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ILL '•13% w'. _!„=_> 'A-.';,. ' - TO ' < I »< sk® • » y " . £.'<'-7" Q? , 5 i- k:V. Copyright JViUiam iMacHarg and Sdwm Calmer "LAND OF THE DRUM." SYNOPSIS.--Wealthy and hl*t»ty placed in the Chicago business world, Benjamin Corvet Is something of a recluse and & mystery to his associates. After & stormy interview with his partner, Henry Spearman, Corvet seeks Constance Sherrill, daughter ol his other business partner, Lawrence Sherrill, and secures from her & promise not to marry Spearman until he returns. He then disappears. Sherrill learns Corvet has written to a certain Alan Conrad, in Blue Rapids, Kansas, and exhibited strange agitation over the matter. Alan arrives in Chicago. From a state-" merit of Sherrill it seems probable Conrad is Corvet's illegitimate son. Corvet has deeded his house and its contents to Alan, who takes possession. That night Alan discovers a man ransacking Corvet's apartments. The intruder thinks Alan a ghost and raves of the "'Sllwaka," After a struggle the man escapes. Next day Alan learns from SherriU that Corvet has deeded his entire property to him. Introduced to Spearman, Alan Is astonished at the discovery that he is the man whom he had fought in his house the night before. Spearman laughs at and defies him. Spearman poisons Constance's mind against Alan. Somebody tries to kill Alan in the night. Corvet's Indian servant, Wassaquam, tells Alan he believes his employer is dead. He also tells him the legend of the Indian drum, which according to old superstition beats once for every life lost on the Great Lakes. Twenty years before, the great freighter Miwaka had gone down with twenty-five on board, but the Drum had sounded for only twenty-four, leaving the Inference that one person had been saved. Luke, who has long been blackmailing Corvet, appears, talks mysteriously and dies. oris under the bookshelves--the drawer, Alan recalled, which lie himself liad been examining when he had found Wassaquam watching him. He drew •out the drawer and Slumped its contents oat upon the floor; he turned the drawer about then, and pulled the bottom out of it. Beneath the bottom which he had removed appeared now another bottom and a few sheets of paper scrawled in an uneven hand and with different colored Inks. At sight of them, Spearman, who had followed them into the room, uttered an oath and sprang forward. The Indian's small dark bapd grasped Spearman's wrist, and his face twitched itself into a fierce grin j which showed how little civilization had modified in him the aboriginal I passions. But Spearman did not try to force his way; instead, he drew back suddenly. Alan stooped and picked up the papers and put them in his pocket. If the Indian had not been there, it would not have been so easy for him to do that, he thought* 7* CHAPTEFUm-^:- m . CHAPTER X--Continued. " < 9 flint Lake had said nothing about Spearman. It had been Corvet, and Corvet alone, of whom Luke had spoken; It was Corvet whom he had accused; it was Corvet who had given him money. Was it conceivable, then, that there had been two such events in Corvet's life? That one of these events concerned the Miwaka and Spearman and some one--some one "with a bullet hole above the eye"-- who had "got" Corvet; and that the other event had concerned Luke and something else? It was not conceivable, Alan was sure; It was all one thing. If Corvet had to do with the Miwaka, then Luke had had to do with it too. And Spearman? But if Spearman had been Involved In that guilty thing, had not Luke known it? Then why had not Luke mentioned Spearman? Or had Spearman not been really Involved? Had it been, perhaps, only evidence of knowledge of what Corvet had done that Spearman had tried to discover and destroy? , Alan went to the door and opened It, as he heard Spearman upon the steps again. Spearman waited only until the door had been reclosed behind him. "Well. Conrad, what was the idea of bringing Miss Sherrill into this?" "I didn't bring her In; I tried the best I could to keep her out." **Out of what--exactly?" "Ton know better than I do. You know exactly what It is. Yon know that man, Spearman; you know what ha came here for. I don't mean money; I mean yon know why he came here tar money, and why he got It. I tried, as well as I could, to make him tell me; but he wouldn't do It. There's disgrace of some sort here, of course-- disgrace that Involves my father and, I think, you too. If you're not guilty with my father, you'll help me now; if yon are guilty, then, at least, your refusal to help will let me know that." "I don't know what you're talking about I toUd you this man may have been a wheelsman on the Corvet; I don't know more about him than that; I don't even know that certainly. Of course, I knew Ben Corvet was paying blackmail; I've known for years that he was giving np money to some one. I don't know who he paid It to; or for what." x The strain of the last few hours was telling upon Alan; his skin flushed hot and cold by turns. He paced up and down while he controlled himself. "That's not enough, Speartnan," he •aid finally. "I--I've felt you, somehow, underneath all these things. The lint time I saw you, you were in this house doing something you ought not to have been doing; you fought me then; you would have killed me rather than not get away. Two weeks ago, some one attacked me on the street-- for robbery, they said; but I know it wasn't robbery--" 7 "You're not so crazy aa to be trying te involve me In that--* ? There came a sound to them from the hall, a sound unmistakably denoting some presence. Spearman jerked suddenly up; Alan, going to the door and looking into the hall, saw Wassaquam. The Indian evidently had retained to the house some time before; he had been bringing to Alan now the accounts which hp had settled. He seemed to have been standing in the hall for some time, listening; but he came in now, looking inquiringly from * one to the other of them. "Not friends?' he inquired. "You •d Henry?" Alan's passion broke oat suddenly. •"We're anything but that. Judah. I found him, the first night I got here and while you were away, going through my father's things. I fought With hiin, and he ran away. He -was the one that broke Into my father's "desks; maybe you'll believe that, even y if no one else will." "Yes?" the Indian questioned. **|!es?" It was plain that he not only lihwil but that believing gave him fegpeMe satisfaction. He took Alan's arm and led him into the smaller lifctary. H* knelt before one of the draw- The Land of the Drum. Alan went with Wassaquam into the front library, after the Indian had shown Spearman out. "This was the man, Judah, who came for Mr. Corvet that night I was hurt?" "Yes, Alan," Wassaquam said. "He was the wan, then, who came here twice a year, at least, to see Mr. Corvet?" "Yes." "I was sure of it/* Alan said. "Can you tell me now why he came here, Judah?" "I have told you I do not know," Wassaquam replied. "Ben always saw him; Ben gave him money. I do not know why." Alan had been holding his hand over the papers which he had thrust into his pocket; he went back into the smaller library and spread them under the rending lamp to examine them. But, as he looked the pages over now, he felt a chill of disappointment and chagrin. They did not contain' any narrative concerning Benjamin Corvet's life; they did not even relate to a single event. They were no narrative at all. They were--in his first examination of them, he c6uld not tell what they were. They consisted in all of some dozen sheets of Irregular size, some of which had been kept much longer than others, a few of which even appeared fresh and new. The three pages which Alan thought, from their yellowed and worn look, must be the oldest, and which must have been kept for many years, contained only a list of names and addresses. Tlie remaining pages, which he counted as ten in number, contained nearly a hundred brief clippings from newspapers; the clippings had been very carefully cut out, they had been pasted with painful regularity on the sheets, and each had been dated across Its face-- dates made with many different pens and with many different inks, but all in the same irregular handwriting as the letter which Alan had received from Benjamin Corvet. Alan, his fingers numb in his disappointment. turned and examined all these pages; but they contained nothing else. He read one of the clippings, which was dated "Feb. 1912." "The passing awav of one of the oldest residents of Emmet county occurred at the poorfarm on Thursday of last week. Mr. Fred Westhouse was one of four brothers brought by their parents into Emmet county in 1846. He established himself here as a farmer and was well known among our people for mnny years. He was nearly the last of his family, which was quite well off at one time, Mr. Westhouse'* three brothers and his father having perished in various disasters upon the lake. His wife died two years ago. He is survived by a daughter, Mrs. Arthur Pearl, of Flint." He read another: , "Hallford-Spens. On Tuesday last Miss Audrey Hallford, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Bert Hallford, of this place, was united in the bonds of holy matrimony to Mr. Robert Spens, of Escanaba. All wish the young couple well.*' • . He read another: "Born to Mr. and Mrs. Hal French, a daughter, Saturday afternoon last Miss Vera Arabella French, at her arrival weighed seven and one-half pounds." This clipping was dated. In Benjamin Corvet's hand, "-Sturgeon Bay Wis., Aug. 1914." Alan put it aside In bewilderment and amaze and took up#gain the sheets he first had looked at. The names and addresses on these oldest, yellowed pages had been first written. It was plain, all at the same time and with the same pen and ink and each sheet in the beginning had contained seven or eight names. Some of these original names and even the addresses had been left unchanged but most of them had been scratched out and altered many times--other and quite different names had been substituted; the pages had become finally almost Illegible, crowded scrawls, rewritten again and again in Corvet's cramped hand. Alan strained forward, holding the first sheet to the light. Alan seized the clippings he had looked at before and compared them swiftly with the page he had Just read; two of the names--Westhouse and French--were the same as those upon this list. Suddenly he grasped the other pages of the list and looked them through for his own name; but It was not there. He dropped the sheets upon \he table and got up and besran to stride about the room. He felt that In this list and In these clippings there must be, somehow. Some 4nef ffeneral meaning "they must filiate In aoftie way to one thing; they rttust have deeply, intensely concerned Benjamin Corvet's disappearance and his present fate, whatever that might be, and they must concern Alan's fate as well. But in their disconnection, their incoherence, he could discern no common thread. What conceivable bond could there have been uniting Benjamin Corvet at once with an old nmn dying upon a poorfarm in Emmet county, wherever that might be, and with a baby girl, now some two years old, In Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin? He called Wassaquam into the library and brought the lists and dippings out again. "Do you know at all what these* are, Judah?" he asked. "No, Alan. I have seen Ben have them, and take them out and put them 'back. That is all I know." "Do you know any of these people?" - He gave the lists to Wassaquam, who studied them through aiteatlTely, holding them to the lamp. - * f • " N o , . A l a n . " - - - j * H : " "Have you ever heard Of Shy * Of their names before?" "That may be. I do not know. They are common names." "Do you know the places?? ! 'V "Yes--the places. They tare lake ports or little villages on the lakes. I have been In most of them, Alan. Emmet county, Alan, I came..from there. Henry comes from there, too." "Then that Is whfcre they hear the Drum?" 4 "Yes, Alan." j "My father took newspapers from those places, did he not?"' Wassaquam looked over the addresses again. "Yes; from all. He took them for the shipping news, he said. And sometimes he cut pieces out of them--these pieces, I see now; and afterward I burned the papers; he would not let me only throw them away/' "That's all yos know about them, Judah?" "Yes, Alan; that is all." Alan dismissed the Indian, who, stolidly methodical in the midst of these events, went downstairs and commenced to prepare a dinner which Alan knew he could not eat. Alan got up and moved about the rooms; he went, back and looked over the lists and flipping once more; then he "Do Yeu Know At All What These Are, Judah?" He Asked. •i i s 8 f e - l V f moved about again. How strange • picture of his father did these things call up to him! When he had thought of Benjamin Corvet before, it had been as Sherrill had described him, pursued by some thought he could not conquer, seeking relief in study, in correspondence with scientific societies, in anything which could engross him and shut out memory. But now he must think of him.not merely as one trying to forget; what had thwarted Corvet's life was not only In the past; it .was something still going on. It had amazed SherriU to learn that Corvet, for twenty years, had kept trace of Alan; but Corvet had kept trace in the same way and with the same secrecy of many other people--of about a score of people. When Alan thought of Corvet, alone in his silent house, he must think of htm as solicitous about these people; as seeking for their names In the newspapers which he took for that purpose, and as recording the changes In their lives. The deaths, the births, the marriages among these people had been of the intensest interest to Corvet. It was possible that none of these people knew Vbout Corvet; Alan had not known about him in Kansas, but had known only that some unknown person had sent money for his support. But he appreciated that it did "not matter whether they knew about him or r ot; for at some point common to all of them, the lives of these people mjist have touched Corvet's life. When Alan knew what had been fhat point of contact, he would know about Corvet; he would know about himself. v Alan had seen among Corret'a books a set of charts of the Great Lakes. He went and got that now and an atlas. Opening them upon the table, he looked up the addresses given on Corvet's list. They were most of them, he found, towns about the northern end of the lake; a very few upon other lakes--Superior and Huron-- but most were upon or very close to Lake Michigan. These people lived by means of the lake; they got their sustenance from It, as Corvet had lived, and as Corvet had get his wealth. Alan , was feeling like one . who, bound, has been suddenly unloosed. From the time when, coining to see Corvet, he had found Corvet gone, until now, he had felt the impossibility of explaining from anything he knew or seemed likely to learn the mystery which had surrounded himself and which had surrounded Corvet. But these names and addresses! They Indeed offered something to go upon, though Luke no# was forever still, arfd his pockets had' told Alan nothing. He found Emmet county on the map and put his finger on it. Spearman, Wassaquam had said, came from there. "The Land of the Drum !" he eald aloud. Deep and sudden feeling stirred in him as he traced out this land on the chart--the little towns and villages, the islands and headlands, their lights and their uneven shores. A feeling of "home" had come to him, which he had not had on coming to Chicago. There were Indian names and French up there about the meetings of the great waters. The sense that he was of these lakes, that surge of feeling which he had felt first In conversation with Constance Sherrill was strengthened an hundredfold. He gazed down at the lists of names which Benjamin Corvet had kept so carefully and so secretly; these were his father's people, too; these ragged shores and the Islands studding the channels were the lands where his father had spent the most active part of his life. There, then--these lists now made it certain--that events had happened by which that life had been blighted. North, there by the meeting of the waters, was the region of the wrong which was done. "That's where I must go!" he said aloud. "That's wherte I must go!" Constance Shenrlll, on thferfollowlng afternoon, received a telephone call from her father; he was coming home earlier than usual, he said; if she had planned to go out, would she wait until after he got there? The afternoon's mail was upon a stand in the hall. She turned It over, looking through It--invitations, social notes. She picked from among them an envelope addressed to herself in a firm, clear hand, which, unfamiliar to her, still queerly startled her, and tore it open. "Dear Miss Sherrill." she read. "I am closing, for the time being, the house which, for default of other ownership, I must call mine. The possibility that what has occurred here would cause you and your father anxiety about me in case I went away without telling you of my intention is the reason for this note. But it is not the only reason. I could not go away without telling you how deeply I appreciate the generosity and delicacy you and your father have shown me In spite of my position here and of the fact that I had no claim at all upon you. I shall not forget those, even though what happened here last night makes it Impossible for me to try to see you again or even to write to you. '•ALAN CONRAD." She heard her father's motor enter the drive and ran to him with the letter In her hand. • "He's written to you,thea?" he sa^i, at sight of It. A "Yes." r:-:: hru "I had a note from httb afternoon at the office, asking me to hold in abeyance for the time being the trust that ^en had left me aftd returning the key of the house to me for safekeeping." "Has he already gone?" "I suppose so; I don't know." "We must find out." She caught up her wraps and began to put them on. Sherrill hesitated, then assented; and they went round the block together to the Corvet house. Sherrill, after a few instants' hesitation, took the key from his pocket and unlocked the door and went in. The rooms, they saw, were all In perfect order; summer covers had been put upon the furniture; protecting cloths had been spread over the beds upstairs. After their inspection, they came out again at the front door, and her father closed It with a snapping of the spring lock. Constance, as they walked away, turned and looked back at the old house, gloomy and dark among Its newer, fresher-looking neighbors, and suddenly she choked, and her eyes grew wet. That feeling was not for Uncle Benny; the drain of days past had exhausted such a surge of feeling for him. That which she could not wink away was for the boy who had come to that house a few weeks ago and.Jac tfc&jnan who just aow Jyid* « * ' " . ; V i CHAPTER XI! 4. Bigamist Placed on Probation , Loyal Wife's Plea, - ,* Win* Judges. TWO WIVES DIFFERENT Second One Wants Man tent toPrison . \ 4i» Example While First Wife • , Asks He Be Returned te His Family. The Things From Corvet*e Poeket* "Miss Constance Sherrill, ( Harbor Springs, Michigan.** The Bddreas, in large scrawling* let*' ters, was written across the brown paper of the package which had been brought from the post office in the little resort village only a few momenta before. The paper covered a shoe box, crushed and old, bearing the name of "S. Klug, Dealer In Fine Shoes, Manltowoc, Wisconsin." The box, like the outside wrapping, waa carefully tied with a string. Constance, knowing no one in Manl-. towoc and surprised at the nature of the package, glanced at the postmark on the brown paper which she had removed; It too was stamped Manitowoc. She cut the strings about the box and took off the cover. A black and brown dotted silk cloth filled the box; and, seeing It, Constance caught her breath. It was--at least it waa very like--the muffler which Uncle Benny used to wear in winter. She started with trembling fingers to take it from the box; then, realizing from the weight of the package that the cloth was only a wrapping or, at least, that other things were in the box, she picked up box and wrapping and ran up tb her room. She locked the door and put the box upon the bed; now she lifted out the cloth. It was a wrapping, for the heavier things came with It; and now, also, It revealed itself plainly as the scarf--Uncle Benny's scarf 1 A paper fluttered out as she began to unroll It--a little cross-lined leaf evidently torn from a pocket memorandum book. It had been folded and rolled up. She spread it out; writing was upon it, the small irregular letters of Uncle Benny's hand. "Send to Alan Conrad," she read; there followed a Chicago address--the number of Uncle Benny's house on Astor street Below this was another line: "Better care of Constance SherriU (Miss)." There followed the »herrllls' address upon the Drive. And to this was another correction: "Not after June 12; then to Harbor Springs, Mich. Ask some one of that; be sure the date; after June 12." Constance, trembling, unrolled the scarf; now coins showed from a fotfd, next a pocketknlfe, ruined and rusty, next a watch--a man's large gold watch with the case queerly pitted and worn completely through in places, and last a plain little band of gold of •1. the size for a woman's finger--a wed- §$ ding ring. Constance, gasping and with fingers shaking so from excltevment that she could scarcely hold these objects, picked them up and examined them--the ring first. It very evidently was, as she had Immediately thought, a wedding ring once fitted for a finger only a trifle less slender thafl her own. One side of the gold band was very much worn, not with the sort of wear which a ring gets on a hand, but by some different sort of abrasion. The other side of the band was roughened and pitted but not so much worn; the inside stIU bore the traces of an inscription. "As long as we bo . * . all alive," Constancy could read, and the date, "June 2, 1881." itetroit.--For a stage ntfting, a somber courtroom; the clilefnperformers, a confessed bigamist, his loyal wife, the girl he wronged; the plot, a struggle for mastery between the wife's desire to restore to her children their father and the girl's demand for justice for her baby and herself; the wife won. William R. Orton was 'brought before Judge Thomas Cotter in Municipal court for sentence. Last week he confessed he had wed Hulda Nicholas June 6, 1921, although he had a wife, Florence Evans Norton, daughter of a wealthy Rrockton (Mass.) manufacturer, and three children, living. Mrs. Orton accompanied her husband and the detective who brought him here from Brockton. When he pleaded guilty she expressed a willingness to adopt Hulda's threemonths- old daughter. Hazel. If the court made a condition of probation. Two Women in Court. When Orton faced Judge Cotter his wife and Hulda stood on either side of him. Flanking Hulda were her brother, Arthur Nicholas, and Arthur's wife, with whom she and the baby have been living. A probation officer stepped forward and handed to tin* court a report recommending Ort<>n to be placed on five years' probation on condition that he pay Hulda $5 a week for the support of the child. "Do you want your husband back?" Judge Cotter asked Florence. "I surely do," she, answered. "I love hiija, no matter what he has done, and my children need their father." "And you?" the- judge turned to Hulda. "What do you say?" The girl's eyes flashed. She dug her fingers into the supporting arm of her brother and bit her lip. "I want him sent to pripon," she cried. "Make an example of him; I want justice. His word Is no good. Put him where he can't do this to some other girl." Florence threw her arms about Orton's ne<ik and wept. He comfpjrted her. She dried her eyes and addressed the judge. Wife Begs for Mate. "She'll get $5 every week," the wife assured, "tfl see to that. Will makes £ Resident Says She Had Mfilll Loet Hope of Getting Better-- Now Well and Happy. "Tanlac has been such a blessing melcan't help singing its praises,* saMllirs. T. J. Archer, highly estetnAft retfdant of 1147 Shepard St., Palers* burg, Va. "I had Indigestion so bad I couldn't eat a thing without being in misery toe hours, and the pain around my heart caused by the gas seemed all I could stand. I constantly had headaches and awful spells of dizziness. Then to make matters worse rheumatism In my arms, shoulders and knees almost drove me to distraction, and for three months I couldn't do a stroke of work. "I had juat about decided it waa no nse to take any more medicine when my husband brought me a bottle of Tanlac. Now I never hare a touch of Indigestion. Headaches and dizzy spells are a thing of the past, and rheumatism has left me entirely. I never have known a medicine to equal Tanlac." Tanlac Is sold by all good drti$glst<k One reason why baseball talk Is so popular in public places is because tt ts entirely safe. WORKING GET LOOK HERE fteai W&at Mrs. Lucas Writes CW caning Her Troubles, Whick •ay be Just like Ti "You mean you want mo to •Murry you--«t once, Henry?" (TO BE CONTINUED.) ' " > j Human Life Too Short. By all the rules which nature observes among humbler mammals, 100 years ought to be a very ordinary ige for a human being. Where Is the mammal which, unless its life is cut short by accident or disease, falls to live to an age five times as great as the time it took to reach maturity? A fairly careful survey of the field answers "Nowhere." Indeed, the ratio of total life to maturity is more likely to be six, seven or eight, than five. But man, whose maturity cannot be placed at less than 20 or 22, thinks he Is doing well when he passes threescore and ten, and only one out of many thousanda reaches the age of one hundred. ,, NUTS HAVE LARGE FOOD VALUE *- According to Writer in English Magazine, There Can Be No Better Artiele of Diet. Nut crackers are not considered a necessary equipment of the ordinary household dining table» The dletarj value of nuts not being fully recog-c nlsed, this Implement la rarely required nowadays. Yet there is no better form of dtet than nuts, declares a writer In London Answers. The family fable which consigns them to the catalogue of the Indjgestibles Is "an unconscionable time a-dylng." A child's taste, however. Is often the best criterion of a food's value, and all children love aota, even as do monkeys. We should consume nuts all the year round, eating, say, a certain quantity dally, chewing them methodically. If children had as free access to the nut crop as have monkeys there would be fewer digestive weaklings. This applies to grownups as well. If nuts disagree, even with the moat delicate, it is because they ore partaken of at the wrong time. When consumed between meals they are almost certain to disagree, as they will also If eaten after a heavy meal of other food or Insufficiently masticated. The proper time to eat nuts is just at the beginning of meals. Then they fill the mouth with a copious flow of saliva which will assist in emulsifying the fats stored In this Important food. In cold weather they are Invaluable, assisting greatly In maintaining the bodily heat. Nothing, therefore, can compare with them as a morning diet for children and a small saucerful will not be too large a supply. •• v' "What Do You •ajrr^.VjV only $25 a week, but we can scrape along. Please let me take him home." "I deserve no leniency for myself Orton interjected. "I am thinking only of my wife and children." "It's high time you started thinking of them," Judge Cotter told him. "If It Wasn't for them you'd be on your way to the penitentiary to serve live years." The court announced that Orton would be placed ' on five years' probation, but warned that if he failed to pay the $5 weekly to Hulda be would be brought back to Detroit and sentenced. ' .; .v " St. Louis, Mo.--"I had troubles thafl all women are ant to have, with pains in jfpjmy back, weak, tired, nervous feelings and a weak stomach. I had been this way about a year and was unable to work or stand on my feet for any length of time. My husband's aunt told me how much good Lydia E. Pinknam' s V e g e t a b l e Compound had done her and begged me to try it, so I did. All my pains and weakness are gone, my stomach is all right and I do my work at home and also work for Swift's Packing Company. I recommend your Vegetable Compound to my friends and you may publish my lettea as a testimonial."--Mrs. LULU LUCAS, 719A Vandeventer St., St. Louis, Mo. Again and again one woman tells another of the merit of Lydia E. Pink* ham's Vegetable Compound. You who work must keep yourself Strong and well. You can't- WOT* if you are suffering from such troubles. Mrs. Lucas couldn't. She tried our Vegetable Compound and her letter tells you what it aid for her. Give Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound a fair trial now. A Tribute. > "So you played In Plunkvllle last Sight?"1 /. "Yes." "1 hear they threw eggs instead of flpwers." .,"Eggs are more valuable than roses." retorted Yorick Hamm.--Louisville Courier-Journal. Diogenes' Find.- ? ^ "You have ended your quest for an hottest man?" "Yes," said Diogenes, as he pot his lantern away. "Where did you find h!mT* "Holding public office. . Instead of saying he wac serving the people at a great personal sacrifice he said If he hadn't landed the job he might have ^starved to death."--Birmingham Ag»• Heiald. - The man who to eat at 1rei taurants thinks that life Is jast SSM flllln* station after anothar. ,.:a ROMANCE OF GIRL, 14, JARRED ah«r!fT Arrest. Brid«(|room on qwency Charge Few Hours After Wedding. ^%Port Clinton. O.--The romance of a twenty-two-year-old youth and a fourteen- year-old girl was blocked here by Sheriff C. J. Starkloff. . Earl Williams, twenty-two, and Ruth Besso, fourteen, daughter of Fred Besso of Port Clinton, eloped and were married at Monroe, Mich. Starkloff found them a few hours afterward at the home of Williams' parents ^Charges of having contributed to the delinquency of a minor have be<yi made against the youthful bridegroom. He pleaded not gOllty. Ball w^s placed at $1,000. One-Armed Bandit Gets *20,000. San Bernardino, Cal--The post office at Colton, near here, was robbed of a registered package containing 120,000 In currency, by a one-armed bandit, who overpowered George Smith, jnlght clerk. The robber escaped. » Oat Kernel Sprouts in Ear. New Haven, Conn.--Medical author, tttes are greatly interested in the gdea|h of Peter Evert><*i, who died of meningitis as a result of an oat k®*' oei sprouting In his e®r» * Help That Aching Back! Are you itabbi Is your back giving out? tortured with backache and stabbing pains? Does any exertion leave you "all played out"? Feel you just can't keep going? Likely your kidneys are to blijne. Overwork, strains, hurry and worry tend to weaken the kidneys. Backache is often the first warning. Headaches and dizziness may come, too, and annoying bladder irregularities. Help the kidneys with Doan't Kidney JHlU--the remedy recommended by thousands. 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