Image provided by: University of Nebraska-Lincoln Libraries, Lincoln, NE
About The Red Cloud chief. (Red Cloud, Webster Co., Neb.) 1873-1923 | View Entire Issue (May 21, 1914)
"0Hvf '.' "imp -. ja-i. -X , ... . v , , v - -- - . jflg --.- Tffrftff w- "T"- g''S "Jl " - u It RED CLOUD, NEBRASKA, CHIEF ' SSKSRKSHHIHiHS mmmmwmmmmm WMWggT? " '" JwwwwmwwWWWBnwifcAB ...... .,.,T, i immniM.,,..! vi" "- r"ji fy $ ' y m & r -., & '" " ft? LAPSE G DSOCnVENTWOEin ISABEL GORDON CURTIS Author tf "The Womarxrom Wolverfons" ILLUSTRATIONS ILL5 VORTHl YOUNG- COPYRIGHT, I9W- DV F.C. DROWSE 6tCO- SYNOPSIS. Knocli Wentworth, newspaper man. and Andrew Morry, nctor, after the RUeats at a poker party havo departed, piny a final hand the stakes of which Rlvo (ho win ner absolute control over the future of (the loaer, Wentworth wins. They decide ito Keep the matter aecret. Wentworth' liter, Dorcas, sees Merry depart and la fntereated In her brother's alory of the actor. CHAPTER III Continued. Andrew pulled the soft bat over hla i, yea and sprawled out on the rock Hedge. 1 ' Dorcas began with a nervous laugb. "It sounds like presumption, I know . ,sw tittle of tbe world, only I have been totutfyiag you" ,w- Jim i worm toe trouuioT' ue inior- U m- tLflaBf orth the trouble! 1 don't believe .Ptikaow yourself yet. You have a $ .1JeJUrful Imagination and such, knowl fa jadfo f h,Uman nature. You could write '& am rtlt nlav ninv nt thorn nnaalhlv i-.l v IT " - - .- iw-w.u.4. " rw-'i...-. - . . , i iivimun mcuauawomen. xounave Atwara Mrs me sou in oi some oi mom "VwlW1 you talked with me. After you .rHMrtmara hnlnar Intn lUo think hntii vrvil r "j wli w At t . . .. 48 TotiW make him live again on tbe feYtae!" tij Dorcas Jumped to her feet. "An 1t- ,ow "wry, go 10 worm now mom I'M (what you can do, If for nothing elBQ than to please me and nrovo that I haven't made a mlBtako." ' "Mine Dorcas, sit down." The girl looked at her companion curiously. "Let me shake hands on a bargain," lie laughed. "That's a foolish little 'ceremony I used to go through with mother when I was a boy? If I prom ised faithfully I would do anything, I book hands on It." Dorcas held out hor hand cordially. IHer clasp was magnetic. , 'Sit down again and listen," he 'begged. "For years and years and "yean I've had a play crystallizing In my mind. It's all blocked out. Let me tell you about It." " , Dorcas sat leaning forward, her face 'between her hands, her,eyea glowing with Interest. "My hero is cashier In a bank, a young fellow of good family, Jovial, happy-go-lucky, generous, democratic. ,He has married the bank 'president's daughter, who is exactly his opposite cold blooded, haughty, selfish and fond of luxury. There Is a sweet, tender .little daughter. The love between the (father and the child Is beautiful. The man, trusting to luck to see him (through, steals for years, covering his (defalcations in the cleverest way. He had to get money, for his wire denies herself nothing. The father-in-law dls (covers tho crime, exposes it to his 'daughter, then drops dead. She gives 'her husband up to public Justice. His Itrtal comos off and he is sentenced to twenty years. The child Is told that ishe 1b fathorless. Tho wifo takes her father's fortune and goes West. When 'the second act opens she has divorced the husband and married again. The 'child Is a lovely, true-hearted woman. 'She la engagod to the young mayor of the city, and preparations are afoot for jthe wedding, when she receives a let ter from tho one man who remained jloyal to her father an old Janitor at Hho bank. He tells hor. tho story which had been hlddon from her. The father, penniless, broken down, hopeless, is to leave prison In a few weoks. She' confronts her mother, who donles the story, but later confesses. The girl breaks her engagement, leaves home, and goes East' Tho old Janitor takes her to live near tho prison until her father Is releasod. Every day she watches the convlctH at their lock stop tramp and eeoB her father. The closing ot that act, when sho moets him leaving prison, can bo tremendous In human Interest." He turned to look at Dorcas, "Go on," she said. "The lost act is laid in a New Eng land vlllago, among slmplo country .people. The girl and her father are living on a little farm. Her lover 'comos, having searched for her every where. Sho tells him tho story. Ho marries her and takes the father home iwlth them." Merry paused. The sun had dropped elow the horizon and the western sky 'glowed In- red, gold and purple. "When," cried Dorcas In a flush ot enthusiasm, "when will you bogln to write?" "At once, tomorrow, I'll go away some where; I can't do It here." "Go to Enoch," she said. "He will be delighted. He has such faith In you and he loves you. Besides, you'll .have his sympathy. Poor Enoch, the one ambition of his life Is to be a famous dramatist," "No?" said Merry incredulously. "Don't tell him you know It I dis covered it by accident I was tidying bis desk one day. I came on a pllo ot manuscript There were dramas, comedies, tragedies, oven comic operas, Ho has been writing that sort of thing for years and years." "Queer be never told mo! What were they like?" "Don't think mo disloyal, but they are awful! Some day, whon hegots a great plot, he thinks he will succeed. Ho won't It was cruel to toll him so. He's nothing but an export newspaper man," "Dear, good, generous old Enoch t" "You will never tell him never?" "I won't," said Merry. They sat for a few minutes In silence. The flush of the sunset began to fade from the sky. Seagulls, wheoled above their beads. "We must go home," said Andrew. "Crossing those rocks In tho dusk would be perilous." Dorcas rose and followed htm, clasp ing bis outstretched hand. When they leaped down from the sea wall to the beach, the girl asked: "This Is our last evening here?" "I Imagine so. You go to New Haven next wook, don't you?" Dorcas nodded. '"Think of me working with all tho courage and energy you have awak ened. Whon tho play Is written I will bring It straight to you." There was eager anticipation In her eyes. "When you come I will ask a favor. May I play the daughter ot the convict?" "You!" Andrew stopped and looked down at her Intently. "You you dear child, you sweet, gracious woman!" Dorcas lifted her cool hands to her blazing cheeks. "Linton! You don't think I could do It. 1 could. I have loved Shukespeare since I was a little girl. I know Juliet and Dcsdemona and Rosalind, but I've lived with Cordelia, I'vo loved her. I'vo seen into her soul. Your girl is Cor del la. I could play tho part even if 1 havo never been on tho stago. Be sides I can work; oh, you ought to see how I can work when I have to!" "It is not that," Andrew protested. "You could play Cordelia we'll call the girl 'Cordelia' now as no one I know. It Is not that. It Is such a hard life tho one you would choose, and It Is so different from anything you know." Dorcas spoke Impatiently. "Enoch said that If I should go on the stage I would be no different from what I am today." "Let us go home. There's Mrs. Hutchlns supper horn," They walked on in silence. That evening Merry sat for half an hour with an Idle pen In his hand. At last he pulled a sheet of paper toward him and wrote In feverish haste: Dear old Enoch Send me flOO to the Broadway today, please. Don't ask questions, don't try to And me; I'll turn up when I've finished some work. Your slave, MERRY. CHAPTER IV. The Play. Enoch Wentworth sat before a table littered with sheets ot manuscript when a knock Bounded on the library door. "In a second!" he .pried. Then be tried to gather the pages together In numerical order. "All right," cried a cheerful voice. "Lord, It's Merry!" whispered Enoch. Ho swept the sheets ot paper into a drawer of his desk, then he rose and opened the door. Morry stepped Into tho room with a dancing light hearted gaiety that Enoch bad seen him don with his stage garb. Still It was accompanied by a dignity of man ner odd to tho comedian, a dignity which had self-respect behind it Went worth put an arm about him affection ately. "Havo you como Into a fortune, boy?" he aekod with a laugh. "Bolter than that I'm on tho verge of making a fortune." , "Good!" Enoch pushed him Into a comfortable chair and stood looking down at him. "Let's havo tho news, boy." "I 'will," answered Merry slowly. "I've got to I want your ndvlco and help. I need It ub I nover needod It in my life before. Only I'm not going to trot out a word of It until wo are sure of a couplo of hours clear. I can't stand a solitary interruption today." Wentworth shut and locked tho door, then ho opened a sinnll cupboard. "What'U you havo?" he asked, lift lug down a couple of glasses. "Nothing." Audrew pulled a large envelope from his pocket and sat down beside tho Are, Wentworth faced him with an expectant look upon bis face. "You nover guessed, I suppose, that I'm an Inclplont playwright?" "Neverl" Enoch's tone was em phatic. "Well," Merry laughed hilariously, "well, I am, I'm tho coming dramatist." "I take off my hat to you, boy." Enoch swept him a pantomlmo bow. "Wait a minute." Tho comedian's face growunueually resolutp. "Walt, old man, you've got to take thiH .seri ously, or I won't tell you a blessed word about It." Morry rose and laid his hand on Enoch's shoulder with un Imploring gesture. "Dear old man, I want your help and guldanco. I'm such a blamed unbuBlucss-liko chump. If yon hadn't been head und right hand and mother, fathor and brother to-mo for years, as well ae tho truest friend a man ever had, I'd have been In the gutter. Enoch," Morry'B face flushed, "if I win out, it means more to me than fame or wealth it means the happiness of a lifetime." "Andrew! A woman at last" The actor nodded gravely. "Yob, a ..woman at last." "Not Drusllla7" "Oh. rnrh vour rilrlniiltV.M ho laughed lightly; "you can't have every- tning at once, now rm going to reaa, Wentworth lit a cigar, leaned back In a leather chair, and turned his eyes steadfastly upon the man opposite him. Merry was u singularly dramatic reader. Across his face flashed each human emotion as he put it Into words. Enoch forgot the outer world when Merry leaped Into tho words with which ho had clothed a daughter's greeting to her outcast father a father disqualified, hopeless, timid, stunned, dumb after the long separa tion from his fellows. Wentworth'e cigar went out and he forgot to light another. He eat In utter silence a silence which was half critical, although at moments he was deeply stirred, partly by surprise, partly by unconscious emotion. He breathed a half-stifled sigh. This task, such a eplendldchlevemont, had cost Andrew Began to Pace the Room Im patiently. one man a month's labor! He remem bered the years of ardent toll he had spent on what, as he realized sadly, wss poor. It was worse than poor It was futile. Even Dorcas had sadly but truthfully acknowledged Its Impos sibility. When Merry spoke the last word and the curtain fell, he looked up with triumph and Joy shining In his eyes. Then he waited In silence, as If for ardent hands to clasp his own. It was an actor's pause for the thunder when he knows he has won his audience. Enoch's Angers lay clasped together on his knees, his eyes bent on the glowing caves of the coal Are. As tho actor Bpoko his voice had a chill, shiv ering note in it "Say, old man, Isn't It good? Toll me don't you like It?" "Like It?" echoed Wentworth. He turned his eyes straight on Merry's questioning face. "Why, boy, It's mag nificent You'll pull Broadway to its feet with that Merry, you've done a tremendous piece or work. That will live for It ought to live for years." "Thanks, old man, thanks with all ray heart. You can't Imagine bow hard it was to wait for your verdict" "It's wonderful," mused Wentworth, "It's a corker!" "Now, old man," Andrew Jumped to his feet and began to pace tho room impatiently, "I waut to rush it on the stage quick! Quick, I say. Hecht will take it, I know." "I suppose you'll play the convict?" "Good God, what elee could I play?" Andrew stopped suddenly and looked down at Wentworth. "You'll kill your reputation an a comedian." "Porhaps you'll bo Interested In knowing thnt I'vo thrown up my pait in 'The Left-over Bachelor.' No more doddering idiots for me! ' Why, it will bo easy sledding to get this on." "Andrew, you're a steam engine." "Did you think I was a steam roller?" "Well, it's waked you up. That's dead certain. Who did It?" "The woman I told you." Merry turned aside and etood with hla back to Enoch, running his eyes over a vol ume be had lifted from a bookshelf. "Say, old man," suggested Went worth, "leavo that with me over night You've given me a lot to think about I want to read ft again when I'm alone." Tbe closely written sheets fell re luctantly from the comedian's hand. He fondled the paper as If It wero a beloved child. "You'll be careful of it, won't you, Enoch?" ho said anxiously. "It's all I have. My first draft was a garbled, dirty mess; I threw it away." "Bless your soul, I'll bo careful. When I'vo finished I'll put If la my uato. I'll havo It typewritten tomor row' Merry laughed. "Good night, old pard; I'm grateful for your faith In mo." "Good night, boy." Enoch gripped 4iis hand. "I'm terribly glad to havo you make good, Your play is wonder ful." Merry went down the stairs whis tling. A few seconds later ho turned back. He put his head In at tho door and said In a melodramatic whisper: Pill "Hush the business, my lord, I'm owing theo a hundred and much else. It shall be paid with rnmpound interest from the first night's leturns." Then ho laughed and shut the door. "A hundred!" whispered Wentworth. He dropped Into tho chair beside the Are and covered his face with his hands, The room had grown dark and It was so silent that when a cinder fell from the grate It made him start to his feet He searched for a small brass key on his ring, hurried into the library, and unlocked a drawer In tho desk. He took a slip of paper from a yellow envelope and stood staring at It for several minutes. Ills brows wrinkled nnd a curiously startled ex pression came into his eyes. Ho drew a long breath, put the paper back In the envelope, laid it In the drawer, and turned the key In the lock. 'He walked to a window, which looked down on tho square, and stared at the life of the city. 'It was a habit of his. He has solved many a knotty problem with his eyes Axed unconsciously upon the busy street The thought-spell lengthened out Indefinitely, then ended abruptly. He hurried to his- den, lifted Andrew's manuscript, and seated himself before the desk. From a lower drawer he took a heap of paper, Ailed the Ink well almost to overflowing, und tried several pons before he found one that sultod him. Then, switching on the qlectriclty under it green-Bhudcd bulb, ho began with steady laborlousness to copy Merry's play. Tho clock struck throe before his task was ended. He gathered the manuscript Into two neat piles. One he placed in his safe, tho other he locked In the drawer which held the bit of paper he had studied so Intently. He returned to his chair beside the ghost of a Are, laid. his face between his palms, and fought a battle between two antagonists, his conscience and temptation. He felt as if his soul was In shackles. CHAPTER V. The Forfeit of the Bond. Tho telephone In Enoch Wontworth's room rang insistently. He had gone to bed three hours before, and he struggled to shako off sheer, stupid drowsiness. He rushed to the tele phone. Its rlug had become per emptory. "Hullo," he called briskly. "Hullo, old chap," Merry" answered him gully. "The top o' the morning to you." "Good morning." Wentworth's alert ness died in a second. Something flashed back to his mind, something unpleasant, and an ugly frown corru gated his brow. "Grouchy this morning?" cried Merry with a laugb. "Or say, did I wake you from your beauty sleep?" "You certainly did." "Old man, I'm sorry, blamed sorry. Some day I'll show you I'm grateful. I couldn't sleep last night, I lay think ing of something I can do for you when my production begins to pay. I'm going to drag you away from the everlasting grind. We'll go to Switzer land next summer and carry out your dream. We'll sit on mountain tops, crane our necks over tbe edge of a crevasse, and skid down a glacier." "I'd rather go back to bed," growled Wentworth. "You lazy old duffer, you may go in a second, only I want to talk to you about the luckiest sort ot accident. Last night I ran across a fellow who's rolling In money. He'e. crazy to get in on a theatrical venture. We can catch him, I know. I want you to have a big share, to manage the thing and mako all you can out ot It." "Did you tell him It was your play?" Enoch's tone wbb brusque. "No, I thought I'd break that gently. He thinks now I'm a devil of an actor; he might imagine I couldn't have so much versatility; that my play might be of the brand some actors turn out." "Good," cried Enoch, warmly. "You have moro Bsnse than 1 gave you credit for." "Really? Now, old pal, go back to bed. But tell mo first when I can see you. I want a long talk with you." "Make It four. I'vo a pile of work to do before that time." "All right, four o'clock. Good-by." Wentworth hung up tho receiver nnd paesed a hand across his forehead; it was cold and damp. He did not re turn to bed, but dressed hurriedly, pausing once or twice to stare at him self In the mirror. His face looked un familiar. It seemed to have aged. There were lines about the clean shaven mouth he bad never noticed boforo. At four o'clock Enoch sat In bin library. He was so absorbed that he dtd not hoar a step In the hall. When he lifted hie eyes Merry stood boforo htm. Wentworth stared for a second beforo he took tho outstretched hand. Merry had changed. He looked young, handsome and 'vivacious he was better groomed. A few stems of Roman hyacinths Bat Jauntily In his buttonhole. His trlmness seemed odd ln'contrast to the old whimsical care lessness, as if he had already achieved fame and was living dp to it, dressing up to it. These wero the thoughts that flashedthrough Wentworth's mind whllb Merry took his bands affection ately between his own. Andrew was only a few years younger than Enoch, but occasionally ho fell Into fond, dem onstrative ways which were boyish. Wentworth drew his hand away sud denly and pointed to the low chair op posite. His friend sat down half per plexed, halt anxious. "Say, old man, aren't you well? You look groggy." Tm well enough." "You're working too hard, you al ways did I" Wentworth did not answer. His eyes were studying a pattern In the rug be neath his feet. "Say, Enoch, you're going to tend to tho whole business, aren't you?" Tho newspaper man lifted his eyes. "Yes, I'm going to tend to the whole business. I'll make It the finest pro duction that New York has seen In years. 'The House of Eeterbrook' Is going to win money and fame." "Good!" Merry Jumped up and Aung his arms around the shoulders of the older man. "Sit down," said Enoch. "We're go ing to talk business." He rose, walked to bis desk, and emptied a drawerful of papers on the table. Merry watched him with a puz zled expression. -"You never guessed, Andrew, that your ambition was mine?" Enoch did not lift his eyes or pause for a reply. "For years and years and years 1 have dreamed Just ono dream, only one that some day I might produce a great play. Bee how I worked!" He swept the manuscript Into an untidy heap. There were thousands of sheets. He had written on paper like onion skin. It iooked like tolt--one had a feeling ot years ot toll after a glance at the laboriously Interlined and reconstruct ed sentences. Wentworth crushed It merclfessly into loose bunches and be gan to lay tho pages by handfuls upon tho reviving Are. A little flamo climbed up und kindled them Into a wavering blaze. "Here, here, Enoch, old fellow," cried Merry, "don't!" There was a thrill of compassion in his votco. "Bay, don't this ie a wicked thing to do." Wentworth paid no heed to him. He gathered the sheets together with quiet deliberation, crushing them as one would crush some hated, despised living thing, and burned them with stolid satisfaction. "That funeral's over," he said ab ruptly. "Now I'm In a mood for busiuese." He turned to his desk. Merry's eyeB followed him. They were dim with unspoken sympathy, but ho knew tho man well enough not to put It Into words. Wentworth pulled out his key-ring, oponed a drawer, and took the slip of paper from tho yollow envelope. He Btood staring at It for a moment A wave of crimson swept across his face, then hie mouth straightened Into a cruel, iucxorablo line. Merry's eyes were still Axed on him. Enoch did not speak, but crossed the room with the paper In his hand and laid It on the table beside Merry. Andrew's eyes took it in with one sweeping glance; It was tho bond he had signed when they played that last hand of pokor. "Do you remember this?" asked Wentworth abruptly. "Of course. Say, old chap, what has that to do with our business? Oh, I know." He lifted his eyes with a relieved glance. "Of course It's an understood thing you're to run things, and as for money, Lord, 1 don't care for money. Take all yo'U want ot it It's fame "my heart's, set on; I've a grand ambition and a thirst for great ness as I told you but It" runB in only one direction; to win a name as When He Lifted His Eyes Merry Stood Before Him.' a dramatist, a namo that will live whon my capering days are over, I want a halo; not such an aureole as Shakespeare's," his oyes sparkled and a smile lighted his face, "but a halo I demand a halo. I'll be satisfied with nothing smaller than a cartwhoel." Ho roso and went prancing buoy antly about the room on his toe tips, humming a fantastic waits from "The King at Largo." Wentworth sat with a grim, brooding look In his eyea. An drew stopped to stare at him. "Why so mum, sweet Sirrah?" he asked blithely. "Merry," Wentworth spoke In an ex pressionless voice, "read that bond through carefully. 'Read It aloud." Tho actor picked up the sheet ot paper and read It with dramatic ges tures, bowing almost prostrate at oach pause. To Enoch Wentworth. I hereby pledge myself to you until death to do your every bidding to obey your 9Wtry demand to the ex tent of my physical and mental ability you to furnish me with support ANDREW MERRY. Ho droppod lightly upon his knees In front of Wentworth when he flnlshod. "I await thine orders, most grave and reverend aeigneur," Then he laid hla Angora upon Wentworth's arm, and looked up with nn expectant smile, (TX3 BE CONTINUED.) . r Thoughtful. Little Delia was slowly turning the leaves of her nursery book whon sud denly sho looked up and inquired: "Mother, what day was I born on?" "Wednesday, dear." "Wasn't that fortunate! it's your day 'at home,' " replied the little inlsa. Harper's Magazine FACE ITCHED AND BURNED 983 No. Union St., Aurora, III. "Mf ailment started with a little pimple and It always Itched and burned ter ribly, I scratched It and In a few days my face was all covered with, sores. It ran up to my eyeB and the day after I could not soo out of my right eye. I was unable to get any rest I couldn't go to bed, being afraid of getting tho clothing all soUed, although I had my) faco all bandaged. "I was given two Jars of salve but It kept getting worse. It was some thing like a running sore because very time I used some of tbe salve had to wrap bandages around my neck to keep the water and pus from running down my body. I wrote for a ample of Cutlcura Soap and Oint ment and In a few days I received these and washed my face with the Cutlcura Soap and put on some Cutl cura Ointment and tho next morning my face felt cool and somewhat re lieved. After using the sample I bought some Cutlcura Soap and Oint ment at tho drug storo. I followed this treatment Just twenty-six days and after using ono cako of Cutlcura Soap and two boxes ot Cutlcura Oint ment I was cured." (Signed) George Miller, Jan. 1, 1913. Cutlcura Soap and Ointment sold throughout tho world. Sample of each free.wltb 32-p. Skin Book. Address post- , oard "Cutlcura, Dent. L, Boston." Adr. Fatal Defect. Tho Rev. BaBcom Anthony, a presid ing elder of the Methodist church In southern Georgia, tells a story of a negro pastor down his way who failed to give satisfaction to his flock. A comltteo from tho congregation walb ed on him to request his resignation. "Look hero!" demanded tho. preach er. "Whut's do trouble wld man preachln'? Don't I argufy?" "You sho' does, eldah," agreed the spokesman. "Don't I 'sputify concerning de Scrip tures?" "You suttlnly does," admitted the other. "Den what's wrong?" "Well, eldah," stated the bead ot the committee, "hit's dls way: You ar gufies and you 'sputlfles, but you don't show wherein!" Saturday Evening Post On Holiday. While visiting his uncle In the cou try Willie was much Interested In watching the ducks "tipping up" la a pond. "They're most all young ones, aren't they?" he observed to his uncle. "Why, no, boy; they're old ones. What makes you think they are young ?'- "I thought they were young," Willie explained, "because they don't seem to be ablo to swim without upsetting." -Saturday Journal. , No Need. Smith My wife is wearing the new trouser eklrt. Ib yours? Jones (sadly) She doesn't need to, She's been wearing the old kind evei since we were married. - Nothing to It 4 "Pa, what's a mirage?" "The average man's dream ot grea ness, son." Baltimore Sun. LIVING ADVERTISEMENT Glow of Health Speaks for Poetum It requires no scientific training to discover whether coffee disagrees or not Simply stop it for a time and use Postum In place of it, then note the beneficial effects. The truth will ap pear. "Six years ago I was In a very bad condition," writes a Tenn. lady. "I suffered from Indigestion, nervous ness and insomnia. "I was then an Inveterate coffee drinker, but it was long before I could be persuaded that It was coffee that hurt mo. Finally I decided to leave It oft a tow days and find out tho truth. "Tho first morning I left off coffee I bad a ragjng headache, so I decided I must havo something to take tbe place of coffee." (The headache was caused by the reaction ot the coffee drug caffeine.) "Having heard of Postum through a friend who used it, I bought a package and tried it I did not like It at first but after I learned bow to make it right, according to directions on'pkg., I would not change back to coffee for anything. "When I began to use Postum X weighed only 117 lbs. Now I weigh , 170 and as I have not taken any tonlo in that time I can only attribute my present good health to the use of Poa-v torn in place of coffee. I "My husband says I am a living ad vertisement for Postum." Name given by the Postum Co., Ba lie Creek, Mich. Postum now comes in two forms: Regular Postum must be wen boiled. IGo and 25o packages. Instant Poitunvr-ls a solublo pow der. A toaspoonful dissolves quickly in a cup of hot water and, with cream and sugar, makes a delicious bever age jnstantly 30o and COo tins. The cost per cup ot both kinds is about the same. "There's a Reason" for Postum. fold by Grocers. A i ) it , Stf y- W 'V1" W,. ', ' ' ft'fe '3lu L vvvJv.tij'SiW j&tff . , 'gtiS-f pjA. 3
