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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (May 21, 1914)
The Hollow ♦ ♦ ♦ & * ■ of Her Hand ^Georgfe Barr McCutcheon coPYwevr./9/2 or cfo/ictfa** Ancura/fo#: cofr/vct/r, r?/2 sy podd,at£ad compa/ty SYNOPSIS • Wra-dstl ’a I -d irurd) r-tl In * • un t» i e. r NV« Y.iji Mr* tt'un * all m » iiak.-i.-rj 1 rout the city and id n~ 1 It • It-, I«rvi.. a '.->'43*11 »I* a* - ‘ e- - a-d V. raaoal! t<- ' he inn and suf> •cyre-wily u.aappeared. is I'.a* todd ..|-t >jr« ha II 1 u gai llfr * **1 *•- >»l a >if> Mr* Wrsiidcli *i»r.a baa liar X. a Yurk in aa auto dur b a a bar- ja| >».« M«rtn On the way She Muarta a >-»owg woman In the r ■*.! a '»■ I'r. -a til be the aimer. who killed Wraadatt CHAPTER II—Continued “There ana nothing left for me to do hut that * And why did yon rob him*" “Ah. I had asple time to think of all that You may tell the officer* they mil find everything hidden In that torn house cellar God know* 1 do not want them. 1 am not a thief. I'm not »o bad a* that " lira AVrandall marveled. "Not so had as that'" And she was a murder «-*•. a wanton' You are hungry You must be fam ished* No. ! am not hungry I have not thought of food " She said it in such w way that the other knew what her whole Bund had been given over to mute* the night before A fresh impulse seized her. "You shall have food and a place where you can sleep and real." she said "Now piemse don't say anything more 1 do wot want to know too much. The least you say tonight, the better for—for both of us " *' Sth that she devoted an of her at «mi ton to the car, increasing the ipeei considerably Far ahead she mntd aee twinkling wiB-othe-wisp lights Ik- first signs of thickly popu lated districts. They were still eight oc ten miles from the outskirts of the city and the way was arduous. She was conscious of a sudden feeling of fatigue The chill of the night seemed to have made itself felt with abrupt, almost stupefying force She won dered if she could keep her strength, her courage—her nerve*. Tbe girl was English. Mrs Wran dall sas convinced of the fact, almost *-hi mediately Unmistakably English and apparently o? the cultivated type fa fact, the peculiarities of speech that determines the 1-ondon show-girl or music-hall character were wholly lacking Her voice, her manner, even •Bier such trying conditions, were characteristic of the English woman *4 cultivation Despite the dreadful etratn under which she labored, there were evidences of that curious se r-uity which marks the English worn an of the better classes: an Inborn composure, a calm orderliness of the -motions Mrs Wracdall was con ■clous of s sense of surprise, of a wonder that increased as her thoughts resolved themselves Into sometbfrg lees chaotic than they were at the time of contact with this visible condition. For a mile or more she sent the car along wttb reckless disregard for com fort or safety Her mind was groping for something tangible in the way of Intentions What was she to do with this creature * What w af to become 4 her? At what street corner should ah- turn her adrift? The idea of handing her over ’o the police did an* ester h-r though is for an instant (Somehow she felt that the girl was a stranger to thu city She could not explain the feeling, yet it was with her and very persistent. Of course, there was a home of some sort, or lodgings or friends but would he girl dare show herself In familiar haunts? rib* ft and herself wondering why the poor wretch had not made way wtth herself Kacape seemed out of tt*-- question That must have been deer to her from the beginning else why was she going back there to give b-rwHf op’ What better way out of U than self-destruction. She would advise the girl to leave the car when they reached tha center of a certain bridge that spanned the river! No one wuwld And her . . . Even as the thought took shape in her mind she experienced a great •ease of awe. so overwhelming that eh* cried out with the horror of it. rib* turned her head for a quick glance at the mute wretched face showing • bite above *be robe, and her heart ached with sudden pity for her The thought of that slender, alive thing going down to the icy waters—her mi 'timed sick with the dread of it! I in thai Instant. Sara WraudaU—no ghilan' hropist. no sentimentalist— •made up her mind to give this erring on* more than an even chance for sal vation She would see her safely aero*, that bridge and many others <i*d had directed the footsteps of this girl ao that she should fall in with the one best qualified to pass judg ment on her It was in that person's power to save her or destroy her. The commandment, "Thou shall not kill." took on a broader meaning as she con pttered the power that was hers, the power to hill. A great relaxation came over Sara WrandsII It was as if every nerve, •very muscle in her body had reached the snapping point and suddenly had given way. Ftor a moment her hands were week and powerless: her head fed forward. la an Instant she conquered — hat oaly penial y—the strange feeling of lassitude Then the realised how tired she wax, how fierce ly the strata had told on her body and brain, bow much she had really suf fered Her blurred eyes turned once more tor • look at the girl, who sat there, Jnat aa a be had been sitting for miles, her whit* face standing out with al most unnatural clearness, and as rigid ns that of a sphinx. The girl spoke "Do they bang wom en la this country?" Mrs. V> randall started. "In some of the stales." she replied, and WHS up •Ms to account tor the swift Impulse to evade Bat In this state?" persisted the tether, almost without a movement of |»eli*e. 'They send them to the electric chair—sometimes," said Mrs. Wran dall There was a long silence between them, broken finally by the girl. "You have been very kind to me, madam I have no means of express ing my gratitude. I can only say that I shall bless you to my dying hour. May 1 trouble you to set me down at the bridge? I remember crossing one. I shall be able to—" No’ cried Mrs. Wrandall shrilly, div.ning the other’s intention at onee. "You shall not do that. I, too, thought of that as a way out of it for you, but—no. it must not be that. Give me a few minutes to think. I will find a way " The girl turned toward her. Her, eyes were burning. “Do you mean that you will help me to get away?" she cried, slowly. Incredulously. "Let me think!" “You will lay yourself liable—” “Let me think, I say.” "But I mean to surrender myself to—" An hour ago you meant to do it. but what were you thinking of ten minutes ago? Not surrender. You were thinking of the bridge. Listen to me now: I am sure that I can save you I do not know all the—all the circumstances connected with your as sociation with—with that man back there at the inn. Twenty-four hours passed before they were able to iden tify him. It is not unlikely tha^ to me-row may put them in possession of the name of the woman who went with him to that place. They do not know it tonight, of that I am positive. You covered your trail too well. But vou must have been seen with him during the day or the night—” The other broke in eagerly: "I den t believe any one knows that I— that I went out there with him. He arranged it very—carefully. Oh, what a beast he was!” The bitterness of that wail caused the woman beside her to cry out as if hurt by a sharp, al most unbearable pain. For an instant she seemed about to lose control of herself. The car swerved and came dangerously near leaving the road. A full minute passed before she could trust herself to speak. Then it was with a deep hoarseness in her voice. "You can tell me about It later on. not now. I don't want to hear it. Tell me. where do you live?" The girl's manner changed so abso lutely that there could be but one in ference. she was acutely suspicious. Her lips tightened and her figure seemed to stiffen in the seat. "Where do you live?" repeated the^ other sharply. "Why should I tell you that? I do not know you. You—” "You are afraid of me?” “Oh. I don't know what to say, or what to do." came from the lips of the hunted one. "I have no friends, no one to turn to, no one to help me. You—you can’t be so heartless as to lead me on and then give me up to— God help me. I—I should not be made t© suffer for what I have done. If you only knew the circumstances. If you only knew—” "Stop!” cried the other, in agony. The girl was bewildered. “You are so strange. I don’t understand—” ■ We have but two or three miles to go," Interrupted Mrs. Wrandall. "We must think hard and—rapidly. Are you willing to come with me to my hotel? You will be safe there for the present. Tomorrow we can plan some thing for the future." "If I can only find a place to rest for a little w-hile," began the other. "I shall be busy all day, you will not be disturbed. But leave the rest to me. I shall find a way.” It was nearly three o’clock when , she brought the car to a stop In front i-'I,, i She Sank to the Floor In • Heap. ; of a small, exclusive hotel not far from Central park. The street was dark and the vestibule was but dimly . lighted. No attendant was in sight. “Slip into this," commanded Mra. Wrandall. beginning to divest herself : of her own fur coat "It will cover I your muddy garments. I am quite warmly dressed. Don't worry. Be quick. For the time being you are my guest here. You will not be ques tioned. No one need know who yon are. It will not matter If you look dis tressed. You have just heard of the dreadful thing that has happened to me. You—“ "Happened to you?” cried the girl, drawing the coat about her. "A member of my family has died. They know It In the hotel by this time I was called to the death bed— tonight That is all you will have to know.” "Oh. I am sorry—" “Come, let us go in. When we reach my rooms, you may order food and drink. You mast do it, not L • Please try to remember that it is I who am suffering, not you." A sleepy night watchman took them up in the elevator. He was not even interested. Mrs. Wrandall did not speak, but leaned rather heavily on the arm of her companion. The door had no sooner closed behind them when the girl collapsed. She sank to the floor In a heap. ''Get up!” commanded her hostess sharply. Tills was not the time for soft, persuasive words. “Get up at once. You are young and strong. You must show ihe stuff you are made of now if you ever mean to show it. I cannot help you if you quail.” The girl looked up piteously, and then struggled to her feet. She stood before her protectress, weaving like a frail reed In the wind, pallid to the lips. "I beg your pardon,” she murmured. “I will not give way like that again. 1 dare say I am faint. I have had no food, no rest—but never mind that now. Tell me what I am to do. I will trv to ohev.” "First of all, get out of those muddy, frozen thing* you have on." Mrs. Wraiidall hersel'f moved stiffly and with unsteady limbs as she began to remove her own outer garments. The girl mechanically followed her ex ample. She was a pitiable object in the strong light of the electrolier Muddy from head to foot, water stained ana bedraggled, her face streaked witn dirt, she was the most unattractive creature one could well imagine. These women, so strangely thrown together by Fate, maintained an un broken silence during the long, fumb ling process of partial disrobing. They scarcely looked at one another, and yet they went acuteTv conscious of the interest each felt In the other. The grateful warmth of the room, the ab rupt transition from gloom and cheer lessness to comfortable obscurity, had a more pronounced effect on the stranger than on 'her hostess. “It is good to feel warm once more," she said, an odd timidness in her man ner. "You are very- good to me.” They were sitting in Mrs. Wran dall’s bedchamber, just off the little sitting-room. Three or four trunks stood against the walls. “I dismissed my maid on landing She robbed me.” said Mrs. Wrandall. voicing the relief that was uppermost in her mind. She opejied a closet door and took out a thick eider-down robe, which she tossed across a chair. “Now call up the office and say that you are speaking for me. Say to them that I must have something to eat, no matter what the hour may be. I will get out some clean underwear for you, and— Oh, yes; If they ask about me, say that 1 am cold and ill. That is sufficient Here is the bath. Please be as quick ai>out-it as possible.” Moving as if in a dream, the girl did as she was told. Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door. A waiter appeared with a tray and service table. He found Mrs. Wran dall lying bark in a chair, attended by a slender young woman in a pink eider-down dressing-gown, who gave hesitating directions to him. Then he was dismissed with a handsome tip, produced by the same young woman. "You are not to return for these things,” she said as he went out. In silence she ate and drank, her hostess looking on with gloomy inter est. It was no shock to Mrs. Wran dall to find that the girl, who was no more than twenty-two or three, pos sessed unusual beauty. Her great eyes were blue—the lovely Irish blue—her skin was fair and smooth, her fea tures regular'and of the delicate mold that defines the well-bred gentlewom an at a glance. Her hair, now in or der, was dark and thick and lay softly about her small ears and neck. She was not surprised, I repeat, for she had never known Challls Wrandall tg show Interest In any but the most attractive of her sex. She found her self smiling bitterly as she looked. Put who may know the thoughts of the other occupant of that little sit ting-room? Who can put herself in the place of that despairing, hunted creature who knew that blood was on the hands with which she ate, and whose eyes were filled with visions of the death-chair? So great was her fatigue that long before she finished the meal her tired lids began to droop, her head to nod in spasmodic surrenders to an over powering desire for sleep. Suddenly she dropped the fork from her fingers and sank back In the comfortable chair, her head resting against the soft, upholstered back. Her lids fell, her hands dropped to the arms of the chair. A fine line appeared between her dark eyebrows—indicative of pain. For many minutes Sara Wrandall watched the haggardness deepen In the face of the unconscious sleeper. Then, even as she wondered at the act, she went over and took up one of the slim hands In her own. The hand of an aristocrat! It lay limp in hers, and helpless. Long, -tapering fingers and delicately pink with the return of warmth. Rousing herself from the mute con templation of her charge, she shook the girl's shoulder. Instantly she was awake and staring, alarm In her dazed, bewildered eyes. “You most go to bed," said Mrs. Wrandall quietly. “Don’t be afraid. No one will think of coming here.” The girl rose. As she stood before her benefactress, she heard her mur mur as If from afar-off: "Just about your size and figure,” and wondered not a little. “You may sleep late. I have many things to do and you will not be dis turbed. Come, take off your clothes and get Into my bed. Tomorrow we will plan further—" “But, madam/* cried the girl, *1 cannot take your bed. Where at* 70a to—f t , S | "If I feel like lying down, I shall lie there beside you.” The girl stared. “Lie beside me?" “Yes. Oh, I am not afraid of you, ; child. You are not a monster. You are just a poor, tired—” “Oh. please don't! Please!" cried the other, tears rushing to her eyes. She raised Mr3. Wrandall’s hand to her lips and covered it with kisses. Long after she went to sleep, Sara Wrandall stood beside the bed. look j lng down at the pain-stricken face, I and tried to sclve the problem that i suddenly had become a part of her very existence. “It Is not friendship,” she argued, fiercely. “It is not charity, it is not I humanity. It’s the debt I owe. that’s 1 all. She did the thing for me that I could not have done myself because I loved him. I owe her something for that.” Later on she turned her attention to the trunks. Her decision wras made. •‘The Black Pile Is Mine, the Gay Pile Is Yours!” With ruthless hands she dragged gown after gown from the ‘‘innovations” and cast them over chairs, on the floor, across the foot of the bed; smart things from Paris and Vienna; ball gowns, tea gowns, lingerie, blouses, hats, gloves and all of the countless things that a woman of fashion and means indulges herself in when she goes abroad for that purpose and no other to speak of. From the closets she drew forth New York “tailor-suits” and other garments. Until long after aii o’clock she busied herself over this huge pile of costly raiment, portions of which she had worn but once or twice, some not at all, selecting certain dresses, hate, stockings, fete., each of which she laid carelessly aside; an imposing pile of many hues, all bright and gay and glit tering. In another heap she laid the somber things of black; a meager as sortment as compared to the other. Then she stood back and surveyed the two heaps with tired eyes, a curi ous, almost scornful smile on her lips. “There!” she said with a sigh. “The black pile is mine, the gay pile is yours,” ehe went on, turning toward t the sleeping girl. "What a travesty!" Then she gathered up the soiled gar ments her charge had worn and cast them into the bottom of a trunk, which she locked. Laying out a carefully se lected assortment of her own garments for the girl's use when she arose, Mrs. Wrandall sat down beside the bed and waited, knowing that sleep would not come to her. CHAPTER III. Hetty Castleton. At half past six she went to the tele phone and called for the morning newspapers. At the same time she asked that a couple of district messen ger boys be eent to her room with the least possible delay. The hushed, scared voice of the telephone girl downstairs convinced her that news of the tragedy was abroad; she could imagine the girl looking at the head lines with awed eyes even ae she re sponded to the call from room 416, and her shudder as she realized that it was the wi{£ of the dead mas speak ing. One of the night clerks, pale and agitated, came up with th^ papers Without as much as a glance at the headlines, she tossed the papers on the table. "I have sent for two mes senger boys. It is too early to ac complish much by telephone, I fear. Will you be so kind as to telephone at seven o’clock or a little after to my apartment?—You will find the number under Mr. Wrandall’s name. Please inform the butler or his wife that they ; may expect me by ten o’clock, and that I shall bring a friend with me—a ; yonng lady. Kindly have my motor sent to HafTner's garage, and looked after. When the reporters come, as they will, please say to them that 1 will see them at my own home at eleven o’clock.” The clerk, considerably relieved, took his departure in some haste, and she was left with the morning papers, each of which she scanned rapidly. The details, of course, were meager. There was a double-leaded account of her visit to the Inn and her extraor dinary return to the city. Her chief interest, however, did not rest In these particulars, but In the specula tions of the authorities as to the iden tity of the mysterious woman—and her whereabouts. There was the like lihood that she was not the only one who had encountered the girl on the highway or In the neighborhood of the inn. So far as she could glean from the reports, however, no one had seen the girl, nor was there the slightest hint offered as to her identity. The papers of the previous afternoon had published lurid accounts of the mur der, with all of the known details, the name of the victim at that time still being a mystery. She remembered reading the story with no little Inter est. The only new feature in the case, therefore, was the identification of Challis Wrandall by his “beautiful wife," and the sensational manner In which it had been brought about. With considerable interest she noted the hour that these dispatches had been received from “special corre spondents,” and wondered where the shrewd, lynx-eyed reporters napped while she was at the inn. All of the dispatches were timed three o’clock and each paper characterized its issue as an “Extra,” with Challis Wrandall's name in huge type across as many columns as the dignity of the sheet permitted. Not a word of the girl! Absolute mystery! Mrs. Wrandall returned to her post beside the bed of the sleeper in the adjoining room. Deliberately she placed the newspaper on a chair near the girl’s pillow, and then raised the window shades to let in the hard gray light of early morn. It was not her present intention to arouse the wan 6tranger, who slept as one dead. So gentle was her breath ing that the watcher stared in some fear at the fair, smooth breast that seemed scarcely to rise and fall. For a long time she stood beside the bed, looking down at the face of the sleep er, a troubled expression in her eyes. “I wonder how many times you were seen with him, and where, and by whom," were the questions that ran in a single strain through her mind. “Where do you come from? Where did you meet him? Who is there that knows of your acquaintance with him?” Her lawyer came in great haste and perturbation at eight o'clock, in re sponse to the letter delivered by one of the messengers. A second letter had gone by like means to her husband's brother. Leslie Wrandall, instructing him to break the news to his father and mother and to come to her apart ment after he had attended to the re moval of the body to the family home near Washington square. She made it quite plain that she did not want Chal lis Wrandall's body to lie under the roof that sheltered her. His family had resented their mar riage. Father, mother and sister had objected to her from the beginning, not because she was unworthy, but be cause her tradespeople ancestry was not so remote as his. She found a curious sense of pleasure in returning to them the thing they prized so high ly and surrendered to her with such bitterness of heart. She had not been good enough for him; that was their attitude. Now she was returning him to them, as one would return an article that had been tested and found to be worthless. She would have no more of him! Carroll, her lawyer, an elderly man of vast experience, was not surprised to find her quite calm and reasonable He had come to know her very well in the past few years. He had been her father’s lawyer up to the time of that excellent tradesman's demise, and he had settled the estate with such un usual dispatch that the heirs—there were many of them—regarded him as an admirable person and—kept him busy ever afterward straigtening out their own affairs. Which goes to prove that policy is often better than hon esty. “I quite understand, my dear, that while it is a dreadful shock to you. you are perfectly reconciled to the— er—to the—well, I might say the cul mination of his troubles,” said Mr. Carroll tactfully, after she had re lated for his benefit the story of the night's adventure, with reservation concerning the girl who slumbered in the room beyond. “Hardly that, Mr. Carroll. Resigned, perhaps. I can t say that I am recon | died. All my life I shall feel that l ; have been cheated,” she said. He looked up sharply. Somethin,; io her tone puzzled him. "Cheated, mv dear? Oh. 1 see. Cheated out of years and years of happiness. I see.” She bowed her head. Neither s;oke for a full minute. “It's a horrible thing to say. Sara, but this tragedy does away with an other and perhaps more unpleasant al ternative; the divorce I have, teen urging you to consider for so long.” "Yes, we are spared all that,” she said. Then she met his gaze with a sudden flash of anger in her eyes. "But I would not have divorced him—never. You understood that, didn't you?" "You couldn’t have gone on for ever, my dear child, enduring the—” She stopped him with a sharp ezcla mation. “Why discuss it now? Let the past take care of itself, Mr. Car roll. The past came to an end night before last, so far as I am concerned. I want advice for the future, not for the past." He drew back, hurt by ber manner. She was quick to eee that she hac of fended him. “I beg your pardon, my best of friends,” she cried earnestly. He smiled. “If you will take pres ent advice, Sara, you will let gc> of j yourself for a spell and see if tears won’t relieve the tension under—’’ “Tears!” she cried. “Why should I give way to tears? What have I to weep for? That man up there in the country? The cold, dead thing :hat spent its last living moments without a thought of love for me? Ah, no, my friend; I shed all my tears while he was alive. There are none left to he shed for him now. He exacted h{» full share of them. It was his plea* | ure to wring them from me becaua* j i he knew I loved him. She leaned for ward and spoke slowly, distinctly, so I that he would never forget the words, j 'Hut listen to me, Mr. Carroll. You also know that 1 loved him. Can you believe me when I say to you that I hate that dead thing up there in Bur . ton’s inn as no one ever hated before? Can you understand what I mean? I hate that dead body, Mr. Carroll. I loved the life that was in it. It was • the life of him that I loved, the warm, ' appealing life of him. It has gone out. I-Some one less amiable than I suffered at his hands and—well, that is enough. \ : I hate the dead body she left behind ( j her, Sir. Carroll.” The lawyer wiped the cool moisture ! from his brow. “I think I understand.” he said, but : he was filled with wonder. “Extraor dinary! Ahem! I should say—Ahem! Dear me! Yes, yes—I’ve never really : thought of It in that light." “I dare say you haven't,” she said, lying back in the chair as If suddenly ! exhausted. “By the way, my dear, have you breakfasted?" “No. I hadn’t given it a thought. , Perhaps it would be better if I had j some coffee—” “I will ring for a waiter,” he said, springing to hie feet. “Not now, please. I have a young friend in the other room—a guest who ! arrived last night. She will attend to it when she awakes. Poor thing, it has been dreadfully trying for her.” \ I “Good heaven, I should think so,” , said he, with a glance at the closed door. "Is she asleep?” “Yes. I shall not call her until you, have gone.” “May I inquire—” “A girl I met recently—an English girl,” said she succinctly, and forth- j with changed the subject. “There are a few necessary details that must be attended to, Mr. Carroll. That is why 1 sent for you at this early hour. Mr. Leslie Wrandall will take charge— Ah!” she straightened up suddenly. "What a farce it is going to be!” (TO BE CONTINUED.) - -- : ACT ON FIRST IMPRESSIONS I —i— Old Adage That “He Who Hesitates Is Lost,” Is a Whole Bundle of Truth. In a letter to a friend at a great moral crisis in his life Darwin ex pressed an observation which is con firmed by general experience. The action which had suggested itself to him when he first faced the crisis he had condemned as dishonorable. On j further consideration, when he was sorely tempted to proceed, he told his friend of the struggle he was having, but added. "First impressions are gen- ; erally right,” and he proposed to stand by his first impression that the course in view would be dishonorable. When a moral question involving difficulties is put up to a person his first impression is on the merits of the question, without reference to the difficulties of the course. Later the difficulties begin to loom up, and cau tion is apt to get the better of the doubter. Reflection on a matter of disagree able duty often paralyses action. The adage, “He who hesitates is lost,” em bodies a store of wisdom. Saying Came True. The discovery that Scottish bank notes have actually been forged with in the walls of Peterhead convict prison recalls an amusing Incident. Unlike the notes of the Bank of England (which are destroyed as soon as they find their way back to the bank), notes on Scottish banks are put in circulation again and again. The result is that some of these notes get very dirty, the one-pound notes get ting particularly grubby and worn in. the course of their travels. An English barrister who was once given a sheaf of these notes In pay ment of a large amount, regarded them with horror for a few seconds, holding them delicately between his thumb and finger. "Now, ’ he said, holding them at arm's length, "now I understand the meaning of that saying about ‘filthy lucer.’ ” Triumph of Russian Art. Russian art has captured the world, and today many influences are accept ed from the Slavonic people. Not in opera and dancing alone, says Ae Pall ; Mall Gazette, do the subjects of the Tsar excel, but long centuries ago the peasants in remote and snow-bound 1 districts had evolved art ideas for themselves, and they worked away quietly during the winter evenings.! Hands, horny with the toil of cultivat ing the land, all winter produced mar vels of delicate lace and of wood carv Ing as fine as any weft made on the! pillows during the summer. Recently the industries have become known be yond the confines of a district that for ! seven months In the year holds its folk snowed up in their humble houses — Credulous. Yep,” said Enoch Flint, lounging comfortably on the porch of the I Squam Corners grocery, “when I was over to RussetviUe I seen a mighty queer critter that they called a calf, for want of a better name. Its mother was a cow, an‘ it had the body an’ legs of a calf, an’ the feet, wings an’ bill of a goose. On Its head it had feathers In the place o’ hair. In the daytime It bleats like a calf, an at night It honks like a goose.’’ “Wal, I’ll be gol-twisted!” ejactJat sd Jason Squanch. ”1 must go rght borne and tell mother about thatvf Puck. ' - AFTER SUFFERING TWO LONG YEARS MrjfSfcelin Was Restored to Health by Lydia E. Pink ham’s Vegetable Compound. Minneapolis, Minn.—“After my litt: one was born I was sick with pain* in my sides which the doctors said were caused by ir flair,na tion. I suffered a great deal every monthandgrewv. y thin. I was under tl doctor’s car; for tv. > long years with' it any benefit. Finally after repeated sug gestions to try it ws got Lydia E. Pink ham s Vegetable Compound. At ter tak ing the third bottle of the Compound I was able to do my housework and today I am strong and healthy again. I will answer letters if anyone wishes to know about my case. Mrs. Joseph Aselin, 628 Monroe St.,N.E.,Minneapolis,Minn. Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com pound, made from native rcots and herbs, contains no narcotics or harmful drugs, and today holds the record of being the most successful remedy we know for woman’s ills. If you need such a medicine why don’t you try it? If yon have the slightest donbt that Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegeta ble Compound will help yoo,wri te to Lydia E.Finkham Medicine Co. (confidential) Lynn. Mass., for ad vice. Your letter will be opened, read and answered by a woman, and held in strict confidence. The Army of Constipation Is Growing Smaller Every Day. CARTER'S LITTLE LIVER PILLS are responsible— they 'A not only give relief — they perma nentlycure Con-^Kf •tipation. Mil lions usei them for j Bilioaineu, ^ Carters lodigestion, Sick Headache, Sallow Skin. SMALL PILL, SMALL DOSE, SMALL PRICE. Genuine must bear Signature DI 1 CV LOSSES surely prevented IlL ALn by Cutter’s Blackleg Pills. Low 1/JUllvli priced, fresh, reliable; preferre.1 by Western stockmen, because they m protect where other vaccines fail. I m ^ Write for booklet and testimonial flj ■ m I0-doae pkge. Blackleg Pills $l.00 UJUV^ 50-dose pkge. Blackleg Pills 4.00 • Use any injector, but Cutler's beet. The superiority of Cutter products is du i to over 19 years of specialising In vaccines and seruns only. Insist ob Cuttsr’s. If unobtainable, order direct. Ttt* Cutter Liberator,, Berkeley, Cal., or Ckieate, Ill Some women one cant flatter— after the undertaker is summoned. The fellow who is always on the fence must be pretty well balanced to stay there. Or the Bottle. "Sir, I want to make a complaint against one of your students. He threw a bottle at me.” “Can’t entertain your complaint, sir. There’s nothing in it.” Breaking It Gently. “Halloa! Sit down. I believe you have come to ask me—” “You have been misinformed. 1 haven't come to ask you anything ” “Why, I understand you—” “I came merely because I wished to be first to tell you a bit of good news I am going to marry your daughter!" Knew What He Was Doing. A little boy had a colt and a dog. and a friend of the family took spe cial delight in teasing him with ques tions such as “Won't you give me one of your pets?” One day "the boy said: “All right; I'll give you my colt” The mother, much surprised, asked “Why didn’t you offer him the dog*” Sh.' ' whispered the boy; "say noth ing, say nothing, mother, but when he goes to get the colt I’ll sic the dog on him.” Simplified Breakfasts Make for good day* From a package of fresh, crisp Post Toasties fill a bowl and add cream or milk. Then, with somt frnit, a cup of Instant Poatum, and a poached egg or two if you like, you have a simple break fast that is wholesome and satisfying. % Toasties are bits of corn carefully cooked, delicately seasoned, and toasted to an appetizing “brown” without being touched by hand. They look good, taste good, and Memory Lingers” Sold by Grocers— Everywhere!