The Syracuse and Lake Wawasee Journal, Volume 15, Number 14, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 3 August 1922 — Page 2

The Big-Town Round Up By William,MacLeod Raine Copyright by William MacLeod Raine , ■

“H—L POPS" SYNOPSIS.—A foreword tells this: Motoring through Arizona, a part of easterners. father and daughtei and a male companion, stop to witness a cattle round up. The girl leaves the car and is attacked by a wld steer. A masterpiece of ridim on the part of one of the cowboys saves her life. 1 hen the story begins; Clay Lindsay, rangerider on an Arizona ranch, announces his Intention to visit the "big town," New York. On the train Lindsay becomes interested in a young woman, Kitty Mason, on her way to New York to become—a motion-picture actress. She is marked as fair prey by a fellow trave'er Jerry Durand, gang politician and ex-prize tighter. Perceiving his intentions. Lindsay provokes a quarrel and throws Durand from the train On his firs' day In New York Lindsay is splashed with water by a janitor. That Individual the range-rider punishes summarily and leaves tied to a fire hydrant A young woman who sees the occurrence invites Clay into her house arid hides him from the polite' Clay’s “rescuer" introduces herself as Beatrice Whitford. Lind-say-meets her father, Colin Whit- ' ford, and is invited to visit them I again. ! ■ ■ CHAPTER IV—Continued. —3— 'Til ce’talnly do that, Miss Whitford," “Then we ll look for you Thursday afternoon, say.” “i’ll be here." “if the police don’t get you.” “They won't," lie promised serenely. “When you’re ready. Bee,” suggested Broinfield in a bored voice. She nodded casually and walked out of the robin like a young Diana, straight as a dart in her trim slenderness. Clay slipped out of the house by the buck way. From the top of a bus Clay Lindsay looked down a canyon which angled across the great city like a river of light. He had come from one land of goiXes to another. In the walls of this one, thousands and tens of thousands of cliff-dwellers hid themselves during the day like animals of some queer breed and poured out into the canyon at sunset. Now the river in its bed was alive With a. throbbing tide. Cross-currents of humanity flowed into it from side streets and ebbed out of it into others. Streams of people were swept down, caught here and there in swirlings eddies. Taxis, private motors, and trolley cars struggled In (he raceway. AU this Clay saw in a flash while his bus crossed Broadway bn its way to the Avenue. His eyes had become accustomed to this brilliance in the weeks that had passed since ids descent upon New York, but familiarity had not yet dulled the wonder of it. He had become a fast friend of Misst Whitford. Together they had tramped titrough Central park and motored up the Hudson in one of her father’s cars. Jfliey liad_ explored each other’s minds along with the country and each had known the surprise and delight of discoveries. of finding in the other a quality of freshness and K I’he bus jerked down Fifth •'avenue like a boat in heavy seas, pausing here and there at the curb to take on a passenger. While it was getting under way after one such stop, another downtow n Ims rolled past. came to a sudden alert attention. His eyes focused on a girl sitting on a back seat. In the pretty childish face lie read a wistful helplessness, a prffTtetie hint of misery that called for s.wjfHitby, Arizona takes short cuts to its ends. Clay rose instantly, put his foot on the railing, and leaped across to the top of the bus rolling parallel with the one lie was on. In another second he had cropped into the seat beside the girl. “Glad to meet you again, Miss Kitty." he said cheerfully. “How the big town been using you?” The girl looked at him with a little gasp of surprise. “Mr. Lindsay !” Sudden tears filmed her eyes. She forgot that site had left him with the promise never again to speak to him. She was in a far country, and he was a friend from home. The conductor bustled down the aisle. “Say, where de you get this movie-stuff i You can’t jump from the top of one Ims to another. That ain’t the system of transfers we use in this town. You might ’a’ got killed." “Oh, well, lei’s not worry about that now.” \ “I'd ought to have you pulled. Three years I’ve been on this run and—’’ “Nice run: Wages good?" “Don’t get gay, young fellow. I can tell you one thing. You’ve got to pay another fare.” Clay paid it. The conductor retired to his post. “What about that movie job? is fi /tannin* out pay gold?” Lindsay askec Kitty. Bit by bit her story came out. I was a common enough one. She ha. been slim-slammed out of her mone; by the alleged schoo. of inoving-plctun actors, and the sharpers had decarriei with it. As she looked at her recovered friend, Kitty gradually realized an oul ward transfermation in his appeal mice. He was dressed quietly i clothes of perfect fit made for him b Colin Whitford’s tailor. From shoe to hat he was a New Yorker got u regardless of expense. But he wan Bmile, the strong, tanned face, the grl of the big brown hand that buried he email one—all these were from he own West. So too had been the noi cliaJance with which he had steppe from the rgtl of one moving bus 1

this were his usual method of trans- ; fer. 1 “I’ve got a job at last,” she explained to him. “I’m working downtown in Greenwich Village, selling cigarettes. I’m Sylvia the Cigarette Girl. At 1 least tiiat’s what they call me. 1 carry I a tray of them evenings into the cafe.’ "Greenwich Village?” asked Clay. ■ Kitty was not able to explain that the Village is a state of mind which is I the habitat of long-haired men and | short-haired women, the JiMnr of whom functioned in away totally alien i to all her methods of thought. “Cant you come down tonight tO’The Purple < Pup or Tlie Sea Siren and see for yourself?" she proposed, and gave him directions for finding the classic resorts. “I’m dressed silly —in bare feet and sandals and what they call a smock. You won’t mind that, will you?” "You’ll look good to me, no matter what you wear, little Miss Colorado, he told her with his warm, big broth- < er’s smile. “You’re good," the girl said simply. “I knew that on the train even when I —when I was mean to you. ’ There came into her voice a small tremor of apprehension. “I’m afraid of this town. It’s so—so kinda cruel. I’ve got no friends here.” He offered Instant reassurance with a strong grip of his brown hand. “You’ve got one, little pardner, I’ll promise that one big husky will be on the job when you need him. Don’t you worry.” Site gave him her shy eyes gratefully. There was a mist of tears In them. "You’re good,” she said aga:n naively. CHAPTER V Arizona Follows Its Lawless Impulse. The Sea Siren was already beginning to fill up when Clay descended three steps to a cellar and was warily admitted. A near-Hawaiian orchestra was strumpilng out a dance tune and a few couples were on the floor. Waitresses, got up as Loreleis, were moving about among the guests delivering orders for refreshments. The westerner sat down In a corner and looked about him. The walls were decorated with crude purple crayons of underfed sirens. A statue of a nude wpman distressed Clay. He did not ’ mind the missing clotl.es, bue sue was so dreadfully emaciated that he ■ thought it wise for her to cling to the yellow-and-red draped barber pole that rose from the pedestal. On the base was the legt nd, “The Weeping ' Lady." After he had tasted the Sea ’ Siren fare the man from Arizona sus- ■ pected that both her grief and her ‘ anaemia arose from the fact taat she 1 had been fed on It. A man in artist's velveteens, minus ’ a haircut, with a large, fat, pasty face, sat at an adjoining table a.- • dis--1 coursed to bis friends. Presently, durI ing an intermission of the music, he 1 rose and to 6k the rest of those present into his confidence. 1 "Bourgeois to the core.” he announced, speaking of the United States. “What are the idols we worship? Law, the chain which binds an enslaved people, thrift, born of childish fear; love of country, which is another name for crass provincialism. I—l am a Cosmopolite, not an Amerlc. n. Bohemia is my land, and all free souls are my brothers. Why should I get wrinkles because Germany sunk the Lusitania a month or two ago? That’s her business, not mine,” Clay leaned forward on a search for information. “Excuse me lor buttin’ Eh i Jp : 'O' ‘ fr'l - m W l ’ Jr1. y "Say, Vvnere uo You Get Trns Movie • Stunt Stuff?" it d in, and me a stranger. But isn’t It yore business when she murders American It women and children?” id The pasty-faced man looked at him jy with thinly disguised contempt. “You re wouldn’t understand if 1 explained." id “Mebbeso I wouldn’t, but you take a whirl at It and I’ll listen high, wide! ?d and handsome.” • it- The man in velveteens unexpectedly r- found himself doing as he was told, in There was a suggestion of compulsion by about the gray-blue eyes fastened on es tfls, something in the clamp of the up strong jaw that brought him up foi ‘m a moment against stark reality. ip “The inieUigenfclia»nKrt .a. zCOHptrj er know tLaf tLlTre can be nd "freedon er until there is no law. Every man’s in- duty B to disregard duty. So, by far ed ing far on the wings of desire, he help: to break down the slavery that binds us gh obey the Cosmic Urge of your soul re

gardless of where it leads you, young b man.” 11 It was unfortunate for the poet of ji Bohemia that at this precise moment t Kitty Mason, dressed in sandals and a A lilac-patterned smock, stood before tl him with a tray of cigarettes asking for his trade. The naive appeal in her I soft eyes had its weight with the poet, u Wiiat is tlie use of living in Bohemia ji if one cannot be free to follow Im- o pulse? He slipped an arm about tlie s girl and kissed tlie crimson lips up- n turned to him. r Kitty started back with a little cry c of distress. 1 Tlie freedom taken by the near-poet n wi's instantly avenged. J f A Cosmic Urge beat in the veins of : f the savage from Arizona. He took tlie , li poet’s advice and followed his Law- v less Impulse where it led. Across tiie * table a long arm readied. Sinewy fingers closed upon the flowing neck- v wear of the fat-faced orato’" and c dragged him forward, leaving over- r turned glasses in tlie wake of Ills course. Tlie man in velveteens met the eyes of tlie energetic manhandle! and quailed. This brown-faced barbarian looked very much like business. “Don’t yju touch me! Don’t you dare touch me!”.the apostle of i.narchy shrilled as the table crashed down. I ’TH turn you over to the police!” Clay jerked him io his feet. Hard [ knuckles pressed cruelly into the soft ( throat of the Villager. “Git down on 1 yore ham bones am. beg tlie lady’s par- | don. Tell her you’re a yellow pup. but | I you don’t reckon you’ll ever puli u I bone like that again." ’ Tlie companions of the poet rushed „ forward to protest at the manhandling r of their leader. Those in tile rear | jammed tlie front ones close to Clay ; 4 and ins captive. Tlie cow punJier | I gently but strongly pushed mem back. . | “Don’t get on the prod,” lie advised I I in his genial drawl. “The poet he’s got I I an important engagement right now.” I I A kind of scuffle developed. The pro--1 | prietor Increased It by bis hysterical 1 efforts to prevent any trouble. Men j lined themselves to the noisy group of which Clay was the smiling center. Tlie excitement increased.* Distant corners of the room became the refuge of the w omen. Some one struck at the cow’ puncher over the heads of those about him. Tlie mass of closely packed human beings rhowed if convulsive ac- 1 tlvity. It became suddenly the most ‘ popular indooi sport at the Sea Siren to slay this barbarian from tlie desert who had interfered with the amuse- ' ments of Bohemia. But Clay took a lot of slaying. In the rough-and-tumble life of tlie outdoor West be had learned how to look . out for his own hand. The copper hair of his strong lean head rose above | the tangle of the melee like the bro- ( midlc Helmet of Navarre. A reckless light of mirth bubbled In hh daredevil eyes. The very number of the . opponents who interfered with each . other trying to gef at him was a guarantee of safety. The blows showered J at him lacked steam and were badly , timed as to distance. The pack rolled across the room, tipped over a table, and deluged an artist and his affinity with hot chocolate before they could escape from the avalanche. Chairs went oer like ninepins. Stands collapseu. Men grunted and shouted advice. Girls screamed. The Sea Siren was being wrecked by a cyclone from the bad lands. Arms threshed wildly to and fro. The local point of their destination was the figure at the center of the disturbance. Most of the blows found other marks. , Four or five men could have demol- i ished Clay. Fifteen or twenty found it I a tough job because they interfered i i with each other at every turn. They i were packed too close for hard hitting. I clay was not fighting but wrestling. I He used his arms to push with rather ' than to strike blows that counted. The Arizonan could not afterward ’ remember at exactly what stage of the proceedings the face of Jerry Durand iinjfinged itself on ills consciousness. Once, when the swirl of the crowd flung him close to tne door, he caught ; a glimpse of it. tight-lipped and wolfeyed. turned to him with relentless > malice. Tlie gang leader was’ taking : no’ part in the fight. Tlie crow d parted. Out of the .pack [ a pair of strong arms and lean firoad j shoulders plowed away for a semeI what damaged face that still carried a debonair smile. With pantherish iitheness tlie Arizonan 4 ucke a swinging blow. A moment, and aj was outside taking the three steps that led ; io the street. Into ids laboring lungs he drew deliciously rhe soft bieath of the night. | I It cooled the fever of Ills hammered ' face, was like an icy bath to his hot | body. A little dizzy from the blows that had been rained on him. he stood fdf a moment uncertain which way to go. s Then again he became aware of Durand. The tnaa was not alone. He had with him a hulking ruffian whose heavy, hunched shoulders told of j strength. There was a hint of the gorilla in the way the long arms hung a straight from the shoulders as he 1 leaned forward. Both of .he men were watching the cow puncher as steadily er as alley cats do a house finch. A. «H—l’s going to pop in about three seepnds,” announced Clay to himself. y Silently, without lifting their eyes ! from their victim tor an Instant, the iv two men moved apart to take him on n both sides. He clung to the wall, lorce ing a frontal attack. The laughter had ,r gone out of his eyes now. They had hardened to pinpoints. This time it y was no ahorseplay. v He wqs d fighting for hlsTire. No need to tell ’ S Clay Lindsay that the New York r . gangster meant to, leave him as good )s as dead. 8 . The men rushed him. He fought el j back with clean, hard blows. Jerry

SYRACUSE ANT) LAKE WAWASEE JOURNAL.

bored In like a -wild bull. Clay caught , him off his balance, using a short arm jolt which had back of it all that j twenty-three years of clean outdoors Arizona could give. The gangster hit the pavement hard. He got up furious and charged again. The Arizonan, busy with the other man, tried So sidestep. An uppercut jarred him to the heel. In that Instant of time before ’his knees began to sag beneath him his brain flashed the news that Durand had struck him on j the chin with brass knuckles. He crumpled up and went down, still alive ■ to wiiat was going on, but unable to [ move in his- own defense. WeaKly lie tried to protect his face and sides from tile kicks of :> heavy boot. Th'ii lie floated balloon-like in space and vanished into unconsciousness. ♦ » • * • Clay drifted back to a world hi which the machinery of his body creaked. He turned his head, and a racking pain shot down nis neck. He The Men Rushed Him. He Fought Back With Clean, Hard Blows. moved a leg, and every muscle In it ached. From head to foot: he was sore. Voices somewhere In space, detached from any personal ownership, floated vaguely to him. Presently these resolved themselves into words and sentences. "We’re not to make a pinch, Tim. That’s the word he gave me before he left. This Is wan av Jerry’s private little wars and he don’t want a judge askin’ a lot of unnicessary questions, y’ understand." "Mother av Moses, if this he-man from H—l’s Hinges hadn’t the luck av the Irish, there’d be questions a-plenty asked. He’d be ready for the morgue this blissed minute. Jerry’s a murderin’ divvle. When I hreeze in I find him croakin’ this lad proper and he acts like a crazy man w hen I stand him and Gorilla Dav off till yuh come a-runnin’. At that they may have given the bye more than he can carry. Maybe it’ll be roses and a nice black carriage for him yet." Ciay opened his eyes, flexed his arm muscles, and groaned. He caressed tenderly his aching ribs. “Some wreck,” he gasped weakly. “They didn’t do a thing’ to me—outside of heatin’ me up—and stompin’ on Ine — an d -unnin’ a steam roller —over i the dear departed.” “Whose fault will that be? Don’t : yuh know better than to start a fight with a rigiment?" demanded the sergeant of police severely. “That wasn’t a fight. It was a waltz.” Tlie faint, unconquered smile of brown Arizona broke through the blood and bruises ot the face. “Tlie fight began when Jerry Durand and his friend rushed me—and it ended when Jerry landed on me .with brass knucks. After ifeit 1 was a fdotball." ■ie words came in gasps. Every breath was drawn i palti. “We’d ought tv pinch vuh,” the sergeant said byway of reprimand. “Tliink yuh can come to New York and tiull your sn ail-town stuff on us? We’ll show yom-’e. If yuh wasn’t alfalfa green I’d frhe yuh a ride.” The officer dropped his grumbling complaint to a whisper. "Whisht, bye. Take a straight tip from a man tiiat I knows. Beat it out of town. Get i where the long arm of —of a friend of

RED COW WAS UNDER SUSPICION

Silly English Superstition hat Her Milk Would Make the Hair of Baby Red. A director of a London dairy company told a correspondent recently at a dairy show a circumstance illustrating a belief that existed not long ago in connection with a cow’s milk. It was in the days when many London dairies kept a few cows at the back of the establishment, partly to cive the impression that the dally milK supply was all derived from these cows or to enable the proprietor to meet the wants of his customers tn special cases for infant feeding. The shop had been closed for the day. when n woman called to ask for new milk for a baby. This was supplied. Shortly after the woman called again and asked: “Can you tell me the color .of the-cow you tpok that milk from . The owner of the establishment saidhe was not quite sure, but would go and see. He went and returned saying: “It was a black cow, but why do vou want to know?” "Well sir.” she replied, “If It had

«• s—can’t reach yuh. He’s a r»- 1 vingeful inemy If ever there was wan.’’ ; "You mean that Durand —" "I’m not namin’ names,” tlie ofiicer 1 interrupted doggedly. “I’m teilin’ yuh sometliin’ for your good. Take it or 1 leave It." * “Thanks, I’ll leave it. This is a free country, and no man livin’ can drive ; me away,” answered Clay promptly. < “Ouch, I’m sore. Give me a lift, sergeant." They helped the cow puncher to his feet. He took a limping step or two. Every move was torture to his outraged flesh. “Can you get me a taxi? That is. If you’re sure you don’t want me tn yore calaboose,” the range-rider said, leaning against the wall. “We’ll let yuh go tills time." “Much obliged—to Mr. Jerry Durand. Tell him for me that maybe I’ll meet up with him again some time — and hand him my thanks personal for ■ tills first-class wallopin’." From the j bruised, bleeding face there beamed ■ again the smile inuomitable, the grin still gay and winning. Physically lie had been badly beaten, hut in spirit lie was still tlie man on horseback. , Presently lie eased himself into a tqxi as comfortably as he could. “Home. James.” he said Jauntily. “Where?” asked the driver. “Tlie nearest hospital,” explained Clay. "I’m goin’ to let the doctors worry over me for a while. Much J obliged to both of you gentlemen. 1 always did like tiie Irish. Friend Jerry : is an exception.” The officers watched the cab disap-! pear. Tlie sergeant spoke tlie comment thut was in the mind of them both. "He’s the best single-barreled sport ■ that iver I met in this man’s town. Not a whimper out of tlie guy and him mauled to a pulp. Game as they come. Did youse see that spark o’ the divvle in Ills eye, and him not tit to i crawl into tlie cab? S’long, Tim. No report on this rough-house, mind yuh.” ' ’“Sure, Mike.” CHAPTER VI Beatrice Up Stage. If you vision Clay as a man of battles and violent death, you don’t see him as be saw himself. He was a peaceful citizen from tlie law-abiding West. It was not until he had been flung into the whirlpool of New York : that violent and melodramatic mishaps befgll this innocent. This was the version of himself that ; he conceived to be true and the one he tried to interpret to Bee Whitford when lie emerged from tlie hospital after two days of seclusion ana pre- ■ sented himself before her. It was characteristic of Beatrice that ! when she looked at iiis battered face she asked no questions and made no j exclamations. After the first startled glance one might have thought from | her expression that he habitv !ty wore one black eye, one swollen lip, one cauliflower ear, and a strip of gauze i . across his cheek. The dark-lashed eyes lifted from hirti to take on a business-like directness. She rang for the man. “Have the runabout brou ht round at once, Stevens. I’ll drive myself," she gave orders. With the light that looked silken strong she swept the car into the pars.. Neither she nor Clay taikeil. Both of them knew that an explanation of his appearance was due her and in the meantime neither cared to fence with small talk. She drew up to look at seme pond lilies, and they talked about them for a moment, after which her direct eyes questioned him frankly. He painted with a light brush the picture of ids adventure into Bohemia. The details he tilled in whimsically, in the picturesque phraseology of the West. Up stage on his canvas was the figure of tlie poet in velveteens. That Son of tlie Stars he did full justice. Jerry Durand and Kitty Mason were accessories sketciied casually. “I gather that Mr. Lindsay of Arizona was among those present.” Beatrice said, smiling. “I was givin’ tiie dance,” he agreed, and his gay eyes met hers.' Since she was a woman, one phase of his story needed expansion for Miss Whitford. She made her comment carelessly while she adjusted the mileage on the speedometer. "Queer you happened to meet someone you knew down there. You said you knew the girl, didn’t you?” “We were on tiie same train out of Denver. 1 got acquainted with her,” Miss Whitford asked no more questions. Bnt Clay could not quite let the matter stand so. He wanted her to justify him in her mind for wiiat he had done. Before he knew it lie had told her the story of Kitty Mason ; and Durand. i “I couldn’t let him hypnotize that l little girl from tiie country, could I?” i he asked. 1 | “1 -suppose not." Her whole race bei gan to bubble with lamrliter in tlie . * way lie liked so well. “But you’ll be a j busy knight errant if you undertake ) to right tlie wrongs girl you ' ' meet in New’ York. Doii’t you think it

be<T. a red cow my mistress would have asked you to change the milk, as the baby would then have had red hair, and she does not want that.”—London Morning Post. Gallio of Achaia. Gallio, deputy of Achaia, mentioned in Acts XVIII, 12-17; is well known in Roman history. Greece, like about all rhe countries bordering on the Mediterranean sea, was a part of the Roman empire, and the southern part of Greece with the adjacent islands formed one province known as Achaia. At the time of St. Paul Achaia was a senatorial province, that is, one administered by the senate and not by the emperor, and the title of the local ruler was proconsul. At the time referred to in that chapter of Acts, tljg, Gallip, bfft Jn"our "English version of the Book of Acts the title Is translated deputy. The seat of his government was in the city of Corinth, in which St. Paul founded a church to which he wrote two letters.

poMlble tliai you rescue job?” |ARE YOU GIVING OUT?] The young man nodded his head rue Does every day mean just another fully. "That’s exactly What 1 di<l. day of suffering? Are you lame, stiff After all her trouble gettin’ one I've and achy—tortured with a nerve-rack . . . . ing backache? Surely there s a reason thrown her out agum. Im a suie- y ou aiK j likely it’s enough fathead.” weakened kidneys. When the kidneys “You’ve been down to find out?" she fail, poisons accumulate and upset the asked with a sidelong tilt of her quick whole system. I hat’s why you have con stant backache ana sharp, stabbing e J’ es - , . . twinges. You may have headaches, “Yes. I went down this tnawnin’ nervous and dizzy spells with annoying with Tim Muldoon. He’s a policeman bladder irregularities. Don’t risk sen I met down there. Miss Kitty hasn’t ® us , k^.?, e y £ d ' , , . t , ney Pills. Doan's have helped thoubeen seen since that night. We went sands and should help you. Asfc your out to the Pirate’s; Den, the Purple neighbor! Pup, Grace uixiwin’s Garret, and all I n< Jj ana Case the places where she used to sell cigar- ' lrs M - Rice - 113 ettes. None of them have seen any- ind thing of her.” k idney.s troubled “So that really your championship L/ awffully. and I . ■ . x-. suffered with such hasn’t been so great a help to her after backaches I could nil has it?” hardly keep on my an, nas It. feet. Headaches “No.” >and dizziness an“And I suppose it ruined the husl- me - t11 0; My „ V.-,. •».«—‘ Vkidneys acted irness of the man tiiat owns tlie Sea 'regularly. I used ujrpn ’• Doan’s Kidney Pills and in a short ~ time I was free from the terrible "I don t reckon so. Ive settled mt backaches and my kidneys "Were the furniture. And Muldoon says strengthened.” when it gets goin’ again tne Sea Siren « "a’Ki 9 KIDNEY will do a big business on account ot UVi AN *3 PILLS the fracas. It’s Kitty I’m worried FOSTER-MILBURN CO., BUFFALO, N. Y. ; about." ' “1 wouldn’t worry about her if 1 were you. She’ll land on her feet." the girl said lightly. A T Her voice had not lost its sweet 1 K g S 0 cadences, but Clay sensed in it some- JL w A*** JL ! thing that was almost a touch of c<k*i , contempt. He felt vaguely that ne Apparatus will be sold to i must have blundered in deserlblnu millions of people this Kitty. Evidently Miss Whitford Old faU an( j winter> not see her quite as she was. rnndriprprl thp ari The voting woman pressed the start- JOU Considered tne ad er blitton. “We must be going home. vantages to your general I have an engagement to go riding business of installing with Mr. Bromtieid.” a Radio department? The man beside the girl kept his . . ’ , n» t i„ Just how to establish such a smite working and concealed tiie little * » „ . , ...i ii department and maintain it at a stab of lealotisv tiiat dirked him. ... , , i ea: ■ •. u u stao vi . . high level of efficiency is told by I Colin Whitford had confided to Lindsay that Ids daughter was practically D J* U L J* * engaged to Clarendon Bromtieid and fXiIQIO lllCrClltllKllSUlSE ‘ that lie did not like tlie man. Tlie ■ range-rider did not like him eitlier. but The Semi-Monthly Magazine he tried loyally to kill his distrust of of the Industry the clubman. If Beatrice loved him One dollar will bring it to you j there must be good in the fellow. Clay tor four months —Three dollars j meant to be a good loser anyhow. a year. There had been moments when the . 1 range-rider’s heart had quickened with RadlO rUDllShing COTpOTabOD a wild, insurgent hope. One of these Incorporated had been on a morning when they were Dept. 30,342 Madison Ave.,NewYorkCity I riding in the park, knee to knee, in the dawn of a new clean world. It hud come tb him with a sudden clamor ot the blood that in the eternal .Funerals by Train for Pans, of things such mornings ought to ne Parisian cemeteries are so overtheirs till the youth in them w ? is crowded as to threaten public health; quenched in sobei age. He had look-d cremation has proved unpopular. The . into the eves of this slim young Dians. “Hmie.pal commission studymg the I . . . ... ik.i ..<>>■».> >■ problem advises the building ot tour j and he had throbbed to the ceitilinrj J*. “ ! that she too in tiiat moment «>f ” . . i , , . > with railroad service to and from tlie ! tangled glances knew’ a sweet conrn- . . • . ! , .tv i i city.—Scientific American. I sion of the blood. In her cheeks there i had been a quick flame of living color. Their talk had fallen from them, and Correct; j they had ridden in a shy, exquisite si- “De man.” said Uncle Eben, “dat lence from which she had escaped by brags about doin’ nullin’ for nobody. ; putting her horse to a canter. »l n doin nuttin foil hisselt. But in the sobei %ehse of sanity Clay — knew that this wonderful thing was not going to happen to him. He was | ■ not going to be given happiness to " hold in the hollow of his hand. Bee f*OR INDIGESTION Whitford was a modern young woman s practical-minded, with a proper sense K\ \ X\ ini I L Wj Hot water ■'Bira Sure Relief DELL-ANS arKi t Packages. Everywhere Ju ' Ba Th * I ' 25 * ' x? ’/ "i i| cigarette 5 “But You’ll Be a Busy Knight Errant iJBb ' '! If You Undertake to Right ths ' Wrongs of Every Girl You Meet in New York."' MrX' ' ■ ■ Jyw vIM ■ of the values that the world esteems. OU i Clarendon Bromfield was a catch even U A'A® ‘ in New York. He was rich, of a good • / / ® i] family, assured social position, good- GTS looking, and manifestly in love with her. Like gravitates to like the land i ov cr. LIUUD! Bromtieid. too, bad no doubt that t - Bee meant to marry him. He was in ‘ love with her as far as he could be i with anybody except himself. 11“ ' t wanted her—the youth, the buoyant g ay this Cigarette and Save Money i life, the gay. glad comradeship of her r I --and lie had always been lucky in I getting what he desired. That was gkW £^3BYqJjal B> M I tlie use of having been born with a A ; silver spoon in Ids mouth. — ~ : BIJn Stops Lameness “Yen I never knowed Clay from a Bone Spavin, Ring to took at a giH before. He ®WBone, Splint, Curb, Side ? 0 „ , h-.n A* VOU " wi Bone, or similar troubles and sure th.nKs a heap o. you. , W going soun± R — i ,vM| acts mildly but quickly and ) (T O BE CONTINUED.) rhair and horse can be worked. Page 17 in pamphlet with each del t ivcrcd. l3 H»m Book si free ’ 1 a plurality of votes when lie ontains r F y0UNG,!«.,310 Temple St., Sprinsfield, Mw.] i more than any other candidate, and he | • .... J t receives a majority of votes when his —~ * > total is more than all ifthers. The > plurality is thus the excess of votes r received by any one candidate over , those received by th<* candidate having the next highest number of votes. s while tlie majority is the excess of l| > votes received by the candidate hav- BAY t Ing the highest number over those V® vTTTJ s received by all the others together. Ayy O/ » Thus when a candidate for office, out . f of say 10.000 votes, lecelve 4.000. and - v tvvft.ojljqr receive f tiveiy 3,soo’and 2,500, the first is f* rec |(| es positivelyßemoved e elected by a plurality, though he has >Betty . s Freckle Ointment, giving beautiful V received less than a majority of the complexion. Your 5 whole vote, and he Is said to have a L^°° klet - - plurality of 500 difference . uJfort WAYN E, NO. 30-1922. 1 between 4,000 an 4 3,500. ”• *•» ■ w »