Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, September 17, 1904, Page 6

, with Prof. Tapney, * various London newspapers the fol- Al Woman of Crafit By Tom Gallon\ The man for whom they had search- ed so diligently had been in the minds of others also. Mr. Stock, determined that he would trust no more to blind chance, had put the finding of Mr. Da- vid Yarwood into the hands of the po- lice, instructing them, however, that no public inquiry must be made, but that all known lodging houses and hos- pitals must be searched. More than that, after a long and anxious talk he inserted in the lowing advertisement: OWEN JAGGARD.—The man of this name who recently came to England from America is earnestly requested to communicate with Messrs. Stock and Erling, solicitors, of Chancery Lane, London. He is assured that no action will be taken against him in any way, and that he will simply be asked to answer certain questions. Any one having seen the person of this name recently is. requested to communicate also; he was last seen in the neighborhood of Hawley, in the county of Surrey. paid for any information concerning him Young Raymond Hawley had started for Hawley Park in the hope of find. ing some one who could give him news concerning Grace; he had, of course, met with no success. He had ed the gipsy camp and had been confronted by Lydia, who, remember- ing that Will was involved in the busi- ness, had affected to know nothing about the girl beyond the fact that she had gone. He met old Enoch Flame, who had, it seemed, been to the big house and had endeavored to find the woman who lived there; he had, however, been refused admission. Baffled at every point, Raymond Haw- jey came back to London to see if anything had been discovered there. ‘My dear boy,” said Mr. Stock, look- ing at him over his gpectacles from behind the barrier of his desk, “I have no news for you. That muddle-headed man Tapney has been scouring Lon- don, as he terms it, and has, I have no doubt, chased a great many people about the streets who are no more David Yarwood than I am; and he is, of course, confident of ultimate suc- cess. We have been to the neighbor- hood in which the man was lost, and have, unfortunately, failed to find any one. We have been to mortuaries to view bodies out of the river; we have been to nearly every police station in London, and have seen dozens of peo- ple—old, middle-aged and young—who were supposed to be something like fim, and we have not found him. You, Y take it from the look of you, have not been more successful in your quest?” No,” said Raymond, sadly. . “I have been down there, though not to the house. I went only amongst the gip- sies, and all that they know is that she vanished out of the camp and has not been seen since. 1 am inclined almost to believe that she and her father have given up what seems to them to be a useless struggle and have determined to leave the other woman in possession.” “{ think not,” said the lawyer, slow- ly. “You must remember that we are fighting rather an uphill fight, and that we have a clever woman to deal with in the person of the lady we must at present regard as Miss Grace Yar- wood. Look at the facts,” went on Mr ock, ticking them off on his fin- ge “In the first place, vhis Owen Jaggard for whom we're advertising ac- tually comes to the woman you be- lieve to be Grace Yarwood at the camp, and makes a promise to support ; her case; he disappears and nothing more is heard of him; that’s point number one. Later on the woman se- cures possession of the one man who can say which is Grace Yarwood and which is not; by an unfortunate accl- dent he is lost. Now, finally, the pre- tender (as Iam bound in a legal sense to regard her) disappears also. And all the while that womau at the house remains there calmly and defies us. And I, as her lawyer, am bound to ad- mit that ,according to the proofs she handed me, she has every right to be there, and I have no right to be fight- fing against her—save on sentimental grounds, which sbould never, under any circumstances, anpeal to a law- yer.” After spending a useless day in London, and wandering about aimless- ly, and occasionally dashing off with the professor to look at people who never could, under any circumstances, have been anything like David Yar- wood, Raymond Hawley started off rostlessly again for Hawley Park. An- other useless day there convinced him that he was simply wasting time, ang he started back to London. He ar- rived at Waterloo station late in the evening, and wondered a little wheth- er he should go to Mr. Stock’'s office, on the chance of finding him, or whether he should drive straight to the hotel at which he had been stay- ing. While he hesitated he saw a young fellow, dressed in rough coun- try clothes, watching him; when he moved across the station he noticed that the lad was close at his heels. He turned a little impatiently to look at the stranger, and then spoke. “Well, what do you want with me?” he asked. A reward will be | ti a {| cs a UL L] L_] a Se errroe forse ee “I thought I couldn’t be mistaken,” gaid the other, in a low voice. “I was here this morning, and I saw you go away; I’ve been waiting about most all day to see you again. You’ve been down to Hawley, maybe?” Raymond looked at him in some astonishment for a moment, but had no recollection of ever having seen him before. “Who are you and what do you know about Hawley?” he ask- ed, in a low voice. ‘I saw you once in the woods there —with—with a lady,” said Will Or- many, without looking at him. “‘You’re seeking that lady in London now?” “You mean Miss parcels asked Raymond, eagerly. “I mean Miss Yarwood. a knew it would have to come to this; I knew it wasn’t long I was to be anything to her; it wasn’t likely. I can take you to her now.” Wondering, and yet silenced by the curious tone in which the boy spoke, Raymond went with him out of the station. Without a word being said they walked through a street or two, until they came to that house where- in Grace was lodging. And there Will stopped and looked atthe other man for the first time, with a curious, half- whimsical smile in his dark eyes. “Time was,” he said, “when I hated the mere thought of you—hated to think that she loved you, and that I was nothing to her. That’s gone by; here I bring you back to her. It was given to me to save her when she was in peril of her life; no one can ever take that away from me. I thank my God that she must remember always what I did for her; I thank him that she must remember that out of the love I bore her I went hungry; that out of the love I bore her I brought you back to her and set your feet on the same road with hers. You'll find her in this house; tell her I’ve gone.” He laid a hand on the knocker of the door and sounded it; looked up for a moment at the window he knew was hers, then turned away. Before Ray- mond quite knew what had happened the darkness had swallowed up Will Ormany, and he was striding off through the streets. It is not necessary for us to follow the lovers or to intrude upon their meeting. Within half an hour of that j time Grace Yarwood and Raymond Hawley were driving toward Chancery Lane; and once more Mr. Stock was disturbed at his papers. He had ap- j parently been disturbed before, for the room held not only the professor and Absalom Tapney, but also a grave-faced man who carried a bowler hat in his hands and looked attentive- ly at the brim, and occasionally from the brim to Mr. Stock and the pro- fessor. “I’ve found her in the most extra- ordinary way; I’ve found her in this great wilderness of London,” began Raymond, and stopped as he saw the others. Mr. Stock gravely shook hands with Grace, as he might have done had she made the most casual call in the world, and politely handed her a chair. “You come at an opportune moment, Miss. "—he hesitated over the name for a moment, and then spoke it boidly—“Miss Yarwood. You have been through a great many difficulties and troubles lately, Miss Yarwood, but I think those difficulties and troubles are at an end. Prepare yourself for something of a pleasant surprise; your father has been found.” Even as she cricd out on the words, the grave-faced man glanced quickly up from ‘the brim of the hat he was studying and looked at Mr. Stock; he seemed to shake his head for a mo- ment. “Found!” she exclaimed, excitedly. “T knew it—I was sure of it. I was certain that everything would come right for me. Where is he? Take me to him at once, please.” “Through a series of most extraor- dinary adventures—too protracted to be tully described now—we have suc- eceded in tracing Mr. David Yarwood,” said Prof. Tapney, with a beaming smile. “I say ‘we,’ because Absalom and myself must necessarily be in- cluded in the matter; although we were not exactly successful in finding | him, we have doubtless stirred“up mat- ters, and have enabled those guard- ians of the law, who have ultimately found him, to do their work in a more efficient manner. Had I been Jeft to myself,” added the professor, “I should in all probability have found him long since, but the system I adopt in such matters takes time for its elaboration. I should have got there, to use a vul- garisuw, all the same.” “Your father, Miss Yarwood,” said Mr. Stock, “is very ill; it is necessary, if we are to obtain the evidence for which I am seeking, that you should go to him at once. Don’t be alarmed, but be has refused to say anything at present; you may be able to induce him to speak. As we go to the place where he is, I will explain to you what we want—what is necessary to be ob- tained.” “My father must first be thought of,” said Grace; “nothing else mat- ters.” Raymond Hawley and the girl and Mr. Stock and the grave-faced man went out into the teeming streets and found a four-wheeled cab; they drove quite a long a great building ‘with a high wall all around it. the grave-faced man rang the bell. “You need not be alarmed, Miss Yarwood,” he said, speaking for the first time; “this place is a workhouse, and your father is in the infirmary, He was picked up in the streets of London and brought here; we have had very great difficulty in tracing him.” She went. into the place. She thought, as she passed through, that the lawyer and Raymond Hawley whispered together for a moment and then looked at her, but she did not understand what it meant. There was one thought in her mind, and one only, at that time: her father was found. Their errand being explained, they were taken through various rooms and corridors until they stood together out- side the doors of the ward in which David Yarwood lay; then Raymond Hawley and the grave-faced man drew back and the lawyer and Grace went in together in charge of a nurse. It was a great place, clean and bare looking, with beds ranged round the walls. As they walked down the length of it Mr. Stock put his hand within the girl’s arm and spoke earn- estly to her. She heard his words as in a dream. “Remember, Miss Yarwood, that it is imperative that your father should recognize you—remember that he must declare before me who you are, and that he must tell the real story of how this other woman comes to hold your inheritance. That is everything; it is of the utmost importance.” “I understand—but that does not. matter,” she said, in a dull voice. “It is my father of whom I am thinking— and he is ill.” The nurse turned as she heard the words, and seemed about to speak; Mr. Stock laid a_ finger on his lips. Together they moved down the long ward, until they came to a bed at the need of it, round which a screen was partially drawn. And in the bed lay David ‘Yarwood, with closed eyes. The lawyer and the nurse stood to- gether at the foot of the bed, while Grace wént forward and dropped upon her knees beside it, and put her face close to the face upon the pillow. Twice she spoke to him, but he did not seem to hear; she spoke again, and his eyelids moved slightly and his lips opened. Mr. Stock slipped round quickly to the other side of the bed. “Father; don’t you know me?” “Out in Nevada—years ago—they left me—and Grace—to starve!” The} words came as a mere faint whisper from his lips, as both leant forward to listen. “Speak to him again—quick!” whis- pered Mr. Stock. “Father, on that night when I lay dying, and the woman came to the hut, you gave her what was mine—” With a last effort he sprang up in bed and looked wildly at her. At that hour, when the solid things of life were slipping from him, some remem- brance of what he had done must have come over him, and with it some mad desire that it should be forgotten or | hushed up. He thrust her away from him,--and, flinging one arm aloft, shrieked out his denunciation of her. “No—no—it’s a lic! I never—” As he fell back, still encircled by her arms, the nurse mechanically stepped forward and drew the screen | fully round the bed. David Yarwood was dead. \ CHAPTER XxXI. The Professor Goes to Nature. Mr. Stock was a man who, though mild by nature, yet had that curious | obstinacy which refused to admit a re- buff, and which made him grow more determined with cach new difficulty he had to face. He had that British qual- ity, in fact, of never knowing when he was beaten; and_ he had, too, that sense of British fairness which made him refuse to judge any matter until he had heard both sides of it. A morc hasty man would have seen, in that dying declaration of David Yarwood, an end to the whole busi- ness. Here was the one witness who could declare for the one side or the other; and ,at the moment when he had nothing to gain and nothing to lose, he had declared against the girl Mr. Stock secretly believed to be the real Grace Yarwood. But the lawyer told himself that he wos keeping an | open mind on‘the matter even while stil} had a feeling that a certain pia ca? f "| behind trees, theory of bis was correct. It must be admitted, however, that the man was faced with a difficul'y; he might have found himself in a very serious posi- | doubt | tion, indeed, if be had cast upon the claim of Joyce Bland, sub- stantiated, as it was, not only by the documents she had brought him, but | by the dying words of tle man she called her father. Until the womar towards whom he leaned in his own, mind could give him some clue, he was} helpless, and must accept the evidence which had been put before him. When the first shock of the death of her father had passed by, Grace came to him, sadly enough, and told him she had made up her mind to abandon her claim altogether. “It’s no use, Mr. Stock; all the fight has gone out of me,” she said. “The Fates have conspired to rob me of my fortune, and now my dear father, who was to have benefited so much by it, is dead, and cannot even repair the wrong he has done me. I know what you must think,” she went on, bitter- ly—“that I am an imposter and that this other woman is the real Grace Yarwood, whose fortune I am trying to Steal. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter; you Here they alighted and |. ‘must. think that, if you will; you have every right to do so.” “But we don’t think that, Grace,” exclaimed Raymond Hawley, who was present with her. “If Mr. Stock wasn’t a lawyer, he’d tell you straight out that he believed you were the real woman; being a lawyer, he mustn't. If you were not the real woman, why should they try to murder you?” “Murder?” asked Mr. Stock, with a start. “What is this?” “Miss Yarwood was drawn away from the gipsy camp under false pre- tenses,” said Ralmond, savagely. “She was taken away under the, pre- tense that she was going to find her father; she came near to losing her life.” “Tell me about this,” said Mr. Stock, sitting down at his desk and drawing a sheet of paper towards him. “You had better tell me,” he added, nodding towards Grace. So she entered into a full and com- plete account of that day of rain and storm when she had_ traveled with Neal Ormany for so many hours about the country; she spoke’ with tears of gratitude of the miraculous way in which she had been saved by Will, and of all that he had done afterwards. And Mr. Stock made rapid notes as she spoke. “This puts rather a different com- plexion on the case,” said Mr. Stock, gravely. “If you are worth getting rid of, Miss—Miss Yarwood, I think you are worth some ‘deeper attention than we have given you yet. You say that this man actually told you, at the moment he thought he was about to murder you, that the lady at the house found you in the way; that he sug- gested he was to be paid for his serv- ices?” “Yes, that was what he said,” said Grace, with a shudder. “I must say I congratulate you upon your escape,” said Mr. Stock, drawing a deep breath. You see, I am in a difficulty; I hesitate to put the law in motion against these people, because we may be defeating our own ends. The father tries to kill you; the son saves you; suppose the son, for the sake of the father, denies the whole business? We cast another shadow on you, Miss Yarwood, and we are no farther toward the solution of the diffi- culty than before. This woman with whom we have to deal has been hith- erto far too clever for us, and at the present moment is able to snap her fingers at anything we may do. Frank- ly, I am in a difficulty.” “Would it not be well to go down to Hawley Park and see what is to be discovered there?” asked Raymond, quickly. “If this man Ormany be- lieevs that he has killed Miss Yar- wood, is he not likely to go straight back, as though nothing had hap- pened? Remember the lonely place, at night, in the midst of a storm; it was only by a miracle that she escap- ed at all.” “My dear Raymond, you have a clearer head than I gave you credit for,” said Mr. Stock, with a laugh. “I will go down myself and interview this worthy gipsy; in all probability Ishall find him there, as you suggest. You, Miss Yarwouod, have faced dangers enough for a time; I think we'll leave you in London. I would suggest that you should let me find a quiet lodg- ing for you, and that your good friend Mr. Flame should be sent up to join you. I have no doubt,” he added, with a flickering smile, “that our friend Raymond would like to remain in Lon- don also.” It is scarcely necessary to say that Raymond eageriy assented to the proposal. Within a few hours Grace was installed in her new quarters and Mr. Stock was preparing to start for Hawley Park. This time he had made up his mind that he would bring mat- ters to a crisis somehow or other, al- though he scarcely knew how it was to be done. At the last moment he remembered Prof. Tapney and Absalom, and de- cided that, in justice to them, they should be relieved from any further trouble in the matter and should be restored to the arms of Mrs. Tapney. He was just about to send a message to the place where they were staying, when a letter arrived from the pro- fessor, stating that he had already started for the gipsy camp. It was a long and wild and rambling letter, but it contained one or two. sentences worthy of being preserved. “I have endeavored, conscientious- ly enough,” wrote the professor, “to devote myself to tasks tor which J have no real aptitude. Whatever dreams [ may have bad in boyhood of going upon the trail and potting (1 be- lieve that to be the correct expres- sion) the inoffensive red man from such dreams have no longer haunted me in my maturity. 1 have made a grave mistake in !eav- ing. even for one moment, those wilds to which Nature, in no uncertain veice, has called me; I return to her arms (and incidentally to those of Mrs. Tapney) with gladness. It is im- possible to say, what will become of me, or’ under What particular grcen- wood tree I shall at last lay me down, to wake no more; I can give you no address, for obvious Teasons. I could wish that T had a greater acquaint- ance with nuis and fruits, because Mrs. Tapney is.of a trusting nature, and may, in her blind confidence in me, eat something harmful. But we will trust to nature; she has not real- ly failed me yet.” Mr. Stock took his way down to Hawley—paying a sort of surprise visit, without acquainting that Grace Yarwood at the house of the fact that he was coming. Alighting at the little station, he set off to walk, and pres- ently strolled into the camp of the gipsies, as casually as he might have strolled into his own office, and look- ed about him. He espied Mrs. Tap- ney, seated on the trunk of a tree, quietly sewing. Approaching, he in- quired for the professor. “Daniel has switched of, as you might say,” said Mrs. Tapney. “Good- ness only knows what will be the end of it; all this chasing of Nature ain’t brought us in a penny yet, and ain’t ever likely to. When a man gets up at three o’clock in the morning and kicks off the one blanket they call bedclothes in these parts and says Nature is calling him, I feel that I wish I could give Nature a bit of my mind.” “Tm extremely sorry for you, Mrs. Tapney,” said the professor, smiling; “it is certainly time that the profes- sor settled down. Meanwhile, I want you to point out to me a man of the name of Ormany—Neal Ormany.” “He’s just coming through the trees there,” said Mrs. Tapney, raising her eyes for a moment and then lower- ing them—‘and a pretty bad lot I should take him to be, by the looks of him.” Mr. Stock stood perfectly still in his accustomed attitude, with his hands behind him, and looked over the top of his spectacles at the ap- proaching man. Ormany slouched forward, glanced at him furtively, and touched the peuk of his rough cap. “Servant, sir. What might you be wantin’?” “IT want a word with you, if you don’t mind stepping aside,” said Mr. Stock. “It’s rather important.” Neal Ormany, after a quick glance at him, stepped aside with him; and Mr. Stock, without any change of tone or manner,, said what he had to say. “It happens, my man, to be a ques- tion of murder,” he said, with a wary eye upon the other. Neal Ormany caught his breath and straightened himself a little; then he slowly looked round at the lawyer. “I don’t see what that’s got to do wi’ me,” he said, coolly. “What mur- der?” “A few days ago you took a young lady—Miss Grace Yarwood—away from this place, under the pretence of taking her to find her father; you took her to a certain ruined mill; you flung her at night into the stream.” “I ’aven’t the least notion of what you’re talkin’ about; you’ve got the wrong part said Ormany. There’s on’y one Miss Grace Yarwood ‘as I know of, an’ she lives up at the big ‘ouse.”” (To Be Continued.) HAD A HAPPY OUTLOOK. Amateur Farmer Sought and Receiveu Legal Advice. “I've bought a farm about ten miles out of town,” said the man with a black eye, as he entered a lawyer's office. “Exactly—exactly. You've bought a farm’and you've discovered that one of the line fences takes in four or five feet of your land. You attempted to discuss the matter with the farmer, and he resorted to arms.” wes: “Well, don’t worry. sue him for assault. Then for bat- tery. Then for personal damages. Then we'll take up the matter of the fence, and I promise you that even if we don’t beat him we can keep the case in court for at least twenty-five years. Meanwhile, he’ll probably ham- string your cows, poison your calves and set fire to your barn, and you can begin a new suit almost every week. My ‘dear man, you've got what they call a pudding, and you can have fun from now on to the day you die of old age.”—Philadelphia Enquirer. You can first Cheerful Chatter. “Affection,” sneered the pessimist; “all affection is based on the idea of self-preservation. The son loves the father because the father gives him food. The father loves the son be- cause the son will some day support him. A man loves his friends for what they will bring him. He is faithful to his employer for bread alone.” “Let me question you,” returned the optimist. “Atfection, you say, is based on charity?” “Yes.” “Then the more men need cHarity the greater their affection will be?” “"True.” “In other words, the less charity the more affectio' “Certainly. “Suppose charity fails and none is left. Won't the world be full of love?” “Humph,” growled the pessimist. “The trouble with you optimists is that you can prove anything you like.” “That's no trouble at all,” said the Newark News. Noah Was Weatherwise. Noah was up on the roof of the ark, shingling away, when an _ insurance agent came along. “Don’t you want to get that struc- ture insured against fire?” asked the agent. “Huh!” snorted Noah, looking down, “There ain’t goin’ to be no fire, stran- ger—it’s goin’ tew rain.”—Boston Post. A Hard Worker. "You oughter git me a job,” the officeseeker said. “Why, I done the work of a dozen men for you on elec- tion day.” “You did?” replied the successful candidate, incredulously. “Sure! 1 voted for you twelve times.”—Philadelphia Public Ledger. His Last Act. Visitor—So your poor husband has passed away, Mrs. Murphy? He died happy, I hope? Mrs. Murphy—Oi think so, mum. The last thing he did was to crack me over the head with a medicine bottle. —Chicago Journal. No Water for Him. Naggsby—What’s the use of arguing the matter? You know you are wrong. Jaggsby—I may be wrong, but you can’t make me take water.—Philadel- phia Inquirer. { | through. A friend of the home— A foe of the Trust Calumet Baking Powder Complies with the Pure Food Laws of all States. JAPANESE JOURNALISM. Rapidly Assuming Same Enterprise as in America. Japanese journalism is developing on Western lines, and with surprising rapidity. The events of the present war are responsible for the extras which are sold on the street in Amer- ican fashion. The newsmen are bare- legged, with a sort of napkin around the head and a small bell at the belt, which rings as they go. When the war news is lively the extras come out in a correspondingly lively manner, one after the other, and are liberally patronized. The sensational reporter has appeared there, as wellsas the fe- male journalist. One consequence of this is that journalism here and there begins to pay, where formerly it had to be sub- sidized as a matter of patriotism and public spirit. There is an English column in all the papers, and English is studied in all the schools. The coun- try has 600 newspapers in all, and a number of them have respectively a circulation exceeding 100,000 copies. As guides and directors of public opin- ion they are perhaps not inferior to our own. Altogether, Japanese jour- nalism, though in its infancy, has a bright future before it, and will likely keep pace with the progress of the country it serves.—Chicago Journal. Man and Wife. Buxton, N. Dak., Sept. 12 (Special). —Mr. B. L. Skrivseth of this place has been added to the steadily grow- ing following that Dodd’s Kidney Pills have in this part of the country. Mr. Skrivseth gives two reasons for his faith in the Great American Kidney Cure. The first is that they cured his wife, and the second is that they cured himself. “I must say,’ says Mr. Skrivseth, “that Dodd's Kidney Pills are the best remedy for Kidney Trouble I ever knew. My wife had Kidney Dis- ease for years and she tried all kinds of medicine from doctors but it did not help her any. An advertisement led her to try Dodd’s Kidney Pills. The first box helped her so much that she took eight boxes more and now she is cured. “TI also took three boxes more and they made me feel better and stronger in every way.” Dodd’s Kidney Pills have never yet failed to cure any Kidney disease from Backache to Rheumatism, Diabetes or Bright's Disease. HUGE ROCK-BITING DREDGE. One Man Can Dig Seven Cubic Yacds Per Minute. The Susquehanna Iron company’s dredge is the largest of its kind on earth, Its work is laid out near Buf- falo. This dredge looks like a giant mud dredge, and is built on the same principle as an ordinary horse-power steam engine. Its anchor or spuds are made of great dragon fir fifty-three feet long and forty-four inches throug feet long and forty-four inches It has a dipper or dredge with a capacity of seven cubic yards. One man with a dozen levers before him operates the entire machine. The dredge of the dipper is armed with steel teeth about fiftten inches long and six inches thick. The man at the levers drops the great dipper, with its great handle, down fifteen feet to the rock bottom. ‘Then he moves an- other lever and the big engine down in the hold gets under way. The great steel cable attached to the dipper quivers under the strain. There is a sound of ripping and tearing and grind- ing, as if the earth were being turned inside out, and up comes the dipper, with its enormous maw choked with huge masses of splintered rock. It has ripped up seven cubic yards, and when it has been swung over to the rock skow its mighty under jaw drops and out tumbles bowlders weighing tons. The teeth of that dip- per bite out seven cubic yards of rock a minute.—Chicago Journal. WHAT’S THE USE To Keep a “Coffee Complexion.” A lady says: “Postum has helped my complexion so much that my friends say I am growing young again. My complexion used to be coffee col- ored, muddy and yellow but it is now clear and rosy as when I was a girl. I was induced to try Postum by a friend who had suffered just as 1 had suffered from terrible indigestion, pal- pitation of the heart and sinking spells. “After I had used Postum a week I was so much better that I was afraid it would not last. But now two years have passed and I am a well woman. I owe it ali to leaving off coffee and dritking Postum in its place. “TJ had drank coffee all my life. I suspected that it was the cause of my trouble, but it was not until 1 actually quit coffee and started to try Postum that I became certain; then all my troubles ceased and I am now well and strong again.” Name furnished by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich. There’s a reason. Look in each package fo ra copy of the famous little book, “The Road ta Welilville.”