Decatur Daily Democrat, Volume 22, Number 300, Decatur, Adams County, 18 December 1924 — Page 6

The Salad ! Woman By CLARISSA MACKIE •» " **• (Copyright.) TUTAIIK LONSDALE sat down at the A’* yellow puinted table and looked with a bored nud weary eye at the flocks of black geese that flew In triangles over the yellow walls. Geese everywhere, all sizes, but always black, cither waddled up and down or flew across the walls. “Good huntin' here," he grinned to himself us a waitress approached. He rather expected her to be attired as the famous Goose Girl, and leading a bluek goose In leash, but she was just a plain everyday little waitress. Murk studied the tnenu thoughtfully. He was lunching early, and his appetite was fickle. “A salad —some tea —and you might bring me some cake." “What kind of saludT' she asked. “Something good, that’s all," and he opened the magazine lie hud bought. As he surveyed the delectable luncheon placed before him, Murk felt a pang of homesickness. "May Appleby’s own recipe." he thought, startled out of his weariness; “there's that trick of flavoring that she would never tell a soul —no one could guess what It was 1" He leaned back in his chair and beckoned to the waitress./ “This salad," he tried to speak care--ly, but' the matter was of such great importance to him that his voice shook, "this salad Is very good.” She beamed upon him. “Yes, sir, it is one of out specialties.” “< >f course It Is made here —at the Black Goose?” “Yes, sir.” “Perhaps it is the manager's own recipe?” he suggested. "No, sir, we have a very good salad woman," she said primly and moved away. She thought the pale, stern young man was trying to flirt with her. Mark ate the salad slowly, dwelling painfully on his on? romance —a pitiable romance whose aroma was not that of rose or violet, the delicate pungency of a salad. But in the old days they hud called It “Mayapple Salad,” because May Appleby had contrived its peculiar dellclousness. He had been on the point of asking May Appleby to marry him when business suddenly called him to the Far West. From there he had gone to British Columbia, and finally Alaska. He wrote letters to May ami never had a reply. His own people wrote that Mr. Appleby had suddenly died, the family had scattered, and May and her mother had disappeared. When Mark came home he went to the Appleby farm and found it in the hands of strangers. No one knew I where May and her mother were at ( present, but they had “gone to the ' city," and as the city happened to be a very large one, Mark was still go- ' Ing through the needle-and-haystack j experience. At last the salad came to an end and a delicious chocolate layer cake was set before him. “What is the name of the satad I have just eaten?” he asked. She referred to the menu. “That is mayapple salad,” she said, and hurried away. Mark went out of the place in a daze. Somebody was making May’s own particular salad, and he was a poor sleuth if he could not discover his love’s whereabouts through the medium of tliat delectable dish. He knew that in the busy tea shop there was little chance of obtaining such information, but he did try the telephone in a nearby drug store. “I am so sorry,” trilled a sweet voice, “but Miss Appleby went home at eleven o’clock. Her home address?" a sudden congealing of the sweetness. "I am very sorry, but that Is quite impossible.” "She will come tomororw morning,” argued Mark doggedly, “and I will take my early stand In this drug store window even if I have to pay a rental for it —and I will wait until she does come!” Having made ghis threat he finished the day contentedly enough ond slept wonderfully well for a harassed man. At seven o’clock the next morning he took his stand on the comer near the drug store, which did not open until eight. In the drug store it is a matter of history that he , waited two mortal hours before he rec- I ognized a certain slim, erect form come swinging around the comer. His dasli from the store was in record time, and he managed to catapult into May Appleby in front of the tea shop. ’ Tlie basket she carried went flying. “Mark Lonsdale!” gasped Miss Ap- i pleby. “Why—Mark, you’ve upset my i salad forever!” She bent over him 1 as he picked up the basket and found the well-packed salad quite unharmed. “May, do you love me?” he asked, ' desperately, after she had hurriedly ex- l plained her mother's mortified pride | at their fallen fortunes had compelled i their hiding themselves for awhile. I “May. do you love me as much as I i love you?” “To ask such a question at such a time! Well, if you Insist, Mark,’’ she 1 lowered her voice to a whisper and blushed rosily, “I don’t know how i much you care-—but I do!” If It had not been for the crowds - on the sidewalk and the curious eyes I looking from the tea shop, Mark would ■ have embraced her then and there. “I will not kiss you now,” lie threatened, “if you will promise never to make mayapple salad for anyone except iuml” ... t t

Hens That La rd Golden Eggs By DOROTHY DOUGLAS (Uupyriibl.) 'T'HE little row of cottages that lav | ■A out Mount Vernon way might have been picked up from some oldEnglish lune and transplanted to American soil, so closely did they resemble] those artistic bits one gets from overseas byway of postcards. Ju**k Danvers and Ted Everly were living in one for the summer because Jack hud had un accident to bls foot und needed country air byway of speeding his recuperation. Ted was ministering to his chum during the hours before dualling for his train to business and following his return In the evening. In the next garden, separated by a glorious hedge, lived Irma Westlake with other members of the Westlake family, intent on enjoying their summer holiday. And lust, but not least, there dwelt the hens that laid the gulden eggs, not in their own coop, where any welltrained hen should deposit her eggs but anywhere they happened to be inclined. The hens belonged to Danven and Everly, having come with the cottage they had rented. The first intimation that Irma had that there were hens in the neighborhood was when she caught sight of one busily engaged In procuring a frest salad for her breakfast in Irma’s let tuce bed. An Irate Irma flew down the garden path and a disturbed hen squeezed swiftly through the hedge into her own . domain. Irma repaired the bed and I would have tucked that hedge well 1 along with brambles to prevent fur-I tlier pilgrimages of liens had she not I seen Jack Danvers, good looking, but I a bit fragile, recuperating in the sun. | A likely looking young man in the next garden was no small attraction ■ out In the country away from all one'J j friends, and Irma set about luring the hens into her garden. It was not long before site found ] two line big eggs in a nesty part of ths hedge—her own side of it. Irma had not hoped for such luck. "I can hardly keep my neighbor’s eggs,” she told herself. “It would not be honest and, besides, he looks as if i he needed all the fresh eggs he could , eat.” And because they were two bach ' elors trying to keep house for each other. Irma decided it would be bet- I ter to cook the eggs before returning them. She had a wonderful way of beating-them up with milk and butter and putting them in the oven tc . bake. A half-hour later, just at lunch time, and before Jack had pulled himself out of the hammock swing to go in und rummage for food, a small girl entered j his garden carrying a dainty tray. •Tack was so astonished at the wee fairy godmother, who deposited her ■ tray swiftly and ran more swiftly out I of his sight, that he was tonguetied. He could only watch her go as quick 1 movement was impossible with his i lame leg. However. Jack sniffed the delicious eggs. There were bits of crisp but- ’ | tered toast accompanying, and Jack i had not enjoyed a repast so much for i many a day. He was curious beyond . | words as to the good angel’s identity,! I but that she could cook daintily was [ i an evident fact. s He told Tom about it in the eve--L . ning and Tom only grinned. ■ I “Some of these mothers of the > I world are looking out for you, old man > —take care that she doesn’t catch you > ; —by way of your interior.” . ; “Anyway," laughed Jack, “you just > keep your eye open for a wee goldeni haired girl about here.” t I Two days later at high noon the , gate opened cautiously and Jack sat - up eagerly in his hammock. The llt1 tie girl again stood before him, and would have put down her tray and es- ■ caped except that Jack with a swift 1 movement put an arm about her and held her squirming but firmly. On the tray was fresh salad made from hard-boiled eggs mixed with lettuce and old-fashioned dressing such as his mother used to make. Also a large slice of home-made layer cake. I “Now little miss," admonished Jack, , “you are to stay here until you tell me who is being so very kind to me. I know where there is a little blue Persian kitten who would just love to belong to a wee girly like you.” i Bonnie snuggled against Jack's arm confidingly. “I just love kittens,” site said softly against his coat. “But Irma told me not to tell. She is my big sister, and we live next door, and your liens came into Irma’s garden and 1 laid their eggs.” She looked wideeyed up at him. She promised me a ' little black puppy—ls I didn't tell.” “No, honey, I won’t tell, and you shall have the kitten just as soon as I can get It.” | Bonnie deposited a butterfly kiss on . Jiis chin and slipped away. | Jack called up Tom In the city. “Scour the town for a blue Persian i kitten and bring it home tonight,” was his order. On the train tliat night, returning from town, a blue-eyed girl sat down ] I with a black puppy and a young man i j with a blue Persian sat down beside I her. They got to talking about the I animals. Tom told her all about his , pal Jack, and Irma had the grace to | blush. "He is one of the finest," said Tom. “I wish you could pop in and see him —he finds it a bit dull." So, while the eggs were not really golden they proved to be worth far more than gold—to two happy persons.

DECATUR DAILY DEMOCRAT THURSDAY, DECEMBER 13, 1924

The Problem of Jimmy By ELEANOR C. KOENIG IJ ICepyrlghl.) OHN RUTHERFORD wondered why, in the nilibt of ids dilemma, ! lie should pause to consider how i charming a vision Miss Bryce win n.» ! she blew Into the office like n frtsb , spring brei ze. These unspoken poetic words were reallf Ids and. It may be added, they were quite contrary to Ids usual prosaic trend of thought. They were contrary, too. to his usual practice of ignoring Just what Miss Bryce hud on —the trim lilies of her durk blue dress, the fall of lace against her white throat and the most becoming hat she wore. She actually did not look sixteen, he thought, and thereupon felt « rather queer sensation In his throat. Foolish thoughts for a man of forty to be thinking, am! a widower, too, with the ever increasing difficulty of trying to manage the proper upbringing of u seven-year-old boy, who, to use the expression of Mrs. Hills, his long-suffer-ing nurse, was nothing less than a “wild colt.” This hist thought led him straight back to his dilemma, which was the immediate and proper cure of Jimmy, who was to be this very day deprived of Mrs. Hills’ care. On his desk lay the letter received from her this morning to the effect that she was bringing him back from Sliver Sands Beach, whither they had been sent a month previously by Jimmy's father, in the hope that there Mrs. Hills might recuperate her flagging energy and Jimmy receive the benefit of the sea air. The letter also recorded Mrs. Hills' I absolute resignation from her arduous - duties. Sbmehow or other, Miss Bryce’s bright “good morning” sent flying the ■ dark clouds which had settled around - this perplexed father, and furthered i half-formed resolution to confide his [ difficulty to her. Come to think of it, i lie had confided quite a little in her of late. Perhaps lie had better tell her ids plans for the future; his settled de- , termination to have a "real mother” for Jimmy and of the letter tliat was on its way to Miss Emily Stephens. His mind conjured up a picture of Miss Stephens; not at all like Miss Bryce. Miss Bryce was small, witli a , little, round face. Miss Stephens stood . five feet ten and, now that be thought ( of it, must wear at least a number eight shoe. , Miss Stephens was thirty-nine, a , credit to her community, and a good , woman. In short, she would instruct 1 Jimmy in such a way* as to raise him ] to self-respecting manhood. Acting u]>on the impulse, he tapped : on Miss Bryce’s door,’’and, receiving ( encouragement from her bright smile ] was soon outlining his purpose. Miss Bryce knew Jimmy, but Mr. Rutherford did not know of the won- , derful times she and Jimmy had had ] when he was away from the office. ( The Instinctive motherhooddn her had , seen at a glance what Jimmy craved — I companionship and understanding. There had been one glorious afternoon , when Jimmy had sat unceremoniously on the floor and eaten popcorn, several conversations when a complete understanding had been established between ' them and a warm, throbbing mad love had, in some strange manner, sprung 1 up for the child. Strangely, too, site felt a mean little ! prick somewhere around the region of her heart when she heard of Miss I Stephens. Then a deep look came into her eyes. “Has Miss Stephens ever seen Jimmy?” she asked. , “No," Rutherford replied. “That's I what botiiers me. You see, Jimmy is] : what is termed ‘wild,’ and in my proposal to Miss Stephens I did not tell her of this. I am sort of wondering I what she will think of him. I met ■ her olily last winter in California, and she struck me then as being a good, 1 1 upright woman who would make a I good mother.” j > "Then, in justice to them both, they, - should know each other thoroughly be- 1 i fore you marry.” said Miss Bryce, and ! mentally accused herself of meanness. | This suggestion accounted for the . fact tliat a week later, the unsuspectI ing Jimmy was on his way to visit . Miss Stephens for an indefinite period. ■ Meanwhile. Rutherford found him- > self reluctant to think of his approach- | Ing nuptials. Really, it was strange i how thin and shadowy Miss Bryce was - growing. Then one night when he had : unexpectedly returned to the office lie had found her face bowed on the desk, crying. What was the reason, lie wondered then; and that night he had paced back and forth, calling himself a blind fool and hurling numerous oth- ' er like epithets at himself. The next morning he dreaded to go near the office and It was not until late . in the afternoon that he ventured there. When lie opened the door, he I saw a strange sight. Miss Bryce sat ' in the big leather chair, reading out of a highly-colored book, and on her lap sat Jimmy, in utter content. "Why, Jimmy, what does this mean?” asked Rutherford. ] "Miss Stephens didn’t like me and I I didn't like her,” said Jimmy, “and I i like Miss Bryce and want her for my mother.” Which assertion was borne out by a letter that had arrived earlier in the day and which was lying on John Rutherford's desk. Tills letter settled forever the quest tlon of Miss Stephens, and Rutherford read it with a shining face. At any rate, Jimmy had found a real mother.

“Tomorrow, Fair and Warmer” By SARAH E. McCAHEY (Copyright) | z.qpHERE are your peaches and A 'grapes, Miss Althea, but It's nu kind of day for preserving peaches or making Jelly, because it won’t Jell, lliere s u reason, my wife says —" ■Just leave them there, Mr. Burbage,’ near the dour where It s cool thank you Good day!” and Althea Street smiled the patient smile of the annual i preserver who had arisen that morn- I ing to tiie sound of pouring rain on ; Hie very day she was to muke jelly. ] Suddenly u gust of wind hurled a i handful of leaves against the window- | pane, where they stuck. A blind slipped u hinge and smashed a front , window, and she got drenched trying i to patch it up. "I’m going out—l am going to see , Mary and Elizabeth Dunn. They have i had three months of Sorlck Downs and must be home by this time. Wish I ; hud a little summer place like that. , And tucking her smooth, gray locks ■ snugly under her hat, Althea Street was soon picking her way gingerly over puddles and gutters on her wuy to see Mary Dunn. Her ring at the door of Mary Dunn s house was answered by someone whofumbled uncertainly with the bolt. "Not Elizabeth,” thought Miss Ab'then, Impatiently; “she’d never take that long!” I A sudden yank, and there stood before her a nurse In uniform with a pink boudoir cap on her head. Yes. tlie Misses Dunn were in—they couldn't very well be out —they were - 111! "Is that you, Althea?" called a husky voice from upstairs. “Come up!” Miss Althea went up. There was a little white bed in tlie parlor and in it reclined Elizabeth 1 >unn looking pale and weary, and beside her, keeping sympathetic company, was her sister, Mary. "Well," gasped the visitor, “both ill? And I’ve been thinking you were having a’glorious summer!" "We had storms." said Elizabeth, ( weakly, "several of them —but the last I was the worst.” "Just before we came away it rained three whole days and nights," said Mary, in a husky voice. “On hot daks I’ve been envying you the shade of your beautiful trees and the cool sound of the little brook,"’interposed Miss Althea. “Tlie trees were blown down near enough to give us the scare of our Ilves and the brook became a young | torrent that nobody could cross,” continued Elizabeth. “You know we have, no cellar in our bungalow, and the wind knocked down tlie lattice and blew something under our floor tliat scratched and whined tlie night through—a dog—or cat —maybe. We couldn’t get out to see." “Tlie grocer couldn’t get to us and we hud to live on cornflakes and milk \ until he could,” sighed Mary. “It certainly was a terrible storm and I wrought great havoc. Afterwards people came down to see the sights.’* “They should have seen us," said tiie gentle Elizabeth as sarcastically as she could. “When I had to have a nurse, and tlie good neighbor across the road offered us the use of an extra room, the poor thing had to wade the brook every day to get me.” “You’ll be having that lovely view next summer,” murmured Althea Street soothingly. “If we ever go there again.” said 'Elizabeth with emphasis, “they'll first i have to catch every bootlegger in tlie ■ state. You were lucky, Althea, tliat you stayed home." I Miss Althea ventured a. timid remon-i ■strance. Her own grievances were so - ( swallowed up in tlie face of all this evidence that she felt cheated. i “It rained here —it knocked down my honeysuckle trellis and broke my telephone wire—. The wind blew —" | i “Blew,” said Elizabeth scornfully—“it howled down there —and yowled! It took the roof off the dance hall and ' blew tents out to sea!” | Althea walked out of the house of Mary Dunn into pouring rain, forgetting to raise her blue silk umbrella with its handle of amber, and she forgot to , look out for the gutters and puddles. “Why, Miss Althea, you’re soaking wet—is your umbrella broken?" called a young neighbor with a music roll under her arm, catching up witli her. "Here, get under mine.” ! i “Why—er—no, my umbrella is all right. But where have you been In ] such a storm?” “Oh, taking a lesson,” laughed the ’ girl lightly, tapping her music roll. I “I, too, have been taking a lesson,” I said Miss Althea soberly. .I “Not really, Miss Althea?” ejaculated little Miss Neighbor surprisedly as , they hurried along. ( “It wasn't exactly a music lesson,’ I explained Althea Street, as site stepped , plumb into an ankle-deep puddle and ' did not seem to mind it at all. “I’ve ’ learned tliat you can’t go very far, just . aronnd tlie comer, maybe, without finding someone who has so much more to ! worry about than you that it should make you ashamed to complain.” And as they had reached her little • flat, she let herself tn and hurried to the kitchen door for the evening paper I “Tomorrow, fair and warmer,” she repeated, as she scanned the radio program for the evening. I “Tills evening the Crosswife’s league , will broadcast a special program of instruction on the canning and pickling of fruits, especially peaches.” “Elizabeth was right,” mused Althea Street as she adjusted her ear phones and tuned in—“l’m lucky.”

She Was the Square By JOAN M. GRAY (Cupyrlsht.) A SQUARE peg will not fit Into a round bole, as everybody knows, und tliat Is probably the reusou why Margaret I‘uge could nut Ct Into the life her family lived. When she waa alone she wondered why she was not happy. There was Beatrice, her older sister, married to a . millionaire and perfectly happy in an Immense house of her own. There was Mimi, her younger sister, perfectly huppy in Just tearing from one gayety | to another, with nothing on her mind 1 but clothes and a good time. There was her mother, happy In her ciuhs, and there was her father, happy In bis business and golf, and finally, there was Peg herself, happier since her mother had turned the big house over to her to manage. She went to all the parties and tournaments and did everything tlie others did, but she was so quiet that tier "crowd” was almost unconscious of , her. Yet the Page house was by far I the most popular place in town, simply i because Peg made it so. "You're so awfully quiet. Peg," Mimi told her, “ami you act bored to death. You can’t act bored to death in a crowd and be popular unless you're a very great personage." “Oh, I know I'm not popular,” Peg shrugged. "But you certainly are, so run along and let me finish these flowers.” So Mlinl run off to a tennis match and Peg turned back to her vases, perfectly happy to be among such simple things as flowers. "I am bored with this life,” she told herself. “If I could have a pretty, little house, and a garden, and a garage, and a car, and one maid, I'd lie perfectly happy. And I think I'd like a husband —not rich, but with enough money to be just comfortable. There aren’t any of that kind in our crowd. How Beatrice can live in that pile of hers, I donot understand.” | She was still thinking of her Ideal I life when she started out toward the I country in search of wild roses. Far [ out on tlie edge of the town she came I upon The Hoyse, white, with green blinds, barely finished, but with a gar- i den and planted fields on each side, and in tlie rear a garage. She stood and gazed at tlie place lovingly. "Oh, how I covet that,” she cried. “I’m going to walk through that garden and peep into that house. No one is there, and I've klmply got to do it. I may never have one of my own." | She walked slowly through tlie garden and peeped into every peepable window, completing her tour at the back. . “Isn’t it darling!" she sighed, as she dropped from her toes. “Isn’t it!” echoed a deep voice be- . hind her. | She turned swiftly, covered with confusion. I “I beg your pardon," she cried. “I . have absolutely no right to be here." "I haven’t, either, really," tlie young ! man answered, “but I hope to have. A ; ' friend of mine built this for his mother | and she died before they could get it ready to live in. He cannot live here without her, and he cannot sell it to strangers, but I, a homeless wretch ' and hie friend, am going to buy it ami live in it and keep It sacred to lus ' mother’s memory.” “Alone?” Peg queried, before she thought. | “Yes—unless— Would you like to go through the house?" “Oh, yes,” breathed Peg, again before she thouglit. “All right, Peggy Page,” tlie young I man said, “just you follow me." i “You—you know my name?" "Is it likely I would forget the name of the only girl who was ever decent to me?” “Why, I —l’ve never seen you before.” I “Ah, but you have. It isn't strange that you should forget the sickly, pimply little lad called Willie Martin, whose father and mother died and left him penniless. But I haven’t forgotten the little girl who gave him her favorite story book the day he went West to live with his aunt and little cousin.” I “You! Willie Martin! But —you've changed so,” cried l*eg. “Haven’t I?” he chuckled. “I’m called Bill now and my pimples are gone and I have a little money. Considering my past, are you going to be friends with me again, Pegg??” he asked, his gray eyes tender. I “Os course I arti,” cried Peg. “You’ve —you’re so fine. You must have had a very great struggle.” I “It's over, nnd I'm much the better for it,” he replied. “I have an idea that my greatest struggle is ahead of me. Now, let’s go through the house." “Let’s. But, Willie—l mean Bill — won’t you let me help you with this new struggle?” “You’re the only one who can. ’ You i see, I want to marry a girl—a rich ’ man's daughter—who is used to luxury and frivolity—and I'm not a rich man." I “Ob,” said Peg, faintly. "May I know her name?” I “Peggy Page is her name,” he an- | swered. "What do you think of my ! chances?” > “I think they are very good,” said Peg steadily. “I —won’t you come home ) to lunch with me and let mother and - dad see how splendid you’ve grown?" | And that is the way the square peg ? found a square bole and fitted into it f securely. That Is how Peggy Psge ; Martin—as she was called a year later —achieved a heart’s desire and ruled i supremely over a pretty little house, 3 a garden, a garage, a car, one maid—- ! and a big adoring husbaqd> 1

~ - —! I CLASSIFIED ADVERTJSEMEIjin I NOTICES, BUSINESS CARDS I

♦ CLASSIFIED ADS ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ FOR SALE | FOR S\LE OR RENT —Modet-q i I house at 110 SouUi sth street, D>- [ catur, Ind. Will be vacant Jun. 10. 111’25. Address Mrs ff Bryson, COtll I East Wulnut .it., Portland, Ind. I 2901 f FOR SALE —Phonograph, mahogany. | upright, good condition. Cull 135 or 93G. ' M7tß| FOR SAI.E —1923 model Dodge tour-1 ing car, in good condition. D F Ernst. Peterson, ind. 297tt»x FOR SALE —New Garland gas range, kitchen heater, and one china rack. Will trade stoves for a range. H. A. Earehart. 821 N. Second st. Decatur. Ind. 300t3x 1 FOIfSALE Best rabbit hound in the i county. Guaranteed to be all right in every way. Priced right. D. E. i Studebaker, Decatur, Ind. Phone t',92. 300t6x I FOR RENT FOR RENT —Strictly modem house on North Second st., w'.ll redecorate. J. F. Arnold. 29titG LOST AND FOUND 1 LOST—Pocket book at postOffice, Saturday. Return to Daily Democrat office. Liberal reward. 29"t3x L( 1ST —Elks tooth watch fob. Finder please return to A. W. Tanvas, or . ( .ill 311. Reward. 2 WANTED WANTED — $10,000,000 Company wants man to sell Watkins Home Necessities in Decatur. More than 150 used daily. Income $35-SSO weekly. Experience unnecessary. Write Dept. II 3, The J. R. Watkins Co., 242 N. 3rd St.. Columbus, O. 16-17-lSx AGENTS WANTED — Highest cash paid weekly with part expenses tq take orders for guaranteed nursery stock. Experience unnecessary. OutI fit free. Write The Hawks Nursery . Co.. Wauwatosa-, Wis. 299-Gtx _o Seemingly Nothing New An Egyptian an-.u <>l<>gist re< entl; discovered a bunk used m: th*" Xi'boats 4.000 years This b“ol fers very li'th- from til" siut-in, i bi-rtlw ” ''' — o In Life’s Odd Moments It is what we sow in the minutes and spare portions of a few years tha* grows up to crowns and scepters.— Jeremy Taylor. 0 Composition of Sea Water While most of ’he l<2 sen elements I re believed to be in sea water, uniimve I'O-n found. MARKETS-STOCKS Daily Report Os Local And Foreign Markets East Buffalo Livestock Market Receipts 3520. shipments 4180. official to New York yesterday 6840. Hogs closing strong. Heavies $10.25 - Si-10 35; mediums [email protected]); light weight $9.75@10; light lights SB(fD9. pigs $7.50«?8; packing sows rough. , [email protected]; cattle 875 slow: sheep 1200; best lambs sl6 [email protected]; best ewes [email protected]; calves 350; tops $13.50. Fort Wayne Livestock Market I Hogs—-130 Tbs and down [email protected]; 130 to 150 Tbs. $7.50@8; 150 to 190 Tbs. $8.65@8 90; 190 Tbs. and up $9.10 @9.50; roughs $7!75@8; stags ,ss@ 5.50. Lambs —$14.25@15. I Calves—[email protected]. DECATUR GRAIN MARKET (Corrected December 17) Yellow Ear Corn, per 100 $1.60 Oats, per bushel 55c Rye, per bushel -90 c Barley, per bushel 75c New Wheat, No. 1 $1.62 New Wheat, No. 2 SI.GI DECATUR PRODUCE MARKET (Corrected December 17) All poultry purchased must be free from feed. Chickens 15c Leghorn Chickens l° c Ducks 12c Geese — Old Roosters - 8c LOCAL GROCER’S EGO MARKET Eggs, dozen 57c BUTTERFAT at STATION Butterfat -38 c o | Public Sale Calendar j Dec. 19— Omlor Bros. Stock sale. 2 miles south of Decatur on Mud Pike. i Dec. 19—0mler Bros, stock sale. 3 miles suoth of Decatur on mud pike.

Neuroclometer and K service Sp nw I j Location F» K «•' South 2nd I : Office Phone 314 I Office Hour.: lO .i t ■ S. E. BLACK I UNDERTAKING and EMBALM I Calls answered promptly ■ Private Ambuia nce Servw*** I Cffice Phone; 90 ■ Hume Phone: 717 ■ N. A. BIXLER | I optometrist ■ Eyes Examined, (Hasses Fib I HOURS: ■ 8 to 11:30-12:30 to I M ■ Saturdav 8:00 o. b ■ Telephone 135. | Closed Wednesday altemoeu. B federal farm loanT Abstracts of Title. Real E.UM Plenty of Money to Loan 01 Government Plan. Interest rate reduced*. October 15. 1924 " See French Quinn, : Office—lake first stairway ■outh of Decatur Dtmocn MONEY TO LOAN"' An unlimited amount of 5 PERCENT money on improved real estate. FEDERAL FARM LOANS Abstracts of title to real estat. SCHURGER'S ABSTRACT OFFICE 133 S. 2nd St o — 1 JOHN W. CLARK DENTIST 127 N. 3rd St Office in connection with Dr. F. \V. Lose - NO HUNTING No hunting or trespassing will be allowed on the farms owned or tenanted by the following: Charles A Cook. Jesse L. Singleton, Charie. Longenberger. John E. Mann, Hart W. Mann. Francis Fuhrman, David Cook. C. C. Sheets, E. Fritzinger, Bob Fritzinger. Tise Baker. Roy Hamilton, Frank Kitson. John Hinck. Philip Strahm. William Macke, Jw Kintz, Joe Steiguieyer. | M-Th til Dec- IS | o Mahogany in Hawaii Hawaii supports, on Its Islands, an aggregate timber sia’ ‘ covering slightly more then I- ■' i ; acres. They are tropica! ftrests, , J considerable mesquite. The ('"Untr dal value of tlie woods is not I™ ' koa, or Hawaiian mahogany, being™ ; I most valuable, says the Forestry *• t manac of the American I’ree assi \ 8 tlon. Alda lehtia is a valuable for protecting watershed* and « dominant wood in the native fore*. , Sight It Deceiving ) A single speck of light. seen .tars. Or Even Less A Chicago mechanic pm * gether in 43 minutes, but n f‘ ■ , take one apart in three set,*. ] American Thoughtlessness to Blamt ■ so very few people mean to * » ! kind that it makes you "]] ,nder ], - there should be all the the world.-J. E Better to Believt i As to the deeds Os the go ■ , srx“?r-.. . u- ' ~ dr. c. v. CONNELL veterinarian Special “‘Sultry pra”"’ I cattle and pouitry P gtrMt Office 120 No- r d ce iff | Phone: Office 143-Resw j | S%— MONEY-5 % ( Money to loan on at 5% interest partial payment ’ I ’ o_ —