Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, October 22, 1904, Page 2

BY: B. PAUL CHAPTER IV. One of good Mr. Leife’s pleasant foibles was a great confidence in his discernment of human nature. Being ® sound-hearted, good-natured man, his judgments invariably leaned to mer- ey’s side, which is only another way of saying that in the majority of cases he was more nearly right than wrong. Sometimes, cf course, his finest swans turned out to be only geese; more rarely they were revealed as kites or wultures, but even then the curate could generally find some redeeming feature—their strength of wing, it might be, or keenness of vision. Ruffidge he had championed from the first, and further acquaintance only increased his liking for the rather ant of Anchor Cottage. In fact. before long, the man became a sort of assistant curate. As he had nothing particular to do, he was usual- ly free to go about among the fisher folk and make himself very useful when there was sickness or other spe- cial trouble in the hamlet. And in this way, in spite of his appearance and mann he gradually won a place in the hearts of his neighbors. When the new tenant of the cottage red, Mr. Leife was greatly inter- und the very strangeness of his figure and bearing acted as a stimulus uncouth te raiher than a deierrent. Buti, even before the quarrel, the little man showéd himself so cantankerous and insulting that the curate, kind and longsuffering as he was, declared it was tore than he could stomach. tuffidge naturally appeared distressed at his companion’s misbehavior, and remonstrated with him in the curate’s presence, but only brought down upon himself a regular tornado of abuse. “Um downright ashamed,” he said on one oceasion to his visitor as he followed him out, “but I think—well— there m be something in his—his— past life, you know, sir, to make him well—in that way of his.” Aud the curate, reproaching himself for his want of patience under provo- zo on cation, accepted the gentle rebuke which he felt to be delicately implied in the vicarious apology. Atter the quarrel, however, the situ- alion was almost comically changed. Now it Mr. Leife who tried to extenuate, while Ruffidge remained stolidly intractable. “No ,” he declared; he’s said and done—done that which I—well—what i can't and won't forgive. “Not,” he added, quickly, “that he ever would ask it of me; but—well—if he did, I should—I should let him ask.” And against the stone wall of this determination all the curate’s elo- quence broke in vain. In one respect there was a similarity between the tenants of the cottage; they both of them appeared to be men of leisure. Ruffidge was, indeed, com- paratively speaking, well-to-do, and, as ymetimes remarked, he had seen » enough fer any one man’s life. oad, on the other hand, whenever he vouchsafed any information as to his plans, which was very seldom, was aiways on the point of leaving, at any rate till the rupture, soon after which he made a characteristic announce- ment of a change in policy. * This he did one evening when Ruf- fidge and the curate were saying good- night at the door. The window the other side of the fence was pulied open and the evil face of Broad was thrust out. “Ah,” he cried, “plotting again? ‘The church and the devil cheek by jowl, and not a pin to choose between inem. You'd like to be rid of trouble some John, wouldn’t you? Well, then, he'll stick to you like a leech as long as his money lssts ,and maybe that’s longer than you think.” ‘There was another reason, Ruffidge told M e, which he felt sure held his unwelcome neighbor to the spot. When he first came to Whayre he seemed almost afraid of the sea, and could neither swim a stroke nor man- age a boat. Gradually, however; the great, restless, ever-changing waters yegan to exercise a sort of fascination ever bim “It-—well—it minds him of himself, sir,” said Ruffidge, “I do believe -it does. He's restless, too, and even in his sleep---well—you'll see him jerk and twist his face—his face—all a- working, and the oaths tumbling out of his wicked mouth like—well—like the spitting of an angry cat. “And what bears it—bears it out, sir ,is this,” he went on; “as soon as ever he tried the water he took to it like—well —like a duck. Swim? Ah! before he’d been in half a dozen times, there’s nothing—nothing he couldn’t do. And the daring of him! Old Dick Foiai, you know, sir, had a couple of boats, and this—this John he buys the crazy one, and again and again I’ve seen him dodging about—about those rocks the far side of the Cap, when— wages there’s been a regular sea by the hour together, and into the nigh too, for the—well—the pure devil-amay-care of the thing. Ah! he has got a courage, if he is a beast, that a--well—that I must say.” In one sense both were lonely men. NEUMAN. Three or four times in the year a smart-looking gentleman came to see Ruffidge—a lawyer from Exeter, he said, who looked after his bit of money for him. At rarer intervals a couple of nephews, fine bronzed young fel- lows, appeared at Anchor cottage, and that completed the tale of his visitors. As for the other, his only visitor was a tall woman who came at irregular in- tervals and whom he usually drove away, after a very brief interview, with vociferous curses—treatment which suggested to the unsophisticated rustics that she must surely be his wife. Apart from her, Broad, after the quarrel, stood absolutely alone, unless, indeed, the attachment of a half-witted lad named Phil Ugloe, be reckone: as making another exception. This boy was an unfortunate orphan, about six- teen years of age, who derived a pre- earious living, partly from charity, partly from the trifle he could earn by doing odd jobs for the fishermen, as—in spite of his mental deficiency— he was physically strong, and under constant supervision could often make himself useful. Ruffidge had been studiously kind to him, and bad taken great pains to win his confidence, but in vain; nothing would induce the lad to show him any friendliness or gratitude. To Broad, however, of all men, Phil attached himself with a blind devotion that only seemed to irritate its unworthy ob- ject. Neither abuse nor blows had any effect in driving the poor boy from his self-chosen master. And after a time it seemed to occur to Weasel John that he might be able to make use of the lad. Accordingly he began to .exercise a little self-control, and sometimes took the boy with him in the crazy boat he had bought from Dick Foial. CHAPTER V. I have already spoken of the Cap and the Bonnet, the two heights be- tween which lay Whayre. The coast- line of the neighborhood: was marked by these alternations of hill and val- ley. As you descended the eastern slope of the Cap a narrow and uncer- tain path led down to a grassy plateau onl ysome fifteen feet or twenty feet above the sea. Then came Wedge Hill, or the Wedge, so-called, because | it fronted the water with a sharp con- vexity of rock. Beyond this the sea swept in, forming an inlet, or, rather, a series of inlets, wacer the far side of the hill. It was a notorious spot-—the Cruddle was its local name, for round It the | currents were very strong and treach- erous, while the outliers of rock made the place a deadly trap in which many a fishing boat, and sometimes larger craft, had been caught. Once upon a time a village had been perched on j the slope above the Cruddle, but long before the date of this story it had | disappeared, leaving as its only wit- ness the opening of an ancient quarry. About half a mile inland was a little hamlet called Cliffe, which, like Whayre, was a kind of appendage of Chidley, and depended on the parish church for its spiritual privileges. Now one evening in Aprfl Mr. Leife was returning from a visit to 4 sick | woman at Cliffe. By the road it was | not more than a half-hour’s walk from | Whayre, but he felt inclined for al climb and chose instead the hill path. This took him past the quarry and over the back of the Wedge. It wasa rough night, the sky overcast and the wind blustry, while he could tell by the pounding on the shingle that there was a pretty heavy sea running. The wind was at his back as he walked; but at the top of the Wedge he turned to face it, and felt his blood | leap as the wild buffet .smote his | cheek. Then he descended the slope } and soon reached the small plateau at the foot of the hill. Here he was} sheltered from the gusts, and the wa- ter beneath him was comparatively smooth. As he stood looking out to sea, sud- denly he heard a cry. At first he thought it must have been fancy or the scream of a gull; but almost im- mediately it was repeated, and it was a human voice. Of that he was cer- tain. It seemed to come from the sea’ in the direction of Wedge Hill. As he stood listening he heard it again, and now he fancied he could distin- guish two voices, one of which, in a cry of distress, came over and over again. Something he must do, but what? A kind of blind impulse or instinct drove him toward the beech. To low- er himself to the shingle was a task of some difficulty, and even of a little eanger, but fortunately the clouds had thinned and a faint light relieved the Egyptian gloom and helped him in the descent. He ran down the beaci, and even as he stood listening the cry rose again, above the bluster of the wind, louder and more piercing than before. He shouted in answer, but the wind was blowing in from the sea and seem- ed ta fling the sound back in his face. He could only imagine that a fishing | swimming, and he’s or smuggling boat must have got into difficulties. If so, some of his own people might be battling for their lives while he, close at hand, was powerless to help. The only thing to be done was to hasten to Whayre and get assistance there. He turned and ran up the shingle, but before he had covered many yards he came to the ground with a sudden shock that jarred and almost dazed him. He sprang to his feet, and, after sat- isfying himself that no serious dam- age was done, proceeded to investi- gate the cause of his downfall. To his surprise and delight he found that it was a small boat that had been beached in a very unusual place. As if to hasten his action he heard once more the cry—fainter, he thought, than before. He lost not a moment, but, dragging the boat down to the wa- fer’s edge, leapt in and pushed off. Once upon the water he was aston- ished to find that it was not nearly as rough as he had anticipated, though in his unskilled hands the crazy boat made slow progress. Crazy she cer- tainly was, for before long he fancied she was laboring, and, stopping for a moment, put his hand into quite a pool of water. The momentary stoppage was nearly disastrous, for the boat swung round and a big wave, striking her broadside on,’ nearly rolled her over. He managed, however, to get her nose seaward again, and rowed on. Suddenly ,a light flashed out from the shore, from the Bonnet, or there- abouts, he guessed. He knew the meaning of that light. There must be a boat out “running a cargo,” and this was the signal for the mto keep clear of Wedge Hill and its currents. Could it have been shown too late? How- ever, his speculations were to be quickly resolved, for, the wind having lulled, he heard a voice raised in an- ger quite close at hand—a Voice, too, that sounded perfectly familiar. Again he stopped rowing, this time, however, taking care not to lose control of his little craft. He could easily make out the words. “There,” the voice cried, “I think I’ve taken most of the fight out of you, my boy; or do you want another taste of my edicator?” “No, no!” it was a scream of terror, high and piercing, and the curate rec- ognized it at once as the voice he had | heard from the beach. | “Then we'll come to the chrissen- | ing,” said the first voice, and this, too, | the curate recognized: you dropped the lanthorn in the water; I'm going to | drop you. Come, in you go, you young | } dog!” | Then came silence for a moment on two, then another scream—this time | strangely broken. | Mr. Leife gave two or three powerful strokes and shot up alongside a boat! rather larger than his own. There) were two occupants of the boat, Onc, as he had expected, was Weasel John; the other was Phil Ogloe. The latter | was lying on his back with his head on one of the thwarts, his face crimson, | his eyes staring, and in them-an pression of wild animal terror. Wa-. ter was running from his mouth and his head and shoulders were dripping | wet. Watching him from the other thwart, a malicious grin on his coun- tenance, sat the ill-favored dw: AS the two boats came together he turned | | with a quick flash of surpri The next moment his face cleared and he shouted in quite a friendly tone: “Why, what are you doing here, sir? | “I've come to see what you are doing | with that boy answered the curate. | “T've been giving him a lesson in shipped drop more than he likes—eh, Phil | And stretching out his tong arms he | grasped the boy’s ankles. Instantly Phil began to struggle | desperately. “No, no,° no!” hej \ screamed, in a voice that went to the | curate’s heart. “Don’t be scared, Phil. anything more to you.” But the curate spoke a little too | soon. He had boated his oars when | he pulled alongside, and with his ‘ht | hand on the gunwale of the other boat, | kept the two together, in spite of the | waves that tossed them up and down. Suddenly, without the slightest warn ing, without even a change in the éx- pression of his face, the Weasel lifted a loose stretcher and aimed a blow | with all his strength at Mr. Leife’s | hand. Luckily for the curate, a lurch | of the boat spoiled the aim, and the} stroke, instead of falling squar ed off the knuckles. As it was, how- ever, it tore and bruised the flesh d the unexpected smart made the suffe er lose his hold. A gap immediately opened between the boats, and Broad, whipping in his oars like lightning, pulled away toward the Wedge. Before the curate could get under way the other boat was out of sight. But, in spite of the pain he was suf- fering from his injured hand, he had no invention of giving up the chase. | He knew that the other craft wa larger and heavier, and he had conifi- dence in his own strength. But he had | not made sufficient allowence for his opponent's character. He gained rap- idly? and, looking over his shoulder, could see the dim outline in front of him and could hear the splash of the oars. Three or four more good strokes would bring him alongside again. Two such strokes he took; into them he put every ounce of strength at his dis- posal. ‘Then, once more he heard a scream, and the next moment his left-hand oar struck something in the water and he was nearly jerked off his seat. But through the darkness and the rush and swirl of the hurrying waves he had seen 4 white hand thrust out, and as he guessed what had happened, he clenched his teeth tight, though even then a yery unclerical word slipped He shan't do | { | 1 | ‘a good swimmer, but, even unencum- | of enchanting music. | the sun rose opposite to him and came , | two or | could not explain had lost their bear- | nearly come to grief off the Wedge in- | | stead of ma | net. | boat at its foot | again as though nothing | discussion, out. For the time, however, he had to abandon the pursuit. “Phil!” he shouted, as he swept the boat round. An answering cry, shrill but faint, gave him his direction, and thither he pulled with all his might, peering through the darkness and fear- ful of striking the lad a second time. A big wave unrolled its shaggy mane all round his boat, and in the midst of the streaming whiteness something plack and huddled drifted past. He thrust out an eager hand and grasped a fold of sodden cloth. “Thank heaven!” he cried, and, boating his oars, dragged by main strength the well-nigh senseless body into his boat..,One moment he bent down over the drawn faee and closed eyes of Phil Ugloe, the next a _ tre- mendous shock seemed to have knock- ed the boat from under him and he was fighting for his life in the cold and cruel water, but grasping with one hand the boy he had snatched from it. What had happened he knew not in the least at the time. Only afterwards there came to him, as from some half- forgotten dream, a vision of a boat shooting away into the darkness, and the echo of a mocking and triumphant shout of laughter. But now, dazed as he was, there began a grim struggle. Well was it for both the boy and his rescuer that the dogged courag? which had made “Leife’s fights” famous was still as strong as ever. The curate was pered, his situation would have been as it. was, it was hopeless, new it. Yet no thought of abandoning the lad ever occurred to } him. | He turned his face toward Wedge Hill, and as well as he could made for the shore at its foot. Numbed by the cold, weighted by his clothes and ham- pered by Phil, he made poor progress. The waves broke over him pitilessly, and more than once he felt he was sinking. H Gradually the feeling of anxiety and the constant spur to fresh and more | strenuous effort began to fade. A de lightful sense of relaxation and repose was stealing over him. He was swing- ing, he thought, in a great hammock, keeping time to the rhythmic strains Then suddenly | | out of the sky directly towards him. | Nearer and nearer it came, larger } and brighter, yet with no heat to scorch. Closer still, till all the sky was blotted out its splendor, and it al- most touched his face. Then for one second he was back in the great roar- ing sea which had swallowed him and | the sun as well. Then all was an ut- ter blank. CHAPTER VI. When, late that night, Mr. Leife came to himself between the sheets, | he found to bis amazement Mrs. Cham- pion installed in his arm chair, and round his bed Dr. Catell, Ruffidge, and three of the rough fishermen he loved so well. At first his eager questions were met with a nod ora shake of the bead and a finger on the lip. Later on he heard the story from old Dick Foial. Tt appeared that a Whayre boat with a party of eight men were “doing a job,” and in some way which they ‘ings in spite of the signais, and had ing straight for the Bon- As it was, they had shipped a lot of water, and thought it safer te run down under the shelter of the safe | side of the Wedge and beach their While making their way thither they came across an upturned boat, which | Foial thought he could recognize as the one he had sold to Weasel John. While they were trying to right it they | heard a ery, and, pulling in the direc- tion from which it seemed to coine, ; they had found the curate (“Thank the | Lord!” said Ruffidge under his breath) | just at the last gasp, with Phil appar- ently quite dead. | “We never thought again of the old H boat,” said Foial, “but made straight for Whayre, and took the chance of our old cradle letting us down “And what about Phil?” cried Mr. Leife, starting up in bed. “He’s at the vicarage, bein well | looked after,” said Mrs. Champion, and Mr. Catell thinks now that he will pull through, though he almost gave him up.” Mr. Leife was not delicate, and a couple of days afterward he was about | had happened, | but poor Phil hung between life and | death for many days. At last, how: | ever, he too pulled round, but the doc- tor decléred his old way of living, | sleeping in caves or under hedge: would soon kill him in his present | state. Jt was a difficult problem what to do | with the boy, who took no part in the | but sat or lay, talking soft- | ly to himself, sometimes smiling, but more often wearing a vacant expres- | sion on his face. Yet he understood, | to a certain extent, when he was spoken to, and even howed signs of | pleasure when ‘Mrs. Champion told him that during the winter, at any rate, and the early spring, he should clean boots and knives and forks and do odd jobs at the vicarage for a small wage. There was an empty room over a disused stable in the garden, and there he might sleep. ‘As for Weasel John, Mr. Leife was much exercised what course to pur- sue. He felt quite sure in his own mind that the little wretch had run him down, but his recollection of the actual upset was too vague to allow of his taking any decisive action. That the felléw had been ill-using Phil the curate was equally certain; but here | tributed | the | Eldredge s i would call it, again a difficulty arose, for not a word upon the subject could he elicit from the victim. He spoke to Ruffidge, tell- ing him the circumstances, and ask- ing him whether he could remember Broad’s coming home that night. Ruf- fidge thought for awhile, me his head violently. “Wednesday, Wednesday,” he» ru- minated; “let me see. That was the night my nephews came over. Yes, I do remember. He came in—well—it must have been nigh on ten o’clock, I should say. I heard him swearing vile- ly because the—the latch—latch of the gate had—well—it had caught.” “T suppose he hasn’t said anything to you about the affair, has he?” asked the curate. The other laughed in his curious, awkward way. “Not he,” Mr. Leife. Why, you know I'm about the last person he'd talk to, unless—well—unless he'd a_ special cargo of oaths he wanted to get rid of. As it is, I know—well—I know a litle too much to please him. The murderous villain!” he broke out, after a moment’s pause; it was killing that poor simple he was after if you hadn’t—hadn't—well—hadn't _ spoiled his game. I tell you, sir, when his black blood’s on the boil there’s noth- ing he'll stick at.” “Well,” said the curate, “I’ve talked the matter over with the vicar, and I shan’t take any steps, just yei, any- way; but next time I see him I shall tell him what I think of him. I’m not at all sure-he w: "t after bigger than poor Phil last night “What do you mean?” Ruffidge, eagerly, and in made Mr. Leife look up. interrupted a tone that “Oh, never mind, Ruffidge,” he said; it’s only an idea that ere d my mind; there may be nothing in it. But I mean to keep my eye on him, and I hope you'll do the same.” “One? Both of them, sir,” answered Ruffidge, grimly. “I've got a little score of my own to settle with the— well—the gentleman, we'll say. Ah, there he is.” (To Be Continued.) PORTHOLES OF THE WORLD. Look Through One, Through the Other. In Newport Marshall P. Wilder con- to the gaiety that followed elaborate dinner given by M William B. Lee at Fairlawn. He v feeling, well— fit as a wasp at 2 campmeeting,” was the simile that oc curred to him as best describing condition. But the breath was knock- ed out of his body by a preliminary request of the hoste “Now, Mr. Wilder, you will give us some new jokes—at least one—won't you?” Thus, then, he led off: “Ladies and gentlemen, the eyes of the world to-day are at the portholes. The men are looking at Port Arthur, and the women at Newport.” There was a rustle of silken petti- coats ,a finiter of fans, and, bowing Jow in the direction of Mrs. Lteds, the triumphant humorist went on with the budget of polite ribaldry he has made Men Women | familiar to the vaudeville houses of | this country and G eat Britain. Later in the evening, during the dancing interval, Mrs. I.ceeds ap- proached him, shak a dainty gloved finger. “How could, you do it—that wicked thing about port “Forgive me, madam, forgive me. | Twas a case of any port in a storm.” il. —New Yor FALL DIDN’T WAKE HIM. | Asleep on Fire Escape, Boy Tumbles Three Stories. x Morris Velencky, ten years old, of 147 For he street, slept on the third floor fi ape and fell through. A e | crowd was standing about him in the | street frightened mother | reached there. She picked him up in her arms and, with Policeman Copp, rushed to the drug store. There Morris opened his eyes and began to cry. “W he just woke up, he when his ain't hurt,” cried the mother. Sure he ain't,” affirmed the police- man, who tnessed the occurrence. Dr. Cotton, from Gouverneur hospital, | looked over the boy and found he was Cop Copp reported at the reet station that “the fall n’t hard “enongh to hurt the boy, New not hurt. w because it didu’t wake him up.” | York World. Such a Combination. “No,” said Oe Cheerful Idiot, as he lighted a “T never use tobacco. “Why, man aa are smoking now,” | the new boarder cried. “That's not tobacco,” “What is it, then?” “Well, I don’t know just what you but the filler is from is from Have said the idiot. Connecticut and the wrapper Mrs. Wigg’s cabbage patch. one!”—Cleveland Plain Dealer. His Resolution. Empty Edwards—I tink I'l strike out along a new line. Veracious Valentine—My Gawd, Empty! Not got de idea uv goin’ ter work, have yer? Empty Edwards—Naw! I'm just tinkin’ uv takin’ me fall trip along the M.,O & Q. instead uv me regular run!—New Orleans Times-Democrat. Just Like Men. Mrs. A.—When I return home from my vacation I always find a dozen new sets of dishes in my dining room. Mrs. Z.—How do they get there? Mrs. A.—Why, my husband would rather buy new ones than wash the old ones after meals.—Chicago News. Extravagant speeches are often very economical with the truth. game | WASH BLUE Costs 10 cents and equals 20 cents worth of any other kind of bluing. Won’t Freeze, Spill, Break Nor Spot Clothes OIRECTIONS FOR USES" Wiggle Stich around in the water. At all wise Grocers. oe) The Baby Slept. The Doctor—Yes, I understand what ails you; you can’t sleep. Take this prescription to the druggist. (Next day.)“Good morning; you look better to-day. Have you slept well?” Petersen—Like a top. I feel like a new man. Doctor—How many sleeping pow- ders did you take? Petersen (surprised)—I didn’t take any. I gave a couple of them to the baby. Fitting Himself. Briggs—What are you doing this summer, Wiggs? | Wiggs—Fitting myself for a job with |a plumber next winter. Briggs—How’s that? Wiggs—Making out bills for an ice | company. THIS WOMAN KNOWS WHAT ONE OF THE SEX DISCOV- ERED TO HER GREAT JOY. Mrs. De Long Finds That the Inde scribable Pains of Rheumatism Can Be Cured Through the Blood. Mrs. E. M. De Long, of No. 160 West Broadway, Council Bluffs, lowa, found herself suddenly attacked by rheumatism in the winter of 1896. She gave the doctor a chance to help her, which he failed to improve, and then she did some thinking and ex- perimenting of her own. She was so successful that she deems it her duty to tell the story of her escape from suffering: “My brother-in-law,” she says, “was enthusiastic on the subject of Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills as a, purifier of the blood, and when I was suffering extreme pains in the joints of my an- kles, knees, hips, wrists and elbows, and the doctor was giving me no re- lief, I began to reflect that rheuma- tism {s a disease of the blood, and that if Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills are | so good for the blood they must be good for rheumatism and worth a trial. “I was in bed half the time, suffer- ing with pain that cannot be described to one who has never had the disease. It would concentrate sometimes in one set of joints. When it was in my feet I could not walk; when it was in my elbows and wrists I could not even draw the coverlets over my body. I had suffered in this way for weeks before I began using Dr. Williams’ | Pink Pills. Two weeks after I began | with them I experienced relief and after I had taken six boxes I was en- tirely well. To make sure I continued to use them about two weeks longer and then stopped altogether. For sev- eral years I have had no reason to use them for myself, but I have rec- ommended them to others as an ex- cellent remedy.” Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills furnish the blood with all the elements that are needed to build up healthy tissue, strong muscles and nerves, capable of bearing the strain that nature puts upon them. They really make new blood and cure all diseases arising from disorders of the blood or nerves, such as sciatica, neuralgia, partial paralysis, locomotor ataxia, St. Vitus’ dance, nervous prostration, anemia and all forms of weakness in either male or female. They are sold by all druggists. The reflections of a homely woman are often as unsatisfactory as those of her mirror. Allen’s Foot-Ease, Wonderful Remedy. “Have tried ALLEN’S FOOT-EASE, and find it to be a certain cure, and gives com- fort to one suffering with sore, tender and swollen feet. I will recommend ALLEN’S FOOT-EASE to my friends, as it is certainly a wonderful remedy.—Mrs. N. . Guilford, New Orleans, La.” Out of the mouth of babes—first teeth. On the Trail pe trom Tenas She with 2 Fish Brand ‘Montane BRAND Pommel Slicker grit wea —_—— coat Baler haa Bayne eteten and I Ayoot sa comfort out have gotten more Sos article that Lever owned,” as os ‘Wet eae Gecriones ti x Ridiog, A. J. inte cor BOSTON, U.8. A. TOWER CANADIAN / | 4