SYNOPSIS
Victoria Herrendeen, a vivacious little
girl, had been too young to feel the
shock that came when her father, Keith
Herrendeen, lost his fortune. A gentle,
unobtrusive soul, he is now employed
as an obscure chemist in San Fran
cisco, at a meager salary. His wife,
Magda, cannot adjust herself to the
change. She is a beautiful woman, fond
of pleasure and a magnet for men’s
attention. Magda and Victoria have been
down at a summer resort and Keith
joins them for the week-end. Magda
leaves for a bridge party, excusing her
self for being such a "runaway.” Later
that night Victoria is grief-stricken when
she hears her parents quarreling. The
Herrendeens return to their small San
Francisco apartment. Keith does not
approve of Magda’s mad social life and
they quarrel frequently. Magda receives
flowers and a diamond from Ferdy Man
ners. a W'ealthy man from Argentina
whom she had met less than a week
before. Manners arrives a few hours
later. Magda takes Victoria to Nevada
to visit a woman friend who has a
daughter named Catherine. There she
tells her she is going to get a divorce.
Victoria soon is in boarding school with
her friend Catherine. Magda marries
Manners and they spend two years in
Argentina. Victoria has studied in Eu
rope and at eighteen she visits her
mother when Ferdy rents a beautiful
home. Magda is unhappy over Ferdy’s
drinking and attentions to other women.
Vic dislikes him, but for her mother's
sake is nice to him. When her mother
and stepfather return to South America.
Victoria refuses to go with them because
of Ferdy’s unwelcome attentions to
her. Magda returns and tells Vic she
and Ferdy have separated. Meanwhile
Keith has remarried. Victoria is now
a student nurse. Magda has fallen in
love with Lucius Farmer, a married
artist. While she and Vic prepare for
a trip to Europe, Ferdy takes a suite
In their hotel.
CHAPTER IV—Continued
—5—
She was silent, staring into space
with narrowed, somber eyes that
were reddened with tears.
“Mummy, I have to remind you
that Ferdy’s coming up today. He
has tickets and things, he said.”
“Can you talk to him, Vicky dar
ling? Do, that’s a lamb,” Magda
said gayly. “Tell him I had to go
down to Burlingame—and that I
felt terribly ...” Magda was rum
maging about in a bureau drawer;
she spoke absently. “Today and to
morrow are our last days,” she
said. And presently she gave Vicky
an absent-minded kiss and was
gone.
It was five o’clock when Victoria
got home; Magda had evidently pre
ceded her by only a few minutes
and was lying flat on her bed
“Vic, we had a very serious talk
this morning, you poor chicken, and
I’ve been thinking about you all
day," Magda said, her eyes rounded
over her teacup. “I’ll tell you
what’s happened, and what we de
cided. We’re not children, this isn’t
a first affair, and there are a great
many other persons to consider.
So . . . So—the upshot of it all is,
Vic, that you and I sail on Satur
day, and that it’s all over!”
Magda was a little subdued and
pale in the morning, but showed
no other signs of her recent emo
tion; the day was exciting with final
purchases, much talk of ward
robes and plans.
Vic wandered out to the balcony,
Rooked down at the waterfront over
which the mist was softly closing.
jThrough the cold dusk the fog horns
were steadily sounding.
“Horrible weather to go through
the Gate.”
“What makes you say that?”
Magda asked, looking up from her
letter.
“Heavy fog. You can’t see the
Konalei. Maybe that’s she, going
along now. I hope Ferdy made
her!”
“They’d wait for Ferdy. They
may not even sail. What is this,
darling—the eighteenth?”
“Tomorrow’s the twentieth.”
“Of course!” Magda reached for
the trilling telephone. “Tell Mr.
Farmer to come up,” she said im
mediately. And then to Vic, “I’m
going out with him for just a little
while.”
“Call me if I’m asleep when you
get back!” Vic answered, going to
ward her room. She heard Lucius’
voice a few moments later; her
mother’s voice. “One more day of
this,” she said to herself
Vic awakened with a start, with
a sense of something wrong. The
telephone was ringing, and someone
was knocking at the door. The
room was filled with dusk and fear
and confusion.
At the door it was Otto, with the
dinner card. On the telephone was
Mollie Jervis, saying good-by. Vic
toria answered both claims; ordered
oyster stew and brown toast and
meringues; snapped up lights. But
she still felt frightened and bewil
dered; her forehead sticky with per
spiration; her throat thick.
“Goodness, what horrible
dreams!” She went to her mother’s
door, saw only dusk and confusion
and emptiness within. "She’s late,”
Vic yawned, seeing a clock's hands
at seven. "Maybe she's taking a
bath.”
The bathroom was empty, too.
Perhaps Mother was going to
have one last dinner with her Lu
cius. Perhaps she had left a note
somewhere; it might be in her
rooms.
Victoria went in there, lighted
lights. She saw the note on the
dressing table, a large square note
addressed to “Vic.” And even be
fore .her eyes reached its first words
“My darling darling, you must for
give me . . .” somehow she knew.
“I never thought of this!” she
whispered aloud, in the tumbled
desolation that seemed now like a
deserted battlefield, like an ocean
after a wreck.
Her glance went on. She saw the
word “Tahiti,” the word “Malolo,"
the words “snatch our few years of
heaven . . .”
Victoria went to the balcony and
sat down ih a green iron chair. Her
legs had failed under her; she felt
cold, but her face was burning. One
trembling hand clung tight to the
note; in the empty hotel rooms be
hind her the lights shone brightly
over the packed handsome trunks,
with their bands of white and blue.
Coming into the diet kitchen at
six o’clock on a summer morning,
Florence Flood Dickenson discov
ered it empty, except for a solitary
figure at the end of the long table
The girl raised her head and
showed a weary face that was yet
keen with sensitiveness and sympa
thy and lighted with a tired smile.
“Hello, Dicky,” she said, in a
hoarse sweet voice.
“Oh, is it you, Herrendeen?” Miss
Dickenson asked. “Have a nice
vacation?”
“Marvelous. How's everything
gone?”
“Oh, beautifully. We missed you,
of course, but everything’s gone
marvelously.”
Two probationers came in with
trays. A boy put his head in the
door, said. “Miss Rocxwood?” and
vanished. The hospital day had be
gun.
“Vicky, tell me, do you like Dr.
Hardisty?” Louise Mary Keating
asked interestedly, a few days later.
“Very much,” Vicky said ab
stractedly.
“Vicky, I’ll bet you’re in love
with him! They say every woman
he meets is in love with him.” Miss
Keating bit into a chocolate; looked
at its filling thoughtfully. “I oughtn’t
to touch these,” she said.
"I’ll bet Vic hates to give up the
Keats kid,” Helen Geer observed,
watching her. “You won’t see Dr.
Hardisty any more now after to
night, Vic.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I will,”
Vicky said, beginning to smear her
face with cold cream, after tying a
towel over her tawny hair. “When
little Kate Keats goes home I go
with her. I’ve been there before,
you know, and Mrs. Keats asked me
yesterday to come back. Her
mother isn’t very well, and if she
goes away with the doctor she al
ways leaves a nurse with the chil
dren.”
‘‘And then will you see Dr. Har
disty every day, Vic?”
‘‘Not every day. But they’re great
friends. A lot of good it will do me
to fall in love with Quentin Har
disty,” Victoria went on practically.
“He doesn’t know I exist.”
The Keats home stood out on Pa
cific avenue with the long lines of
the Presidio eucalyptus trees and
th- Golden Gate below the drawing
room’s northeast windows, and a
sweeping view of the bay and the
mountains that framed the bay from
the upper floors.
Victoria liked the atmosphere of
the house; she said it reminded her
of a book.
Victoria, who had gone to them
from the hospital as Kate’s nurse,
had been kept on after Kate’s re
covery because of Duna’s scarlet
fever, and after that because of
the feeble age of Mrs. Chauncey
Clements, the children’s English
grandmother. Gently, agreeably,
without any unpleasantness, Granny
was dying. Victoria had a small
room next to the old woman’s lux
urious one on the first bedroom
floor, and the easy task of watching
her dignified departure from a life
in which she had behaved for eighty
years with admirable decorum.
Violet Keats was in her early for
ties; her husband perhaps ten years
older. She adored the small, blink
ing man . with his fluffy gray mop
“as only an English gentlewoman
can adore a man,” Vic told Cath
erine.
"We’re dining alone, Victoria, you
and I,” Mrs. Keats said one day,
in her crisp, brisk way. -"I want to
talk to you!”
It was when they were seated at
the little table downstairs an hour
later that she made a first attack
upon Victoria's confidence. “You’re
so perfectly charming with the chil
dren that I shan’t feel quite happy
until you’re in a fair way to have a
few of your own,” she said.
"Not I!” Vic smiled, shaking her
head.
“You don’t mean that. No girl
means that!"
"Most girls don’t, I daresay. But
I do. I’ve had a queer education
along those lines,” Victoria added,
half to herself.
“You mean your mother’s life?”
“Not only Mother. But all her
crowd, all women who make love,
passion, so important, who persuade
you, or almost persuade you, that
it is right to go wherever your heart
goes. It’s all so artless.”
“You ought to set your cap for
Quentin, Vic. He’s as completely
disillusioned as you are.”
"Dr. Hardisty?”
“Certainly he is. In his heart he
despises women. He thinks—Johnny
tells me that he thinks that they’re
all alike—weak and selfish and
ready to break up anything or any
body’s life for a little pleasure.”
"Did he tell Dr. Keats that?”
"That’s the Impression he always
gives.”
“That amazes me,” Victoria said,
"because if ever any man had his
way with women it is Dr. Quentin
Hardisty!”
"Yes, but it doesn’t mean any
thing, Vic.”
“You knew his first wife?”
"Very well. I’d left her—or
rather she'd left me downtown
about ten minutes before she was
killed. She was driving her- own
car—she drove like a crazy woman,
everything she did was wild, and
she had this crash. They got her
to the hospital and poor little Gwen
was born an hour later. Quentin’s
wife was a terrible girl—rich and
spoiled and—oh, I don’t know,
flighty. He’s never been very hap
py poor boy!—There’s Johnny at
the door now, Vicky,” she broke off
to say. “Ah, and Quentin with him—
come in both of you—are you froz
en, have you had anything to eat?”
"We’re starving!” Dr. Hardisty,
shedding outer garments in the hall,
said in his deep voice. “Vicky’ll go
get us some eggs, won’t you,
Vicky?”
“Better than that," Victoria said.
"We’ve put it aside—we expected
this.”
She went away and presently,
when a maid had preceded her with
a card table and silver and glasses,
returned with a laden tray.
"You looked very charming with
that baby in your arms,” he said
abruptly. Victoria and he were
alone now; the men had had their
supper; the fire had burned down
Vic Awakened With a Start, With
a Sense of Something Wrong.
low during the weary, comfortable
talk that had followed, and presently
a ringing telephone had taken the
doctor to his study, and Mrs. Keats,
murmuring something like, "Oh,
dear, I must tell him—” had fol
lowed him.
He had seen her with Bunty in
her arms, had he? The unexpected
blood rose to Vic's face.
"Any man would be glad to come
home and find such a scene at
night," the man said.
"Well, would he?” Vicky coun
tered. “Violet and I have just been
having an argument about it. I
say that nurseries and Nanas and
hearth fires have all gone out of
fashion. That isn’t what men want,
any more!”
"Only proving that you don’t
know anything about men,” the doc
tor said. "I didn't think you did!”
"Most men would much rather
have wives who are curled and
dressed and painted and read/ to go
out at night,” Victoria persisted,
annoyed in spite of herself by his
lc.zy air of complacency, and warm
ing to her subject. "Men aren’t
crazy about Violet, because she
lives for her husband and the chil
dren.”
"You may be a little bit cracked
on the subject of love and mar
riage,” Dr. Hardisty said. “But
you’re amusing.”
"Do you think I’m a little bit
cracked on the subject of love and
marriage?” Victoria demanded in
surprise. “There are plenty of
bachelors about. Is it so extraordi
nary that now and then a woman
likes to play a lone hand? I have
my work, my friends—everything I
want. Why should I add to it all a
man I don’t want?”
"Because in your heart you know
that you do want a man!”
"You think so?” Vic asked, her
face red.
"I do.” Quite suddenly, quite sim
ply his arm was about her and, for
the first time in her life, a man
kissed her on the lips. "There!”
he said and laughed. In another in
stant he was gone.
"Seriously, and all this teasing
aside, would you come over to the
shack for Saturday and Sunday?”
he asked her a few weeks later.
Instantly she knew now that she
ought to say no. But the tempta
tion to yield was strong. For, a/ter
all, his was the most fascinating and
popular figure in San Francisco’s
social circle at the time, and week
end invitations to the shabby little
cabin in Mill Valley were eagerly
sought.
Mill Valley would be thrilling!
After all, Quentin h#d shown that
he regretted his craziness, and
when he was in one of his nice,
simple moods she liked him quite as
much as she detested him in his
other ones.
All this flashed through her mind
as she hesitated over the invitation,
smiling.
"You said I would, you know, and
I will!" she told him, simply.
"And I think^you are a sport!”
he answered, in his pleasantest
manner. "It’ll be rough, you
know."
"I can be very rough. Only I
don’t go In for cocktails and staying
up dancing to the radio until morn
ing.” she began,
“Nothing like that. Rough’ means
that I have only one Chinese boy
there and he doesn't know much
about cooking, and that the chief
entertainment will be a long climb
up the mountain on Sunday.”
“And can the beautiful Mrs. Pool
go in for all that?”
“The beautiful Mrs. Pool will not
be there. This will be a very sim
ple party. Just four of us."
“It sounds good. Who’s going
along to protect my youth and in
nocence?” Victoria smiled.
“Do you think Chase and Dora
Upham might manage it?”
“They might.”
"I’ll pick you up at four o’clock
on Saturday, then. Bring comfort
able shoes.”
At four o’clock Saturday they
drove to the ferry and were car
ried, motorcar and all, across the
flowing gray waters of the bay.
There was fog on the bay, and
Tamalpais was wreathed in fog;
but down in the valley a misty sun
light was shining.
Up through a shady tunnel of red
woods the winding road rose above
the Cascades and mounted the great
stony flank of the mountain. On a
spur of land pushing boldly west
ward toward the far glitter of the
sea the plain little brown cabin
stood. The ground all about it was
deep in pine needles; the air was
aromatic with their sweet, sharp
scent. Descending from the car,
the girl admitted that her first im
pulse was to give a long, loud
scream of pure delight.
CHAPTER V
A lean Chinese boy in a coolie
coat of blue, with dingy white trou
sers and padded rope shoes, was
carrying the provisions ou' of sight.
Vic and the man went into the big,
main room that constituted almost
the entire cabin.
At both sides of it were raised
wide alcoves with windows; thick
blue canvas curtains could shut
them off from the main room. Each
of these contained three beds,
chests, chairs; opening from each
was a large shower bath casually
constructed of brown planks, with
redwood fronds pushing their way
in between the walls and the roof.
In the main room were rugs, big
chairs, tables from which bocks and
magazines cascaded, an enormous
fireplace smoked high from many
a roaring blaze, lamps, cushions on
a deep davenport; all of the com
fortable, informal litter dear to the
bachelor heart. Window doors
opened on a flagged terrace behind
which the magnificent crest of the
mountain reared against the softly
encroaching fog.
“We have our meals out here on
the terrace all summer,” the doctor
said. “But it’s going to be too cold
tonight. Mock Suey!” he shouted
suddenly. The Chinese silently pad
ded into sight. “Eat by fire to
night?”
“Eat tellis?” the boy asked hope
fully.
“No. Too muchee catchem cole
tellis. Eat fire."
“Fi-ah,” the Oriental conceded in
a sad, liquid voice. The boy melted
away.
Victoria began to wonder when
the Uphams would arrive.
(TO HE CONTINUED)
Two Things Certain
Benjamin Franklin is credited
with being the first to make the
statement that only two things are
certain—death and taxes. Franklin
mentioned this certainty in a letter
to his friend, M. Leroy of the
French Academy of Sciences, in
1789. He stated: “Our Constitu
tion is in actual operation. Every
thing appears to promise that it
will last; but in this world nothing
is certain but death and taxes."
Whether the expression was orig
inal with Franklin is unknown but
it was natural for him to contrast
the uncertainties of the newly adopt
ed Constitution with these two cer
tainties. Charles Dickens in his
“David Copperfield,” written 60
years later, has Barkis say: “It
was as true as taxes is. And noth
ing’s truer than them."
Is Overweight
a Disease?
By
DR. JAMES W. BARTON
© Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service.
JUST as yellow fever, ma
laria, diabetes, pernicious
anaemia and other “incura
ble” diseases have been con
quered in recent years by
our scientific research physi
cians, so also will obesity—
overweight — be conquered
within the next few years.
For, after all, obesity is really a
disease — some deficiency sortie
Dr. Ilarton
where in the body—
just as with dia
betes and pernicious
anaemia.
Time after time
metabolism tests
have been made of
overweights (that is
the rate at which
the body processes
work) and except in
a very few thyroid
or gland cases—per
haps 2 or 3 in every
100—the body proc
esses in overweights were not work
ing any slower than in those of
normal weight.
Dr. G. Hetenyi, in German Ar
chives of Clinical Medicine, thinks
that there is something wrong with
the collection and distribution of fat
in the bodies of those who are over
weight. He investigated the mobil
ization or gathering together of the
fat at the depots or storage places
in overweights and in normal in
dividuals, when both types were eat
ing insufficient food for their needs.
He found that there was’ something
wrong or different with the way
fat was gathered and stored in the
bodies of overweights.
Then he studied the way the fat
and the normal individuals handled
the blood rich in fat from food,
and observed that the tissues of
overweights have a great avidity—
eagerness or desire—for fats that
enter the blood stream. In other
words as the blood rich in fat passed
through the tissues of fat individ
uals, these tissues were “hungry”
for fat and so a great amount of
the fat in the blood was taken from
the blood and stored in the fat tis
sues. On the other hand in those
of normal weight, their tissues
did not seem so hungry for fat and
so the fat laden blood passed
through without leaving much if
any fat.
What an Investigator Learned.
Dr. Hetenyi also studied the rela
tion between fever and fat mobili
zation from the deposits of fat, the
action of dehydration (cutting down
on liquids) on the fat in the blood,
and finally the resorption into the
blood of fat put under the skin by a
hypodermic needle or syringe.
He found out that the increase in
the blood fat (fat taken from the
fat depots) was slight in over
weights, was less than in those of
normal weight. This means then
that during an illness when there
is an increase in the temperature
of the body, the tissues of over
weights did not give up as much
fat to the blood proportionately
as did those of normal weight.
And finally the blood in over
weights did not take into itself as
much of the fat that was placed
in the body by the hypodermic nee
dle as did the blood in those of
normal weight. It practically left
this extra fat stay where it was.
The conclusions drawn from the
above experiments are that the mo
bilization or collection of fat from
its storage depots—the skin, the liv
er, in and about the abdominal or
gans—is reduced in overweights,
whereas their absorption of fat from
the blood passing through their tis
sues is greatly increased.
In other words, fat individuals
take more fat from the blood when
fat is being eaten, and less from
their depots when no fat is being
eaten than do the tissues of those
of normal weight.
Overweight—obesity—is therefore
a disease of fat mobilization—the
way fat is gathered and distributed.
Now while this knowledge that
their tissues are "different” in the
way fat is handled in the body—
whether the fat is due to eating
starch or fat foods—may make ov
erweights feel a little less respon
sible for their increased bulk, nev
ertheless there is no reason why
they should not reduce their weight.
Gall Bladder Disorders.
It has been definitely proven that
two of every three individuals have
more or less disturbance in the gall
bladder and yet the number of
cases that actually require drain
ing or removal of the gall bladder
is very small.
Dr. R. F. Carter, New York City,
in Annals of Surgery, says that dur
ing a period of four years in study
ing patients having disease of the
gall bladder the medical and surgi
cal clinic of the New York Post
Graduate Hospital has gradually
come to realize the importance of
changes in the size and shape of
the gall bladder. In patients with
definite gall bladder symptoms —
pain in the upper right abdomen,
gas on the stomach, nausea, tender
ness in abdomen — even when the
X-ray showed no stones present and
the gall bladder filled and emptied
normally, real disease was found
at operation.
Good Hybrid Corn
Needs Good Soil
-
Better Varieties Equipped
to Produce on Highly
Fertile Land.
By A. L. Lang, Assistant Chief. Soil Ex
periment Fields, University of
Illinois.—WNU Service.
With farmers preparing to plant
a record acreage of hybrid seed
corn this year, they are advised
that good hybrids need good soil.
Because of the accumulation of
the many desirable characteristics
in the better strains of hybrid corn,
the good hybrids are more adapted
and better equipped to produce high
yields on highly fertile soils than
are the common open-pollinated va
rieties.
Good hybrids need good soil not
because they are unable to produce
on poor soil, but because they have
the ability to utilize more effectively
the materials found in fertile soil.
A corn grower can not expect
to grow 90-bushel or 100-bushel com
on 30-bushel land, and he may be
wasting high quality seed if he
tries it On the other hand if he
has high quality soil capable of pro
ducing big crops, he is wasteful if
he does not use seed good enough
to make full use of the land.
One good feature of corn improve
ment by hybrid breeding, is that
superior hybrids may make it pos
sible to obtain much larger returns
from good systems of soil improve
ment than has been possible in the
past. In other words a farmer need
no longer fear that he is getting
his land too good for his seed.
However, hybrid corn can not be
expected to take the backache out
of spreading limestone nor to serve
as a substitute for crop rotations
and applications of manure and fer
tilizer.
Carry Over Filled Silo
Is a Timely Suggestion
Many successful stock farmers
have for years made it a practice
to carry over a supply of corn or
grain for their live stock; especially
is this true in sections of the coun
try where crop failures are not un
common. "Carry over a crib of
corn” has been a favorite slogan.
The last two widespread and de
structive drouths have proven the
wisdom of carrying over feed. For
so often in a drouth year, not only
the corn and grain crops are short
but pastures, hay and forage. With
out doubt, we will find it a safe
and sound policy to carry over
especially from a good year, a sup
ply of grain and forage, says a writ
er in the Missouri Farmer.
Experiments and experience have
proven that forage can best be pre
served by ensiling. About any
kind of plant that stock will eat can
be made into silage and in such a
state will keep for several years.
Now we need a new slogan for the
stock farmer and "Carry over a
filled silo,” is suggested.
Since the early introduction of
silos, some 45 years ago, much
progress has been made and today
we have something like 550,000 silos
in use in the United States. When
we compare states that have made
a large use of the silo with those
who have made small use of it, we
find that we are still very short of
this equipment. A proper econom
ical use of the silo would require
at least 1,000,000 more silos.
Prevents Hams Souring
The first precaution to prevent
hams from souring is to be sure
that the animal is not overheated
before killing and to bleed the ani
mal well after killing. All cur
ing vessels should be scalded and
the water for the brine or pickle
should be boiled before using, says
an authority at the North Carolina
State college. Rub each ham with
salt before packing for cure and,
if brine cured, examine brine every
few days to see that it covers the
entire contents of container. After
curing, hang the ham from six to
eight feet above fire and smoke to
taste. If curing directions are fol
lowed and these precautions taken
the meat will keep without souring.
Feed for Cow in Milk
A common rule for feeding a cow
in milk is from two to three pounds
of good quality hay for each 100
pounds live weight, or one pound
of hay and three pounds of corn
silage for a similar weight unit. A
1,000-pound cow would then require
10 pounds of hay and 30 pounds of
silage daily, plus sufficient grain
mixture to meet her milH require
ments, which are one pound of
grain for each three to four pounds
of milk produced, according to an
authority in the Rural New-Yorker.
Any of the standard commercial
mixed feeds from 18 to 24 per cent
mixtures are generally satisfac
tory. Fodder may be substituted
for some of the hay if desired.
Water Hemlock Poisonous
Water hemlock is one of the most
poisonous plants known. It may
cause death in any species, includ
ing man. Cattle and sheep are most
often affected by it. The plant be
longs to the parsnip family. It grows
along creek banks, ditches, and in
i swales and other low, moist areas.
I It attains a height of 4 to 8 feet and
has a broad umbrella-like flower
with many small white blossoms on
top. Most farmers are familiar with
I this plant.
i Pleasing Types of
Needlework to Do
Add lacy crochet to dainty cross
stitch, and what have you? A
stunning decoration for your most
prized scarfs, towels, pillow cases
or whatever! However, either
cross stitch or crochet may be
used alone, if you wish, and both
are easy as can be, even for
Pattern 5751
“amateurs.” What could be njore
captivating than graceful sprays
of full-blown roses, cross-stitched
in color, with the border cro
cheted! In pattern 5751 you will
find a transfer pattern of two mo
tifs 4% by 10Vi inches, t$ro mo
tifs 3Vi by 7% inches; a chart and
directions for a 3 by 15Vi inch
crocheted edge; material require
ments; illustrations of all stitches
used; color suggestions.
To obtain this pattern send 15
cents in stamps or coins (coins
preferred) to The Sewing Circle
Household Arts Dept., 259 W.
Fourteenth St., New York, N. Y.
Write plainly pattern number,
your name and adress.
Not So Bright, Had
Contents Been Chickens
The village police chief was se
verely lecturing the new recruit.
“You’ve been on the force one
year and haven’t brought in a
case. I’m going to give you just
one more chance. Someone has
been stealing Squire Smith’s
chickens. Go up there tonight and
catch the thief.”
About midnight the waiting con
stable saw a man slinking along
with a sack over his shoulder. He
pounced on him, opened the sack,
and found a quantity of priceless
silver.
“H’m,” he murmured, survey
ing the spoils, “my mistake. But
you can thank your lucky stars it
wasn’t chickens.”
Keep your body free of accumulat
ed waste, take Dr. Pierce’s Pleas
ant Pellets. 60 Pellets 30 cents. Adv.
History Defined
History is the essence of innum
erable biographies.—Carlyle.
— , --—- .... ' . '-3
Don't Sleep
on Left Side,
Crowds Heart
MS PRESSURE MAY CAUSE DISCOMFORT.
RIGHT SIDE BEST.
If you tot* in bed end can’t sleep on
right tide, try Adlerika. Juet ONE
dote relieves stomach QAS pressing
on heart so you sleep soundly.
Adlerika acts on BOTH upper and
lower bowels and brings out foul
matter you would never believe was
in your system. This old matter may
have poisoned you for month* and
caused GAS, sour stomach, headache
or nervousness.
Dr. If. L. Shouh, Note York, report*1
••In addition to intestinal cleoneing, Adlerlhd
greatly reduce* bacteria and colon bacilli.
Mrs. Jas. Filler: “Gas on my stom
ach was to bad I could not eat or
sleep. Even my heart seemed to hurt.
The first dose of Adlerika brought me
relief. Now I eat as I wish, sleep fin#
and never felt better.”
Give your bowels a REAL cleansing
with Adlerika and see how good you
feel. Just ONE dose relieves GAS and
constipation. At all Leading Druggists.
WNU—U17—37
Cringing Coward
O the cowardice of a guilty con
science ! —Sidney.
40.
KILLS INSECTS I
ON FLOWERS • FRUITS I
VEGETABLES l SHRUBS 1
Demand original sealed 1
bottles, from your dealer I
"Quotations"
-v —
The universities have a greater re
sponsibility now than they have ever
had to hear. A large portion of the
world is moving without a compass.—
Nicholas Murray Butler.
To be sane is to be neither Bol
shevik nor Fascist nor Nazi, but to
try to preserve the freedom every in
telligent man and woman should pas
sionately desire.—Lady Rhondda.
We have only to trust and do our
best, and wear as smiling a face as
may he for ourselves and others.—
R. L. Stevenson.
Many years ago I learned that the
periods in one’s life when one is sim
ply a listener and observer may seem
useless, hut are in the end very valu
able.— Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt.
