The Syracuse and Lake Wawasee Journal, Volume 14, Number 37, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 12 January 1922 — Page 2

The Qirl, a Horse and a Doq Bu FRAUCIS LI]HDE J Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons

/ BULLERTON. Synopsis. — Under his grandfather's will. Stanford Broughton, society idler, finds nis share of the estate, valued at something like 1440,000, lies in a “safe repository," latitude and longitude described, and that is all. It may. be identified by the presence nearby of a brown-haired, blue-eyed girl, a piebald hotse, and a dog with a split face, half black and half white. Stanford at first regards the bequest as a practical joke, but after consideration sets out to find his legacy. On his way to Denver, the city nearest the spot indicated in his grandfather’s will, Stanford hears from a fellow traveler, Charles Bullerton, a mining engineer, a story having to do with a flooded mine.

CHAPTER 111. ' Waifs and Strays. When I crawled out of my berth at the porter’s call the next morning, my Pullman was standing in the Denver yard. While I was shaving in the washroom I asked the colored boy If my smoking-room chum of the night before was up yet. “Yas, sah ; he done been up an’ gone, for the longest.” Os course, this was mere idle questioning on my part. Tracing the brown-bearded mining engineer who had used me as a convenient dumping ground for his story was the least of my intention at the moment. For that matter, since we hadn’t exchanged cards, and I wasn’t even sure that I’d heard his name straight, I couldn’t have traced him if J had wanted to. Recalling the story in the garish light of another day, it seemed a bit less credible than it had while I was , listening to it, and 1 began to wonder if the teller of it might not be a member of the deathless guild of smokeroom romancers. 1 buried the story aiming the things to be smiled at and forgotten, when I took a taxi for the hotel. After an excellent breakfast I made a few inquiries about thAiVridian; the 105th. that the maps showi as passing just west of the city. T|M maps were right. The 105th meridiiji, which is the one from which mountain time*is reckoned, ran a little west of the city -proper, and, by consequence, west of the two other principal cities of the state, Colorado Springs and Pueblo. I found that the 105th meridian, tracing it north from Denver, stops short against the 40th parallel of latitude just south of a little town called Erie. Traced south, it tracks the D. & R. G. railroad for 'about twenty miles and then takes to “the mountain,, barely shutting out Manitou, and passing, of course, well to the westward of Pueblo. This simplified matters—a little. Yet this business of wandering aimlessly from post to pillar, combing the face of nature for blue-eyed maidens and piebald horses and harlequin-faced dogs was already beginning to strike me as about the most fantastic thing a body could conceive of doing. To attempt it without a plan of some, kind seemed worse than useless; so, for per haps the first time in a pretty rattlebrained life. I sat down to do some ground-and-lofty head work, with Cousin Percy’s letter for a sort of nexus. The third paragraph contained the meat of the matter : “Your portion of Grandfather Jasper’s property was worth, at its latest valuation,, something like $440,000.” What single piece of property outside of a large city could be worth any such sum as that? I could think of nothing but a mine of some kind, unless it might be a cattle ranch, or a growth of standing timber; and in the area laid out for me, mines would outvote cattle or timber about a hundred to one, I thought. Then there was that other phrase: “It lies in a perfectly safe repository. 1 ... “Repository” implied a recep-’ taele or container of some sort; a brick wall, or a barbed-wire fence, or any inclosing thing you like to imagine. Could a mine be said to be a “repository”? As you see, I kept coming back to the mine idea, in spite of all I could do; and at last, without a word of warning, and right out of a clear sky, as you may say, smack! a thing hit * me squarely between the shoulderblades —Brown-beard and his eccentric . old gentleman! After I got cooled off a bit I had to admit that there was something less than one chance in a thousand that, at the price of a couple of cigars given to a fellow traveler in distress, I had purchased any real clue to my own puzzle. Yet I couldn’t get away from the notion that I was on the verge of a discovery. Oddly enough., the miraculous part oflt—the one chance in a million that I should run across the one person in a hundred million who could tell tie that particular story—didn’t impress me at the time. I was too busily engaged tn trying to fit the puzzle pieces together to think of anything else at the moment. Come to sum them up, they fitted astoundingly well. Grandfather Jasper had always been exceedingly closemouthed when speaking of his investments. Added to that, he would be the last man in the world to have confessed that he had been bitten, even indirectly, by a “gold-brick” game. Then, too, the course he had pursued with . the mining engineer (always granting the truth of Brown-beard’s story) was ju|t like him; he would have waited a . year in .which to think it over—or maybe longer. Also, it was like him to keep all the identifying marks as carefully hidden as a nut meat in its shell. At this point I began to think about getting action. One word from Bullton. or Bulletin, ci whatever his name

was, would settle the Identities beyond question, and that word was his “old gentleman’s” name, lie hadn’t mentioned it once in telling his yarn—which might have been by design, or just a happen-so. But, by heavens, I’d make him mention It! I happened to think of the Mining exchange, and to wonder if, somebody connected with it might not have a list of engineers and mining experts. A hike through the streets brought me to the exchange and the secretary not only had such a list, but was willing to show it to me. In its proper place I found the name, “Charles Bullerton.” A query shot at the man behind the desk elicited the Information that Mr. Charles Bullerton was in South America. At this, I could have shouted for joy, because it proved conclusively that Chqrles Bullerton wqs my man, and that the tale to which I had listened wasn’t altogether made up out of whole cloth, as so many Pullman smoke-room romances are. Bullerton’s usual address, when he was In Colorado and not in Denver, was in care of a certain bank in Grippie Creek; or at least, that was the way it had been before he went to South America. A telegraph office was the next thing on the program, and when I found one it seemed to be about a hundred-to-one shot that I’d never touch bottom, since I had no hint that Bullerton had been headed fov Cripple Creek. My message, prepaid* and answer prepaid, contained only a single question: “What was the name of the old gentleman who bought the watered mine and then died?" An answer to that would tell the story. For two whole days, an Interval which I spent in hither-and-yon chasings of piebald ponies and harleciuin-

I I Then One Morning the Answer Came.

faced dogs about the streets of Denver —-and found no blue-eyed girls attached to any of them—-I thought I had merely shot up into the air with my telegram, and missed the whole face of the earth. Then, one morning, the answer came in just two words, like this: “To Stanford Broughton, “Hotel Savoy, “Denver. “John Smith. “CHARLES BULLERTON.” That settled it with a vengeance, you’d say. And jet it didn’t. 'lt merely proved that Mr. Charles Bi-ller-ton had acquired a sudden excels of caution, and was probably cussing himself plentifully for having been too loose-tongued with a perfect stranger in a Pullman smoker. He had answered my wire with a name that meant just as much or as little as if he’d said “Alexander the Great,” and that was precisely the amount of information he had intended to convey. Whether or not Bullerton’s memorandum agreement with my grandfather would be binding upon me as Grandfather Jasper’s heir, was a question for the courts to decide. But one thing was certain —that is, granting all the assumptions; if he should find the mine and go to work on hils unwatering scheme, he would have a grip on things that might be handsomely troublesome to shake loose. After I had argued It out.thus far the next step suggested itself in a jiffy. I must have a heart-to-herfrt talk with the cautiotis Mr. Bullerton, telling him who I was, and perhaps giving him a chance to join forces with me in the search, if It should prove to be mj- grandfather’s mine that he was looking for. Grabbing this impulse by the neck, so to speak, I took the first train for Cripplb Creek, The next morning, when I made inquiry, I found that Bullerton had left town, though where he had gone the bank folks couldn’t say, I had gone into the chase more than half for the sheer fun of It; prettj’ much as the dog runs after the stick you’ve flung into the bushes, and which he hasn’t much hope of finding. But now it was appealing to me as more of a man’s job. There was a legacy; and however valueless it might be in its present condition, it had once been worth nearly half a million—and might be again. And a half-million is a whole lot of money, when you come to consider it. From what little the bank folks told me it appeared that Bullerton was. fairly well known in Cripple Creek and the region roundabout. Therefore, somebody in the near vicinity must know more than I had as yet been

ahle to learn about the manner of his disappearance and his probable destination. My job was to find the somebody. About the time 1 thought I had exhausted all the combinations, I found the one particular Bullerton friend I was hunting for. His name, as I recall It, was Hilton, or something like that, and he was the superintendent of a big drainage-tunnel undertaking designed to unwater a lot of flooded mines on the hills above the tunnel site’. “I can give you a little information, but not much,” was his answer to my inquiry. “Bullerton «is bughouse on the subject of a lost mine—not an unusual disease in any mining country—and he has* gone to hunt for it. He has a sketch map of the location, but nothing to tie it to. I didn’t ask him where the location was—or rather, where he thought it was.” “Then, of course, you have no Idea where his hunt was to begin?” I threw in. “Only a guess. Ih our talk, he asked me if I knew anything about a place called Placerville, in the Red desert; what sort of a town it was, and if a man could outfit there for a prospecting trip. I took it from this that he might be heading for Placerville, though he didn’t say that he was.” As you’d Imagine, this was enough for me. The next morning I was back ih Denver, figuring out the quickest way to get tp Placerville in the Red desert. I hoped Bullerton was on the true scent, but was mightily afraid he wasn’t —in which case I, too, would go beautifully astray. But If he should happen to be on the right track, then I must beat him to the goal. True, he had a map to guide him, and was that much better off than I was. But, on the other hand, I had the girl, a horse and a dog. CHAPTER IV. At the Back of Beyond. To my chagrin, the railroad ticket offices in Denver didn’t know’ any such place as Placerville in the Red desert region, which was then, as now, traversed only by one railroad. The single “Placerville” they had listed was a station not far from Telluride, in quite another part of the state. Nor could the Mining exchange gentleman help me. However, he suggested that if I could find some old resident (“oldtimer” was the word he used) whose memory reached back a ways, there might be something doing. “Steer me,” I begged; “I’m a Halforphan and a total stranger in Denver.” He laughed, and then thought for a minute, and said: “The Du Pont Powder people have been doing business hA*e for a good many years, and they know the powder buyers all over the state. It’s just possible that they could tell you. Suppose you ask at their office.” I went, forthwith; and the gentleman to whom I presented my card at the cashier’s window had the dope. The Red Desert Placerville, he told me, was strictly a “has been.” The placers had long ago been exhausted, and the place had afterward figured a shipping point for some mine or mines on the desert slope of the Eastern Timanyonis. He was not quite certain, but he thought the name “Placerville” had been changed to something else. As to the manner of reaching the “has been,” this, as he pointed out, was simple enough. There were through sleepers byway of the P. S-W. and Copah all the way to the Pacific coast. Armed with this information, I quickly shook the dust of Denver (no slam here intended at the Queen City of the Plain) from my feet, taking a through ticket to Angels; and the following morning, when I ran my window’ shade up previous to turning out for breakfast, the train was rollicking along over endless reaches of the dryest, dreariest, most barren-looking country that the sun ever shone upon; red sand, it appeared to be, with withered bits Os grass here and there and scattering bunches of what I afterward learned was called “greasewood.” It was while luncheon was getting itself served that the train stopped to water the; engine at the most desolate place that everhay out of doors, I do think. The place was utterly deserted; there wasn’t a human being iti sight, either on the platform or in the street upon which the [station faced; not even the bunch of loafers which usually materializes out of nowhere to see a train came and, go. I was looking out of the window and wondering how anybody, even a hermit telegraph operator, could stand it to live in such a graveyard of a place when I got my shock. It was' a dog that connected up the high-voltage wires for me; a shaggy mongrel with his ears cocked and a red ribbon of a tongue hanging out as he jumped up on the high station platform as if to say “Hello, stranger!” to me. For, right down the center of that dog’s face and dividing it as accurately as if it had been drawn by some mathematical draftsman, was a line marking off a black half from a white half! I was just taking a swallow of hot chocolate when the dog appeared, and it nearly choked me. Luckily, I got the swallow down before I saw the horse —a grasshopper-headed cow pony, saddled and bridled and standing hitched to a gnawed wooden rail tn front of one of the tumble-down shacks. “Piebald” is a sort of an elastic word, as the dictionaries define it, and it might apply to almost any beast-markings out of i the ordinary. But the horse I was gaping at fell easily within any or all,of tne definitions; It was a true “calico,” white and light

SYRACUSE AND LAKE WAWASEE JOURNAL

sorrel in grotesque patchings; unmistakably “piebald,” If a purist in the use of the mother-tongue—like Cousin Percy, for example—wished to call it so. Before I could rush back to the steward’s sentry-box in the vestibule of the car our train was chasing along again. “Hey!” I shouted; “what’s the name of that place wheYe we stopped to water the engine?” “Atropla.” “Death-sleep,” I translated with a grin. “It fits, all the way down to the ground. What are the industries of Atropla?” “I don’t get you.” “Excuse me; I’ll try to put it in simpler form. Why i$ Atropia?” He- appeared to have reached the conclusion that I was an escaped lunatic, safe enough, most probably a harmless one. He looked first at the little colored slip sticking in my hat-band and then consulted a note-book drawn from his jiocket. “H’m; ticketed to Angels,” IdT muttered half to himself. And then to me: “Was you expectin’ to have friends meet you at Angels?” This was too much, and, anxious as I was to find out something more about Atropia, I felt it an imperative duty—-fool-like —to do my small part toward enlivening a rather sad world. So I said, solemnly: “I shall be met by a parade of the Angels fire department, in uniform, and with the apparatus, headed by a brass band. But this is irrelevant to the present burning question. What I am thirsting to know is, why..there should be a dog with a face half white and half black standing on the Atropia station platform, and a piebald pony hitched to the horse-rack on the Atropia public square.” That finished him. “Say, young feller, you’ve got ’em bad,” he commented. “But that’ll be all right. Just you wait till we get to Angels, and then you can find out all these funny things you’re so dead anxious to know.” “Hold on a minute,” I interposed as he was trying to escape. “Atropia hasn’t always been as dead as it is now, has it? What was its name when it was alive and able to sit up and take nourishment?” “Huh?” he queried; and then: “Oh, I get you, now; it used to be called Placervillp.” “Thank you; that helps. Now how much farther is It to Angels?” “ ’Bout twenty Julies.” “All right. And when will there be a train coming back to this Atropia place?” “Way-freight —> tomorruh mornin’— eight-thirty out o’ Angels.” “Good. Now if those fire people and the brass band don’t miss me—” I couldn’t resist the temptation to give him a final shot, and it hit the bull’seye. As he edged away I could see by his expression that he still thought me crazy. When 1 got back to my Pullman after luncheon I perceived at once that the train conductor had promptly passed the word about the episode in the dining car. The Pullman conductor evidently had his weather eye on me, and the negro porter shied every time he passed ray section. This was rich, but if I could have known the tenth part of what was going to pop out of this Pandora box that I had foolishly dug up in the dining car, the amusement feature would speedily have been forgotten in a pretty strenuous effort to straighten things out while there was yet time. I descended from the train at my ticket-named destination of Angels, and found a typical mining camp of a single street and a tawdry, dusty

w I \ / ! wk /

“H’m; Ticketed to Angels,” He Muttered Half to Himself.

dreariness scarfcely exceeded by that of the dead-alive Atropla. The first thing I saw on the station platform was my train conductor talking earnestly to a large, desperadoish-looking man whose greatest need was for a clean shave. By the manner of the two I saw that their talk was aiming Itself at me; the railroad man was only too plainly warning, the Angelic person that Angels the Blest had a probably harmless, but possibly dangerous, maniac in its midst. Still I saw only the humorous side of it and refused to be disturbed. Fired by the ambition to find some way of returning at once to Atropia s before

the magic horse and dog should disappear, I tramped off in search of a place where I couldleave my two grips. The place that offered, and the only one, was the “Celestial Hotel.” and I we.rdered what .sly wag had suggested the name, which was a double pun upon the name of the town and the fact that the tavern, half restaurant and half lodglng-hoese, was kept by a Chinaman. But I secured accommodation, and as 1 was turning to leave the restau-rant-tavern trouble loomed up in the shape of the heavy-shouldered des-peradoish-looking person whom I had seen at the station talking with the train conductor. “I’m onto you with both feet,” he remarked, boring me with an eye that I could easily fancy might strike terror I into the heart of the most reckless criminal. “I’m givin’ you warnin’ right now that no funny business don’t go in i this man’s town; see?” “I’m quite harmless,” I assured him. “Give me a little information, and I’ll forthwith remove myself from the confines of your charming city. How far is it by wagon-road to PlacervilleAtropia, and how can I get there?” “My gosh!” he said gloomily; “two of you in the same dog-goned week!” “Even so. When did the other one arrive?” “Day before yistidday. He didn’t look so much bughouse as you do, but 1 reckon he must ’a’ been off his kawhoop, too, ’r he wouldn’t ’a’ gone to ’Tropia.” “Let him rest in peace. *Do I get my information?” “Shore: we speeds the partin’ guest. You’ve come apast your place. Twentyone mile back; and the way-freight ’ll git you there to-morruh mornin’.” “I’m going to Atropia—this afternoon,” I bragged. He let me pass, and I tramped up the street until I found the one livery stable. Here, again, my fool reputation had quite evidently outrun me. The man had idle horses, plenty of them, as I couldn’t help seeing, but I couldn’t hire one for love or money. When it game right down to the pinch, he wouldn’t even sell me one. By this time I was in a hot sweat of impatience to be on my way; to bridge that twenty-one miles before the elusive clue —if it were the clue — could once more dodge me and vanish into thin air. In that frame of mind I told the cautious liveryman, in gentle phrase, what I thought of him and his kind, and hurried down to the railroad, hoping to be able to catch an east-bound train of some kind, any kind, whose crew could be bribed or cajoled into carrying me to Atropia. It was just as I was about to inquire of the telegraph operator what the chances were that the great temptation rose up and slapped me in the face. Up the grade from the westward a tiny, three-wheeled car, carrying two men, came spinning along. I recognized it at once as a track-inspection car. driven by a small gasoline engine; an evolution of the old velocipede car, foot and hand-driven and used by roadmasters and other railroad men for making quick trips over short distances. In half a minute the little car rattled up to the station and made a quick stop, the two men setting the brakes and hopping off to dodge into the telegraph office. They left the little pop-popping engine running at idling speed, and in a flash 1 saw my chtuice. Os course, if I should steal the car, I’d be caught and arrested ana hauled off somewhere to be tried and fined; but before any of these untoward things could happen, I should have settled that biting question of the ownership of the piebald pony and the harlequin-faced dog. With a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure that the coast was still clear, I slipped into the drivingseat, jerked the throttle open and released the clutch, praying fervently that the switches might be set right for me at the upper end of the Angels yard.

CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE PLATE How the Spirit of Giving Was Manifested in the Churches a Hundred Years Ago. Fresh-laid eggs are frequently deposited on the contribution plate in some of the backwoods Episcopal churches of the.South. \\’hich goes to show that the spirit of giving hasn’t changed so very much in the hundred j’ears or so of the Church Missionary society. The first report of the society dated Maj-30, 1523. was dug up the other day, and while it shows no contribution- of eggs, a score of other articles of merchandise seem to have found their way to the plate from the people who gave “according to their means.” This report, for instance, shows that back In 1821 David Snethan gave a basket of groceries for the .support of the missionaries; Stephen North contributed a medicine chest; William Rawland, a cross-cut saw; Joe and John Needles, two sieves; S. Massey, a coffee mill. John and T. Clully contributed, alas, a singularly empty gift—a safe. John Burson came along with a tub, whether bath or wash is not stated. C. Buckley iscredited on the books with “deduction on hat,” $1.50; John McAllister donates a thermometer. Among other miscellanies are hymn books, slates, spades; shoes, trousers, chairs, soap, bridles and locks. Finally from one Richard Markall there is a hogshead of tobacco, which encourages the hope that some good missionary of the church in his lonely station afar off enjoyed a comfortable smoke, says the publicity department of the Protestant Episcopal churchy

As the machine began to gather speed, I looked back. What 1 saw was a-plenty. Three men, one of them, whom I took to be the telegraph operator, in his shirt-sleeves, came running up the < station platform. Tfie shirt-sleeved man was yelling and waving something that glistened in the sunlight. Next 1 heard the distancediminished crack, of a pistol and a blunt-nosed bullet sang a whining little lullaby to me as it tore past. I flung up an arm to show the plstolfirer that he had missed, and then the small car swung around the shoulder of the nearest hill and Angels became only a backward-flitting memory. CHAPTER V. The Magic Triad. To be stopped before I could rem my goal was no swt of my plan, so .opened things up and gave the lltu.. three-wheeled dinky all the gas It could use, keeping a sharp lookout ahead, and meaning to pull up a little way short of the graveyard city, abandoning the car and making the actual approach on foot. Judging from the way the scenery was racing backward, I estimated that the little car must be doing at least thirty miles to the hour; which meant forty minutes or such a matter, to

KJ© ¥>s Ks

What I Saw Was a-Plenty. cover the. twenty-one miles. If oppo» ing train or trains, whatever they might be, would onlj' keep out of my way for those precious forty min* minutes. ... t 1 pushed the small motor to its limit and was getting along beautifully until suddenly, on a grade that was a bit steeper than usual, the popping exhaust quit short off, the engine slowed down, and the car, squeaking and grinding, came to a stand on a low embankment between two of the hill cuttings. There wasn’t anj-thing very complicated about the little motor, and I soon discovered that a broken ignition wire was what had killed it. Happily, there was a small toolbox under the seat, and in the kit there was a pair of pliers. But this was one of them —a bit of material is as important as the tools to work with. The broken wire was too short to couple up again, and there wasn’t an inch of spare wire to be found in the kit. They say that necessity is the mother of invention; but I’ll defy anybody to invent a piece of wire in the middle of the Great Sahara desert. Every minute I was expecting to .hear the rumble and roar of a train. In this extremity it was a * little desert zephyr that gave me the great idea. A aentle breeze came sighing up the draw from some overheated area out bej’ond, and finding no trees on the barren hills, it sang its little song in the thickly clustering telegraph wires on the poles. Why, sure! 1 said to myself; here was my wire—miles and miles of’it. All I had to de was to climb up and get it. “Have you a small brown mole on your left shoulder?” - ’■* i (.TO BE CONTINUED.) Whale fat is used on a large scale in Denmark in making oleomargarine.

Human Stature Unchanged. The stories of the pj-gmies go with the fables of the plants. The men of ancient times were of the same, or nearlj- the same, height as those of the present Bay. The doors of- ancient houses, ancient armor, the Egyption mummies, a, well as the fossil bones of men, prove that there has been little or no variation. Among famous tall men was the Roman Emperor Maximin, whose stature was seven and three-quarter feet. Maximin was a young barbarian, the son of a Gothic father, who first attracted the attention of the Romans by overcoming sixteen of the strong* est men, one after another, in a wrestling match, and, having been made a centurion, he fought and intrigued his way to the Imperial throne. The normal stature of men and women ranges beWreen five feet and six feet four The Height of Man. There is no evidence that men haw ever had a greater average height than they have now. For a long time there existed in France, near the junction of the Isere and Rhone rivers, a deposit of gigantic bones known as the “giants’ field.” In recent times bones have been exhumed there which were believed to be human and were said to be those ot Teutobodus, the king of the Teutons, who overcome near the spot by Marius, the Roman general. The researches of Cuvier proved, however, that these bones, together with all the others exhumed in the same place, were those of an extinct animal of the tapir species, which measured about twearti feet in length.

GIRL HAD PAINFUL TIMES Mothers—Read This Letter end Statement Which Follows Portland, Indiana.—“l was troubled with irregularity and constipation and iiiiminiiiTTiTunn would often have to II'UwShIII 111 down because of O ne Sunday my aunt was visiting . us and she said her. - girls t Lydia E. rinkham’s Vegee ■ table Compound and ft got well, so mother Ilk ill said she guessed she 111 Ul would let me try it It |||r ; l||| is doing me good and * * praise highly. *lYnn are welcome to use thia letter as a testimonial.” — Stella Newton, R. R. 8, Portland, Indiana. ” Mothers—You should carefully guard vour daughter’s health. Advise her of the danger which comes from standing around w*ith cold or wet feet, from lifting heavy articles, or overworking. Do not let her overstudy. . . If she complains of headache, pains in back or lower limbs, or if you notice a slowness of thought, nervousness or irritability on the part of your daughter, give her careful attention. Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound is an excellent medicine for your daughter to take, as it is especially adopted torelieve just such symptoms. Remember it contains nothing that can injure andean be-taken in safety. VICTIMS RESCUED Kidney, liver, bladder and uric acid troubles are most dangerous because of their insidious attacks. Heed the first warning they give that they need attention by taking COLD MEDAL The world’s standard remedy for these disorders will often ward off these diseases and strengthen the body against further attacks. Three sizes, all druggists. Look for the name Gold Medal on every box and accept no imitation Viseline RefUS.Pat.Ott. PETROLEUM JELLY For sores, broken blisters, bums, cuts and all skin irritations* Also innumerable toilet uses. BEFUSE SUBSTITUTES CHE«EKBOOeBMFG.CO. State Street New York CURES COLDST- LA tn. in 3 i— STANDARD rtmtdy wotid over. Demand red fox bearing Mr. Hill’s portrait and signature. At AllDnitim—Cfnti W. H. HILL COMPANY, DETROIT HtW» Year’s 1 In Every Pair of >1 iiHul k Suspenders Suirantw LaW JtMwd to Bwy Ask Your Dealer .■J If he hasnttheffi-Bend direct O M,n', G,rt»r,-50« Accept no Substitute M LooK for Name on Buckles >Nu-Way Strech Suspender Co. A r“ u '“’°*2rK J The Union army lost 2,984 meh in the’ battle of Bull Run; the Confederate army lost 1,981. Without enthusiasm nothing very great can be accomplished, NAME “BAYER” IS ON GENUINE ASPIRIN 1 ake Tablets Without Fear, if You See the Safety “Bayer Cross.” If you want the true,-world-famous Aspirin, as prescribed by physicians for over twenty-one years, you must ask for “Bayer Tablets of Aspirin.” The “Bayer Cross” is stamped on each tablet and appears on each package for your protection against imitations.—Advertisement. A barber never asks if a razor pulls unless he knows it doesn’t. Sure Relief FOR INDIGESTION I water Sure Relief Bell-ans 25$ and 754 Packages, Everywhere and Morning. Have Strong, H.althy £y««. If they Tire,ltch, i or Smart or Burn, if Sore, VA./irwrC Instated, Inflamed or TOUR tl Lj Granulated,useMurine often. Soothes, Refreshes. Safe for Infant or Adult At all Druggists. Write for Free Eye Book. Msriae Ep ftmtdy Cs.,CMaei