Nebraska Newspapers

    FRAN
BY
JOHN BRECKTM9DGE ELLIS
JLLTJSTBATIONS BV'
..O-IKWIN -MYEKS
k ^
v " '
u
SYNOPSIS.
Fran arrives at Hamilton Gregory’s
home ir» Rittleburg. but find9 him absent
conducting the choir at a camp meeting.
She repairs thither in search of him.
laughs during the service ami is asked to
Wve. Abbott Ashton, superintendent of
schools, escorts Fran from the tent. He
tells her Gregory is a wealthy man.
'deeply interested in charity work, and a
siillar of the church. Ashton becomes
kreatly interested in Fran and while tak
Ifig leave of her. holds her hand and is
s^en by Sapphira Clinton, sister of Rob
ert Clinton, chairman of the school board.
Frap tells Gregory she wants a home
with' Jdm. Grace Xoir. Gregory’s private
secretary, takes a violent dislike to Fran
and aefyises her to go away at once.
Fran hijnts at a twenty-year-old secret,
and Gn^gory in agitation asks Grace to
leave the room. Fran relates the story
of how Gregory married a young girl at
Springfield while attending college and
t hen deserted her. Fran is the child of
that • marriage. Gregory had married hi*
present wife three years before the death
of Fran's mother. Fran takes a liking to
Mrs. Gregory. Gregory explains that
Fran is the daughter of a very dear friend
who is dead. Fran agrees to the story.
Mrs. Gregory Insists on her making her
home with them and takes her to her
arms. Fran declares the secretary must
go. Grace begins nagging tactics in an
effort to drive Fran from the Gregory
home. Abbott, while taking a walk alone
at midnight, finds Fran on a bridge tell
ing her fortune by cards. She tells Ab
bott that she Is the famous lion tamer,
Fran Nonpareil. She tired of circus life
and sought a home. Grace tells of see
ing Fran come home after midnight with
a man. She guesses part of the story
and surprises the rest from Abbott. She
decides to ask Bob Clinton to go to
' Springfield to investigate Fran’s story.
FVan enlists Abbott in her battle against
Grace. Fran offers her services to Greg
ory as secretary during the temporary
absence of Grace. The latter, hearing of
Fran's purpose, returns and interrupts a i
touching scene between father and
daughter. Fran goes fishing with Mrs.
Gregory’* brother. Abbott, whose reten
tion as superintendent, is to he decided
that day. finds her sitting alone in a
buggy.
CHAPTER XV.—Continued.
She slipped her hand into his.
"Didn't I have a mother? Oh. these
mothers! And who can make mother
wishes come true? Well! And you
just studied with all your might; and
you’ll keep on and on, till you’re . . .
out of my reach, of course. Which
would have suited vour mother, too.”
She withdrew her hand.
“My mother’would have loved you,”
he declared, for he did not understand, |
so well as Fran, about mothers’ liking
for strange young ladies who train
lions.
' Mine woulu you.”’ Fran asserted,
with more reason.
Abbott, conscious of a dreadful emp
tiness, took Fran's hand again. “I’ll
never be out of your reach, Fran.”
She did not seek to draw away, but
said, with dark meaning, “Remember ’
the bridge at midnight.”
“1 remember how you looked, with j
the moonlight silvering your face—you
were just beautiful that night, little 1
Nonpareil.”
"My chin is so sharp,” she raur-'
mured.
"Yes," he said, softly feeling the
warm little fingers, one by one, as if ,
to make sure all were theie. “That's I
the way 1 like it—sharp.”
Ana i m so naiculousiy thin—
'•You’re nothing like so thin as
when you first came to Littleburg,"
he declared. “I've noticed how you
are—have been—I mean . .
“Filling out’,’’ cried Fran gleefully.
"Oh, yes, and I'm so glad you know,
because since I’ve been wearing long
dresses. I’ve been afraid you’d never
find it out, and would always be think
ing of me as you saw me at the be- j
ginning. But I am—yes—filling out.” ;
“And your little feet, Fran—”
“Yes, I always had a small foot.
But let’s get off of this subject.”
“Not until I say something about
your smile—oh, Fran, that smile!”
“The subject, now,” remarked Fran, j
“naturally returns to Grace Noir.”
"Please. Fran!”
“I'll tell you why you hurt my feel- j
mgs, Abbott. You've disappointed me !
twice. Oh, if I were a man, I'd show |
aDy meek-faced little hypocrite if she i
eou'id prize secrets out of me. Just '
because it wears dresses and long hair, \
you think it an angel.”
"Meaning Miss Grace, I presume?” ■
remarked Abbott dryly. “But w hat is j
the secret, this time?”
“Didn’t I trust you with the secret :
that I meant to apply for the position j
of secretary as soon as Grace Noir i
was out of the way? And I was just
about to win the fight when here she
came—hadn't been to the city at all.
because you told her what I meant to
do—handed her the secret, like a child
giving up something it doesn’t want."
"You are very unjust. I did not tell
her your plan I don’t know how sh§
■•From you; nobody else knew it."
“She did not learn it from me ”
“—And that's what gets me!—you
tell her everything, and don’t even
know you tell. Just hypnotised! An
swer my questions: the morning after
I told you what I meant to do—stand
ing there at the fence by the gate—
confiding in you, telling you every
thing—1 say the next morning, didn't
you tell Grace Noir all about it?”
"Certainly not.”
Abbott tried to remember, then said
casually, "I believe we did meet on
the street that morning.”
“Yes,” said Fran ironically, "1 be
lieve you did meet somewhere. Of
course she engaged you in her j>ecul
iarstyreof inquisitorial conversation?"
"We went down the street together.”
“Now, prisoner at the bar, relate all
that was said while going down the
street together.
"Most charming, but unjust judge,
not a word that I can remember, so it
couldn't have been of any interest 1
did tell her that since she—yes. I re
member now—since she was to be out
of town all day, I would wait until to
morrow to bring her a book she w ant
ed to borrow.”
"Oh! And she wanted to know who
told you she would be out of town
all day, didn’t she?”
Abbott reflected deeply, then said
with triumph. “Yes, she did. She asked
me how I knew she was going to the
city with Bob Clinton. And I merely
said that it was the understanding
they were to select the church music.
Not another word was said on the sub
ject.”
"That was enough. Mighty neat. As
soon as she saw you were trying to
avoid a direct answer, she knew I'd
told you. That gave her a clew to my
leaving the choir practice before the
res; of them. She guessed something
important was up. Well, Abbott, you
are certainly an infant in her hands,
but I guess you can’t help it.”
Self-pride was touched, and he re
taliated: “Fran. I hate to think of
your being willing to take her posi
tion behind her back.”
She crimsoned.
"You'd know how I feel about it,"
he went on, “if you understood her
better. I know her duty drives her
to act in opposition to you, and I’m
sorry for it. But her religious ideals—”
"Abbott, be honest and answer—is
there anything in it—this talk of do
ing God's will? Can people love God
and hate one another? I just hate
shams,” she went on, becoming more
excited. “I don’t care what fine names
you give them—whether it's marriage,
or education, or culture, or religion, if
there’s no heart in it, it's a sham, and
I hate it. I hate a lie. But a thou
sand times more, do 1 hate a life that
is a lie.”
“Fran, you don't know what you are
saying.”
“Yes I do know what I'm saying. Is
religion going to church? That's all 1
can see in it. I want to believe there’s
something else, I’ve honestly searched,
for I wanted to be comforted, I tell
you, I need it. But I can’t find any
comfort in mortar and stained-glass
windows. I want something that
makes a man true to his wife, and
makes a family live together in bles
sed harmony, something that's good
on the streets and in the stores, some
thing that makes people even treat a
show-girl well. If there's anything in
it. why doesn’t father—”
She snatched away her hand that
she might cover her face, for she had
burst into passionate weeping. "Why
doesn’t a father, who’s always talking
about religion, and singing about it.
and praying about it—why doesn’t that
father draw his daughter to his breast
. . . close, close to his heart—that's
the only home she asks for—that’s the
home she has a right to, yes a right,
I don't care how far she’s wandered—”
"Fran!" cried Abbott, in great dis
tress. "Don’t cry, little one!” He
had no intelligent word, but his arm
was full of meaning as it slipped about
her. "Who has been unkind to you.
Nonpareil?” She let her head sink
upon his shoulder, as she sobbed
without restraint. "What shams have
pierced your pure heart? Am I the
cause of any of these tears? Am I?”
BPNHI Tiiui answQfed. between hd1
sobs, "you're the cause of all my
happy tears.” She nestled there with
a movement of perfect trust; he drew
her closer, and stroked her hair ten
derly, trusting himself.
Presently she pulled herself to
rights, lifted his arm from about her,
and rested it on the back of the seat—
a friendly compromise. Then she
shook back her hair and raised tier
eyes and a faint smile came into the
rosy face. "I'm so funny,” she declared.
"Sometimes I seem so strange that
I need an introduction to myself." She
looked into Abbott's eyes fleetingly,
and drew in the corners of her mouth.
“I guess, after all. there's something
in religion!"
Abbott was so warmed by returning
sunshine that his eyes shone. "Dear
Fran!” he said—it was very hard to
keep l;is arm where she had put it.
She tried to look at him steadily, but
somehow the light hurt her eyes. She
could feel its warmth burning her
cheeks.
“Oh, Fran,” cried Abbott impul
sively, "the bridge in the moonlight
was nothing to the way you look now
—so beautiful—and so much more
than just beautiful . . .”
“This won’t do.” Fran exclaimed,
hiding her face. "We must get back
to Grace Noir immediately.”
“Oh, Fran, oh, no, please!"
"I won't please. While we're in
Sure-Knough Country, 1 mean to tell
you the whole truth about Grace N'cir.”
The name seemed to settle the atmos
phere—she could look at him, now.
“I want you to understand that
something is going to happen—must
happen, just from the nature of things,
and the nature of wives and husbands
—and the other woman. Oh. you
needn't frown at me, I’ve seen you
look that other way at me, so I know
you. Abbott Ashton.”
“Fran! Then you know that I—”
“No. you must listen. You've noth
ing important to tell me that I don't
know. I’ve found out the whole Greg
ory history from old Mrs. Jefferson,
without her knowing that she was tell
ing anything—she's a sort of ‘Profes
sor Ashton’ in my hands—and I mean
to tell you that history. You know
1 - *
She Had Burst Into Passionate Weeps
ing.
that, fof about three years, Mrs. Greg
ory hasn't gone to chuicb—”
"You must admit that it doesn't ap
pear well.”
"Admit it? Yes, of course I must.
And the world cares for appearances,
and not lor the truth. That’s why it
condemns Mrs. Gregory—and me—and
that’s why I’m afraid the school board
will condemn you: just on account of
appearances. For these past three
years, the church has meant to Mrs.
Gregory a building plus Grace Noir.
I don't mean that Mrs. Gregory got
jealous of Grace Noir—I don’t know
how to explain—you can’t handle cob
webs without marring them.” She
paused.
"Jealous of Miss Grace!” exclaimed
Abbott reprovingly.
“Let’s go back, and take a running
jump right into the thick of it. When
Mr. Gregory came to Littleburg, a com
plete stranger—and when he mar
ried, she was a devoted church-mem
ber—always went, and took great in
(COPYClGHT 1912
^ B0BB5-MEPPHLC0.) *
terest in all his schemes to help folks
—folks at a distance, you understand
. . . She just devoured that relig
ious magazine he edits—yes. I’ll ad
mit, his religion shows up be.iutitully
in print; the pictures of it are good,
too. Old Mrs. Jefferson took pride
in being wheeled to church where she
could see her son-in-law leading the
music, and where she'd watch every
gesture of the minister and catch the
sound of his voice al the high places,
where he cried and, or nevertheless.
Sometimes Mrs. Jefferson could Ret a
lozen ands and buts out of one dis
course. Then comes your Grace Noir."
Abbott listened with absorbed atten
tion. It was impossible not to be in
fluenced by the voice that had grown
to mean so much to him.
“Grace Noir is a person that's su
perhumanly good, but she's not happy
in her goodness; if hurts her, ail the
time, because other folks are not as
good as she. You can’t live in the
house with her without wishing she'd
make a mistake to show herself hu
man, but she never does, she’s always
right. She’s so fixed on being a mar
tyr, that if nobody crosses her, she
just makes herself a martyr out of
the shortcomings of others."
' As for instance—?”
“As for instance, she suffered mar
tyrdom every time Mrs. Gregory
nestled in an arm-chair beside the cozy
hearth, when a Ladies' Aid, or a Rally
was beating its way through snow
drifts to the Walnut Street church. Mr.
Gregory v.as like everybody else
about Grace—he took her at her own
value, and that gave the equation; to
him. religion meant Walnut Street
church plus Grace Noir. _For a while,
Mrs. Gregory clung to church-going
With grim determination, but it wasn't
any use. The Sunday-school would
have button contests, or the Ladies’
Aid would give chicken pie dinners
down-town, and Mrs. Gregory would
be a red button or a blue button, and
she would have her pie; but she was
always third—in her home, or at
church, she was the third. It was her
husband and his secretary that under
stood the Lord. Somehow she seemed
to disturb conditions, merely by being
present.”
"Fran, you do not realize that your
words—they intimate—’’
“She disturbed conditions, Abbott
She was like a turned-up light at a
seance. Mr. Gregory was appalled be
cause his- wife quit attending church
Grace sympathized in his sorrow It
made him feel toward Grace Noir—
but I'm up against a stone wall, Ab
bott, I haven’t the word to describe
his feeling, maybe there isn’t any.
“Fran Nonpareil! Such wisdom
terrifies me . . . such suspicions!
In this moment of hesitancy between
conviction and rejection, Abbott felt
oddly out of harmony with his little
friend. She realized the effect she
must necessarily be producing, yet
she must continue; she had counted
the cost and the danger. If she did
not convince him, his thought of her
could never be the same.
"Abbott, you may think I am talk
ing from jealousy, and that I tried to
get rid of Grace Noir so I could better
my condition at her expense. I don't
know how to make you see that my
story is true. It tells itself. Oughtn't
that to prove it? Mrs. Gregory has
the dove's nature; she'd let the enemy
have the spoils rather than come to
blows. She lets him take his choice—
here is she, yonder's the secretary.
He isn’t worthy of her if he chooses
Grace—but his hesitation has proved
him unworthy, anyhow. The old lady
—her mother—is a fighter; she'd have
driven out the secretary long ago. But
Mrs. Gregory's idea seems to be—‘If
he can want her, after I’ve given him
myself, I'll not make a movement to
interfere.' ”
Abbott played delicately with the
mere husk of this astounding revela
tion: ‘‘Have you talked with old Mrs.
Jefferson about—about it?”
“She’s too proud—wouldn’t admit it.
But I’ve shyly hinted . . . however,
it’s not the sort of story you could
pour through the funnel of an ear
trumpet without getting wheat mixed
with chaff. She'd misunderstand—the
neighbors would get it first—anyway
she wouldn’t make a move because her
daughter won't. It’s you and 1, Ab
bott, against Grace and Mr. Gregory.”
He murmured, looking away, "Vo*
take me for granted, Fran.”
"Yes.'' Fran’s reply was almost a
whisper. A sudden terror of what he
might think of her, smote her heart
But she repeated bravely, “Yes! '
He turned, and she saw in his eyes
a confiding trust that seemed to
hedge her soul about. "And you can
always take me for granted, Fran; as.'
always is a long lime.”
"Not too long for you and me,” said
Fran, looking at him breathlessly.
"I may have felt” he said, "for some
time, in a vague way, what you have
told me. Of course it is evident that
he prefers Miss Noir’s society. But I
have always thought—or hoped—or
wanted to feel, that it was only the
common tie of religion—’’
“It was not the truth that you ,
clung to, Abbott, but appearances. As
for me, let truth kill rather than live
as a sham. If Grace Noir stays, the
worst is going to happen. She may
not know how far she's going. He |
may not suspect he's doing wrong.
People can make anything they want
seem right in their own eyes. But I’ve ,
found out that wickedness isn't sta- 1
tionary, it'6 got a sort of perpetual >
motion. If we don’t drive Grace away.
me erasn win come.
“Fran—how you must love Mrs.
Gregory!”
“She breaks my heart.”
“Dear faithful Fran! What can we
do?—I say we, Fran, observe.”
“Oh, you Abbott Ashton . . . just
what I thought you! So. no. you
mustn't interrupt. I'll manage Grace
Noir, if you’ll manage Bob Clinton."
"Where does Bob Clinton come in?”
“Grace is trying to open a door so
he can come in. I mean a secret in
Mr. Gregory's past. She suspects that
there's a secret in his past, and she
intends to send Bob to Springfield
where Mr. Gregory left that secret.
Bob will bring it to Littleburg. He’ll
hand it over to Grace, and then she’ll
have Mr. Gregory in her power—
there’ll be no getting her hands off
him, after that.”
“Surely you don’t mean that Mr.
Gregory did wrong when he was
young, and that Miss Noir suspects
it?”
“Bob will bring home the secret—
and it will kill Mrs. Gregory, Abbott
—and Grace will go off with him—I
know how it’ll end.”
“What is this secret?”
“You are never to know, Abbott."
“Very well—so be it. But I don’t
believe Mr. Gregory ever did very
wrong—he is too good a man.”
“Isn’t he daily breaking his wife’s
heart?” retorted Fran with a curl of
the lip. "I call that murder.”
"But still!—But 1 can’t think he
realizes it.’"
“Then.” said Fran satirically, “we’ll
just call It manslaughter. When I
think of his wife's meek patient face
—don’t you recall that look in her
eyes of the wounded deer—and the
thousands of times you’ve seen those
two together, at church, on the street,
in the library—everywhere
seeing only each other, leaning closer,
smiling deeper—as if doing good
meant getting close—Oh, Abbott, you
know what 1 mean—don’t you. don’t
j-ou?”
“Yes!” cried Abbott sharply. “Fran,
you are right. I have been—all of us
have been—clinging to appearances.
Y'es, I know what you mean.”
“You’ll keep Bob Clinton from tell
ing that secret, won't you? He’s tc go
tonight, on the long journey—tonight,
after the board meeting. It'll take him
three or four days. Then he'll come
back ...”
"But he’ll never tell the secret.” Ab
bott declared. His mouth closed as
by a spring.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
More in His Line
Signor Marconi, the inventor of
wireless telegraph, was seated at din
ner beside a lady who gushed.
Unfortunately, the lady had mis
taken the inventor for his compatriot
Mascagni, the composer of ••Covalleria
Rusticaaa."
"Oh, signor.” she exclaimed. “I
would so love to hear you play your
beautiful Intermezzo!”
“Certainly,” Marconi replied, quick
ly. “1 shall be delighted, if you have
a wireless piano.”—Washington Star.
___
QUEER WHIMS FOR FUNERALS
Englishman’* Coffin Made of 4 000
Matchboxes—Unusual Burial
at Sea.
An enormous crowd gathered at
Chester a few months ago to witness
the funeral of an electrical engineer,
who was carried to the cemetery in
a coffin that had been laboriously con
structed by himself out of 4,000 match
boxes. These, with their tops visible
and advertising their respective mak
ers, were varnished over and strength
ened inside with wood. On the coffin
was placed an electric battery, says
London Tit-Bits.
Some years ago a maiden lady died
at Calemis-sur-Lys, in France, who
was reported to have been a cham
pion snuff taker. She enjoyed singu
larly good health, retained all her
mental faculties and died gt a ripe
old age. Her funeral waa most ex
traordinary Her wish was that her
coffin should be filled with tobacco,
the floor of the mortuary chamber
carpeted with It and the heir to the
property charged to scatter tobacco
before tne hearse on the way to the
cemetery.
A lady wLo left Liverpool some time
ago by the Lucania crossed the At
lantic on a unique mission. A promi
nent New York business man, who
died recentiy, directed in his will that
his remains should be cremated and
the ashes scattered on the waters of
the Atlantic trom a Cunard steamer.
The Lucania, being the special favor
ite of the deceased gentleman, was
selected, and the lady in question, at
a time fixed, so that simultaneously
the family could attend a memorial
service in New York, cast the ashes
from an urn into the ocean. A cer
tificate was given by the captain of
the Lucania stating the latitude and
longitude in which the ashes were
committed to the deep.
On* Black Sheep Needed.
A revival of religion was In prog
ress in a town where Peter, Panl and
John were coal dealers. John was the
first to come Hnder the influence of
very eloquent preaching. He was hon
est and sincere about it and joined
the church. ▲ week later Paul was
Influenced to abandon the world and
the flesh, and he, to, became an en
thusiastic suporter of the good work.
Peter, however, held aloof from the
meetings. None of the invitations of
neighbors or brothers seemed to have
any effect Finally the clergyman
called and made a personal appeal.
Peter was rough , and ignorant and a
little inclined to profanity, but honest
and frank in speech if not in act.
He finally clinched bis negative argu
ments with the clergyman when in
reply to a question he said: “John
has become a Christian and Paul has
become a Christian and if 1 join your
church who the—, excuse me, par
son, will weigh the coal! '*
Correction.
The Cinnaminson Scimitar will say
tomorrow:
“We much regret that, in our re
cent article entitled, ‘Ages of Celebri
ties,' we wrongly gave the age of the
famous actor, John Draws. As Mr.
Draws has pointed out to us, a trans
position of figures made us say that
he was thirty-six years old, whereas
ha is, of course, sixty-three.”
MARRIAGE LAW IN ITALY
Ceremony le Only Legal When Per
formed by Mayor of Place
Where Couple Reside.
In Italy marriage by law is a civil
contract, only legal when performed
by the mayor of the place in which the
couple who desire to be married re
side. or his assessor, and it must be
performed in the city chamber.
Some hotels and not a few pensions
in Rome are the constant resort of
needy adventurers with titles real or
spurious to their names. Duke This
and Prince That, who are always on
the lookout for money, says the Chris
tian Herald. Aided, it may be. by
some one in the hotel or pension, they
get acquainted with a rich American
family with marriageable daughters.
To one of these love is made and mar
riage is arranged.
Such have no difficulty in finding a
priest to perform their ceremony It
is done. Then the adventurer deserts
the girl, and she haB no remedy Some
few years ago a young girl was so
treated. Her pseudo husband, bavins
secured her money, left her and mar
ried civilly and legally an Italian
woman with whom he was in love.
The victimized girl shot dead her be
trayer and bis wife. Recognizing the
provocation she had received, she was
left unpunished. Another girl simil
arly betrayed committed suicide.
Legal Opinion.
"A cat cits on my back fence every
night and he yowls and yowls and
yowls. Now, I don't want to have
any trouble with neighbor Jones, but
this thing has gone far enough, and
I want you to tell me what to do.”
The young lawyer looked as solemn
as an old sick owl, and said not a
word.
“I have a right to shoot the cat
haven’t I?"
“I would hardly say that,” replied
youfig Coke Blackstone. “The cat
does not belong to you, as I under
stand it.”
“No, but the fence does.”
“Then." concluded the light of law.
“I think it safe to say you have a per
fect right to tear down the fence.”_
New Turk Press
Rhythmical Criticism.
Prof. Brander Matthews was talk
ing of certain past participles that
have fallen into disuse, reports the
Washington Star.
The past participle "gotten" has
gone out in England, although it still
lingers on with us. In England, gotten
Is almost as obsolete as "putten." In
some parts of Cumberland the vil
lagers still use gotten and putten; and
a teacher once told me of a lesson on
the past participle wherein she gave
her pupils an exercise to write on the
blackboard.
In the midst of the exercise an
urchin began to laugh. She asked him
why he was laughing, and he an
swered:
“Joe's put putten where he should
have putten put."
FACE BROKE OUT IN PIMPLES
Falls City, Neb.—“My trouble began j
when I was about sixteen. My face :
broke out in little pimples at first.
They were red and sore and then be- !
came like little boile. I picked at my '
face continually and it made my face j
red and sore looking and then I would ,
wake up at night and scratch it. It j
was a source of continual annoyance
to me, as my face was always red !
and splotched and burned all the !
time.
“I tried -, - and others,
but I could find nothing to cure it. I
had been troubled about two years
before I found Cuticura Soap and ,
Ointment. I 6ent for a sample of
Cuticura Soap and Ointment and tried ;
them and I then bought some. I
washed my face good with the Cuti- i
cura Soap and hot water at night j
and then applied the Cuticura Oint- '
ment. In the morning I washed it
off with the Cuticura Soap and hot J
water. In two days I noticed a de
cided improvement, while in three
weeks the cure was complete." ,
(Signed) Judd Knowles, Jan. 10, 1913. j
Cuticura Soap and Ointment sold
throughout the World. Sample of each
free.with 32-p. Skin Book. Address post
card ''Cuticura, Dept. L, Boston."—Adv.
Evidently Knew the Kind.
Mrs. M. left the house for a few mo- j
ments one morning, telling little Hazel S
to answer the door bell if necessary. |
Presently there was a ring. The lady
caller, learning that Mrs. M. was not
at home, opened her card case, and iD
doing so a bit of tissue paper fluttered
to the steps. Picking it up, Hazel re
marked: "Mith, you dropped one of
your thigerette papcrth.”—The Delin
eator.
Trouble-Maker.
"Jobbs will always do his duty, no
matter how irksome it may be.”
“Yes. No matter how irksome it
may be to other people.”
Missed Nothing.
He ard she arrived in the fifth in
ning.
He (to a fan)—What’s the score?
Fan—Nothing to nothing.
She- Goodey. We haven’t missed a
thing!
Delightful Evening.
“They tell me you are very fond of
good music.”
"Never mind. Continue.”—Le Hire
(Paris.)
6 Improved low* farms for sale at atnc*'on.
Sept. 5, 6, 8, 9 and 10th. 1-10 cash and half
'be crop yearly until balance is paid,or in tea
payments. J. Mulhall, 480 6th Street, Sioux
City, Iowa. Adv.
Apparatus for pumping an anesthetic
into a person’s lungs ar.d insuring the
administration of a definite dose has
been invented by a Paris doctor.
Water in bluing is adulteration. Glass and
water makes liquid blue costly. Buy Red
Cross Ball Blue, makes clothes whiter than
snow. Adv.
It is easier to break a man’s will
than it is to sidetrack a woman’s
won’t
LEWIS* Single Binder gives the smoke*
a rich, mellow tasting 5c cigar. Adv.
It isn’t recorded that the Lord lov
eth a cheerful giver of advice.
“Back on
the Job”
again and very quickly,
too, if you will only let
Hostetter’s Stomach Bit
ters help the digestion to
become normal, keep ]
the liver active and the
bowels free from consti
pation. These are abso
lutely necessary in order
to maintain health. Try
it today but be sure it’s
HOSTETTER’S
Stomach Bitters
MEN. WOMEN everywhere; learn business.
Make money with uo; mail order work. Part.
Wilson Co.. 316 Knickerbocker. Denver. Colo.
W E CAN RKDl'CE YOUR FAT and remove
vour wrinkles. Our remedies do tho work
Write Holcomb, the Drmntlst. Garnett. Kan.
I
ALCOHOL-3 PER CENT |
XVegetable Preparation Tor As- j
similating the Food andRegula I
ting the Stomachs and Bowels of I
Exact Copy of Wrapper.
CASTORIA
For Infants and Children.
The Kind You Have
Always Bought
Thirty Years
CASTORIA
TMS OVWTAUft OOMMMT, MW TOM OTTY.
Mean Slap.
"What's the matter?”
“What's the matter? Wombat says
I’m the worst liar in town.”
"Don’t be discouraged. You may be
the worst now, but anybody who keeps
at it as persistently as you do is apt to
become a pretty good liar in time.”
Record fcr Ambition.
“Cholly is an ambitious sportsman.”
“How now?”
"He wants to climb the Matterhorn
in an automobile."—Louisville Courier
Journal. t
No Promise Maker.
"Does Blobbs keep bis word?”
”1 guess so. He never seems to
give It.”
^s^pRfiPsoirs^^a
*«ETE WATER
MUX L.TUOWPBON GUNS A CO^Troy ,X.¥.
1
-.ntl_f
| COLORADOi
ALFALFA LANDS
| Pull ditch rights in good ditch, MO per I
, acre and np, Cnor Faytoit. City prop- I
i erty and cattle raaohen. No Crooina I
i No Touadom. For fall particulars I
, write W- K. KINBKLLA, Greeley, Colo.
W. N. U, OMAHA, NO. 36-1*13.
WINCHESTER
| “Leader99 and “Repeater" I
SMOKELESS POWDER SHELLS!
Carefully inspected shells, the best com- 1
binations of powder, shot and wadding, 1
loaded by machines which give invariable I
results are responsible for the superiority I
of Winchester “Leader” and “Repeater” f
Factory. Loaded Smokeless Powder Sh*dl* I
There is no guesswork in loading frjm. i
Reliability, velocity, pattern and penetration are I
determined by scientific apparatus and practical I
experiments. Do you shoot them? If noL I
better try the W brand. They axe the ■
FIRST CHOICE OF THE BEST 8H0TS. I
■