15 WHITE &r GEORGE DARR SCUTCHEON mi ILLUSTRATIONS &pH WALTERS COPYWGffT. /5>/+. 0Y DODP, rt£AD AM? COP7PAPY SYNOPSIS. —2— la the New York home of James Brood l^wcs and Klggs. his two old pensioners aad comrades, await the coming of >*n«od**i son Frederic to learn the contents «W m Hire less from Brood, but Frederic, after rrHdiog. throws It into the tire and Hawes the room without a word. Frederic asfls Lydia Desmond, his fiancee, that the message announces his father’s marriage *®d orders the house prepared for an im 'Wdiate homecoming. CHAPTER II—Continued. "It prates that your father has made «» mistake in selecting his friends, my ite. My dear husband used to say Htat he would cheerfully die for James ftowod and he knew that James Brood would have died for him just as road ie. There is something in friendships *rf that sort that we can’t understand. W« hare never been able to test our Jriends, much less ourselves. We—” “I would die for you, Mrs. Des mond, ” cried Frederic, a deep flush (taerspreading his face. “For you and vijTdia." “You come by that naturally,’’ she 'Mid, laying her hand upon his arm. “Wood will tell. Thank you, Fred She smiled. "I am sure it will ’■it be necessary for you to die for .mt, however. As for Lydia, you must Hre, not die for her.” “I'll do both,” he cried, impulsively. ■^orgiTe me.” - “There is nothing to forgive,” she awid simply. “And now, one word iaore, Frederic. You must accept this '.mrm condition of affairs in the right iqpiiit. Your father has married again, iMter all these years. It is not likely Iliat he has done so without delibera tion. Therefore, it is- reasonable to WBome that he is bringing home with *■» a wife of whom he at least is ‘jroud. and that should weigh con idderablv in your summing up of the fdtnatioa. She will be beautiful, ac (tompiished. refined—and good. Fred ■'aac. Of that you may be sure. Let i«e Implore you to withhold judgment until another and later day.” “I do not object to the situation, '&». Desmond,” said he, the angry fight returning to his eyes, “so much I resent the wording of that tele ,-saun. It is always just that way. He fhnes no chance to humiliate me. 1-Br—’ “Hash! You are losing your temper wgain “Well, who wouldn't? And here's -BHrther thing—the very worst of all. »#bw is this new condition going to •feet you. Mrs. Desmond?” She was silent for a moment. “Of *wrse I shan’t stay on here, Frederic. ; l*all not be needed now. As soon as ’■*. Brood is settled here I shall go.” “And you expect me to be cheerful «»d contented!” he cried, bitterly. “Something of the sort,” she said “My father objects to my going into ihaminess or taking up a profession. I an dependent on him for everything. iBit why go into that? W’e’ve talked If: over a thousand times. I don’t un ttmtand but perhaps you do. It’s a iig’s way of living.” “Your father is making a man of “Oh. he is, eh?” with great scorn. “Yes. He will make you see some that the kind of life you lead is She Was Silent for a Moment. wt the kind you want. Your pride, f« ambition will rebel. Then you make something out of life for •jmrself." ‘“Well, it looks to me as if he means inmake it impossible for me to marry, Ska. Uesmond. I’ve thought of it a gaad deal.” “And is it impossible?” “No. I shall marry Lydia, even ttaffgh 1 have to dig in the streets ■tor her. It isn’t that, however. There's amne other reason back of bis atti We, but for the life of me I can’t mi it.” “I wouldn’t try to get at it, my dear,” she said. "Wait and see. Come, you must have your coffee. I am glad you came down early. The old gentlemen are at breakfast now. Come in.” He followed her dejectedly, a per ceptible droop to his shoulders. Mr. Dawes and Mr. Riggs were seat ed at the table. Lydia, a trifle pale and distrait, was pouring out their third cup of coffee. The old men showed no sign of their midnight ex perience. They were very wide awake. clear-eyed and alert, as old men will he who do not count the years of life left in the span appoint ed for them. "Good morning, Freddy,” said they, almost in one voice. As he passed behind their chairs on his way to Lydia’s side, he slapped each of them cordially on the back. They seemed to swell with relief and gratitude. He was not in the habit of slapping them on the back. “Good morning, gentlemen," said he. Then he lifted Lydia's slim fin gers to his lips. “Good morning, dear.” She squeezed his fingers tightly and smiled. A look of relief leaped into her eyes; she drew a long breath. She poured his coffee for him every morning. Her hand shook a little as she lifted the tiny cream pitcher. “I didn't sleep very ■well,” she explained in a low voice. His hand rested on her shoulder for a moment in a gentle caress. "Poor old Jim!” sighed Mr. Dawes. “He’ll probably have to ask us to va mose, too. I imagine she'll insist on making a spare bedroom out of our room, so’s she can entertain all of her infernal relations. Jones, will you give me some more bacon and another egg?” "And I thought it was nothing but a shipwreck,” murmured Mr. Riggs, plaintively. Frederic hurried through breakfast. Lydia followed him into the library. "Are you going out, dear?” she asked anxiously. “Yes. I’ve got to do something. I can’t sit still and think of what’s go ing to happen. I'll be back for lunch eon.” Half an hour later he was in the small bachelor apartment of two col lege friends, a few blocks farther up town,' and he was doing the thing he did nearly every day of his life in a surreptitious way. He sat at the cheap upright piano in their disor dered living-room and, unhampered by the presence of young men who pre ferred music as it is rendered for the masses, played as if his very soul was in his fingers. CHAPTER III. The Bride. Frederic flatly refused to meet the steamer when she docked. As if swayed by his decision, Dawes and Riggs likewise abandoned a plan to greet the returning master and his bride as they came down the gang plank. But for the almost peremp tory counsel of Mrs. Desmond, Brood’s son would have absented himself from the house on the day of their arrival. Jones and a footman went to the pier with the chauffeur. It was half-past two in the after noon when the automobile drew up in front of the house and the fur coated footman nimbly hopped down and threw open the door. James Brood, a tall, distinguished looking man of fifty, stepped out of the limousine. For an instant, before turning to assist his wife from the car, he allowed his keen eyes to sweep the windows on the lowef floor. In one of them stood his son, holding the lace curtains apart and smiling a welcome that seemed sincere. He waved his hand to the man on the sidewalk. Brood responded with a swift, almost perfunctory gesture and then held out his hand to the woman who was de scending. Frederic’s intense gaze was fixed on the stranger who was coming into his life. At a word from Brood, she glanced up at the window. The smile still lingered on the young man’s lips, but his eyes were charged with an expression of acute wonder. He had never looked upon a more beautiful creature in all his life. A kind of stu pefaction tlield him motionless until he heard the door close behind them; in the brief interval, however, a picture had been impressed upon his senses that was to last forever. She was slightly above the medium height, slender and graceful even in the long, thick coat that enveloped her. She did not wear a veil. He had a swift but enduring glimpse of a cu riously pallid, perfectly modeled face; of jet black hair; of a firm, sensitive chiu. Somehow he received the ex traordinary impression that the slim, lithe body was never cold; that she expressed in some indefinable way the unvarying temperature of youth. He hurried into the hall, driven by the latent spur of duty. He heard his father's warm, almost gay response to the greetings of the old men, whose hands he wrung with a fervor that was unmistakable. He heard him present them to the new Mrs. Brood as “the best old boys in all the world,” j and they were both saying, with spas- j modic cackles of pleasure, that she “mustn’t believe a word the young rascal said.” j He was struck by the calm, serene manner in which she accepted these jocular contributions to the occasion. Her smile was friendly, her handshake cordial, and yet there was an unmis takable air of tolerance, as of one who Is accustomed to tribute. She merely smiled and thanked them in simple, commonplace phrases. Her voice was low-pitched and marked by a huski ness that was peculiar in that it was musical, not throaty. Frederic, on first seeing her, had leaped to the con clusion that her English would not be perfect. He was somewhat surprised to discover that she had but the faint est trace of an accent He awoke sud denly, however, to the realization that he had been looking into his new step mother’s eyes for a long time and that she was returning his gaze with some intensity. ’’And this?" she said, abruptly break ing in upon one of Danbury’s hasty reminiscences, effectually ending it, “this is Frederic?" She came directly toward the young man, her small, gloved hand extended. Her eyes were looking into his with an intentness that disconcerted him. There was no smile on her lips. It was as if she regarded this moment as a pronounced crisis. Frederic mumbled something fatu ous about being glad to see her, and felt his face burn under her steady gaze. His father came forward. “Yes; this is Frederic, my dear,” he said, without a trace of warmth in his voice. As she withdrew her hand from Frederic's clasp, James Brood extended his. “How are you, Fred eric?” “Quite well, sir.” They shook hands in the most per functory manner. “I need not ask how you are, fa ther,” said the son, after an instant's hesitation. “You never looked bet ter, sir.” "Thank you. I am well. Ah, Mrs. Desmond! It is good to be home again with you all. My dear, permit me to introduce Mrs. John Desmond. You have heard me speak of my old comrade and—” “I have heard you speak of Mr. Des mond a thousand times,” said his wife. There may have been a shade of em phasis on the prefix, but it was so slight that no one remarked it save the widow of John Desmond, who had joined the group. w in you go 10 your room at once, Mrs. Brood?” asked Mrs. Desmond. The new mistress of the house had not offered to shake hands with her, as Jam'es Brood had done. She had moved closer to Frederic and was smiling in a rather shy, pleading way, in direct contrast to her manner of the moment before. The smile was for her stepson. She barely glanced at Mrs. Desmond. "Thank you, no. I see a nice, big fire and—oh, I have been so cold!” She shivered very prettily. “Come!” cried her husband. "That's just the thing.” No one spoke as they moved toward the library. “We must try to thaw out,” he added dryly, with a faint smile on his lips. His wife laid her hand on Frederic’s arm. “It is cold outside, Frederic.” she said; "very cold. I am not accus tomed to the cold.” He was prepared to dislike her. He was determined that his hand should be against her in the conflict that was bound to come. And now, in a flash, a strange, new emotion rushed up within him like a flood. A queer, wistful note of sympathy in her voice had done the trick. Something in the touch of her fingers on his arm completed the mystery. He was con scious of a mighty surge of relief; The horizon cleared for him. "We shall do our best to keep you warmth," he said quite gayly, and was somewhat astonished at himself. They had preceded the others into the library. James Brood was divest ing himself of his coat in the hall, at tended by the leech-like old men. Mrs. Desmond stood in the doorway, a de tached figure. “You must love me, Frederic. You must be very, very fond of me, not for your father’s sake but for mine. Then we shall be great friends, not antagonists." He was helping her with her coat. “I confess I looked forward to you with a good deal of animosity,” he said. “But I shall not be a stepmother,” she said quickly. Her eyes were seri ous for an instant, then filled with a luminous smile. “I shall be Yvonne to you, and you FredeYic to me. Let it be a good beginning.” “You are splendid!” he cried. “It’s not going to be at all bad.” “I am sure you will like me,” she said composedly. Brood joined them at the fireside. “My dear, Mrs. Desmond will show you over the house when you are ready. You will be interested in see ing the old place. Later on I shall take you up to my secret hiding place, as they say in books. Ranjab will have the rooms in order by this eve ning. Where is your daughter, Mrs. Desmond?” “She is at work on the catalogue. Mr. Brood, in the jade-room. /«i your last letter you instructed her to. finish that—” “But this is a holiday, Mrs. .'>es mond,” said he, frowning. “Jones, will you ask Miss Lydia to join us for tea at half-past four?” “You will adore Lydia,” said Fred eric to Mrs. Brood. Apparently she did not hear him, for she gave no sign. She was look ing about the room with eyes that seemed to take in everything. “I am sure I shall be very happy In this dear old house,” she said quietly. "Your own mother must have loved it, Frederic.” James Brood started. Unnoticed by the others, his fingers tightened on the gloves he carried in his hand. “I never knew my mother,” said the young man. “She died when I was a baby.” “But of course this was her home, was it not?” “I don't know,” said Frederic, un comfortably. “I suppose so. I—I came here a few years ago and—” “But even though you never knew her, there must still be something here that—that—how shall I say it? I mean, you must feel that she and you were here together years and years ago. One may never have seen his mother, yet he can always feel her. There is something—shall I say spiritual—in—” Her husband broke in upon these unwelcome reflections. His voice was curiously harsh. “Mrs. Desmond is waiting, Yvonne.” She drew herself up. “Are you in such great haste, Mrs. Desmond?” she asked in a voice that cut like a knife. Instinctively, she glanced at Fred eric’s face. She saw the muscles of the jaw harden and an angry light leap into his eyes. Instantly her arro gance fell away. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Desmond. I have many bad hab its. Now will you kindly, show me to my room? I prefer that you and not of the servants should be my guide. Au revoir, Frederic. Till tea time, James.” Her eyes were sparkling, her husky voice once more full of the appealing quality that could not be denied. The flush of injured pride faded from Mrs. Desmond's brow, and a faint look of surprise crept into her eyes. To her further amazement, the younger wom an laid a hand upon her arm and gave it a gentle, friendly pressure. The men watched them in silence as they left the room, side by side. A moment later they heard the soft laughter of the two women as they mounted the stairs together. Frederic drew a long breath. “She’s splendid, father,” he said, impulsively. Brood's face was still clouded. He did not respond to the eager tribute. Father and son faced each other. They were a striking pair, each in his way an example of fine, clean "But I Shall Not Be a Stepmother,” She Said, Quickly. manhood. The father was taller by a couple of inches than the son, and yet Frederic was nearly six feet in his stockings. Both were spare men, erect and gracefully proportioned. Brood gave out the impression of great strength, of steel sinews, of in vincible power; Frederic did not sug gest physical strength, and yet he was a clean-limbed, well-built fellow. He had a fine head, a slim body whose every movement proclaimed nervous energy, and a face that denoted tem perament of the most pronounced character. It was not a strong face, nor was it weak; it represented char acter without force. On the other hand, James Brood's lean, handsome face was full of power. His gray eyes were keen, steady, compelling and seldom alight with warmth. His jaw was firm, square, resolute, and the lines that sank heavily into the flesh in his cheeks were put there not by age but by the very vigor of manhood. His hair was quite gray. Frederic waited for his father to speak. But James Brood had noth ing to say. “She is very attractive, father,” said the young man at last, almost wistfully. He did not realize it, but he was groping for sympathy. Brood had been in the houee for a quarter of an hour, after’ an absence of nearly a year, yet his greeting had been cold, casual, matter-of-fact. Fred eric expected little more than that; still he felt in a vague way that now, if never again, the ice of reserve might be broken between them if only for a moment. He was ready and willing to do his part. Brood was studying the young man’s face with an intensity that for the moment disconcerted him. He seemed bent on fixing certain features in his mind's eye, as if his memory had once played him false and should not do so again. It was a habit of Brood’s. after prolonged separations, to look for something in the boy’s face that he wanted to see and yet dreaded, something that might have escaped him when in daily contact with him. Now, at the end of the rather offen sive scrutiny, he seemed to shake his head slightly, although one could not have been sure. “And as charming as she is attrac tive, Frederic,” he said, with a faint flush of the enthusiasm he suppressed. “Who is she?" asked his son, with out realizing the bluntness of his eager question. “Who is she?” repeated his' father, raising his eyebrows slightly. “She 1b Mrs. James Brood.” “I—I beg your pardon,” stammered Frederic. "1 didn’t mean to put it in that way. Who was she? Where did you meet her and—Oh, I want to know all there is to tell, father. I’ve heard nothing. I am naturally curi ous—” Brood stopped him with a gesture. “She was Yvonne Lestrange, before we were married—Mademoiselle Le strange. We met some time ago at the house of a mutual friend in Paris. I assure you, her references are all that could be desired.” His tone was sarcastic. Frederic flushed. “I’m sorry I asked the questions, sir,” he said, stiffly. Brood suddenly laughed, a quiet laugh that had some trace of humor and a touch of compunction in it. “I beg your pardon, Frederic. Come up to my room and smoke a cigar with me while I’m changing. I’ll tell you about her. She is wonderful.” To his own surprise, and to Fred eric’s astonishment, he linked his arm in the young man’s and started toward the hall. Afterward Brood was to won der even more than he wondered then what it was that created the sudden desire to atone for the hurt look he had brought to the eyes of Matilde’s son—and the odd longing to touch his arm gently. CHAPTER IV. In the Jade-Room. Lydia met Brood and Frederic at the top of the stairs. She had re ceived the message through Jones and was on her way to dress for tea. The master of the house greeted her most cordially. He was very fond of this lovely, gentle daughter of John Desmond. Into their association had stolen an intimate note that softened the cold reserve of the man to a marked degree. His chief joy was to chat with her over the work he was doing and to listen to her frank, hon est opinions. She regarded herself as his secretary—or his amanuensis, in the strict sense of speaking—but he considered her to be a friend as well, and treated her with a freedom that was not extended to others. A faint gleam of astonishment lurked in the girl’s eyes as she stood before the two men. Never, in her experience, had there been such an ex hibition of friendliness between father and son. A curious throb of joy rushed up from her heart and lodged in her throat. For the first time she found it difficult to respond with com posure to Brood’s lively comments. Tears were lying close to the surface of her eyes—tears of relief and grati tude. The'Vhoyailt expression itf Fred eric's told a new story. Her heart rejoiced. "Nonsense!” said Brood when she announced that she was going to change her gown. "You never looked so pretty, my dear, as you do at this moment. Come just as you are, to please me.” "A tea party and an autopsy are very much alike, Mr. Brood,” said she. “One can learn a lot at either. Still, if you’d like to have Mrs. Brood see me as 1 really am. I’ll appear sans plumage.” * “I'd like it,” said he promptly. “I am sure you will like each other, Lydia.” “I am glad you did not say we would admire each other,” said she quaintly. “You look very happy, Mr. Brood,” she went on. her eyes bright. “I believe I am happy,” said he. “Then we shall all be happy,” was her rejoinder. She returned to the jade-room on the upper floor, where she had been at work on the catalogue. Brood had a very large and valuable collection of jade. The jade-room, so called, was little more than a large closet off the remarkable room which James Brood was pleased to call his “hiding place,” or on occasion, his "retreat.” No one ventured into either of these rooms except by special permission. Ranjab, his Indian servant, slept in an adjoining room, and it was whis pered about the house that not even James Brood had viewed its interior. This silent, unapproachable man from the mysterious heart of India, locked his door when he entered the room and locked it when he came out. No one, not even the master, thought of entering. Mr. Dawes, in his cups or out of them, was responsible for the impression that the man kept deadly serpents there. As a matter of fact, Ranjab was a peaceable fellow and desperately afraid of snakes. Lydia loved the feel of the cold, oily lumps of jade. There were a few pieces of porcelain of extreme rarity and beauty as well, and several price less bits of cloisonne, but it was the jade she loved. There were two or three hundred objects of various sizes and color and all were what might be called museum pieces. She had been at work for half an hour or longer when a noise in the outer room attracted her attention She had the odd feeling that some one was looking at her through the open door, and swiftly turned. Except when occupied by Brood the room wa-3 darkened by means of heavy window hangings; the effect was that produced by the gloaming Just before tl^ stars appear. Objects were shadowy, indistinct, mysterious. The light from the jade-room door threw a diverging ray across the full length of the room. In the very cen ter of this bright strip sat a placid efflgy of Buddha that Brood had found in a remote corner of Siam, serenely stolid on top of its thick base of bronze and lacquer, with a shining shrine for a background. In the dim edge of the shadow, near the door at the far end of the room, Lydia made out the motionless, indistinct figure of a woman. The faint outlines of the face were discernible but not so the A Noise in the Outer Room Attracted Her Attention. features. Fora moment the girl stared at the watcher and then advanced tc the door. “Who is it?” she inquired, peering A low, husky voice replied, with a suggestion of laughter in the tones. “I am exploring the house.” Lydia came forward at once. “Oh it is Mrs. Brood. I beg your pardon Shall I switch on the lights?” "You are Lydia?” “Yes, Mrs. Brood.” “I have been prowling everywhere Your good mother deserted me wheD my maid arrived with Ranjab a short time ago. Isn't this the dreadful blue beard room? Shall I lose my head il I am discovered by the ogre?” The girl felt the spell stealing over her. The low voice of the woman in the shadow was like a sensuous ca ress. She experienced a sudden long ing to be closer to the speaker, to listen for the very intake of her breath. “You have already been discovered by the ogre, Mrs. Brood,” said Lydia gayly, “and your head appears to be quite safe.” “Thank you,” rather curtly, as if re peliing familiarity. It was like a dash of cold water to Lydia’s spirits. “You iSay turn on the lights.* 1 should like to see you, Miss Desmond.” The girl crossed the room, passing close to the stranger in the house The fragrance of a perfume hitherto unknown to her separated itself from the odor of sandalwood that always filled the room; it was soft, delicate refreshing. It was like a breath oi cool, sweet air filtering into a close stuffy room. One could not help draw ing in a long, full breath, as if the lungs demanded its revivifying quail ties. A soft, red glow" began to fill the room as Lydia pulled the cord near the door. As the light grew brighter and brighter the eyes of the stranger swept the room with undisguised won der in their depths. "Howt extraordinary!” she mur mured, and then turned swiftly toward the girl. “Where does it come from? I can see no lights. And see! There are no shadows, not even beneath the table yonder. It—it is uncanny—but oh. how lovely!” Lydia was staring at her with wide open eyes, frankly astonished. The eager, excited gleam vanished from Mrs. Brood’s lovely eyes. They nar rowed ever so slightly. “Why do you stare at me?” she de manded. “I—I expected—’’ began Lydia, and stopped in pretty confusion. “I see. You expected a middle-aged lady, ai—e? And why, pray, should James Brood marry a middle-aged person?” “I—I don’t know. I'm sorry if I have offended you.” Mrs. Blood smiled, a gay. pleased little smile that revealed her small even teeth. "You haven’t offended me. my dear,” she said. “You offend my husband by thinking so ill of him. that’s all.” She took the girl in from head to foot with critical eyes. “He said you were very pretty and very lovable. You are lovely. No one wants to be pretty. Yes, you are just what I expected." Lydia was the taller of the twc women; a matter of two inches per haps, and yet she had the curious feel ing that she was looking upward as she gazed into the other's eyes. It was the way Mrs. Brood held herself Sending a swift glance around the room, she went on: “My husband de lights in having beautiful things about him. He doesn’t like the ugly things of this world.” (TO BE CONTINUED.) It's a great old world, and if there’s a better we've never been in it. SWGER’S RECIPE FOR HEALTH Mmte. Schumann-Helnk, Operatic Star, Recommerda Housework for A/-.erican Girls. Hy mother was a fine lady. I re member her, with her little fine hands gmi her tittle feet. But she never i.ii « maid, and so she had to do everything herself. She thought it did aot harm a daughter of a maior or a aaptain to do her own work. From her % learned to sew and darn stockings, i and I could patch a pair of officer's trousers so neatly that you could not tell where the patch was. And, what was more difficult still, I could darn a hole near the neckband of a shirt so that you could not tell there had ever been any hole; in fact, it is due to this experience of mine that I have never employed a maid. | And I learned to cook, ’ too. And to , this day I love to do it I do not cook in the American, but in the Austrian , style; but everybody who tries my I cooking knows it is all right. Very often when visitors come to my house in Chicago I am very sorry; but I cannot see them because I have my apron on and am in the kitchen, cook ing. I found that work about the home developed In me a constitution that has been one of my most valuable pos sessions. There is no work that does more to promote health In a girl. Sweeping, wrestling with a feather bed, or pushing furniture out of the way while she sweeps, develops her back and her bust at the same time. and makes her fit to fight the world. I strongly recommend that kind of work to all American girls.—Mme. Scbumann-Helnk in the Saturday Evening Post. What the Troglodyte Is, and Why. “A troglodyte, my son,” said J Fuller Gloom, "is a mossgrown, sta tionary gentleman who believen that ambitious nations will live up to treat ies because they have signed them, who lives in abject terror of being un constitutional, who is perfectly satis fled to have every complaint answered by wavings of the gur-rand old ful-lag. who votes for the glorious old party of What’s-his-name because his father did, and who is afraid that anything and everything that has not been done before will disturb business. He is the joy of the professional politician and the despair of those eccentric souls who believe that because some thing ought to be done they ought to try to do it “Although indigenous to all locali ties, he is especially and painfully prevalent in the swamps of Arkansas and the jungles of Wall street.”— Kansas City Star. Tuft Hunters. Said a society woman at a mu sicale at her Fifth avenue house: ‘‘New York society Is less given to lion hunting than London society There is a countess in London who is such a lion hunter that a man once said of her: "Why, she always har the most fashionable surgeon of thi hour to carve her Christmas turkey ' NEW ARMOR PLATE The New Process, it u Claimed, VW11 Make Large Guns Useless. Another of the series of experiments to determine the resisting power of a certain class of armor was recently conducted with extremely satisfactory results. Fortitica tions built of this metal might be made in destructible and it would be useless to bombard them. It is also useless to try to make a sue-,-raw in life if handicapped by poor health. You lack the strength and stamina necessary to win. In the majority of cases of poor health stomach trouble is the real -'ause; but this can be corrected by carefu. diet and the assistance of Hostetter's Stomach Hitter It tones, strengthens and helps the digi - tive functions and when the food m proper ly digested, strength and renewed vigor i sent coursing through the entire system The proper time for action is when you notice the first symptoms of weaknes.. region, you suffer f»m backaobe. sick headache, dizziness, stomach gets > n r tongue coated and you feel rheumatic twinges when the weather is bad Eat less meat, drink lots of water also get from any pharmacist four ounces of Jad Salts; take a tabic spoonful in a glass of water before breakfast for a few days and 'our kidneys will then act fine. Thi- a mous salts is made from the acid of grapes and lemon juice, combined with lithia, and has been used for generations to clean clogged kidneys and stimulate them to normal activity also to neutralize the acids in urir so it no longer is a source of irrita tion, thus ending bladder weakness Jad Salts is inexpensive, cannot in jure; makes a delightful effervescent lithia-water drink which everyone should take now and then to keep the kidneys clean and active. Druggist here say they sell lots of Jad Salts to folks who believe in overcoming kid ney trouble while it is only troubV — Adv. Too Long. Bacon—In a costly watch that ha* been made for exhibition purposes there is a wheel that makes a revolt) tion but once in four years, operatin' a dial that shows the years, months and days. Egbert—Never do in South America They could never wait four years lor a revolution down there. SAGE TEA DARKENS GRAY HAIR TO ANY SHADE. TRY IT! Keep Your Lock* Youthful, Dark, Glossy and Thick With Garden Sage and Sulphur. When you darken your hair with Sage Tea and Sulphur, no one can tell, because It's done so naturally, so evenly. Preparing this mixture, though, at home is mussy and trouble some. For 50 cents you can buy at any drug store the ready-to-uso tonic called “Wyeth's Sage and Sulphur Hair Remedy.” You just dampen a sponge or soft brush with it and draw this through your hair, taxing one small strand at a time. By morn ing all gray hair disappears, and, after another application or two. your hair becomes beautifully darkened, glossy and luxuriant. You will also dis cover dandruff is gone and hair ha* stopped falling. Gray, faded hair, though no dis grace, Is a sign of old age, and as we all desire a youthful and attractive ap pearance, get busy at once with Wy eth’s Sage and Sulphur and look years younger. Adv. Soul Mates. Knicker—What are soul mates' Bocker—Generally two lefts—New York Sun. CamaUranulaled Eyelids, kj vP 1 E> es inflamed by expo sure to Sub . Dust and Wind 2 uickiy relieved bvMuriue yeRcmed:)i. No Smarting just Eye Comfort At s ^Oc per Bottle Mb rite F>r SulvemTubes25c.ForBookol1he£>eFrac'«fc Druggist, or Murine EyeBcUvfV rS^