The Syracuse Journal, Volume 6, Number 15, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 7 August 1913 — Page 3

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SYNOPSIS. George Anderson and wife see a remarkable looking man come out of the Clermont hotel, look around furtively, wash his hands in the snow and pass on. Commotion attracts them to the Clermont, where it is found that the beautiful Miss Edith Chailoner has fallen dead. Anderaon describes the man he saw wash his hands in the snow. The hotel manager declares him to be Orlando Brotherson. Physicians find that Miss Challoner was stabbed and not shot, which seems to clear Brotherson of suspicion. Gryce, an aged detective, and Sweetwater, his assistant, take up the case. They believe Miss Challoner stabbed herself. A paper cutter found near the scene of tragedy is believed to be the weapon used. CHAPTER V.—Continued. "Does that frighten you? Are you eo affected by the thought of blood?” "Don’t ask me. And I put the thing under my pillow! I thought it was so —so pretty.” “Mrs. Watkins.” Mr. Gryce from that moment ignored the daughter, “did you see it there?” “Yes; but I didn’t know where it came from. I had not seen my daughter stoop. I didn’t know where she got it till I read that bulletin.” “Never mind that. The question agitating me is whether any stain was left under that pillow.” “I didn’t see any stain, but you can look for yourself. The be'd has been made up, but there was no change of linen. We expected to remain here; I see no good to be gained by hiding any of the facts now." “None whatever, madam.” “Come, then. Caroline, sit down and stop crying. Mr. Gryce believes that your only fault was in not taking this object at once to the desk.” “Yes, that’s all,” acquiesced the detective after a short study of the shaking figure and distorted features of the girl. “You had no idea, I’m sure, where this weapon came from or for what it had been used. That’s evident.” Her shudder, as she seated herself, was very convincing. She was too young to simulate so successfully emotions of this character. “I’m glad of that,” she responded, half fretfully, half gratefully, as Mr. Gryce followed her mother into the adjoining room. “I’ve had a bad enough time of It without being blamed for what 1 didn’t know and didn't do." Mr. Gryce laid little stress upon these words, but much upon the lack ■of curiosity she showed in the minute and careful examination he now made of her room. There was no stain on ’he pillow-Covet and none on the bureau-spread where she might very naturally have laid the cutter down on first coming into her room. The blade was so polished that it must have been rubbed off somewhere. either purposely or by accident. They returned to where the girl still sat, wrapped in her cloak, sobbing atill, but not so violently. “Will —will he tell?” she whispered. The answer came quickly, but not in the mother's tones. Mr. Gryce’s ears had lost none of their ancient acuteness. “1 do not see that I should gain much by doing so. The one discovery which would link this find of yours indissolubly with Miss Challoher’s death, 1 have failed to make. Do you remember the exact spot where you stooped, Miss Watkins?” “No, nb. Somewhere near those big chairs; I didn’t have to step out of my way; I really didn’t.” Mr. Gryce’s answering smile was a study. It seemed to convey a two-fold message, one for the mother and one for the child, and both were comforting. But he went away, disappointed. The clue which promised so much was, to all appearance, a false one. He could soon tell. CHAPTER VI. Integrity. Mr. Gryce’s fears were only too well founded. Though Mr. McElroy was kind enough to point out the exact epot where he saw Miss Watkins etoop, no trace of blood was found upon the rug which had lain there, nor had anything of the kind been washed up by the very careful man who scrubbed the lobby floor in the early morning. This was disappointing, as its presence would have settled the whole question. When, these efforts all exhausted, the two detectives faced each other again in the small room given up to their use, Mr. Gryce ►bowed his discouragement.. Sweetwater watched him in some concern, then with the persistence which was one of his strong points, ventured finally to remark: * “I have but one idea left on the subject.’’ “And what is that?” “The girl wore a red cloak. If I mis-" take not, the lining.was also red. A spot on it might not show to the casual observer. Yet it would mean much to us.” “Sweetwater!” A faint blush rose to the old man's cheek. “Shall I request the privilege of locking that garment over?” “Yes.” The young fellow ducked and left the room. When he returned, it was with a downcast air. “Nothing doing,” said he. And then there was silence. A knock at the door was followed by the immediate entrance of Mr. Challoner, who had come in search of the inspector, and showed some surprise to find his place occupied by an unknown old man. Mr. Gryce motioned Sweetwater from the room. With a woeful look the young detective withdrew, his last glance cast at the cutter still lying in ! Aill view on the table.

Mr. Gryce, not unmindful himself of this object, took it up, then laid it down again, with an air of seeming abstraction. The father’s attention was caught. “What is that?” he cried, advancing a step and bestowing more than an ordinary glance at the object thus brought casually, as it were, to his notice. Mr. Gryce, observing the other’s emotion, motioned a chair. As his visitor sank into it, he remarked, with all the consideration exacted by the situation: “It is unknown property, Mr. Challoner. But we have some reason to think it belonged to your daughter.” “I have seen it, or one like it, often in her hand.” Here his eyes suddenly dilated and the hand stretched forth to grasp it quickly drew back. “Where —where was it found?” he hoarsely demanded. ‘‘O God! am I to be crushed to the very earth by sorrow! ” Mr. Gryce hastened to give him such relief as was consistent with the truth. “It was picked up—last night—from the lobby floor. There is seemingly nothing to c< —nect it with her death. Yet—" The pause was eloquent Mr. Challoner gave the detective an agonized look -and turned white to the lips. Then gradually, as the silence continued, his head fell forward, and he muttered almost unintelligibly: “I honestly believe her the victim of some heartless stronger. Ido now; but—but I cannot mislead the police. At any cost I must retract a statement I made under false impressions and with no desire to deceive. I said that I knew all of the gentlemen who admired her and aspired to her hand. But it seems that I did not know her secret heart as thoroughly as I had supposed. Among her effects I have just come upon a batch of letters—love letters I am forced to acknowledge—signed by initials totally strange to me. The letters are manly in tone —most of them—but one—” “What about the one?” “Shows that the writer was displeased. It may mean nothing, but 1 could not let the matter go without setting myself right with the authorities. if it might be allowed to rest here—if those letters can remain sacred, it would save me the additional pang of seeing her inmost concerns—the secret and holiest recesses of a woman’s heart, laid open to the public. For, from the tenor of most of these letters, she—she was not averse to the writer.” Mr. Gryce moved a little 'restlessly in his chair and stared hard at the cutter so conveniently placed under his eye. Then his manner softened and he remarked; “We will •do what we can. But you must understand that the matter is not a simple one. That, In fact, it contains mysteries which demand police investigation. We do not dare to trifle with any of the facts. The inspector, and, if not he, the coroner, will have to be told about these letters and will probaoly ask to see them.” “They are the letters of a gentleman.”' “With the one exception.” “Yes, that is understood.” Then in a sudden heat and with an almost sublime trust in his daughter notwithstanding the duplicity he had just discovered, he declared: “The deed was an* accident —incredible--but still an accident.” • Gryce had respect for this outburst. Making no attempt to answer ; -I EMWKW ‘'-ill Seme Clock in the Neighborhood Struck Ten. it, he suggested, with some hesitation, that Miss Challoner had been seen writing a letter previous to taking those fatal steps from the desk which ended so tragically. Was this letter to one of her lady friends, as reported, and was it»as far from suggesting the awful tragedy which followed, as he had been told? “It was a cheerful letter. Such a one as she often wrote to her little protegees here and there. I judge that this was written to some girl like that, for the person addressed was not known to her maid, any more than she was to me. It expressed an affectionate interest, and it breathed encouragement —encouragement! and she meditating her own death at the moment! impossible!! That letter should exonerate her if nothing else does.” When Mr. Challoner rose to leave the room,. Mr. Gryce showed where his own thoughts still centered, by asking him the date of the correspondence discovered between his daughter and her unknown admirer.

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“Some of the lettbrs were dated last summer, some this fall. The one you are most anxious to hear about only a month back,” he added, with unconquerable devotion to what he considered his duty. Mr. Gryce would like to have carried his inquiries further, but desisted. But when he was gone, and Sweetwater had returned, Mr. Gryce made it his first duty to communicate to his superiors ttje hitherto unsuspected fact of a seciet romance in Miss Challoner’s seemingly calm and wellguarded life. CHAPTER VII. The Letters. Before a table strewn with papers, in the room we have already mentioned as given over to the use of the police, sat Doctor Heath in a mood too thoughtful to notice the entrance of Mr. Gryce and Sweetwater from the dining-room where they had been having dinner. However, as the former’s tread was somewhat lumbering, the coroner’s attention was caught before they had quite crossed the room, and Sweetwater, with his quick eye. noted how his arm and hand immediately fell so as to cover up a portion of the papers lying nearest to him. “Well Gryce, this is a dark case.” he observed, as at his bidding the two detectives took their seats. Mr, Gryce nodded; so did Sweetwater. “She was not shot. She was not struck by any other hand; yet she lies dead from a mortal wound in the breast. Though there is no tangible proof of her having inflicted this wound upon herself, the jury will have no alternative, I fear, than to pronounce the case one of suicide.” “I’m sorry that I’ve been able to do so little,” remarked Mr. Gryce. The coroner darted him a quick look. „ “You are not satisfied? You have, some different idea?” he asked. The detective frowned at his hands crossed over the top of his cane, then shaking his head, replied: “The verdict you mention is the only natural one, of course. I see that you have been talking with Miss Chailoner’s former maid?” “Yes, and she has settled an important point for us. There was a possibility, of course, that the papercutter which you brought to my notice had never gone with her Into the mezzanine. That she, or some other person, had dropped it in passing through the lobby. But this girl assures me that'her mistress did not enter the lobby that night. That she accompanied her down in the elevator, and saw her step off at the mezzanine. She can also swear that the cutter was in a book she carried—the book we found lying on the desk. The girl remembers distinctly seeing its peculiarly chased handle projecting from its pages. Could anything be more satisfactory if—l was going to say, if the young lady had been of the impulsive type and the provocation greater. But Miss Chailoner’s nature was calm, and were it not for these letters —” here his arm shifted a little —“I should not be so sure of my jury’s future verdict. Love—” he went on, after a moment of silent consideration of a letter he had chosen from those before him, “disturbs the most equa-' ble natures. When it enters as a factor. we can expect anything—as you know. And Miss Challoner evidently was much attached to her correspondent, and naturally left the reproach conveyed in these lines.” And’ Doctor Heath read: “Dear Miss Challoner: Only a man of small spirit could endure what I endured from you the other day. Love such as mine would be respectable in a clod-hopper, and I think that even you will acknowledge that I stand somewhat higher than that. Though 1 was silent under your disapprobation, you shall yet have your answer. It will not lack point because of its necessary delay.” “A threat!” The words sprang from Sweetwater, and were evidently involuntary. “It is the only letter of them all which conveys anything like a reproach,” proceeded the coroner. “Her surprise must consequently have been great at receiving these lines, and her resentment equally so. If the two me* afterwards— But I have not shown you the signature. To the poor father it conveyed nothing—some facts have been kept from him—but to us-—” here he whirled the letter about so that Sweetwater, at least, could see the name, “it conveys a hope that we may yet understand Miss Challoner.” “Brotherson!” exclaimed the young detective in loud surprise. “Brotherson! The man who—” “The man who left this building just before or simultaneously with the alarm caused by Miss Chailoner’s fall. It clears away some of the clouds befogging us. She probably caught sight of him In the lobby, and in the passion of the moment fo.rgot her usual instincts and drove the sharppointed weapon into her heart.” “Brotherson!” The word came softly now, and with a thoughtful intonation. “He saw her die.” “Why do you say that?” “Would he have washed his hands in the snow if he had been in ignorance of the occurrence? He was the real, if not the active, cause of her death and he knew it Either he—excuse me. Doctor Heath and Mr. Gryce, it is not for me to obtrude my opinion." “Have you settled it beyond dispute that Brotherson is really the man who .was seen doing thia!”

“No, sir. I have not had a minute for that job, but I’m ready for the business any time you see fit to spare me.” “Let it be tomorrow, or, if you can manage it, tonight. We want the man even if he is i\ot the hero of that romantic episode. He wrote these letters, and he must explain the last one. His initials, as you see, are not ordinary ones, and you will find them at the bottom of all these sheets He was brave enough or arrogant enough to sigh one with his full nahie. This may speak well for him, and it may not. It is for you to decide that. Where will you look for him, Sweetwater? No one here knows his address." “Not Miss Chailoner’s maid?” “No; the name is a new one to her. But she made it very evident that she was not surprised to hear that her mistress was in secret correspondence with a member of the male sex. Much can be hidden from servants, but not that.” “I’ll find the man; I have a double reason for doing that now; he shall not escape me.” Doctor Heath expressed his satisfaction, and gave some orders. Meanwhile, Mr. Gryce had not uttered a word. CHAPTER VIII. Strange Doings for George. That evening George sat so long over the newspapers that in spite of my absorbing interest in the topic engrossing me, I fell asleep in my cozy little rocking chair. I was awakened by what seemed like a kiss falling very softly on my forehead, though, to be sure, it may have been only the flap of George’s coat sleeve as he stooped over me. “Wake up, little woman,” I heard, “and trot away to bed. I’m going out and may not be in till daybreak.” “You! going out! at ten o’clock at night, tired as you are—as we both are! What has happened—Ah!” This broken exclamation escaped me as I perceived in the dim background by the sitting-room door, the figure of a man who called up recent, but very thrilling experiences. “Mr. Sweetwater,” explained George. “We are going out. together. It is necessary, or you may be sure 1 should not leave you.” He gave me a little good advice as to how I had better employ my time id his absence, and was off before I could find words to answer. As soon as the two were in the street, the detective turned towards George and said: “Mr. Anderson, I have a great deal to ask of you. Mr. Brotherson has vanished; that is, in his own proper person, but I have an idea that I am on the track of one who will lead us very directly to him if we manage the affair carefully. What I want of you, of course, is mere identification You saw the face of the man who washed his hands in the snow, and would know it again, you say. Do you think you could be quite sure of yourself, if the man were differently dressed and differently occupied?” “I think so. There’s his height and a certain strong look in his face. I qannot describe it.” “You don’t need to. Come! we’re all right. You don’t mind making a night of it?” “Not if it is necessary.” “That we can’t tell yet.” And with a characteristic shrug and smile, the detective led the way to a taxicab which stood in waiting at the corner. A quarter of an hour of rather fast riding brought them into a tangle of streets on the East side. When they stopped, which was in a few minutes, Sweetwater said to George: “We shall have to walk now for a block or two. If you can manage to act as If you were accustomed to the place and just leave all the talking to me, we ought to get along first-rate. Don’t be astonished at anything you see, and trust me for the rest; that’s all.” They alighted, and he dismissed the taxicab. Some clock in the neighborhood struck the hour of ten. “Good! we.shall be in time,” muttered the detective, and led the way down the street, and round a corner or so> till they came to a block darker than the rest, and much less noisy. “There’s a meeting on tonight, of the Associated Brotherhood of the Awl, the Plane and the Trowel (whatever that means), and it is the speaker we want to see; the man who is to address them promptly at ten o’clock. Do you object to meetings?” “Is this a secret one?” “It wasn’t advertised." “Are we carpenters or masons that we can count on admittance?” “Hush! I must speak to this man.” George stood back, and a few words passed between Sweetwater and a shadowy figure which seemed to have sprung up out of the sidewalk. “Balked at the outset,” were the encouraging words with which the detective rejoined George. “It seems that a pass-word is necessary, and my friend has been unable to get It. Will the speaker pass out this way?” he Inquired of the shadowy figure still lingering in their rear. “He didn’t go in by it; yet I believe he’s safe enough inside,” was tbe muttered answer. Sweetwater had no relish for disappointments of this character, but it was not long before he straightened' up and allowed himself to exchange a few more words with this mysterious person. These appeared to be of a more encouraging nature than the last, for it was not long before the detective returned with renewed alac-

rity , to George, and, wheeling him about, began to retrace his steps to the corner. Where they went under this officer’s guidance, he cannot tell. The tortuous tangle of alleys through which he now felt himself led was dark as the nether regions to his unaccustomed eyes. There was snow under his feet and now and then he brushed against) some obtruding object, or stumbled against a low fence; but beyond these slight miscalculations on his own part, he a mere automaton in the hands of his eager guide, and only became his own man again when they suddenly stepped into an open yard and he could discern plainly before him the dark walls of a building pointed out by Sweetwater as their probable destination. Yet even here they encountered some impediment which prohibited a close approach. A wall or shed cut off their view of the building’s lower story; and though somewhat startled at being left unceremoniously alone after just a whispered word of encouragement from the ever ready detective, George could quite understand the necessity which that person must feel for a quiet reconnoitering'’of the surroundings before the two of them ventured further forward in their possibly hazardous undertaking. Yet the experience was none too pleasing to George, and he was very glad to hear Sweetwater’s whisper again in his ear, and to fee! himself rescued from' the pool of slush in which he had been left to stand. “The approach is not all that can be desired," remarked the detective as they entered what appeared to be a low shed. “The broken board has been put back and securely nailed in place, and if 1 am not very much mistaken there is a fellow stationed in the yard who will want the pass-word too. Looks shady to me. I’ll have something to tell the chief when I get back.” “But we! What are we going to do if we cannot get in front or rear?” “We’re going to wait right here in the hopes of catching a glimpse of our man as he comes out,” returned the detective, drawing George towards a low window overlooking the yard he had described as sentinelled. “He will have to pass directly under this window' on his way to the alley,” Sweetwater went on to explain, “and if I can only raise the noise would give us away. I can’t do that.” “Perhaps it swings on hinges,” suggested ■ George. “It looks like that sort of a window." “If it should —well! it does. We’re in great luck, sir. But before I pull it open, remember that from th el moment I unlatch it, everything said or done here can be heard in the ad- ; joining yard. So no whispers and no ! unnecessary movements. When you i hear him coming, as sooner or later you certainly will, fall carefully to your knees and lean out just far ; enough to catch a glimpse of him be- ' fore he steps down from the porch. If he stops to light his cigar or to pass a few words with some of the men .he will leave behind, you may get a plain enough view of his face or figure to i identify him. The light is burning low ■ in that rear hall, but it will do. If it ' does not—if you can’t see him or if i you do, don’t hang out of the window j more than a second. Duck after your , first look. 1 don’t want to be caught I at this job with no better opportunity i for escape than we have here. Can you remember all that?” George pinched his arm encourag- I ingly, and Sweetwater, with an amused i grunt, softly unlatched the window ; and pulled it wide open.

Meeting With Robert Barr

Journey of a CoupH to Cologne Was Materially Enlivened by the Novelist. . I have a pleasant recollection of Robert Barr, the popular novelist, whose death was recently announced, writes a woman correspondent of the London Chronicle; A relative and 1 were traveling some years since in Germany, and rook the water way to Cologne. Among the numbers of brodchen devouring and beer drinking passengers on the little steamer i noticed one, a man with an eager expression, who was distinguished by his abstinence and by his absorption in the passing scenery of the Rhine. I got into conversation by chance with the observer, amd the whole route to Cologne was from that moment made a living reality to me by the man’s comment. The’following day we decided to continue our journey, and again we chose the transit steamer, and again we met the man of recollection and observation. I tried, by conversational openings, to discover his identity, but he heeded none,. continuing to pour out r. flcod of history and legend of the Rhine. At length the time of parting came. With a sweep of the arm, which included my companion and myself, he said: “I shall hope to see you when you return from this, the journey of your lives,” and handed me a card, on which was inscribed the name of Robert Barr. “I don’t think we can call together,” I replied, “for while I live Ip London, my brother’s home is in the north, and I seldom catch sight of him oa his day

A fine sleet flew in, Imperceptible save for the sensation of damp it gave, ami the slight haze it diffused through the air. Enlarged by this haze, the building they were set to watch rose in magnified proportions at their 16ft. The yard between, piled high in the center with snow-heaps or other heaps covered with snow, could not have been more than forty feet square. The window from which they peered, was half-way jdpwn this yard, so that a comparatively short distance separated them from the porch where George had been told to look for the man he was expecting to identify. All was dark there at present, but he could hear from time so time some sounds of restless movement, as the guard posted inside shifted in his narrow quarters, or struck his benumbed feet softly together. But what came to' them from above was more interesting than anything to be heard or seen below. A man’s voice, raised to a wonderful pitch by the passion of oratory, had burst the barriers of the closed hall in that towering third story and was carrying its tale to other ears than those within. Sweetwater, in whom satisfaction was fast taking the jplace of impatience and regret, pushed the window to before asking George this question: “Did you hear the voice of the man whose action attracted your attention outside the Clermont?” “No.” “Did you note just now the large shadow' dancing on the ceiling over the speaker’s head?” “Yes, but I could judge nothing from that.” “Well, he’s a rum one. I shan’t open this window again till he gives signs of reaching the end of his speech. It’s too cold.” But almost immediately he gave a start and, pressing George’s arm. appeared to listen, not to the speech which was no longer audible, but to something much nearer—a step or movement in the adjoining yard. At least, so George interpreted the quick turn which this impetuous detective made, and the pains he took to direct George’s attention to the walk running under the window beneath which they crouched. Some one was stealing down upon the hcuse at their left, from the alley beyond. A big man. whose shoulder brushed the window as he went by. George felt his hand seized again and pressed as this happened, and before he had recovered from this excitement, experienced another quick pressure and still another as one, two, three additional figures went slipping by. Then his hand was suddenly dropped, for a cry had shot up from the door where the sentinel stood guard, followed by a sudden loud slam, and the noise of a shooting bolt, which, proclaiming as it did that the invaders were not friends but enemies to the cause which was being vaunted above, so excited Sweetwater that he pulled the window wide open and took a bold look out. Geprge followed his example and this was what they saw: ' Three men were standing flat against the fence leading from the shed directly to the porch. The fourth was crouching within the latter, and in another moment they heard his fist descend upon the door inside in away to rouse the echoes. Meantime, the voice in the audience hall above had ceased, and there could be heard instead the scramble of hurrying feet and the noise of overturning benches. Then a window flew up and a voice called down: “Who’s that? What do you want down there?” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

trips to town.” “Y’our brother,” replied the editor of the Idler, “then why the deuce do you both have new luggage?” Pigmented Beauties. Pierre de Trevierre, a French writer on fashion, heralds the unexpected triumph of the brunettes over the blondes, who have so long h<Td the popular favor. Who, he asks, could have foreseen this evolution? The blonde, alas, as gone! The style of dressing the hair with head bands has caused this undermining of the golden locks. The meridian rays of the Greek coiffure permit one to perceive the new growth of hair which has liberated itself from the corrosion of the dye. All the pigmented beauties have now been forced to renounce their chemical preparations. No more shall we see these golden headbands. Chemistry has created many varieties <of blondes. We have had the ruddy blonde of Rubens, the ferruginous blonde, the mahogany blonde beloved of Titian, the exquisite bloftde of Tintoretti and the blonde dear to the artist Henner. There were a hundred fashions of blondes, but there is only one fashion of brunette. Innocent. “I try to think,” said Benham, ‘that woman is the equal of man and as welt qualified to take part in the political life; but tt sort of jars that belief to get the reply I did this morning from my wife, when I remarked, on reading the returns, that Bingham ran ahead of his ticket, and she innocently inquired, “What was hia burry T"—Judge.

BOUND TO HAVE EXCITEMENT Without Proper Materials for Gan» bling, “Germany” Schaefer Proposed to Utilize Household Articles. “Germany Schaefer, the Senator* clown-coach, just can’t resist gans bling. He once attended a party given by a friend, and as everything was convivial, Germany suggested that a Httle gambling be done. “Have you any cards in the housed he asked the lady of the house. “No, Mr. Schaefer, we don’t have card playing here.” “Well, have you got some dlceF* Schaefer insisted. “I tell you," said the lady, a little testily, “we don’t allow gambling of any sort” “Well, have you got any wash-tubs In the cellar?” inquired the persistent Schaefer. “Certainly we have. There are half a dozen tubs down there.” “Well, for the love of mud,” bellowed Herman, “get me three tubs and a watermelon, and I’ll work the three-shell game.”—New York Anitr lean. Wanted Burden Lifted. Leonard is only four years old, but be frequently uses expressions amasIngly mature. The other day, for instance, he appealed to a devoted young aunt to remove from his sphere of existence the new littlo baby sister of whom he had become jealous. The tiny lad was at some pains to explain that while he didn't want baby himself, she was so sweet and dear that plenty of other people would. “But why don’t you want to keep her, Leonard?” asked auntie, divided between surprise and amusement “Oh, she’s such a bother, an’ mamma has to fuss with her so much, an* she makes me just suffer,” the youngster gravely explained. Three Cheers for ’Em. “I like this pattern well enough. - said the customer who had dropped In to look at some ribbons, “but I*m afraid the colors will run." “Run, ma’am!” indignantly answered the salesman. “Red, white snd blue? They never run!” Whereupon the woman with the tiny American flag pinned to the lapel of her jacket rose to the occasion and bought 45 yards. Has Tested Himself. “Smoking again? I thought you’d eut it out.” “Well, you see. when I’ve convinced myself that I can cut it out whenever I want I start smoking again." Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup for ChUdrsa teething, softens the gums, reduces Inflamma* tion.allays palu,cures wind colicJßsca> botlleje Would you try to flatter a married man by telling him that he doesn’t took it?

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