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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 20, 1917)
THE HILLMAN By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM JOHN HEARS MYSTERIOUS PHRASES WHICH TROUBLE hiM WITH GRAVE DOUBTS ABOUT LOUISE—AT TIMES HE WISHES HE WERE BACK IN THE HILLS. Syncps ..—!. • 5i :•«•!. failcurs actress, making a motor tour of rurt : j; _ . : ' i. v 11*'ti iier ■ :ir broke down, to spend the ■ ;!,♦ ; r . r 1 ;■ <•; Stephen and .John Strungewey, bachelor • t! < ri •: ! district. Hefore she left the next day » . I . • •■! John Thro in- nths later he went to London and ■. •• hit * to her friend*, among them Graillot. r , ■ -.n.l Sophy Goranl. a light-hearted little actress. John. f . 1 » x i. <-ti!ered the gay iMihcmian life of tlie city with , . .. p .. . a . • i tii. t John and the prince of Scyre were r,* j. for 'he Je irt Mid hand of Louise. Sophy also loved John ... -'r. I • . f: ■ ■■• ; ■ ejoioe John Into evil ways by sending fa. ,:mt"• u .-n *.« charm and bedevil him. CHAPTER XIV—Continued. -<* , - *' Maur»-i tii. ? -a 1. / o»t. . fri--' •!. S>'i-liy <■»• rT.r . . » . • • .. -in." John re |4ird. “I h .v. I.-.tight a Baedeker, ’iik*-u a ':.v . • !*> the 'lay. and done all the *.gV*. I’ve *j»-nt v«-eks in the iCatfota-.l g:i ry |-inure gn'.iti*. and l ir •!. *♦■ more modern *!»>»» .:j> r -und Bond street. 1 hate l«>ught a tig . .ir aii i <•. r:.- -1 to driv.- it. I • • .-n to dinner i<arti«-s that have rstred r . stiff. I ha'- - l“«-n introduced 111 <r-*- d* •: • ;-le W In*-Til i never wish «o *• a;: i'i Tel made one or two 'neii. " ti. i.-i-h d. at g at L:* gu>"t. :--r u 1 :I a:n j>rojs-riy grate tuL” “The i-r i.-e ha* tie.-ti showing you round a hit -n't he?" Grail!-*: grurl ed. “Th- j-riT e I.:-.* t»-en extraordinarily ktad tne.” J hn adt itted slowly, •for a. ■ r». * <i 1 don't know. He has ;ufr- i . * 1 t:.e to a great many pirns;: tit i nr '-resting people. and a great .> v S. ta I suppose a young ■'There I* No Socret About It. It is Leu se Waurel." man m i: -. • i -L u!d t — glad to i*. Il»- La» n.e i*iii- siile of 1*mj ' *n f. prey tie-rougl. y." "And !ia' a!- it all: ' liraillot demanded. *'V u find yourself soiue thing more of a citizen of the world, •to" *N-4 a lilt." John answered simply. ’Yh* tn I **••• of the life up here. ti»- smaller it >• as t < Uu . I m-au, of urs. the ord. .ary life of pleasure, tii' life la* lived Ly a young man iike ray—-If. «L hasn’t any profession or work upon h; h he can concen trate hi* droughts.” Then why do yon stay?" J 1. • r« ply. In stead. he wa! t the window of his «f:ng r »»in and stood looking across th" Thauw - vith a discontented frown ujshi hi- face. IP tween him and the Fri-erkan a eunous friendship had sprung up dur!’ g the last few months. “1 gather lira!Hot continu-sl. "Ihat, to I ’it c. mi- ,nd truthfully, you are he most hm ! man in London. Th. - m. th, rig t -hind all ibis ef fort of _ "ur*. it.;, fri.-nd. to lit your self. th.- round li'i' ; in being, into tin ; qua re place. Speak the truth, now! Tr< ar m* as a father confessor.” John swung round ut»m his heel. In 1h»- < !. ar iiglit it was obvious that hi was a little thinner in tae face am! that hliflk* of tl»- tan liad gone from lii* CMBph-UoU. “I an. staying up le-re. and going on vlth it." he iintc :uosl doggedly. “be {_us»- of a woman.” • irmliot s-opp. | eating. placed tin . -t : ius of Ins rake in ih«- saucer of hi; a*a'Up. tun*. : Then In .J*-tl<-d his III * to sjie;:k jmd aliniptl] dosi-i them. IL- n - 'lddeuly under went . i. ek’.t. m.iry change. A few SMands ago L. attitude bad heen thai of a prof-ssiir . \.itaiuing some favoriti object of vuey u..w a more persona ;. Ce had htunm iz-sl h* eX|ircs*ioU Whatever thougl : or red • -!ion it vva: •Put had .-otne . hi> mind. it hai {.tidily starttod bin.. “W ho i- the v\ i: n?" lie ilskis breathlessly. -Tii.rc is in. secret about It. so fa sa I aoi cots, rued.' J diu answered “It Is Louise Maurel. 1 thought yol uuft have foessed." The two men looked at each othe In silence for some moments. Out oi t»>e river a little tug was hooting via oft)BSjj The mar of the Strand caim fctwtly into the mein On the mantel piece a very ornate i reach clock wa ticking Ugidly- A l ,l“ sound heenie.1 suddenly a< . n.uated. The; teat time to a silence almost trogicu j J --— I ton many plays, and the dramatic in stinct was strongly developed in him. ■ I.ouis, y he mm tired under his breath. "She is very different. I know." John went on. after a moment's hesitation. “She is very clever and a great artist, and she lives in an atmosphere of which, a few months ago. 1 knew noth ing. 1 have come up here to try to ’Hi ;• rstand. to try to get a little nearer | to her." Tle re wa« raothe,- silence, this time almost an awkward one. Then Grail- j lot rose suddenly to his feet. ' I will resp. ot your confidence.” he promised, holding out his hand. “Have no fear of that. I aiu due now at the theater. Your tea is excellent, ai l 'U. h little cakes I never tasted be fore.” “You will wish me good luck?” -No!" “Why not?” John demanded, a little startled. "I’ei use," Graillot pronounced, "from what I have seen and know of j you l«'th, there are no two people in : ' wori ! less suitable for each other.” "Look here." John expostulated, “1 . n't want >ou to go away thinking so. V : don't understand what this means to me.” I'erhaps not. my friend. Gniillot : re|4led. “hut remeiiiher that it is at least my trade t<> understand men and ! women. I have known Louise Muu rel since she was a child.” "Then it is I whom you don't nn I dcrstand.” "That may he so”GrailInt confessed. ”< >ne makes mistakes. Let us leave t at that. You are a young man of undeveloped t»* .peramont. You may I t»- capable of much which at present I do not find in you.” “Tell me the one quality in which v..u consider me most lacking.” John he-.-g.-d, “I want you on my side. Grail lot.” “Aral I." Gruiilot repin'd, ns he shook las friend's hand and hurried off. " 'ant only to be on the side that will mean happiness for you both.” II • left tlie room a little abruptly. John walked buck to the window, op- ; 1 es-.-d with a sense of something ' almost one nous In the Frenchman's mu r. something which lie could not against which lie struggled in vain. Side by side with it. there surged into hi' memory tin* disquie t- ,. which his present relations with; i. ." had developed. She was always | • chancing when -lie laid any time to -pai-sometimes almost affectionate.; 'in tlie other hand, lie was profoundly •otiscious of her desire to keep him at arm's length for tlie present. He had aeeepted tier decision witli 1 out a murmur. He made but few ef forts to see tier alone, and when they met lie made no special claim upon tier notice. He was serving his appren ticeship doggedly and faithfully. Y'et •here were times like the present when he found his task both hateful and dif i fictilt. He walked aimlessly backward and , forward, eluding against the restraint ' <>f the narrow walls and the low ceil ing. A sudden desire had seized him i to fly hack to the hills, wreathed in mist though they might lie; to struggle on his way through the blinding rain, to drink down long gulps of his own purer. |es- djvilized atmosphere. Tin- telephone hell rang. He placed the ..iver to his ear almost me chanically. "Who is it?” ho asked. “Lady Hilda Mulloch is asking for you. sir.” the hall porter announced. Lady Hilda peered around John’s ; ro..ni through her lorgnette, and did not hesitate to express her dissatisfac tion. "My dear man.” she exclaimed, “what makes you live in a hotel? Why don't you take rooms of your own and furnish them? Surroundings like these are destructive to one's individuality.” “Well, you see,” John explained, as he drew an easy chair up to the fire for his guest, “mv stay in London is only u temporary one, and it hasn’t seemed worth while to settle any where.” Slo- stretched out her graceful body in front of the fire and raised her veil. I She was very smartly dressed, as usual. Her white silk stockings, which she I seemed to have no objection to dis playing, were of the latest vogue. The . chinchilla around her neck and in her j little toque was most becoming. She i ] seemed to bring with her an atmos phere Indefinable, In its way, hut dis . tinetly attractive, llrisk In her speech, , a little commanding in her manner, she was still essentially feminine. . John, at her direct invitation, had railed upon her once or twice since i their meeting at the opera, and he had ; found her, from the first, more at ’ tractive than any other society woman l of his acquaintance. None the less, he was a little taken aback at her pres l ent visit. "Exactly why are you here, any Ihav?” sin* <U*uiaiide<l. **I let*! sure mat Eugene told me the reason which lmd brought you from your wilds, but I have forgotten it.” “For one thing.” John replied, “I have come because I don't want to ap pear prejudiced, and the fact that 1 never spent a month in London, or even a week, seemed a little narrow-mind ed.” "What’s the real attraction?" Lady Hilda asked. “It is a woman, isn’t it?" "I am very fond of a woman who is in London.” John admitted. “Per haps it is true that I am here on her account.” Lady Hilda withdrew from her muff a gold cigarette case and a Uttle box of matches. “Order some mixed vermouth with lemon for me. please.” she begged. "I have been shopping, and I hate tea. I don't know why I came to see you. I suddenly thought of it when I was in Bond street.” "It was very kind of you.” John said. “If I had known that you cared about seeing me. I would have come to you with pleasure.” "What does it matter?” she an swered. “You are thinking, perhaps, that I risk my reputation in coming to a young man's rooms? Those things do not count for me. Ever since 1 was a child I have done exactly as I liked, and people have shrugged their shoulders and said. ‘ Mi. well, it is only Lady Hilda!’ 1 am quite con vinced tlint if I chose to take you olf to Monte Carlo with me next week and spend a month with you there, I should get my pass to the royal inclo sure at Ascot when I returned, and my invitation to the next court ball, even in this era of starch. You see. they would say. ’It is only Lady Hilda!’” The waiter brought the vermouth, which his visitor sipped contentedly. “So there is a woman, is there?’’ she went on, looking across the room at her companion. “Have you committed yourself already, then? IVm’t you re member what I told you the lirst night we met after the opera—that it is well to wait?” “Yes. I remember,” John admitted. “I meant it.” He laughed good-humoredly, yet not without some trace of self-conscious ness. "The mischief was done then.” he said. “Couldn’t it be undone?” she asked lazily. “Or are you one of those tedi ous people who are faithful forever? Fidelity,” she continued, knocking the asli from her cigarette, “is really, to my mind, the most bourgeois of vices. It comes from n want of elasticity in the emotional fillers. Nothing in life has bored me so much ns the faith fulness of my lovers.” “You ought to’ put all this into one of your bonk-.” John suggested. "I probably shall, when I write my reminiscences." she replied. “Tell ine about this woman. And don’t stand about in that restless way at the other end of the room. Bring n chair close to mi-—there, close to my side!" John obeyed, and his visitor contem plated him thoughtfully through a little cloud of tobacco smoke. “Yes." she decided, “there is no use denying it. You are hatefully good looking. and somehow or other I think your clothes have improved you. You. have a little more air than when you first came to town. Are you quite sure that you haven’t made up your mind about this woman in a hurry?” “Quite sure." John laughed. “I sup pose 1 am rather an idiot, but I am addicted to the vice of which you were speaking.” She nodded. “I should imagine,” she said, “that you were not an adept in the art of flirtation. Is it true that the woman is Louise Maurel?” “Quite true.” John replied. “But don’t you know—” She broke off abruptly. She saw the face of the man by her side suddenly change, and her instinct warned her of the danger into which she was rush ing. "You surprise me very much,” she said. “Louise Maurel ts a very won derful woman, but she seems to spend the whole of her time with my cousin, the prince.” “They are, without doubt, very friendly,” John assented. “They have a good many interests In common, and tlic prince is connected with the syn dicate which finances the theater. I do not imagine, however, that the prince wishes to marry her, or she him." Lady Hilda began to laugh, softly, but as if genuinely amused. John sat and watched her In ominous silence. Not the flicker of a smile parted his lips. His visitor, however, was undis turbed. She leaned over and patted his hand. “Simple Simon!” she murmured, leaning a little toward him. “If you go on looking like that, I shall pat your cheeks, too. You are really much too nice looking to wear such thun der clouds!” “Perhaps if we chose some other subject of conversation—” John said stiffly. “ttli, dear me!” she interrupted. “Very well! You really tire a most trying person, you know. I put up with a great deal from you.” John was silent. Her face darkened a little, and an angry light flashed in her eyes. “Well, I’ll leave you alone if you like,” she decided, tossing her cigarette into the grate. "If my friendship isn’t worth having, let U go. It hasn’t often been offered in vain. There are l^ore men in London than I could count who would go down on their kuees tor such a visit as I am paying you. And you—you," she added, with a Uttle tremble of real anger in her tone, “you're too hatefully polite and prig gish! Come and ring the bell for the lift. I am going!” She slid gracefully to her feet, shook the cigarette ash front her clothes, aud picked up her muff. “You are really an egregious, thick headed, obstinate countryman,” she de clared. as she moved toward the door. “You haven’t either manners or sensi bility. I am a perfect idiot to waste my time upon you. I wouldn’t have done it," she added, as he followed her dumbly down the corridor, "if I hadn't rather lilted you!” “I am very sorry.” he declared. “I don’t know quite what I have done. I do appreciate your friendship. You have been very kind to me indeed.” She hesitated as his finger touched the bell of the lift, and glanced at the watch on her wrist. She sighed, and watched the top of the lift as it came up. Then she dropped her veil. CHAPTER XV. “This Is very nearly tny idea of per fect happiness,” Sophy murmured, as she leaned across tin- table and listened idly while John ordered the dinner. “Give me very little to eat. John, and talk a great deal to me. I am de pressed about myself and worried about everything!" “And I." he declared, “am just begin ning to breathe again. I don't think I understand women. Sophy.” “Wasn't your week-end party a suc cess?" she asked. “Not altogether." he confessed; “hut don’t let’s talk about it. Tell me what i is depressing you." “About myself, or things generally?" “Yourself first." “Well, the most respectable young man you ever knew in your life, who lives in Hath, wants me to marry him. I don't think I could. I don't think I could live in Bath, and I don't think I could marry anyone. And I've just thirteen shillings and fourpence left. I haven't paid my rent, and my dress maker is calling for something on account on Monday morning." "There’s only one thing to answer i to that,” John insisted cheerfully. “I am going to lend y ui fifty pounds while you make your mind up about the young man.” She made a fac< at him. “I couldn’t borrow money from a strange gentleman." she protested. "Rubbish!” he exclaimed. “If you begin calling me a stranger—but there, never mind! We'll about that din ner. Tell me more about your love af fair. Sophy.” “It isn’t a love affair at all!” she ex claimed. almost indignantly. “Why, I am sorry. Your prospective alliance, then, shall I call it?" “Oh, it isn't interesting,” she said. “It’s just a young man in Bath. He is a lawyer and moderately well off. He has wanted me to marry him for years. He was a friend of my broth er's. Lately he has been bothering a little more than usual—in fact. I sup pose I have received what might be called an ultimatum. He came up yes terday. and 1 went out with him last night. He has gone hack to Bath this morning, anti I have promised to let him know in a month. 1 think that is why I went out to Waterloo bridge in a mackintosh and got wet.” “Do you like him?" John asked prac tically. “1 like him. I suppose." Sophy sighed. “That's the worst of it. If I didn't like him, there might he some chance. I can't realize myself ever doing more than liking him in a mild sort of way; and if lie expected more, as of course he would, then I should probably hate him. He tried to kiss me on the way to the station, and T nearly scratched him. That isn't like me, you know. I rather like being kissed sometimes.*’ John huri**d himself in the wine-list. “Well." he admitted, “it d<>esn't sound very hopeful. I'm no sort of judge in these matters, hut I have heard lots of people say that one gets on all right after marriage without car ing very much before. You don’t seem to have a very comfortable life now, do you?" “Comfortable? No. but I am free.” Sophy replied quickly. “I can come in and go out when I please, choose my ;■ ii v ' “You Really Are an Egregious, Thick Headed, Obstinate Country Man " j own friends. It’s rather fine to be here, you know—to be in the atmos phere, even if the limelight misses j one.” John sighed, and regarded her ] thoughtfully. “You're a queer little girl Sophy,” he said. “I don’t know how to advise you.” “Of course you don’t," site answered. “Xo one could. As for you. I suppose you will marry Louise. What will hap pen to you after that. I don't know. Perhaps I sha'n’t care so much about London then. You’ve made it very nice for me, you know.” “You've made it bearable even for me,” he told her. ”1 often think how lonely I should have been without you to talk to. Louise sometimes is de lightfully companionable, and kind enough to turn one's head. Other days I scarcely understand her; everything we say to one another seems wrong. I eouie away and leave her simply be cause I feel that there is a wall be tween us that I can't get over.” “There Isn’t really.” Sophy sighed. “Louise is a dear. Considering every thing. I think she is wonderful. But you are utterly different. She is very complex, very emotional, and she has h- r own standards of life. You, on the other hand, are very simple, very faith ful and honest, and you accept the standards which have been made for you—very, very rigidly, John. What are you looking at?” John’s whole expression had sudden ly changed. Ilis eyes were fixed upon the door, his face was stern as a grau Ite Mock. Sophy turned quickly around. The mPitre d’hotel. with an other satellite in his rear, was welcom ing with much ceremony two lately ad rived guests. Sophy clutched at the tablecloth. The newcomers were Lou ise and the prince of Seyre. "I don’t understand this!" John mut t< red. his lips twitching. Sophy Gerard said nothing. Her cheeks were pink with excitement. Suddenly Louise saw John ami So phy. She stood quite still for a mo ment ; then she came toward them, slowly ami a little languidly. The prince was st!" studying through his ejeglass the various tables which the head waiter was offering for his con sideration. “What an astonishing meeting!” Louise remark d. as she laid her hand for a montei,: on Sophy's shoulder. “What is going on behind my back?” John rose very slowly to his feet. He se.-med taller than ever, and Louise's smile remained unanswered. ' The rain broke up my week-end party.” he exp ined. “ami I met Sophy in rhe Strand. In any ease. I intended returning tonight. I understood thut you would not e here until tomorrow about eleven o’e -ek. ' Those were my plans." Louise re plied ; "But. as you see. other things have intervened. Our little house party, too, was hr* ken up by this abom inable weather. a;d we all motored up to town. The Faradays have gone! home. The primv heard from Miics that I was at h me. and telephoned nit' to dine. Me v.;**i!" John was strugg ing with a crowd of hateful thoughts. Louise was wearing a wonderful gown: her hair was beau- | tifully arranged; >he had the air of a woman whose toilet was complete ! and perfect down to the slightest de tail. The prince's slow drawl reached ’■ them distinctly. "It was my servant's fault. I sup pose." he ssiid. “I old him to ring up hist night and ord< • the table for two in that corner. II.* ever, we will take! the vacant one near your desk." He looked around and. as if for the first time, missed I.ouise. He came toward them at once. "The prince seems to have ordered his table last night," .T**hn remarked, his tone, even to himself, sounding queer and strained. Louise made no reply. The prince was already shaking hands with Sophy. "I thought you were spending the week-end with my cousin. Strange wev.” he remarked, turning to John. “We did spend part of it together,” John replied. “The weather drove us hack this afternoon.” “I congratulate you both on j-our good taste." said the prince. “There is nothing more abominable than a river side retreat out of season. We are tak ing the table on the left. Louise." He led her away, and they passed down the room. John slowly resumed j his seat. “Sophy.” he demanded hoarsely, "tell me the truth. Is there anything be tween the prince and Louise?" Sophy nervously crumbled up the toast by her side. "The prince admires Louise, and has done so for many years." she answered. "No one knows anything else. Louise never speaks of him to me. I cannot tell you.” “But you must know,” he persisted | with a little break in his voice. “For-1 give me. Sophy, if I made an ass of my self. First Lady Hilda, and then Grail lot. and then—well. I thought Louise might have rung up to see whether 1 was at home, if she eatne back sooner than she expected; and the prince took the table last night 1" She leaned over and patted him On the hand. “Don't worry." she begged. “If Lou is** has to choose some day between him and you. I don’t think she’ll hesi tate very long. Don’t look so stern. ^ please. You look very statuesque atm : perfect, but I don't want to dine with a piece of sculpture. Remember that j I am finding you too attractive foi my peace of mind. There s jour text. He poured a glass of wine and drank it off. •Til do my bert.” he agreed. "If ■' sounds like rubbish, you can still be lieve that I appreciate everythin? j'ou’ve told me. You are pretty, and 1 am lucky to have you here. Now I'll trj- to make you believe that I think so." She leaned over so that her head al most touched his. “Go on. please!" she murmured. “Even if it hurts afterward. It will be heavenly to listen to!” • * * » s * * The next night Sophy acted as show man at tile first production of the play, so long delayed because of Graiilot's insistence on a scene that promised to be startling to English playgoers. Her part was over at tin- end of the first act, and a few minutes later she slipped into a seat by John's side be hind the curtain. “What do you think of it so far?” site asked a little anxiously. "It seems quite good," John replied cheerfully. “Some very clever lines, and all that sort of thing; but I can’t quite see what it's all leading to." Sophj' peered around the house from behind the curtain. “There isn't standing room anj where,” she declared. "I don't sup ) ~ —v11'—i She Leaned Over and Patted Him en the Hand. l>ose there ever was a play in London that was more talked about; and then putting it off for more than three months—why. there have been all sorts of rumors about. Do you want to know who the people in the audience are?” “Not particularly." John answered. "I shouldn't know them, if you told me. There are just a few familiar faces. I see the prince in the box opposite.” "Did you telephone to Louise to day?" Sophy asked. John shook his head. “No. I thought it better to leave her alone until after tonight.” “You are going to the supper, of course?" "I have been asked." John replied, a little doubtfully. "I don't quite know whether I want to. Is it being given by the prince or by the management?" "The management.” Sophy assured him. "Do you come and take meT It’s going to be rather fun." The curtain went up upon the sec ond. act. John, from the shadows of the box. listened attentively. The subject was not a particularly new one, but the writing was brilliant. Then- was the old “Marquis de Guy,” a roue, a degenerate, but still over bearing and full of personality, from whose lips came some of Graillot’s most brilliant sayings: Louise, his wife; and Faraday, a friend of the old marquis, and obviously the intended lover of his wife. “I don't see anything so terrible in this." John remarked, as the crutuiu went down once more and thunders of applause greeted some wonderful iines of Graillot's. The mystery about the tife of Louise further troubles John and he sets forth to get the ex act truth, no matter how tragic for him it may be. iTO BE CONTINUED.) UNUSUAL BOATS ON ATLANTIC Demand for Tonnage for War Cargoes Brings Into Service Types That Are Rarely Seen. Many vessels of unusual type have appeared on the Atlantic in recent months because of tne demand for tonnage for war cargoes. Among them is the American four-masted barken tine John Palmer, a type of sailing ship seen frequently on the Pacific, but seldom on the western ocean. Like some other American sailing craft the John Palmer had an encoun ter with a submarine. She was luck ier than the Lyman W. Law, however, for she floated on her cargo and man aged to make port. While carrying lumber from Galveston to Genoa tlio Palmer was torpedoed 200 miles west of the latter port. After tl:c torpedoing the submarine was chased by a patrol boat, which 1 afterward took the Yankee vessel in tow. As she showed no signs of sink ing immediately the captain and crew remained on board. The I’alinor ! eventually reached port and was able ! to deliver Iter cargo, although she had i to bo beached. The John Palmer !s now being re : paired at Genoa, and it is expected she will be seaworthy in a short time and bring an Italian cargo to New York She was built of wood at San Fran cisco In 1901. Full Measure. Pat—I hear Kelly lost a foot In that railroad accident. Mike—He lost a yard—one of his own feet and two of his wife's 1—Towa Topics. ^ VALUE OF LIMBS APPRAISED Arrangement of Pension Lists in Eng land Has Humorous as Wetl as Pathetic Aspect. If the average man were asked to state the proportional value of his limbs, he would probably reply that such a task was as impossible to jht fr.mi as it was ridiculous to set. but the pensions ministry have had to make such an assessment recently, re marks London Tit-ltits. A new order in council has stipulated the weekly pension to he allotted to men who have lost a limb, and the list has its humors as well as its pathetic aspect. Thus we find it more profitable to lose vour leg at the thigh than above the knee; in fact, the place of amputation selected between the thigh and the knee may make a difference of 3s 6d a week. A leg taken off at the hip brings in a pension of 16s, a short thigh with pelvic band 14s. above the knee 12s 6d and below the knee 10s Gd. Pensions for the arm, too. have been measured by Inches, the right arm car vying a value of Is more than the ; left. Thus the right arm amputated tit the shoulder carries with it a pension of 16s a week, above or through the elbow 14s and below 11s 6d. This rat ing suggests a problem. Why should the extent of amputation from elbow to shoulder vary as much as 2s, and from elbow downward only 2s 6d? The | rising scale suggests that the lower j half of the arm is worth less than the | upper, a puzzle intensified by the fact ' tint a man cannot lose the upper part | without loss of the lower. -— I China wants American leather. I * ! CRISIS OF WOMAN’S LIFE Change Safely Passed by Taking Lydia E. Pinkham'a Vegetable Compound. Wagoner, Okla.—“1 never get tired of praising Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vege table Compound because during Chang: of Life 1 was in bed two years and bad two operations, but all the doctors and op erations did me no good, and I .. >ald have been in my grave today ha: it not been for Lyba E. Pinkham’s Veg etable Compoun . which brought me out of it all right, so I am now well and do all my housework, besides working in my garden. Several of my neighbors have got well by tak ing Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com pound.”— Mrs. Viola Finical, Wagon er, Okla. Such warning symptoms as sense of suffocation, hot dashes, headaches, back aches, dread of impending evil, timidity, sounds in the ears, palpitation of the heart, sparks before the eyes, irregu larities, constipation, variable apm-tite, weakness and dizziness should be leaded by middle-aged women. Lydia E. Pink ham’s Vegetable Compound has carried many women safely through the crisis. Here Is a Record! Talk about records! Here’s one1 at apparently lias every recorded re. rd beaten to a frazzle. Think of it—ocean to ocean in hail a day. We might possibly have believed it if our national defense board had an nounced the invention of some new and wonderful 10l)-mile-a-minute air plane—but on a bicycle—never. But it’s a fact. On August 2 Ed ward G. Anninger and two other young men covered the distance in twelve hours on bicycles—and what's more, rhey did it partly on railroad ties and loose gravel roads—and, of course, it's j the first time it’s ever been done. Well, come on! What’s the answer? If you must know, here it is. They did It across the Panama canal zone. —Financial American. MINNESOTA DRUGGIST PRAISES DR, KILMER'S _SWAMP-ROOT I believe you have a splendid, relial le fcdnev, aver and bladder medicine in Dr Kilmers Swamp-Root, and my customers vno have taken it during the past thirtv MX years have nothing hut praise for whit it accomplished for them. On account of the splendid reputation which it tn.-n- in the trade I have no hesitancy in recom mending it for the troubles for which it is intended. Your? very truly, J. G. SIEBFX. Druggist. Sept. 21, 1916. Hastings, Mina. Letter to Dr. Kilmer 6* Co. Binghamton. N. Y. Prove What Swamp-Root Will Do For You Send ten cents to Dr. Kilmer & Co., Binghamton. N. \for a sample «iz bottle. It will convince anvone. You will also receive a booklet of valuable in formation. telling about the kidnevs uni bladder. When writing, be sure and men tion this paper. Large and medium -ize bottles for sale at all drug stores.—Adv. Seized Her Opportunity. For nine long years he had been wooing tlie fair daughter of the farm. ‘‘Jennie," he mused, as they sat on the old fence. ”1 read the other day that in a thousand years tile Lakes of Killarney will dry up." Jennie clutched his arm excitedly. “Oh, Tom!’’ she exclaimed. “What's the matter, lass?” “Why. as you promised to take me there on our honeymoon, don't y. >u think we’d better be a little careful that they don't dry up before we get there?” N. B.—The next month the wedding bells rung in the village. The Other Side. “Young man,” said the office mana ger, “if you knew as much about the business of this firm as yo» do about baseball you’d be holding down my job.” “I know that, sir,” replied the office boy. “And if you’d mnke your busi ness as interesting as baseball you’d have kids heggin’ for a chance to work for you and willing to pay for the privilege.” Change the Name. “John.” she said sternly, “the coal bin is empty.” “Yes,” was the disconsolate reply. “It’s that way the most of the time. It's never of use in an divergency. I’m going to change Its name, and call it a coal has-bin!” In after years a man begins to ap preciate the woman who handed him the Icy mitt. The wholesome nutrition of wheat and barley in most appetizing form
