Newspaper Page Text
SUMTER, S. C.
We are giving more attention to the handling of Cotton
this season than ever before, which means that while we
bought more Cotton than any other firm on the market, it is
our purpose to buy a still greater quantity. This we can
not do unless we pay the price, and when you bring or ship
to us your Cotton, the VERY HIGHEST PRICE IS AS
has been thoroughly looked after and we invite an inspec
- tion of our Dry Goods, Fancy Goods, Shoe and Clothing
Stocks. Our buyer has devoted much of his experience this
season in looking after the Dress Goods selections, and we
can assure our Lady friends that we are enabled to please
them. not only in styles. but prices. Our General Dry Goods
Stock was never more complete and better bought-' 'GOODS
WELL BOUGHT ARE HALF SOLD
There is no need wearing out shoe leather running about for
footwear, when we have, direct from the factories, Shoes
of the best make. and which we can sell with a guarantee.
Then, we carry as nice a line of Gents' Youths' and Boy's
Clothing as you will be able to see in any other city. This
Department was selected with a view to style, fit and dura
OUR ROCERY DEPARTENT
Cannot be excelled anywhere, and our prices defy competi
tion. We have always enjoyed a tine Clarendon patronage
for which we are grateful, and we shall strive to continue
to merit the patronage and confidence you give us-come
to see us,
SUMTER, S. C.
THE FALL OF 1904
Is full of promise for Sumter merchants. The indica
tions are that
Our Farming Friends
Upon whom we are so largely dependent, will make a
good crop of cotton, and if anything like the present
prices are maintained, they can look forward to
A Happy Christmas.
Already they have harvested good grain crops,
and we cannot conceive of any- greater happiness than
to feel that they are not dependent upon the West for
their bread, and the surplus from their cotton crop can
be used in improving their homes, which means
Happiness. to their Families
It is useless to say that we have made unusual pre
parations for the season's business, and with a continu
ance of the patronage heretofore so liberally bestowed
upon us, which we solicit most earnestly. there will be
no disappointment on our part.
Enlarge and Improve
Has always been our policy, and a glance through our
stores and warehouses is a convincing proof that they
are stocked as never before, and probably as no other
mercantile house has ever been stocked in Sumter. We
are frequently asked, why do you buy such a large stoCk.
and our reply is that in buying quantities
WE SAVE MONEY FOR OUR PATRONS
And another reason is we have the friends to buy them.
There is no town in the State in which there is a
better class of merchants or more active competition than
in Sumter, and while this house is credited with doing
The Largest Business
It is only by the strictest care in buying, and the closest
margin of profit in selling, that we can maintain our
supremacy. It matters not what baits or inducements
our competitors may offer we will take care of our friends.
let the cost be what it may
The present state of the weather does not justify
us in entering into a detailed description of our Winter
Fabrics, but this will be taken up later.
O'DON N EFL LS& C..
Copyright. 1903. by H
EOI G1 E m:CK IEY did not come
to supper as usual. and the
111:l pssd iwkwardly. Even
KJ the POL'Orts MNrs. Hillyer made,
to enliven :he Nie group fell flat, and
she soon foauns llerself a-s moody as the
others. The miiercha-nt gulped down a
cup of hot. b'lck <c:re. ate very light
ly of what w.-s on his piate and then
went out on the front veranda to
The evening passed slowly, and about
10 o'clock the family reired. Hillyer
could not slccp. His wife, tired as she
was, was ke;:t awake by her hus
band's cons-::n- movements. About
midnight he got up. half dressed him
self and took his hat.
"Whar are you goin'?" asked his wife.
"I'm a-goin' down to satisfy myse'f
about George." he said sheepishly.
"Thar ain't no use tryin' to hide it; I'm
"Well, I'll be switched!" exclaimed
his wife. "But I reckon you mought
as well. I don't believe me nor you
nuther is goin' to close our eyes to
night unless you do. I'll bet you'll
fInd 'Im in bed. No doubt be jest went
to the hotel an' got his supper rather
than let us know he was drinkin'. He
still sleeps at the warehouse. don't
"Yes, he still rooms thar," answered
Hillyer, "an' ef thar's no light I'll
come right back. Sometimes when
he's bothered he sets up an' works on
When her husband had gone Mrs.
Hillyer crept up the stairs to Hortense
Snowden's room. The girl was sitting
ap in bed.
"Why, are you awake?" Mrs. Hill
yer cried. "I declare, we are all a set
o' night owls."
"I haven't slept a wink," was the re
ply. "Do you know, every sound in
your room comes right up that store
fine. I colfd hear the creaking of your
bed, an' just now I heard you talking.
Oh, Aunt Martha, where do you think
It's going to end?"
"I'll end In a madhouse ef It keeps
up," said Mrs. Hillyer, with a little,
forced laugh. "I'm goin' to crawl in
yore bed. I'm not to say afeard o'
sperits, but I am of niggers an' tramps.
Phew! I'm all of a shiver. Let's cov
er up. Hortie, you've always said I
was a good woman. Well. I try to be,
but I hain't perfect by a long shot. I i
say I hain't perfect, an' I mean It.
You'd say so ef you could see through
my outside. I've got one whalin' big
fault, an' that is suspicion. Somehow
I cayn't root It out. Now, I like George
Buckley as well as you or Mr. Hllye1
does, but what on earth has made Mr.
Hillyer so wrapped up in that boy an'
the whole layout o' Buckleys? Why,
he's as crazy as a bedbug right now*
about this trial an' George's condition.
Oh, I know you kin say he likes the
boy an' all that, but thar are heaps!
o' boys in the county an' heaps o' folks
that's jest as worthy of assistance as,
"Oh, Aunt Martha, you surely don't
"I don't mean nothin'," Interrupted
Mrs. Hillyer, "but I'm as sure o' one*
thing as I am that I got my cold feet
agin yore'n, an' that Is that Mr. Hill-i
yer hain't told me -everything about
them Buckleys. He may think I
wouldn't keep it, but he haln't let me
on to his game."
Hortense had no observation to make,
and they lay silent for several min
utes. Then the girl spoke:
"George could really bear It much
better If he had not met Lydia Cran
ston. I don't blame hiin for caring for
her, Aunt Martha. She's a splendid
girl; we all like her; she's just as frank
ant open as can be. She's always
making fun of her father's family
pride. He's got a Cranston tree in the
library, but Lydia gets all mixed up
when she tries to tell any one who her
connections are. I was just thinking.
She'll be apt to be disgusted with
George if she hears that this has driv
en him to drink, and"
"Don't you bother about that," retort
ed Mrs. Hillyer. "Thar never was a
woman that turned agin a man she
cared fer on that account; they'll make
excuses fer 'em, an' the Lord knows
she could fish up a good many to justi
fy George. I know I could. Pore fel
low! Jest think o' him tryin' an' tryin'j
to git his head above water an' that old;
scamp of a daddy jerkin' 'Im down
an' right now when he was gittin'
seh a fine start. He could 'a' married
that Cranston gal ef this thing hadn't
come up--I mean he could in time,
beca'se it was in 'im."
SILLTER went out into the star
lit night and made his way
dowvn to the business portion of
the town. He was about to
pass the barroom run by Luke Hill
house, when, hearing the clicking of
billiard balls and the rapping of cues,
le looked in at the screened door. Two
countrymen, without their coats and
un(ler broad slouched hats, were vlay
ing at the green table, over which hung
a glass lamp under a tin shade con
structed from a new dishpan with a
hole cut in the bottom, and three or
four half drunken negroes were en
gaged In betting small amounts on a
fortune wheel against the wall. See
ing the merchant, Hillhonse, a fat, red
faced man with a dyed and waxed
mustache, came round to him from
behind the counter.
"Lookin' fer George, I'll bet," he'
said In a friendly, halt confidential
tone. "He's jest gone, squire." Hill
yer had years before been a justice or
the peace. "I went with 'im clean to
the door of the warehouse ani' seed
that he went In."
"Then he was"
"The wust I ever seed, squire. Oh,
he could walk all right an' knowed
what he was about, but he's a reg'lar
rippi' terror. He come in here, I
reckon, about an hour ago an' tuck a
couple o' drinks ant. then set down
over thar at the little table. I 'lowed
he was asleep, he was so quiet, an' I
reckon everybody else did, for Bascom
Truitt from over in the mountains
come in an' begun to talk about old
man Buckley's sentence. lie hadn't
said a word that was wrong, but
George heard it an' riz suddenly an'
come up to him. 'Yo're a-sayin' that
to insult me,' he said, right In Truitt's
face. As big as Truitt is you could
'a' knocked 'im down with a feather,
but heatl Gnaere na straight as he
WILL N. HARBEN,
iel," " T h e
Land of the
&RPER Q BROTHERS
could that he never knowed be was
thar an' didn't mean no harm nohow;
but, sir. George hauled away an' hit
im in the jaw. It popped like the re
port of a pistol, an' Truitt mighty nigh
went down. We parted 'em without
any trouble. In fact, Truitt thinks the
world an 'all of 'im. George did 'im a
favor a long -time back, an' instead o'
gittin' mad about it Truitt is worryin'
over offendin' the boy. He would have
apologized to 'im, but we all persuad
ed 'im to wait till George was at his
The merchant took a long, trembling
"I wish, Hillhouse," he said, "that
you wouldn't let 'im have any more
liquor if you kin git around it."
"Git around it?" laughed the bar
keeper. "If you'll show me a mixer o'
drinks in this county that would re
fuse that feller when he's off I'd like
to see 'im. It would cost 'im his life.
He's one man. squire, that ortn't to
tetch a drap, an' between you an' me 1
I don't think anything but this scrape
of his daddy's would have started 'im.
George Buckley is the high strung sort
that makes either the finest citizens ur
the scum o' creation."
"I reckon yo're right," agreed Hillyer,
and, turning. he went down to the
warehouse, which was in the next
block below. le found the front door
ajar and saw a light burning in his i
clerk's room in the rear. Entering 1
and softly treading over the rough ,
floor, which was strewn with chaff and i
grain and the metal ties of cottou I
bales, Hillyer stood In the doorway of ]
the young man's room. In a cloud of
cigar smoke George Buckley sat near
a little table, without his coat, his col
lar off and his powerful neck showing
through his open shirt. He glared upi
at his employer and then rose to his
feet and Ioked straight at him.
"George the old man began in a
voice that quivered through excessive
embarrassment, "I was troubled so I
much about you that I couldn't sleep, I
so I got up an' come down. I seed I
yore light an' couldn't keep from com- I
"I don't see that you need bother
about me," was Buckley's surprising
retort. "I'm no blood kin of yours,
"George, I'm as good a friend to you
as I know how to be, an' I jest want
you to know that, an' ef thar's any
way under the sun that I kin help you
I'll do it."
"Then let's me 'n' you come to an
understanding," said Buckley. "I don't
know exactly how to size you up. I've
been thinking about you all this even
ing, and if I don't understand you bet
ter than I have done for several years
you and I will part. You can keep the
money I've made and saved up, and
if I could do it I'd throw the education
you gave me in your face. My intelli
gence has been insulted. You have
done all these things for me under the
pretense of love, but It was not that
Now let's understand each other."
HIllyer turned as white as death
could have made him. His eyes sank
to the floor, and, with a halting step, he
went to the young man's bed across
the room and sat down on the edge
"You do me a great wrong, George,"
hd faltered. "If you knowed my
"Well, that's all I'm asking. I want
to know what it all means. I tell yoi
I'm no fool. It's not whisky in me
talking either, for I've puzzled over It
for years, an' now that this thing has
happened-an' I don't care whether I
stay in your towz9 anywvay-I'm goin'
to be told the truth. What did you
give me my education for, and this
start In the world? Why, as I look
t you gazing at me now it seems to
me you are the very personification of '
the fate that has mocked me ever since
was old enough to know I was alive.
Curse it, what's the matter with you?
Can't you talk?"
Hillyer rose to his feet. "I'm goin'
to leave you, George," he said. "To
morrow we'll talk this over. You are
In no condition to"
Taking a swift, steady stride for
ward, the young man laid his hands on
the merchant's shoulders and forced
him back to his seat on the bed. "No,"
he said; "you don't leave here tonight
until you have answered my question
and satisfied me."
Hillyer leaned forward, his face in,
his hands, and groaned.
"Then. George, -I'll be obliged to
speak of something that has not passed
my lips In thirty years, but maybe it is
best fer me to do it, considerin' every
thing. Set down. I kin talk better i
you won't stand so close an' look at
e so straight. You' re had yore trou
ble, an' ef you have the heart I think
you have you'll be sorry fer me, an' me
an' you maybe will be truer friends in
the future. Gi' me time. I'll git it
George lDuekley threw himself into
the chair at tihe talble. There was aI
pause. A train passed on the track
within twenty yards of the rear door1
f the warehouse, and the floor shook.
A pistol shot was heard, follogd byt
the yelping of a wounded dog 'at the
other end of the street. The town slept.1
"George," began the merchant In a
strange husky voice. "you are now1
Eeetin' the biggest trouble of yore
whole life. I was jest about yore age,
an' everything was about as promisin',
when my trouble overtook me. George"
-the old nman gulped-"did you ever 1
hear that I-killed a feller jest at theI
lose o' the war?"
Buckley stared steadily, his brows
"I think-yes, I knew about it. But I
didn't think you"- The young man
seemed unable to formiulate his
thoughts into words. "I knew you
were acquitted and that nobody blamed
"Yes, I wais acquitted, but how-ah,
how? You wonder why you was se
lected to go through yore present trial,
an' I've wondered many an' many a
time why mine was put on me. The I
whole world thinks I don't bother<
about it, but few folks know about the
vermin that's gnawin' at the secret
souls of their neighbors. Why, my1
own wife don't know my feelin's. I
reckon she thinks I'm as happy as the
average man. That's the .trouble with
jest-jest that sort of a thing. It hain't
what folks will dare mention to the]
person concerned, an' somehow he
never kin bring It up. I said I'd never]
1-7cinled a fellcr Jest at the close o' th<
tout~~five year ago1. I~ih-ien makin
LSort of a pet of a little, yaller hairei
did stoppin' at the .Tohnston hous(
rith her ma fer the summer, an' on(
lay, settin' up thar in the office, I tucl
er on my knee. She sorter squirmec
lf, an' when I asked 'er what was the
natter she said she'd heard I'd killec
Lman. It set me back so that I didn'1
Ltain 'or, an' she looked scared ever
ime I passed whar she was at. Huh
Calk about trouble, George, yore't
uan't a circumstance' I had jest go1
narried, an' ever'thing looked bright.
"It was at an election. The fellei
vas a friend o' mine, but a few year
>Ounzer. V;e was on opposite sidei
Ln had sh wpvords. The lie wa;
)assedl, C.n*' then we come together
>ome o' tha crowd parted us, but I was
ragin' demon. I1a a drinkin' mar
ten-that is, I took a dram occasion,
ly-an' I got full an' went home fei
revolver. Thfen T set ot to find im
:t was about 10 o'clock at night whe
run acrost 'm at a livery stable, i
id shack at tother ond o' the town
:e was in the back end v ith Hanl
rilliams. the man that run it, an' I
lard 'in tellin' Hank good night an
ed 'im a-comin'. I didn't know wha1
was a-doin'-as God is my judge, I
dn't. I hated 'im with the hate oJ
etan' Iwr an' she l anted 'im o
the way. I drawed as he com
igh, an' I thinkt I cussed 'im. I re
ember he -was a-gazin right at me
ared-scared mighty nigh out o' hi
nses. He raised his han's sorter
Ie a body will to ward off anything
t the revolver -was aimed right, an
>cked an' easy on trigger, an it wen,
Hillyer paused. His hands were fold
r one in the other, and both wer
ivering.- George Buckley 'was star
ug at him with bewildered fixity, h
ong, slender hand stayed in his heav3
"I' sort scared the town
vs oine, ac Hiled "t's Hai
medy telseiwasfl -telgin' about an
had in eveonI dhisprdnit kno myse'
wasi allo mya Goder ism reuadgtoit,
ln'r haedok 'isnam urt the haeo
)fthe waym. I aws s, 'Yon
han I teank od Ihowssed 'iow It
nloabe heit!gai' rightilye saowe
earelldaed ightisgrahs ou wa
comn', aed hisee man' sote
Itle acroy an'state to area antrn
tIthe the revolver amdownht an
tolled t i an' ybe rgger, 'int ten
hil one int oan'r eaned-h botdyr
couldernt ehiten hkey come star
>ng smende had mtedynn hismbrigh
as'm sorteseTard a ileun o' dirt
yme in lse ta aeln' a ebou It
y n' beg al thpers egrd to t
"Williamean Lrd. ahow mie ahld's
myoa rait'!fera' rcl-lere allwed
e flldeaId inm clea tras It was
serf defensecond.at hehad seed ita
' would' an' whn the sandm an' ti
mybhf I tnowdth reove-ion an
eawed Then I stood himn athes stad
hte he wasnlyn' eoxaied-th necd,
couldwnttetd t. escaen the coenat ban
udn't a' tod m Lynn eargh
eetan ay cops.oda was afule I' wasn'
eln itailedowwarn n'egu time
ent, an' pubi thempadthy save me
"ilias has, as hart.like hild
: thrin's of ft ear a' tegre la
ambrigeht' mtegr.n Itlooe paiyeme.
tl mighy Id coicler; thi wa e
n'moultd go onthi tnd an' had of3
esty ban'lf. I nalw n ome fctar
-thte yes 'ythe word sat, my neck
osdnt 'a' stoye own. Thet fri o
foretn me, Gaiod wseepin. I wfte'l
st aftes tha. the l. seee prom
ethin' Iwentit sythynedot men
'on an' I prosered. though Ih drd
ld tigof allvit sfering wasn' grel:
iaghtijts hamaote far loved like th
ou onted toatingdou a hare li
,s an' hIst 'efrienditol'erItomera
r help eybu'tshe indnanty refsed
She'ds nome in town. ontcrnwiele
eor she neveri cor nighihar I owae
renio through e'e oness. an' day
ignd give tlame te lie. aSUnion man,
ve' tht he wentoc into te ouCon
e. an' rsmerody tough 'e did a
oushinton allevoe dayer hapn'ed
teligtht e had hadttl fa ovrin the
ionan that tsred ount agbar i a
a',an he saedto ae to 'elltoer th(
ttcm. Then I r shima toy n'tend
enso throuhe cesonres Herowed
and ha caid t bea montIe been
>en'rte frns twnyar heofi an' wil
tste topt 'enron. Oldferan.but 'm i
othedrlad a' weri nin aout ithtc
easmgonyan coero dan' hellin' e
ac tel meptat i. h's hadl aina od
althonoan' tha in he ountagins.a
Aiat e ado hyear, elly 'en thc
eetine. Soeo I aotways tobrete
oer that the' gneout was alowd
.n'Iai th anyhin aelset. I've ert
idl out what shentyinyeab owt an' no
ias kneve' romenin h sufen.bjt tc i
otl. I're su'ered thetomet oftwa
e mned. cme :na publin hces
on eetin' . i e' tll In oulc
eathow my contriin wthoutpatin
aWlliacms. but itwa.dn't doha spek
ngood . omethw members bwred
>und whend phe'd gme onthe bacn
Ch' si aigh' fthe throne b
e'r outs what seme thik bot It nowl
uteshe in.eIewa feard the sjectt
i soul. I't nihthe m shornt it
nitmeen'. was allas Icoutino
shn' mye contritio ithse. Onemornin'
9 sgavin' Il ntied amlmte redo
ion mce an atucd me fon th ace
was shore theasnih the thonend
death, an' all at onceI felt weak at the
knees an' couldn't hardly stand. My
wife coine an' found me. I didn't tell
her about my cancer, an' she thought
I was jest sick from some'n' I'd eat,
an' when the doctor come I was afeard
to tell 'im about the sore place. He
left some medicine, an' I made out'like
I tuck it, but I th'owed it away. After
that I'd make a point to stop an' talk
to 'im every day to see ef he'd notice
my face an' speak of it, but be didn't
I've started up to his office fifty times
an' backed out, jest beca'se I couldn't
bear to be told that it was a cancer.
Howsomever, one day, when it was
more inflamed than ever, I went to his
office-as weak as a sick kitten, feelin'
jest like a man goin' to the scaffold.
I went In an' set down an' waited fer
'Im to git through with somebody else.
an' when he turned to me I said, 'Doe,
I want you to take a look at my face.'
He put on his specks an' examined It;
then he laughed an' said: 'I'll bet a dol
lar you thought it was a cancer. Folks
nowadays is more anxious to raise can
cers 'an they are good taters.' 'But
ain't it?' I axed 'im. 'No,' said he, 'it
hain't nothin' o' the sort. Ef you'll
quit rubbin' it every minute in the day
an' stop thinkin' about it, it'll go away
In a week.' I felt as light as a feather
when I left him, but it wasn't twenty
four hours 'fore I had some other ail
"I was always lookin' fer the Lord
to show designs agin me. Fer one
thing, no children come to me 'n' Mar- a
tha, an' I interpreted that a =eanin'
that, sence I'd put life out o' the world,
I shouldn't fetch it in. Most married
folks worry when they hain't got some
offspring, but it worried me powerful.
I never seed a happy child or a proud
mother an'. father without feelin' the
Lord's rebuke. Oh, George, George,
I've led the most awful life that was
ever led by a human bein', It seems to
me-an' I kept it all to myself, smilin'
along with the rest, an' tryin' to find
some loophole of escape. Now here's
whar you come in, an' you'll think it
odd, but I've started in to explain in
full, an' I'm goin' to do it You know
1I used to pass yore pa's place pretty
often, goin' to my river mill an' farm,
an' at the mill I frequently seed you
comIn' on that swaybacked old mare,
a-straddle of yore bag o' shelled corn, 0
barefooted even in winter, with yore
hands an' feet cracked with the cold.
It was common report about how bad
you was treated by yore daddy an'
what a awful character he had. May
be you remember the talk me 'n' you
had, an' how you told me how anxious
you was to git schoolin' an' books.
That was the fust day after my crime
that I got a beam of spiritual light It I
come all over me like a flash that ef I t
could take you out'n yore degradation
an' raise you to a respectable, useful
place in life I could aqtone in part for
what I'd done. Do you remember that
George Buckley started, raised his
eyes from the floor In a sharp stare at
the haggard face before him and said:
"Yes, sir, I remember thadt day."
"Well, I couldn't git away from the
idea. As I say, it was the fust bit of
lIght I'd had. The following winter
you remember my proposal. Somehow
I was ev-en then afeard you'd reftise,
bat you went off to school. An' then
the weight and bitterness of my heart
seemed to lessen, for every report I had
was glorious. You stood head; you
made the best speeches; you had the
most friends among teachers an' pupils.
Oh, George, George, you don't know
what it meant to me; you seemed to be
totin' me out of a rushin' river-a river
rushin' toward hell! Then you know
about the job I give you here after you
graduated; every dollar you laid up an'
properly Invested was proof to me thati
God had heard my long prayer an' was
answerin' It In his own way. I was
puttin' into life a man for one I had
tuck out. Only one hitch occurred, an'
that was when they threatened yore pa
with arrest for pennin' up them hogs.
Then you got desperate an' started in to
drinkin'. But we squashed that, an' it
went on smooth again till this-this
late matter. And now-oh, George, I'm
afeard-I'm afeard the L'ord or the
devil, or both combined, have been
leadin' me through all this road o'
promise jest In order to let me fall the
harder. I'v-e come here tonight to pray
to you-yes, to you--to save me. If you
go down, I do too. Now you see what
it all meant an' what it means to me.
I'm in yore hands, my boy. As God's
agent, you hold me in the palm o' yore
The old man's voice broke.- He made
an effort to say something more, but1
choked up, and, with his gaze on the
'agged rug in front of him, lhe sat quite]
motionless ,except for his heaving
shoulders. George Duckley bent for
ward, his hands tightly clasping each
other. Without a word he rose and
went with a steady step out into the
darkness of the warehouse. Hillyer
heard his crunching tread as he walk
ed back and forth over the grain
strewn floor, and he knelt beside the
bed and tried to pray the prayer that
had rung in his old brain for thirty,
Iyears, but somehow the worn words
refused to come. George Buckley's si
lece was against him. His long de
layed doem lurked in the dark silence1
of the great house, and in a moment
George Buckley would calmly bring it
forth and show it to him. Suddery
from the darkness he heard a stinled
cy as of pain; then a heavy weight
went down--George Buckley had fall
en. A cold sweat broke out on the
merchants face. Hie feared he knew
not what, but he fe'ared. Was his
doom about to show itself In a more
tragic shape than he hadl ever dreamed
of its taking? H~e stood up and slowly
crept rather than walked to the door
of the room. Standing there, he found
his voice and cried out:
-George, are you hurt?"
His voice rang harshly through the
big room. There was no answer.
"George! George! Are you thar?"
Still no response.
Hillyer leaned against the door fac
ing. His knees were weak; he was
about to sink to the floor. Then he
heard George Buckley calling to him. I
"Mr. IHillyer," came in a faint voice, 1]
"please bring the lamp back here!" s
The lamp! Great God, what could
that mean? What did Buckley intend
to show him-what?
Taking the lunp in his quivering T
hand, the merchant went back in the 6
rear. At first he could see nothing,
for he was dazed by the light, but he
groped on. Presently he came upont
Buckley lying on his side behind a
great pile of corn in bags.
'm sorry to bother you," the young
man said humbly, "but I've got my
foot caught in a hole in the floor, and I
can't possibly get It out."
"Oh, George!" the merchant gasped,
and, placing the lamp on the floor, he
raised the young man in his arms, and
together they managed to release the
"Thank you, Mr. Hlllyer." The arm
of the young man still lay on the old
man's shoulder, and instead of remov
ing.it.h pressedIt_down tenderly.
COTINUED ON NEXT PAGE.1
A GOD OPORTUITY
The Manning Times
IS CLUBBING WITH THE
Weekly News and Courier
Life and Letters,
A Southern Magazine.
We will send TnsE TIMus and the Twice-a-Week News
Lnd Courier for $2 Per year;
Or we will send THLE TIf ES and Life and Letters for $2;
Or both The News and Courier and Life and Letters witli
iiE TDIEs for $2.50 per year. .
This is an excellent opportunity for the. reading public.
'he News and Courier is one of the best State newspa
>ers in the country: it gives State, national~ and the news of
Life and Letters is a monthly magazine published'at
Enoxville, Tenn., and has among its contributors some of the:
inest literary talent of the Sonth. We regard THE TIMES
ortunate in being able to-club with it.
md secure this magnificent Southern magazine 'with THE
CIMES for $2 per year; or The Weekly News and Courier
vith THE TIMEs for $2 per year; or all three, THE TIMES,
Yeekly News and Courier and Life and Letters for $z.50 per
DON'T GET ALARMED!
No matter what you meet with while your are out hunting.
Tou are safe if you trade with the
Dickson Hardware Company
or you get the best goods for the least money. We have this fall
he largest and best assortment-of
300TS and LEGGINGS,
GUNS and RIFLES,
COATS and VESTS,
BELTS and CAPS,
SHOT and POWDER,
SHELLS and PRIMERS
- We also sell those high grade, Guaranteed Perfect Baking
stoves, at any price.
Boys, we can sell you a nice Wheel or any kind of Bicycle
Zepairs-When you need a guaranteed Knife, Razor or Scissors,
ve have them.
Remember, we are THE HARDWARE MEN.
DICKSON HARDWARE COMPANY,
Manrnirng, S. C.
Still in the Lead.
We feel that we would be ungrateful did we not stop and ex
iress our sincere thanks to the tobacco planters of this and adjoin
ag counties for the liberal patronage that they have-given us this
Our sales have been far ahead of what we expected. We are
old by men who have visited every market in South Carolina that
re are selling more tobacco in proportion than any market in the
You may ask why this is. Simply this: We have the best corps
f buyers in this section-men who know tobacco and are willhng
o p~ay the farmner every dollar it is worth.
~If vou want the worth of your tobacco bring it to us. My bus
ess is 'to see that all are treated right.
Again thanking you for past patronage I beg to remain
R. D. CLARK,