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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 23, 1913)
The Sable w HORACE UIRCHA HA7ELTINE CCPYP/G/iT, JGJ2., A C AfPCAUPG &. CO. I 4 • SYNOPSIS. Robert Cameron, capitalist, consults Philip Clyde, newspaper publisher, re garding anonymous threatening letters he has received. The first promises a sample of the writer’s power on a certain day. On that day the head is mysteriously cut from a portrait of Cameron while the lat ter is in the room. Clyde has a theory that the portrait was mutilated while the room was unoccupied and the head later removed by means of a string, unnoticed l»v Cameron. Evelyn Grayson. Cameron’s oiere. with whom Clyde Is In love, finds the head of Cameron's portrait nailed to j a tree, where it was had been used as a target. Clyde pledges Evelyn to secrecy. Clyde learns that a Chinese boy employed bv Philetus Murphy, an artist living nearby, had borrowed a rifie from Cam* ♦‘run's lodcekeeper. Clyde makes an ex cuse to call on Murphy and is repulsed. He pretends to be investigating alleged infractions of the game laws. CHAPTER V—(Continued). At last I saw him half-way amen able to reason. Now that he was out yf the shadow,'I saw too. more clear ly. what manner of man he was. His head, as I had already discerned it through the gloom, was abnormally large, yet not out of proportion with his herculean torso. His red hair, frowsy, unkempt, was of such abund ance that, in the dark, its outline had given me a grotesquely magnified im pression. His red beard, too, was thick, long, and untrimmed. What lit tle of his face showed, was sunburned to what, in the dim light, seemed the eolor of ripe russet apples. His eyes were nearly indiscernible, deep set, under bushy red brows. "If you had shown the least bit of humanity to brother men in distress,” I responded, in a half jocular vein, “I'd probably never thought of this being your place, and you being you; and the incident of the morning might have been forgotten.” I thought 1 heard his teeth grit to gether in his effort to suppress a ris ing rage. I certainly saw his hands clench: and then, with an assumption of indifference, he took a final puff at his cigar and tossed it, sparkling, among the tveeds of his lawn. It was evident to me, now, that in spite of the nonchalance he affected, my reference to the Chinaman’s poaching, and his presence at Crag holt, had aroused his interest, and so hoping to draw him out, I continued: "Your man told the lodge-keeper that you sent him over to borrow a rifle." "You don’t mean to tell me you’d believe a Chinaman, do you?” he re turned. "it wasn't for me to believe or dis believe. The lodge-keeper believed him.” "And so he borrowed a rifle, and then with one of Cameron’s own in struments of destruction proceeded to destroy Cameron’s game? Is that it? What did he shoot? A deer or one of those starved-looking white dogs that Cameron has following him about?” Apparently Murphy knew much I more of my friend than my friend knew of Murphy. "Neither, I fancy. In fact, I’m not sure just what. he did shoot in the way of game. But he seems to have indulged in a bit of target practice. He found a piece of an old portrait, tacked it to a tree, and shot holes in it. Rather silly, eh? Foolish for him to chance getting into trouble for child’s play of that sort.” “How do you know that1?” he growled, with an inadvertent drop ping of his mask. There was no mis taking, now, that I had made captive his attention. “I saw the target,” I answered, simply. "That’s like saying, ‘I caught a twelve-pound bass. Here’s the hook and line to prove it.’ ” ' "I have a scale of the bass.” "A what?” “Something your Chinaman dropped beside the tree.” Phlegmatic though he w’as, some thing very like a start followed upon my words. Then, as if to cover the movement, he shrugged his shoul ders. and chuckled ponderously. "His visiting card, I suppose.” "Nearly as good,” I supplied. “The bowl of his opium pipe.” At that moment Jerry came around the corner of the house and stopped abruptly, stupefied by surprise; for from the open mouth of the giant there issued a roar of bass laughter, that reverberated in weird discord ance through the night silences. “You bally idiot!” he cried, his guf faw ended. “I suppose no persons ex cept Chinamen smoke opium, eh! And that being so. no Chinaman but my Chinaman could have made a tar get of a piece of an old portrait and dropped his pipe bowl at the foot of a tree! Go on with you, you make me sick!” And then, seeing Jerry, who had quickly joined me: "Didn’t find him, eh? Well, that’s not strange. Having lost the bowl of his pipe, he’s probably gone to borrow another from a laundryman friend in Cos Cob; and that, by the way, is about the nearest place for you to buy gas olene.” The next day I spent at my office. In New York, busy with the hundred details that go to the making of a periodical which aims to focus popu lar sentiment to a righteous view point concerning matters of national and social import. For the time be ing my consideration of Cameron and his strange problem was suspended. Now' and then the subject recurred to me, dragged into the mental light on the train of Evelyn Grayson; but al most immediately it was burled be neath a question of editorial policy or a debate regarding a contract for white paper at an extortionate in crease in price. When, however, my business day was ended, and I had boarded the train fc-r Greenwich, the whole in volved enigma spread itself again before me. demanding attention. And in the midst of it. dominating it, stretching his great shadow over it to the farthest limit, appeared that frowsy red giant, Murphy, a mystery within a mystery; for, though he seemed to pervade it, there was no point at which I could discover him quite touching it. In vain I tried to detect a real con nection. I started with the letters. They bore no single characteristic mark of this uncouth creature. As an artist he might have devised the curi ous silhouette signature, but there was something about that—some cun ning, inventive subtlety—which I could not reconcile with the ogre I had played upon, stung to angei* and aroused to curiosity. That he could either have con ceived or executed the ruin of the portrait I did not believe possible. The conception, like the letters and the signature, bore evidence of a craftiness too fine for such as he; and to fancy him, mammoth that he was. stealing unobserved into Cameron’s stury, was to fancy the incredible. And so, though the impression of intimate relationship persisted, I could find no point of contact, closer or more definite than through his servant's rifle practice, which after all might have been quite without mo tive. There was little, therefore. In the line of reason, to convict Murphy of any knowledge of the matters which had so disturbed us. And yet, as I have said. I felt intuitively that he possessed an intimate acquaintance with the whole affair. At the Greenwich station. I found my touring car waiting; my mother in the tonneau. My chauffeur touched 1 his cap as I approached. "You may drive, Francois,” I said, and I took the place at my mother’s side. "You look tired, Philip," she an nounced when I had kissed her. “Was it very warm in the city?” Her eyes were ever quick to note infinitesimal changes in my appearance of well being. “Not uncomfortable,” I answered, indulgently. “I had a very busy day, though. But I'm not the less fit be cause of It.” “We have had some little excite ment here," she hastened, eager to give me the news. “Old Romney called you up on the telephone about noon. I happened to answer it, my self, and when I told him you were in New York, and would not be back until six, it just seemed he couldn’t wait to unburden himself. ‘Won't you please tell him, Mrs. Clyde,' he said, ‘that Mr. Murphy's Chinaman was found at daybreak this morning, lying dead. Just outside Murphy’s back door?’ ” “Found dead!” I cried, in amaze ment. "That is what he said. Then he added that the poor fellow's head had been crushed with some heavy instru ment, and that Mr. Murphy had been arrested on suspicion and was in the Cos Cob lockup." For a full minute, I think, I sat in silent amaze. Then theories and con jectures in infinite variety gave chase, one after the other, through my excited brain. But it was more than ever difficult, I found, to reach anything like a satisfactory conclu sion concerning the position the now lifeless Celestial and his accused mas ter held in the chain of mysteries I wished so much to solve. That they were both of them more or less im portant links, however, I had small doubt. “Did you know Mr. Murphy?” my mother asked. And all at once I realized that her question was a repetition. In my absorption I had not heeded the original inquiry. . "Nobody knows him,” I answered, unconsciously echoing the •words voiced by the man in the catboat on the previous night. “Nobody knows him. But I’ve met him in a rather casual way.” > CHAPTER VI. Nell Gwynne's Mirror. With the approach of the twenty first of the month, which is to say the seventh day following Cameron’s receipt of the second letter, I ob served in him a growing nervous rest lessness, which with praiseworthy ef fort he was evidently striving to over come. Of my visit to the red giant and the tragedy which followed it, he was, of course, informed; as he had been of the incident in the wood, in cluding the finding of the bullet pierced piece of canvas. Every thing, save only that Evelyn was the discoverer of the portrait remnant— which I thought best under the cir cumstances to keep secret—was told to him in detail, and with all the cir cumstantiality necessary to an intel ligent discussion of even the minutest point. My description of Murphy elicited from him a recollection. He remem bered having seen the man once. It was on the Fourth of July. Evelyn and Mrs. Lancaster, Cameron’s house keeper, had accompanied Cameron to what is called "The Port of Missing Men,” a resort for motorists, on the summit of Titicus mountain. They had lunched there and were returning by a route which took them over a succession of execrable roads, but through some of the most glorious scenery in the whole state of Con necticut. For a while they had been following a stream, willow-girt, that went babbling down over a rocky bed which at intervals broke the waters into a series of falls and cascades. At the foot of one of these they had stopped the car and alighted for & better view, and so had come upon the unexpected. Seated upon a great bowlder, his easel planted between the stones of the stream’s shallows, was a red headed, red-bearded Colossus, In a soiled suit of khaki and a monstrous straw hat such as is worn by harvest ing farmers. Cameron told me that all three of them made bold to peep over the painter’s shoulder at his work, and then, though it was of the most mediocre quality, to shower him with laudatory and congratulatory phrases. “I can fancy how he thanked you,” I broke in, smiling. “I suppose he said something very rude.” ‘‘He said nothing at all. He simply stopped painting, and turning, fixed his eyes upon me. It was as if he saw no other one of us. He seemed to be making a careful appraisement of my every feature. After a mo ment it grew embarrassing, and though I did not resent it—feeling rather that we, ourselves, had been in the wrong—I very speedily with drew'. To my surprise he rose from his stone seat; and, palette and brush in hand, followed us up the little acclivity to the road, watching in silence, until we got back into our car, and wheeled away.” "Did you gather from his inspection that he recognized you, or thought he recognized you?" I asked. “I gathered only that he meant to be insufferably rude," was Cameron’s answer. “And you have never seen him since?” “Never.” “He has evidently seen you. He spoke of the Russian wolf-hounds that go about with you.” Cameron made no response. “Well,” I added, in a tone meant to be reassuring, ‘‘I think we need have little fear of a continuance of this singular method of annoyance. Though we can’t trace it directly to Murphy and his unfortunate Mongoli an, I thoroughly believe that one or the other was responsible. W:ith the Chinaman dead and Murphy in jail, the persecution will cease. The threat contained in the second letter will never be executed. See if I'm not right!” My hope of putting Cameron at ease, however, was not rewarded. He continued to exhibit signs of an al most constant apprehension. There was, indeed, a sympathy-stirring pathos about the nervous disquiet of this man, usually so impenetrably self-contained. And at moments, in spite of me, a suspicion gripped and held that he had not been entirely frank; that somewhere in his past there was something unrevealed which might serve as a clue, if not an explanation, to the present. But these doubts of him were always transitory. The twenty-first of September fell that year on Monday. My office de manded my presence, but I arranged affairs as well as possible by tele phone and devoted the entire day to Cameron. When I told him I meant to do this he protested, pretending that he was quite without foreboding; while the unconscious tapping of his foot on the rug, even as he spoke, be lied his words. We spent the better part of the day golfing over the Apawamis links at Rye, lunching at the club house be tween rounds, for as a specific for nerves I have ever found that game of rare benefit. In the present in stance it more than fulfilled my ex pectations. Cameron, apparently at least, forgot everything save his de sire to out-drive, out-approach, and out-put me. And when it was over, and with sharpened appetites we drove back to Cragholt for dinner, he appeared stimulated by a new-found courage. The day had passed without unto ward event, and I felt sure that my friend was gradually coming around to my way of thinking. Neither of us mentioned the subject, but it must have recurred to him, at intervals, as it did to me. And as the hours went by without a sign, the conviction grew that Murphy, with hands tied, was fretting over the coup he was de terred from compassing. Mrs. Lancaster, whom I have men tioned merely as Cameron's house keeper, but who was, in addition, a distant kinswoman and acted as a sort of duenna to Evelyn, dined with us that evening, and our little partie carree seemed to me more than us ually merry, owing doubtless to the relaxation of the strain which both Cameron and I had been under for the past week. It gratified me to see my host so unfeignedly cheerful. I remember how he laughed over Mrs. Lancaster’s recital of an incident of the morning. "I had no idea,” she said, “that An drew,” referring to the kennel master, "was married. He astonished me when he told me he had a wife and three children. And when 1 told him he did not look like a married man he seemed rather pleased than other wise.” "It is odd,” Cameron returned, “but it seems always to flatter a husband to tell him he doesn’t look it.” And then he laughed as though he had no care on earth. After dinner we had the usual music, and Evelyn sang again that lyric of Baudelaire's, this time in the original French. But the melody brought back to me in vivid vision our chance meeting in the woods and all its train of circumstances. When I had finished applauding, Cameron turned to me. "Do you like Baudelaire?” “I like his art,” I answered, “and his frank artificiality.” “He appeals to me,” Cameron cop fessed, "decadent though he is. I have read everything he ever wrote, I think, prose and verse. Did you ever see my copy of-his 'Fleurs du Mai’? The casket is worthy of its contents. It is the most exquisitely bound little volume I ever saw. Come, I’ll show it to you." I excused myself to Mrs. Lancaster, and with pretended formality bent over Evelyn's hand, brushing it with my lips. “Won’t you be back?” she whis pered. “I hope so,” was my answer. "But I can’t promise.” "Oh, what a trial it is to have a selfish uncle!” she murmured as I went. Cameron led me through the li brary, across the nail, and thence in to his study, where he dove into a miniature book rack reserved for his favorites. After a moment of fruitless search he said: "It isn't here. How stupid! I took it upstairs a week ago, I remember It is in my dressing room. Do you mind coming up?” Did I mind coming up? How glad I was to see him interested! He was more like the old Cameron than he had been at any time in the past sev en days. My golf prescription had proved even more efficacious than I had dared hope. At the risk of being tedious I must describe Cameron's dressing room. It was not large—probably 20 feet square—with three doors; one on each of the three sides. That which admitted from the passageway faced that which opened into the bath room. On the left, the third door connected with Cameron’s bedchamber. On the right were two windows, giving upon an outside balcony. Between them was a fire-place. To the left of the bath room door was the entrance to a huge closet, guarded by a heavy curtain of old rose velvet. To the right, was a sta tionary wash-stand, and above it a rectangular mirror, probably ten inch es wide and a foot long, and very curiously framed. Across from this, against the wall which divided the room from the passage, was an enor mous chiffonier, or chest of drawers. In the room’s center was a round table, on which rested a reading lamp. Between the table and the fire-place was a reclining chair. Oth er chairs, three or four, were various ly placed. I have given these facts because they are necessary to an intelligent understanding of what I am about to relate. That in furnishing and adorn ment the room was plainly utilitari an is not so material. But there is one exception to this general declara tion which demands to be specified. The mirror above the wash-stand pos sessed a distinction quite aside from its practical utility. This was by no means the first time I had seen it. Cameron had showed it to me, with a degree of pride, early in our ac quaintance, explaining that it was at once a relic and an heirloom. Orig inally the property of Nell Gwynne, It had descetided to him through three or four generations of maternal ancestors. The glass was framed In colored beadwork, to which were attached wax figures in high relief: at the top, a miniature portrait of Charles II. In his state robes; at the bottom, one of Nell herself, in court dress. The king appeared also on the right, in hunting costume, and on the left was another figure of his favorite in less ornamental garb. According to the legend which accompanied this in teresting antique, it was Nell Gwynne’s own handiwork. It possessed for me a certain fas cination due more to its history than its beauty, for it was not the most artistic of creations, and as Cameron poked about for his Baudelaire, I stood gazing at the glass and think ing of all I had ever read of the il literate, but saucy, sprightly actress whose sole claim to fame hung on her winning the favor of that easy-going, royal hypocrite. Charles II. "Here’s the binding!” I heard Cam eron say, and turned from the mirroi to the table, where he had found his sought-for treasure beneath a pile of heavier, grosser works. "You know something of book binding,” he went on, with enthusi asm. "Now examine that carefully, and tell me if you ever saw anything more exquisite. I had it done in Lon don. last year, it’s a copy of one of Le Gascon's." At first sight it seemed all glitter ing gold, but on closer inspection I found that the groundwork was bright red morocco, inlaid with buff, olive, and marble leather, the spaces close ly filled with very delicate and beau tiful pointille traceries. It was a ver itable gem In its way, and I could not blame Cameron for his raptures. When I had applauded and be praised to his content, he took the lit tle volume from my hand and open ing it, with a sort of slow- reverence, observed with something like patron ism: “I’m afraid you don't quite under stand Baudelaire.” "Does anybody?” I flung back. “He is not so obscure as his critics would have us believe,” Cameron As serted. “Sit down in that lounging chair a moment, and I’ll read you something.” And as I obeyed, be drew up a chair for himself, speaking all the while in denunciation of Tol stoi and the injustice of his criticism. One poem after another he read, while I lay back listening. To his credit he read them well, though he ithused often in mid-verse to explain what he thought I might regard as an affectation or. as Tolstoi has put it, “an intentional obscurity.” There was one verse which im- j pressed me particularly as he read it, and remained with me for a long while afterward, for. in view of every thing, it seemed to have a special ap positiveness. The lines to which 1 refer have been translated in this way: From Heaven's high balconies See! In their threadbare ropes the dead years cast their eyes. And from the depths below regret's wan smile appears. Cameron sat with his back to the door leading to the passageway, and facing, diagonally, across the table, the Nell Gwynne mirror. My own gaze was on him as he read. As he finished the verse, a portion , of which I have quoted, he lifted his eyes, I thought to meet mine, but his look rose over my head, and clung, while his lids widened, and Into every line of his face there came a rigid startled expression, half amazement, half horror. And in that instant of tense silence the “Fleurs du Mai” slipped from his nerveless fingers, struck the table edge, and dropped with unseemly echo to the floor. In a breath I was on my feet and staring where his vision had focussed. I hardly know what I expected to see. I am sure nothing would have sur prised me. And yet I was scarcely prepared for the Inexplicable ruin which my sight encountered. The glass of the Nell Gwynne mirror was in atoms. Cameron rose, a little unsteadily 1 thought, and coming around the table, joined me In closer inspection of his wrecked hereditament. I can find no word adequate to the description of what we experienced. Amazement and all its synonyms are far too feeble for the task. We were certain ly more than appalled. What we saw suggested to me spontaneous disin tegration. If such a thing were pos sible. which I believe It is not. It might have explained the condition of the mirror. No other ascription seemed admissible: for, though the glass remained In its frame not so much as a splinter having been dropped, It was fractured Into a thousand tiny pieoes, resembling a crystal mosaic, incapable of any but the most minute reflections. And the change to this condition from a fair, unmarred panel had been wrought without sound and seemingly without human agency. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Fought on Vegetable Diet •V._____._ Great Warrior* of Homer Were Not Sufferers From Insufficient Do mestic Help. The heroes of Homer prepared their food with their own hands, and were not therefore, sufferers from insuffi cient domestics. In the happy sim plicity of the Homeric ages, writes Mr. F w. Hackwood in ‘‘Good Cheer,’ the great heroes who dealt such ter rible blows, leaving death and deso lation behind them, when they re posed after their exploits, partook of a blameless dish of beans or a plate of hominy lentils. It may be difficult to imagine Dlo medes in the act of peeling an onion or Achilles washing cabbage. But al though the wise Ulysses roasted, with his own hands, a sirloin of beef, vege tables occupied the most conspicuous places at all the great banquets of an cient Greece. Parsley formed the crown with which Hercules, as conqueror of the Nemean lion, crowned himself; Ana creon celebrates the plant as the em blem of Joy and festivity. Fable makes parsley the food of coursers; the war riors of Homer fed their chargers with it for battle. The cabbage wms adorned by the Egyptians, who raised altars to it. Afterward they made this strange god the first dish in their repast. The Greeks and Romans ascribed to it the happy quality of preserving from drunkenness. Alexander found the onion in Egypt, where the Hebrews had learned to like it He had it cultivated in Greece, and given as food to his troops, in the belief that it excited martial ar dor. Whosoever wishes to preserve his health, says an ancient saw, should eat every morning, before breakfast, young onions and honey. But this : does not sound like a very tempting ! preservative. Asia is said to be the native soil of the asparagus. Yet the Romans culti vated it with such marvelous success that the stalks raised at Ravenna are said to have weighed three pounds each, and we are asked to believe that the African variety, grown in Libya, reached a height of 12 feet-' Start Your Baby With Sound Health Regular Bowel Movement from Childhood on Forestalls Future Serious Diseases We cannot all start life with the ad vantages of money, but every child born is entitled to the heritage of good health. Through unfortunate Ig norance or carelessness in the feeding of a baby its tiny stomach may be come deranged. The disorder spreads to the bowels and before the mother realizes it the two chief organs on which the infant’s comfort and health depend are causing it great suffering. If the condition is allowed to continue grave ailments often result. There is, however, no occasion for alarm, and the sensible thing to do— but it should be done instantly—is to give the baby a small dose of a mild laxative tonic. In the opinion of a great many people, among them such well-known persons as the parents of Dixie Dudley. Magnolia, Ark., the proper remedy is Dr. Caldwell’s Syrup Pepsin. Mrs. Earl Dudley writes: “Dr. Caldwell’s Syrup Pepsin is the best medicine I ever used. It cured my baby of flatulency colic when the doc tors failed; it cured my husband of constipation. My home shall never be without Syrup Pepsin.” It is a pleasant-ta3ting laxative, which every person likes. It is mild, non-griping, and contains that most excellent of all digestants, pepsin. This remedy is especially intended for infants, children, women, old peo ple and all others to whom harsh cathartics, salt waters, pills, etc., are distressing. In fact. In the common disorders of life, such as constipation, DIXIE ASKEW DUDLEY liver trouble, indigestion, biliousness, headaches, and the various other dis orders of the stomach, liver and bow els nothing is more suitable than this mild laxative-tonic. Dr. Caldwell's Syrup Pepsin. Two generations of people are using it today, and thousands of families keep it constantly in the house, for every member of the family can use it. It can be obtained of any druggist at fifty cents or one dollar a bottle, the latter being the size bought by fami lies who already know its value. Re sults are always guaranteed or money will be refunded. If no member of your family has ever used Syrup Pepsin and you would like to make a personal trial of it before buying it in the regular way of a druggist, send your address—a pos tal will do—to W. B. Caldwell, 417 Washington St.. Monticello. 111., and a free sample bottle will be mailed you. r" DISTEMPER StabST—. m/*W * MJL & Catarrhal Fever i i i* Snre cure and positive preventive, no matter bow hnrsee at any agre are Infected |U| |« or ‘exposed.•’ Liquid {riven on tbe tongue: acts on the Blood and (/lands, expels the 1—1 15 poisonous {Terras from the body. Cures lnstemper In Dofrs and Sheep and Cholera In Poultry. Largest eelltntr live stock remedy. Cure# 1a Grippe among* human belnjr*. and is a fine kidney remedy. N)c and Cl a bottle; (5 and S10 a dozen, t ut this out. Keeplt Nbow to vourdruOTlBt. who will gret It foryoo. Free Booklet. 'Listemperf Causes and Curee. Special Agents wanted. SPOHN MEDICAL CO.. GOSHEN. IND., U. S. A. FOR BEST RESULTS SHIP TOUR CATTLE, HOGS AND SHEEP TO OMAHA LIVE STOCK COMMISSION COMPANY SOUTH OMAHA, NEBRASKA R. E. Rogers N. R. Bryson A. E. Rogers T. H. Bryson B. C. Rogert DIDN’T NEED TO READ LINES Amateur Palmist Had Other Lines of Information Which Aided Her in Revelations. The fair amateur palmist looked at the left hand of the sweet girl long and earnestly. Breathlessly she wait ed for the palmist's next words. “Ah! I see by your hand that you are engaged to be married,” said the Palmist. "And,” continued the read er of the future and the past, in a more cutting tone, "1 see that you are engaged to Mr. Mooney.” “Oh! It's perfectly extraordinary,” burst out the blushing girl. “How can you know that?” “By my long study of the science,” was the reply. "But surely the lines on my hand— cannot tell you the na-” “Who said anything about lines?” replied the prophetic one, with with ering scorn. “You are wearing the engagement ring I returned to him three weeks.ago.” Familiar to “Mike.” A negro clairvoyant who for some time masqueraded as a Hindoo, was recently visited by a collector, Mike O’Conner. "Ah,” smiled the clairvoyant "ze genzelman wantz ze palm read?” “No,” said Mike, ”ze genzelman has ze bill for you.” When the bill was produced the palm reader forgot his Hindoo an cestors and a stream of perfect Eng lish swear words poured from his lips. “Ah,” said Mike, smiling, “ze gen zelman sounds more like ze Indiana avenue zan ze Hindoo."—Indianapolis News. Rooted in the Human Heart. There is a smell in our native earth better than all the perfumes in the east. There is something in a mother, though never so angry, that the chil dren will more naturally trust her than the studied civilities of strangers, let them be never so hospitable.— Lord Halifax. Swat Indirect. Mandy—What foh yo ben goln’ to de postoffice so reg’lar? Are yo’ cor respondin’ wif some other female?” Rastus—“Nope; but since ah been a readin' in de papers ’bout dese ’con science funds ah kind of thought ah might possibly git a lettah from dat ministah what married us.”—Life. Proper Help. “The steamer I sailed in was a floating hotel.” "Did it employ any bell buoys?" A GOOD BREAKFAST. Some Persons Never Know What It Means. A good breakfast, a good appetite and good digestion mean everything to the man, woman or child who has anything to do, and wants to get a good start toward doing it. A Mo. man tells of his wife's “good breakfast” and also supper, made out of Grape-Nuts and cream. He says: “I should like to tell you how much good Grape-Nuts has done for my wife. After being in poor health for the last 18 years, during part of the time scarcely anything would stay on her stomach long enough to nourish her, finally at the suggestion of a friend she tried Grape-Nuts. “Now, after about four weeks on this delicious and nutritious food, she has picked up most wonderfully and seems as well as anyone can be. “Every morning she makes a good breakfast on Grape-Nuts eaten just as it comes from the package writh cream or milk added; and then again the same at supper and the change in her is wonderful. “We can’t speak too highly of Grape-Nuts as a food after our re markable experience.” Name given by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich.— Read the little book, “The Road to Wellville,” in pkgs. “There's a Rea-, son." Ever read the above letterT A new one appron from time to time. They are erenulue, true, and full of human Interest. Adv. j UNKIND INFERENCE. "My husband and I never quarrel* “Where does he live? In Europe?" Cleverness Required. “In these days of high-cost living,” said Representative De Forest, the sponsor of the bill for pensioning ex presidenis, “we hear of many queer economics. “On a street car the other day, at the end of a discussion on saving and retrenchment, a lady said decisively: “ ‘Oh, any -woman can cut her hus band's hair; but, believe me, it takes a clever one to cut it so that other women’s husbands will suspect noth ing.’ ” Analyzing the Philosopher. Finley Peter Dunne was sympathli ing, at a New York club, with a play wright, whose play had failed. “Brace up!’’ he cried. “Take it like a philosopher!” Then Mr. Dunne smiled the whims! cal Dooley smile and added: “A philosopher is one who has train ed himself to bear with perfect seren ity the misfortunes of others.” Rod Cross Ball Blue will wash double aa many clothes as any other blue. Don’t put your money into any other. Adv. You can jolly the average man by referring to him as a prominent citi zen. LEWIS’ Single Binder cigar gives yon tbe rich natural quality of good tobacco. Adv. The oldest colleges still retain theii faculties. It’s tough on the society bud who marries a blooming idiot Only after trying does a man realize the many things he can’t do. FOLEY KIDNEY PILLS Are Richest in Curative Qualities FOR BACKACHE, RHEUMATISM. KIDNEYS AND BLADDER ALBERTA THE PRICE OF BEEF K&att For years the Province ?.i AU)«rla (Western Canada) was the Big BanchtngCoumry .Man y of these ranchos today ar®‘“njensograln fields ace 5° tdo cultivation of baIley and tiax- 'he change has made many thousands 8®tlled on thpj-e plains, wealthy, but It has in creased the prl£e ot Urestoer. nuwto'get a pion<11<1 opportnmty Free Homestead of 160 acres (and another«« n empl^la 5St newt*r districts Kichew^VrA^nr1“ota> S“ W. V. BENNETT. Bee Building, Omaha, Neb. or address Superintendent of immigration, Ottawa, Cui, P ITENTS