The Syracuse Journal, Volume 5, Number 48, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 27 March 1913 — Page 3

NOT HIS STYLE. / A X 7 \ Imlc Iww® )' ,s <- I PWtlln Ivr* J sSiAHMaI * ■ *' * K^a£r “I thought you said the colt could win in a walk?” “Well, they went and entered him In a running race.” A GRATEFUL OLD MAN. Mr. W. D. Smith, Ethel, Ky., writes: "I have been using Dodd’s Kidney Pills for ten or twelve years and they have done me a great deal of good. I do

not think I would be | alive today if it | were not for Dodd’s Kidney Pills. 1 strained my back about forty years ago. which left it very weak. I was troubled with inflammation of the bladder. Dodd’s Kidney

iri'.WV ’ I W. Smith.

Pills cured me of-t Art and the Kidney Trouble. I take Dodd’s Kidney Pills now to keep from having Backache. I am 7\ years old and a farmer. You are at liberty to publish this testimonial, end you may use my picture in connection with it.” Correspond with Mr. Smith about this wonderful remedy; Dodd’s Kidney Pills, 50b. per box at your dealer or Dodd’s Medicine Co., Buffalo, N. Y. Write for Household Hints, also music of National Anthem : (English and German words) and reci ; pes for dainty dishes. All 3 sent free. ’ Adv. | • Plea for Liberty. Mrs. B. was entertaining a few friends and Elsie was allowed to remain in the room, provided she made no disturbance. But she was interested and talkative and asked so many questions that at last her mother be, came exasperated. “Elsie, if you open your mouth another time, you’ll have to go back upstairs. Now, remember!” Elsie was accustomed to obey, so, for a long time, Elsie’s lips were kept tightly closed. At last, however, she touched her mother and said softly: “Mamma, can I open my mouth i(j I don’t say anything?”—Chicago Tribt une. Member of the Union. Men\wno worked under a former city editor on the Washington Post vouch lor the truth of this story about him. The telegraph editor, so the story goes, got a “flash” one night that John La Farge, the painter, was dead. He calfed the news out to the city editor, who, catching only the name and profession, yelled io a reporter: “Willoughby! A painter by the name of La Farge is dead. Rush down to the Central Labor Union "and see what you can dig up about him!” Warning to Women. Very Meek Husband —I just finished ' writing your speech for the club,l Mariah. His Wife (not so meek) —What’s I the subject? Very Meek Man —“The lady who will: strike' her husband is no man.”— [ Satire. Meaning the Billows. “I understand Pqjdita flirted with lotne high rollers aiLthe beach last summer.” “So she did, and nearly got drowned.” I The Exposition. “You are mine!” cried the impecunious nobleman as he embraced the heiress. “Yes,” said the latter, “a gold mine.” — IN A SHADOW. Inveterate Tea Drinker Feared Paralysis. Steady use of either tea or coffee jften produces alarming symptoms as the poison (caffeine) contained in =■ these beverages acts with more potency in some persons than in others. “I was never a coffee drinker,” writes an 111. woman, “but a tea drinker. I was very nervous, had frequent I ipells of sick headache and heart trouble, and was subject at times to levere attacks of bilious colic. “No end of sleepless nights—would have spells at night when my right tide would get numb and tingle like a thousand needles were pricking my flesh. At times I could hardly put my longue out of my mouth and my right tye and ear were affected. “The doctors told me I was liable to become paralyzed at any time, so I was in constant dread. I took no end' sf medicine —-all to no good. “The doctors told me to quit using tea, but I thought I could not live without it—that it was my only stay. I had been a tea drinker for twentylive years; was under the doctor’s sare for fifteen. “About six months ago, I finally |uit tea and commenced to drink Postum. “I have never had one spell of sick headache since and only one light attack of bilious colic. Have quit having those numb spells at night, sleep well and my heart is getting stronger ill the time.” Name given upon rejuest. Postum now, comes in concentrated, powder form, called Instant Postum. (t is prepared by stirring a level teatpoonful in a cup of hot water, adding sugar to taste, and enough cream to bring the color to golden brown. Instant Postum is convenient; there’s no waste; and the flavor is always uniform. Sold by grocers everywhere. A 5-cup trial tin mailed for grocer’s name and 2-cent stamp for postage. Postum Cereal Co., Ltd, Battle Creek,

*¥ INGRAM/ ’ .. 8 (>Gaineand ’iheCaiufle , W/ ). Hetljm'b Mcmirij etc- J BMSURG3 ;

2 . ' 1 SYNOPSIS. I At tne beginning of great automobile t ace the mechanician of the Mercury. Stanton’s machine, drops dead. Strange < youth. Jesse Floyd, volunteers, and is accepted. CHAPTER 1. (Continued.) “Goin’ to throw away the race an’ wreck ycur machine, for foolishness?” he inquired. “That’s just like you, i Ralph Stanton. You'll risk a blow-out an’ a smash to save five minutes in a ; twenty-four hour race. You can drive, but you won’t use common sense.” Something snapped under Stanton's mask. Raging with silent fury, he slowed down his cat and swung into the paddock gate as they came opposite it, thundering through' to his own camp. “Fix that tire,” he commanded, as the swarm of mechanics surrounded them, and descended from his seat to confront the assistant manager. “Have you got me another mechanician, yet? This one won’t do.” “Why, no,” Mr. Green deprecated. “The driver who alternates with you wants to keep his mechanician; besides. the man isn’t exactly ready to go with you, and he" couldn't do both shifts, anyhow. I’ve telephoned to the company to find a man and rush him here. Wliat,” he looked toward the group around the ear, where i Floyd’s bronze head shone in the elec- ' trie light as he directed proceedings, | “what's the matter with this one? | Scared?” “No,” conceded Stanton, grudgingly : just. “Insolent and interfering.” “Well, if that is all—” Stanton turned his back upon the speaker, recklessly and blindly angry, past all reasoning. When.' the brief operation completed, Floyd sprang up beside his driver for the start, Stanton surveyed him through his goggles. “If you are nervous about my driving and my sense, you had better get off now,” was the grim warning. “For I drive as I see fit, and I’m going to make up these laps.” “Why are you wasting time here, then?” countered the mechanician, practically. j The Mercury hurtled viciously down the line of training camps and burst cut on the track like a blazing meteor. Stanton shifted into high gear on the curve, and began to drive —as he saw fit. The close-packed witnesses stood during most of the next hour, alternately applauding and shouting dishay, climbing on seats and benches to see. The other racers gave the Mercury room on the turns, after the Alan car tried to steal an inside sweep, and skidding, missed destruction through and with Stanton by the narrow margin of a foot. There was neither opportunity nor I wish for speech between the two who I rode the verge of death on the MerI cury. Floyd attended steadily to his i duties; pumping oil, brushing the yeli low trackdust from the pilot's goggles to clear his vision for each turn. ; watching the tires and the other ma- - chines. But he made no pretest at ihe I deadly methods of his companion. Near the end of the second hour, the scream of the klaxon sounded its significant warning of trouble. “It’s us—lamps out;” called the mechanician, after a comprehensive review of their machine. Stanton shook his head impatiently, and kept on; deliberately passing the paddock gate instead of turning in. As they shot by the grand stand for the second time, the klaxon sounded again, long and imperiously. “Goin’ to fight the judges?” lisped Floyd, with careful politeness. ■ The driver did not speak or glance from the funnel-effect of light and dark into which they were boring, but the catch of his breath was not gentle. However, he swung into the paddock, on the next circuit, and halted a brief instant to have the lamp relighted. Familiar with his usual wants, a man'ran bringing a pitcher of water to Stanton; who swallowed a little, then pushed the vessel so rpugh- ! ly toward his mechanician that some i of the liquid splashed over the recipient and trickled down upon them both. “Here,” he offered curtly. “Thanks,” Floyd accepted, and drank as they bounded forward, tossing the tin pitcher back over his shoulder, where a reporter gathered it up and sat upon a keg of oil to write a pretty account of the volunteer mechanician who had made the Mercury's entry possible and of the consequent regard of Stanton for him. The next hour passed a trifle more • quietly. Perhaps even Stanton was sufficiently tired by the strain to drive with some conservatism; perhaps he acknowledged mentally that no car built would stand such viciously grueling work for twenty-four consecutive hours. But he kept the lead gained, for all that, and a pace like the long swoop of a swallow. “Car coming out of the paddock. Hundred and eightieth lap. Car stopped around the bend,” Floyd reported, at intervals. Otherwise there was mute attention to business on the part of both men. “Signal,” Stanton abruptly ordered, • it last, as they rushed across the stretch of track between the grand- . stand and the training-camps. Floyd obediently rose in his place, ■ raising his arms above his head in the ! accepted signal to their men to stand ' ready for the car’s entrance. On the next circuit Stanton turned into the paddock and came to a stop before • the Mercury’s tent ’ “Get out,” he directed, and himself left his seat. 1 The two men who alternated were • wetting to relieve the two who de- > icended from the machine. The work-

men swarmed around to fill tanks and ' give swift inspection, and the fretting car sped back to the track. Left opposite each other in the flickering glare of the swinging electric 1 lamps, driver and mechanician stood for a moment, weary, car-stiff, and 1 still tense. Stanton unclasped his mask with a jerk, took a step toward the tent, then turned toward his assistant. “The three hours are up,” he ob- ’ served roughly. “1 suppose you leave me.” “Why do you suppose that? Are you through with me?” Floyd asked, with studied quietness. “I made the offer to any man who would go for the first three hours. The time is up; you’re free to get your money from Mr. Green, and leave.” Floyd took off his own mask and bared his white, steadfast face and tired eyes to the other’s gaze. “I entered for the race, or for as much of it as you want me,” he corrected. “Until you quit, or find a substitute you like better, I'm with you.” They looked at each other. “Go rest, then. There is coffee inside,” bade Stanton, and swung on his heel. At the entrance to his tent he was met by the exultant assistant manager. “I’ve got you a mechanician, Stanton!” he exclaimed jubilantly. “I telephoned our fix to headquarters, aqd Jack Rupert is coming down—the chief tester at the factory, you know, who used to race with the chief himself. He ’phoned that he wouldn’t see the Mercury thrown out but to tell you he was going to cancel his life insurance policy first so he would not be accused of suicide for the benefit of his heirs. Funny chap! He'll be here before you go on the track again.” “What for?” demanded Stanton. “If L kill my mechanician, I kill my car and myself—l don’t need two men. and I’ve got one;” “But I thought you said—” begaft the amazed Mr. Green. “I was wrong. 'Phone Rupert that

1 Bi 6/IQ ■«. ' y .v < m I F Izli Ira o'l ' L J “1 Am One of the Men Driving,” He Corroborated.

i’ll keep Floyd. Now, I’d like to get some rest.” The assistant manager stepped aside from the entrance, confounded. CHAPTER 11. The Risk and the Lady. Two hours later, Stanton emerged from his camp and strolled toward the paddock exit. It was after two o’clock in the morning: the dark arch of star-set sky overhead, the black emptiness of the central field except for the line of tents, contrasted oddly with the glistening white track where the meteor-bright cars circled tirelessly to the accompanying monotone of many voices, varied by the occasional wail of the official klaxon. One machine was out of the race, after going through the fence; a heap of disordered metal which men were striving frantically to restore to activity, while in the illuminated hospital tent its driver and mechanism were undergoing a kindred process of rehabilitation. Other cars went in and out from their camps, for oil, for gasolene, for tires and minor repairs—for all the countless wants of a racing machine. Stanton looked for the Mercury, then, satisfied, crossed the track and entered the space before rhe grandstand. Along the edge of the cement promenade were parked a row of automobiles whose owners preferred to witness the race from their own cars rather than from the tiers 4f seats behind. Past them Stanton turned, avoiding the fire of attention and curiosity ire would draw by crossing the lighted space where recognition must 1

follow. He was going to the resti.*rant in the interior cf the stand. But as he passed a big white touring car at the end of the row, an leaned from the shadow of the top. “I beg your pardon,” she summoned, her tone composed and rather imperious. The apology veiled a commanA Stanton halted. “Madam?” he responded, astonished and scarcely pleased. She deliberately stepped down be side him, accompanied by the crisp sound of shaken silk and a drift ct faint, rich fragrance. She wore a dark motor-veil, and in the mingling of dense shadows and glaring lights it was not possible to distinguish more than her general effect cf youth and well-poised grace. “I fancied by your costume that you were one of the racers,” she explained, i “And as I only arrived an hour ago, ■ I wished to beg some information.” “I am one of the men driving,” he corroborated. She turned to glance at the cars rushing by, struggling for the lead “Thank you. Can .you tell me whether Ralph Stanton is now driving the Mercury?” “No,” he answered, interested for the first, time. “But he will take the j wheel again in half an hour.” “Ah? I have heard so much of his spectacular feats, I,” she gave a careless, rippling laugh, “I confess I should like to see some of them.” “Yes? Well, half the people here come to see whether some of the men won’t take a chance once too often. They say there is a pleasant thrill in watching some cne else get killed.” “Hardly that,” she demurred. "Still, if one comes to an automobile race, one wants to see something more exciting than’ a drive in the park; some- i thing more exciting than —that.” She ' waved a fragile hand toward the track, shrugging her shoulders with an airy amusement and scorn. Stanton surveyed the scene, the darkness hiding his expression. “The Mercury is marking time with a substitute driver, the Duplex is off with a choked feed-pipe, and the Stern went through the fence,” he summed up. “The others are driving to win by endurance, playing for accidents to the faster cars. It is a dull period, just now. Yet every car there is going fast enough to face destruction if anything goes wrong.” She-turned to him again, and he knew her gaze swept him Interrogatively. searchingly. But his closefitting linen costume offered no means of identification, since he purposely kept from the light the silver letters running across his jersey. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Banana Disease Threatens Market. Because of the fact that the much dreaded “Panama banana disease.” which has devastated the banana plan

tations of Central America and the j island of Trinidad, has made its ap- ‘ pearance in Jamaica, the chief source of supply for American markets, a . shortage and even a dearth in the j market supply of bananas, the most ; common of tropical fruits, is threat- I ened. Strenuous measures are being tak- ' en to prevent its spread. The plants | in the 26 infected districts have been | cut down, treated with lime, and after j exposure to the atmosphere a while have been covered with earth. Another mode of precaution is that the feet of all persons and animals that may pass through the plantation are to be disinfected, so that bacteria may not be carried to adjoining properties. No ex- j pense will be spared in fighting the disease. Personal Affront. Striking members of the Amalgamated Skirt Stitchers were holding a | conference. “Where is that tall, thin girl who joined the union last week?” inquired the walking delegates. The secretary arose to reply: “She handed in her resignation this morning.” “What was her reason?” “She took offense when shi was called on to act" as a picket.”—Judge. No Danger. “I can’t understand why you wish to go to the legislature. Don’t you think your business will suffer if you are elected?” “Oh, no. You see, I manufacture, things which are needed in furnish ■ ing public offices.”

All INDtNrS HEART It Ever Responds to ths Call of the Wild. By H. M. EGBERT. Each year the Hopi Indians dance the corn dance, in honor of the tasselling blades and in praise of the giver; and each year since he had joined the agency Clifford Durham ■ attended the spectacle alone. And though he was the first white man who had ever witnessed the sacred rites, no hand was ever raised against i him. For there was no Hopi man or ; woman but trusted him. Therefore he | laughingly refused to take his body- ■ guard of troopers from the Flatfeet, hereditary enemies of the Hopis. j “My people will not harm me.” said Clifford. Men and women participated in the great' sacred dance in honor of the | corn. From the big cities of the plains they came, civilized Indians, men in high positions, lured back by i the old ancestral instincts to reunite, j for one day only, with their own peo- j pie. This year there was a newcomer, a i girl of exquisite beauty. She might have been twenty-three or four. She ! carried herself like a princess, as one I born to command. Even in her bus- i falo robes, her long, black hair hanging in two plaits down her back, there i was nothing about her reminiscent of : the squalor of the squaw. “I am the assistant agent,” said Clifford, introducing himself to her as she stood a little apart from the ■ throng of Indians after the dance. “You are of this tribe? But I have never seen you. Where do you live?” > “1? O, I am an Indian in exile.” ' she answered, smiling “No, you will not see me again. This is my first return and my last. My father was 1 Chief White Crow.” That is a famous name among the > Hopis. Clifford marveled the more. But he could learn nothing from the Indians themselves. Somehow he gathered that she had been adopted by a white family in infancy , and taken away, to be brought up among the t whites. She might have passed for one. She was dark, but less dark than a Spaniard or Mexican. And her . bearing was regal, her English faultless. “I.” said Clifford, “shall remain here—-always. I think- I was born ; among the Indians and have to love them. I ask no more or life than that I may remain here until I die. protecting them, instructing them, helping them in their difficult fight I against our people and teaching them to help themselves.” “God aid you in your worthy pur- ‘ pose,” she answered softly. Clifford j saw that there were tears in her eyes. | Os a sudden he lost his self-control. Primal instincts, slumbering but never dead, awakened in his breast. ‘He clasped her in his arms and | rained kisses upon her lips and; I throat. She fought him like a fury, fought , her way out of his arms, and stood glaring at him under the large, yellow harvest moon. The Indians had with- , drawn toward their tepees. “You —how dare you!” she cried i passionately. “You —who were sworn —who have just told me that you ; wanted to , help—” She choked upon - her words. “So you think because I wear the Indian garb that I am only I an Indian girl,” she went on in tones ; of intensest bitterness. “Forgive me,” he murmured hum--1 bly. “I love you. I have never seen ! any woman like you. I was insane, i ; Give me a chance to prove that I was ' not slighting you.” "O, you shall have your chance,” she answered and turned away. Clifford watched her graceful figure go swinging across the path between the fields of billowing corn. He won- ! iered at her words. On the next ; morning he went back to the Indians’ camp. But she was gone, nobody i would tell him where. In such matters Indians are uncommunicative. _; Governor Lawson was partly of Indian blood. Though it was only onei eighth, or hardly more, he boasted of ; ; It. It gave him prestige among the aboriginal inhabitants of his state, | ! many of whom had won honors in ■ ; various ranks of life. Three were in ! ! the legislature. One owned a bank, i Governor Lawson made the welfare of ; the Indians his study and hobby. He : sent for Clifford to examine him con- | | cerning a matter of disputed lands. After the talk be said: “You have’ been seven years on the reservation, ‘ they tell me. You must take a long ( rest in the capital. You will be turn- j ' lag into an Indian yourself, Durham, ; ?f you don’t mix with white people I igain.” Clifford laughed shortly. “Many! thanks, governor,” he said, “but the Hopis are my hobby. I should not feel at ease in a civilized community. | I’m afraid.”“Durham.” said the governor, “I ; want you to stay and be our guest at tny daughter’s wedding tomorrow. She wants to meet you. You won’t refuse to gratify her wish? She is very interested in your Indians.” And. when Clifford assented, grudgingly, for he felt ill at ease, the governor led him into his drawing room. A : young woman was seated there. “Estelle,” said Governor Lawson, “I want to introduce Mr. Durham.” The color flamed into Durham’s face. It was his Indian girl. She smiled coldly at him. “‘You asked for your chance.” she said. “Well, I have given it to you.” “To love you?” he murmured, and she drew back as though he had whipped hpr. “To prove that you were not slighting me.” she answered. “Come; here !s my mother.” Durham turned to meet a highly conventionalized woman with an artificial voice and an accent that was as imported as the gown she wore. The clerk at Durham’s hotel was talking with a group of men in the lobby, and Durham, hearing the first words, remained a helpless eavesdropper. “Sure, there’ll be great times tomorrow.” he was saying. "1 hear the police have orders not to pinch the drunks. There’ll be some doings. I

teU you It isn’t often a governor s | daughter marries a millionaire.” “I guess it'll pull Lawson into the senate when once he's the papa-in-law ; of Apfelschloss.” said one of the men: , “Gee. but how the girl must hate him! ' Why. he’s past fifty to start with, and with a record like his —” “O, well, if you owned half the state and all the legislature I guess you could marry Lawson's daughter, too.’ j answered the clerk. “Besides, it’s Mother Lawson who's at the bottorr of that affair. She’s bound to marry Estelle to someone who’ll make a s splurge for her in AjVasbington. and then t£e girl couldn’t help obliging her' in a little thing like that, seeing that she isn't their real daughter.” “Adopted?” “Yes, sir. Old Spanish family, they say. Very respectable folks —grardees in Mexico and all that. I don't know But there'll be some doings tomorrow I tell you: tireworks in the park, and—” Clifford turned away, sick at Heart. Evening had fallen; He could not eat, he could not bear the noise of ’ the hotel, the jar of unfamiliar faces. He had lived so long alone. He wanted to go home. Only among his Hopis could he find peace of soul again. And yet the yellow racon was setting over the housetops then, as it had set on that memorable night. Clifford Durham was a man of simple mold. He had never loved until that ’ night; since then he had always loved He knew he always would. He wanted her, this love miraculously restored to him. above all; things. The instinct that drove him toward her was ■ overpowering. He turned his feet resolutely in the direction of the gov- I i ernor’s residence, set fn the grove of ; ' trees. The night was moonless now; , ■ only the sparklike fireflies, glimmeri ing through the air. relieved the! ! blackness. He stood stealthily be- ; neath the garden wall; then, satisi fled that the road was deserted, he i set his foot upon » crumpled stone and, clambered over. Next moment he ; ! was striding noiselessly across the turf. Estelle was seateti at her window i beside a lamp. - Invisible though he . was to her, she was perfectly apparent. Her long black hair, unbraided, streamed down her back Her clear, ' proud profile was turned toward him; she was looking down at a pile of let- : ters. When she raised her eyes he saw tears rolling down her cheeks. And then the memory became irresistible. ; He walked up to the window and tapped lightly. “Estelle!” he called. She sprang up with a startled gesture, turned and faced him. She ! seemed to freeze to stone. Clifford ; pushed back the unlatched windows 1 and stood on the threshold. He was j drunk with the joy of that ! meeting. He knew that the triumph , tn his heart must conquer her. awaken ! an equal ecstacy in hers. “Estelle,” he said. “I know why ' you came to the Hopi dance last year. It was because you are an Indian still, as I am in soul. .It was the old. unI tamed love for the wilds, the plains, i the solitude. You are like a caged bird here. And you are going to be married tomorrow! ” i He laughed softly and held cut his 1 arms. “You will never be happy in the j life that v ou have planned out,” he said. “Listen. Estelle. The wilds will ! call to you night and day, as they do i now. But now you are free to follow them: then you .will not be free. Yon will bring shame and ruin upon, those who love you Yes. I dare to say that, i because I know you. my Indian princess. You must follow'your destiny—- ! you must come with me.” He saw her expression change She took a hasty step toward him and al! i the resentment went out of her attli tude. She stared at him in terror and dawning hope. “Oh—-if I dared!” she said. “What ' would they think of me? AVhat would ,they say?” | “Come, Estelle!” he whispered. And suddenly s he caught her in his arms and kissed her as on that night under the harvest moon. “If your duty were here I would not ! urge yon,” he said. “But you shall ; never be a slave to your people s ambitions. The}' adopted you—yes. Perj haps they had some love for you. But now they want to sacrifice you to i their’ own purposes. Estelle, if you ’ love that man I will leave you now. To him alone would your duty be. ' Tell me, do you love him?” He re- ! leased her and watched her face t eagerly. She walked to the table at which she had sat and, pushing aside the papers which littered it. picked up a i Hopi knife, a thing cf copper with an inwrought blade. x i “If you had not come I should have killed myself.” she said “O, my love I —ever since that night under the har- ! vest moon! It was I sent for you. ' I knew you would come then’ and I ; knew you would come tonight. I am yours forever. Take me!” i She stepped outside the window into 1 his arms. He pulled the latch and ; led her off under the windy skies, into the night, westward. (Copyright. 1912. by W. G. Chapman.) Strange Butterflies. The entomological explorer. Mock, who serves Hon. Walter Rothschild in providing specimens for his private ! museum, recently arrived in London, bringing with him a jet-black bntter- ! fly. valued at $5,000. It is almost as ! large as a robin, its wings measuring iHU inches from tip to tip. It is al- ! most ftirry, sc thick is its covering, a ’ necessary protection from the intense ; cold of its habitat, the Snow moun- ! tains in New Guinea. Aside from the furry butterfly the discoverer found several new varieties of huge butterflies. “The natives shoot them with the four-pronged arrows which they ; use in killing birds,” he says. “The female giant butterflies are black or brown or white, but the males are splendidly marked in green and gold.” His Day Off. He was a new office boy. “How would you like to take a day off?” asked his employer. “Oh. fine!” said the lad, as visions of a day at leisure came before his eyes. “Well, then, take the Wednesday date off the calendar so Thursday will show, a day off, see?” And the new office boy hurried from the room with a resolve to pass it on. —Indianapolis News*

FREE ADVICE ■ TO SMOMEIi By Common Sense Suggestions. HH Women suffering from any form oHra femal ■ ills are invited to cc:.nmuni<. , atMH

s i-r -mt-Ly with •' •.•Oman’s d: 1-L P:t'K't-.rt. MedMH kne Co.. Lynn MH ; Mass. Your will b ? o-.mi 'd, ) nrivl by woman and held

strict confidence. A woihan can freeljM talk of her private illness to a weman thus has been established a correspon Luce v. :f -h lias exu many years and which has never broken. Never have they published testimonial or xise-.l a letter without written consent of the writer,and has the Company allowed these confl-M dential letters to get cut of their po»Hg session, as the hundreds of of them in their files will attest Out of the vast volume of which they have to draw from, it is than possible that they possess the knowledge needed in your case. ing is asked in return except your will, and their advice has helped sands. Surely any woman, rich orpoor,M| should be glad to take advantage of thisHl generous offer of assistance. Lydia E. Pinkham Medicine C-0., (coi>*H| fidential) Lynn, Mass. Every woman ought to have! Lydia E. Pinkham’s Text Book. It is not a book for general distribution, as it is tooH| expensive. It is free and only obtainable by mail. Write it today. BABY’S FACE ONE I SORE WITH ECZEMAI Cried for Hour*. Could Not Retinol Brought Re»t and Cure. Reading. Pa.—“My baby girl had eczenMl« for over six months. It was painful and itching, she could not sleep day or nijhL she would scratch til! blood and water would run down her neck. Then it burned her so she cried for hov.ra at a tune. Th* right side of her face was one sore and scab. “1 got the samples of Resinol Soap and Re'inol Ointment cn a Saturday morning, and put them on, 2nd put them on again In the afternoon and in the evening bei’om I put her to bed, and she went to sleep ■ ! and slept tilbnext morning. I thought I M was in heaven the first night, and by ■ Mond’.y the eczema was dried up so that ■ all the' scabs fell off. Resinol Soap and ■ Ointment cured my baby."— Min. Wm. ML M ■ Fletcher, 544 So. St., Aug. 21, 191 L It you or any of your little ones are sufr sering from eczema, rash, tetter, ringwoiuii or other itching, burning skin eruption, ■ there is only one better proof of the value of Resinol. That is, try if yourself and ■ see. You can get samples free by writing M to Dept. 4-K, Resinol, Baltimore, Md. ■ Resinol stops itching instantly. Prescribed! by careful doctors for eighteen years, sold ■ bv every druggist, or sent by parcel post ■ on receipt of price, Resinol Ointment, 50a H and sl, Resinol Soap, 25c. ♦' ■ Children’s Humor. H The poetry of life is frequently seen ■ in childhood. Wo have this lllustndwd I in the description of butterflies a» ■ “pansies flying.” ■ “A star is a cinder from God’s great ■ star," has a wealth of unconscious ■ meaning. But perhaps the finest ap- ■ proach to poetry was made by a tiny ■ tot who defined dew as “the grass -I crying.” “O auntie!” said a littln ■ girl, “Fve Just seen a pencil walking.* ■ The nurse who had grown out' of I fairy land.explained it was only an on> t dmary worm. • Were Only Bent. She weighed only 256, so that when she trod on a banana skin she subsided very gently. A polite sho> keeper came out .to assist her to from a £ox of his best new-laid eggs, “Oh. I do hope I have not broken them!” she cried. “Not at all. madam,’’ said the polite one; "they are only bent” Its Nature. "What’s the weather report?" L_. “Blowing great guns.” “Great report!” 1 FIVES CVItED TN B TO 1* DAYS Torr druggist will rerund money if PAZO OINTMNNT fails to cure any case of nolung. Buat. I Bleeding or Protrudiug Plies iu 6u> U uaj*. Wc. Speaking of “human dynamos," there is a man who has everythin.! charged. Mrs. Austin's famous pancakes make a really delicious wholesome breakfast Adv. Many a girl with a soft voice po» sesses a marble heart. A GffIEROWT Free to Readers of This Papes Professor Munyon has -just issued a mo>t useful almanac containing a numbei of his best essays, including the two won? derf.ul articles, “Don’t Be a Cipher’ and “The Power of Love.” The almanaealsa ; contains illustrated instructions for Chai* acter Reading, gives the meaning of you« 1 Inrth month, the interpretation of areama I complete weather forecasts for the North- ' ern States, Pacific Slope ’ and Southern I States. In fact, it is a magazine aluwna* i It will be sent you absolutely free. ” its it we will include any one ful’.-sise -SoMunyon Remedy, our Rheumatism R"r» ■ | edy for rheumatism, our Kidney Remedy , I for kidney trouble, our Dyspepsia Remi edv for indigestion, our Paw raw Pais so» biliousness or constipation. Not a penny : to pay. Address The Tdunyon Remedy Company. Philadelphia. Pa. • ALLEN’S FOOT’EASE, The Antiseptic powder shshen int« the shoes—The *,4.. vd*r« KC ?* edy tor the feet 10. » century 30.000 testimonial* So» Trade Mark, everywhere. 25c. Sample f ' Address. Alien S. Olmsted. Le Jlov. NIL , The Man who part the EEs In FEET.