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*3~~ riritZii ipwiH^yer#^ Cbpynqhf- by EdwirvBolrner 5:'.r ' • V»^* "LUKE'S HERE!" SYNOPSIS.--Wealthy and highly placed la the Chicago business world, Benjamin Corvet Is something of a recluse and a mystery to hie associates. Alter a stormy interview with his partner, Henry Spearman, Corvet seeks Coastance StierriU, daughter (ft his other business partner, Lawrence Sher*- rill, and securaa from her a promise not to marry Spearman until he returns. He then disappears. Sherrill learns Corvet has written to a certain Alan Conrad, in Blue Rap- Ids, Kansas, and exhibited strange agitation over the matter. Corvet's letter summons Conrad, a youth of unknown parentage, to Chicago. Alan arrives in Chicago. From a statement 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 the desks and bureau drawers in Corvet's apartments. The appearance ol Alan tremendously agitates the intruder, who appears to think him a ghost and raves of "the Miwaka." After a struggle the man escapes. Next day Alan learns from Sherrill 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. Alan tells no one Of his strange encounter, but in a private interview taxes Spearman with the fact Spearman laughs at and defles him. Spearman poisons Constance's mind against Alan. Somebody tries to kill Alan la the aight. CHAPTER X- . A Calle*. • AfMirte-first of the ttWtrtfi was approaching:, Wassaquam had brought his household bills and budget to Alan that morning directly after breakfast. To furnish Alan with whatever sums he needed, Sherrill had made a considerable deposit in Alan's name in the bank where he carried his own acsount; and Alan had accompanied Sherrill to the bank to be introduced and had signed the necessary cards In order to check against the deposit. Alan had required barely half of the hundred dollars which Benjamin Cor' ret had sent to Blue Rapids, for his expenses in Chicago ; and he bad brought with him from "home" a hundred dollars of bis own. The a&ount which Wassaquam now desired to pay the bills was much more than Alan had on hand; but that amount was also much less than the eleven hundred dollars which the servant listed as cash on hand. This, Wassaquam stated, was in currency and kept by him. Benjamin always had had him keep that much In the house; Wassaquam would not touch that sum now for the payment of current expenses. On the first of the month, therefore, Alan drew upon hia new bank account to Wassaquam's order, and In the early afternoon Wassaquam went to the bank to cash his check--one of the very few occasions when Alan had been left in the house alone; Wassaquam's habit. It appeared, was to go •bout on the first of the month and pay the tradesmen In person. Borne two hours later, and before Wassaquam could have been expected back, Alan, in the room which had become his, was startled by a sound of heavy pounding, which came suddenly to him from a floor below. Shouts-- heavy, thick, and unintelligible--mingled with the pounding. He ran swiftly down the stairs, then on and down the service stairs into the basement. The door to the house from the areaway was shaking to Irregular, heavy blows, which stopped as Alan reached tbe lower hallway; the shouts continued still a moment more. Now that tbe noise of pounding did not interfere, Alan could make out what the man was saying. "Ben Corvet r the name was- almost unintelligible-- %jpen Corvet 1 Ben !M Then the shouts flopped, too. Alan sped to the door and turned hack the latch. The door bore back qpon him, not from a push, but from §, weight without which had fallen igainst it A big, heavy man, with a rough cap and mackinaw coat, would have fallen upon the floor If Alan had Mot caught him. His weight in Alan's shat d--n Injln, hey? I knew Ben Corvet was shere--knew he was shere all time. 'Course he's shere; he got to be sheto. That's shrlgbt You go get '1m!" "WTho are you?* Alnn asked. "Say, who'r you? What t'hells syou (Join' here? Never see you before . . . go--go get Ben Corvet. Jus* sajr Ben Corvet, Lu--luke's shere. Ben Corvet'll know Lu--luke nil right; alwaysh, alwaysh knows me. . . ." "What's the matter with you?" Alan had drawn back but now went to the mnn again. The first idea that this might have been merely some old sailor who had served Benjamin Corvet or, perhaps, had been n comrade In the earlier days, had been banished by the confident arrogance of the man's tone--an arrogance not to be explained, entirely, by whisky or by the fever. "How longhave yon been this way?" Alan demanded. "Where did you come from?"- He put his hand on the wrist; it was very hot and dry ; the pulse was racing, irregular; at seconds it seemed to stop; for other seconds it was continuous. The fellow coughed and bent -forward. "What Is It-- pneumonia?" Alan tried to straighten him up. "Gi' me drink! ... Go get Ben Corvet, I tell you! . . Get Ben Corvet quick! Say--yous shear? You get me Ben Corvet; you better get Ben Corvet; you tell him Lu--uke's here; won't wait any more; goln' t'have my money now ... Bright away, your shear? Kick me out s'loon; I guess not no more. Ben Corvet give Die all money I want or I talk !** "Talk !n "Syou know ft! I atnt goln* . . ." He choked up and tottered back; Alan, supporting him, laid him down and stayed beside him until his coughing and choking ceased, and there was only the rattling rasp of his breathing. When Alan spoke to him again, Luke's eyes opened, and he narrated recent experiences bitterly; all were blamed to Ben Corvet's absence; Luke, who had been drinking heavily a few nights before, had been thrown out when the saloon was closed; that was Ben Corvet's fault; If Ben Corvet had been around, Luke would have had money, all the money any one wanted; no one would have thrown out Luke then. Luke slept in the snow, all wet. When he arose, the saloon was open again, and he got more whisky, but not enough to get him warm. He hadn't been warm since. That was Ben Corvet's fault. Ben Corvet better be 'round now; Luke wouldn't stand any more. Alan felt of the pulse again; he opened the coat and under-flannels and felt the heaving chest. He went to the hall and looked in the telephone directory. He remembered the name of the druggist on the corner of Clark street and he telephoned him, giving the number on Astor street. "I want a doctor right away," he said. "Any good doctor; tbe one that you can get quickest." The druggist promised that a physician would be there within a quarter of an hour. Alan went back to Luke, who was silent now except for the gasp of his breath; he did not answer when Alan spoke to him, except to ask for whisky. Alan stood watching, a strange, sinking tremor shaking him. This man had come there to make a claim --a claim which many times before, apparently, Benjamin Corvet had admitted. Luke came to Ben Corvet for money which he always got--all j he wanted--the alternative to giving I which was that Luke would "talk." Blackmail, that meant, of course; blackmail which not only Luke had told of but which Wassaquam too had admitted, as Alan now realized. Money for blackmail--that was the reason for that thousand dollars in cash which Benjamin Corvet always kept at the house. Alan turned with a sudden shiver of revulsion toward his father's chair In place before the hearth; there for hours each jlay his father had sat with a book or staring into the fire always with what this man knew hanging over him, always arming against It with the thousand dollars ready for this man, whenever he came. Meeting- blackmail, paying blackmail for as long as Wassaquam had been under such clreu|g®p|Jes was the nght thing to do; Sit:, lie had of the doctor alsowf a witness to anything Luke might say. But now--dlil he want a witness? He had no thought of concealthg anything for his own sake or for his jjstlisi's; but he would, at least, want tbs «Kanee to determine the circumstances under which it was to be made public. He hurried back to Luke. "What is it, Luke?" he cried to him. "What can ytfu tell? Listen! Luke--Luke, is It about the Mlwaka--the Kliwaka? Luke!" Luke had sunk into a stupor; Alan shook him and shouted In his ear without awakening response. As Alan straightened and stood hopelessly looking down ntchlu), the telephone bell rang sharply. Constance SherriU's voice came to him; her first words made it clear that she was at home and had just coiue in. "The servants tell me some one was making a disturbance beside your house a while ago," she said, "and shouting something about Mr. Corvet. Ia there something wrong there? Have you discovered something?" He shook excitedly while, holding his hand over the transmitter lest Luke should break out again and she should hear it, he wondered what he should say to her. "Please don't ask me Just now. Miss SherriH," he managed. Til tell you what I can--Inter." His reply, he recognized, only made her more certain that there was something the matter, but he could not add • »h i /-yJW- "Luke, toll'the Miwaka--the Mlwaka? Lukel" anything to It He found Luke, when he went back to him, still in coma; the bloodshot veins stood out against the .ghastly grayness of his face, and his stertorous breathing sounded through the rooms. • • • • • • " • • Consignee Sherrill had wml few moments before from an afternoon reception; the servants told her at once that something was happening at Mr. Corvet's. They had heard shouts and had seen a man pounding upon the door there, but they had not taken it upon themselves to go over there. She had told the chauffeur to wait with the motor and had run at once to the telephone and called Alan; his attempt to put her off made her certain that what had happened was not finished but was still going on. Her anxiety and the sense of their responsibility for Alan overrode at once all other thought. She told the servants to call her father at the office and tell him something was wrong at Mr. Corvet's; then she called her maid and hurried out to the motor. "To Mr. Corvet's--quickly!" she directed. , , Looking through the front doors of her car as it turned into Astor street, she saw a young man, carrying a doctor's case, run up the steps of Corvet's house. Constnnce recognized him as a young doctor who was starting In practice in the neighborhood. He was just being &uiiiUtei! us eno anu her maid reached the steps. Alan stood holding the door open and\jet blocking entrance when she came up. "You must not come in!" he denied her; but she followed the doctor so that Alan could not close the door upon her. He yielded then, and she and her maid went on Into the hall. She started as she saw the figure upon' the couch in the library, and as the sound of Its heavy breathing reached her; and the wild fancy which had come to her when the servants fro«L 't have come in/* he said? **f "ili#Bldn't have, lot /M In; brit--you saw MaK** i < "• "Yes." ** • ** • ' * "Do you know him?" "Know him?" She shook het^iead. *1 mean, you've never seen him before?" "No.** • "His name, It $4&«r~to'-. speaks of himself by that name. Did you ever hear my father mention a man named Luke?" "No; never." , Luke's voice cut suddenly their conversation ; the doctor probably had given hfln some stimulant "Where'sh Ben Corvet V Luke demanded arrogantly of the doctor. "You go get Ben Corvet! Tell Ben Corvet I want drink right away. Tell Ben Corvet 1 want my thousan* dollar .. . !" Constance turned swiftly to her maid. "Go out to the car and Walt for me." she commanded. Luke's muffled, heavy voice went on; moments while he fought for breath interrupted It "You hear me, you d--n Injln I . . . You go tell Ben Corvet I want my thousan' dollars, or I make it two nex' time! You hear me; you go tell Ben Corvet. ... Too let me go, you d--n I n j l n ! " . . . Through the doorway to the library they could see the doctor force Luke back upon the couch; Luke fought him furiously; then, suddenly as he had stirred to strength and fury, Luke collapsed again. -His voice went on a moment more, and rapidly growing weaker: "You tell Ben Corvet I want my money, or HI tell. He knows what I'll tell. .You don't know, you Injln devil. . . . Ben Corvet knows, and I know. . . .' Tell him 1*11 tell . . . I'll tell . . . I'll tell!" The threatening voice stopped suddenly. Constance, very pnle. again faced AJan. "Of course, I understand," she said. "Uncle Benny has been paying blackmail to this man. For years, perhaps. . . She repeated the word after an Instant, In a frightened voice, "Blackmail I" * "Won't you please go, MIsS Sherrill?" Alan urged' her. "It was good of you to come; but you mustn't stay now. He's--he's dying, of course/' She seated herself upon a chair. Tm going to stay with you," she said simply. It was not, she knew, to share the waiting for the man in the next room to die; in that, of Itself, there could be nothing for him to feel. It was to be with him while realization which had come to her was settling upon him, too--realization of what this meant to him. He was realizing that, she thought; he had realized It; it made him, at moments, forget her while, listening for sotinds from the* other room, he paced back and forth beside the table or stood staring away, clinging to the portieres. He left her presently, and went across the hall to the doctor. "Is he dead?" Constance heftrd him ask. "Not yet," the doctor answered J "but It won't be long, now.**- - "There's nothing you can-do to make him talk--bring him to himself long enough so that he will tell what he keeps threatening to tell?" The doctor shrugged. "How many times, do you suppose, he's been drunk and still not told? Concealment is his established habit now. It's an Inhibition ; even In wandering, he stops short of actually telling anything." Alan came back to Constance. Outside, the gray of dusk was spreading, and within the house it had grown dark. It was very quiet in the library; she could not even hear Luke's breathing now. Then the doctor came out to them. "It's over," he said to Alnn. "There's a law covering these cases; you may not be familiar with it. I'll make out the death certificate--pneumonia and a weak heart with alcoholism. But the police have to be notified at once; you have no choice as to that. Ill look after those things for you. If you want." # "Thank you; If you will." Alan went with the doctor to the door nnd saw him drive away. Returning, he drew the library portieres; then, coming back to Constance, he picked up her muff and collar from the chair where she had thrown tham, and held them out to hor. "You'll go now, Miss Sherrill,** he said. "Indeed, you mustn't stay here --your car's still waiting, and--you mustn't stay here ... in this house!" "Won't you come over home with me," she said, "and wait for father there till we can think this thing out together?" thfMpag ovi created in his graee « served; snd ^ with black* mail money, tOn .t :;«b#ord ! Dishonor --cowardice-- She drew a little Bearer to him. "You didn't want me to know," She laid. "You tried to put me off when I called you on the telephone; and-- when I came here, you wanted me to go away before I heard. Why didn't you want me to know? If he was your father, wasn't he our-j-frlendl Mine and my father's? You must let us help you." , As she approached, he had drawn back from her. "No; this Is mine!" he denied her. "Not yours or your father's. You have nothing to do with this. Didn't he try In little cowardly ways to keep you out of ItY But ha couldn't do that; your friendship meant too much to him; he couldnt keep away from you. But I can--I can do that! You must go out of this house; you must never come An here again P Her eyes filled, as she watched him ; never had she liked him so much as now. "I thought," he said almost wistfully, "it seemed to me that, whatever he had done, it must have been mostly against me. His leaving everything to me seemed to mean that I was the one that he had wronged, and that he was trying to make It up to me. But It isn't that; It can't be that! It issomethlng much worse than that! . . . Oh, I'm glad I haven't nsed much of his money! Hardly any--not more than I can^give back! It wasn't the money and the house he left me "that mattered; what he really left me was just this . . . dishonor, shame . . ." The doorbell rang, and Alan turned to the door and threw it open. In the dusk the figure of the man outside was not at all recognizable; but as he entered with heavy and deliberate steps, passing Alan without greeting and going straight to Constance, Alan saw by the light In the hall that It was Spearman. "What's up?" Spearman asked. "They tried to get your father at the office and then me, but neither of us was there. They got me afterward, at tbe club. They said you'd come over here; but that must have been more than two hoprs ago." , His gaze went on past her to the drawn hangings of the room to the right; and he seemed to appreciate their significance; for his face whitened under its tan, and an odd hush came suddenly upon him. "Is It Ben, Connie?" he whispered. 'Ben . . . come back?" He drew the curtains partly open. The light in the library had been extinguished, and the light that came from the hall swayed about the room with the movement of the curtains and gave a momentary semblance of life to the face of the man upon the couch. Spearman drew the curtains quickly together again, still holding to them and seeming for an instant to cling to them; then he shook himself together, threw the curtains wide apart, and strode into the room. He switched on the light and went directly to the c o u c h ; Alan f o l l o w e d h i m . i, - r . . "He's--dead?" yV "Who is he?" Alan deraande&%£y Spearman seemed to satisfy fiffiisCtl first as to the answer to his question^ "How should I know who he is?" he asked. "There used to be a wheelsman ftisfe i&'-H i ; v. * V J? , X. '"ii £*.*' QUI A woman sailing In tbe Aqultanla recently held tbe following conversation by the aid of a man with a megaphone with her granddaughter on tbe quay at Southampton an the vessel was leaving; "What have /ou done with grandma's spectacles?" bawled tbe man with the megaphone. "She says you took them from the piano to play With, and you are a naughty child." A leather-lunged official on the quay put his hands to his mouth and answered : "She says she gave back to you." "She didn't" came the answer. "All right," came from the quay; she remembers putting them on the piano again. She will send them on to you." "Goodby, Efflef* Shouted the megaphone man. - "Goodby, grandma!" was the reply. •rms was BO dull, so inert, that, if violence had been hlB Intention, there was I 1^ the house, for as long as it took to - Nothing to be feared from him now. | make the once muscular powerful fig- /Alan looked up, therefore, to see If Ifny one had come with him. The alley «nd the street were clear. The snow fp the areaway showed that the man .$ad come to the door alone and with . f reat difficulty; he had fallen once up- . ||n the walk. Alan dragged the man Into the house and went back and Closed the door. * ? He returned and looked at him. The j. jpaan was like, very like the one whom Alan had followed from the house on fhe night when he was attacked; cer- : painty that this was the same man • jfame quickly to him. He seized the jfellow again and dragged him up the ure of the sailor who threatened to "talk" Into the swollen whisky-soaked hulk of the man dying ntfw on the lounge. For his state that day the man blamed Benjamin Corvet. Alan, forcing himself to touch the swollen face, shuddered at thought of the truth underlying that accusation. Benjamin Corvet's act--whatever it might be that this man knew--undoubtedly had destroyed not only him who paid the b l a c k m a i l b u t him who r e c e i v e d i t ; the effect of that act was still going on, destroying, blighting. Its threat of shame was not only against Benjamin CHANGE "CLOTHES" IN WINTER « • Malrs and to the lounge in the library. I Corvet; it threatened also all whose fe. «AiHJae tw»Aaas , oamr Khaa<dI kb/ke/evMn , aA very powerful 1 nomoa mnaf Ka a/ifa<1 nrltf-K P/\«. 'man, broad and thick through with ioverdeveloped -- almost distorting-- ^muscles in his shoulders; but his body •had become fat and soft, his face was ,£Ufted and his eyes watery and bright; Ws brown hair, which was shot all ^through with gray, was dirty and mathe had three or four days' growth - at beard. When he sat up and looked 2 about It was plain that whisky was jjonJy (Hie of the forces working upon tbe other was fever which up and sustained him lntermltfce grsaled - i t : "Whaca'i names must be connected with Corvet's. This shame threatened Alan; It threatened also the Sherrllls. Whst Sherrill had told Alan and even Corvet's gifts to him had not been able to make Alan feel tnat witnouf question Corvet was his father, but now shame and horror were making h'm feel It; In horror at Corvet's act whatever it might be--and in shame at Covert's cowardice, Alan was think ing of Benjamin Corvet as his father. This shame, this horror were his inheritance. He left Luke and went to the window ID WVT',-ITfr iiraa iwvmlnsr Animals snd Birds Make Seaaenal IMifap, Very Much as Doe* th# Human Family. •" Some anlmais and birds change their dress In winter Just as we da The ptarmigan, a bird belonging to the same family as the grouse, nnd who lives high up In the Scottish mountains, is one of the birds who wear a completely different dress in winter. In the summer he la a pretty yellowish- brown all over, with white wings, but In winter he Is almost all white. This Is because there is so much snow on the high hills that If he remained brown he wouUl be easily seen against the snow. A neighbor of the ptarmigan In the Scottish mountains Is the blue or mountain hare. In summer he Is grayish brown, but when winter comes he sheds his hair and grows a new coal of pale gray and white fur. Ptarmigan even sleep on the snow when there Is ground free of snow quite near, and one finds the little hollows made In the snow by their warm bodies. Some people say that white fur and white feathers are warmer than darker colors. So perhaps that Is partly *vhy some animals and birds in cold clothes. animals are white. For Instance, the polar bear and the arctic fox.--Christian Science Monitor. Land of 8katera. Holland Is a wonderful ptace for skattng, for, hi winter especially, large stretches of land are under water, and these freeze over, as do many of the almost countless canals which thread their way about the country, from place to place, like the railways do in other lands. One of the great ambitions of the Dutch skater is to visit seven towns in one day, and there is one favorite round which, starting from a little town called Leeuwarden, it Is possible to travel over the ice in a circle, and, after visiting six other towns, find oneself near Leeuwarden again. The distance which must be covered to complete the round Is about 100 miles, and the burgomaster of each town, or some one who takes his place. Is ready to receive the skaters as they pa88 through and certify "that they have fulfilled their taak.~<ifcri*tia!i Science Monitor. "Now ftheuM I Knew Who He is?" H* Asked. s'. on the Martha Corvet years sco who looked like him; or looked like what this fellow may have looked like once, I can't be sure." He turned to Constance. "You're going home, Connie? I'll see you over there. I'll cdrae back about this afterward. Conrad." Alan followed them to the dow and closed It after them. He spread the blankets o?er Luke. Luke's coats, which Alan had removed, lay upon chair, and he looked them over for marks of identification. A side pocket produced an old briar; there was nothing else. Then Alan walked restlessly about, awaiting Spearman. Spearman, he believed, knew this man Spearman had not even ventured upon modified denial until he was cfertajn that the man was dead; and then be had answered so as not tp commit himself, pending learning from Constance what Luke had told. Valuable Pair of Fish. Two fish from the Amazon recently places have white winter J arrived In London, England, having Far north, in the arctic re-1 w(ngllke tins colored red nnd yellow -•Not *Yom and Henry?* W l»|«lfwl. S-S, -t OW long since you've had delicious raisla bread--since you've tasted that Incodfe* ' Havor? - v T >j:s | Serve a loaf txmigfrt> need to bake Just trie^hooer your groceror a bakery. Saf ftou want "full^frmted bread -- generoudy filled with luscious, seeded, Sun-Me*d Raisins." . 'J The flavor of these raisins permeates the »af. A cake-like daintiness makes every sliea ^igtreat * . 4 Serve plarn at dinner or as a tasty* fruifiii ;"^tforeakfsst toast '\ ' ^ v Make delicious bread pudding with fiver slices. ' Use it all. You need not waste a crumbw Raisin bread is luscious, energising, iroo* So it's both good and good for you. Serve It at least twice a week. Start thii (odd habit in your home today. r * But don't take any but a real, enuint raisin bread. Hi- '3 Your dealer will supptjr it If you insist.' & I >$ik f t ; * fx*®* K * ^4 vv ^4 .v .;'3 vrt:.. - V V-,V/ .. ,^.^3 * • 'fx 3 * " * jr Sun-Maid Seeded Raising Make delicious bread, pies, poddlaga, cakes, etc; Ask your grocer for them. 8ead tm ixet book of -teited rreecciiip*e s. Sun-Maid Raisin Graim ; Membership 13fi00 , XHpt N-W-8, Fresno, Caifc--* Wil f c ' - j TOPE GRANDMA GOT "SPECS" Lady Must Have Needed Tham idly If ths Following Anecdote' Is a True One. Driven to Desperation. He was an invited guest at the wedding and his shirt front was adorned with three massive diamonds which he had borrowed from a friend. All the evening he had endeavored to attract attention to the diamonds by ostentatiously pretending to adjust them, but no one appeared to notice them, much to his chagrin. During the evening, however, he saw his chance and, advancing to the newly married couple in the center of the room, he said in a loud voice: "May your wedded life ba as bright as thes«»* pointing to the diamond*. AND SHE CALLED IT "TEA" : Z ' * Thoae Fond of the Beverage . Shudder at Thought of Awftf + Australian Decoction. '> «' - a Lord Lea of Fareham aald at a Nsw York reception: "Let us hope that prohibition won't 1|£§<r: drive you to tea and mafce you such |§!#/i: tea-slaves as the Australians are. :*r.v - "The last time I was in Australia a *, I stopped at a cabin and an old womaj gave me a cup of tea as black as ink. " 'How long,' I asked, 'have you bad gSlfe>/ this Dot of tea on the fire, ma'am?" .. " 'How long have I had it on the j|||f Are?' chuckled Uie old woman. 'Why, bless your soul, I don't never tske It off the fire. I put In a handful of tea *- and then, when it gets weak, I put In another handful, and when the pot -5 m 'W gets full of. leaves ,1 take a double handful out for my old smoke.' "--Detroit Free Press. man to w- Always an Opening. Mr. North--No, sir, 1 don't want any . Jnsu ranee. I have no dependents and I am burning my bridges behind me! Insurance Salesmen -- Ah 1 How aboift fire Insurance for the brldgee? What She Wanted. A customer askeu one of the saleswomen at the linen counter for a cer- ...^ tain stjfe of handkerchief. The always-^ ^ S pleasant, ever-obliging assistant opened box after box, looked over tbe stock in -* v.-* the showcase with great care, and then p ' • ^' 5 brought forth a reserve stock and ^ ^ locked painstakingly through this--but without finding what she wanted. h TThen from a repiote corner of one of |, 'A s;- the shelves she took down another box. When It was opened the customer'. * j . exclaimed, "That's It!" and holding up a lace-trimmed handkerchief she asked," ^ -i; "How much Is It 7" f ^ When told the price she replied, "l!.*v didn't want to buy any of them, but friend gave me one for a present, and', 1 wanted to find -out how nomch • paid for lt.w ' Oldest Biblical Versions. The four oldest versions of the Bible* are the Aqulla. Symanachus, Theodo-f sian, In .Greek, and the Peshltta lag Syrlac. "tbt W fctfMriftri- 'snare'ir this mealtime beverage No NEED to warn the little folks away from the table beverage when Postum |» served; every reason to invite every member of the family to join in the eiyoynaeot this wholesome, satisfying drink. r •ys&'.v - it*;«"<!:.' -4. ^ glons, where there is always snow and ! und black stripes on the body. They | £S3»<b •>3 t .*•" . •' 'ip ' V * A. (TO BE CONTINUED.^ ."Y£ Nit second Beet Fu^'V *r' ; Next to coal, peat Is tbe best poesl ble fuel. It bums longer than weed ves more beat. t3?C* --'fes# , postum is made from Nature's best grain ^rheat, and contai^yfM?i||ipg Jag nerves or digestion. ^ .J'-.- -- -TT, •«. &•> -itunu '#W«. You'll greatly relish its full-bodied flat nnd aroma. ; Tfenr grocer has Poetaia la two fonna^, frM1 -- Poatum (to tins) mad* instantly . < r the cup by th» addition of bodtoc watm<i Postum C*r«al (la psctagMof larger bulk, for^ thoM who prefer to Btkt th« dftak whBe th# ««] Is bolng pMpuwd) belling felly 29 ainBtts. " 3 Postum for Health « Bsn" S ;3a„ , . liftda by Postum Cereal Company, toftuV x - Battle Creek, Michigan ; > ^ mmm*