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&# Attempts have been made on the life of Elise Marberry, owner of a coffee gllnution outside of Porto Verde, razil, and she has been told to leave the country. Several m{stuiou: deaths have occurred, and Vilak, her cousin, believes Elise‘s enemy, Gaylord Prerâ€" tiss is at the bottom of it. Word is brought that the manager of her proâ€" perty at Villapa is ill, and Elise, Vilak and Lincoln Nunnally, aged chemist, start for Villa’pa, but are ambushed by a band of ruffians uniformed as solâ€" diers. They tell them they are wanted on a murder charge. Vilak believes that the murder charge is obviously a fake and that the soldiers are in the vay of their enemies. The anger faded from Elise‘s face. "What will we do*" she asked quietly. "Nothing," Vilak answered. "For the present absolutely nothing We are fearfully outnumbered, and if 1 raise a hand they‘ll simply annihilate the lot of us. There‘s nothing to do but wait for an opening. I don‘t know what their plars are yet. When I learn there‘ll be a possibility of doing something. Meanwhile, do everything they tell you to co. In a case like this save your energies for the moment when they‘re most useful." In a moment the mustached officer returned. Closing his men about the three Americans so that they would be targets from all points of the comâ€" pass if they resisted, he demanded "fir pistols. The old man and the girl looked at Vilak questioningly. He handed over his weapon without an instant‘s hesitation. The officer gave t! e signal for the trocpers to advance. The cavalcade galloped away. In a short while they left the road to Villapa and took a deserted lane leading toward the mountains, white in the west. They rode past a thick forâ€" est where some beautiful but poisonâ€" ous appearing fungi, much resembling orchids in colo:, made brilliant the tops of the dark trees. They reacked a rockier, more open section, once a farm, but which had been abandoned for some years, judgâ€" ing by the dilapidated condition of the small cottage which stood a hundred feet from the road. All its windows were broken, the wooden roof partly coved in, and where it was still intact, Into this gloomy habitation, soaked with the consant rains, the officer led his captives. Vilak‘s quick eye caught a noose of leather carelessly slung over the remains of a wooden bed. The bed was old, the noose was new. Vilak hoped that the others did not see. The officer ordered a chair and table brought to the window and, making a pretense of piling some papers about him and looking as judicial as possible, him and looking as Judicial as pOSsiDIG, sad down. "The military court of inquiry into the death of Colonel Miguel Bonjardos of Bonjardos Fazenda will beign," he grumbled, beating with his warty hand upon the table. "Jesu, bring forward the prisoners." The oilyâ€" visaged corporal lined them up before him. The captain eyed them sardoniâ€" eally. "We will not waste time with formalities, like the lawcourts which are long and the laweourts which are stupid. The court of the soldiers of Jungle Breath "SALADA® imbling: Into this gloon th the consant ; captives. Vil NOW BEGIN THE STORY The quality of Salada is the only premium offered and the day is brightened when you have Wrigley‘s with you. Its sugar peps you up. Its delicious flavor adds to any THIS HAS HAPPENED roken, the wooden rool parlly n, and where it was still intact, 1 with vines; the two wooden eading ap to it were rotten and Drowsiness is dangerous. I1SSUE No. 17â€"‘30 CHAPTER XXIL by ‘l-‘ruthro-Bthe"“" Ben Lucien Burman Colonel Bonjardos will be brief, and their aim . . . good. Are you guilty or not guilty?" "Write down ‘Innocent,‘ Jesu. If you are innocent, you will want an attorney. Which one of my men do you choose?" He pointed down the row of grinning, ugly faces of the men leaning against the wall. Vilak shrugged his shoulders. "Very well. You will take none? Then I must choose for you. No man shall say that the soldiers of Colonel Bonjardos do not obey the law. He looked gravely at the sallowâ€"skinned Jesu who was acting as clerk, then at Vilak brushed off a greenishwhite termite ant which was crawling up his puttce. "Innocent, of goyne-" The giant stumbled forwaid. "Yes, capitaz." "We (+ CU a lazy, blearyeâ€"eyed giant slouching a corner. "Pedros!" he called. "You will defend these three criminâ€" als charged with the murder of Golon:l Bonjardos." "Yes, capitaz." "Jesu, you will be the prosecutor; I shall be the judge." "Yes, capitaz" "Begin, Jesu." The corporal rose awkwardly to his feet. "I, Jesu Barbos, son of Miguel Barbos, native of Crato, in the great republic of Brazil, her. by accuse these three prisoners of having killed our beloved Colonel Bonjardos, who . . . " he faltered. . . . ‘who was ever ready to give his life for his men, and . .. who . . . gave them bread, though he went hungry I, Jesu Barbos, son of Miguel Babas, native of Crato in the great republic of Brazil, hereby accuse these three crirainals, because . .. " He stumbled, and began again. "I, . . Jesu Barbas .. ." Furiously he tipped over the table at which he had been sitting, scatterâ€" ing the papers e had carefully placed 'on the table onto the backs of a troop of the termite ants scurrying over tho floor. "Enough of this folly," he said, calmly. "These two men and this iwcman are not ch.ldren They know that we do not Lold a court, that what \we do is bet wake a silly paay. Tic ‘tl.em up, stupid Josu Perhaps your ‘h: nds can do what your head cannc*. ‘Tie them well or you will pay for i; ‘dearly. Leave ho two pigs of men lhere, and take the woman thers. . . ." "Son of a wandering dog, native of Crato in the great republic of Brazil," shouted out a fatâ€"faced warrior in the shadows. The men howled with laughter. "Silence!" roared th* captaia. He turned on the luckless Jgsu. "Fool! Ox of the field! Toad of the slime!" "You will defend these three criminals Colonel Bonjardos." "Yes, capitaz.‘* ‘/f’ in clothes became covered with mud as lhe twisted over the waterâ€"soaked es,’ground. His thick glasses were obâ€" |scured by a black film so that they nâ€"!were worse than useless. "What are 2l lthey going . . . er . â€" . going to do to us, Vilak?" he whispered. "Kill us?" "Yes, if they can." .r;l "What will they . . . er . . do with He pointed to a smaller room toâ€" ward the rear of the wretched dwellâ€" ing. "I will keep her there, while I ponder what I shall do. Bind them. Quickly. Hand and foot. Of the woâ€" man, bind only the hands, so that she may not strike me." The men proc.eced to execute his orders. The three captives made not the slightest attempt at resistance, the two men quietly allowing themselves to be streiched upon che muddy floor and be trussed with ropes of hide until beyond a slight movement of the head and wrists they were helpless as though in a plaster cast: Elise walked slowly into the other room. Testing the ropes to make cerâ€" tain they were secure, Jesu grinned and stabbed Vilak brutally in the side with his heavy boot. "Goodbye, my pigs," he grunted. "In an hour we shall come back and tell you how you shall dic." © He closed the door behind him. The two men were left alone, but the voices of men buzzing outside the two doors of the room told them they were well guarded. For five minutes they lay in silence. Vilak, motionless as a statue except when he rollea over to crush with the weight of his body a termite ant crawling on his hand or leg. The Chinese cast of his eyes again accentuâ€" ated. Finally the old man in the corâ€" ner, some ten .eet away from his friend, could bear the silence no longâ€" er. "Vilak," he called quietly. "Yes, Nanny, what is it?" Vilak‘s voice was calm as though he had been sitting in his study. "Er .â€". . I â€" want ‘to talk + . . to you." _ "Roll over to me. Quietly now. It‘s all right. These ruffians don‘t underâ€" stand English." The chemist obeyed and rolled to the other‘s side. His face, hair and Elise SHOE POIRS.* fhe NUGGET TN openo with a twist / NE ;tâ€"â€"wirlrl”t'hey . . . er . . do with . .. Elise? Kill her, too?" '\% 4, without a //ff %}/),77 7, collar ? ~/ ; f N f good ca C / mommuness M h nor dneahe #o ahout wit harged with the murder of & g~B RQW _ * \\ &I! ? o Q/O out \ 2 /. unftienzft No man: of good appearance goes out without a collar... nor doeshe go about with dusty, unpolished shoes . . . Personal pride suggests a frequent *"*Nugget" shine to keep the shoes smartly presentable andwaterâ€" _ _ "I don‘t think so More likely carry her off somewhere." "What will we do? . . . Yes .. .. what?" "Keep very cool, and try to prevent them, that‘s all. They‘re divided now and off their guard. Rub your head against that wall, and knock off your The old man obeyed. His wispy body rolled violently from side to side a moâ€" ment. When he stopped, relief was evident in his countenance. "Little beasts. Annoying . . er . . annoying. Terrible place they‘ve put us in . . .. really terrible. Pools of water so that you can‘t lie in a dry spot. Certainly ‘get pneumonia. . . quite certainly . . er . . . Vilak . . and these termites er . â€" . termites . . . positively devilâ€" ish." His wispy body squirmed again. | (To be continued.) ed that way." "Roll over on your side and crush them beneath yeu. That‘s what I‘ve been doing ever since we‘ve been hgre_." The old fellow followed the other‘s suggestion. In a moment his wispy leg was twisting beneath its bonds. He spoke again, half in irritation, half in resignation. "Vilak" “‘I’es, Nanny." His intonation was placid, soothing. "These. .. er ... termite ants are walking over all parts .. er . . parts of my body. They‘re troubling me fearfully. â€" yes . er . . fearfully." ts f I‘ve said I‘d never marry, I, And still, and still, and still, Since I‘ve seen Jim and Margery‘s house, Perhaps, perhaps, I will. It‘s such a quaintly modern place, Old English style, you know, And, in the garden back of it, Old fashioned posies grow; And everything‘s just right insideâ€" The living room, the hall, Thelining room, the kitchen and The bedrooms; loves them all! And Margery has a Persian rug, A waffle iron, a chair Sent all the way from Belgium, and A set of quimper ware. And Margery has a sun porch hung With curtains, willowy green, And all its windows look upon A neat Surburban scene. Minard‘sâ€"50 Year Record of Success. And Margery has her pantry shelves Laceâ€"paperâ€"edged and trim; And Margery has a breakfast mnook, And Margery has her Jim! I‘ve said I‘d never marry, J, And still, and still, and still, Since I‘ve seen Jim and Margery‘s home, Perhaps, perhaps, I will! A little jogging puts a clock or watch out of frame; so a little passion the heart.â€"Philip Hentry. Jim and Margery‘s House Your Vey'es must feel wretchâ€" PASSION Coming back from love Is like going back to town Now in murky light The white stars drown. The moon that trod the dark, A proud, white, slender dame, Hides behind a streetâ€" lamp A face gaunt with shame. Coming back from love Is like going back to town But I am cityâ€"bredâ€" Doubtless soon I‘ll frown. And as 1 lift my eyes To red and emerald lights, Wonder what I saw In starâ€"filled nights. â€"Mary H. 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They take stock of their possesâ€" sions; they take a look at their talents and their inclinationsâ€"in a . word, their assets; and they make up their minds just what they have to offer life in exchange for fulfilled ambition, Wanting one thing most of all, they will go without everything else, if need be, in order to achieve it. But the others will not wish for one thing only. They will go on wishing for anything that strikes their fancy. The lure of a moment‘s amusement, the impulse to this or that selfâ€"indulâ€" gence, the innumerable sideâ€"alleys of interest and compromise will distract them as if they were gossamer in the wind. Time passes quickly. The man who spends his youth in wishing spends the rest of his life in regretting. In his old age, his one thought is: "If I could only have my life over again‘" Even when he is dying, he is wasting his remaining hours in wishing that he had not spent his life in wishing. The ambitious are those who have one overmastering wish, who set it above everything elsq. and who are They do not say to themselves that they wish a rich uncle would leave them a million pounds, or that they They do mot understand thal wisnes turn sour. They do not know that as time goes on such wishes become apologies for failure. They cannot face the fact that while they are still saying "I wish I hadâ€"*" they are beginning to say "I wish I had hadâ€"!" All wishes, to these people, are of equal importance. All are equally irâ€" resistible, so that the habit of wishing becomes second nature. They long to live in a fairy world. They try to esâ€" cape from reality. They think that if only this or that magic thing would happen they would be for ever happy, rich, successful, faâ€" mous, and contented. These are the people who wait on circumstances. It is not possible for any man whoiâ€" ly to avoid mistakes, embarrassments, humiliations. But it is one thing to fail, and quite another thing to subâ€" mit to failure. The wise men, having failed once, is not discouraged. . He picks himself up again, and goes forâ€" ward. Much sacrifice, much hardship, much opposition. Well? â€" Supposing much does stand in the way: what does that matter? It is to be supposed that these others whom we see around us, whom we envy, have not had to overcome obâ€" stacles Is it to be supposed that they have not had their failures? Of course they have had to overcome obstacles. The wishmonger looks back. . His spirit falters. HMe remains where h has fallen and wishes he had never ventured. He begins to pity himself, He says, "If onlyâ€"" For the only thing to do with a wish is to use it as a spur. If we really wish for a thing, what is to prevent us from having that thing? Ab, I shall be told, much will stand in the way. We know his song. He wants to beâ€" gin life all cver again, and go a difâ€" ferent way, Where the brave man cuts his losses and pushes on to his goal, the timid one wastes his time and his energy in regrets. He tells himself that he has failed. It is not his own fault, he says, but the fault of circumstances, He has taken the wrong path. He has been misled. Wishes galore have been his life! Mow he hates the thought that it is approaching its end. ‘You see that he has not learned anyâ€" thing at all from experience. If he had learned, he would realize that his moans are as useless as his wishes, for they are the wishes gone rancid. What an outery he makes againet the cruelty of fate! He is in despair. Having for so many years said "I wish," in such a way as to repudiate responsibility for his own actions, he now says "Why didn‘t I?" in an effort to shirk responsibility, What folly! It is not, even now, a question of "Why didn‘t I?" but of "Why shouldn‘t I?" ‘There is still time to retrieve the battle. There is time and to spare, if only, instead of yielding he sets his face against the sin of admitting deâ€" feat, and resolves to use well whatâ€" ever period of life remains to him. What can be done? â€" First of all, are things as bad as they seem? Never! Just as most of our dreads are those of anticipations, so no situation is as gloomy as it appears, and no fight is lost while we yet have the power to face danger. The past is gone: there remains the future. As the years pass, the power so to resolve diminishes; but it never wholâ€" ly dies. There is still time to attain to selfmastery. Though dea‘. itself lie straight abead, all may use well, and without regret or fear, the days of life I know that as men and women grow older they tend more to live in the past, but that is because they have been wishmungers. They have wished that things might happen to them; and have not resolved to make them happen. to its attainment by their General Seely‘s Story o Adventurous Life: Th ing Death on Land, | and in the Air; When Nearly _ Killed _ Ger Botha: A Maori Idvil A Gallant Gentl A dv id hy By FRANK WHITAKER R from Ayy The Problem of It MUTT MAT T, we Nou (GE Krem¢ SPpPR AND J arki ue y