Buy a Home Where The Heaviest Crops in the State are Produced -nr-rr-r..nrrrsn nBrrrr.«"if?^ CFree Transportations £ to Land Seekers jj 0 " r~yrr.~. r7rTrr^r at One of the Heaviest Producing Counties in the State for the Past Twelve Years THB FUNDINGSLAND INVESTMENT COMPANY if SlllNKY. NEP.KASKA, has over 16,000 acres of choice farming land now on the market: for sale at from $25 to $3o j*ra< r< one half ash and the balance in three to five year* with interest at at •'» percent j#*r annum. We ^lso have a few quarter^ that we can take from $500 to $i,ooo as first pay ment. Cbevenne county. Nebras ka, is one of the most favor bly located counties in the western part of the state: sit umted as it is f»etween the two great Platte rivers, and pro tccted by the Rocky onoun tain range to the south and weft, they «io not experienc* the hot winds that are so pre valent in some parts. We will contract to show yuQ many fields « f wheat hat ia your estimation will rv-H 36 bufhels per acre: rye fiax 15. corn 40 oats i>0: potatoes 100: alfalfa feed f» and other staple crop* equal ly good in proportion. Remember you are not in vesting your money in an arid region or desert, but where it i« sure to bring you good returns. Buying land is apure business proposition. You want to invest your muaev somewhere so that you will be assured oi certain sat isfactory returns. Cheyenne county iand is the one invest ment that absolutely insures positive returns. You cannot find a section in the west which offers as many •pportunities to the farmer ind investor as Cheyenne county. We are selling the Itest laud in the world for the mon**y and at a fiaure that -an api*eal only to level head < *■— — Un.,^.1 *ou>C T iTv - "-O.-l:*- ISe "out " that. I hate wantonly risked hi* 111* with mine at other time*, then, no " Her sensitive fare had changed, she Mo. found *;«ereh “l never thought of blame." she "trte'rl muteadl’y. "XeTer. Yon drove -traigh* and beet Ton look *c He drew *ogr her. long pa** eonven “! have been IB. I have bow little **«wt-r*h u» waste aside from ray pur l«** .'--slea 1 have come for you. as he ones cave me have to do. You ha ve do one left. Bor 1 WBl you mar r» *rr -* f-*ger» wo*iBd harder Into the - -it. Be saw the pulse beating in : - r rot-nd turost a* Cung back her head with Floyd's own boyleh movtm ewt * '<<* lovo n#T* she questioned. Just nndli^j grave eyes on his "1 thought yon knew Yes." ,*1“ k her head, her smile sad. "Mo Ralph Stanton, or Je* Floyd-* twhsr* The acute question pierced deep Oat of Stanton’s suSerlag leaped the truth la a cry of vehement passion and force "1 do not know! Jessica. Jessica. I do not know! I want both. I love yon. I watt you for my wife: left with him. 1 wonld have missed you. If I cared far you because you were like him. If I see him now in you. what matter* 1 tell row I want you. but I nhaH want him all my life. I want the *** r*^t ■*. y* one who nth m# through rough or the «nn who knew me and I »•* *7 comrade. Je* Floyd." ■•bed strength of pain, the omay of enrage bereavement Hdl the atmosphere swept to prlml dwo clarity, free of ail small thing*. Thw girl drew herself erect, even her Sps eslorlnao la her absolute pallor bac¥^ anu a zigzag eear start Into view on her Blender left arm Like bands of silk ribbon she unwound the heavy braids of hair and flung them aside. Jettfng a mass of short, boyish, bronze curls tumble about her fore head. There was no mistake possible, ever again. He did not know that he spoke, i yet bis cry reached the street below. “Floyd! Floyd!" "I am Floyd." "You—” "I am Jessica." The room reeled giddily, his vision blurred And as his composure went j down In chaos, her courage rose up to . aid his need. “You're goln’ to take it hard,” com pass ioned her earnest voice. “I’ve been doin' wrong to you. while I ’bought I was only hurtin’ myself. I’m | sorry.” The lisp, the soft excitement-born accent so blent with memories of splendid peril and comrade risk, fell on ready ears. “God!" breathed Stanton, and sank fnto a chair, dropping his face upon his arm aa it rested on the little tea table. 1 ou ve got to betr it; there's only me. But that's the only way I’ve de ceived you. Stanton.” The rustle of her dress came strangely with his name in those clear tones. “A11 that I told you of my life Is true, except Jes. My father had to have a son. an’ he made me one. At first, when I was M’tle. It was for fun he called me Jes when 1 had my boy-clothes on, an’ played there were two of us. But * ^eo we found that all the country wide. all the factory hands, every one except my nurse believed Jes and Jessica twins, we let it go on. It made It easier for him in trainin’ me j to be bis partner. For he said I wa3 man fit for that. So Jes studied an' raced an’ worked with him all day; in the evenin’ Jessica wore frocks and frills We lived alone in the big house: it was so easy. I used to dark en my skin a bit; that was all. You’re not listenin’—you want time to think it out—” ' He neither moved nor contradicted Time for readjustment he did need, for realization of this and himself. Standing, a slim, upright figure, she cave H to him, waiting while the little Swiss clock on the mantle chattered through many minutes. “When my father died.” she re sumed, at last, “after I found out that I wasn t goin to die, too. I saw Jes was able to earn his livin’ while Jes ca was liable to starve. I had it In my blood to love that work, I suppose; I told you once that the very smell of1 exhaust gas drove me out of myself with speed-fever. Every racer knows It. you know it, that reelin’. So I got a place In the Mercury factory; an’ that way I met you. I don’t know how to make you understand!” _He interrupted, ■iier,_rothlessly. ai most roughly, ~as he might onee~have spoken to Floyd; not looking up. “What of all that? You are you, now You’ve let me think you dead for two mouths—you left me in hell." "No, no!” she denied in swift de fense. “Not that. I never guessed that you could believe me dead; I thought you must know me—Jessica.” “How should I know? You never came near me. The Floyd I. knew would have come.” the bitterness of those desolate nights and days choked speech. There was a pause, fil'ed with some strange significance beyond his fath oming. “I couldn’t come,” she deprecated, v ... -pie? hr^kea. TYon’ro makiu’ this hard. When 1 was picked up . tunned, an’ taken to the hospital, aft er we went off the bridge, they found I wasn’t Jes. They talked of me—the newspapers printed stories about Stan ■cn’s mechanician—they said, they aid you knew I was a woman when we went West—” The movement that brought Stanton to his feet was galvanic. He under stood, finally, in one blinding flash of full comprehension; understood the doctor, the nurse, his fellow-drivers’ embarrassed reticence, and Miss Car lisle. Understood, too. that here had been a suffering acute as his own. Ant in the man’s hot outrush of protectloi Jes and Jessica were fused Into one. “They'll talk to me,” he grimly as sured. “I’m not shut In a hospital, now. Why didn’t you send them to me? You knew I’d corns to you—” His sentence broke, as his eyes caught and held hers; Floyd’s eyes, rtr&ight and tru© in spite of the girl's icark t shame burning in either check. “I knew, yes, you are that kind. But low could I tell you would want to :ome? How can I tell it now? You’d see me through safely, anyhow. I’m .■omemberin’ that you dismissed F’loyd .’or one falsehood, an’ I’ve tricked you !or weeks.” He drew a step nearer her; the pulse which had commenced to heat through him the day they started for Indianapolis and which had ceased two months ago. suddenly woke anew with a long steady stroke. The old rich sense of life ran warm along his veins. “What of you?” he put the question. “Brute enough I've been to Floyd. Per haps he had too much of me for you to want more?” She gasped before the challenge, then abruptly flared out. powder to spark, defiance to mastery, as so often , cn track or course. “You're mockin' me. Ralph Stanton! An’ I won’t bear it. I've told you too often that I cared, trustin’ you'd never . know the rest. I ought to have kept j away from you, an' I couldn't do it. I never meant you to know I was any one but Jes Floyd, I meant to be your partner an’ mechanician all my life. I hated bein' a girl. But you came here an’ found Jessica when I wasn't ex-1 rectin' you. When you asked me if you might marry my sister, there at the Comet factory, you almost killed me. For then I did want to be a girl, your girl. Yes, I’m savin’ it. an’ I won’t marry you, I won’t. I gave Jes sica a chance, an’ you didn’t love her, you loved Jes. I couldn’t be happy any more, either way. I’m tired of v.ishin’ the Mercury had fallen on me —you'd better go; I’m never goin' to see you again.” “You’re going to see me,” corrected j Stanton, slowly definite, “forever. You’re going to marry me today.” She lifted her face to him as he g.tood over her, the girl’s piteous beauty of it. the bov-comrade’s direct candor, the mechanician’s unmurmur ing obedience, and he saw her trem bling whose courage matched his own. “Don’t make me unless you want me. truly,” she whispered. “We're playin’ square, now.” His reply was inarticulate, the ex pression which leaped Into his eyes was that with which he once had looked at Floyd across the cups of chocolate. Only now It came with the Serce movement that crushed her sup ple figure in an embrace blending ev ery passion to be spent on man or woman. *‘Jess, Jess—comrade Jess, love ■ Jess!” After a while, she made the last essay. “You’r? sure, Ralph?” “Hush.” “You’ve lost your racin’ mechani cian.” “I'm not going to race; we're going | to Buffalo to open the Comet automo-1 bile factory.” “I’ve known you every minute; you didn't all know either Jes or Jessica." For the first time since the Mercury car changed tires on the Cup race course, Stanton’s blue-black eyes laughed into the gTay ones. "Perhaps not, but I know Jess Star* “You're Going to Marry Me Today." ton. Get your hat and furs and come iign your contract; -we’re team-mated ’or the long run. my girl.” THE END. Point of View. When the necessity of daily labor Is removed and the call of social duty fulfilled, that of moderate and timely amusement claims its place as a want inherent In our own nature. To re lieve this want and fill up the mental vacancy games are devised, books are written, music is composed, spectacles and plays are invented and exhibited. And if these plays have a moral and virtuous tendency; if the sentiments expressed are calculated to rouse c- - tr>ve of wh*