Nebraska Newspapers

    MACK. 15 WHITE:
fir- GEORGE DARK McCUTCHEON
Illustrations j^ray Walters
COPYP/O/T/, /y/T.
3Y POPP, PJPAD
AW COPJPAPY
CHAPTER XXVII—Continued.
—12—
He obeyed. "See! There is no one
Hear.” He held open the door to the
hall 1 You must speak quickly. 1 am
to leave this house in an hour. I was
Rt ven the hour."
"Ah. I can see by your face that you
tiate him! It is well. That is some
thing It is but little. I know, after
all 1 have wished for—but it is some
thing for me to treasure—something
Tor me to take back with me to the j
one sacred little spot in this beastly j
world of men and women."
"You are the most incomprehen- '
Bible—”
Am I not beautiful, Frederic? Tell
tne!'' She came quite close to him.
You are the most beautiful woman
In all the world,” he said abjectly
"And I have wasted all my beauty—
I have lent it to unloveliness and it
has not been destroyed! It is still with
*nc, is it not? 1 have not lost it in—"
“Y'ou are beautiful beyond words—
beyond anything 1 have ever im
agined," said he, suddenly passing his
hand over his brow.
“You would have loved me if it had
not been for Lydia?”
“1 couldn't have helped myself. I—■
( fear I—faltered in my— Good God,
are you still trying to tempt me? Are
you still asking me to go away with
you?”
A hoarse cry came from the door
way behind them—a cry of pain and
anger that struck terror to their souls.
They had not heard his approach.
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Shot That Failed.
Transfixed, they watched him take
two or three steps into the room. At
his back was the swarthy Hindu, his
ayes gleaming like coals of fire in the
shadowy light.
“James!" fell tremulously from the
tips of Yvonne. She swayed toward
blm as Kanjab grasped his arm from .
behind. Frederick saw the flash of ;
something bright as it passed from the
• brown hand to the white one. He did j
not at once comprehend.
“It happened once,” came hoarsely j
from the throat of James Brood. “It I
shall not hapiien again. Thank you. '
Ranjab.“
Then F*rederic knew! The Hindu i
had slipped a revolver into his mas
ter’s hand!
“It gives me great pleasure, Yvonne,
to relieve you of that damned, rotten,
worthless thing you call your life.”
As he raised his arm. FTederic
■prang forward with a shout of horror.
Scarcely realizing what he did. he
burled Yvonne violently to one side.
It was all over in the twinkling of
an eye. There was a flash, the crash
of an explosion, a puff of smoke and
the smell of burnt powder.
Frederic stood perfectly still for an
instant, facing the soft cloud that rose
from the pistol barrel, an expression ]
of vague amazement in his face. Then ;
bis hand went uncertainly to his
breast.
Already James Brood had seen the
red blotch that spread with incredible
swiftness—blood red against the
■nowy white of the broad shirt bosom
Glaring with wide-open eyes at the i
horrid spot, he stood there with the
pistol still levelled in a petrified hand
“Good God. father, you’ve—why, i
you’ve—■” struggled from Frederic's !
writhing lips, and then his knees !
sagged; an instant later they gave way j
with a rush and he dropped heavily to !
the floor.
There was not a sound in the room.
Suddenly Brood made a movement
quick and spasmodic. At the same in
stant Kanjab flung himself forward
and grasped his master's arm. He
bad turned the revolver upon himself!
The muzzle was almost at his temple
when the Hindu seized Ills hand in a
grip of Iron.
"Sahib! Sahib!" he hissed. "What
would you do?" Wrenching the weapon 1
from the stiff, unresisting fingers, he
hurled it across the room.
“My God!" groaned Brood. Ilia tall
body swerved forward, but his legs re
fused to carry him. The Hindu caught
him as he waa sinking limply to his
knees. With a tremendous effort of
the will. Brood succeeded in conquer
ing the black unconsciousness that
waa aasailing him. He straightened
up to hia full height, and with trem
bling fingers pointed to the prostrate
figure on the floor “The pistol. Ran
tab! Where Is It? (live it me! Man,
man. can 1 live after that? I have
killed my son—my own son! Quick,
man!"
"Sahib!" cried the Hindu, wringing
his hands. "1 cannot! I cannot!"
"I command you! The pistol!"
Without a word the Hindu, fatalist,
•lave, pagan that he was, turned to do
his master's bidding. It was not for
him to say nay. It was not for him to !
oppose the will of the master, but to
obey.
All this time. Yvonne was crouching
against the table, her horrified gaze
apon the great red blotch that grew to
terrible proportions as she watched
She had not moved, she bad not
breathed, she had not taken her hands
from her ears where she had placed
them at the sound of the explosion.
‘‘Blood! It is blood!” she moaned,
and for the first time since the shot
was fired her husband glanced at the
one for whom the bullet was intended.
An expression of incredulity leaped
into his face, as if he could not believe
his senses. She was alive and unhurt!
His bullet had not touched her. llis
brain fumbled for the explanation of
this miracle.
"Blood!” she wailed again, a long,
shuddering word that came not from
her lips but from the very depths of
her terror-stricken soul.
Slowly Brood's mind worked out of
the maze. His shot had gone straight,
but Frederic himself had leaped into
its path to save this miserable crea
ture who would have damned his
soul if life had been spared to him.
llanjab crawled to his side, his eyes
covered with one arm, the other ex
tended. Blindly the master felt for the
pistol, not once removing his eyes
from the pallid figure against the table.
His fingers closed upon the weapon.
Then the Hindu looked up, warned by
the strange voice that spoke to him
from the mind of his master. He saw
the arm slowly extend itself with a
sinister hand directed straight at the
unconscious figure of the woman. This
time Brood was making sure of his
aim—so sure that the lithe Hindu
had time to spring to his feet and
grasp once more the hand that held
the weapon.
".Master! Masier!” he cried out.
Brood turned to look at his man in
sheer bewilderment. What could all
this mean? What was the matter with
the man?
"Down, Ranjab!" he commanded in
a low, cautious tone, as he would have
used in speaking to a dog when the
game was run to earth.
"There is but one bullet left, sahib,"
cried the man.
"Only one is required,” said the mas
ter hazily.
"You have killed your son. This bul
let is for yourself.”
"Yes! Yes! But—but she! She
lives! She—"
The Hindu struck his own breast
significantly. "Thy faithful servant re
mains, sahib. Die, if thou wilt, but
leave her to Ranjab. There is but one
bullet left. It is for you. You must
not be here to witness the death Ran
jab. thy servant, shall inflict upon her.
Shoot thyself now, if so be it, but
spare thyself the sight of—" He did
not finish the sentence, but his strong,
bony fingers went through the motion
that told a more horrible story than
words could have expressed. There
was no mistaking his meaning. He
had elected himself her executioner.
A ghastly look of comprehension
flitted across Brood's face For a sec
ond his mind slipped from one dread
to another more appalling. He‘knew
“Sahib! Sahib!” He Hissed.
this man of his. He remembered the
story of another killing in the hills of
India. His gaze went from the brown
fanatic s face to the white, tender,
lovely throat of the woman—and a
hoarse gasp broke from his lips.
No! No! Not that!" he cried, and
as the words rang out. Yvonne re
moved her horrified gaze from the blot
of red and fixed it upon the face of her
husband. She straightened up slowly
and her arms fell limply to her sides.
“It was meant for me. Shoot,
James!” she said, almost in a whis
per.
The Hindu s grasp tightened at the
convulsive movement of his master’s
hand. His fingers were like steel
bands.
“Shoot!' she repeated, raising her
voice. "Save yourself, for if he is
dead I shall kill you with my own
hands. This is your chance—shoot!”
Brood’s fingers relaxed their grip
on the revolver. A fierce, wild hope
took all the strength out of his body—
he grew faint with it. |
"God, he—he can't be dead! I have
not killed him. He shall not die—he
shall not—” Flinging the Hindu aside
he threw himself down beside the body
on the floor. The revolver as it
dropped, was caught in the nimble
hand of the Hindu, who took two long
swift strides toward the woman who
now faced him instead of her husband.
There was a great light in his eyes as
he stood over her and she saw death
staring out upon her.
But she did not quail. She was past
all that. She looked straight into his
eyes for an instant and then, as if
putting him out of her thoughts entire
ly, turned slowly toward the two men
on the floor. The man half raised the
pistol, but something stayed his hand
—something stronger than any mere
physical opposition could have done.
He glared at the half-averted face,
confounded by the most extraordinary
impression that ever had entered his
incomprehensible brain. Something
strange and wonderful was transpir
ing before his very eyes—something
so marvellous that even he. mysteri
ous seer of the Ganges, was stunned
into complete amazement and unbelief.
That strange, uncanny intelligence of
his. born of a thousand mysteries, was
being tried beyond all previous exac
tions. It was as if he now saw this
woman for the first time—as if he had
never looked upon her face before. A
mist appeared to envelop her and
through this veil he saw a face that
was new to him—the face of Yvonne
and yet not hers at all. Absolute won
der crept into his eyes.
As if impelled by the power of his
gaze, she faced him once more. For
what seemed hours to him, but in
reality only seconds, his searching
eyes looked deep into hers. He saw
at last the soul of this woman and it
was not the soul he had known as hers
up to tlidt tremendous moment. And
he came to know that she was no
longer afraid of him or his powers.
His hand was lowered, his eyes fell
and his lips moved but there were no
words, for he addressed a spirit. All
the venom, all the hatred fled from his
soul. His knee bent in sudden submis
sion. and his eyes were raised to hers
once more, but now in their somber
depths was the fidelity of the dog!
"Go at once,” she said, and her voice
was as clear as a bell.
lie shot a swift glance at the pros
trate Frederic and straightened his
tall figure as would a soldier under
orders. His understanding gaze
sought hers again. There was another
command in her eyes. He placed the
weapon on the table. It had been a dis
tinct command to him.
"One of us will use it,” she said
monotonously. 'Go!”
With incredible swiftness he was
gone. The curtains barely moved as
he passed between them and the heavy
door made no sound in opening and
closing. There was no one in the hall.
The sound of the shot had not gone
beyond the thick walls of that pro
scribed room on the top floor. Some
where at the rear of the house an in
distinct voice was uttering a jumbled
stream of French.
Many minutes passed. There was
not a movement In the room, lirood.
beside the outstretched figure of his
unintended victim, was staring at the
graying face with wide, unblinking
eyes. He looked at last upon the fea
tures that he had searched for in
vain through all the sullen years.
There was blood on his hands and on
his cheek, for he had listened at first for
the beat of the heart. Afterward his
agonized gaze had gone to the blood
less face. There it was arrested. A
dumb wonder possessed his soul. He
knelt there petrified by the shock of
discovery. In the dim light he no
longer saw the features of Matilde. but
his own. and his heart was still. In
that revealing moment he realized that
he had never seen anything in Fred
eric's countenance save the daxk.
never-to-be-forgotten eyes—and they
were his Matilde's. Now those eyes
were closed. He could not see them,
and the blindness was struck from his
own. He had always looked into the
boy's eyes—he had never been able to
seek farther than those haunting, in
quiring eyes—but now he saw the
lean, strong jaw, and the firm chin,
the straight nose and the broad fore
head—and none of these were Ma
tilde's 1 These were the features of a
man—and of but one man. He was see
ing himself as he was when he looked
into his mirror at twenty-one!
All these years he had been blind,
all these years he had gone oil curs
ing his own image. In that overpower
ing thought came the realization that
it was too late for him to atone. His
mind slowly struggled out of thrall
that held it stupefied. He was looking
at his own face—dead! He would look
like that! Matilde was gone forever—
the eyes were closed—but he was
there, going grayer and grayer of face
all the time.
He had forgotten the woman. She
was standing just beyond the body
that stretched itself between them.
Her hands were clasped against her
breast and her eyes were lifted heaven
ward. She had not moved throughout
that age of oblivion.
He saw her and suddenly became
rigid. Slowly he sank back, his eyes
distended, his jaw dropping. He put
out a hand and saved himself from
falling, but his eyes never left the
face of the woman who prayed—whose
whole being was the material repre-1
sentation of prayer. But it was not
^ vonne. his wife, that he saw standing
there. It was another—Matilde!
"My God, Matilde—Matilde! For
give! Forgive!"
Slowly her eyes were lowered until
they fell full upon his stricken face
"Am I going mad?” he whispered
hoarsely. As he stared, the delicate !
wan face of Matilde began to fade and
he again saw the brilliant, undimmed
features of Yvonne. "God in heaven.
I
it was Matilde! What accursed trick
of—"
He sprang to his feet and advanced
upon her, actually stepping across the
body of his son in his reckless haste.
For many seconds they stood with
their faces close together, he staring
wildly, she with a dull look of agony
in her eyes, but unflinching. What he
saw caused an icy chill to sweep
through his tense body, and a sickness
to enter his soul. He shrank back.
“Who—who are you?” he cried out
in sudden terror. He felt the presence
of Matilde. He could have stretched
out his hand and touched her, so real,
so vivid was the belief that she was
actually there before him. "Matilde
was here—I saw her, before God, I saw
her. And—and now it is you! She is
still here. 1 can feel her hand touch
ing mine—I can feel—no, again 1—
I—”
The cold, lifeless voice of Yvonne
was speaking to him, huskier than ever
before.
“Matilde has been here. She has
always been with him. She is always
near you. James I’roo^l.’'
, “What — are — you — saying?" he
gasped.
She turned wearily away and pointed
to the weapon on the table.
“Who is to use it, you or I?”
He opened his mouth but uttered no
sound His power of speech was gone.
She went on in a deadly monotone.
"You intended the bullet for me. It is
not too late. Kill me, if you will. I
give you the first chance—take it, for
if you do not I shall take mine.”
“I—I cannot kill you—I cannot kill
the woman who stood where you are
standing a moment ago. Matilde was
there! She was alive, do you hear
. t ru- «
‘‘Matilde Had Been There.”
me! Alive and—ah!” The exclama
tion fell from his lips as she suddenly
leaned forward, her intense gaze fixed
on Frederic's face.
“See! Ah, see! I prayed and I have
been answered. See! God in heaven,
see"’
He turned. Frederic's eyes were
open. He was looking up at them, with
a piteous appeal in their depths—an
appeal for help, for life, for conscious
ness.
"He is not dead! Frederic, Frederic,
my son—” He dropped to his knees
and frantically clutched at the hand
that lay stretched out beside the limp
figure. The pain-stricken eyes closed
slowly.
Someone knelt beside Brood. He
saw a slim white hand go out and
touch the pallid brow
"I shall save your soul, James
Brood,” a voice was saying, but it
seemed far away. "He shall not die.
Your poor wretched soul may rest se
cure. I shall keep death away from
him. You shall not have to pay for
this—no. not for this. The bullet was
meant for me. I owe my life to him,
you shall owe his to me. But you
have yet to pay a greater debt than
this can ever become, lie is your son.
You owe another for his life—and you
will never be out of her debt, not
even in hell, James Brood.”
Slowly Frederic's eyes opened
again. They wavered from one face
to the other and there was in them the
unsolvable mystery of divination. As
the lids dropped once more. Brood's
manner underwent a tremendous
change. The stupefaction of horror
and doubt fell away in a flash and he
was again the clear-headed, indomit
able man of action. The blood rushed
back into his.veins, his eyes flashed
with the returning fire of hope, his
voice was steady, sharp, commanding.
’’The doctor!” he cried in Yvonne's
ear. as his strong fingers went out to
tear open the red shirt bosom. "Be
quick! Send for Hodder. By heaven,
we must save him." She did not move.
He whirled upon her fiercely. "Do as I
tell you. Are you so damned—”
"Doctor Hodder is on the way now,”
she said dully. His hands ceased their
operations as if checked by a sudden
naralvsis
"On the way here?" he cried in
credulously. “Why—”
“He is coming,” she said fiercely ”1
sent for him—ages ago. Don't stop
now—be quick! You know what to do.
Stanch the flow of blood. Do some
thing, man! Y’ou have seen men with
mortal w-ounds—and this man must be
saved.”
He worked swiftly, deftly, for he did
know what to do. lie had worked over
men before with wounds in their
breasts—and he had seen them through
the shadow of death. But he could
not help thinking, as he now worked,
that he was never known to miss a
shilling at thirty paces.
She was speaking. Her voice was
low and husky once more, with a per
sistent note of accusation in it. "It
was an accident, do you understand?
You did not shoot to kill—him. The
world shall never know the truth—un
less he dies, and that is not to happen.
You are safe. The law cannot touch
you, for 1 shall never speak. This is
between you and me. Do you under
stand?"
He glanced at her set, rigid face.
“Yes. It was an accident. And this is
between you and me. We shall settle
it later on. Now I see you as you are
—as Yvonne. God, I—wonder—” His
hand shook with a sudden spasm of
indecision. He had again caught that
baffling look in her dark eyes.
"Attend!” she cried, and he bent
to the task again. He is not going to
die. It would be too cruel if he were
to die now and miss all the joy of vic
tory over you—his life-long foe. He—”
The door opened behind them and
they looked up to see the breathless
Hindu. He came straight to the
woman.
“He comes. Ranjab has obey. I
have told him that the revolver was dis
charge accidentally—by myself, by the
unhappy son of a dog. I. It is well.
Ranjab is but a dog. He shall die to
day and his lips be sealed forever.
Have no fear. The dead shall be si
lent—” His voice trailed off into a
whisper, for his eyes were looking into
hers. “No,” he whispered, after a mo
ment—“no, the dead are not silent.
Qne who is dead has spoken to Ran
jab.”
"Hush!” said the woman. Ilrood's
hands were shaking again, shaking
and uncertain. "The doctor? He
comes ?”
“Even now,” said the Hindu, turn
ing toward the door.
CHAPTER XIX.
The Voice of the Wind.
Hours afterward Brood sat alone in
the room where the tragedy occurred
Much had transpired in the interim to
make those hours seem like separate
and distinct years to him, each hour
an epoch in which a vital and memor
able incident had been added to his
already overfull measure of experi
ence. Underneath all was an ever
present sense of insecurity, as if the
whole order of life had been suddenly
deprived of foundation or support. No
matter where he looked, there was not
the slighest ray of light in the dark
ness that enveloped his understand
ing. Something tremendous had hap
pened. aside from the visible, phys
ical incident that had stunned him i
temporarily at the outset of the tragic I
era, something that was beyond com
prehension and intangible and which !
continually loomed up before him as a j
specter that had neither shape nor I
substance and yet was as completely |
positive as anything else that had
transpired. He could account for the
shooting, the emotions preceding that
unhappy occu-rence, the intervention
of fate that saved Yvonne from death
and laid low the substitute, the sense
of horror that ensued, the sudden rev-1
elation that came to him as he looked
into Frederic's face with its closed
eyes, and the agony of suspense that
now consumed him. but a cloud still
hung over him that his intelligence ;
could not penetrate nor his physical!
being dispel, no matter how hard he 1
struggled to clear a way to the open.
He had seen a vision. Its effect on
him had been overpowering. The for- j
titude of a lifetime had been shattered j
in a single instant of contact with the j
influence that had at last made itself \
felt in physical manifestation after all
these years of spiritual attendance. He
had never been completely free from
the vague notion that Matllde was
near him in spirit, that there was an
actual identity to the presence that
filled his dreams and denied him the
boon of forgetfulness for a single In
stant of the hours when he was awake.
He had never tried to banish her from
his memory. He wanted to forget her.
to put her out of his thoughts alto
gether, for obvious reasons, but the
fact that she remained the dominant
figure in his present despite the past
was proof, even to him, that she was
and always would be the controlling j
force in his mind if not in his heart.
Now he was ordering himself to tace :
new complexities. He was confronted I
by the most improbable of hallucina
tions. It was not an intangible shadow
that he now had to contend with but
something definite, something that
took shape and mocked him. In his
bitter indictment against circum
stances. he argued that his brain was
momentarily unbalanced following the
shock caused by the shooting, and that
in its disordered state he had pictured
things that did not exist. It was only
reasonable to assume that he had suf
fered from the effect of a startling
vivid hallucination, and yet there was
a strange, insistent voice somewher;
in his clearing mind that persuadei
him against his will that he had actual
ly seen the fade of Matilde.
Admitting that he had been deceiv-d
by a trick of the imagination, there
still remained certain indisputable
facts to confound him. First of all,
the absolute conviction that Yvonne
had the power to preserve the life that
hung so precariously in the balance.
He could not overcome the amazing
belief that she, and not the skilled
surgeon, would check the sure progress
of death. Something told him that she
represented a force even mightier
than death and that she would prevail,
no matter what betide.
He had refused to see the newspa
per men who came. Doctor Hodder
wisely had protested against secrecy.
“Murder will out," he had said fret
fully, little realizing how closely the
trite old saying applied to the situa
tion. He had accepted the statements
of Yvonne and Kanjab as to the acci
dental discharge of the weapon, but
for some reason had refrained from
asking Brood a single at
though he knew him to be a witnesi
to the shooting.
Yvonne saw the reporters arid latei
on an inspector of police. Ranjab told
his unhappy story. He had taken tbf
weapon from a hook on the wall ftn
the purpose of cleaning it. It had been
hanging there for years, and all the
time there had been a single cartridge
left in the cylinder unknown to any
one. He had started to remove the
cylinder as he left the room. All the*.e
years the hammer had been raised;
death had been hanging over them all
the time that the pistol occupied its in
secure position on the wall. Somehow,
he could not tell how the hammer fell
as he tugged at the cylinder. No one
could have known that the revolver
was loaded. That was all that he
could say, except to declare that if his
master’s son died he would end his
own miserable, valueless life.
His story was supported by the dec
larations of Mrs. Brood, who, while
completely exonerating her husband's
servant, had but little to say in expla
nation of the affair She kepi her wits
about her. Most people would have
made the mistake of saying too much.
She professed to know nothing except
that they were discussing young Mr.
Brood's contemplated trip abroad and
that her husband had given orders to
his servant to pack a revolver in his
son’s traveling bag when the time
came for his departure. Siie had paid
but little attention to the Hindu's
movements. All she could say was
that it was an accident—a horrible,
blighting accident. For the present, it
would not be possible for anyone to
see the heart-broken father. Doubt
less, later on. he would be in the mood
to discuss the dreadful catastrophe,
but not now, etc., etc. He was crushed
with the horror of the thing that had
happened.
1 tie nouse was in a state of subdued
excitement. Servants spuke in whis
pers and tiptoed through the hails
Nurses amd other doctors came. Two
old men, shaking as with palsy, roamed
about the place, intent only on worm
ing theirt way into the presence of
their friend and supporter to offer con
solution and encouragement to him in
his hour of tribulation. They shud
dered as they looked into each other's
faces, and they shook their heads
without speaking, for their minds were
filled with doubt. They did not ques
tion the truth of the story as told, but
they had their own opinions. In sup
port to the theory that they did not
believe there was anything accidental
in the shooting of Frederic it is only
necessary to speak of their extraordi
nary attitude toward Ranjab. They
shook hands with him and told him
that Allah would reward him! Later
on, after they had had time to think it
all out for themselves—being some
what slow of comprehension—they
sought out James Brood and offered to
accept all the blame for having loaded
the revolver without consulting him,
their object having been to destroy a
cat that -infested the alley hard by.
They felt that it was absolutely neces
sary to account for the presence of
the unexploded cartridge.
Brood, coming between them, laid
his hands on their shoulders, shaking
his head as he spoke to them gently.
"Thank you. old pals. 1 understand
what it is you are trying to do. It's no
use. 1 tired the shot. It isn’t neces
sary to say anything more to you. I'm
sure, except that, as God is my wit
ness. I did not intend the bullet for
Two Old Men, Sinking as With Palsy,
Roamed <>b >ut the Place.
Frederic. It w?.* an accident in that
respect. Thank yOM for what you would
do. It isn’t necessary, old pals. The
story that Ran a') tells must stand for
the time being l^ter on—well, 1 may
write my own sfary and give it to the
world.”
"Write it?" -said Mr. Dawes, and
Brood nodded Kis head slowly, signid
cantly.
"Oh. Jim. yoi*—you mustn't do that!”
groaned Mr. r>awes. appalled. "You
ain't such a ccf vard as to do that.”
• There was Dne bullet left In the re
volver. RanJ/b advised me to save it
—for myself He’s a thoughtful fal
low.” said Brood. “It has been re
moved, of course, but—”
“Jim." said Mr. Riggs, squaring him
self. “it's too bad that you didn't hit
what you shot at.”
"Jim." interrupted Mr. Riggs, ignor
ing his comrade, “I see she’s going to
nurse Freddy. Well, sir, if 1 was you.
Id—”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
EXPERT ADVISER ON DRESS
Woman Has Achieved Succeee in Oc
cupation That la Something of
a Novelty.
I heard lately of a plan adopted by
one young w oman that has worked out
well with her. and might be of use to
someone else, says a writer In the
Pittsburgh I'ispatch She lives at
home. ' jt nnsst help the family excheq
uer and - Uis :s how she does It:
Her one U.-aut lay in her good taste
in dress. She had an instinctive feel
ing for what was becoming, not only
for herself but her friends, and was
often called in to consult over a pro
spective new gown. So that is what
she determined to do professionally.
She let her friends know that for a
certain sum she would give advice on
costumes, helping to arrange a whole
wardrobe, and from friends she soon
| branched out to regular clients.
She goes to the house of her em
I ployer and looks over everything the
1 lady has. She gives definite instruc
tions as to what each dress or suit or
waist requires to bring it up to par
She advises as to the most becoming
st\ les and colors, and lists what new
garments are necessary. Of course she
regulates the expenditure according to
the purses of her various clients.
She has made a success. Many wom
en do not know what to wear, what
suits them best, what to put together
She tells them. She also saves them
a good deal by her cleverness in adapt
':g what looks hopeless. Sh'> can also
tell where you should go for mate
rials; she has addresses of tailors,
dressmakers and sewing women, and
knows they can do what they promise.
She is thoroughly up in her chosen
job, in fact. She also makes a point
of attending carefully to the details
of a costume, making sure that each
item will harmonize. The work is ex
tremely Interesting, and it pays both
her and her clients.
Get Your Share of Air.
Breathe all the air you can get,
night and day. That's what fresh air
is for. The fearsome legend about the
baleful influence of -night air” is only
another of the carefully nursed insani
tary bequests from our ancestors, ac
cording to Senior Surgeon Banks of
the United States public health serv
ice. Whence this superstition arose
may only be surmised. Perhaps it is
a survival of the primeval cult of sun
worship, which led the ancients to
classify as evil anything outside the
sphere of solar influence. Our forbears
were wont to caution their offspring to
“be careful about the night air,” or
| children were ordered to “come in
j out of the night air.” It is perhaps
fortunate for the children living in
the Arctic circle, where the nights am
six months long, that the Eskimo
mothers do not entertain this crude
notion about night air, else their prog
eny would spend half the year indoors.
Patience and Despair.
There is no calamity so great that
it cannot be made a little lighter by
patience, or a great deal heavier by
despair.
EVERY
WOMAN
wishes to ioon tier
best. You Wi!
never know what YOUR BEST
Is until you try
ZONA
the wonderful healer and beautlfier
Sena two dimes and we will mail yo
a beautiful opal jar of ZONA a 10-cent
silk sponge for applying and a 25-cent
cake of Zona Nail Lustre.
Write at once
Zona Company, tt
Florida Lands
For Sale to Settlers
in tracts of ten acres and up
wards, in Volusia County,
adapted to cultivation of citrus
fruits, vegetables of all kinds
and genera! crops Situation
healthful. Send for circulars
Write in English. Railroad run _
through tract Will sell on month
ly payments Agents wanted
Address
Florida Land & Settlement Co.
Care Alex. St. Clair-Abrams, Attorney
; 615-19 Dyal-Lpchurch Bldg., Jacksonville, Fla.
A Typewriter
in Every Home
rThe typewriter has
come to be a ne
cessity in almost
— everyiamny. lttca
I daughter is a stenographer, she
; can increase her earning power
by home practice The father
and sons need a typewriter for
■ their correspondence The
mother likes to keep recipes
and other data In neat, read
able form. You will be inter
ested in our booklet, “A Lesson
| in Operating the L. C. Smith
! &Bros.Typewriter " Writeforit
L. C. Smith & Bro*. Typewriter Co.
1819 Famam Street
Omaha Nebraska
-
Exercise and Music Together.
! "Myrtle is in a quandary."
"What's the matter with her?”
"She loves music, but she needs
physical culture.”
"Yes?”
"But she hasn't time for both "
"I can tell her a way out of th*
difficulty.”
"Indeed?”
"Yes: just fell her to buy an ac
cordion.”
DON’T VISIT THE CALIFORNIA EX
POSITIONS Without a supp.y at » s r
Ease, tha an'iseptic prwder to be shak*- i-tpt
Shoes. or dissolved in the foot-bath. TheE---. ro
Remedy for the feet for 25 years. It t'-rs :-. stunt
relief to tired achlne feet and prevents S'- -
hot feet. Or.o lady writes: "I entered every nv-ute
of my stay at the Expositions, thanks to A »r s
Foot-Ease in my shoes. Get it TOCAY Adv
Wooden.
The trees were leaving, and when
the hackman came to take a*a\ the
trunks the willows were weeping and
the dogwood began to bark.
Drink Denison’s Coffee.
Always pure and delicious.
Japanese mills are suffering from a
shortage of cotton supplies
Always sure to please. Red Cross tia..
Blue. All grocers self it. Adv.
Argentina is marketing a govern
ment bond issue of $15,000,000.
Safety First
Ct begins with a C and smells like “Camphor *
Wbut is it? i ampholKum, of course N
there a Jar of Campholatum in your huEf*
Or is it possible you have never u&ed this »t*«*
derful remedy, which is giving thousands rr .»?
and comfort every year from Hay Fever,
Flies and Hemorrhoids, *t»r* Eyes
Sprains, Rheumatism, Pneumonia. In
sect Slings, Neuralgia, Cuts, Chapped
Hands, Burns and Scalds, and a ho>i i f
other conditions? You should acquaint you
seif with its household usefulness by ta* *
advantage of this golden opportunity. C;t c
pon out before you forget, fill in your name ard
address and mall to us with 15 cents in stair. *
receive a full size Jar of this wonder? .. *
meat. There is but one Campholatuiu a:
thousands of imitations. Insist up* a t- «
ami no other.
Campholatum Co., E2SJl$/5&:
! *“•.-. !
| Address.... |
l_._I
DAISY FLY KILLER gpss *.
11m. N«at. ci«u or
■amsatal. wn»*£.»nt
Last, all
• aanon.
metal, cat (pin or u p
over; will sot soil or
1nj ur• » ay t h1cf
Qaamatwd sir sot ; «•
All dsslsrs
iiTin— mid for ii os
■ AXOLS IOKIKS. ISO D. Kalk An.. Break in. ■ (
Nebraska Director.
TYPiwRlfTEBBARSAiMS^ £l™o5»I5
WML “ wl«« ,r>«
1BOS TTpewrtLer S,rh»nee. |„<
1805 Faruam Street, Omaha. Nebratk.
KODAK fnd 8UPPU,»»- large.
Ruiasinfa house in the we>< A
FINKUIlia S*sI®»ngcoj!uU>p.v
■ ■ HI w IIIH V turn postaire on flr. *
raSROBERTOEIIPSTERCO.. WS F»rrv.mS»-,»t
EastmanKodak Co. n»,a. xek
THE PAXTON”2—
w. N. u., OMAHA, NO. 21-1915.