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-^t/zgog-»' MAN msr ·i^ffiaga——a—rawiniii···· ill······»·—— CHAPTER I. The Man with the Moles. The first time that Col. Rupert Win ter saw Gary Mercer was under cir cumstances calculated to fix the inci dent firmly in his memory. In the year 1903. home from the Philippines on furlough, and preparing to return to a task big enough to attract him in spite of its exile and hardships, he had visited the son of a friend at Har vard. They were walking through the corridors of one of the private dormi tories where the boy roomed. Rather grimly the soldier's eyes were noting marble wainscoting and tiled floors, and contrasting this academic en vironment with his own at West Point. A caustic comment rose to his lips, but it was not uttered, for he heard the sharp bark of a pistol, followed by a thud, and a crackle as of breaking glass. "Do you fellows amuse yourselves shooting tip the dormitory?" said he. The boy halted; he had gone white. "It came from Mercer's room!" he cried, and ran across the corridor to a door with the usual labeling of two visiting cards. The door was not locked. Entering, they passed into a vestibuie, thence through another door which stood open. For many a day after the colonel could see just how the slender young figure looked, the shoulders in a huddle on the study table, one arm swinging nerveless; be side him, on the floor, a revolver and a broken glass bottle. The latter must have made the crackling sound. Some dark red liquid, soaking the open sheets of a newspaper, filled the room with the pungent odor of alco hol. Only the top of the lad's head showed—a curly, silky, dark brown head; but even before the colonel lift ea u ne naa seen a iew imcK arops matting the brown curls. He laid the head back gently and his hand slipped to the boy's wrist. "No use, Ralph," he said in the sub dued tones that the voice takes un consciously in the presence of death. "And Endy was going to help him," almost sobbed Ralph. "He told me he would. Oh, why couldn't he have trusted his friends!" The colonel was looking at the newspaper—"Was it money?" said he; for a glance at the dabbled sheet had brought him the headings of the stock quotations: "Another Sharp Break in Stocks. New London Records." It had been money. Later, after what needed to be done was over, after doc tors and officers of the law were gone, Col. Winter heard the wretched story. A young, reckless, fatally attractive Southerner, rich friends, college so cieties, joyous times; nothing really wicked or vicious, only a surrender to youth and friendship and pleasure, and then the day of reckoning—duns, college warnings, the menace of black d'sgrace. The young fellow was an orphan, with no near kindred save one brother much older than he. The brother was reputed to be rich, ac cording to southern standards, and young Mercer, who had just come into a modest patrimony of his own, invest ed in his brother's ventures. As to the character of these ventures, whether flimsy or substantial, the col onel's informants were absolutely ignorant. All they knew of the elder Mercer was that he was often in New York and had "a lot to do with Wall street." He wasn't a broker; no, he was trying to raise money to hang on to some big properties that he had; and the stocks seemed to be going at remarkable rates just now, the bot tom dropping out of the market. If a certain stock of the Mercers—they didn't know the name—could be kept above 27 he would pull through. Col. Winter made no comment, but he remembered that when he had studied the morning's stock-market pages for nimseit, ne nao noted Daa siump in the southern steels," and "Tidewater on the toboggan slide; off three to four points, declining from 27 and a fraction to 23." "Another victim of the Wall street pirates," was the colonel's silent judg ment on the tragedy. "Lucky for her his mother's dead." The next morning he had returned and had gone to his young friend's rooms. x The boy was still »full of the horror of the day before. Mercer's brother was in Cambridge, he said—arriving that morning from New York. "Endy is going to fetch him round to get him out of the reporters' way sometime this evening; maybe there's something I can do" this in explanation of his declining to dine with the colonel. As the two entered the rooms, Win ter was a little in advance, and caught the first glimpse of a man sitting in a big mission arm-chair, his head sunk on his breast. So absorbed was this man in his own distempered musings that the new-comers" approach did not arouse him. He sat with knitted brows and clenched hands, staring into vacancy; his rigid and pallid features set in a ghastly intensity of thought. There was suffering in the look; but there was more; the colonel, who had been living among the ser pent passions of the orient, knew deadly anger when he saw it; it was branded on the face before him. In voluntarily he fell back; he felt as if he had blundered in on a naked soul. Noiselessly he slipped out of the range of visiop. He spoke loudly, halting to ask eoue question about the rooms; this made a moment's pause. It was sufficient; in the study they found a quiet, calm, although rather haggard-looking man, who greeted Winter's companion courteously, with a seuthern accent, and a very good manner. He was presented to the col onel as Mr. Mercer. He would have excused himself, professing that he was just going, but the colonel took the words out of his mouth: "Ralph, here, has a cigar for me—that is all I came for; see you at the Touraine, Ralph, to-morrow for luncheon, then." He did not see the man again; neither did he see Ralph, although he made good, so far as in him lay, his fiction of an engagement at the Touraine. But Ralph could not come; and Winter had lunched, instead, with an old friend at his club, and had watched, through a stately Georgian window the shifting greenery of the common in an east wind. All through the luncheon the sol dier's mind kept swerving from the talk in hand to Cary Mercer's face. Yet he never expected to see it again. Three years later he did see it; and this second encounter, of which, by the way. Mercer was unconscious, was the beginning of an absorbing chapter in his life. A short space of time that 'hapter occupied; yet into it crowded mystery, peril, a wonderful and awful spectacle, the keenest happiness and the cruelest anxiety. Let his days be ever so many, the series of events which followed Mercer's reappearance will not be blurred by succeeding ex periences ; their vivid and haunting pictures will burn through commoner and later happenings as an electric torch flares through layers of mist. Nothing, however, could promise adventure less than the dull and chilly late March evening when the chapter began. Nor could anyone be less on the lookout for adventure, or even in terest, than was Rupert Winter. In truth, he was listless and depressed. When he alighted from his cab in the great court of the Rock Island sta tion he found Haley, his old orderly, with a hand on the door-hasp. Haley's military stoicism of demeanor could not quite conceal a certain agitation— at least not from the colonel's shrewd eye, used to catch the moods of his soldiers. He strangled a kind of sigh. "Doesn't like it much more than mighty kind of you, Haley," he said. "Yes, sor," answered Haley, salut ing. The colonel grinned feebly. Haley, busy repelling a youthful por ter, did not notice the grin; he strode ahead with the colonel's world-scarred hand-luggage, found àn empty settee beside one of the square-tiled columns of the waiting room and disposed his burden on the iron-railed seat next the corner one, which he reserved for the colonel. "The train ain't in yet, colonel," said he. "I'll be telling you—" "No, Haley," interrupted the col onel, whose lip twitched a little; and he looked aside; "best say good-bye now; don't wait. The fact is, I'm thinking of too many things you and I have gone through together." He held out his hand; Haley, with a stony expression, gazed past it and saluted, while he repeated: "Yes, sor; I'll be back to take the bags whin the train's made up." Whereupon he wheeled and made off with speed. "Just the same damned obstinate way he's always had," chuckled the colonel to himself. Nevertneless, something ached in his throat as he frowned and winked. "Oh, get a brace on you, you played out old sport!" he muttered. "The game's on the last four cards and you haven't established your suit; you'll have to sit back and watch the other fellows play!" But his dreary thoughts persisted. Rupert was a colonel in the regular army of the United States. He had been brevetted a brigadier general after the Spanish war, and had commanded, not only a brigade, but a division at one critical time in the Philippines; but for reasons prob ably known to the little knot of poli ticians who "hung it up," although in comprehensible to most Americans, congress had failed to pass the bill D1 · "Ό iuw-ttwv.» ^ righi to keep their hard-worn and empty honors; wherefore Gen. Winter had declined to Col. Winter. He had more substantial troubles, including a wound which would prob ably make him limp through life and possibly retire him from service at 50. It had given him a six months' sick leave (which he had not wanted), and after spending a month on the Atlantic coast, he was going for the spring to the Pacific. Haley, whose own term of office had expired, had not re-enlisted, but had followed him, Mrs. Haley and the baby uncomplainingly bringing up the rear. It was not fair to Haley nor to Mrs. Haley, the colonel felt. He had told Haley so; he had found a good situation for the man, and he had added the deed for a little house in the suburbs of Chicago. If Haley wouldn't re-enlist—there never was a better soldier since he had downed a foolish young hankering for wild times and whisky—if he wouldn't go back to the army, where he belonged, let him settle down, take up the honest carpenter's trade that he had abandoned, be a good citizen and marry little Nora to some class mate in the high school, who might make a fortune and build her a colonial mansion, should the colonial still obtain in the twentieth century. The colonel had spread a grand prospect before Haley, who listened unresponslvely, a dumb pain in his wide blue Irish eyes. The colonel hated it; but, somehow, he hated worse the limp look of Haley's back as he watched it dwindle down Mich igan avenue. However, Mrs. Haley had been more satisfactory, if none the less bewil dering. She seemed very grateful over the house and the (300 for its furnishing. A birthday present, he had termed it, with a flicker of hu mor because the day was his own birthday. His fiftieth birthday it hap pened to be, and it occurred to him < _□ . -V/^r \ At First He Did Not Recognize the Face. α that a man ought to do something a little notable on such an anniversary. This rounding of the half-century had attributes apart; it was no mere an nual birthday; it marked the last van ishing flutter of the gilded draperies of youth; the withering of the gar lands; the fading tinkle of the light music of hope. It should mark a man's solid achievements. Once, not so long ago, Winter had believed that his fiftieth birthday would see wide and beneficent and far-reaching results in the province where he ruled. That dream was shattered. He was gen erous of nature, and he could have been content to behold another reap the fields which he had sowed and tilled; it was the harvest, whether his or another's, for which he worked; but his had been the bitter office to have to stand aside, with no right to pro test, and see his work go to waste be cause his successor had a feeble brain and a pusillanimous caution in place of his own dogged will. For all these reasons,, as well as others, the colonel found no zest in his fiftieth birthday; and hi3 reverie drifted dismally from one somber reflection to another until it brought up at the latest wound to his heart—his favorite brother's death. There had been three Winter broth ers—Rupert," Melville and Thomas. During the past year both Thomas Winter and his wife had died, leaving one child, a boy of 14, named Archi bald after his father's uncle. Rupert Winter and the boy's great-aunt, the wiaow ql ine greai uiicie, were ap pointed joint guardians of the young Archie. To-night, in his jaded mood, he was assailed by reproaches be cause he had not seen more of his ward. Why, he hadn't so much as looked the little chap up when he passed through Fairport—merely had sent him a letter and some truck from the Philippines; nice guardian he was! By a natural enough transition, his thoughts swerved to his own brief and not altogether happy married life. He thought of the graves in Arizona where he had left his wife and his two children, and his heart felt heavy. To escape musings which grew drearier every second, he cast his eyes about the motley crowd shuf fling over the tiled floors or resting in the massive dark oaken seats. And it was then that he saw Cary Mercer. At first he did not recognize the face. He only gazed indifferently at two well-dressed men who sat some paces away from him in the shadow of a great tiled column similar to his own. There was this difference, it happened: t#e mission lantern with its electric bulbs above the two men was flashing brightly, and by some accident that above the colonel was dark. He could see the men, himself in the shadow. The men were rather striking in ap pearance; they were evidently gentle men; the taller one was young, well set-up, clean-shaven and quietly but most correctly dressed. His light brown hair showed a slight curl in its closely clipped locks; his gray-blue eyes had long lashes of brown darker than his hair; his teeth were very white, and there was a dimple in his cheek, plain when he smiled. Had his nose been straight he would have been as handsome as a Greek god, but the nose was only an ordinary American nose, rather too broad at the base; moreover, his jaw was à little too square for classic lines. Nevertheless, he was good to look upon, as well as strong and clean and wholesome, and when his gray-blue eyes strayed about the room the dimple dented his cheek and his white teeth gleamed in a kind of merry good-nature pleasant to see. But it was the other man who held the colonel's eye. - This man was double the young man's age, or near that; he was shorter, although still of fair stature, and slim of build. His face was oval in contour and deli cate of feature. Although he wore no glasses, his brow had the far pucker of a near-sighted man. There was a mole on his cheek bone and another just below his ear. Both were small, rather than large, and in no sense disfiguring; but the colonel noted them absently, being in the habit of photographing a man in a glance. TJie face had beauty, distinction even, yet about it hung some association, sinis ter as a poison label. "Now, where," said the colonel to himself, "where have I seen that man?" Almost instantly the clew came to him. "By Jove, it's the broth er!" he exclaimed. Three years ago, and he had almost forgotten; but here was Cary Mercer—the name came to him after a little groping—here he was again; but who was the pleasant youngster with him? And what were they discussing with so little apparent and so much real earnestness? One of the colonel's physical gifts was an extraordinary acuteness ç>f hearing. It passed the mark of a fac ulty and became a marvel. Part of this uncanny power was really due, not to hearing alone, but to an alliance with another sense, because Winter had learned the lip language in his youth; he heard with his eyes as well as his ears. This combination had made an unintentional and embar rassed eavesdnppper out of an honest gentleman a number of times. To set off such evil tricks it had saved his life once on the plains and had res cued his whole command another time in the Philippines. While he studied the two faces a sentence from the νηκηο-ΰϊ· mon nrrlnnûii V» 10 offOTltlflTl It was: "I don't mind the risk, but I hate taking such an old woman's money." "She has a heap," answered the other man carelessly; "besides—" He added something with averted head and in too low a voice to reach the lis tener unassisted. But it was convinc ing, evidently, since the young man's face grew both grave and stern. He nodded, muttering: "Oh, I under stand; I wasn't backing water; I know we have lost the right to be squeam ish. But I say, old cliap, how long since Mrs. Winter has seen you? Would she recognize you?" The colonel, who had been about to abandon his espionage as unbecoming a soldier and a gentleman, stowed away all his scruples at the mention of the name. He pricked up his ears and sharpened his eye, but was careful lest they ehould catch Lis glance. The next sentence, owing to the speaker's position, was inaudible and invisible; but he clearly caught the young man's response: "You're sure they'll be on this train?" And he saw the interlocutor's head nod. "The boy's with them?" An inaudible reply, but another nod. "And you'rè sure of Miss Smith?" Thie time the other's profils was to ward the listener who heard the reply: "Plumb Bure. I wish I were as sure of some other things. Have we settled everything? It is better not to be seen together." "Yes, I think you've put me wise on the main points. By the way, .what is the penalty for kidnaping?" Again an averted head and hiatus, followed by the younger man's spark ling smile and exclamation: "Wow! Riskier than football—and even more fun!" Something further he added, but his arms hid his mouth as he iz,L,iy&7i3ATiofsref S -T4PVSIL ? thrust tliem into his greatcoat, prepar ing to move away. He went alone; and the other, after a moment's gloomy meditation, gathered up coat and bag and followed. During that moment of arrested decision, however, his features had dropped into sinister lines which the colonel remembered. "Dangerous customer, or I miss my guess," mused the soldier, who knew the passions of men. "I wonder—they couldn't mean my Aunt Rebecca? She's old; she has millions of money— but she's not on this train. And there's no Miss Smith in our deck. I'm so used to plotting I go off 011 fake hikes! Probably I'm getting old and dotty. Mercer, poor fellow, may have his brain turned and be an anarchist or a bomb-thrower or a dirty kidnaper for revenge; but that boy's a decent chap; I've licked too many second lieuten ants into shape not to know something of youngsters." He pushed the idea away; or, rather, his own problems pushed it out of his mind, which w< at back to his ward and his single -ving brother. Mel ville had no 1 iren, only his wife's daughters, ν re both married— Melville havii.t; rried a widow with a family, an estate and a mind of her own. Melville was a professor in a state university, a mild, learned man whom nature intended for science but whom his wife was determined to make into the president of the uni versity. "Even money which will win," nliunblafl Rnnorf Wintûr tn hlmoolf "Millicent hasn't much tact; but she has the perseverance of the saints. She married Mel; he doesn't know, but she surely did. And she bosses him now. Well, I suppose Mel likes to be bossed ; he never had any strenu ous opinions except about the canals of Mars—Valgame dios!" With a gasp the colonel sprang to his feet. There before him, in thet flesh, was his sister-in-law. Her state ly figure, her Roman profile, her grace fully gesticulating hand, which indi cated the colonel's position to her heavily laden attendant; a lad in blue —these he knew by heart just as he knew that her toilet for the journey would be in the latest mode, and that she would have the latest fashion of gen and mien. Millicent studied such things. She waved her luggage into place— an excellent place—in the same breath dismissing the porter and instructing him when he must return. Then, but not until then, did she turn graciously to her brother-in-law. "I hoped that I should find you, Bertie," she said in a voice of such creamy richness that it was hard to credit the speaker with only three short trips to England. "Melville said you were to take this train; and I was so delighted, so relieved! I am in a most harassing predicament, my dear Bertie." "That's bad," murmured the colonel with sympathetic solicitude; "what's the trouble? Couldn't you get a sec tion?" "I have my reservations, but I don't know whether I shall go to-night." "Maybe I'm stupid, Millicent, but I confess I don't know what you mean." "Really, there's no reason why you should, Bertie. That's why I was so anxious to see you—in time, so that I might explain to you—might put you on your guard." "Yes?" the colonel submitted; he never hurried a woman. "I'm going to visit dear Amy—you remember she was married two years ago and lives in Pasadena; she has a dear little baby and the loveliest home! It's charming. And she was so delighted with your wedding gift, it was so original. Amy never did care for costly things; these simple, unique gifts always pleased her. Of course, my main object is to see the dear child, but I shall not go to-night unless Aunt Rebecca Winter is on the train. If for any reason she waits over until to-morrow I shall wait also." ' Salvation for the Heroine Old Sleuth Tale Brought Up to Date by the Author. Right in the mouth of the tunnel our hero lay, tightly bound across the track. A few yards up the hillside was his eweetheart, lashed to a tree. Near by stood the villain Tarbox, arms folded, a diabolical grin on his face, ae he invited the helpless girl to see the destruction of her lover. What could save him? Already there echoed from the tunnel the roar of the express train as it thundered down the mountain slope toward its vic tim. "Keep up your courage, dear," said the doomed man calmly. "Providence will yet provide an escape from that scoundrel's toils, never fear." "Let's see," murmured the great author abstractedly, as he paused a moment in his dictation. "How's she going to get him out of that fix? She can't rush wildly into the tunnel and flag the train with a sulphur match, because she's tied. She can't influ ence the villain, because his is a heart of stone. The engineer couldn't hear her piercing shriek, because the train is in a tunnel. Her faithful hound couldn't untie him. She— Oh, I have it! Of course," and he resumed his dictation. Just as the headlight of the ap pro&ching train twinkled into view far up the subterranean passage, a sudden, fierce gust of wind blew down the moun tain, struck our heroine's hat, which had been leaning against a tree, and trundled it across the open space into the cavernous mouth of the tunnel. A moment later was heard a long, harsh, grating screech, and the locomotive, its wheels tangled and locked in the mammoth ruins of the hat, came to a standstill with its cowcatcher just touching our hero's hair. Men de scended from the cab and released him and the girl, while the wretch Tarbox dashed away into the night, shaking his clenched fists in bitter anger at the sky. "Thank God!" gasped our heroine wildly, as she sank fainting Into her lover's arms. "Thank God that I wore my Merry Widow instead of the ushal wild rose!"—Gorton Carruth in Judge. Lucinda's Point of View. "When I engaged you, Lucinda," said the mistress to her colored cook, "you said you had no male friends. Now almost every time I come Into the kitchen I find a man there." "Lor' sakes," laughed Lucinda, "he ain't no male fren' o' mine." "Then who is he?" demanded the lady. "He am just ma husband." was the reply.—Young's Magazine. "Ah," sighed the colonel very softly, not stirring a muscle of his politely attentive face; "and does Aunt Re becca expect to go on the train?" "They told me at the Pullman office that she had the drawing-room, the stateroom and two sections. Of course, she has her maid with her and Archi—" "Does he go, too?" the colonel asked, his eyes narrowing a little. "Yes, she's taking him to Cali fornia; he doesn't seem well enough, she thinks, to go to school, so he is to have a tutor out there. I'm a lit tle afraid Aunt Rebecca mollycoddles the boy." "Aunt Rebecca never struck me as a mollycoddler. I always considered her a tolerably cynical old Spartan. But do you mean there is any doubt of their going? Awfully good of you to wait to see if they don't go, but I'm sure Aunt Rebecca wouldn't want you to sacrifice your section—" Mrs. Melville lifted a shapely hand in a Delsartian gesture of arrest; her smiling words were the last the col onel had expected. "Hush, dear Ber tie; Aunt Rebecca doesn't know I am going. I don't want her to know un til we are on the train." "Oh, I see, a surprise?" But he did not see; and, with a quiet intentness, he watched the color raddle Mrs. Mel ville's smooth cheeks. "Hardly," retried the lady. "The truth is, Bertie Melville and I are worried about Aunt Rebecca. She. we fear, has fallen under the Influence of a most plausible adventuress; I sup pose yon have heard of her com panion, Miss Smith?" "Can't say I have exactly," said the colonel placidly, but his eyes nar rowed again. "Who is the lady?" "I thought—I am sure Melville must have written you. But— Oh, yes, he wrote yesterday to Boston. Well, Ber tie, Miss Smith is a southerner; she says she is a South Carolinian, but Aunt Rebecca picked her up in Wash ington, where she was with a kink of cousin of ours who was half crazy. Miss Smith took care of her and she died"—she fixed a darkling eye on the soldier—"she died and she left Miss Smith money." "Much?" "A few thousands. That is how Aunt Rebecca met her, and she pulled the wool over auntie's eyes, and they came back together. She's awfully clever." "Young? Pretty?" "Oh, dear, no. And she's ncaicr 40 than 30. Just the designing age îor λ woman when she's still wanting Ιώ. marry some one but beginning to be afraid that she can't. Then such creatures always try to get money. If they can't marry it, and there's no maç to set their caps for, they try to wheedle it out of some poor fool woman!" Miineent was in earnest, there was no doubt of that; the sure sign was her unconscious return to the direct expressions of her early life in the middle west. "And you think Miss Smith is try ing to influence Aunt Rebecca?" "Of course she is; and Aunt Re becca is SO, Rupert. And often while people of her age show no other sign of weakening intellect, they are not well regulated in their affections; they take fancies to people and get doting and clinging. She is getting to depend on Miss Smith. Really, that woman has more influence with her than all the rest of us together. She won't hear a word against her. Why! when I tried to suggest how little we knew about Miss Smith and that it would be better not to trust her too entirely, she positively resented it. Of course I used tact, too. I was so hurt, so surprised!" Mrs. Millicent was plainly aggrieved. The colonel, who had his own opinion of the tact of his brother's wife, was not so surprised; but he made an inarticulate sound which might pass for sympathy. (TO BE CONTINUED.) A NURSE'S EXPERIENCE. Backache, Pains in the Kidneys, Bloat Ing, Etc., Overcome. A nurse is expected to know what to do for common ailments, and wom en who suffer back ache, constant lan guor, and other com mon symptoms of kidney complaint, should be grateful to Mrs. Minnie Turner, of Ε. B. St., Anadarko, Okla., .or pointing out the way to find quick relief. Mrs. Turner used Doan's Kid ney Pills for a run-down condition, backache, pains in the sides and kid neys, bloated limbs, etc. "The way they have built me up is simply mar velous," says Mrs. Turner, who is a nurse. "My health improved rapid ly. Five boxes did so much for me I am telling everybody about it." Sold by all dealers. 50 cents a box. Foster-Milburn Co.. Buffalo, Ν. Y. ONCE WU MET HIS MATCH. Chinese Diplomat Outwitted by Ameri can Railroad King. The wily Wu Ting Fang, the min ister from China, whose frank and penetrating questionings have made him the joy of newspaper men and the bane of the diplomat, for once met his match in a brief encounter with Ε. H. Harriman, the railroad magnate. Mr. Wu opened on Mr. Harriman with this naive inquiry: "How did you get control of all these railroads? What did you do?" Mr. Harriman smiled and replied: "I can answer you best by a story about a prominent capitalist whom I once met. He was summoned to court as a witness ana was Deing questioned as to his personal affairs. " 'What is your salary?' asked the court. " 'Nothing,' was the unexpected an swer. " 'Well, what is your income fromall sources, then?' continued the court. " 'Nothing,' maintained the witness. " 'What, do you mean to say you have no income whatever?' " 'Yes.' " 'How much do you spend in a year?' " 'About $60,000 or so.' " 'If you have no income, yet spend $60,000 a year, how do you do it?' was the sharp rejoinder. " 'Ah,' was the response, 'that is my secret.' "—System. MADE HIM SIT UP. Wifle—I'll make you sorry you ever quarreled with me! Hubby—What will you do? Go home to your mother, I suppose? Wifie—No; I'll bring mother here! Hi» First Visit The wide check of his suit and his monocle proclaimed his nationality from afar. His first American ac quaintance, met on the steamer, had supplied him with an immense amount of strange and wonderful information about the United States. "And since you a-e an Englishman," it was explained, "every store will at once charge you from five to ten times what they would ask an American." "Eh! What?" said the Britisher, aghast, and then with a look of great cunning: "But, my word! I shawn't tell them, don't you know!" Truthful Bessie. There had been a lovera' quarrel and it was his first visit in two weeks. "I guess you know there was a dif ference between your sister and my self?" he ventured, trying to pump the little sister. "Yes, indeed," responded the latter without hesitation. "Well—er—do you think Clara will make up when she comes down?" Litle Bessie leaned over nearer and whispered: "She ought to, Mr. Bilklns. She is CONGENIAL WORK And Strength to Perform It. A person in good health is likely to have a genial disposition, ambition, and enjoy work. On the other hand, if the digestive organs have been upset by wrong food, work becomes drudgery. "Until recently," writes a Washing ton girl, "I was a railroad stenog rapher, which means full work every day. "Like many other girls alone In a large city, I lived at a boarding house. For breakfast it was mush, greasy meat, soggy cakes, black coffee, etc. "After a few months of this diet I used to feel sleepy and heavy in the mornings. My work seemed a ter rible effort, and I thought the work was to blame—too arduous. "At home I had heard my father speak of a young fellow who went long distances in the cold on Grape Nuts and cream and nothing more for breakfast. "I concluded if it would tide him over a morning's heavy work, it might help me, so on my way home one night I bought a package and next morning I had Grape-Nuts and milk for breakfast. "I stuck to Grape-Nuts, and in less than two weeks I noticed improve· ment. I can't just tell how well I felt, but I remember I used to walk the 12 blocks to business and knew how good it was simply to live. "As to my work—well, did you eve* feel the delight of having congenial work and the strength to perform it? That's how I felt. I truly believe there's life and vigor in every grain of Grape-Nuts." Name given by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich. Read "The Road to Well· ville," in pkgs. "There's a Reason." ETer read the above letter? A net» one appear· from time to time. They «re genuine, true, and full Ot humaa Interest.