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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 26, 1916)
This is a story of pioneer days in Indiana, when courageous frontiers men fought the redskins and the By SAMUEL McCOY wilderness and won vast territory (Copyright, 1916, by Bobbs-Merrill Co.) vvvvrvrvyrrrrvrvvy>>VYw,.»v»vvyvvvyvvyvvvvvvrrvvyvv>w', ^J-vId Larrence amves in the frontier settlement of Corydon, in ; t.ie Indiana territory makes the acquaintance of kindly Pat O'Bdn no*: and his pretty 'ihughter 'Toinette, and gets work in the village ] store. David had followed an enemy from England to kill him. Al- > most immediat-ly he becomes involved in strange plots in America. ] One of them develops in this installment. . CHAPTER II—Continued. —2— ^ David looked up quickly at his A questioner. She was younger than he. W ttftd pretty and freckled; and when she wrinkled up her nose as she nsked the question, David could not forbear smiling. In spite of the mo mentary smile, the utter hopelessness that returned to his cavernous eyes almost frightened her. She felt as though she had unwittingly knocked at the door of a house that hid a tragedy, and she was on the verge of dismayed retreat. But under the fanny little nose there was a kind little mouth and a square little chin; so she drew in her breath and ran up alt her colors. “Two pound ten a yard.” “It’s ‘dollars,’ not ‘pounds’ here, you Jco.ow,” she chided. “You’re English, Aren’t you?” His smile was frankly bitter now. “I’m done with England,” he flashed &aek. “A Yankee then?” even more in credulously. ‘Yes, thank God!” he burst forth. She hastened to remove the impli cation of scorn in her words. “Well, I suppose we’ll be, too—fa ther and I. We just arrived at Cory don tliis morning. But I’m not thank ing God especially for the prospect.” Ills silence seemed to disconcert her. She may have been conscious of something in her that imagined a rebuke he did not intend. She bit her lip and threw a backward glance. “Three cheers for the president!” The candor in her eyes lent a sincer ity to her words. She turned and beckoned to her father, who was chat ting at the door. He seemed to be used to her humors, for he come for ward indulgently wtih, “Well, daugh ter?” He had the broad, red fate of a prosperous British farmer, a ruddy disk in which you might discern no sun-spot of guile. Heartiness radi ated from him as front the maturing sod. His shrewd little eyes looked on David with so honest a kindliness that David gave him Instant trust. A strange thing, for David knew it was fhe farmers of England whose flour nade the threepenny loaves whose jetce had made the weavers go hnn Kfy. “Father, I want you to”—she turned winsomely to the young storekeeper— “What is your name?” The young man surrendered. “Da vid Lorrence." “This is my father. Mr. Job ('run nier. My name is Lydia, and I’m bis only daughter and he does what I tell him to, don’t you, father?” And she gave him a tug at his elbow. The name Lydia instantly became for David one of those on the calen dar. “Your daughter is very kind, Mr. Cranmer." The girl hastened to impart the one piece of information she had gleaned about her countryman. “He says lie is going to live here." , “A fine country, this, young man,” approved Mr. Cranmer heartily. “I mean to settle here myself. They tell me land is as cheap here on the wil derness bonier as coals in Newcastle —I’m a fnrming man.” “You’re no farmer?” hazarded the girl to David. “No—I was a weaver.” “Oh 1” said Cranmer, comprehend ing, “then It hasn’t been all skittles with you, hey, young man?” A wave of dark red swept over Da vid's face and he seemed unable to answer. i “Nottingham way, maybe?" pursued bis questioner. “Yes," he assented, and choked over the word. "Your people have been hard trod den. haven't they?” pressed Cranmer kindly. “Oh, do uot mind me of it!” broke from David’s lips. He bowed his head to hide the tears lie could not control. Lydia turned to her father for ex planation. “likely this young man suffered with the Luddites,” he remarked. “Tell us,” whispered Lydia, “we are sorry. “Ay. d--n England." blustered Cranmer, without an apology for the oath. David looked at the man intently. There was something about him that roused question. “Nottingham market place is a fdir sight,” observed the farmer. “You've been there?” “Ay, one Whit-Monday feast.” “Clifton groves were green then,” cried Lydia eiigerly. “There was blood on the parade at Martinmas two years ago,” David burst forth, fire smoldering In his eye. “Our people gathered first at market goose-fair in October; maybe it was the plenty we saw there then that made us wild. My father and my brother and I had eaten but one meal a day for weeks before. There were others worse off thnn we. I saw a starving child knocked dqwn and beat en that stole an apple from a cart. Tt.ey drove us out of the market when wo cursed England. It wasn’t till November—that we could bear the rent of the frames no lodger. The men were fair wolves by then. Every night they gathered In front of the Exchange. Then when the cold und we had no coals nor even peats from Sherwood—the men blasphemed. They shouted that it was the machinery that was taking the bread from us. My father . . . they called my father Preacher Lar reuce because he begged them to wait, __ -■■■■■• __ though he was one of them. My fa ther ... I read to him at home the night they stormed the mills . . . out of St. John . . . his eyes were gone . . . they broke the looms that night.” He stopped. His eyes were burning like coals. “Newcastle sent his men from their quarters in Castlegate to help the con stables. They took four of. them in Wollaton street. And then they came to our cottage . . .” He stopped again, deathly pale. “They took my father with thpin . . he kissed me . . .” David’s voice was low. “There was one who said that my father had incited the riot.” He was trembling so that his two hearers watched him in pity, hut he drew himself together. “Of the twelve judges of England we did not know which one would try the rioters. We addressed pleas to all. 1 do not suppose auy of our let ters got beyond a clerk. We were very funny. In the assizes of Michael mas term the cases were thought so unimportant that none of the judges was delegated to them—John Silver ter, Esq., recorder, and Mr. Serjeant Bosanquet sitting. “Four of the five prisoners were hanged. The case against them was too open—they had heen taken in the very act of violating his majesty’s decree, crown law since the twenty second year of ids reign. My father thanked God for Ills release.” A cry of joy came from Lydia's lips. “Thank God, indeed,” echoed Cran nier. David smiled at them as a man smiles at his surgeon. “In December we were a crowd of skeletons in rags. We stood in the wet snow and watched a man in a black hood fix the nooses about ihe necks of four men. Then the men fell the length of the rope and were still. They had little life to lose. The man w*“" stood next me was my brother. “The fourth felon they liung was my father.” “Your father!” A man sobbing with dry eyes is dreadful to look upon “Bui the fifth man—who was set free?” David’s face was terrible. “They set him free who betrayed my father ... he fled from us. He was of our -brotherhood—traitor tlie worse—and lmd sworn—God help him!” Father and daughter were silent. David could say no more, hut leaned against the counter, his shoulders trembling. Lydia felt that to stay longer would be intruding on his grief. She plucked at her father’s arm and they left the store. “There’s a lad will make good can non’s-meat in the Yankees’ service,” said Mr. Cranmer, when they were out of hearing. “What a dreadful story!” exclaimed the girl. “And how wise he seemed!” “Learned from his father, I’ll be bound.” wagered the farmer. “Those Nottingham weavers are a set to make England tremble.” They walked back to the tavern, talking in low tones. Even so. Lydia appeared to fear that someone might hear what they were saying. Now and then at some light rustle she glanced “Toinette, You Must Marry Me." anxiously about and behind them. But the village street was empty. Only the tall, bending elms were near, and they might be expected td keep her father's secret. CHAPTER III. Vows. Driving forward with her scattered vedettes the vestiges of winter, spring began to intrench the main body of aer army. The lilacs became delicious spreader of fragrance, the japonica unfolded its exquisite single flower. Violets hallowed^ the dead grasses of winter. Then the dogwood trees hung out their snow-white blossoms like huge white butterflies. Against the drifting cloud and up into the warm air flamed the daring color of the red mnple of the swamps. The seventeenth of the month— Toinette O’Bannon met with a puz zling experience that afternoon. She was working in the garden behind her cabin, so that it might not lack for its wealth of bloom that spring. The tears gathered in ner eyes as she bent over the task. She was thinking of ._1_!_L_:__ the garden in New Orleans, whose first cool blooms had been gathered to he laid beside the still, white face that find grown cold at her birth. Now she herself was a woman and had found, with tier father, a new home in the northern wilds. She gathered some sprays of purple hyacinths that a late frost had with ered on their stalks. These she twist ed into a dejected posy and tossed into the lane, mourning even for them. Then she Stooped and began to dig idly about the roots of some love-in the-mist. Suddenly she was roused from her day-dream by the sound of footsteps passing on the side street that passed the garden. And then she heard an ejaculation like the moan of a beast caught in a trap, and a heav ier voice speaking. Too startled to move, she listened behind the screen ing hushes. “What ails you, man?” “The mark! The mark!” “What foolishness now? What mark ?” “There: The purple posy! Oh, my God!” The speaker seemed to choke. The other laughed contemptuously. “Nonsense, man, those be hut flowers someone has dropped. They mean naught.” “You cannot l«iow," said the other convulsively. “If you but knew the oath—” “A fiddlestick for the oath,” the gruff voice blurted. “Throw the thing away, I tell you, and forget it. Hast it with you?” There was a pause, and then the commanding voice resumed: “Throw it away, man. It was naught but a mummery.” The girl heard their steps pass on down the street. Rising quickly, she stared at their retreating backs. The one was a tall youth, whom she rec ognized as young Doctor Elliott; the other a broad-shouldered, portly fig ure. a stranger to her. As she turned back her eye caught sight of a crumpled bit of paper lying on the path outside the garden and with girl ish excitement she hastily ran out and picked it up. Dirty and greasy it was, as if with long handling, and on it, written in a straggling hand and un couth spelling, were the words: I. Edward Scull, of my own free will and Acoard do declare and solemnly sware that I will never reveal to aney person or Persons aney thing that may lead to the discovery of the same Either in dr by word sign or action as may lead (o aney Discovery under the Penelty of being sent out of this World by the first Brother that May Meet me after the per ple mark further more I do sware that I will Punish bv death aney trater or traters should there aney arise up amongst us I will pcrsue with unseaceing vengence, should he fly to the verge of Statute. I will be gust true sober and faithful In all my dealings with all my Brothers. So help God to keep this my Oath Invollated Amen." What had Doctor Elliott to do with “Edward Scull?” She puzzled over the riddle and tried to dismiss it with a laugh. But as she returned to the smiling garden it seemed to her that a cloud, no Mgger perhaps than a man’s hand but still a cloud, came over the place. *•*•••* When Elliott, having ridden in from Louisville on his mare, called on Toi nette later in the afternoon, they strolled, at his suggestion, along the river path. She had not known him long; hut on each of his weekly visits to Corydon he had disclosed in every look and word a growing passion for her. > The girl, walking in a reverie that drew a veil of tenderness over the deep sapphire of her eyes, and the April day, fading out in a dream of amethystine blue and a dazzling glory of gold, seemed part of each other. By her side walked the tall young doctor; and he, too, was part, surely, of the beautiful fellowship of the happy world. He speaks: “Toinette, here are vio lets. . . . Blue as your eyes, Toi nette !” She does not answer; the words are only a part of the day, they need no answer. “Toinette, you must marry me!” “What!” She heard now. But she could not believe what she had heard. “You do not know what you are say ing,” she laughed. But he paid no heed to her. “Toi nette, there is no one in the world, there will never be anyone—” “Oh, please don’t go onI shall never marry. I do not believe I was meant for marriage. Aren’t some girls born to be spinsters?” “No, no! Not you!” , “Yes, I shall be an old maid. There is no one in the world that I shall ever marry. I shall be happy with my fa ther all my life—and have only good friends, faithful friends,” she added in a whisper so low that It seemed a thought, not speech. “Your father is young no longer. He must wish you to marry—lie will be happier if you do. You must not sac rifice yourself to him—it is unjust.” “While he lives I shall not leave him; and oh, fto not make me think that there will ever come a time when . . “Forgive me; I am sorry. But can’t you marry and still be with him? Wouldn’t he rather gain a son? Oh, Toinette, if 1 could only tell you what I feel! You must marry me—I love you so!” “I can never marry you.” “Why not? Is it because you love someone else?” She was silent “Is It someone in your old home? Surely not—you would never have left him to come here! Besides, you were too young. Tell me—Is it any man in Corydon? Answer, Toinette! Is it— Toinette, is it this newcomer, this fel low Larrence?” She did not answer. “Larrence or no one! Well, he’s out of my way. You’ll see little of him now—oh, I know, I’ve heard of you both! He’s happy enough elsewhere.” v - ^ ,S:-iSVi.. it, “Stop! Don’t speak of Mr. Lar rence!” “You think I don’t know? I’ve never met him. but news travels far, I tell you! There’s a pretty English girl that he spends his time with now!” “I am not concerned in Mr. Lar rence's notions,” she answered coldly. “Believe me or not, as you choose. The whole village knows it. Bat I know more—you think your heroic Mr. Larrenee is an honest American now? Bah! What is he, what is he doing here? Who knows anything about Larrenee? 1 tell you, he and Cran mer's daughter are a pretty pair!” “Doctor Elliott! Take care of your words! You dare not slander Lydia!” “Oh, she’s honest enough, no doubt; but—there’s bound to be war with England—and soon. Suppose you were English, wouldn’t you do what you could for your country? There’s our forts and this frontier that the English would like to have, remem ber.” “I will not listen to this! You can vt mean what you are saying.” “If you are a loyal American you will listen.” “I will hear nothing more from you about Lydia and Mr.- Larrenee. And now let me go. I should not have let you say what you have. Forgive me— let us both forget it.” She turned away and Elliott has tened to repair his hasty speech. “I have said nothing of this to any one and 1 have only told you, Toinette. because I love you so. I don’t want you to be misled by appearances. I shall say nothing more about this— but time will show you I am right. You are not angry with me. Toinette? I would die rather than displease you!” The girl was evidently aroused, and only Elliott's good sense in dropping the subject saved the walk homeward from embarrassing silence. With ready tact he began to speak of other things, and before they had reached the village had succeeded in drawing a smile from his companion. lie told her good night as If nothing untoward had happened. Returning to the tavern, he sat a while in his room in moody silence and then began gloomily to pound some drugs with mortar and pestle. “The fat nearly fell in the Are that time,” he muttered, and cursed him self under his breath. "You’re too devilish hasty,” he told himself. “Slow and careful is the word. She loves him! But I'll spoil his Ane game yet. The girl’s ricii—rich, why, that wiz ened old father of hfjrs must be worth a fortune! And he can't live forever.” He fell to grinding his drugs as though the simple remedies were poisons that should encompass O’Bannon's death. He had been right in one respect. David had spent more than one pleas ant evening at the.Cranmers’. Under his friendliness the girl glowed into a rosy reincarnation of the audacious ly sympathetic Lydia of their first meeting. It was sweet to hear the broad vowels of Nottinghamshire on her lips and to hear the names of places that struck a pang of memory that David thought would never stir again. Toinette, running over to see Lydia on the evening after Elliott’s call on herself, found him and Lydia there alone in what seemed a most animated conversation, acknowledged his presence with the coolest of bows and invented an excuse to withdraw immediately. Sin- took pains to avoid any repetition of the encounter; and Lydia, with the field clear, was as inwardly self-satisfied as a hen that had driven another hen from the barn yard. David devoured Lydia’s easy good humor hungrily. They talked for hours of the old scenes they both knew so well: “Did you ever climb Standard hill, Lydia, and go on till you saw Sher wood forest? Going uround Itobin Hood's barn, we used to call It.” “Do you remember the three great oaks by the roadside? Father and I used to lie there and watch the dro vers go by with their funny sheep and the silly little lambs.” “Ay, I’ve seen ’em come into mar ket by thousands, like. Or did you ever see the Papist Holes, the eaves in the red sandstone hanks of the Lene?” “By the Castle road?” “Ay, we boys usedito play at liunt the-Captain in ’em—fair places to hide in, they were.” “I went n-Mayiug once to the Hem lock stone on Brain cole hill. It’s near Mayday now. David. . . . It’s a long mile between Corydon and Not tin’ham, beant it? ... 1 remem ber we could see Oolwiek ball and Holme Pierrepont from the hill that day. . . They both fell silent in the April dusk, their eyes seeing in fancy the old playgrounds on the sunburnt turf of Hunger hills or In the green groves of Clifton. The dusk deepened into night and still they sat lost in dreams of old friends, old childhood haunts. The brown-lireasted bird finished its song in the trees overhead; and at last Crannier can* home, stumbling uncertainly along i 'e lane that led from the tavern. David, having bldOt n Lydia a friend ly good night, ulmoi? indeed ran into her unsteady paren" Stepping aside just in time ,o prevent a collision in the darkness, he onflUbt a glimpse of a second figure—a -ifn from whom Cranmer was just pCVting. “If you're sober enough.” the second man was saying, “we’ll have another talk in the new courthouse tomorrow night, -” (David did not catch the name that followed) “will be on hand then.” Puzzled, David strolled slowly back to the tavern, where iie still lodged. There was something about this man Cranmer that was not on the surface, something he did not understand, or like. CHAPTER IV. The Special Agent. Colonel Posey remained indefinitely In Louisiana, and David was still In charge of the shop. Late the nest aft ernoon he dosed and bolted the small emporium ami started down the street [toward the tavern for an early supper. As he passed musingly along beneath the new-green eitns and neared the courthouse, the words he had ove» heard the night before from the lips of Cranmer’s comrade caine sharply back. “The courthouse ... to morrow night. . . .” The fascinatiou of the little court house plucked David as with an out stretched hanjl. In a moment he found himself before* it. Through the half open dears David caught 7 glimpse of the shadowy and empty place »f jus tice: and with a sudden determination He Caught a Glimpse of a Second Fig ure. he entered the silent and empty cham ber. He would conceal himself within it and learn why Job Cranmer was meeting strange men secretly after nightfall. ", Do you believe that young • [ ■ Larrence has reason to suspect ]1 ! that Job Cranmer and his daugh- 1 > ter mean to harm him or others ] ’ in Corydon? What about Doc- ; ; tor Elliott? ! (TO BE CONTINUED.) WINDOW IS BURGLAR PROOF Curtain of Steel, Which Drops When Glass Is Broken, Is One of Latest Inventions. The thief, brick in hand, awaits his opportunity. When the policeman on beat passes out of sight he slinks down the quiet avenue and takes up a position in front of a jewelry store with an expensive and elaborate win dow display. Reposing in the right hand corner of the window is a tray of dinmonds.# This the thief decides to steal. Choosing a section of the window where the glass will make the least noise in falling, the thief draws back his right arm and the brick crashes through the window. With lightning agility he thrusts his hand through the broken pane, and then, startled and utterly dismayed, as quickly with draws it. Had he not done so a bur glar curtain of steel, released from the top of the window at the instant of contact of brick with glass, would have severed his arms at the wrist, Popular Science Magazine states. In other words, he was thwarted in his attempt to steal by a burglar cur tain designed to drop and cover the window the instant the glass is bro ken. In making his superficial exami nation he had failed to detect the minute strands of wire stretched across the window, several of which were severed when the glass was broken, setting Into action a mecha nism which released the curtain. The wires, stretched tight and an chored at their lower end to a rigid frame and at their upper end to a latch, are arranged close enough so that an object thrown through the pane will sever one or more of them. When this occurs the latch is drawn i downward, permitting the retaining rods to move in tinder forced pressure of their tension springs, which re leases a ratchet engaging with a shaft round which the curtain is wound. The curtain falls due to gravity. A simple safety appliance prevents the curtain from accidentally falling when the window is being cleaned. It is wound up on the shaft in a “set” position by means of a sprocket wheel. Her Wonderful News. “You can't guess the wonderful nows!” exclaimed Mrs. Tinkle to her friend. Miss Dimple, who had dropped in for a call. * “Gracious!” exclaimed Miss Dim ple. “Tell me quick what it is!” Mrs. Tinkle rocked back and forth in quiet delight at the other’s interest. “No,” she said, “you've just got to guess. “Bessie Bentley and Jack Warner have eloped?” . j “No!” “Mr. and Mrs. Crabley have agreed to separate?” “No ! \ Guess again.” “Josephine Ward and Billy Combes have broken their engagement?” “No! Oh, won’t my husband just langti when I tell him you couldn't guess right!” “Well, now, you must tell me!” “Our baby has got n tooth!”—Judge. The Experts. “These connoisseurs are wonderful chaps. They know all the distinctions in wines. They can tell the difference in cigarettes.” “Urn. They must be wonderful chaps. All cigarettes smell alike to me.” ABOUT THE KITCHEN ! SOME PERTINENT QUESTIONS FOR EVERY CAREFUL HOUSEWIFE. I How to Remedy Several Possible De fects and Lighten the Work of the Home—Proper Lighting a Big Help. Many of us read newspaper articles and books, listen to lectures and give udvice on household management. Hut we forget to look at our own kitchens. Here are some pointed and pertinent ipiestions for you to ask yourself: Is your kitchen properly lighted! j Is a shadow east on the sink by the ! person who washes dishes? Very often i ; the only light in a small kitchen is in the center and, as the sink is al ; ways at the side of the room, it is i awkwardly placed for the one who ! ! washes dishes aftei lights are on. An • : old-fashioned oil lamp placed on a wall | bracket to the left of the sink and a foot , or so above the head remedies this de : feet. Another remedy consists in J screwing a double fixture In the elee | trie light socket in the center of the ; room and from one socket of this run ' uitig a drop light to a hook above the ! sink. | Probably you cook by gas. If you j do. Is the stove in perfect working I condition? Is the force of the gas what j it ought to be? Do qll the stops turn j easily and are they tight? Is there 1 any odor of escaping gas about the j stove? It costs only a few cents to ; keep a gas stove in ship-shape, and if there is any defect in yours you | should send immediately for a repair I man. If you cook by coal: Are the j draughts clear and what they ought | to be? It not only saves fuel, but j saves your own strength to have all I these things attended to. | Is your refrigerator in a convenient place? Ideally it should be in a recess accessible to both the kitchen and the porch, so that the ice man can till it without going through the kitchen. It I should not be near the stove. Yet ! The amount of ice saved by having i the refrigerator in the cellar is usual ly counteracted by the consequent ' fatigue of the cook or housewife. So have your refrigerator placed as con veniently for everybody as possible. See that the drain is clean and that it does not leak. If there are any very large cracks in the refrigerator lin ing, they should be repaired. Are the cooking implements con venient to the places where they are used? Are the kettles and frying pans within arm’s reach of the stove? Are soup ladles, basting spoons and meat forks within the same easy distance? Are dishpan and draining pan, with dish mop, clothes, soap and scouring implements, all neatly placed about the sink? Have you a comfortable place to mix cakes, puddings and other dishes? There Is no reason why you should not be seated for a good deal of the cook ing. A high stool is comfortable aud easy to move about. If possible, a shelf or table beneath a window- is a good work table for the cook or house wife. A Real Economy. The saving of drippings is a very wise economy. “Drippings” come from the fat that cooks from the roast, that is skimmed from the soup pot, that fries out of different meats or that is leit on the trimmings of the meat from the butcher. These scraps of fat meat should be put together in a saucepan with cold water, or cover them and simmer till the meat is cooked to pieces. Set away to cool and the fat w-ill rise to the top in a cake which can be lifted off. Turn this into a saucepan with whatever drippings you may have on hand, add two cupfuls boiling water and boil uncovered for an hour; then throw in a teaspoonful of salt and put the saucepan away. Let stand till there is a solid cake of fat on top; remove this, which makes the best kind ^>f fat for frying. Flower Salad. Cut the whites of hard-boiled eggs Into pointed, petal-like strips. Lay aside two whole yolks, mashing the rest. Mix with mayonnaise and fill the calyx of the arranged petals with the mixture. Put the remaining yolks through a fine sieve or ricer, dropping arver the petals to give the appearance of pollen. Cut lettuce leaves in fine points to simulate outer green. Serve if possible on a low glass dish or small individual glass dishes to rep resent water. Pot-Cheese Pastry. One-half pound or two cupfuls flour; one-half pound or one cupful blitter; one-lialf pound or one cupful pot ! cheese. Cream the three ingredients togeth er until thoroughly blended so that j a moist dough is formed. Chill over night ‘Roll out the next morning, j cut into squares, and fill with any de sired sliced, sweetened fruit, as ap ples, strawberries, raspberries, peaches apricots, etc. Bake in a hot oven. White Sauce. Four level tablespoonfuls of flour, two level tablcspoonfuls of butter, one cupful of hot milk, one-quarter tea spoonful of salt, pinch of pepper. Melt butter in saucepan until it bubbles; add the flour, salt and pepper; mix until smooth, then pour the hot milk in gradually, stirring and beating all j the time. Cook until it thickens. Coffee-Tapioca. To three cupfuls of clear boiling cof fee otdd one-quarter cupful of sugar, a pinch of salt, lastly two-tliirds of a cupful of tapioca quickly moistened in a cupful of lukewarm water; remove Immediately from range, flavor with one teaspoonful of vanilla and serve hot or cold with plain or whipped cream. For Broken Crockery. White lead is one of the few ce ments that resists both heat and water. Apply thinly to the edges of the broken pieces, press them tight together and set aside to dry. THE HIGHEST QUALITY MACARONI 36 tige Recipe Book free SKINNER MFG.COm OMAHA, U.5.A. LARGEST MACARONI FACTORY HI AMERICA. Nebraska Directory ~HOTEL Omaha, Nebraska EUROPEAN PLAN Booms from Sl.O) up single, 75 cents up double. CAFE PRICES REASONABLE Trade Supplied br THE DUG COLE CO.. OMAHA I-'aT.d Cole.-owner FISH, OYSTERS, CEIERT, POULTRY WHOLESALE ONLY ryonr Pottltkt to ns. We pay Cash to t lire poultry. COOK BOOK FREE! Mention this paper. DEFIANCE STARCH is constantly growing in favor because it Does Not Stick to the Iron and it will not injure the finest fabric. For laundry purposes it has no equal. 16 oz. package 10c. '/} more starch for same money. DEFIANCE STARCH CO., Omaha, Nebraska There’s a Reason. “Why aren’t you going home to din ner?” “Our cook has Left.” “Wouldn't your wife cook dinner for you?” “Yes. That’s why I am not going home.” Don't Neglect Kidneys Swamp-Root Dr. Kilmer’s Prescrip tion, Overcomes Kidney Trouble It is now conceded by physicians that the kidneys should have more attention as they control the other organs to a re markable degree and do a tremendous j amount of work in removing the poisons and waste matter from the system by i filtering the blood. The kidneys should receive some as sistance when needed. We take less ex i ercise, drink less water and often eat more rich, heavy food, thereby forcing the kidneys to do more work than nature intended. Evidence of kidney trouble, such as lame back, annoying bladder | troubles, smarting or burning, brick dust or sediment, sallow complexion, rheumatism, jnaybe weak or irregular heart action, warnr you that your kid neys require help immediately to avoid more serious trouble. An ideal herbal compound that has hail most remarkable success as a kidney and bladder remedy is Dr. Kilmer's Swamp Root. There is nothing else like it. It is Dr. Kilmer’s prescription used in pri vate practice and it is sure to benefit you. Get a bottle from your druggist. However, if you wish first to test this great preparation send ten cents to Dr. Kilmer & Co., Binghamton, N. Y., for a sample bottle. When writing be sure and mention this paper. Adv. The Case of Blakelock. It is to be wished that the case of the artist Blakelock. and his pathetic delight when returned recently through the Blakelock fund to a rural studio and sanitarium, might he the means of awakening a new Interest in the urgeut subject of the after-care of the in sane. There are thousands of men in this section alone who are tike Blake lock in beiug sane In most directions, and not dangerously abnormal in an>. who have been confined and irksomely guarded for years, and whose treat ment not only adds to their suffering, but robs them of hope of recovery. In all too many states every insane pa tient is kept to an indoor life, closely housed with the violent, the depraved, or the diseased, and stigmatized as a pauper. Only the genius of Blakelock saved him, after seventeen years, from being looked upon to the last as so cial refuse. He will now be under close, but not Irritating, supervision for six months. The out-treatment of nearly all the curably and mildly in sane, under scientific supervision, might be arranged for upon a similar plan. New York, her hospitals intol erably overcrowded, is already taking steps towards such an arrangement; the release of patients on parole Is permitted, and the state has four or five after-care agents. But New York leads, and it is depressing to think of conditions in states where progress is so slow that the counties are still chief guardians of the insane.—New York Evenig Post.