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,f~i>< PT.AINBEALER, McHENKY, • -.'ly'ix- 0$0j0 SiSiH-S" " p; i cfe® PesmMM SP k'*"- *!?.• (gyjzoe/rs a c/ nvifiMi. "77irj«M£ OFfLAM' ~THE BBOVZE 3BIV. TNS J3CACKJSA&." '77T£ SMJK MVK.. «m-P,'cWT ft\ I.OM3 WW V.AJVCB- It"1.1.- V . ?•!,* *•& •«» !; • • k. . -vt £ *£» "•,** 'Jt ' Wl±, ' m^. * ID you ever risk your life md ccme within a breath of losing it while trying to save a friend? There is a mighty thrilling episode pictured in this installment. Taking up the thread of the story, you will recall that Hugh Whitaker, returning to New York five years after his sup­ posed death, finds his wife, now a famous actress known as Sara Law, engaged to marry Drummond, his old partner. Drummond supposedly commits suicide. Sara Law disappears. Whitaker, assailed mysterious- ly, goes to the country place of Martin Ebmer. He becomes acquainted with charming Miss Fiske, living near byr,, and discovers spies are hatching her. One night she is abducted in a motor boat when Whitaker starts to make a call. He follows the kidnapers in an- other launch and sees their boat wrecked on a reef. ;• * nr»' - n *•'*» tt sfe m CHAPTER XIII. --is-- «rk - * Debacle. The-Trouble, meantime, was closing .In upon the scene of tragedy with little t less than locomotive speed. Whitaker V 1 applied the reversing gear; then, while in /. it- *^e engine reversed with a heavy and I"* ' resentful pounding in the cyiinder- ^^;';;®;";:'vhea{ls, he began to strip off his coat. ' ^Tbe boat, moving forward despite the % >*• Resistance of the propeller, drove 4 1 ' P heavily against the wreck, broadside to »T|w* 'ts stern- As this happened Whitaker ^ 4** >. leaped to the wreck just in time to s grasp the coaming and hold on against 1 the onslaught of a hurtling comber. Thunderings benumbed him, and he be­ gan to strangle before it passed. . . . He found himself filling his 4ungs .*1th free air and fighting his way to­ ward the cabin doors through the wa­ iter waist deep. In another breath he .... - had torn them open, wide, discovering Zi' , /f • *he woman, her head and shoulders . showing above the flood as she stood "vfjipon a transom, near the doorway, ^ grasping a stanchion for support. Her eyes met his, black and blank with ter- . , ror. He snatched through sheer In- • **r * net st a circular life preserver that f ^ floated out toward him, and simultane- 4^ A " OU8,-v roanaged to crook an arm round *• . Pf-. ' her neck, , . < Again the sea buried them beneath " 5 ' tons of raging dark water. Green light- I1'11!?8 flashed before his eyes, and In Ills ears there was a crashing like the j- \ crack of doom. His head was spflt- -[•> ting, his heart on the point of breaking. Mm m".,. ; *sr,; ^ The wave passed on, roaring. He could ^ • » ; * * . ' f o r e a t h e . N o w I f e v e r . . . " 1 As If stupefied beyond sensibility, ^sT' the woman was passive to his hand- - i-„ ling and he managed somehow to drag - S tier from the cabin to the cockpit and 1"< to Jam the life ring over her head and "I, Under one arm before th& next wave i)ore down upon them. g|/ They came to the surface In the hol- ; | low of a deep, gray swale, fully fifty ;; jfeet from the wreck. Whitaker re- gained his grasp of the life-preserver -line. The woman floated easily in the Support, fie fancied a gleam of live- li^r consciousness in her staring eyes, •--Tpncl notice^ v.'ith z. curiously keeu feel­ ing of satisfaction that she was not • only keeping her mouth closed, but had ' done so, apparently, while under water. Then suddenly, the lift of a wave dis­ covered to him the contour of the *hore. Instead of being carried tn to the rock-strewn beach, they were in the grip of a backwash which was £Rearing them not only out of imrnedi- gaping rent in its side. At a little dis­ tance the woman was sitting in the sands, bosom and shoulders heaving convulsively, damp, matted liair veiling her like a curtain of sunlit seaweed. He moved with painfur effort toward her; She turned up to him her pitiful, wrlthen face, white as parchment. "Are you--hurt?" he managed to ask. "I riiean--injured?" She moved her heficj from side to side, as if she could not speak for pant ing. "I'm--glad," he said dully. **Tou stay--hei»e . Y I'll go get help." He raised his eyes, peering inland. Back of the beach the land rose In long, sweeping hillocks, treeless but green. His curiously befogged vision made out a number of shapes that re­ sembled dwellings. "Go . . . get . . help . . .•* he repeated thickly. He started off with a brave, stagger­ ing rush that carried him a dozen feet inland. Then his knees turned to wa­ ter, and the blackness of night shut down upon his senses. - ' - . " • • • m m '1-- 'mil-- -- When Whitaker awoke the afternoon was cloudy-warm and bright, so that his eyes were grateful for the shade of a white parasol that a gtrl was holding over him. He grew suspicious of his senses; and when the parasol was transformed Into the shape of a wom­ an wearing a clumsy jacket of soiled covert cloth over a nondescript gar­ ment of weirdly printed calico--then he was sure that something wus wrong with him. Besides, the woman suddenly turned and bent over him an anxious face, ex­ claiming in accents of consternation: "O dear! If he's delirious--!" His voice, when he strove to answer, rustled and rattled so that he barely managed to say: "What nonsense ? I'm Just thirsty!" ' "I thought you would be," said the woman, calmly; "so I brought water. H e r e . . . " She offered a tin vessel to his lips. He sat up suddenly, seized the vessel and buried his face in it, gradually tilt­ ing it, while its cool, delicious sweet­ ness irrigated his arid tissues, until every blessed drop was drained. Then, and not till then, he lowered the pail and with sane vision began to renew acquaintance with the world. He was sitting in the lee of the beached catboat. The woman he had rescued sat quite near him. The gale was still booming overhead, but now, with less force (or so he fancied) and the surf still crashed in thunders on the beach a hundred feet or more away; but the haze was lighter, and the blue of the sky was visible, if tar­ nished. The sands curved off in a wide crest, cent, ending in a long, sandy spit* There was a low, ragged earth bank, rising from the sands. Midway be­ tween the beach and where the hazy uplands lifted their blurred profile against the faded sky, stood a com­ monplace farmhouse, In .good repair, strongly constructed and neatly paint­ ed; with a brood of out buildings. Here and there, in scattered groups and singly, sheep foraged. With puzzled eyes Whitaker sought counsel and enlightenment of the wom­ an, and found In her appearance quite as much to confound anticipation and deepen perplexity. What she had Her repiy was ulnra m»utub 4tOm,: an Island someiffher*. R's uninhabited I think." Be could only echo iti bewilderment : "An island . . : f Uninhabited . . .!" Dismay assailed him. He got up, after a ^little struggle overcoming, the resistance of stiff and sore limbs, and stood with a hand on the coaming of the dismantled cwtboat, raking the island with an Incredulous stare. She stirred from her place and of­ fered htm a hand. "Please help me up." ' He turned eagerly, with a feeling of chagrin that she had needed to ask him. For an instant he bad both her hands, warm and womanly; In hist' irrnsp, while she rose by his aid, and for an instant longer--possibly by way of reword. Then she disengaged them with gentle firmness. She stood beside him so tall and falr,A so serenely invested with the flawless* * dignity of her womanhood that lie no longer thought of the incongruity of her grotesque garb. "You've been up there?" he asked, far too keenly Interested to scorn the self-evident. She gave a comprehensive gesture,* embracing the visible prospect. "Alt' over. . . . When I woke, I thought surely ... I went to see, found' nothing living except the sheep and; some chickens and turkeys in the farm yard. And the farmhouse--apparently; it's ordinarily iubabfted. Evidently the people have gone away for a visit somewhere. It gives the impression of being a home the. jefur JpoU9d*^.There isn't any boat--" "No boat 1" , "Not a sign qf one, that I can. find-- except this wreck." She indicated the catboat , "But you can't do anything with this," he expostulated. The deep, wide break in its side placed it beyond consideration, even if It should prcrire possible to remedy its many other lacks. "No. The people who live here must have a boat--I saw a mooring buoy out there"--with a gesture toward the wa­ ter. "Of course. How else could, they get away?" "The question is, how we are to get away," he grumbled, morose. "You'll find the way," she told him with quiet confidence. "I! I'll find the way? How?" "I don't know--only you must. There must be some way of signaling the mainland, some means of communica- 'V* *" fry Mi fv V* •• ,".;TV£ ' 4 "Vv? M&tH am :3*« The Backwash of the Suqf Had Them In Its Grip. tion. Surely people wouldn't live here, cut off from all the world . . . Per­ haps we'll find something in the farm­ house to teil us what to do. I didn't have much time to look round. I wanted clothing, mostly--and found these awful things hanging behind the kitchen door.. And then I wanted I something to eat, and I found that-- - mm- -shore toward a point under whose lee j&$£ke hoped to find less turbulent condi- -||$f * tlons. ^ 1 Three times be essayed to speak be- f -:. fore he could wring articulate sounds fib' %"*•' Crom kl* cracked lips 'and burning •; jf,}. ' throat. 4- . "You all right?" - L' • p She replied with as much difficulty: K J i f f • • * » . . . . * » I r t Mi .. If -4 go . . ' 14;'b- re,ax the swollen flngera that v^Yj; * grasped the lifeline was pure torture. t* ( He attempted no further communica­ tion. None, indeed, was needed. It was plain that She Understood their situation. ' ^ Some minutes passed before he be­ came aware that they were closing in quickly to the shelving beach. He glanced over his shoulder. They were on the line of breakers. Behind them a heavy comber was surging in, prested with snow, its concave belly resembling e vast sheet of emerald. In another moment it would be upon them. It was the moment a seasoned swimmer would seize. m ^ • Hls eye sought the Slrl's. in hers he ' read understanding and assent. Of one ,. 'd mind, they struck out with all their strength. The comber overtook them, ^ *v clasi,e<1 theui to its bosom, tossed them hlgh uP°n its ereat glassy shoulder. IThey foa«ht madly to retain that place, *4 /, and to such purpose that they rode it |pi over a dozen yards before it crashed upon the beach, annihilating itself In y't a furious welter of creaming waters, fe? -I Whitaker felt land beneath his feet The rest was like the crisis of a 1 nightmare drawn out to the limit of human endurance. The undertow tore «tl Whltaker's legs as with a hundred murderous hands. He came out of It eventually to find himself well up on the beach leaning against the careened tuft eC a dismantled catboat with * t worn the night before he could not say; but It certainly could have had nothing in common with the worn, stained, misshapen jacket covering her shoulders, beneath it the calico wrap­ per, scant and crude beyond belief, up­ on her feet the rusty wrecks that onco had been shoes. As for himself, his once white flan­ nel trousers were precious souvenirs, even though the cloth had contracted to an alarming extent--uncomfortable as well; while his tennis shoes re­ mained tolerably Intact, and the can­ vas brace had shrunk upon his ankle until It gripped It like a vise. But these details he absorbed rather than studied, in the first few moments subsequent to his awakening. His chiefest and most direct interest cen­ tered upon the woman. There was warm color in the cheeks that he had last seen livid, there was the wonted play of light and shadow in her fas­ cinating eyes; there were gracious rounded curves where had been sunken surfaces, hollowed out by fatigue and strain; and there remained the In­ eluctable allurement of her tremendous v i t a l i t y . . . . "You are not hurt?" he demanded. "You are--all right?" "Quite," she told him wtth a smile significant of her appreciation of his "generous feeling. "But you? Haven't you slept at all?" "Oh, surely--a great deal. But I've been awake for some time--a few hours." "But I--! What time Is it?" "I haven't a Watch, but late after­ noon, I should think--going by the sun. It's nearly down." "Good heavens!" he muttered, dashed. "I ba^e slept!" "You earned your right to. You needed it far more than V Btr eyes shone, warm with kindness. She swayed almost Imperceptibly to» ward him. Her voice was low pitched and a trifle broken with emotion: "You saved my life--" "I--? Oh, that was only what any other man--" "Nope other did!"*.. . * "Please don't speak of it--I mean, consider it that way," he stammered "What I want to know are wer • -- - some bread, not too stale, and plenty of eggs in the henhouse. . . . And you--you must be famished !* What do you suppose Whit- ' aker and Miss Fiske will find \ on the Island--a solution of the J whole mystery? f (TO BE CONTINUED.) OLD MINE RADIANT CAVERN Shafts in Thuringian Forest Filled With Stalactites i^re a Beauti­ ful Sight. An old abandoned mine near Saal- feld, tn the Thuringia^ forest which In the time of Luther was worked for sliver, copper, alum and vitriol, has been discovered by a Berlin geologist to have developed info one of the most beautiful caverns, in the course of centuries the water percolating through the minerals has built up throughout the mine a wonderful labyriuth of stalactites and stalag­ mites. thrown together wtth a profu­ sion and brilliance of color which is said to be without paraileL Deep greens, vivid blues, the purest white, yellows of all shades^ln tact the entire scale of color is reproduced over and over again, and yet the t?ol> ors melt iuto each otlier so gently that nowhere is the impresilon of dis­ agreeable contrast produced. Although unknown before the war, this fairy grotto has already become famous among the scientific men of Germany. The aged Haeckel has had himself carried through it in his in­ valid chair, and has agreed with other scientists that It Is the most remark­ able natural curiosity in Germany, TALKING ABOUT MONEY Kids at Heme. MUST REORGANIZE Europe Faces Huge Shake-Up in Finance and Politics When. War Ends. rrw TROUBLE: XftiAtf f(jit AlTCfilCA This Country Will Have to Pay Debts and Conduct Business More Effi­ ciently--Purpose of Pay-Up Week Explained. All of the nations in Europe are bound to reorganize their whole busi­ ness world, their social world, and probably- their political world. The Immense debts thnt have been piled up will compel each of the nation to do business in the most efficient of all possible ways, going, perhaps, to an extreme of state control of all com­ merce and industry. And this organi­ zation of business Intercourse will con­ tinue for many years. * The weight of business competition, manufacturing, transportation, selling and buying Will be directed chiefly against America because of our Immense national wealth and largely because of our proverbial wastefulness and slipshod business organization. From manufacturer, to . wholesaler, from wholesaler to jobber, from job­ ber to retailer, arki between retailer and customer there is bound to come a closer and more compact relation. Open book accounts will give place to trade acceptances, credits which can be discounted for their full value, and keep active in open channels the money heretofore tied up in open book accounts. This change is already ber lng earnestly advocated This change will fall hardest, per­ haps, upon retail merchants. These persons are the only ohes In the whole chain of business relations who trans­ act business with acquaintances anh neighbors and friends, and who are approached in business from the per­ sonal side. Credits will have to be extended to consumers for longer or shorter periods of time, but a new ele­ ment must be recognized as having come in and new relations between merchants and bankers and consumers will have to be worked out. Viewed from the social side retail traae has a new and vital -Importance, a place In the scheme of community or­ ganisation which cannot safely be sacri­ ficed. Much blatant nonsense has been published about abstract middlemen. Concrete business men and business women In most communities pay more taxes in proportion to ability and wealth, pay more generously to pro­ mote all public improvements, and give more time and energy to welfare projects for the benefit of> the whole corrimunlty than do any other class of citizens. 1 Clearing up all outstanding and un­ secured accounts Is one of the very first indispensable steps to putting American business on. a secure and stable foundation. A pay-up week embodies a fine Idea, putting a general sentiment behind a good work and pop- plarizlng a clearer notion of business duties resting upon all citizens. The American* must l>ear the brunt of world competition for half a cen­ tury or more after the most revolution­ ary war tn history. From the hum­ blest consumer to the chief capital­ ists of the nation compact business or­ ganization ought to be maintained with cheerful Insistence. Slits Rsgulsrly, Because If* Best to Do So--Stingy Folks Usually Become Rusty Through ' Money Doesn't. ' you don't pay too much for it, Laddie, money is a good thing to get Some folks forget that money costs anybody anything and they try to get something for nothing--which never happens. It costs sweat and brains and--but you sit down at the table there and write down as many things as you can think of that folks ?§ spay for money, health, chum life with children, the spirit of play--and things like that. If you don't pay too much for it, Laddlet money is a good thing to keep. Some folks fqrget that keep­ ing money costs somebody something all the time it is kept doing nothing. Money doesn't get rusty by being kept, even if some jokers say It does. No, money doesn't get rtlsty, but folks do who get the habit of making It act rusty. Their joints get rusty, their friendships get rusty, their generous feelings get rusty, and sometimes their bills get terribly rusty--the bills they owe other folks. Some of them--the folks--say they must keep * all the money they can get so that they can have a good time some other time. But O! Getting the habit of keeping all of one's money is a very costly habit to get--it is almost as costly as the habit of keeping all of other folk's money one can get hold of. If you don't pay too much for It, Lassie, money is a good thing to spend. The kind of stuff you're made of Is going to come to the top plainest and surest by the way you use money, by what you have to show for It when you have spent it. The best teacher in the world said that the best way to use money is to buy friends with it, so that when the money fails you will have friends to take you into their homes. Lots of good people think the teacher was talking through his hat. He wasn't, no matter what they think. Some people hare to spend money before they get It, but of course they have to borrow It from someone else who will let them take it and spend it. Sometimes they give a note which says they will get back some other money by a certain time and give It back to the man who lets them take his money and spend tti and they pay him for the use of his money. That's business. Sometimes they borrow stuff that e man has paid money for and say, "Charge It." And he charges It. And then when he wants very much to use the money he paid for the goods and asks the folks who borrowed the goods to let him have his money, some of the folks sometimes get very angry and smite him with hard words and tell him to go to Helena, Arkansas, or some other seaport, and keep on using the other man's money when he ought to have it to use in his business Nobody calls that business. You will learn when you are older what some folks do call it. It is not nice for little children to say such words. Very many people who like to do business have agreed to set a time when everyone who has borrowed books or umbrellas or groceries or cows or furniture or china eggs, and said, "Charge it" will come together and have a great picnic--everyb6dy will pay all his bills so everybody else can pay all of his bills, and everybody will start in business all over again. It will be the jolllest picnic most of the folks have ever gone to. Do you like to go to picnics? Well, so does everybody. You may how go and wasb your neck and ears. TIME TO SAVE ONE'S MONEY Mistake Is Too Much a General One y In Neglecting the Present for . the Future. I IP Presumably every young man knows, as a physidil fact, that he can do nothing next year which he cannot In some degree, do today. He will not grow wings or overcome the law of gravitation or subsist without food. But he is always prefiguring a future In which his mind will operate differ-; ently. The time will Certainly come when he realizes that there is no fu­ ture, but only an Indefinite extension of today. The important question is whether that time will come early enough In life to do him any particu­ lar good. A lazy man cannot possibly make himself Industrious In the future; or a tippling man, sober; or an extrava­ gant man, economical. If It is done at all he must do it at an immediate present moment--at some "right now!" No man ever saved a penny in the fu­ ture, or ever will. He has got to save the penny In his hand at the moment or he will be broke to the day of his death, the Saturday Evening Post In slsts. That Is clear • enough to any­ body who will think about It. To save the penny In hand he must resist the temptation to spend It. Imagining himself neit year -as resisting the temptation to spend a handful of pen­ nies will do him the same good that the «|runkard gets out of imagining himsi-lf reformed next year. Every year that he does not resist weakens His ability to resist. This spending business is as much a matter of habit as tippling. It Is within the knowledge of everybody who has the ordinary .circle of per­ sonal acquaintances that, after a cer­ tain time, the man who lives up to the limit of his income--which, about nine times out of ten, means a little beyond--accepts that as a normal con­ dition and just automatically spends- whatever he gets. At twenty a man lives largely In an Imaginary future. At thirty he seems still to have fairly Incalculable pow­ ers and opportunities to draw upon. At forty he begins to realize what he fully knows, probably, at forty-five-- namely, that he has already spent his future, In the sense that he has large­ ly shaped and fixed It; so that It will contain nothing essentially different from wtkat he himself has already put Into It. If he can realize by thirty that he is spending his future every day it will be a good thing for him. Cooking by Instinct. , In the kitchen of an old mOnasiNfery in France a group of British women, all of good education, are cooking and scrubbing and washing up all day long, and they have been doing it for muny months. The way they cook potatoes Is a thing to write poetry about, and the French soldiers who have eaten then) will tell you that they want to go back to that monastery, which is now a hospital, because the food Is so good. Not only do those women cooks of the educated classes cook well, but they are economical. Another English woman, who before the war knew nothing about cooking, Is a past mistress in the art of making apple dumplings, as many an English soldier, as well as a few English sail­ ors, will bear witness. When asked how she learned, she said that a French friend of hers had lent her her cook for 24 hour^, and during that time she had made rapid progress in many things. Then there was the handy man about the canteen, an Eng­ lishman, who had lived in France for many years. He taught her a great deal. But as to the tarts and the ap­ ple dumplings, she must have learned to make those by Instinct, for no one has taught her how to make the paste or keep the apples dry. PROSPERITY The best monument to the memory of men is not a marble shaft over their remains, but a thriving communi­ ty which treasures memories of their active life. Cheerful citizens who are always finding good enterprises to be promoted and encouraging others to "come on" and get under the load of actual work--these citizens prosper, make prosperity, keep It moving and passing on to the last Infant born as well as to the last grandparent living. , Queen Elizabeth.. ... Among the objects of Intern* exhib­ ited at the museum of the Wilts Arche- ological society, at Salisbury, Eng­ land, was a lock of hair of Queen Elizabeth, which was found at Wilton house, between the leaves of a copy "The Arcadia." The hair Is light brown, approachl to auburn, certainly nor i*& aftthoi with a reddish ttak , (, J ' . • ING UP REAL TEST them read it in the paper, got to talktng about it while n were fussing around and tables and drinkables ready e most gopd to the greatest About forty men were pres- ne <-hai> put the question to e: "Do Jrou owe any money to present In this house?" Sev- Best Explanation. After all, Is there any better ex­ planation of the cause of high prices than the unanimity of judgment among certain thrifty gentlemen that they riped the money? wives, and that is how the women- got drawn Into the game. Twenty-two were found who had to admit that they owed "money to one or-more of the guests. The fellow who created all thfe fuswff pulled five one-ddllar bills out of his pocket and paid back a loan he owed. He appointed a hound to keep track of each dollar-bill fox. Inside of fif­ teen minutes more than eighty dollars of personal debts had been paid off, and the original Smart Aleck had two Author No Asset. At a local bazaar they were offering autographed copies of books by In­ dianapolis authors. "Here is a very delightful book, suit­ able for a gift, and autographed by the author. Only a dollar and a half," said the smiting manager of the booth. "A dollar and a half!" gasped the prospective purchaser, a little woman who held her tempted purse close to her breast. "Yes, a dollar and a half. The au­ tograph* you know, has an especial value." "Why, I can get a copy of that book at a downtown store for a dol­ lar." - "Yes, I know you can, but not au­ tographed by the author." The prospective purchaser's face suddenly took on a look of high wis­ dom and then she blurted: "Oh, well, I know who wrote It any­ how."--Indianapolis "News. Restored to Health bj hjtirt f*' Pmkhftm's Vegetable 0>mpo!ind* Aurora, 111.--"For seven long montil^ I suffered from a female trouble, with severe pains in my back ana sides untu . I became so weak IV could hardly waQc from chair to chair, and got so nervoua I would jump at the slightest noise. I was entirely unffc; to do my house*, work, I was giving up hope of ever be­ ing well, when my sister asked me 0 try Lydia E. Pfnkham'a Vegetable (Jon*.". , '| pound. I took six bottles and today I " am a healthy woman able to do mv own housework. I wish every suffering, •woman would try Lvdia E. PiakhamY , Vegetable Compound, and find out foe themselves how good it is."--Mrs. CAR# " A. KIESO, 590 North Ave,, Aurora, I!|» The> great number of unsolicited teafe-.;'; timoniala on file at the Pinkham Labi oratory, many of which are from tim#' .; to time published by permission, ©n» ; Eroof of the value of Lydia 25. Pinte* S am'a Vegetable Compound, in th£ treatment of female ills. ^ C Every ailing woman In the Unitea; States is cordially invited to write to " the Lvdia E. Pinkham Medicine Cot (confidential), Lynn, mass., for special - advice. It is free, will bring you health, and may save your life. An acre of good fishing ground witt produce more food In a week than ah acre of land In a year. ' |jv FALLING MIR MEANS DANDRUFF IS ACTIVE n-: 8ave Your Halrl Get a 25 Cant BottJi^ of Danderine Right Now 4Mip 8tops Itching Scalp. Thin, brittle, colorless and scraggy hair is mute evidence of a neglected scalp; of dandruff--that awful scurt. There is nothing so destructive the hair as dandruff. It robs the of Its luster, Its strength and Its very* ' life; eventually producing a feverish - - ness and itching of the scalp, which - if. not remedied causes the hair roots ; to shrink, loosen and die--then the . * hair falls out fast A little Danderine < ;' tonight--now--any timer-will surely ','.T save your hair. ; o ' Get a 25 cent bottle of Knowlton!f - Danderine from anjr store, and aft# " 1 the first application your hair MS , :» .: take on that life, luster an<i lu*urlan€§|?;.'"^| which Is so beautiful. It will become ! 4 wavy and fluffy and have the appeal** , 1 ance of abundance; an Incomparable^, ", gloss and softness, but what wll^|: ! 3 please you most will be after just a A . r few weeks' use, when you will actual ly see a lot of fine, downy hair--new hair--growing all over the scalp. ] Indian Battleax Found. A copper banner stone or ceremonial weapon of ancient Indian days, which was recently unearthed in Fond dot * > Lac during the digging of a sewer, i^,y J described and pictured in the last i§» \ sue of the Wisconsin Archaeologist. . The weapon Is shaped like an an* clent battleax and has two blades anjf . g, • a hole for a handle. It was found sl£- feet In the earth and Is believed to ( have been logt on the lake shore many *' ages ago, before the lake receded Its present level, or burled by a late* generation of Indians. A cache of in* ^ ^ teresting Indian relies and weapon# was dug up in the same city years ago. Titled Lady as Shoemaker. It is an Interesting fact that, al­ though the women of the United King­ dom have invaded most employments that formerly were followed chiefly by men, the shoemaking trade has not experienced much change In this re­ spect. Yet, little over a hundred years ago, shoemaking was one of the "em­ ployments of high society" In London. Lady Sarah Spencer, In a letter to her brother, written about the year 1808, says: "In the evening we divide our time between music and shoemaking, which is now the staple trade of the family. I am today in a state of great vanity, for I have made a pair of shoes --there is news for you. So If all oth­ er trades fair I shall certainly estab­ lish myself, cross-legged, at the corner of an alley to earn a livelihood in the midst of leather, awls, and hammers." Rough on Author. 'Mr. Pett Ridge tells a story against himself. He offered to send to a wounded "soldier undergoing treatment In a hospital copies of his novels, but received the following reply: "I a«i getting on fairly comfortable as I am, and f you don't mind I'd rath­ er not do a«iytlUng that's jJU&J# to throw me nack." ' V • ' Oh, He Mas a Pull. From what we have observed, the Wher^ tke Difference "Mother," said George, 'if God madfif'V**-? men and women, why did he uot umka;^ - . them alike?" v ^ "Well, they are not so very diffe^ , > e n t . " s a i d m o t h e r . * . S : - "But look at the difference In their , clothes*" said the observlj^ TOunfc man. ̂ : ̂ """ " Hypnotism. "Do yon believe in hypnotism?'* "What do you mean by hypnotismllf.r '5! > Inquired Miss Cayenne. ; "The power of one human being tflfc,!;n.-h$ throw another into slumber and the*1 ; ^ play upon his Imagination." "I'll go as far as the slumber par% * " Some people can notice me sleepy mer^f \ ly by talking to fife." $£.: , s nouser • oev- ana ine angium oumri MCV* UUU IWW, l)f . . . . *0 grind.--Philadelphia liquid * TrViA You CanSna Your Finger ill |>f caffeine when c|rou change frong| ee to POSTUM "There's a Reasoa" •:U ..lir.Mt-'i-iijSLti