The Bluffton news. [volume], July 18, 1940, Image 7

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THURSDAY, JULY 18, 1940
©meRAE SMITH CO.
THE STORY
CHAPTER I—Charming, wealthy Gabri
ella (Gay for short) Graham, engaged to
Todd Janeway, returns to a cabin in the
Maine woods accompanied by a friend. Kate
Oliver. The idea of a stay at the cabin oc
curred to her when she received a key to it
following the death of her godfather. Uncle
John Lawrence. The two girls notice im
mediately that someone has been, and prob
ably is. living in the cabin. Kate suspects
that Gay knows the identity of the mysteri
ous occupant.
CHAPTER n—While the girls talk the
mystery man returns. Gay. surprisingly
enough. Introduces the man to her. He is
John Houghton, a young doctor whom Gay
had known in previous years. Soon after
arriving at the cottage Gay discovered his
identity through an old monogrammed sweat
er. Immediately aggressive. Gay asks him
by what right he is in the cabin. His right,
she finds, is greater than her own. He. too,
possesses a key, but more than that, is heir
to it from his Uncle John. Gay's godfather.
Gay is high handed with him, and he
states courteously that he will leave. Look
ing at him in the doorway, her old feelings
return. She knows that he is more neces
sary to her than is Todd Janeway, the man
she is to marry.
CHAPTER III—Before he leaves, John
goes for a walk. When he returns he finds
Gay sitting before the fireplace. They begin
talking on a more friendly basis, and she
asks him to reconsider his decision to leave.
The next morning brings a different feeling,
and John decides to remain for his vaca
tion—one more week.
John opened the door of the farm
house and looked out across a
stretch of weed-grown lawn. His
car was there under the willow
where he had left it at the edge of
the lane.
“Good-night, Ben,” he said to the
lanky young man in overalls who
had accompanied him to the door.
“Don’t worry. Everything's all
right.”
“Thanks, Doc. Jenny and I are
mighty grateful.”
“That’s all right. I’ll run in some
time tomorrow—today.”
A thin high wail came out through
the open door. The unshaded lamp
trembled in the shaking young hands
which held it. John laughed.
“Only a healthy one could make
that much noise. He’s going to be
an opera singer.”
“Not if he takes after his Dad.”
The boyish face traced with lines of
weariness and anxiety shone, then
darkened. “You sure Jenny’s—all
right?”
“Fine. She’ll probably sleep un
til nocn. Your mother will know
what to do. You get some sleep.”
“All right, Doc. We sure thank
you. Good-night.”
The door closed. John walked
across the stretch of lawn toward
the car. The full moon had dropped
below the dipping hills but the farm
yard was bright with radiance it
had left. John drew in deep breaths
of the cool damp air. He came up
to the car walking quietly, shorten
ing his long eager strides.
But she was not asleep.
“Hello, Doc,” she said, and sat
erect in the seat of the car.
“I thought I told you to go back
to the cabin,” he said, but his at
tempt to sound stern was not very
convincing.
“You did,” Gay said. “You’ve
been telling me that at intervals all
night.”
“Are you frozen? Let me look at
you.” He leaned past her into the
car and turned on the dash-board
lights.
She wore his old college sweater,
too large for her, the sleeves rolled
back to free her hands and she had
bundled herself into a cocoon of
car robes and blankets.
“You should have gone back,” he
said as he slipped in behind the
wheel. “They would have taken me
or I could have stayed here all night.
Do you realize that it’s nearly three
o’clock?” He released the brake and
the car moved out into the road.
“What do you suppose Kate is think
ing?”
“The worst, probably.” She moved
closer to him in the narrow seat.
“What is it, a boy or a girl?”
“A boy.” She was unconscious of
having moved toward him, he
thought. Wonderful to have her here
very close to him, wearing his
sweater, waiting for him to ride back
to the cabin. Not real, of course, a
piece of a dream, a part of the
strange intimacy of this night they
had spent together.
“I heard it.” Her voice was
hushed. “It sounded like a furious
kitten. I’d like to have seen it.
I’ve never seen one so—small.”
“They improve with age. He had
a close shave. It’s the first one and
there were complications. I’d have
given my soul for hospital equip
ment. That—” He broke off abrupt
ly, then added with brusqueness in
duced by embarrassment and the
fear that his enthusiasm might bore
her. “I shouldn’t have let you in for
this. I didn’t know it was a baby.
Why didn’t you take the car back
to the cabin hours ago?”
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” she
said, still in that hushed and won
dering voice. “Nothing as real as
this ever happened to me. I should
think that doing what you did tonight
would make you feel like—God.”
“Good Lord!” he said, trying to
conceal the pride and pleasure her
comment gave him. “I didn’t do
anything she couldn’t have done for
herself. Made it a little easier, pos
sibly. There’s too much sentimen
talizing over doctors,” he concluded
severely.
“Oh, John, don’t!” she cried with
soft vehemence, “Don’t be ashamed
of—enthusiasm.”
“I’m not actually,” he admitted,
moved by the sincerity of her voice.
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'•‘‘Only you're always' sb controlled
and—detached. You’ve made me
feel that enthusiasm is—naive.”
“I know! I hate it!” she cried.
“We’re all that way, my friends, I
mean. We think it’s smart to be
bored and disillusioned. We avoid
any display of emotion as we would
avoid a plague. Even Todd and I—”
She paused.
The roadster dipped down into a
hollow where fog moved before the
head-lights in wraith-like shapes.
John felt his hands trembling on the
wheel.
“Don’t talk about it. You needn’t,
I mean. There’s nothing you’re
obliged to explain.”
“But I want to,” she said earnest
ly. “I could have gone away let
ting you think what you pleased of
me but someone else is involved.
This—yesterday morning when I
pulled my act on the float I must
have given you a very unfair im
pression of Todd. I’m not being
forced into this marriage.”
John gave a short laugh. “I could
scarcely have that impression,” he
said.
“None of the things you probably
think are true,” she went on. “We
didn’t merely drift into an engage
ment. It wasn’t propinquity or the
fact that both families hoped and
expected that we would marry. I
suppose that would have put us off
each other, if anything. We’re nei
ther of us lambs which could be led
to a sacrifice without a good deal of
bleating.”
Presently she continued. “I like
Todd better than anyone I’ve ever
known,” she said, as though she
were explaining the situation to her
self as well as to him. “We enjoy
being together. We think the same
things are amusing or sad or ex
citing.”
“I should think that would be an
excellent foundation for marriage,”
John said as she paused.
“But it isn’t enough. It’s all too—
What were the words you used?—
controlled and detached. We hold
things too lightly.” Mounting pas
sion flamed in her voice. “Todd
shouldn’t have let me come here,”
she said.
“Let you?”
“Oh, I know.” She gave a low
rueful laugh. “He couldn’t have pre
vented my coming. But if I’d cared
enough for him I wouldn’t have
needed to come. If he’d cared
enough for me he would have tried
to keep me there with him. If—” she
broke off, and added: “I meant to
correct the unfair impression of
Todd I’d given you. I’m not doing a
very good job.”
He ignored that. “Why did you
come, Gay?” he asked.
“I’ve wanted to tell you.” Her
voice was quiet, now, very thought
ful, wholly sincere. “I've been afraid
to try. It doesn’t seem reasonable,
even to me. I had no idea that you
would be here.”
“I know that.” John was uncon
scious of the fact that he had slack
ened the speed of the car. With his
eyes still fixed on the road ahead,
he waited for her to continue.
“I’m not afraid now,” she went
on after an interval of silence. “To
night, while I was waiting for you, I
thought of Uncle John.”
“Yes?” he said, bending toward
her.
“Do you suppose that when you
are—dying,” she asked simply, like
a child puzzling over a mystery be
yond its comprehension, “that some
especial wisdom is given to you?”
Her phrasing of a thought he’d
had, startled him with its similarity.
He remained silent, his weariness
gone, every nerve in his body sud
denly tense and alert.
“I thought of that tonight,” she
went on without waiting for a reply
to her question, “while you were
bringing that baby into the world.
When realities touch you, pride
seems unimportant. I’m not afraid
to tell you now. I wanted to come
back to the cabin because I’d felt
intensely here. I’d been both happy
and unhappy and not ashamed of
either, no hidden emotion beneath
mockery for fear Td be thought sen
timental and naive.”
“But you were so young then,
Gay.” John drew in at the side of
the road and stopped the motor.
“And have you—succeeded?”
“I was disappointed the night Kate
and I arrived. I realized how fool
ish I’d been. The cabin was as I
remembered it, but I had no feeling
about it until—”
Her voice which had been com
posed trembled to a faltering stop.
She glanced up at him and he saw,
in the light from the dashboard, the
tears on her lashes, the uncertain
half-smile on her lips, the melted
stars in her eyes. His arms went
around her, drew her close.
“Gay,” he said. “Darling! I love
you. It’s a relief to say it. I’m
not afraid either. Oh, Gay.”
She turned so that her cheek
touched his. Her arm went up
around his neck.
“John!” she cried softly. “Oh, I
was afraid it wouldn’t happen. I
was afraid I’d go away without hav
ing really been with you. Or that
you would. We’re both so stubborn
and proud and ridiculous.” She
laughed, half sobbing. “John!”
“I couldn’t have gone while you
were here,’ he whispered against
her cheek,, _____ __
THE
Her arm tightened. Her hand
moved in gentleness from his tem
ple down along the thin line of his
jaw. “I couldn’t have either. It
was always you. It was because you
had been there that I had to come
back. I loved you awfully that sum
mer and have always since. I
thought just being here— But it
wouldn’t have been any good. The
night Kate and I came—the cabin
was just as I had remembered it.
But I had no feeling about it until I
found your sweater, this sweater,
and knew it was you who was
there.”
“That old sweater. It was new
the summer you were here. You
remembered!”
“I remembered everything, how
you had your hair cut short so it
wouldn’t wave, your hands—I could
have drawn them from memory—
your crooked smile that disapproves
of me, the way you walk, all the
things that make you—you.”
“Oh, Gay! You make me—I can’t
say—” His love for her, so long held
in check, broke through the re
straints he had set. Logic and com
mon sense were lost in a rushing
flood of tenderness, passion, relief.
They had this time together, now,
tonight. The past was blotted out
and the future obscure. They were
together on the small secure island
of the present. “I’ve wanted you
so,” he said in shaken phrases. “I’ve
ached to hold you like this.
CHAPTER V
Kate roused, opened her eyes,
blinked at the light coming in
through the window beside her bed.
She had forgotten to draw the shade
when she had retired, she thought.
She had forgotten to undress, too,
apparently, since she seemed to be
fully clothed. That was a little care
less, to say the least. She stretched
under the blankets, blinked again
and remembered.
Her eyes, wide awake now, flew
to Gay’s bed at the opposite end of
the room. The counterpane was
drawn smoothly over the pillows and
Gay’s white wool robe lay flung
across it as it had lain since yester
day afternoon. Kate glanced at her
watch. Nearly half-past seven. She
threw back the blankets, sprang
from the bed, stood listening.
She glanced in the mirror above
the low chest of drawers. Her face,
colorless from anxiety and fatigue,
glared back at her in the morning
light. What a fright she looked!
Not that it mattered. She was glad
she’d done what she had. She’d
wondered, last night, how she would
feel about that this morning. Gay
would be furious. Let her. There
were limits to patience and toler
ance and being a good sport. Last
night, at least, she hadn’t let her
sympathies run away with her com
mon sense.
How treacherous sympathies were!
Kate, brushing her long sandy hair,
felt hers stir beneath anxiety and
exasperation as she thought of Gay
and John. They were so obviously
in love with each other, romanti
cally in love which was more dan
gerous than a mere physical attrac
tion. Not that he wasn’t physically
attractive. He had charm and good
breeding. His characteristic gravi
ty, lit by flashes of humor, was ap
pealing. He was sensitive, but Gay
couldn’t dominate him, which, for
her, must be unique and intriguing.
In that quality, call it strength of
character or stubbornness as you
please, lay, she supposed, his strong
attraction.
What was that? Kate dropped her
brush on the top of the chest. They
were here. They were laughing to
gether, somewhere, close at hand.
Her first reaction was a light-head
ed sense of relief. She opened the
bedroom door into the main por
tion of the cabin.
The sound of laughter reached her
more clearly. Sha smelled bacon
frying and toast and coffee. Relief
sharpened into indignation. They
were laughing, were they, having
breakfast, while she worried. Kate’s
back stiffened. As she walked
through the living-room, she glanced
at the telephone against the wall.
She was glad she had done it, she
told herself, steeling her sympa
thies, resentfully forcing from her
mind an unjustified feeling of guilt.
But she wasn’t so sure* she was
glad when she came to the doorway
of the kitchen. Sympathy, for a
sentimental moment, took prece
dence over indignation and anxiety.
They had built a roaring fire in the
wood range and were cooking break
fast together. Gay, wearing his
sweater, too large for her, the
sleeves rolled back to free her
hands, was toasting bread. John,
standing beside her, turned bacon in
the skillet. Steam rose from the
coffee-pot, curled in a wreath above
their heads. Sunlight streaming in
through the two east windows lay
over them, a promise, a seal of ap
proval, a benediction.
They were not aware of Kate
standing in the doorway. Their faces
bent over their separate tasks were
absorbed and smiling. As she
watched, their glances lifted and
met. They broke into soft laughter
though no word was exchanged.
Leaning toward her, his lips brushed
across her hair.
The light caress, significant of a
new relationship, banished sympa
thy and sentiment. Kate stiffened.
“Well!” she said crisply. “For
two people who’ve been out all
night—”
“We didn’t expect to be so long,”
Gay interrupted. “John had a baby.
It took all night.”
“What!” Kate’s hands grasped the
sides of the doorway.
“A Mrs. Whittaker had a baby,”
John said. “I merely assisted.”
Kate drew a steadying breath.
“And what did you do?” she asked
Gay.
“I waited for John outside in the
car.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t—as
sist.”
“I wanted to. John wouldn’t let
me.”
Kate felt her lips twitching in spite
of the very real dismay that weight
ed her spirits. “I’m glad he had
that muck sense,” site saicL “You
BLUFFTON NEWS, BLUFFTOJ, OHIO
couldn’t have telephoned, I sup
pose.”
“There wasn’t a ’phone.”
“I am sorry, Kate.” John roused
from the trance-like state so alarm
ing to Kate. “You must have been
frantic. I tried to send Gay back.
But you know how she is.”
“Just a spoiled brat.” Gay glanced
up at him, smiling.
“The toast is burning,” Kate said.
“Heavens, yes!” Gay snatched the
rack up from the stove.
“Can’t you keep your mind on
your work?” John took the rack
from her. Their hands touched, re
luctantly parted. Gay gave a laugh
ing cry.
“Can’t you? The bacon is burned
to a crisp.”
“Good Lord!” The rueful smile
widened into his engaging grin.
“Will you cook this breakfast,
Kate?”
“I’ll have to, I suppose,” she said
grumpily, “if I’m to have anything
fit to eat.” She took the skillet from
John’s unresisting hand and
marched to the sink. “After you’ve
had breakfast you’d better get some
sleep. We can’t start for New York
today.”
A sudden hush fell upon the room.
Kate could not see their faces. She
was scraping burned bits of bacon
from the skillet into the sink.
“The Northfield garage couldn’t
cope with the generator,” she went
on. “I left the car there and that
boy with the teeth brought me back
here last night. They kindly offered
to take the car in to Machias to
day. That means, I suppose, that it
won’t be ready before night. I’ll
be glad to get back to civilization
again where it doesn’t take forever
to get something done.” She turned.
"Where’s the rest of the bacon or
have you—”
Sympathies were treacherous.
They looked at her as though she
had given them a reprieve from
death. Seeing the gratitude and af
fection for her which shone in Gay’s
face, in John’s, she felt with uncom
fortable sharpness that unjustified
sense of guilt. She walked to the ice
box, stooped, jerked open the door.
She had been right to call Todd last
night. But knowing that he was
now, at this moment, on his way to
the lake, was no longer the sustain
ing relief it had been. She felt like a
traitor. She felt as though she should
be taken out to the clearing behind
the cabin, stood up against the wood
shed, and shot.
The long low roadster sped down a
hill, across a bridge in a swampy
hollow, up a gently rising grade.
Todd Janeway, his blond head bare,
his body slumped with fatigue
against the leather upholstery, his
eyes smarting from the sting of the
wind, glanced at the speedometer.
Better take it easy, he thought,
slackening the rushing speed of the
car.
Lucky he’d left word at home
where he was going last night. He’d
expected to hear from her. He
wouldn’t have been surprised if
she’d walked in on Tory Wales’ par
ty. A week, she’d said, and Gay kept
her promises. But it had been Kate
who called. She’d said Gay didn’t
know she was calling. The tele
phone connection was bad. He
hadn’t been able to hear very well.
When he’d learned that Kate wanted
him to come, he’d concentrated on
getting the directions she gave him
fairly clear in his mind.
Gay—! Steady, Janeway. The
thing to do was to concentrate on
getting there. He’d know soon
enough what the trouble was. Or
maybe there was no trouble. Kate
hadn’t made her reason for his com
ing very clear. Maybe Gay wanted
him to drive them back to New
York. The trip up in Kate’s coupe
couldn’t have been too comforta
ble. That was something to tie to.
But Kate had told him Gay didn’t
know she was calling—
He was too weary, now, to think
clearly. Perhaps she’d just been
tired, as she said, worn out with
preparations for the wedding, ex
hausted by all the demands upon
her vitality and patience. She’d
wanted it, though. He’d been a lit
tle surprised, last June when the
engagement had been announced,
that she had agreed to the hue and
cry both families raised for a wed
ding. She’d told him she wanted
everything to be right and proper
She'd told him she wanted every
thing to be right.
and in accordance with tribal tra
ditions. He’d been surprised but
touched and pleased, though he hat
ed the fuss. He hadn’t realized,
then, that she was substituting the
symbols of marriage for something
that was lacking, the one thing that
made it right. That was before he
had watched her grow more and
more remote, not sharing her
thoughts with him, making excuses
for not being alone with him, shut
ting him off behind a wall of light
mockery through which he could see
her but could not touch her, not ac
tually, not the Gay herself, whom
he. loved.
This must be Northfield. Better
ask directions from here. He pulled
in at a filling-station at the side of
the road. A gangling boy with buck
teeth and a shock of sunburned hair
appeared in response to the bleat
of his horn.
“Can you tell me how to get to
the Lawrence camp?” Todd asked.
The boy was lost in admiration
for the car.
“How far do I follow this road?”
Todd asked brusquely.
“Oh, eyah. ’Bout a mile and a
half. You’ll see the name on the
mail-box.”
“Thanks.”
Todd tossed a coin to the boy, re
leased the brake and pressed the
accelerator.
A mail-box. Todd slackened the
speed of the car. A figure detached
itself from the vines and underbrush
at the side of the road. A long
arm waved in greeting. Kate!
“Hello!” he called and brought the
car to a stop. No other figure to
greet him. He felt his heart thud
painfully. “Where’s Gay?”
Kate stood in the road beside him.
“Out on the lake,” she said. Kate’s
expression was composed. She
looked quite natural, a little tired,
perhaps, but serene. “Fishing,” she
added. “You took a time getting
here.”
“I was arrested.” His spirits lift
ed. Kate looked as he was accus
tomed to see her, lanky and rakish
in a tweed skirt and green wool
blouse, her expression a charac
teristic blending of wry humor and
casual friendliness. He opened the
door. “Get in, Kate. You look like
a slightly sardonic wood-nymph.
How’s your generator, my friend?”
“My what?” she sat beside him
and he turned the car into the lane.
He laughed. “I heard, a few min
utes ago, that you’d had trouble with
it.”
“That boy with the teeth!” Watch
ing her in a side-long glance, he
saw her expression change. She
looked, though he could scarcely
credit it, as if she was about to
burst into tears.
“It isn’t that bad, is it?” he asked
but the laughter had gone out of
her voice.
“It’s as bad as can be,” Kate
•aid with difficulty.
“Is Gay ill? Has she been hurt?”
“Worse than that.”
He stopped the car in the lane.
“What is it? What has happened?”
She turned to him, her face work
ing queerly. “I meant to break it
to you gently,” she burst out. “I’ve
been sitting out there by that mail
box for hours thinking of what I
should say. There isn’t any way to
say it except to tell you the truth
and I’d rather be chopped up and
thrown to the wolves. I shouldn’t
have called you last night.”
“Why shouldn’t you have called
me?”
“Because it’s none of my busi
ness. Yes, it is. I love her and I
know it’s all wrong.”
“What’s all wrong?”
“Gay has fallen in love,” Kate
said wildly. “He was here when we
came.”
“Who was here!”
“John Houghton, Dr. Lawrence’s
nephew. Do you remember him at
Gay’s debutante party? Nice look
ing. Dark and rangy.”
“I remember.” He slumped back
behind the wheel. “Did she come
here to meet him?” he asked.
“No. He just happened to be here.
The long arm of coincidence.” She
gave a crack of nervous laughter.
"Don’t ever say anything is im
possible. But she came here be
cause she’s been in love with him
since the summer they spent here
with Dr. Lawrence six years ago.
Would you have thought Gay was
romantic? She’s fairly wallowing in
it. .Little fool!”
“You aren’t very convincing,
Kate.” He smiled wearily. “Do you
like him?”
“I do. That’s the trouble. He is
attractive. And so in love with her.
But it’s all wrong.”
“Why is it—wrong?” he asked qui
etly.
She glanced at him in relief and
admiration.
“Did you expect me to go melo
dramatic?” he said. “I’m afraid
that’s a little out of my line. Why
did you call me?”
“I hoped we might get her away
from here—in time.”
“And there isn’t—timet It’« too
late, now?”
“I’m afraid so. Last night—” She
hesitated for a moment then plunged
on. “They haven’t told me any
thing. But the way they act is
enough. I’ve tried all day to tell
them you were coming. I couldn’t.
I feel like a traitor until I think of—
Todd, what do they think of all this
at home?”
“It’s been pretty awful. Funny,
though—None of that seems impor
tant—now.”
(To be continued)
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Elrose
Joann and Jimmie Gallant visited
the past week at the home of their
brother Kenneth Gallant in Colum
bus.
Misses Ho and Goldie Wilch spent
Sunday evening at the J. R. Fisher
home.
Mr. and Mrs. Harry Morrison left
for their home in Tulsa, Sunday
morning after having visited friends
here the past two weeks.
L. L. Koch of Plymouth, Ind.,
spent Saturday and Sunday at
the Henry Koch home.
Mr. and Mrs. A. J. Nonnamaker,
daughter Kaye and Mrs. Anna
Koontz spent Sunday afternoon at
the T. J. Koontz home in Walbridge.
They were accompanied home by
Roderick Nonnamaker who had spent
the past week at the T. J. Koontz
home.
The C. V. Klingler family of Ada
spent Thursday evening at the Ami
Nonnamaker home.
Mr. N. R. Koch, John and Fem
Koch attended the Yambert reunion
at Meadow Brook park Sunday at
Bascom.
Mr. and Mrs. Harry Moore, daugh
ter Merilyn of Detroit were Thurs
day evening supper guests at the
A. J. Nonnamaker home.
Union prayer services at Olive
Branch Thursday evening.
Mr. and Mrs. Harry Morrison, M.
J. Stratton, Mrs. Lucinda Koontz
and Mrs. Anna Koontz spent Tues
day afternoon at the K. E. Stratton
home at Tiffin.
Mr. and Mrs. John McVetta and
little son and Norma Robinson of
Mt. Cory called at the Henry Koch
home Saturday evening.
Mrs. Lida Gallant, daughter Jane
spent last week at the C. F. Fisher
home in Findlay.
The farmers are busy with hay
and wheat harvest.
The Ami Nonnamaker family and
HERE IS OUR PLAN:
Our business is SOFT WATER SERVICE. We install a water soft
ener in the basement of homes. We own the equipment and we take
care of it. It provides sparkling 100% soft water at the turn of the
faucet without an investment or any attention from anyone in the
household.
We service the unit at regular intervals. When servicing becomes
necessary, our service man removes the unit which has been in use,
and replaces it with the fresh one. This requires only a few seconds
since an ingenious connection permits immediate interchange. The
unit which has been removed is taken to our service department where
it is freshened for use again. The removal and replacement of the
unit is as simple a process as reading a water meter.
SOR WATER SERVICE
137 W. Spring St., Lima, Ohio
Local Representative: Lewis Plumbing Shop, Phone 173-W
PAGE SEVEN
Mr. and Mrs. Henry Arnold and
Bessie Arnold, Mr. and Mrs. Albert
Gossman, son Richard spent Sunday
at the Cora Nusser home in Findiay.
During the past week the follow
ing called on Mrs. M. J. Stratton,
Mr. N. R. Elzay, Mr. and Mrs. Wade
Marshall, Mrs. Bertha Williamson,
Mr. and Mrs. H. D. Morrison, Mrs.
Harry Moore and daughter Merilyn
of Detroit Mrs. Anna Koontz, Mr.
and Mrs. A. J. Nonnamaker and
daughter Kaye, Mrs. Ruth Steinman,
Mrs. Roy Marshall and daughter
Avis, Mrs. Carson Marshall and son
Merlin, Mrs. John Williamson, Mr.
Russell Elzay and daughter Joanne,
Mr. and Mrs. John Myers, Richard
Koontz, Mr. and Mrs. C. W. Klingler
and family, Mr. and Mrs. B. J. Strat
ton and family.
Mrs. Opal Kloetzly, daughter June
and son Joe and Ross Kloetzly re
turned to their home at Salem, Wed
nesday of last week, after having
spent several days at the home of
the former’s parents, Mr. and Mrs.
M. J. Stratton.
ANNOUNCEMENT
Octozone treatment for arthritis,
rheumatism, sinus trouble, female dis
orders internal hemorrhoids and
many other conditions.
DR. C. A. BLACK,
Ostepathic Physician,
514 Steiner Bldg. Lima, O.
Phones—Office, Main 6144.
Res., Main 2066
Canal and Equator
The Panama canal is a little over
600 miles from the Equator.
QtmmimiiiiiiitHiititfnmimiumiimiiiiimNMniiii
SOFT WATER
On a Service Basis just like
your telephone or lights.
LOCAL AND LONG
DISTANCE HAULING
Every Load Insured
STAGER BROS.
Bluffton, Ohio
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