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•w>7;> f !• •*.^?5S^.?€ -< ?v , -dfelg LIRF KVATI ItJUll i 3r Y Cuius TOWNSCND r , Y BRADY • VW FUUSRMRM<S#Y7?A)TF*PAT Vwutmnotv vniCHjvnm amxHrmcm? astau* A young woman cast ashore on a lone­ ly ijsunui, Unas a solitary Inhabitant, a young white man, dressed like a savage and unable to speak In any known lan­ guage. She decides to educate him and mold his mind to her own Ideals. She finds evidence that leads her to believe that the man iti John R^vell Charnock of Virginia, and that he was cast ashore when a child. Katharine Brenton was a highly specialized product of a pleading university. Her writings on the sex prob­ lem attracted wide attention. Tiit? sou of a multi-millionaire becomes infatuated with her and they decide to put her the- oHps into nrjctlc^. a f^w HflVfl on yacht reveals to her that he only pro­ fessed lofty ideals to possess her. While drunk he attempts to kjss her. She knocks him down and leaves him uncon­ scious and escapes in the darkness in a fctisoiiiie launch. During a storm she is cast ashore on an island. Three years' teaching gives the man a splendid fHlura- tion Their love for each other is revealed when he rescues her from a cave where she had been Imprisoned by an earth­ quake. A ship is sighted and they IlgZit a beacon to summon It. I.angford on his yacht, sights the beacon and orders his yacht put in. The woman recognises the yacht and tells h«r companion that a man on board had injured her In the greater* way. Langford recognizes Katharine. He tells the man that she had been his mis­ tress and narrowly escapes being killed. An American cruiser appears. Officers hear the whole story and L>angford asks Katharine to marry him. Katharine de­ clares that she will marry no one but h«r Island companion. The latter says he still loves her but that the revelations have made a change. Katharine declares her In­ tention of remaining alone on the island, saying Charnock had failed when the teat came. CHAPTER XX.--Continued. ! And then Jie discovered tha% lie wanted her jfaore than he had ever de­ sired her before; that »he was more necessary to him than ever he had ; dreamed she would be; that here was "£»o question of honor cr duty, indeed, fcut of love, overwhelming, obsessing. And then he Admitted that she was purity, even holiness ftself; that he had behaved to her like a cur; that he had been neither grateful, nor kind, nor tender, nor loving. He began to wonder fearfully if, aftef having failed so egreglously and terribly, there was any possible chance that she could ever care for him again. Pate, had brought her intfi intimate contact, he realized, with two men. One had treated her outrageously in the be­ ginning and had nobly made amends. He hated Langford, and yet his sense of justice forced Aim to admit that he had played the man at last, while he, the islander, had treated her out­ rageously and in the end had played the fool. Was there a chance that she ^ould forgive him? The desire to see her, to plead with her, to. beg her forgiveness--not a low desire or a base one, he thanked Cfod -- was -so great that he . could DO longer sustain it. Hi rose to his feet and looked out of the open port hole. The dawn was graying the oast. Attired as he was In the loose shirt and trousers in which he had lain down, which were not un­ like the tunic that he habitually wore, aave that they were of soft, luxurious silk, he opened the door of the cabin, Btepped out through the silent ward­ room--he had the natural savage art of treading Without a sound--ran light­ ly up the companion ladder and Btepped upon the deck. The o^lcer of the watch and his midshipman did not notice him. Their eyes were else­ where. He ran swiftly across the deck and stepped at the gangway. A mar­ ine stood there and started forward as he approached. "That's my Island," said the man. "I'm hoing to swim off to it, and I don't wish to be followed." "It's a long swim, «tir," ventured the marine, scarcely knowing what to do. He stepped fairly in the gangway as if to bar the exit. "U is nothing tflflme," said the man. **Stf»nd aside." "Mf. rfopkins!" called the marine, turning toward the officer of the derk. * Aye, aye," came from Mr. Hopkins as he turned and started forward to the gangway. The next moment the man had aelzed the marin^ in a grip which left him helpless, lifted him gently out of the gangway, dropped him carelessly upon the deck and had dashed through the air into the water. By the time Mr. Hopkins reached the gangway the half-dased marine had risen to his feet. "What is itr "Why, it's the castaway, sir, the wild man that we brought ashore to­ day." "Well." "He said he wanted to swim to the shore and tlid not want to be fol­ lowed." "Why didn't you stop him?" "I did try, sir, but he picked me up as if I bad been a baby and threw me aside and went overboard." The officer was in a quandary. He had received no orders to prevent the man from going out of the ship. He was not quite sure what his duty was. At any rate, he turned to the boat­ swain's mate and bade him call away a crew for the cutter swinging astern. He directed the coxswain to bring the boat to the gangway and then sent the midshipman of the watch below to r<e- port the matter to the captain and ask his orders. Capt. Ashby, as It happened, was awake, He came on deck immediately in his pajamas and received confirma­ tion of the midshipman's extraordinary story from the watch officer. -It was light enough now for the waters and the shore clearly to be seen. The cap­ tain stared over the side. He could m£ke out. the man's head swimming throigh the opening in the barrier. He could see the splash that made In his rapid progress through the quiet seas. "Mr . Hopkins," he said, after a mo­ ment's thought, "tell Mr. Cady--the midshipman erf the watch--to take the boat and follow after. If the man gets safely to the shore, they are not to dis­ turb him but to come back and report tc me. If, pn the cpntrary, he needs help, theyare to take Mm aboard mad 'bring him back to the ship," feo much time was lost In these vari­ ous maneuvers, however, that when the order was carried out the boat had scarcely reached the entrance to the barrier when they saw the islander stepping through the shallow waters to the beach. There was, therefore, nothing for Mr. Cady to do but come back and report the matter to the cap­ tain. When he reached the deck of •the cruiser he found the executive of­ ficer with the chaplain and the sur­ geon who had been summoned from their berths ip consultation with the captain. By Mr. Whittaker's advice, he and the chaplain were immediately sent ashore to see what had happened and what was to be done. There was considerable anxiety in the minds of the quartet who had been dealing with the affair heretofore as to what conditions might be. They did not know the man. They did not know what, he might be doing, or to what danger the woman, whom they all pitied most profoundly, might be exposed. Of all with whom he had come in contact, the lieutenant com­ mander and the chaplain were those who would have the most influence over the man of the island, hence they were dispatched to the Island. Another boat crew was therefore called away and the two gentlemen were rowed ashore. It was not yet sunrise but still sufficiently light to enable them to proceed. They were at a loss at first what to do, for they had not yet had opportunity for ex­ ploring the island. They had learned that the cave in which the woman dwelt was upon the other side and that hills rose between the landing place una ner anode. mey knew, of course, that they could get to it by following the shores of the island, but they had a reasonably accurate Idea of its size and they knew that that would take a great deal of time. Time was precious. They were becoming more and more fearful with every mo­ ment They decided, therefore, to chance a direct march over the hill and across the island. By great good fortune they stuiqbled Into the path which was nbw sufficiently defined in" the grow­ ing; light to enable them to follow it. They climbed the hill as rapidly as was consistent with the strength of the chaplain; who was a rather old man, and then having: reached the top went down the other side almost at a run. As they broke out from under the palm trees, they saw a dark object In the gray dawn lying upon the sands at the water's edge. It was a human being undoubtedly. As they ran to­ ward it with quickening heart beats they recognized it as the man. He was lying motionless as if he had been struck dead. In a brief space they reached him. The lieutenant-com­ mander knelt down by his side and turned him over upon his ^>ack. He was as senseless as if he had been smitten with a thunder bolt. *18 he alive?" asked the chaplain, bending over him. ^ Mr. Whittaker's hand searched his heart. "It beats feebly," he said. "He seems to have fainted, collapsed in some strange way. I wish we had brought the surgeon. 1 wonder what can be the cause of it?" "Look!" said the chaplain. He pointed to a little heap of some­ thing dark on the sands a foot or two away. "What is it?" asked the officer. The chaplain stepped over to it. "It is the clothes of the woman," he said in an awe-struck voice, "and that Dible we were to take away with us with the other things but which she said she would give us in the morn­ ing." "Great heaven," exclaimed Mr. Whittaker, "you don't think--" At the same instant the same thought had come to both men. "It looks like it," said the chaplain with bated breath. "Poor woman, may God help her!" "That is what is the matter with him," returned the lieutenant-com­ mander. "He has sought her in her cave and has not found her. He has discovered these things and he knows that she is gone. The shock has al­ most killed him." "What is to be done now?" Here the man of action interposed. "Do you watch by him, chaplain," said the lieutenant-commander, rising. "I will go back to the landing upon the other side and send for the doc­ tor. Then we will bring a party ashore and search every foot of the island. It is a bad business. To think of that woman offering herself to this man in vain. The fool!" "Don't," said the chaplain. "He it cot much more than a child in spite of all that he has learned. We must make allowances for him. He did love ber, evidently. Look to what her loss has brought him. Perhaps stricken by the hand of God his soul has gone out to meet hers." "Well, we must fight for his life anyway. Do you stay here. I will he back In a short time." The lieutenant-commander rose to his feet and started back across the Island without another word. The chaplain composed the mem­ bers of the stricken man, putting him in a comfortable position on the warm sand, then knelt down and be­ gan to pray. It seemed a long time to the waiting priest before his shipmate returned, and yet but a short time had elapsed. He came up panting from the violence of his exertions. "I have sent the cutter back for the surgeon. I told the men to row for their lives. I gave the midshipman in charge an account of what we had found and begged the captain to send parties ashore to search the island. What of the man?" "He breathes still," said the chap­ lain. "I should think he was in some kind 6f syncope. His heart evidently was affected. He has had no prepa­ ration for such violent strains. The things which are usual and ordinary with us and which, I take it, indurate us to the greater things of life have been conspicuous by their absence in his case and he has not been able to bear up under the sudden shock.* Lying Upon the Sands. "Those clothes, have you examined them?" "No," said the chaplain, "it has been too dark in the first place, and--" "I will look at them," said Mr. Whit­ taker. "Perhaps we may find some new clew in them." Thes lieutenant-commander stooped over the pathetic little heap of worn garments. There were the blouse, the skirt, the stockings, and the worn and torn white shoes. The Bible lay upon them as If to weigh them down, and they had been placed well above the reach of the highest tide. The tide was then Just coming in to the island. The Bible had been opened and laid face downward on the clothes. Mr. Whittaker lifted it up reverently. He observed as he did so that his own pencil, which he had left, he now re­ membered, with the woman, lay be­ neath the open book. On the blank leaves between the Old and New tes­ taments something was written. No mention of any writing had been made in the affidavit of the night be­ fore. He lifted it, turned his back toward the east where the sun was just <m the verge of rising, and stud­ ied it out. x "Do you find anything?" asked the chaplain. "There is writing on this page," said the younger-man. "I can just make it out." "Man," he read slowly, studying each word in the dim light, "I loved jou. In one sense, in your sense, I was unworthy of you, perhaps, but not in mine. You alone had my heart The past was a frightful mistake for which I should not be blamed, but for which I must suffer. I tried you with the world by your side. The world was kind, but you were not. You broke my soul and killed something within me which I had thought dead, but whi<!h you bad revived. No power could revive it again. I cannot marry langford, for I do not love him. I will not marry you, for you do not love me. 1 will not go back to the world now. I have no desire to do so and I cannot live alone with you upon the island. You will not go without me, and so I will go first by myself alone. You will think of me, I know, in the great world. Perhaps you will judge your­ self harshly, but I do not judge you at all. You did not know, you did not understand. It came too suddenly upon you. You cannot forget me, but do not repine over me and remember to the very last that I Ioa ed you. Good-by. May God bless you, and may he pity me!" Underneath she had written the im­ personal name which he had loved to call her, "Woman." So characteristic was the letter that ihat superscription was supererogatory thought Mr. Whittaker. Only a wom­ an could have written it. She had gone out of his life, because with her in it there was no solution of it for him, because--how pitiful it sounded there in the gray of that morning in that lone island to those two men! -- because he did not love her. And she had gone out of it with excuses for him on her lips and love for him in her heart. No wonder that, divining this which he had not seen, realizing only that she was gone, he had been stricken as he was. The doctor arrived presently. He ordered the man, still unconscious, to be taken back to the ship where he would do what he could toward reviv­ ing him and pulling him through this great and terrible crisis that hM come upon him. The chaplain went with him. conceiving his dnty to be in at­ tendance upon the living rather than searching tor the dead. The captain, with the other officers, brought 100 men to the shore. The island was systematically searched. It firas all open. There was no place of concealment, but not a foot of it was left unvisited. Again and again the men traversed the island. They found nothing, absolutely nothing. The woman had vanished and left no trace. In the search, and made quite fran­ tic by the necessity of it, Langford joined. Indeed, he would not be per­ suaded that the woman he had treated so badly, whoa ha bad huated se de­ terminedly, whom he had loved so truly, who had rejected him finally, was dead, but even he ghve up at last. Taking with them the evidence to substantiate the womanta affidavit and to establish, if so be it were possible, the man's claim, and taking with them also the bones of his mother, not for­ getting what remained of the faith­ ful dog, which the captain caused to be exhumed from the ruined boat, as night fell the Cheyenne steamed away to the northeast, followed not long after by the Southern Cross. The two vessels went slowly, as If the souls that animated them were reluctant to leave the gemlike Island where they had chanced upon so much that was idyllic, so much that was romantic; and where they had seen so great a tragedy of misfOi t ine and despair. Below in the cabin, under the care of the Burgeon and chaplain, lay the islander in the frightful throes of a racking fever of the brain. He bab­ bled of the woman and knew not where he was or whither he was being borne. CHAPTER XXI. The Resurrection. The little island lay quiet and still under the rising sun. No footfall pressed its bosky glades, beneath the shadows of its spreading palms, no hu­ man being sought shelter from the sun's fierce rays, no words were echoed back from its Jutting crags, no figures flashed across its shining sands. Soundless it lay save for the cry of the bird and the rustle of the gentle wind across its hills. For well- nigh -30 years it had not been so abandoned. Two days past It had re­ sounded with the cries of men scaling its heights, crashing through its cop­ pices, calling a name, beseeching an answer. Two days before great ships had drifted idly under its lee. It had been the center and focus of great events. Now it lay desolate^ alone. On that morning the t|de which had drawn away from it through the long night had turned and was coming back. The force of the water spent itself upon the barrier. Within the lagoon it lay placid, rising gently inch by inch in mighty overflow. A watcher, had there been one, would have seen at sunrise the still water of the la­ goon broken by a ripple, a keen eye might have noticed at the base of the cliff where it ran sheer ddwn into the blue, a dark object moving t>eneath the surface. The eye could scarcely have become aware of its presence before the waters parted. A little splash and a head rose dark crowned, white faced. There was a sidewise wave and shake of the head and a pair of eyes opened. The blue of the water was lightened by flashes of white arms. As the body rose higher under the impetus of strokes, vigorous yet graceful, it could be seen that it was that of a woman. With ease and grace the figure swam along the base of the cliff until it was joined by a jutting spit of sand which widened and widened into a great strip of beach that ran afound the island. Upon this sand presently the shallowing of the water gave the swimmer a foothold. Progress ceased. With eyes haggard, yet keenly alert, the sea, the shore, the beach, the cliffs, the trees were eagerly searched. The long glances revealed nothing. Then the head was turned and the ear listened for sounds and heard nothing. The look of apprehension faded Into one of dull relief. Walking now, the woman in the water made her way toward the sand. Very white she gleamed In the full warm light streaming from the risen sun against the background of the dark black rock. The water dripping from her exquisitely graceful limbs, she looked a very nymph of the sea as she stepped out at last above the high tide line and stood poised as if for flight upon the hard and solid shore. Vgain she threw about her that quick, apprehensive look. Again she paused to listen. Reassured in that she heard and saw nothing but the bird's song, the wind's sigh, the ws re's splash, she rah swiftly toward a blacker opening in the dark rock. She gleamed whiter still in the entrance for a moment and then disappeared. She came forth presently dtill unclothed, a look of disappointment on her face. She had many things to do, much to occupy her mind, but the first duty •Koi Jov • rt KonA on/4 fKa flyot in. stinet which she followed was that her nakedness should be covered. Still warily watchful, still keenly alert, still fearful apparently of Inter­ ruption or observation, she ran across the beach, her movement as free, as graceful, -as~rapid as she had been Atalanta herself, and disappeared un­ der the trees. The whirr of birds dis­ turbed might have marked h^r pass­ age After some time sne appeared on the top of the high bare hill that crowned the island. She had impro­ vised for herself a covering out of three or iour great fern leaves, soft add pliable, which she fastened with palm fibers from shoulder to knee on either side, her bare shoulders rising from the rich greenness like white corolla from its verdant calyx. She went more assuredly, now, party be­ cause of the fact that she was clothed and partly because her first rapid sur­ vey of the horizon revealed the fact that the ships were gone. She was glad that this was so, and yet when the realization came upon her, she flung herself down on the grassy crest and gave way to voiceless agony. Sometimes there is nothing bo ter­ rible, she realized, as prayer granted, as desire accomplished, as undertak­ ing brought to conclusion. The aw- fulnccs of SUCC5S5 Upon htT that hour, tier ruse had worked. Her object had been attained, yet the achievement gave her no pleasure. Her own acts had parted her irrev­ ocably forever from the world and the one man in It who was the world for her. He was gone. She who had made him had sent him forth among his fellows. 8he had sacrificed her­ self, buried herself alive for him. She felt as a mother might who experi­ ences birth pangs and knows that with every throb of tearing anguish her own life ebbs away, passes into the new life which she ushers into the world and gives to men. She had iong hours for thought in those two days in that cave whose mouth the waters hid. She had schooled herself to face light and life without him when she emerged from her cunning hiding place. She had waited the long period in order to make absolutely certain that they would be gone. And yet, despite her­ self, a little gleam of hope, a bare pos­ sibility that he might be there still, had lingered in her soul and leavened the awfulness of her grief. Now it was gone. It had sunk beneath the horizon even as the ships had disap­ peared. She had been bitter against him. Her soul bad revolted because he had failed. She had told herBelf that he was not worthy of her. She forgot these things in that profound and desolate moment 8he knew only that she loved him. When she could think of other things than he, the mere bodily presence of the man, the look of him, the Bound of his voice, the pressure of his lips, the clasp of his arms, she began to realize that as he grew older, unless she was so ab­ solutely mistaken in him as to make all estimate of him mockery, he would realize the falsity of his view, the lit­ tleness of his action, and if he were in Vuth the man whom she could rightly love, his years would be one long re­ gret that he had failed. What would happen when he realized that, when he came to the knowledge that she was indeed all that she had seemed and that he had been nothing that he should? She knew, as she had writ­ ten, that the man would never, could never, forget her; that wherever he went and whatever he did, she would be present with him; that she had stamped herself too indelibly upon his heart for any attrition with humanity, however close and persistent, to erase the image He would come back per­ haps. "O God!" she knell down and stretched out her arms, "bring him back," she prayed--a few short, brok­ en words, lacking the eloquence of long and studied petition, the appeal of the heart every throb of which is a prayer-- bring him back to me!" She thought that she would have had hiin back on any terms. She said that she had be^n njad, a fool, not to have taken him, not to have gone to hia»,-not to have n»arriqd him in any way, with any conditions, under any circumstances. All her thoughts were merged in one great passionate long­ ing to be with him. For the first time in her life the pangs of jealousy tore her breast. She thought of him in the world with oth­ er men, with other women, young, handsome, a perfect godlike form and face of man, rich, t'»<e wildest romance with its charm and mystery to attract His story could not be hid, neither could hers. The man would be court­ ed, sought after, made much over, be­ loved. It would be enough to turn the head of a saint. How would ke stand it? Would the recollection ft( her make him strong? Wouid that (lad in whom he and she both had trusted until the crisis carae, lead him in ibe straight path? Would her purity, her sweetness--stop! would he think her thus dowered and possessed? Not now, certainly, but every hour that took him faither from her would add to his knowledge and would tell him the truth and these would help him. She pictured him, not happy $wa* from her, overwhelmed by her death surely, saddened beyond present com­ fort it must be, yet so occupied that insensibly h£s grief would be light­ ened by the only thing after all that makes life bearable in certain con­ tingencies, and that is work. Work! She, too, had work to do. She rose to her feet doggedly as she thought of that and considered what she could do. Her eyes fell upon the ashes of the signal fire. She contem­ plated it as the specter of some Hindu woman whose body had been burned her pyre. It was she who had lighted the beacon. Her hand had called the world to her side. She thought how he had begged her not to do so, how he had declared himself content and happy to live with her alone--the world forgetting, by the world forgot! For the first time she broke down completely. She buried her face In her hands, her body reeled and shook, with sobs, the tears trickled through her fingers. She must make another beacon, she thought. And then It came to her that they had taken away the flint and steel. She had no means of lighting it. That reaiization developed other thoughts. Her Bible was gone; her clothes were gone; her toilet articles, her scissors, her watch, her knife. They had taken everything. They had left her nothing, absolutely nothing. CHAPTER XXII. unavailing Appeal. She slept late the next morning. la the first place being upon the western side of the island, there was no flood­ ing burst of sunlight through the open door to disturb her quiet slumber. In the second place she was so worn out and exhausted, she had had so little sleep In the past three days that in* perative nature forced her into rest. She might have slept longer indeed, but that she was awakened by a great cry, a human voice calling her name. She opened her eyes $nd saw within the dimness of the cave a human fig­ ure, vaguely white in the darkness. For one fleeting instant she imagined, that It might be he, but that hope ztekwm 8o the Dreary Day Dragged On. was dispelled as quickly as it had been born. She recognized the voice. It was Langford's. "Kate," he said approaching her more nearly and bending over her, "im you alive then?" He reached down and touched her hand where it lay across the fern leaves on her breast His touch sum­ moned her bewildered faculties to ac tlon. Brushing his hand aside, 6he sat up "It is I," she said. "You are alive and well?" (TO BE < "ONTINL'EP > Added to the Lonff List im to This Famous Remedy. Oronogo, Mo.--"I was simply a ner- Tous wreck. I couid not walk across t h e f l o o r w i t h o u t my heart fluttering and I could not even r e c e i v e a l e t t e r . Every month I had such a bearing down sensation, as"if the lower parts would fall out, Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegeta^ bie Compound has done my nerves & great deal of good i_ 'and has also relieved ;he bearing down. 1 recommended iti to some friends and two of them hava been greatly benefited by it."---Mia. BLle McKxight, Oroiiogo, Mo. Another Orateful Woman, * St. Louis, Mo. -- ,JI was both««fl terribly with a female weakness and had backache, bearing down pains and pains in lower parts. I began taking- Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Com» pound regularly and used the Sanative Wash ana now I have no more troubles that way."--Mrs. Ai. Herzog, 67SS Prescott Are., St. Louis, Ma Because your case is a difficult ono^ doctors having done you no good, do not continue to Buffer without giving Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound a trial. It surely has cured many cases of female ills, such as in­ flammation, ulceration, displacements, fnmAra pains, backache, tf»at bearing-down reeling, indigestion, dizziness, and ner­ vous prostration. It costs but a trifle to try it, and the result is worth mil­ lions to many suffering women. The Stomach Hold. Colonel H. N. Renouf, at the "Old Guard" banquet at Delmonico's, em­ phasized the Importance to an army of a good commissariat "You have perhaps beard," he said, "of the company of privates that a patriotic lady entertained one Me­ morial day to dinner. "It was a good dinner, and at lta end a pretty maid-servant entered w)th a superb dessert "'Dessert, sergeaht?' she said to the stalwart young 6oldler at the head of the table. " "Desert?" the sergeant answered. 'When I can get eats like this for nothin'? Nixie! Not me!'" Casey at the Bat. This faaaous poem is contained fa the Coca-Cola Baseball Record Book for 1910, together with records, schedule* for both leagues and other valuable baseball information compiled by au­ thorities. This interesting book sent by the Coca-Cola Co., of Atlanta, Qa, on receipt of 2c stamp for postage. Also copy of their booklet "The Trutk About Coca-Cola" which tells all about this delicious beverage and why It la f so pure, wholesome and refreshing. Are you ever hot--tired--thirsty? Drink Coca-Cola--it is cooling, i lieves fatigue and quenches thirst. At soda fountains and >:dr ;< bonated in bottles--5c everywhere Not an Objection. * "I think he'd like to Join your f but his wife wouldn't hear of It-" ' "She wouldn't hear of it? Why, t know of half a dozen men who would i Join our club if their wives couldnt hear of it." . Dr. Pierce's pleamot Pellnta com concttp*tMS» Constipation Is the cause of many disease*. CoH» i ' . tl>« cause and jou euro tho disease. Easy tollln v: . * ̂ Some men carry a sandbag beeaOMM®"' they are too proud to beg. Lewifl' Single Binder cigar. Original Tin Foil Smoker Package, 5c straight. Mortgage the ship for all it's worth before giving it up IJH 75 "Guar*1* The Tragedy of the Stew Hungry Curlers Found Their Expected Meat Under Water and Food for the Fishes. Among the many Americans who spend the winter regularly at St. Mo- ritz, the luxurious snow-mantled Swiss vlilage 6,000 feet above the sea, no one is more popular than William J. Orthwein, the noted American curler. Mr. Orthwein, at the last meeting of the St. Moritz Curling club, told an amusing story of an Irish stew. "We were playing Davos," said the ruddy and robust American. "I told the men not to .^bother about lunches or snacks; I .would have a superb Irish stew sent down from the Kulm. The Kulm, you know is famous for its Irish stews. "Well, |he stew arrived before tho match 'was finished and to keep tt warm three or four top coats were laid over it. "Then play ended, and we all hast­ ened toward the great pot of fragrant stew with joyous hearts. But alas! on lifting the coats we found noth­ ing beneath thom but a round hole. The pot bad malted its way through the ice, and lay hidden under twe feet of cold water," The Wretchednesa of Constipation 'Caa quickly be ovetsM bj> • CAMTEM'S LITTLE LIVER FILLS. Purely wtjjciiible --act surely witl aeady on tbt Em. Cure twi. DiUii Smal pal, SmI l>«Mh * San*8 fti**>f Genuine Signature ^ Never Satisfied. "How do you like this, system by which you deposit your fare instead of waiting for the conductor to come and collect it?" & "First rate," answered Mr. Grouch er. "Buf why don't they go a little further and put in a treadmill so thai the passengers can furti; h their ^ power T' RKER S HAIR BALSAM Cicttues <uatl Proittotef a luiui-is'.s tsromiX M«v#r to Ke»tor* Hair to it* Youthful Colo*. 'Ju:** soa'p 4 » a n PATENTS-W»i»« l».C. Jfctoutoiire*. oKUER WUAir. tm t