Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, August 20, 1904, Page 3

The only high grade Baking Powder made ata moderate price. Calumet Baking Powder HE GOT READY TO DODGE. Minister Believed in Predestination, but Wanted to be Safe. A Hudson river steamboat captain extended the hospitalities of his snug wheelhouse the other day to a clergy- man who could not find a seat on the crowded upper deck. The visitor was chatty, and, when he had plied the man at the wheel with sundry questions concerning his spiritual welfare, the skipper asked the reverend gentle- man: “Do you believe in predestination?” “Of course I do,” was the emphatic response. “Then you believe that whatever is to be will be?” “Certainly.” “Well, ’'m glad to hear it.” “Why?” “Because I’m going to pass that boat ahead in just fifteen minutes if there is any virtue in hard coal and safety valves. So don’t be alarmed; if the boilers are not going to burst, they won't; that’s all.” The divine arose, put on his hat and was leaving the wheelhouse, when the captain observed: “I thought you believed in predes- tination?” “So I do; but, my good man, I pre- fer being a little nearer the stern wher it takes place.”—New York Press. Voice From Arkansas. Cleveland, Ark., August 15 (Spe- cial).—Nearly every newspaper tells of some wonderful cure of some form of Kidney Disease by the Great American Remedy, Dodd’s Kidney Pills, and this part of Arkansas is not without its share of evidence that no case is too deeply rooted for Dodd's Kidney Pills to cure. Mr. A. E. Carlile, well known and highly respected here, tells of his cure afternearly a quarter of a cen- tury’s suffering. Mr. Carlile says: “I want to let the public know what I think of Dodd’s Kidney Pills. I think they are the best remedy for sick. kidneys ever made. ‘IT had kidney trouble for 23 years and never found anything that did me so much good as Dodd’s Kidney Pills. 1 recommend them to all sufferers.” There is no uncertain sound about Mr. Carlile’s statement. He knows that Dodd’s Kidney Pills rescued him from a life of suffering and he wants the public to know it. Dodd’s Kidney Pills eure all Kidney ills from Back- ache to Bright’s Disease. Case of Necessity. The other Sunday two Kensington boys were industriously digging in a vacant lot, when a man who was pass- ing stopped to give them a leeture. Don’t you know that it is a sin to dig on Sunday, except it be a case of sity?” asked the good man. sir,” timidly replied one of the hen why don’t you stop it?” “Cause this is a case of necessity,” replied the little philosopher. “A fel- ler can’t fish without bait.”—Philadel- phia Ledger. i PATENTS. List of Patents Issued Last Week to Northwestern Inventors. William Bolsta, Ortonville, Minn., horse releasing device; Herbert Brad- ley, La Moure, N. D., wind stacker; Alexander Gault, Medford, Minn., arti- ficial limb; Jese Greene, Minneapolis, Minn., furnace; Frederick Hachmann, St. Paul, Minn., self-oiling bearing; Wilbur Sailsbury, Winona, Minn., ap- paratus for generating gas; Abram Van Camp, Highmore, 8. D., arm rest for books, etc. Lothrop & Johnson, patent lawyers. 913 and 912 Pioneer Press Bldg., St. Paul. The Real News. The woman on the Broadway car, one day last week, had her arms so full of bundles that she couldn’t hold a newspaper, so she tried to read over her neighbor’s shoulder. Finally she gave that up and asked: “How did the boys come out at St. Louis yesterday?” “parker in a walk,” said the/man who had been reading the political dis- patches. “Didn’t know McGraw had such a man on the team,” she _ rejoined. “Some bush league pitcher, I suppose.” —New York Sun. Retort of Mr. McTavish. At an auction sale in a Scottish vil- lage the auctioneer was trying to sell a number of domestic utensils, includ- ing a porridge pot. As usual, he was making a great fuss. Finishing, his eve caught a well-known worthy, the beadle, standing at the back of the crowd, and he shouted out: “Maister McTavish, make an offer for this pot. Why, it would make a splendid kirke pell.” “Aye,” replied the beadle, “if your tongue was in it.”—Detroit Free Press. A wife should not attempt to soften a hard-hearted husband by soaking him. By Tom Gallon -| fire,-and brought him to that. tent CHAPTER XVII. A Matter of Salvage. Several things had contributed to that sudden disappearance of old David Yarwood. He was, of course, to all intents and purposes, absolutely irre- sponsible, save in regard to any mat- ter of impulse which might affect him. It had been impulse alone’ which had determined him to run away from Hawley Park, and, in that crude fash- jon, undo, if possible, the wrong he had done; it was impulse which prompted him, after his last bout of opium, to cling to his daughter and to beg, like a frightened child, for her forgiveness. Indeed, it is probable that, had he been left alone, he would never have thought of running away at all, for he had had experience enough of the horrors of the streets of a great city not to wish to cast him- self upon the world again. It was written in the book of his destiny, however, that he was not to be left alone. It would have been well enough for all parties concerned if that devoted young lover, Raymond Hawley, could only have made up his mind to ad- here strictly to his promise to the lawyer; but while he kept the letter of it, he disobeyed in the spirit. He had been specially asked to keep away from Grace Yarwood for the present, and he had made a promise, as we know, that he would do so. Being quite determined that he would obey that instruction, he told himself, with such firmness as a lover might exer- cise under the circumstances, that he would not seek out the girl in any way —even while, at the same time, he made no promises to himself in the event of his meeting her by accident. And he set about the best way of ar- ranging that by going, at the earliest opportunity that same evenifig, to the camp of the gipsies. It happened, too, that he arrived just after Mr. Neal Ormany had set out for Hawley Park. As luck would have it, Raymond lighted at once upon Prof. Tapney, wandering about in the light of the fire, with his head very much on one side, and muttering and mumbling, to himself as he walked. Recognizing in that gentleman the man who had been so active in regard to the bringing of Grace to the house on the previous day, Raymond at once accosted him and made himself known. “Could I have a word with you—on a matter of importance?” asked Ray- mond, in a hurried whisper. Instantly the professor became alert; instantly began to bring into play those instincts which had hither- to not served him too well, in taking life from a point of view of Nature only. His alertness manifested itself in his beckoning mysteriously to the young man—whom he also recognized —and in tiptoeing away in the direc- tion of the trees. Arriving at a place where they could not be observed, the professor dropped his air of caution and begged Raymond to say what he had to say. “You came to Hawley Park yester- day with Miss Grace Yarwood; yuu were turned out of the house,” began Raymond, abruptly. “My dear sir, I was deceived—basely deceived,” said the professor, with some heat. “I had been led to be- lieve that I had only to take that young lady to the house to witness an affecting scene of renunciation on the part of the lady in possession there, and the immediate establishing of the young lady not in possession, in her place. Instead of which—but why dwell on a matter so painful?” We must dwell on it for a moment, sir, because you have apparently been very kind to Miss Yarwood and have gone out of your way to help her. When I tell you that I love her and that she loves me—” “Not a word more; not a single word more, I beg,” broke in the pro- fessor. “The man who, with some daring, approached the lady who is now Mrs. Tapney, some years ago, ex- tends the hand of friendship and ap- proval to you. My name, sir, is Tap- ney—Prof. Tapney—late of London and Southampton—a student of Na- ture, dead and alive. You may com- mand me in any way.” “I was sure of it,” said Raymond, wringing the hand of the little profes- sor enthusiastically. “I’ve promised not to see her, and I don’t even want her to know that I’m here; but I want to feel that she’s safe—and that some one is looking after her.” “My dear sir, rest assured of that,” said the professor. “We may have been rudely repulsed on this occasion, but we do not stop there. My appeal to Nature—to the real good in human nature—cannot fail. We do but rest, as it were, upon our oars.” “I want you to promise me, Prof. Tapney, that if it should benecessary to do anything to save Misd Yarwood pain or trouble, you will not hesitate .to do it. I am so situated that I can- not approach her, because, if what she gays is true (and I am quite sure in + may OWD mind that it is), then there is GooooooooanoosAoAgAnsnoAsS a barrier between us which it may take a long time to break down. At the same time, I want to feel that a good man, like yourself, won’t let her be imposed upon in any way, and will, above all things, stand her friend, if necessary: May I be sure of that?” The professor cleared his throat, drew himself up to the full height of his scanty inches, frowned and folded his arms. “You may be so sure of it, sir, that if I found at this moment any one attempting to annoy the lady—or if I discovered any one in her imme- diate neighborhood who might cause her trouble—I should be inclined to re- sort to that wild spirit which has hitherto been‘ controlled with difficul- ty, chiefly on account of Mrs. Tapney, and should have an immediate desire to slay that person, and, if necessary —exercising my art further and rely- ing always upon nature—to stuff him. I trust,” added the professor, with a roll of the head—“I trust that the oc- casion may not arise.” “T’m sure I hope not,” replied Ray- mond, hiding a laugh. “I Suppose the young lady is safe now?” “In yonder caravan,” said the pro- fessor, pointing through the trees. “A child of Nature herself, she appears to be more at home in this place even than Mrs. Tapney, who complains at times of draughts and insects. Miss Yarwood is quite safe.” “Then I will rely upon you, Prof. Tapney, to look after her,” said Ray- mond. “May I suggest, with the ut- most delicacy, that you will, perhaps, be put to some expense on her behalf, should any danger or trouble arise? Will you permit me, as a man who is richer, perhaps, than yourself, to ask you to accept something as a loan on her behald?” “My dear sir, not to be thought of for a moment. Even though Mrs. Tap- ney should wander on the highway, and feed upon those things commonly known, I believe, as hips and haws, I could not accept charity. Not to be thought of for a moment.” Thus the, professor, with much dignity. “There is no question of charity, Mr. Tapney,” said Raymond, quietly; it is simply on account of the young lady. In the happier time that is coming to both of us, I trust, she is to be my wife.” “On that condition, sir, and that alone, I accept,” saoid the professor, “f would ask you to remember, when that happier time comes, that a bird or a beast—stuffed, in a natural atti- tude, and in a glass case—is an ap- propriate ornament for a hall, a bil- liard room, or a staircase, and may even be given, on an emergency, to a friend. I have no permanent address at the moment; but you will probably find me, if necessary, browsing, if I may use the word, with Mrs. Tapney and our son, on the gentle bosom of Nature.” So the professor found himself unex- pectedly, in possession of five pounds, to which was tacked on a mission. As he, went back alone to the camp he argued with himself about the matter, and came to the conclusion—energetic little creature that he was—that he must immediately do something to earn the money, or, at all events, must do something with the money on Grace’s account. As ill luck would have it, he stroll- ed at once in the direction of that car- avan which held Grace and her, father. With the conscious desire in his mind to look after the young lady, Prof. Tapney felt that he could not, in a manner of speaking, be too near to her: And it happened that he came to the caravan when the repentant David Yarwood was alone in it. The profes- sor strolled to the foot of the steps which led up to the door of the cara- van, and waited there. After a mo- ment or two the door was cautiously opened and a head was thrust out; not the head of Grace Yarwood, but that of a feeble, gray-haired, trembling old man. For it happened that the professor knew nothing of the sudden arrival of David Yarwood, and was utterly unprepared for seeing the man there at all. After the first shock of surprise had gone by the professor ran up the steps to the caravan and faced the intruder, and recognized, of course, in him at once the man who had played so strange part in the little drama at the house on the previous day: the man who had been claimed by Grace as her father, and who had turned to the other woman instead. The pro- fessor, !in his blundering fashion, saw at once that here was a man wno ob- viously came within the jurisdiction of the mission. he had undertaken; and with a courage which fitted the occasion, the astonished professor lit- erally threw himself upon the man and dragged him down the steps. “Who are you? Where do you come from?” demanded the professor, in a hurried but determined whisper. “What are you doing here?” “I've come back—back to my daughter,” said old Yarwood. “I will never go away from her—never leave her again.” “But you must,” retorted the pro- fessor, in a great state of excitement. “You require thinking about, my. friend; you require a natural mind to be brought to bear upon you. Come | with me.” wherein Mrs. Tapney was seated, playing rt of complicated game of “patience,” with the assistance of the melancholy Absalom. Pulling his prisoner inside, he allowed the flap of the tent to fall, and confronted the astonished Mrs. Tapney triumphantly, and with a finger on his lips. . “My love, forgive me if I find it nec- essary to turn this place for a moment into a species of modified court of Na- ture, while I inquire into what this gentleman proposes to do, and while I, in a sense, wrestle with his perverted mind. I regret, sir,” added the -pro- fessor, “that I cannot offer you a seat. I will not detain you long.” “I only want to do what is right.” whined old Yarwood. “You observe, my love, the spell is working already,” said Prof. Tapney. “It is only necessary for him to: be in the presence of one who, like myself, desires to appeal to the real good in human nature, and he at once suc- cumbs. Mr. Yarwood, you are in the way.” “TI only want to help my daughter Grace,” mumbled the other man. “Ah! but which? That is the ques- tion. You, sir, are a vacillating man: you dodge about, so to speak, from one daughter to another; in a word, to use a vulgarism, you are all over daughters. Ergo, to descend for a moment into the classics, you don’t know quite which daughter to support. And Mrs. Tapney will agree with me that a man who at one moment makes up his mind to support one lady and the next runs away from her and sup- ports some one else is a danger to that natural common sense for which I have at all times stood up. How do I know, sir, that you would not to- morrow declare that: the other lady— our avowed enemy—was again your daughter? You are not safe; in view of a promise I have made, you must be got rid of.” “Now, Daniel, don’t let your feelings carry. you too far,” urged Mrs. Tap- ney, carefully pulling down a card and surveying the game she was playing. “You know what you are when you let nature lark about with you, in a man- ner of speaking. Far better not med- dle with what don’t concern you.” “My love, the world has been made, so to speak, by people who have med- dled in affairs which were not strict- ly theirs. I could mention numerous instances—Alexander the Great, Na- poleon, and many others; all people who looked after other people’s busi- ness and made rather a good thing of it in the Jong run. Moreover, it occurs to me that—as I desire that our son should begin as early as poissible to soak himself in those ideas and rules of conduct upon which I have mod- elled my life—I say that it occurs to me that our son Absalom might assist me in this matter. It will be good training for him, and will show him, more than any words of mine could do, how to face such a matter as this.” “Anything for a change,” said Ab- salom, with a sigh. “I did think we might have a chance to go abroad, and that I might have done something on the prairie, or in the Indian line; but failing that, 1m reckless, and don’t mind what I do.” “Heaven bless you, my son; you have the true spirit of those who, with Nature to guide them, have been wont to set the world on fire. You will go far, my son—” “Not to-night, I hope,” broke in Mrs. Tapney. “J referred, my love, to the future, and to Absalom’s career, rather than to the moment,” safi Prof. Tapney. “My boy,” he added, more seriously, “T want you to take this gentleman away—at once—to any place that oc- curs to you as being likely to hide him, and I want you to keep him there —in fact,” added the professor, drop- ping his voice to a whisper, “to lose him.” «That's all very fine,” said Absa- lom, getting to his feet somewhat ea- gerly for him in the excitement prom- ised by a new adventure, “but we don’t seem to be actually rolling in money, and you can’t go and lose an elderly gentleman very well without spending a bit over it. And I would suggest—as a lively place to lose any- body in—London,” he added, with a remembrance of the fact that London was distinctly more lively than his re- cent experiences of the country had been. “Good! London it shall be,” ex- claimed the professor, diving one hand into his pocket and pulling out cer- tain gold coins. “You will observe, my son, that it is never wise to take things for granted. Your father has a knack of being able, at a moment’s notice, to do whatever he sets his hand to do. You will find here five pounds—provided for this very pur- pose; all you have to do is to reduce the things to its simple elements and spend that five pounds in disposing of this gentleman. How is that?” “J should say that in London it will be all right,” said Absalom, eying the coins greedily. “I'd undertake to lose two gentlemen for that.” “I knew that my son would rise equal to the occasion,” said the pro- fessor; “I knew that he was, so to speak, a chip of the old natural block. You observe, my love,” added the pro- fessor, turning to his wife—“you ob- serve how readily our son has assimi- lated the lessons of his youth. Ab- salom, here is money and here is an way. I need say no more.” Absalom needed no second bidding. He had been kept on such remarkably short commons as regarded money all his life that the sight of this extraor- dinary sum to be spent absolutely at his own discretion was sufficient; the old man was a secondary considera- tion. Once get him to London and it would be easy enough to lose him; and the balance of five pounds in Lon- don suggested dreams of magnificence that almost took away Absalom’s breath, ‘ ‘Thus it happened that the bewil- dered David Yarwood was dragged out once more into the darkness, and that he set forth, a forlorn old creature, very much in every one’s way, as it seemed—on the road which led to- wards London. It being necessary, in the professor’s estimation, to get them out of the way at once, Absalom was directed to walk with him as far as possible during the night, and take the train at the first station available in the morning. It behooves us to return to another member of that little community gathered among: the tents and cara- vans, and to watch him make prepara- tions also for a start for London. Mr. Neal Ormany, after that hurried ar- rangement with Grace, decided that one matter at least required his at- tention before he left the neighbor- hood of Hawley Park. Having the long night before him, he set about leisurely to attend to that matter. It concerned Owen Jaggard. Mr. Neal Ormany felt that it would be wiser on his part to be faithful—for the present, at least—to an employer who was able to provide him with fifty pounds at a moment’s notice. Having no other feelings whatever, other than those directly or indirectly connected with money, Mr. Ormany remembered that, in an open space in the woods, accessible to any one of an inquiring or suspicious turn of mind, lay a man who had, to all ap- pearances, met with foul play. It was, of course, more than probable that that man was by this time dead; in which case Neal Ormany felt that he ought to complete the bargain he had made and hide the body. If, by any chance, some life still lingered in the unfortunate man, Ormany knew pret- ty well what to do in such a case of unexpected and unnatural obstinacy. A faint, pale ghost of a moon had risen as the man made his way again into the woods. But for the brutal na- ture of him, which could be absorbed by but.one idea, he might have been stirred by the beauty of the night; might have been’ moved by the hush- ed and solemn silence all about him. But he saw only that blood-stained thing lying in the woods and remem- bered only what he must do. It was dark down there, under the trees, despite the moon which rode above him; but he knew the place pretty accurately and made straight for it. He came at last to where it lay, and dropped on his knees beside it and touched the face; the man was still warm, still living. With a mut- tered exclamation of impatience he looked about him for some weapon, and instinctively dropped his hand on his heavy clasp knife in his pocket. And while he looked about, he sud- denly became aware, disconcertingly enough, of two bright eyes looking into his. In the horror of that discov- ery his jaw dropped and his hands fell to his side. F Seated at the feet of the prostrate figure was the man who had come that night into the camp with old Da- vid Yarwood, the man whom we know as Roger Hawley. He had struck off through the woods to his own lodging —knowing those woods perfectly from earliest boyhood—and had come upon the unconscious Owen Jaggard lying right in his path. Shocked a little, and yet, on the other hand, wondering, in a whimsical way, what particular bearing this new tragedy had on the story in which he was involved, Rog- er Hawley had sat down to think about it. And it had seemed to be quite in the proper scheme of things that the gipsy should appear, and should seem to know that Jaggard was lying there. “Well, my Bohemian friend, and what have you been doing to the gen- tleman before us?” asked Roger Haw- ley, without in the least appearing to be upset at the stillness of the gentle- man before him. “It seems to me that you’ve got yourself into difficul- ties; you’ve been losing your temper —which is fatal.” . “Me? What in thunder ‘ave I got to do with it?” asked the startled Neal Ormany. You don’t suppose I’ve done this ’ere, do you?” (To Be Continued.) CONKLING AND HIS FEE. Man Might Have Been Convicted for Less, Said a Colleague. It is said that, one day, when Ros- coe Conkling was beginning to attain some measure of success, he dropped into the office of Charles O’Connor of New York, then one of the leaders of the bar. “What’s the trouble?” asked the latter, as Conkling excitedly paced the floor. ACHED IN EVERY BONE. Ghicago. Society Woman Who Was-So. Sick She Could Not Sleep or Eat, Cured by Doan’s Kidney Pills. Marion Knight, of 33 N. Ashland Ave., Chicago, Orator of the West Side W ed nesday Club, says: “This winter when I start- ed to use Doan’s Kid- ney Pills I ached in every bone and had intense pains in the kidneys and pelvic organs. The urine was thick and cloudy and I could barely eat enough to live. [ felt a change for the better within a week. The second week I began eating heartily. I began to improve generally and before seven weeks had passed I was well. I had spent hun- dreds of dollars for medicine that did not help me, but $6 worth of Doan’s Kidney Pills restored me to perfect health.” A TRIAL FREE—Address Foster- Milburn Co., Buffalo, N. Y. For sale b. all dealers. Price 50c. TOLD MARY TO “WEAR THESE.” Incident in Which Miss Leiter Figured. When Lady Curzon was Miss Mary Leiter, and the belle of Washington, a laughable accident had sad results for an unfortunate attache who was one of her greatest admirers. This infatu- ated lover heard that she was to be at a ball about to take place, and rushing to a florist’s he ordered a magnificent box of roses to be sent to his address. When they arrived he sent his own servant with a card entreating Miss Leiter to “wear these” at the ball for his sake. Unluckily his tailor chose that afternoon to send home a pair of garments not usually worn by ladies. The parcels somehow got mixed, the wrong one was delivered to Miss Lei- ter, and—. Well, that young man left Washington when the story got about, and now it is never mentioned in vice regal society.—Cassell’s. Ridiculous GIVING AWAY CIGARS. Circumstances Under Which Dealers Pass Out Smokers Free. Into a cigar store came a man to whom, after a few words with him, the | dealer handed over a cigar, which the man lighted and walked off smoking, but without paying for it. “Do you give away cigars?” asked a customer who had just bought a cigar. “Why, sure,” said the dealer, ‘‘some- times.” “Tramps?” “No, not tramps. We couldn't have tramps in the store, and if we gave to tramps we'd be filled with them. But we do occasionally give a cigar or a piece of tobacco to somebody that comes in that’ sout of work or some- body that simply hasn’t got any mon- ey and wants a smoke. I’ve seen the time when I'd give a dollar for a cigar, and I know what it is to want a smoke. So to one in those circumstances I will © give a cigar.”—New York Sun. He Ought to Be Clean. “What this country needs,” shouted the reformer, “is clean men in office!” “If that’s the case,” observed the man who reads the papers, Judge Parker ought to suit.—Milwaukee Sen- tinel. JUST ONE DAY Free From the Slugger Brought Out a Fact. “During the time I was a coffee drinker,” says an Iowa woman, “I was nervous, had spells with my heart, smothering spells, headache, stom- ach trouble, liver and kidney trouble. Idid not know for years what made me have those spells. I would fre- quently sink away as though my last hour had come. “For 27 years I suffered thus and used bottles of medicine enough to set up a drug store—capsules and pills and everything I heard of. Spent lots of money but I was sick nearly all the time. Sometimes I was so nervous I could not hold a plate in my hands! and other times I thought I would surely die sitting at the table. “This went on until about two years ago when one day I did not use any coffee and I noticed I was not so ner- vous and told my husband about it. He had been telling me that it might be the coffee, but I said ‘No, I have been drinking coffee al) my life and it “I have just been subjected to the worst insult I have ever received. This is the first time a client ever ob- jected to my fee. “You know I defended Gibbons for arson, and put in some tremendous work for him. He was convicted at the trial, but we couldn’t help it, and! I took the case to the superior court | and that affirmed the conviction, and he has been given ten years. Now my fee only amounted to $3,000, and the scoundrel. actually had the audacity to grumble about it, saying it was too high. What do you think of that for impudence?” i “Well,” said O’Connor, slowly, “of course you did a lot of work and $3,- 000 is not a big fee; but, to be frank with you, Mr. Conkling, my opinion, founded on mature consideration, is that he might have been convicted for less money.”—Success. 'Twas a Hopeless Case. Sir Packleigh Porkington (proudly) —Ah, I’ve spend ’undreds and ’undreds o’ pounds on that gal’s voice. The Hon. Bertie—Deah me! And is theah abtholutely nothing that will do it any good? cannot be.’ But after this I thought I would try and do without and drink hot water. I did this for several days, but got tired of the hot water and went to. drinking coffee, and as soon as I began coffee again I was nervous again. This proved that it was the coffee that caused my troubles. “We had tried Postum but had not made it right and did not like it, but now I decided to give it another trial, so I read the directions on the pack- age carefully and made it after these directions and it was simply delicious, so we quit coffee for good and the re- sults are wonderful. Before, I could not sleep, but now I go to bed and sleep sound, am not a bit nervous now, but work hard and can walk miles. Nervous headaches are gone, my heart does not bother me any more like it did and I don’t have any of the smothering spells and would you believe it? I am getting fat. We drink Postum now and nothing else, and even my husband’s headaches have disappeared; we both sleep sound and healthy now and that’s a blessing.” Name given by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich. Look for the book, “The Road to Weilville:” in each pkg. -