tx TT'n /\r r T"1 T This Is a Thrilling Story
WED (Jr W> I EEL 2fourT«etuTMfInSL^nii
By CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY and CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY. Jr.
Author and Clergyman Civil Engineer copyriaht by nemia* H. Raven Co.
BERTRAM MEADE CUTS OFF HIS OLD LIFE ENTIRELY AND
GOES FORTH INTO STRANGE COUNTRY TO MAKE
A NEW CAREER
Bertram Meade. Sr., plans u great International bridge for the Mart
Ilet Construction company, ills son, Bertram Meade, Jr., resident
engineer at the bridge site, and Helen Illingworth, daughter of Colonel
Illingworth, president of the Martlet concern, are engaged to marry as
soon as the work is finished. The young engineer had questioned hts
father's Judgment on certain calculations and was laughed at for his
fears. The bridge collapses and 150 workmeu are killed. Meade,
senior, drops dead after giving orders that his failure should be made
public. The orders are not carried out. Young Meade takes the
blame and releases Helen from tier engagement.
CHAPTER IX—Continued.
“Shurtliff." said the young engineer,
after the mound had been heaped tip
and covered with sods and strewn with
flowers and the workmen hud gone. “I
have left everything I possess in your
charge. You have a power of attor
ney to receive and pay out all moneys;
to deposit, invest, and carry on my fa
ther's estate. The office Is to he closed
and the house Is to be sold. My will.
In which I leave everything to Miss Il
lingworth. Is In your hands. You are
empowered to draw front the revenue
of the estate your present salary so
long as you live. If anything happens
to me you will have the will probated
and he governed accordingly."
"Mr. Meade." said the old man. and
he somehow found himself transferring
the affection which he had thought hud
been hurled beneath the sod on that
long mound before him. to the younger
man. He had loved and served a
Meade all his life and he began to see
that he could not stop now. nor could
he lavish what he had to give merely
on a remembrance. “Mr. Meade,” he
•aid. “where are you going and what
do you intend to do?"
“I don't know where I shall go. or
what I shall undertake eventually,"
said the man. "I'm going to leave
•verything behind now and try to get a
little rest at first."
“And you will keep me advised of
your wherealsiuts?"
“Perhaps—I don't know. One last
Injunction: you are uot to tell anyone
tbe truth."
“Hod forbid,” said Shurtliff. “we
“I Want to Stay Here a Little While
by Myself.”
have lied to preserve the honor and
fame of him we loved who lies here.”
"Don't render oar perjuries of uou
effect."
“I will not. sir. 1 haven't found thut
paper. I guess It was destroyed.”
"I presume so. And now, good-by."
“Aren’t you coming with me?”
“1 want to stay here a little while by
myself.”
Bburtllff turned and walked away.
When he reached the road, dowu which
ha must go, he stopped and faced ubout
agate Meade was standing where he
had '.ecu. The old man took off his
hat in reverent farewell.
M n*.e was not left alone. Beyond
the hillside where his father had been
bailed rose a clump of trees. Bushes
grew at their feet. A woman—should
man be buried without womuu's tears?
—had stood concealed there watting.
Helen Illingworth had wept over the
4raarlne«> the mournfulness of It all.
She had hoped that Meade might stay
after the other went and now thut he
waa alone she came to him. She laid
bar hand u|>on his arm. He turned and
looked at her.
“I knew that you would be here." he
mid
“Did you see mer
“I felt your presence."
“Listen.” said the woman. “You are
wrecking your life for yftur father's
fame A man has a right perhaps to
do with bis own life what he will, but,
when he loves a woman and when he
a., told her so and she has given him
her heart, did It ever occur to you
that when he wrecks his life he wrecks
hers, and has he a right to wreck her
Ufe for anyone else?"
“Oh. my Ood." said Meade, “this Is
more than I can bear."
“I don't want to force you to do any
thing yon don't want to do and you
ar« not In uay mood to discuss these
things.” "he said In quick compassion.
“Some day you will come hack to me."
Be stretched out his hands toward
gar over the grave.
“I don't know," be cried. “I dure
hope.”
“With love Uke ours." she answered,
-.11 things are possible."
-j can't bind you. You must be free,”
ga said slowly, turning his head.
-You are breaking my heart but I
shall live und tight on for love nnd
you.”
“God bless you.”
"You are going away?” she asked ut
lust.
“I must break with everything. I
must give you your chance of free
dom.”
“Very well,” said the woman. “Now
hear me. You can’t go so fur on this
earth or hide yourself away so cun
ningly but that I can find you and
maybe follow you. And I will. Now,
I must go. I left my car down the
road yonder. Will you go with me?”
The man shook his heud and knelt
down before her suddenly und caught
her skirt in his grasp. His arms swept
around her knees. She yielded one
hand to the pressure of his lips and
laid the other upon hts head.
“Go now,” he whispered, “for God’s
sake. If I look at you I must follow.”
CHAPTER X.
The New Rodman.
There are no more beautiful valleys
anywhere than those cut by the wuters
of primeval floods through the foothills
of the great snow-covered Rocky moun
tains. The erosions and washings of
untold centuries have flung out In front
of the granite rumpnrts of succession
of lower devotions like the bastions of
a fortress. At first scarcely to be dis
tinguished from the main range in
height and ruggedness these ravelins
nnd escarpments gradually decrease in
altitude and size until they turn into
a series of more or less disconnected,
softly rounded hills, like outflung
earthworks. Anally merging themselves
by gradual slopes into the distant
plains overlooked by the grent peaks
of the mountains.
The monotony of these pine-clad,
wind-swept slopes is broken even in
the low hills by out-thrustings of stone,
sometimes the hard igneous rock, the
granite of the mountains, more fre
quently the softer red sandstone of a
Period later, yet ineffably old. These
clifTs, buttes, hills and mesas have
been weathered Into strange nnd fan
tastic shapes which diversify the land
scape und add charm to the country.
The narrow canons In which the
snow-bed streams take their rise grad
ually widen as the wnter follows its
tortuous course down the mountains
through the subsiding ranges nnd out
among the foothills to the sandy, arid,
windy plains beyond. At the entrance
of one of the loveliest of these broad
tind verdant valleys, a short distance
above its confluence with a narrower,
more rugged ravine through the hills,
lay the thriving little town of Coro
nado.
Soue twenty nnles buck from the
town at a place where the valley was
narrowed to a quarter of a mile, and
separating It from the paralleling ra
vine, rose a huge sandstone rock called
Spanish Mesa. Its top, some hundreds
of feet higher than the tree-clad base
of the hills, was mainly level. From
Its high elevation the country could be
seen for many miles, mountains on one
hand, plains on the other. It stood
like an island In a sea of verdure. Lit
tle spurs and ridges ran from It. To
ward the range it descended and con
tracted into a narrow saddle, vulgarly
known as a “hogback," where the
granite of the mountains was hidden
under a deep covering of grass-grown
earth, which formed the only division
between the valley and the gorge or
ravine, before the luud, widening, rose
Into the next hill.
The people came from miles away
to see that interesting and curious
mesa, much more striking in its np
pearance than Baldwin’s knob, the last
foothill below It. Transcontinental
travelers even broke Journey to visit
it. The town prospered accordingly,
especially as it wns admirably situated
as a place of departure for hunters, ex
plorers, prospectors and adventurers,
who sought what they craved in the
wild hills. There were one or two good
hotels for tourists, unusually extensive
general stores of the better class,
where hunting and prospecting parties
could be outfitted, and the high-living,
extravugant cnttle ranchers could get
what they demanded. Besides all
these there were the modest homes of
the lovers of the rough but exhilarating
and health-giving life of the Rocky
mountains. Of course there were nu
merous saloons and gambling halls,
and the town was the haunt of cow
boys, hunters, miners, Indians—the old
frontier with a few touches of civiliza
tion added!
What was left of the river, which
had made the valley—and during the
infrequent periods of rain too brief to
be known as the rainy season, it really
lived up to the nnme of river—flowed
merrily through the town, when it
flowed at all, under the name of Picket
Wire. When the railroad came the
Picket Wire had been first studied In
the hope of finding a practicable way
over the mountains, but the ravine on
the other side of the mesa had been
fot nd to offer a shorter and more prac
ticable route. And, by the way, this
ravine, taking its name from the little
brook far down in its narrows, was
known ns the “Kicking Horse.”
So the railroad ran up the ravine
and the Picket Wire was left still vir
gin to the assaults of man. But the
day came when It was despoiled of Its
hitherto long standing, unravished In
nocence. Shouts of men, cracking of
whips, trampling of horses, groaning
of wheels, wordless but vocal protests
of beasts of burden mingled with the
ringing of axes, the detonations of dy
namite. The whistle of engines and
the roar of steam filled the valley. Un
der the direction of engineers, a huge
mound of earth nrose across its nar
rowest part, nearest a shoulder, or
spur, of the mesa reaching westward.
No more should the silver Picket Wire
flow unvexed on its way to the sea. It
was to be dammed.
All that the huge, hot inferno of
baked plain, where sage brush and
buffalo grass alone grow, needed to
make It burgeon with wheat and corn
was water. The little Picket Wire,
which had meandered and sparkled
and chattered on at its own sweet will
was now to be held until It filled a
great lakelike reservoir in the hills
back of the new earth dam. Then
through skillfully located irrigation
ditches the water was to be given to
tiie millions of hungry little wheatlets
and cornlets, which would clamor for a
drink. The fierce sun was no longer to
work Its unthwarted will In burning
up the prairie.
iuc piuiui^c ui wniei uu uit:
plain beyond, Coronado sprnng into
newer and more vigorous life. In the
language of the West it “boomed." The
railroad had been a forlorn branch
running up into the mountains and
ending nowhere. Its first builders had
been daunted by difficulties and lack
of money, but as soon as the great dam
was projected, which would open sev
eral hundred thousand acres for culti
vation and serve as an inspiration in
Its practical results to other similar
attempts, people came swarming into
the country buying up the land, the
price for acreage steadily mounting.
The railroad accordingly found It
worth while to take up the long-aban
doned construction work of mounting
the range and crossing it. Men sud
denly observed that it was the short
est distance between two cardinal
points, and one of the great transcon
tinental railways bought it and began
improving it to replace its original
rather unsatisfactory line.
The long wooden trestle which
crossed the broad, sandy depression in
front of the town, the bed of the an
cient river, through which the Picket
Wire and further down its affluent, the
Kicking Horse, flowed humbly and
modestly, was being replaced by a
great viaduct of steel. Far up the
gorge past the other side of the Span
ish Mesa nnother higher trestle had al
ready been replaced by a splendid
steel arch. A siding had been built
near the ravine, n path made to the
foot of the mesa, and arrangements
were being made to run a local train
up from the town when all was com
pleted to give the people an oppor
tunity to ride up the gorge and see the
great pile of rock, on which enterprise
was already planning the desecration
of a summer hotel, the blasphemy of
an umusoment park!
Up the valley of the Picket Wire one
morning in early fall came n young
man roughly dressed like the average
cow-puncher from the ranches further
north. He rode well, yet with a cer
tain attention to detail and a niceness
that betrayed him to the real rough
rider of the range, just as the clothes
he wore, although they were the or
dinary cattleman’s outfit, were worn
in a little different way that again be
trayed him. One look into the face of
the mnn, albeit his mustache and beard
hid the revealing outlines of mouth
and chin, sufficed to show that here
was no ordinary cow-puncher. He rode
boldly enough among the rocks of the
trail and along the rough road, which
had been made by the wheels of the
wagons anil hoofs of the horses. There
A Young Man Roughly Dressed.
was about him some of the quiet con
fidence begot of achievement, some of
the power which knowledge brings and
which success emphasizes, yet there
were uncertainty and hesitation, too,
as if all had not been plain sailing on
his course.
To be the resident engineer charged
with the construction of a great earth
dam like that across the Picket Wire,
requires knowledge of a great many
tilings beside the technicalities of the
profession, chief among them being a
knowledge of men. As the newcomer
threw his leg over the saddle-horn,
stepped lightly to the ground, drop
ping the reins of his pony to the soil at
the same time, Vandeventer, the en
gineer in question, looked at him with
approval. Some subtle recognition of
the man's quality came Into his mind.
Here was one who seemed distinctly
worth while, one who stood out above
the ordinary applicant for jobs who
came in contact with Vandeventer, ns
the big mesa rose above the foothill.
However, the chief kept these things
to himself as he stood looking and
waiting for the other man to begin:
“Are you the resident engineer?”
asked the newcomer quietly, yet there
was a certain nervous note in his voice,
which the alert and observant engineer
found himself wondering at, such a
strain as might come when a man is
about to enter upon a course of action,
to take a strange or perilous step, such
a little shiver in his speech ns a naked
man might feel in his body before he
plunged into the icy waters of the
wintry sea.
“I am.”
“I’d like a job.”
“We have no use for cow-punchers
on this dam.”
“I’m not exactly a cow-puncher, sir.”
“What ure you?”
“Look here,” said the man, smiling
a little, “I’ve been out in this country
long enough to learn that all that it is
necessary to know about a man Is ‘Will
he muke good?' Let us say that I am
nothing and let it go at that.”
“Out of nothing, nothing comes,” \
laughed the engineer, genuinely
amused.
rwine men would have been angry, |
but Vandeventer rather enjoyed this.
"I didn't say I was good for noth
lug,” answered the other man, smiling
in turn, though he was evidently seri- ,
ous enough in his application.
“Well, what can you do? Are you an
engineer?"
“We'll pass over the last question,
too, if you pleuse. I think I could
carry a rod if I had a chance and there
was a vacancy.”
“Uiuph," said Vandeventer, “you
think you could?”
“Yes, sir. Give me a trial.”
“All right, take that rod over there
and go out on the edge of the dam
where that stake shows, and I'll take a
sight on it.”
Now there are two ways—a hundred
perhaps—of holding a rod; one right
way and all the others wrong. A new
comer invariably grasps it tightly in
his fist and jams it down, conceiving
that the only way to get it plumb and
hold it steady. The experienced man
strives to balance it erect on its own
base and holds it with the tips of his
fingers on either side in an upright po
sition, swaying it very slightly back
ward and forward. He does it uncon
sciously, too.
Vandeventer had been standing by a
level already set up when the new
comer arrived and the rod was lying
on the ground beside it. The latter
picked it up without a word, walked
rapidly to the stake, loosened the tar
get and balanced the rod upon the
stake. As soon as Vandeventer ob
served that his new seeker after work
held the rod in the right way, he did
not trouble to take the sight. He
threw his head backward and raised
his hand, beckoningly.
“It so hnppens,” he began, “that I
can give you a job. The rodman next
in line of promotion has been given the
level. One of the men went East last
night. You can hnve the job, which
is—”
“I don’t care anything about the de
tails,” said the man quickly and gladly.
“It’s the work I want.”
“Well, you’ll get what the rest do,"
said Vandeventer. “Now, as you just
ly remarked, I have found that it is
not polite out here to inquire too close
ly into n man's antecedents and I have
learned to respect local customs, but
we must have some name by which to
identify you, make out your pay check,
and—”
“Do you pay In checks?”
“No, but you have to sign a check.”
“Well, cnll me Smith.”
Vandeventer threw back his head
and laughed. The other man turned a
little red. The chief engineer observed
the glint in his new friend's eye.
“I’m not exactly laughing at you," he
explained, “but at the singular lock of
invertlveness of the American. We
have at least thirty Smiths out of two
hundred men on our pay roll, aud it Is
a bit confusing. Would you mind se
lecting some other name?"
“If it’s nil the same to you,” an
nounced the newcomer amusedly—the
chief’s laughter was infectious—Tm
agreeable to Jones, or Brown, or—”
“We have numbers of all of those,
too.”
“Really.” said the man hesitatingly,
“I haven’t given the subject any
thought.”
“What about some of your family
names?”
“That gives me an idea,” said the
newcomer, who decided to use his
mother’s name, “you can call me Rob
erts.”
1 And I suppose John for the prefix?”
“John will do us well as any, I am
sure.”
“We have about fifty Johns. Every
Smith appears to have been bora
John.”
“How did you arrange it?” asked the
other with daring freedom, for u rod
man does not enter conversation on
terms of equality with the chief en
gineer.
“I got a little pocket dictionary down
at the town with a list of names nnd I
went through that list with the Smiths
dealing them out in order. Well, that
will do for your name,” he said, mak
ing a memorandum In the little book
he nulled out of his flannel shirt pocket
He turned to a man who had come up
to the level. “Smith.” he said—“by the
way this is Mr. Claude Smith, Mr. Rob
erts—here’s your new rodman. You
know your job, Roberts. Get to work.”
And that is how Bertram Meade, a
few months after the failure of the
great bridge, once again entered the
ranks of engineers, beginning, as was
necessary and inevitable, very low
down in the scale.
CHAPTER XI.
The Valley of Decision.
Much water had run under the
bridges of the world and incidentally
over the wreck of the International,
since that bitter farewell between
Bertram Meade and Helen Illingworth
He Debated With Himself Whether It
Would Not Be Better to End It
Than to Live.
over the grave of the old engineer. Life
had seemed to hold absolutely noth
ing for Meade ns he knelt by that low
mound and watched the woman walk
slowly away with many a backward
glance, with many a pause, obviously
reluctant. He realized that the lifting
of a hand would have called her back.
How hard It was for him to remain
quiet; and, finally, before she disap
peared and before she took her last
look at him. to turn his back resolutely
ns If to mark the termination of the
situation.
Father, fame, reputation, love, taken
away at one and the same moment! A
weaker man might have sent life to fol
low. In the troubled days after the
fall of the bridge, his father’s death,
the Inquests, his testimony and evi
dence freely given, and that parting,
something like despair had filled the
young engineer’s heart. Life held noth
ing. He debated with himself whether
it would not be better to end it than
to live It. He envied his father his
broken heart. Singularly enough, the
thing that made life at least value
was the thing that kept him from
throwing It away—the woman.
Striving to analyze the complex
emotions that centered about his losses
he was forced to admit, nlthough it
seemed a sign of weakness, that love
of woman was greater than love of
fame, that in the balance one girl out
weighed bridge and father. That the
romauce was ended was what made
life Insupportable. Yet the faint, vague
possibility that it might be resumed if
he could find some way to show his
worthiness was what made him cling
to it.
Of course he could have showed
without much difficulty and beyond
peradventure at the inquest over Ab
bott and the Investigation into the
cause of the failure of the bridge—un
fortunate but too obvious—that the
frightful and fatal error In the design
was not his and that he had protested
against the accepted plan. If only he
had found the letter addressed to his
father. But that he would never do
and the letter had not been discovered
anyway. He did not even regret the
bold falsehood he had uttered or the
practical subornation of perjury of
which he had been guilty In drawing
out and accepting and emphasizing
Shurtilff’s testimony.
There had been no inquest over his
father’s death. The autopsy had
showed clearly heart failure. He had
not been compelled to go on the witness
stand and under oath as to that. Al
though, if that had been demanded, he
must needs have gone through with it.
Indeed so prompt and public had been
his avowals of responsibility that he
had not been seriously questioned
thereon. He had left nothing uncer
tain. There was nothing concealed.
He had inherited a competence from
his father. It was Indeed much more
than he or anyone had expected. He
had realized enough ready money from
the sale of certain securities for his
present needs. The remainder he
placed in ShurtllfTs care and a few
days after the funeral, having settled
everything possible, he took a train for
the West
The whole world was before him,
and he was measurably familiar with
many portions of it. He could have
burled himself In out-of-the-way cor
ners of far countries, in strange conti
nents. These possibilities did not at
tract him. He wanted to get away
from, out of touch with, the life he had
ied. He wished to go to some place
where he could bo practically alone
where he could have time to recover
I 8 P°'f’ t0 thluk things out, to plan
his future, to try to devise a mean* for
rehabilitation, If it were possible. He
cou!d do that just as well, perhaps bet!
ter, in America than in any place else.
And there was another reason thai
held him to his native land. lie woulc
still tread the same soil, breathe the
same air, with the woman. He did noi
desire to put seas between them.
He swore to himself that the free
dom he had offered her, that he had in
deed forced upon her unwilling and re
Jecting it, should be no empty thing s<
far as he was concerned. He woulc
leave her absolutely untrammeled. H(
would not write to her or communl
cate with her in any way. He woulc
not even seek her to hear about hei
and of course as she would not know
whither he had gone or where he was
she could not communicate with him
The silence that had fallen betweet
them should not be broken even for
ever unless and until— Ah, yes, he
could not see any way to complete that
“unless and until” at first, but perhaps
after a while he might.
He knew exactly where he would go
Dick Winters, another classmate and
devoted friend at Cambridge, had gone
out West shortly after graduation. He
had a big cattle ranch miles from a
railroad In a young southwestern state.
Winters, like the other member of the
youthful triumvirate, Rodney, was a
bachelor. He could be absolutely de
pended upon. He had often begged
Meade to visit him. The engineei
would do it now. He knew Winters
would respect his moods, that he would
let him severely alone, that he could
get on a horse and ride into the hills
and do what he pleased, think out his
| thoughts undisturbed.
To Winters, therefore, he had gone.
He had an idea that his future would
be outside of engineering. Indeed he
had put all thought of his chosen pro
fession out of his mind and heart, at
least so he fancied. Yet, spending an
Idle forenoon in Chicago waiting for
the departure of the western train, he
found himself irresistibly drawn to the
great steel-framed structures, the sky
scrapers rising gaunt and rigid above
the other buildings of the city.
it" '.- ■■ ==n
A man of Mere's ability will
soon find a place for himself in
any environment, and so it is
with the young engineer. His
new start in life is described
in the next installment.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
MUST ASSIST WITH DISHES
Court Order Out of Ordinary, Since
It Is the Wife Who Is Ordered
to Do This.
Tain’t right now, for a woman to
enjoy the movies alone. She must
take her husband occasionally, and
also she must help him wash the sup
per dishes.
This is the Solomonic wisdom dis
pensed by a New York judge in the
domestic relations court, where the
only thing he failed to find out about
John Mackey was how he managed to
squander $8 a month. John, who Is an
electrician and lives with his wife and
four children, was arraigned on a
charge of cruelty preferred by Mrs.
Mackey. When her story had been
told the magistrate asked Mackey
what he had to say In defense.
“I’ve worked at the same place foi
twenty-five years,” he said. “I’ve
turned my earnings over to my wife
for the last fifteen years. I make
twenty-six dollars a week and I give
my wife twenty dollars pay night for
food and clothing for herself and the
children. Out of the balance I pay
the rent of sixteen dollars a month.
Every night my wife leaves me to do
the dishes, while she goes out to a
movie show or to visit friends. She
never will take me along with her."
“Charge dismissed,” said the court.
“Hereafter, Mrs. Mackey, you will
help your husband with the dishes and
take him out to the movie once In
a while.”
Feast of Minerva.
All Guatemala celebrates the feast |
of Minerva, the most elaborate observ
ance In Its calendar. The revival of
this feast, educational and patriotic
In Its motives. Is the Idea of the pres
ent president, Senor don Estrada Ca
brera. Like Its Roman precursor, it
marks the close of the school year, and
prizes are awarded for excellence In
scholarship. One of the prizes—$100
gold and a trip to the United States—
was given by an American company
for the best essay written In English
Ceremonies Intended to Inculcate love
of country and devotion to duty also
form part of the celebration. There Is
also an exhibition of the products of
the republic held In connection with
the annual event. Of the exhibits this
year, coffee, sugar and sugar cane de
serve special mention. American-made
plows and disk plows specially adapted
to sugar-cane cultivation were on dis
play.
Suspicious of the Home Folks.
Our Cousin Joe has no confidence
In anybody except strangers. If his
own brother were In the jewelry busi
ness Joe wouldn’t buy a pin or a lodge
emblem from him. If he needed any
thing of the kind he would purchase It
from some perfectly reliable fellow
that he had never seen before and
never expected to see again. If a good
substantial citizen that Joe has known
for 20 years should try to almost give
him a lot on one of the best streets of
the town Joe would laugh at him.
“None of you sharpers can trick me,”
Joe would say, and then he would buy
a lot In the Rocky mountains from
someone he had never seen or heard
of before.—Claude Callan In the Fort
Worth Star-Telegram.
Sweet, Young Thing.
In a local theater, one evening re
cently, a powerful spotlight revealed a
house fly crawling over the powdered
surface of a pretty girl’s back. “Oh,
lookle,” whispered a little girl, In tones
that could be heard all about her
“lookle at the fly 1” “Hush, dean” the
child’s mother cautioned. There was a
moment’s silence, then the little girl
again whispered hoarsely: “I spec the
fly thinks he is on a marshmallow.”—
Exchange.
So Should We.
We should hesitate to trade horses
with a man who makes his living thal
way.—Atchison Globe.
NOTICE TO
SICKWOME
Positive Proof That Lyd
E. Pinkham’s Vegetable
Compound Relieves
Suffering.
Bridgeton, N.J. —411 cannot speak tc
highly of Lydia E. Pinkham’s VereU
tne Compound fo
inflammation a n
oiner weaknesses,
was very irreguia
and wou. i have ter
rible pair., go that
could hare. y take
Step. Sor: - times
would be s -era
ble that I c . : r, >
sweep a nx r
doctored part
time but felt n
change. I later took Lydia L. 1
ham’s Vegetable Compound and s
felt a change for the better. I too* i
until I was in good healthy conditio:;
I recommend the Pinkham remedies t
all women as I have used them with sue
good results.”—Mrs. Milford T. Cum
MINGS, 322 Harmony St, Penn’s Grove
N. J.
Such testimony should be accepted b;
all women as convincing evidence o
the excellence of Lydia E. Pinkham’
Vegetable Compound as a remedy fo
; the distressing ills of women such a
! displacements,inflammation,ulceration,
backache, painful periods, netvousnesi
and kindred ailments.
Strict Obedience.
Hostess—Willie, your mamma tell
I me you always mind her.
! Youthful Guest—Yes, ma'am. I do
j She told me when I came to dinner
here today not to ask for nie>tb
; piece of pie, and I ain't never bu.
i it, though I want one awful bad.
Often a woman makes so much fu-s
over another woman's baby that you
almost think she means it.
Nothing else jolts the averts • • man
quite so hard as the attempt <0' a
homely woman to flirt with him.
Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets are the ord
inal little liver pills put up 40 year- ago.
They regulate liver and bowels.—Ad\.
The larger the bluff, the smaller It
looks when called.
Nebraska Directory
DOCTORS
MACH & MACH
DENTISTS
. 3rd Floor Pa*ton Bl»cw
116th 4 Farnam Sts .Omaha
' Beat equipped De::t • -a
in Omaha. ReMenahle p« *a
Special diacKiunt to a. I ; *■ *
living oatiido of O m . a
HOTEL
Omaha. Nebraska
' EUROPEAN PLAN
! Rooms from $1.00 up single, 75 cents up double.
CAT£ PRICES REASONABLE
Castle
632 S. 16th Street
Omaha, Neb.
New, absolutely fireproof
300 ROOMS
With private toilet f! 00;
with private bath iI .‘«i>
FRED A. CASTLE, Proprieto.
MID-WEST ELECTRIC CO.
1 *07 Barney St. Omaha. Neb.
709 Cherry St. Dea Moines, la.
ELECTRICAL JOBBERS
Distributors for General Electric Co : Americas
Electric Co., Telephones; C- A. Wood Pre^errer Co.
IT" A good stock of general supplies, both cities.
PAT ATT PC Livestock
DW ¥¥ uJClO Commission C*.
SHIPMENTS SECURED B7
$100,000.00 CAP!ftlD?Tpocl
BEST PRICES AND FILLS.
South Omaha Chicago Kas. City
NEBRASKA NATIONAL
INSURANCE COMPANY
LINCOLN. NEBRASKA
Fire, tornado and hall insurance, farm and
town property, automobile aud threshing ma
chinery. Policyholders aud &gent9 participate
In the profits of this company. Agents wanted
Inopen territory. 18th f**r. Ucp,n.t«d Ju. 4. IIH
GOLD. SILVER and
NICKEL PLATING
Tableware and silverware made new. Price,
reasonable. Wb But Old Dental Teeth.
OMAHA PLATING COMPANY
ErtaHabad 1698. 708 S. 18th St.. Omaha. Nah
Hotel Loyal, Omaha
Take Dodge Street Car From Station*
ABSOLUTELY FIREPROOF
AC 3 $1.00 op without bath.
rultc» I <1.50 up with bath.
Tho Hotel With a Reputation
m. E. BRTAMT—Preprietars-O. E. CARNET
As girls are now wearing j
their dispositions should be sweeter
than ever.
No winter is complete without pre
dictions of n coal famine "h.vh ne'er
materializes.
War continues to “hos tlie
light while peace waits dlscon
in the “wings.”
No matter how many poets are
at the front, the supply "ill al« ■ - v
ceed the demand.
DR. KNOLLENBERG, D, C.
■ k Specialize* in all forma of
Articular Rheumatism, Enlarged JoiaU,
Kidney Trouble and Nervousness
I have given Chronic DUeaaes st«. i
and I unhesitatingly say that n>>
treatment Is not eic« led j- • • fMt>
gardlesa of what he claims. tUMIM t«
If after examination I accept your ca-e •
Issue a written guarantee
My Cuaraniee To You:
You don't pay If I fWL M»» , V
Sanitarium under my care aud _
Letters of Indorsement on me at
Dr. W. H.Knollenberg
24th and Farnam Sts.. Omaha. Neb Doegtas