THIS WOMAN
RELIEVED FROM
SUFFERING
By Lydia E. Pinkham’a Vegetable
Compound. A Remarkable Story
Dover, DeL—“I wish every woman
would take your wonderful medicine aa it
hasdonesomucngood
to me. I had cramps
and faint spells and
very bed pains. One
day I was over to my
neighbor’s bouse and
she told me I ought
totake Lydia E-Pink
ham’a Vegetable
Compound. Sol went
to the store pn my
way home and got a
bottle, and took the
firstdoee before bud
per. I have been taking it ever since,
and you can hardly believe bow different
I feci. 1 had just wanted to lie in bed
all the time, and when I started to brush
up I would give out in about ten min
mes. So you know how badlv I felt. I
used to go to bed at eight and get up at
■even, still tired. Now I can work all
day and stay up until eleven, and feel
all right all the time. My housework is
all I do in summer, but in winter I work
in a factory. I have told a good many
of my friends, and I have had three
come to me and tell me they wouldn’t
do without the Vegetable Compound. ”
—Mrs. Samuel Murphy, 218 Cecil St.,
Dover, Delaware.
r~--sr—--— 1
Dispute Over Seed Wheat
F. S. Johnston, n farmer nt Morton,
Wash., Is pointing with pride to a
wheat crop wlilch he says originated
from seed taken from n burying place
In the Nile valley. He says he start
ed his experiment four years ago and
that the grain from his present crop
Is “white and very hard, the straw
short and tint heads prolific." Some
scientists dispute the claim, saying
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would not grow.
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r HAIR BALSAM
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_
&/>e
Ragged Edge
by
Harold MacGrath
Here was Ruth Enschede—sick
of love! Love—something the
world would always keep hidden
from her at least human love. All
•he had found was the love of
♦his dog. She threw her arms
around Rollo’s neck and laid her
cheek upon the flea-bitten head.
“Oh, Rollo, there are so many
things I don’t know! But you
love me, don’’t yout’’
Rollo wagged his stump vio
lently and tried to lick her face.
He understood. When she re
leased him Me ran down the
beach for a stick which he fetch
ed and laid at her feet. But she
was staring seaward and did not
notice the offering.
October. The skies became
brilliant; the dry monsoon was
letting in. Then came the great
day. It was at lunch when Mc
Clintock announced that in the
mail-pouch he had found a letter
addressed to Howard Taber, care
of Donald McClintock and so
forth.
Spurlock grew cold. All that
confidence, born of irony, dis
appeared ; and fear laid hold of
him. The envelope might con
tain only a request as to what he
wanted done with the manu
scripts. In mailing the talcs he
had not enclosed return postage
or the equivalent in money.
“So you’re writing under a
nom de plume, eh?’’ said Mc
Clintock, holding out the letter.
“You open it, Ruth. I’m in a
funk,” Spurlock confessed.
McClintock laughed as he gave
the letter to Ruth. She, having
ill the confidence in the world,
ripped off an end and drew out
the contents—a letter and a
check. What the editor had to
say none of the three cared just
then. Spurlock snatched the
check out of Ruth’s hands and
ran to the window.
“A thousand dollars in British
pounds 1 .... A thousand
dollars for four short stories!”
The tan on Spurlock’s face light
ened. He was profoundly stirr
ed. He returned to Ruth and
McClintock. “ You two . . .
both of you! But for you I could
n’t havt done it. If only you
know what this means to me!”
“We do, lad,” replied McClin
tock, gravely. The youth of
them! And what was he going to
do when they left his island?
What would Donald McClintock
be doing with himself, when
youth left the island, never more
to return?
Ruth was thrilling with joy.
Every drop of blood in her body
glowed and expanded. To go to
Hoddy, to smother him with
kisses and embraces in this hour
of triumph! To save herself from
committing the act—the thought
of which was positive hypnotism
—she began the native dance.
Spurlock (himself verging upon
the hysterical) welcomed the di
version. He seized a tray, squat
ted on the floor, and imitated
the tom-tom. It was a mad half
hour.
“Well, lad, supposing you read
what the editor has to say T” was
MeClintock’s suggestion, when
the frolic was over.
“You read it, Ruth. You’re
luck.”
“Aye!” was McClinteok's in
audible affirmative. Luck. The
boy would never know just how
lucky he was. Ruth read;
“Dear Sir;
“We are delighted to accept
these four stories, particularly
“The Man Who Could Not Go
Home.' We shall be pleased to
see more of your work.
“ ‘The Man Who Could Not
Go Home.’ Why,” said Ruth,
“you did not read that to us.”
“Wanted to see if I could turn
out one all on my own,” replied
Spurlock, looking at MeClintock,
who nodded slightly. “It was
the story of a man, so to speak,
who had left his vitals in his na
tive land and wandered strange
paths emptily. But never mind,
that. Come along home, Ruth.
I’m burning to get to work.”
After all those former bitter
failures, this cup was sweet, even
if there was the flavour of irony
At least, he would always be able
to take care of Cuth. The Dawn
Pearl; how well they had named
her! The pearl without prioe—
his and not his!
He took her arm and drew it
under his; and together they
went down the veranda steps.
Ruth’s arm trembled and her
step faltered, but he was too far
away in thought to be observant.
He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine.
The future was not so black, .dll
the money he earned—serving
McClintock and the muse—could
be laid away. Then, in a few
years, he and Ruth might fare
forth in comfort and security.
After five or six years it would
not be difficult to hide in Italy
or in France. No; the future was
not so dark; there was a bit of
dawn visible. If this success con
tinued, it would be easy to as
sume the name of Taber. Ruth
could not very well object, since
an air of distinction would go
with Taber.
Suddenly he felt Ruth swing
violently away from him and he
wheeled to learn the cause.
He beheld a tall gaunt man,
his brown face corrugated like
a winter’s road, grim, stony. His
gangling body was clothed in
rusty twill trousers and a long
black seersucker coat, buttoned
to the throat around which ran
a collar which w’ould have mark
ed him the world over as a man
of the Word. His hand rested
heavily and cruelly upon Ruth’s
shoulder.
“So, wanton, I have found
you!”
“Wanton! Why, you inferal
liar!” cried Spurlock, striking
at the arm. But the free arm of
the stranger hit him a flail-like
blow on the chest and sent him
sprawling into the yielding sand.
Berserker, Spurlock rose, head
down, and charged.
* ‘ Iloddy, Iloddy! . . . . No,
no! This is my father!” warned
Ruth.
Spurlock halted in his tracks. 1
“But what does he mean by call
ing you a wanton!—you, my
wife!”
Enschede’s hand slipped from
his daughter’s shoulder. The iron
slipped from his face, leaving it
blank with astonishment. “Your
wife!”
“His lawful wife,” said Ruth,
with fine dignity.
For a moment none of them
stirred; then slowly Enschede
turned away. To Spurlock’s ob
serving eye, Enschede’s wrinkles
multiplied and the folds in his
clothes. The young man’s imagi
nation suddenly pictured the
man as a rock, loosed from its
ancient bed, crumbling as it fell.
But why did he turn away!
“Wait!” Ruth called to her
father.
The recollection of all her un
happiness, the loveless years, the
unending loneliness, the injustice
of it, rolled up to her lips in ver
bal lava. It is not well that a
daughter should talk to her
father as Ruth talked to hers
that day.
The father, granite; the
daughter, fire: Spurlock saw the
one and heard the other, his
amazement indescribable. Never
before had he seen a man like
Enschede nor heard a voice like
Ruth’s. But as the mystery
whieh surrounded Ruth fell away
that whieh enveloped her father
thickened.
“I used to cry myself to sleep,
Hoddy, I was so forlorn and
lonely. He heard me; but he
never came in to ask what was
the matter. For fifteen years 1—
so long as I can remember! All
I wanted was a little love, a
caress now and then. But I wait
ed in vain. So I ran away, blind
ly, knowing nothing of the world
outside. Yeuth! You denied me
even that.” said Ruth, her glance
now flashing to her father.
“Spring!—I never knew any. I
dared not sing, I dared not laugh,
except when you went away.
What little happiness I had I was
forced to steal. I am glad you
found me. I am out of your life
forever, never having been in it.
Did you break my mother’s heart
as you tried to break minet I am
no longer accountable to you for
anything. Wanton! Had I been
one, even God would have for
given me, understanding. Some
day I may forgive you; but not
now. No, no! Not now!”
Ruth turned abruptly and
* walked toward the bungalow.
mounted the meanda steps, and
vanished within. Without a word,
without a sign, Enschede started
toward the beach, where his proa
waited.
For a time Spurlock did not
move. JhijL incredible scene
roMecl him of the "settle of loco
motion. But his glance roved,
to the door through which Ruth
had gone, to Enschede’s drooping
back. Unexpectedly he found
himself speeding toward the
father.
"Enschede!” he called.
Enschede halted. “Well?” he
said, as Spurlock reached his
side.
“Are you a human being, to
leave her thus?”
“It is better so. You heard
her. What she said is true. ”
“But why? In the name of
God, why? Your flesh and blood!
Have you never loved any
thing?”
“Are yon indeed my daught
er’s lawful husband?” Enschede
countered.
“I am. You will find the proof
in McClintock’s safe. You called
her a wanton!”
“Because I had every reason
to believe she was one. There
was every indication that she
fled the island in company with
a dissolute rogue.” Still the voice
was without emotion; calm,
colourless.
Fired with wrath, Spurlock
recounted the Canton episode.
“She travelled alone; and she
is the purest woman God ever
permitted to inhabit the earth.
What!—you know so little of
that child? She ran away from
you. Somebody tricked you back
yonder—baited you for spite.
She ran away from you; and now
I can easily understand why.
What sort of a human being are
you, anyhow?”
Enschede gazed seaward.
When he faced Spurlock, the
granite was cracked and riveted ;
never had Spurlock seen such
dumb agony in human eyes.
“What shal I say? Shall I tell
you, or shall I leave you in the
dark—as I must always leave
her? What shall I say except that
I am accursed of men? Yes; I
ha?e loved something—her
mother. Not wisely but too well.
I loved her beyond anything in
heaven or on earth—to idolatry.
God is a jealous God, and He
turned upon me relentlessly. I
had consecrated my life to His
Work; and I took the primrose
path.”
“But a man may love his
wife!” cried Spurlock, utterly
bewildered.
“Not as I loved mine. So, one
day, because God was wroth, her
mother ran away with a black
guard, and died in the gutter,
miserably. Perhaps I’ve been
mad all these years; I don’t
know. Perhaps I am still mad.
But I vowed that Ruth should
never suffer the way I did—and
do. For I still love her mother.
So I undertook to protect her by
keeping love out of her life, by
crushing it whenever it appear
ed, obliterating it. I made it a
point to bring beachcambers to
the house to fill her with horror
of mankind. I never let her read
stories, or have pets, dolls. Any
thing that might stir the sense
of love And God has mocked me
through it all.”
“Man, in God’s name, come
with me and tell her thisl” urg
ed Spurlock.
“It is too late. Besides, I
would tear out my tongue rather
than let it speak her mother’s
infamy. To tell uth anything, it
would be necessaryR to tell her
everything; and I cannot and you
must not. She was always asking
questions about her mother and
supplying the answers. So she
built a shrine. Always her
prayers ended—‘And may my
beautiful mother guide me!’ No.
It is better as it is. She is no long
er mine; she is your."
‘‘What a mistake 1"
‘‘Yes. But you—you have a
good face. Be kind to her.
Whenever you grow impatient
with her, remember the folly
of her father. I can now give
myself to God utterly; no human
emotion will ever be shuttling
in between."
“And all the time you loved
her!"—appalled.
* ‘ Perhaps. ’ ’
Enschede stepped into the
proa, and the natives shoved off.
Spurlock remained where he was
until the sail became an infinite
simal speck in the distance. His
throat filled; he wanted to weep.
For yonder went the loneliest
man in all God’s unhappy world.
CHAPTER XXV
Spurlock pushed back his hel
met and sat down in the white
, Mijad, buckling his knees and
folding his arms around them
pondering. Was he really awaket
The arrival and departure of this
strange father lacked the essenti
ally1^? touch to make it real.
Without a struggle he could givo
up his flesh and blood like that 1
1 ‘J £35 now give myself utterlv;
no numSli efftotiori will ever be
shuttling in between.” The mor
tal agony behind those eyes 1 And
all the while he had probably
loved his child. To take Spring
and Love out of her life, as if
there were no human instincts
to tell uth what was being denied
her I And what must have been
the man’s thought as he cams
upon Ruth wearing a gown of
her mother’st— a fair picture
of the mother in the primrose
days? J»ot a flicker of an eye
lash ; steel and granite outward
ly.
The conceit of Howard Spur
lock in imagining he knew what
mental suffering was! But en
schede was right: Ruth must
never know. To find the true
father at the expense of the beau
tiful fairy taleRuth had woven
aroiind the woman in the locket
was an inteolerable thought. But
the father, to go his way forever
alone! The iron in the man!—
the iron in this child of his I
Wanting a little love, a caress
now and then. Spurlock bent his
head to his knees. He took into
his soul some of the father’s
misery, some of the daughter’s,
to mingle with his own. En
schede, to have starved his heart
as well as Ruth’s because, hav
ing laid a curse, he knew not how
to turn aside from it! How easily
he might have forgotten the un
worthy mother in the love of the
child ! And this day to hear her
voice lifted in a quality of ana
thema. Poor Ruth: for a father,
a madman; for a husband—a
thief!
Spurlock rocked his body
slightly. He knew that at this
moment Ruth lay upon her bed
in torment, for she was by nature
tender; and the reaction of her
scathing words, no matter how
justifiable, would be putting
scars on her soul. And he, her
lawful husband, dared not go to
her and console her! Accursed—>
all of them—Enschede, Ruth,
and hmself.
“What’s the matter, lad, after
all the wonderful fireworks at
lunch?”
standing beside him. He waved
a hand toward the sea.
“A sail?” said McClintock
“What about it?”
“Enschede.”
“Enschede?—her father?
What’s happened?” McClintoch
sat down. “Do you mean to tell
me he’s come and gone in an
hour? What the devil kind of a
father is he?”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
LEGHORNS BEAT
WORLD RECORD
North Branch, N. J., Pullets
Average 253 Eggs in
Year’s Laying
Storrs.Conn.—White Leghorns from
North Branch, N. J., won the thir
teenth annual International egg-lay
ing contest at Connecticut Agricul
tural college here by furnishing 2,
581 eggs In the past fifty-two week’s,
getting an average of over 253 eggs
for each pulet in the pen of ten birds
and creating a new record. Back
in 1918 a pen from Oregon Agricul
tural college laid 2,352 eggs In fifty
two weeks, setting a record Just beat
en.
The one foreign entry this year
—Ontario Agricultural college,
Quelph, Ontario—finished nineteenth
on the lists, Its barred rocks laying 2,
007 eggs. Purdue university hens
were twelfth In ' finishing. Other
exhibitors were: Attleboro, Mass., sec
ond; Suffield. Conn., third; Orongo,
Mo., fourth; Waldboro, Me., fifth;
Franklin, Mass., sixth; Hamden,
Conn., seventh; Dover, Mass., elgth;
Grand Kaplds, Mich., ninth; En
field, Mass., 10th; Wapping, Conn.,
11th; Pleasant Valley, N. Y., 12th;
West Rutland, Vt„ 14th; Coravalll,
Ore., 15th; State College, Pa., 16th;
Groton, Mass., 17th; Joplin, Mo., 18th;
and College Park, Md., 20th.
Champion hens were shown up In
this fashion: Rhode Island Red laid
324 eggs; White Leghorn laid 290
eggs; White Rock laid 281 eggs;
Barred Rock laid 289 eggs; White
Wyandotte l:ld 252 eggs. The best
previous record for a single hen was
set In 1918, when a White Wyandott#
laid 308 eggs.
Sportsmanlike.
Prom the Chicago News.
While a shooting party was out for
a day's sport a raw young sportsman
was observed to be taking aim at a
pheasant running along the ground
As It Is unsportemanllke to shoot a
bird while It is on the ground, a com
panion shouted: “Hi, there, never shoot
a running bird -’
"What do you take me for, you
Idiot 7" came the reply. "Can't you see
till It stopsT"
The Same Old Backache!
, Does every day bring the same old
backache? Do you drag along with
your back a dull, unceasing ache?
livening find you "all played out"?
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Doan's have helped thousands and
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A South Dakota Case
Mrs. T. W. Mahan,
217 W. Dartmouth
St., Vermilion, S.
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and I had dull pains
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My kidneys acted
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For cut*, burn*, blisters, rashes,
wounds, or skin troubles of any
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Keep It always in the house. In
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Vaseline
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Use Cuticura Soap
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girls Earn Xmas Money
Write for SO sets St. Nicholas Christmas Seals. Sell for 10a
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About the Way
Bolter (having just submitted to an
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Noted Psychologist—Wonderful, sir!
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Broadcasting Education
A $20,000 radio broadcasting station
is to be erected at Kansas State Agri
cultural college, Manhattan. With the
University of Kansas building a sim
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place in broadcasting stations in state
institutions. It is expected by staging
“contests in tlie air” that listeners-in
will experience some of the thrills of
t lie onlookers and that It may he one
of the menns of bridging the gap be
tween the “town and the gown.”—
Chicago Post.
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Benders other perfumes superfluous.
One of the Cutlcura Toilet Trio (Soap,
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“But I gave you the mitten last
week.”
"That is why I came back.” said the
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pair.”—i.onlsville Courier-Journal.
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Lieiss, 118 Topeka Ave. All dealers.'
Send Dr. Pierce, Buffalo, N. Y.,
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medicines and write for free confix
iential medical advice.
