Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, May 21, 1898, Page 6

“Mrs. Packenham!” Possibly the lawyer’s tone carried conviction with it, for a quick flash of her eyes said, almost as plainly as spoken words: “Pardon me! The name by which he addressed her struck him as a great anomaly. Yet he used it because it was hers by right, for she was Packenham’s wife, and had a right to his money, and she should suffer no want if he could help it. He would himself see to the last sad offices and all that conld be done for the brother whom she loved so dearly. But it was difficult to find words to tell her s “Iam here by my client’s desire, to tell you that everything will be made as smooth as possible for you in the distressing circumstances. I gladly un- dertake the duty of seeing that you are spared any further trouble.” Mr. Cleaviand felt himself compar- atively at ease as he spoke. He would deal with business matters, hard facts and details that were to be entered in- to; but when it came to the emotional side of matters his difficulties appeared i overwhelming and his voice faltered. Mr. Cle: nd heard a foot on the} For all the calm of her appearance, stairs, the rustle of a gown, the open-/as she stood there in that dingy room, ing of a door, and then—almost on 2] with the dull light of London made level with his own—two eyes looked in- | still duller by the fact that, out of re- to hi: spect to the dead man lying up stairs, “Untamed” he had heard them des-| the blinds were down, he knew that ignated. “Yes, they were; but they | there were depths of feeling that he were also the windows of a beautiful | dared not stir. Although he told her soul yet only balf-awake to the | of his power to supply her with mon- realities of life, There was in them, | ey for all her needs, yet, as an utter they seemed to cast their lightning- | stranger, he dared not offer her a grain ft glances at him, a certain look of | of that sympathy and affection for eager welcome. But it had been only | which she craved. momentary. . The eager look died “Spared ny further trouble!’ she out, wl a wave of color passed over | repeated, vaguely, as if she could hard- the fact confronting him, and then as |ly grasp his meaning. “ can be spared rapidly left it. no trouble now that I am left to face ‘it It a remari all alone.” keeping with the girl's ey Now that “I mean”—Mr. Cleavland would have the color had died out it v pale, set | given worlds to have had more mel- ples of abundant brown hair. | lifiuous words at command—‘I mean s head was beautifully set on CHAPTER Ul, Mr. Cleayland’s heart was not in the task he had undertaken, for he had not read Dereck’s story after Lady Gro- by’s fashion. To him there was an- other He knew Packenham to ature of impul guided by y prejudices, and was thor- oughly ous of his friend’s dog- ged obsti ‘y with its admixture of the willfulness of a spoilt and petted child. That he had been attracted by the girl in her wild home Cleayland had not the slightest doubt, little as he doubted that she, with her first know- ledge of a man of Dereck’s stamp, had been dazzled out of her better judg- ment. Then, i natur- al that the dying brother, whose mis- chance had left her penniless, should be anxious about his sister’s future. The dark-eyed young ba ster, who had undert n to see Hartrigg’s could read between the lines. F t was not in the work he had in hand. tood in the little drawing- room of ithe lodging in which John Hartrigg had breathed his last. sv able face, quite in The gi vith regard to the nece y expenses graceful shoulders, and, although now | incident to what has occurred.” drooping under the weight of a burden Still the girl appeared unable to com- that Mr. Cleavland half comprehended, | prehend him. he could judge of its airy poise under “Many things have occurred that more lappy conditions, Cleavland Was | money has no power to help,” she saia. a man to whom all conditions of fe- “LT nt that, nd most deeply do 1 male beauty appealed, and this was of | sympathize wit ou in the sad event, 2 new character, too rare to be speedi-} But still, money will be necessary. ly classified. Yeur poor brother—” “IT come from Mr. Packenham,” he | She turned quickly round, and ex- commenced, bowing low. claimed: “From—imy husband? Is he com- foney could have helped him yes- terday! It is powerless to-day;” and a great sob, which she had with diffi- culty repressed, would make itself . hea “We had so little, what with oF he not written?” he inquired. | the journey here and the bitter cold. \ she replied, and the brief neg-| We never felt it before. But» my ised a picture in Mr. Clealand’s | brother fought against everything until the desolate girl waiting at|he brought me here. But the climate side for the lover—j|killed him. Father Fletcher was not come. It] obliged to go. back. I telegraphed to could dis-} him; but he may not come—no one which to | will come!” A great feeling of pity took posses- sion of Cleavland. “You need not fear for the future,” he said. “I am authorized to tell you that everything will be seen to.” The girl looked up with hot cheeks. “You mean that if the man whom | call my husband has neither affection ner recognition to offer me, he has sent 2. stranger to tell me -he will supply me “He owes me none, and I will not ac- cept it!” “But you are entitled to it,” Cleav- land told her. “You must remember that he acknowledges you as his wife. It was from his own lips I heard the story of your marriage.” “He does not deny it?’ she asked, anxiously, “Most certainly not.” “L thought he had,” she said, with a little sigh of relief; and the set face softened. “When he returns from Ire- The question awoke a thrill in the young man’s breast, but he felt that hhe must conquer it. ative mind of her dead brothe the husband—who did Was some minutes before he and find words in wer, am has been obliged to he explained, lamely. stion was more difficult te answer, especially as a faint flic! of something like hope seemed to p: over her expressive face. “He did not know—did not receive my letter—or a telegram?” Dereck’s envoy would have given anything to avoid giving an answer, but the truth had to. be told, even though he might gloss it over. “He—had a nged to go—before— this. There have been recent fa y Db yements. He is the heir nov since his brother's tragical death. His mothet weak woman—” s she interrupted. ssary for him to go—his presence was required.” She seemed to en in a dream. Her thoughts were evidently else- where. land—” “I waited alone—all day.” The The lawyer caught at the sugges- words fell from her lips irrelevantly. tion at once. “It was terribly sad,” he said, feel- “Yes, yes—when he returns from Ire- ing that he must say something. land. Until then you will allow me to The girl roused herself and asked, | supply you with all you need.” By some swift feminine intuition she felt that she had secured a friend. “I can only place myself in your ! hands—I am so ignorant,” she replied. ! “But you will trust me, and permit me to act for you?” | Mr. Cleavland had drawn a step nearer to where she stood. He looked into her face with appealing eyes, for his whole soul was filled with sympa- thy for this young creature, left to her fate by the man who had vowed to go to Ireland,’ Her next qu ss; there have been \ily bereavement For the life of him he felt it impossible to do more than repeat himself. But her next question completely staggered hir “As recently she asked. “No, but—he had nged. He bade me tell you there is—there will be—no difticulty respecting money matters.” It seemed so utterly base, so con- | love and cherish her. temptible, vile, to stand there and “There will be mourning,’ she re- offer the suffering girl, who was keep- | m ed. hat being a point on which he was not qualified to advise her, ‘he bade her consult her landlady, and left her, his | heart filled with indignation against the man who was discarding such a woman. On the doorstep a white-haired man | was standing in eager conversation with the lachrymose landlady, who muttered “Mr. Packenham,” and drew aside. The man was dressed like a clergy- man, and something in his face ar- rested Mr. Cleavland’s attention. Packenham’s sneer at the “parson man” came to the lawyer’s mind, and they. stood looking at each other. Here was a curious fix, for Mr. @leavland did not know him as anything but the “parson man,” which term it was im- possible to address him by. But the stranger spoke first. “You are not Mr. Packenham,” he said, almost sternly. “His man of business,” Mr. Cleay- land rejoined, quickly. “Lam Dudley Fletcher of the Spoor- fng herself so well in hand, money in place of love and sympathy. Money! He loathed the very sound of the word. Some of the strong feelings with which he was imbued must have been shared by her. She looked at him, but with a very different look from the first with which she had confronted him. Now there were questioning, ap- peal, doubt, and pain—pain that was too diffifficult to be expressed in mere words. “I wrote last night when we feared— when he knew—that the end was ap- proaching. I wrote, telling him how John was craving to see him. It was his last wish to see him, to—explain. 1 am quite alone,” she added, with her hands outstretched—“moneyless and friendless, in a strange country. He wanted to know, to be sure that I was . safe, with my husband. I wrote, but Dereck did not come. Then my poor brother was taken from me that same night”—the girl could hardly restrain a rush of tears. “Then, in the morn- ing, when I was utterly alone, I tele- graphed. Still he did not come, but sent you.” The slight emphasis on the last word grated on Mr.'Cleavland’s ears, fontein Mission. I have come to my poor child in* her terrible bereave- ment. I was on my way home when her telégram overtook me at Liverpoot, “{ am» his legal adviser,” he ex-| and I turned back. Where is her hus- plained. band? He sent you—his man of busi- She shrank from him. ness?” “And you advised him not to come?’ | “My name is Cleayland, and Mr. she cried. Packenham is my friend.” The words { were jerked out; but a sense of great relief had come to him. Both men went into the house. “We can talk here”—and Mr. Fletch- er pushed .open the door of a small dingy room. “Mr. Cleavland, what is the meaning of Mr. Packenham’s be- havicr?” “I cannot tell.” “Poor John Hartrigg came home to die; we knew there was no hope. The severe strain and the loss of his sis- ter’s money in that unfortunate mine, had told upon him, even before he met with his sad accident. She is absolute- ly penniless.” “Do not fear on that account—her husband will supply her with ample means,” Cletvland replied, hastily. “He empowered me to tell her so.” “But will he do what is right—take her to his home, act up to the vows he made in the sight of the church, and acknowledge her as his wife in the sight of the world?’ “That I cannot say,” the lawyer an- swered. “If he is guided by me, he will.” “I mistrusted Packenham from. the first,” remarked Mr. Fletcher, pacing | up and down the room. “It was against my will that 1 married them, apd I did it under protest. Yet he seemed so eager about it, while poor John—always sanguine—thought he had done the best thing in the world for his sister. It was a great mistake. Packenham does not understand her real worth. She is a pearl of woman- hood, believe me—and I have known her from her birth.” “What is to be done? Can she re- main here alone in London? Do you know of anyone who would be a com- panion for her?’ asked the lawyer, with anything but judicial calm. Fletcher considered a moment. “Yes,” he replied—“I have a_ niece who is an artist, and considered clev- er; she has seen Afra, and, I think, she would be kind.” “Well, we will make it worth her while!” Cleavland cried, eagerly. “Let us go to her at once.” “Willingly,” responded Mr. Fletcher. 2 CHAPTER Iv. When the strain relaxed, and Afra, overwhekned with the crushing weight that had fallen upon her, began to fee? that henceforth she must make her own way in life, she simply left her- self in Mr. Fletcher's hands. It v he who anged for her residence with his niece, a handsome’ woman, whose sympathetic face inspired the girl with confidence; he who saw to the preparation of the small abode which she was to occupy until her po- sition in England was defined by the return of her errant husband. In the meantime Mr. Fletcher must go back to the Mission; but he did so with an easy mind, for he liked and trusted Cleavland, while he knew that his niece—Beta Mansfield—was a woman of a thousand. But the girl, used to absolute free- dom, found the new conventionalisms terribly strange. At first, half-stun- ned with grief and smarting with dis- appointment and shame, she felt that chaos had come. But, as time went on, youth, combined with good health and recuperative powers of mind and body, began to assert itself. She de- veloped rapidly, without losing the freshness and unconventionality which Cleavland had found se attractive. Afra gained strength, innate tastes showed themselves. A daintiness of touch and a marked sense of color led the discerning artist to see in this girl from the wilds a promising pupil, ancl many hours that would otherwi have been filled with sorrowful re- membrances were pleasantly occupied in lessons which were a pleasure to both teacher and pupil. Mr. Cleavland visited the studio, for this graceful child of the South was in } his charge, and he felt bound to watch over her and be sure that she came to no harm. It was nothing more than his duty, yet he found a certain inter- est in it, for there was much about the girl that was attractive. She was an artist to the finger-tips, possessed a » of more than average quality, while incidentally Mr. Cleavland d covered that her friends, the good s' ters of the Mission had given her a thorough musical training. Cleavland wrote his impressions tu the man who wished to discard a trea- sure; but the letter did not reach him for many long months. Packenham had left his father’s house suddenly, and started on a trip around the world, intending to spend some time in travel, his first halting-place being America. “Is he mad?’ wondered Cleavland, upon whom fortune was smiling. The young barrister had had the good for- tune to be on the victorious side in a famous action, and that one success brought others in its train. One day he met Lady Groby in Pica- | | dilly. Her ladyship beckoned to him as she stood ready to get into her car- riage. “What have I done?” she asked. Come and dine with me this evening: the opera afterwards,” she added, airi- ly. “You are a hermit “You are very kind,” he replied. “But Iam a very busy man.” “You can’t com “Did I say so?’ queried the young lawyer. “You implied it,” replied her lady- ship. “You misunderstood me—I shall be very happy to do so.” “Well, then, half-past seven. The opera is Faust; and the rich widow drove away. “Now, what does this mean?’ he mused, as he bent his steps westward. It was Miss Manstield’s day at home; but Mr. Cleavland seldom appeared there, nor were his business visits more frequent than necessary. Still, he thought highly of those living at the studio, and felt a brotherly interest in the por girl whose anomalous position appealed forcibly to his compassion. On arriving at Miss Mansfield’s, he found that she was amusing some of her friends in the inner studio, while ‘Mrs. Packenham was entertaining oth- ers in the outer room. Cleavland was struck with the alteration in the ap- pearance of the latter. She wore black, of course, but Beta had made her don an artistic mixture of lace and jet, which caused her attire to look less sombre than usual. She wore a string or two of bright jet beads about her beautifuliy-rounded throat, which in- tensified its whiteness. The youny bar- | gives her money! ‘Tister could not help thinking that Afra had been an.apt scholar, and had done infinite credit to her mentor. He re- {membered the untamed girl who had looked so sorrowfully and appealingly into his face when he first paid a visit to her. “Packenham would scarcely recog- nize her now,” he thought, as he took ; the small, firm hand which yielded so frankly to his clasp. * a pe * * * . Mr. Cleveland was at Lady Groby’s. She and her lawyer were dining tete- a-tete. “A shortened meal,” her ladyship re- marked, smiling her best company smile. “I mustn’t loiter and lose the overture.” Then, after a pause, she added. “So they tell me there is an artist-woman living somewhere in Ken- sington who calls herself Mrs. Packen- ham. Do you know anything about her?” s “IT have the pleasure of the lady’s ac- | quaintance, and saw her to-day.” “You believe in her—that she is really Dereck’s wife?” “It was he who told me.” “He was entrapped—bamboozled, to use a vulgar word.” “He told me that the marriage was of his own seeking, from first to last.” Lady Groby made an impatient ges- ; ture. “Dereck is a fool!” she exclaimed. “f quite agree with you.” “She must be a most designing wo- man,” her ladyship continued. “No—only a very charming one.” “Ah! she has made a conquest of you?” “So she would of you, if you met her,” remarked Mr. Cleavland. “Met her! An adventuress—a design- ing—” “The carriage,-my lady,” a footman intefrupted. Cleayland was glad of the diversion, for he felt that the subject was not one to be pursued with patience. Between the acts of the opera Lady Groby reopened the unpleasant sub- ject. “I am sorry you have taken sides against Dereck,” she observed. “Excuse me, I have done nothing of the sort,” the lawyer rejoined. “You take this young person’s part.” “On the contrary—I merely act for him in a business capacity. If you were acquainted with her you would probab- her part yourself, Lady Groby.” “Heaven forbid!” she ejaculated, in an airy manner. “You men are blind when a young and probably pretty wo- mar is in question.” “Not more so than women, when they allow themselves to be led by preju- dice.” “The retort courteous,” her ladyship answered, giving an annoyed little augh. “Well administered, I must “Indeed, Lady Groby, this is not a matter for mirth.” “I agree with you. had an evil effect career.” ‘And what about the lady?” “The girl? Oh, you imply that he She played for her stake—what more can she want?” “She only takes that which she has an undoubted right to take.” “Mr. Cleayland—do you really believe her to be legally married to him?” “By his own declaration—even if I had no other evidence—I do.” “Dereck talks at random. It is of no use placing reliance on his wild rav- ings.” “Pardon me—there is the testimony of the clergyman who performed the ceremony, as well as the certificate of the marriage, which I have in my own possession.” Lady Groby was toying with her op- era glasses, and talking, in her flippant society tone, as if the whole matter was of the least possible consequence. But suddenly, thesociety smile left her face, and became apparertly intent on serutinizing the occupants of the op- posite box. “Has it a price?” she asked. thousand—nay, ten?” “I must wish you good-night, Lady Groby.” Mr. Cleavland was on his feet in an instant, his brows sternly drawn together and his lips set. “Must you go?’ her ladyship queriea, laying down her opera-glasses. ‘“‘Sure- ly a pity, when Melba has a delightful song to sing, as well as that fascinat- ing De Reszke! How can you tear yourself away from such enchantment? But you busy men—well, good-bye, if you must leave! Come and see me soon.” When in the vestibule Mr. Cleavland paused to take breath. He was in a white heat of rage, for Lady Groby bad hinted at a bribe. (To be Continued.) Won His Heart. He had just sat down in the head barber’s chair, says the Chicago Jour- nal. The colored bootblack asked him: “Shine, sah?” “Well,” said the new customer, “I might indulge my desire to appear fas- tidious so far as my footgear is con- cerned, young man, if you will assure me that you can so direct your efforts in my behalf that they will terminate sychrononously with those of the ton- sorial artist.” The bootblack lost his composure. After partly recovering, he said: “Sah?” “IT repeat,’ said the new customer, “that I shall be pleased to have you ex- ereise your prerogatives, provided you pledge me your honor to finish contem- poraneously and not chronologically later than the disciple of the ancient lances, under whose painstaking con- sideration I now have the honor to find myself.” . “I doanno what yo’ mean, sah,” said the colored man, showing a large ex- panse of white in his eyes, “but I'll do it.” He began his labors, and ever after- ward the bootblack had great admira- tion for the new customer. It has already upon the boy’s “Pive Stops From Fear. “I want a gentle horse for my wife to drive,” said the prospective purchas- er. “Can you recommend this one?” “Yes, indeed!” replied the» owner; there is not a safer horse for a lady to be found anywhere, and there's but one thing he’s afraid of,” “And what is that?’ asked the other. “He is awfully afraid someone will say ‘whoa’ to him and he won't hear it.” remarked the conscientious owner. —Richmond Times Feeding Kafir Corn. The Oklahoma experiment station is trying a series of feeding experiments, largely to determine value of Kafir corn. Some interesting results have been obtained. All the trials confirm the belief that Kafir corn in any form is a healthful and palatable food for any class of farm animals. The Kafir stalks and leaves have been eaten as readily as have corn stalks. Horses, cattle, sheep and hogs all eat Kafir grain, ground or unground, readily, and no indications of any unsatisfac- tory effect on health have been seen. There is large waste when the grain is fed “unground to horses or cattle; apparently much less when fed to sheep. In a series of digestion experi- ments with steers it has been found that about one-half the seed passes through the animal undigested. A large part of this is made use of if hogs follow the cattle. Contrary to general opinion the per cent of undi- gested grain was practically the same when it was fed ‘in the head” or threshed. With two lots of steers as nearly alike as it was practicable to secure them, the lot fed Kafir meal made larger gains than those fed corn meal, even when the feed was changed from one lot to the other. The largest gain made by any lot for any period was by one fed one-half Kafir meal, one-half corn meal. From some un- known reason another lot so fed made no gains, so that the average gain in all the trials with this mixture is some- what less than the average where Kafir meal was fed alone, but slightly larger than the average gain where corn meal was the only grain food. The best average gain by different lots was where they were fed Kafir meal with a moderate allowance of cotton seed— about four pounds per animal per day. One lot the chief grain feed of which was Kafir heads made average gain of 1.85 per day. The companion lot, fed Kafir meal, made average gain of 2.36 pounds. The steers ate slightly less weight of heads than the others did of the meal. During the first four weeks of feed- ing—not counting preparatory period, a lot full fed broken ears of corn made average gain of 3.27 pounds per day. The companion lot given same food but slightly less than they desired, made average gain of 1.66 pound. Each lot had all they would eat of “rough feed.” Where cotton seed was the only grain feed the average gain per day by young steers was only one pound. A lot of lambs have kept in good health with only Kafir heads as grain feed, but have not made great gain in weight. In no case have hogs done quite so well when fed on Kafir as when fed Indian corn. These trials have not been extended enough to justify drawing positive conclusions, except that it may be counted settled that Kafir corn is a very valuable grain crop for Oklahoma, and, probably, the most valuable one for a large part of the territory. A Cattle Feeding Experience. To The: Farmers’ Review:—During the past winter I have had an expe- rience which may be of interest to your readers. Like many others, I was “caught short” of cattle for winter feeding, and bought in September twenty steers, which came from Wis- consin by way of Chicago. They were not a good bunch in any way, but only a few of them seemed to show Jersey blood, and it seemed impossible to get good cattle. They did poorly during the fall, and went into winter in poor shape; but I hoped that good feed and care would put flesh on them, and not until March had come and I had fed a surprising amount of grain and hay did I fully realize the utter folly of trying to make beef cattle of such ill-bred steers, As the season went on they seemed to develop more and more of the Jersey characteristics and to show themselves entirely un- fitted for beef purposes. They would neither grow nor take on fat, and 1 finally sold them for what they would bring here instead of taking them to Buffalo, as I intended. Meanwhile a few well-bred steers of my own rais- ing grew into fine cattle in the same yard. The backs of these Wisconsin cattle were full of grubs, and they were probably a cross between Jerseys and scrubs. I think farmers in the West are coming to realize that they have made a great mistake by intro- ducing the Jersey stock into their herds to such an extent. In our granges and elsewhere it is emphatically stated that the farmers of the West will make a great mistake if they do not keep a strong infusion of Shorthorn blood in all the farm herds which are not given over to some special purpose.—S. W. Gibson in Farmers’ Review. Home-made Incubators.—We fre- quently see in poultry and other pa- pers plans for making incubators at home. We do not have much confi- dence in them. The well-made incuba- tor is a delicate piece of machinery and it is doubtful if many men can from newspaper descriptions make incuba- tors that will do the work required. Ii has taken generations to develop the commercial incubator to its present de- gree of perfection and we do not believe that any man can do in a day or two what it has taken many men many years to accomplish. A man is likely to lose more money in eggs and chicks with a home-made incubator than would pay for a machine manufactured by skillful men. Milk Trade of New York.—The total in gallons of milk cream and plain condensed milk received for month of February 1898, 6,384,350; for 1897, 5,- 809,300. Of cream for 1898, 127,470; 1897, 118,020. Plain condensed milk 1898, 57,360: 1897, 50,120. Daily aver- age 1898, milk 228,010; cream, 4,550; condensed milk, 2,050. 1897, milk, 207,- 480; cream, 4,220; condensed mil, 1,790. Give the hen more room, tlervous Spells and That Tirod Feel- Ing Cured by Hood’s. — “My health was very poor. I had ner- vous spells and did not sleep well at night. When I arose in the morning I was tired and exhausted and did not feel any more rested that when I retired at night. I knew I needed a medicine to build me up, and I concluded to take Hood’s Sarsapa- villa, After the first bottle had been taken I felt so much better that Iprocured five more. Iam now taking the last one, and I have not felt as well and strong Sr years.” H. P. Jonzs, 223 E, Mulbury St., Kokomo, Indiana, Hood’s Sarsaparilla 1s America's Greatest Medicine. Sold by all dvuggists. $1; six for $5. Get only Hood’s. 3 i are the Hood’s Pills 40 isis Safe. She—I like your impudence. I have not quite reached the bargain counter yet. He—You would be a bargain on any counter.—Harper’s Bazar. List of Patents Issued Last Week to Northwestern Inventors. August Caesar, Butte, Mont., fixture for curtain rollers; William E. Cook, Winfred, S. D., pneumatie stacker; Elwin W. Davis, Geneva, Minn., rollt- er bearing; William Day, Golden Gate, Minn., watering trough; William 'T. Foster, Bozeman, Mont., tilting gate; Ole R. Hauskey, Lake Preston, S. D., milking apparatus Neil L. Olson, Butte, Mont., horseshoe; Andrew Ry- an, Grand Rapids, Minn., snap hook. Merwin. Lothrop & Johnson, Patent Atto= neys. Ulu’ Pioneer Press Blas.” 6 Paul Compariscns Not Odious. “I wonder if it hurts the kaiser’s feel- ings to hear his grandfather called William the Great?” “Oh, no. He expects that posetrity will call him William the Greater.”— Truth. Supreme Court Sustains the Foot- Ease Trade-mark. Justice Laughlin, in Supreme Court, Buf- falo, N.Y, has just ordered a permaneutin, junction, with costs, and a full accounting of sales, to issue against Paul B. Hudson, the manufacturer of the foot powder called “Dr. Clark's Foot Powder,”’and alsoagainst a retail dealer of Brooklyn, restraming them from making or selling the Dr. Clark’s Foot Powder, which is declared, in the de- cision of the Court, an imitation and in- fringement of “Foot-Ease,” the powder for tired, aching feet to shake into your shoes, now so largely advertised and sold all over the country. Allen 8. Olmsted, of LeRoy, N. Y , is the owner of the trade-mark ‘*Foot- Ease,” and he is the first individual who ever advertised a foot powder extensively over the country, He will send a sample FREE, to anyone who writes him for it. The decision in this case upholds his trade- mark and renders all parties liable. who fraudulently attempt to profit by the ex- tensive “‘Foot-Ease” advertising, in placing upon the market a spurious and similar ap- pearing preparation, labeled and put u envelopes and boxes like Foot-Ease, Sim- ilar suits will be brought against others who are now infringing on the Foot-Ease trade-mark and common law rights. Uncle Sam flatly refuses to walk Spanish. A tin can is likely to make a fuss when it is cur-tailed. To Cure Constipation Forever. ‘Take Cascarets Candy Cathartic. 10c or 25c. If C. C. C. fail to cure, druggists refund money. An honest man is the noblest work of God— Pope. 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