest
enough to own and manage shipping.
At the same time, we pay a mil
lion dollars of good money to see a
second class prize fight.
Walter Muir, Just past 20, was
hanged yesterday in Canada. All
pleas having failed, he wrote to his
mother, “Remember that I died a
good Christian and In a state of
grace.” Reporters say that he was
hanged with a smile on hie face.
British and Canadian justice Is
severe. But It discourages crime and
pays little attention to sentimental
pleading. The young man for whom
so many appeals were made DID
murder a man. Under English law no
man is allowed to do that twice.
Epinard, one of the fastest and
most beautiful horses in the world,
is here. If, instead of Epinard, the
French had sent their four greatest
men from the Sorbonne, the four
wouldn't have got one half the free
advertising that Epinard will get.
It isn't that Epinard descends by
strange and marvelous evolution from
a little four-toed creature as big as
a cat. He Is a first class gambling
machine. That’s what interests. They
will tell you It is “love of the horse”
that keeps racing alive. Nevertheless,
the tracks close, when gambling
stops.
Too Much Prelim.
, From Life.
The little son of the great movie
producer asked for a bed-time story.
“Tell me about the cow that
Jumped over the moon, papa,” said he.
"I'm a rot a bit sleepy."
Whereupon the great movie pro
ducer, drawing up his chair besides
the crib, told as follows:
“Story of the Cow That Jumped
Over the Moon. Released by Papa.
Copyright, Mother Goose. Entered at
Stationers’ Hall, London, 1GS8. Illus
trations by Kate Greenway. Decora
tions by Penn and Wash. Subtitles by
Ivory Beane. Published by Juvenile
Guff Company, Chicago. Type by the
American Type Foundry, Plates by
the Coppershell Electric Company.
Printed by the Flatbed Press, Boston.
Proof read by Flannigan. Corrections
made by Bill McLeod, Binding by Jac
ket. Glue and Co., Yonkers. Truckng
by A1 Smith. Book put out to trade by
Whopper Brothers, New York. Serial
rights reserved. Passed by the Board
of Censors. License Number 45883.
Hey. diddle, diddle, the cat and the
fiddle, the cow—”
The breathing in the crib was suspi
ciously Irregular.
"The little lad la asleep,’’ murmur
ed the great movie producer. “And
he said he wasn’t tired.”
Patrons of the movies could have
told what made him tired.
One of Lamb’s Daily Half Dozen.
From the Manchester Guardian.
One of Lamb's jobs on the Morning
Post was to supply half a dozen jokes
a day, for which Dan Stuart paid him
I pence each, and held him well paid.
Six fresh baked Jests a day is a tall
order. The fashion of flesh-colore 1
Stockings for the women proved a
tolerable help In time of trouble, and
Lamb boasts Justifiably of his mas
terpiece, Inspired by pink stockings.
Ho wrote that “Modesty, taking her
final leave of mortal^ her last blush
Wfta visible In her ascent to the
heavens by the tract of the glowing
bietep.”
