The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 2, No. 181, Ed. 1 Wednesday, January 27, 1915 Page: 2 of 4
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NORMAN DAILY TRANSCRIPT
I ]
(fie.
CAa°iifc
QJMMLANDS
/& CHARLES NEVILLE BUCIC,
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS fRCm PHOTOGRAPHS
"
OF SCENES IN THE PLAY 4
CHAPTER I.
Close to the serried backbone of the
Cumberland ridge through a sky of
mountain elarlty, the sun seemed hesi-
tating before Its descent to the hori-
zon. The sugar-loaf cone that tow-
ered above a creek called Misery was
pointed and edged with emerald trac-
ery where the loftleBt timber thrust
up Its crest plumes Into the sun. On
the hillsides it would be light for
more than au hour yet, but below,
where the waters tossed themselves
along In a chorus of tiny cascades, the
light was already thickening Into a
cathedral gloom. Down there the "fur-
rlner" would have seen only the rough
course of the creek between moss-
velveted and shaded bowlders of
titanic proportions. The native would
have recognized the country road In
these tortuous twistings. A great block
of sandstone, to whose summit a man
standing In his saddle could scarcely
reach his fingertips, towered above
the stream, with a gnarled scrub oak
clinging tenaciously to its apex. Loft-
ily on both sides climbed the moun-
tains cloaked In laurel and timber.
Suddenly the leafage was thrust
aside from above by a cautious hand,
and a shy, half-wild girl appeared In
the opening. For an instant she halt-
ed, with her brown lingers holding
hack the brushwood, and raised her
face as though listening. As she
itood with the toes of one bare foot
twisting in the gratefully cool moss
she laughed with the sheer exhilara-
tion of life and youth, and started out
on the table top of the huge rock.
But there she halted suddenly with a
startled exclamation and drew instlnc
lively back. What she saw might well
have astonished her, for it was a thing
she had never seen before and of
which she had never heard. Finally,
reassured by the silence, Bhe slipped
across the broad face of the flat rock
for a distance of twenty-five feet and
paused again to listen.
At the far edge lay a pair of saddle-
bags, such as form the only practical
equipment for mountain travelers.
Near them lay a tin box, littered with
small and unfamiliar-looking tubes of
soft metal, all grotesquely twisted and
stained, and beside the box was a
strangely shaped plaque of wood
smeared with a dozen hues. That this
plaque was a palnter'B sketching pal-
ette was a thing which she could not
know, since the ways of artists had
to do with a world as remote from
her own as the life of the moon or
stars. It was one of those vague mys-
teries that made up the wonderful life
of "down below." Why had these
things been left here In such confu-
sion? If there was a man about who
owned them he would doubtless return
to claim them. She crept over, eyes
and ears alert, and slipped around to
the front of the queer tripod, with all
her muscles poised in readiness for
flight..
A half-rapturous and utterly aston-
ished cry broke from her lips. She
stared a moment, then dropped to the
moss-covered rock, leaning back on
her brown hands and gazing intently.
"Hit's purty!" she approved, in a
low, musical murmur. "Hit's plumb,
dead beautiful!"
Of course It was not a finished pic-
ture—merely a study of what lay be-
fore her—but the hand that had
placed these brush strokes on the
academy board was the sure, deft
hand of a master of landscape, who
had caught the splendid spirit of the
thing and fixed it Immutably In true
and glowing appreciation. Who he
waB; where ho had gone; why his
work stood there unfinished and aban
doned, were details which for the mo-
ment this half-savage child-woman for-
got to question. She was conscious
only of a sense of revelation and awe.
Then she saw other boards, like the
one upon the easel, piled near the
paint box. These were dry, and rep-
resented the work of other days; but
they were all pictures of her own
mountains, and in each of them, as
In this one, was something that made
her heart leap.
To her own people these steep hill-
sides and "coves" and valleys were a
matter of course. In their stony soli
they labored by day, and In their shad
ows slept when work was done. Yet
someone had discovered that they held
a picturesque and rugged beauty; that
they were not merely steep fields
where the plow was useless and the
hoe must be used. She must tell Sam-
son—Samson, whom she held in an
artless exaltation of hero worship;
Samson, who was so "smart" that he
thought about things beyond her un-
derstanding; Samson, who could not
only read and write, but speculate on
problematical matters.
Suddenly she came to her feet wtfh
a swift-darting Impulse of alarm. Her
ear had caught a sound. She cast
searching glances about her, but the
tangle was empty of humanity. The
water still murmured over the roclcs
undisturbed. There was no sign of
human presence, other than herself,
that her eyes could' discover—and yet
to her ear* came the sound again, and
this time more distinctly. It was the
sound of a man's voice, and it was
moaning as if in pain. She rose and
searched vainly through the bushes of
the hillside where the rock ran out
from the woods. She lifted her skirts
and splashed her feet In the shallow |
creek water, wading persistently up (
and down. Her shyness was forgotten.
The groan was a groan of a human
creature In distress, and she must find
and succor the person from whom It
came.
Certain sounds are baffling as to di-
rection. A voice from overhead or ! „
broken by echoing obstacles does not tlme/ letlher e>'ea droP' whlle she
readily betray Its source. Finally she 'f nursln« her knees. Finally she
stood up and listened once more In- K'an< ed u" and asked wltb Plucked-up
Her l!ns and eyes were sober as she
replied.
"I reckon thet's all right"
"And what's worse, I've got to be
more trouble. DM you see anything
of a brown mule?"
She shook her head.
"He must have wandered off. May
I ask to w*iom I am Indebted for this
first aid to the Injured?"
"I don't know what ye means."
She had propped him against the
rocks and sat near by, looking into his
face with almost disconcerting Bteadl-
ness; her solemn implied eyes were
unblinking, unsmiling.
"Why, I mean who are you?" he
laughed.
"I hain't nobody much. I Jest lives
over yon."
"But," Insisted the man, "surely you
have a name."
She nodded.
"Hit's Sally."
"Then, Miss Sally, I want to thank
you."
Once more she nodded, and, for the
tently—her attitude full of tense ear-
nestness.
"I'm shore a fool," she announced,
half aloud. "I'm shore a plumb fool."
Then she turned and disappeared In
the deep cleft between the gigantic
bowlder upon which she had been sit-
ting and another—small only by com-
parison. There, ten feet down, In a
narrow alley littered with ragged
stones, lay the crumpled body of a
man. It lay with the left arm doubled
under It, and from a gash In the fore-
head trickled a thin stream of blood.
Also, It was the body of such a man
as she had not seen before.
Although from the man came a low
groan mingled with his breathing, It
was not such a sound aB comes from
fully conscious lips, but rather that
of a brain dulled into coma.
Freed from her fettering excess of
shyness by his condition, the girl
stepped surely from foothold to foot-
hold until she reached his Bide. She
stood for a moment with one hand on
the dripping walls of rock, looking
down while her hair fell about her
face. Then, dropping to her knees,
she shifted the doubled body Into a
leaning posture, straightened the
limbs, and began exploring with effi-
cient fingers for broken bones.
She had found the left arm limp
above the wrist, and her fingers had
diagnosed a broken bone. But uncon-
sciousness must have come from the
blow on the head, where a bruise was
already blackening, and a gash still
trickled blood.
Bhe lifted her skirt and tore a long
strip of cotton from her single petti-
coat. Then she picked her bare-footed
way swiftly to the creek bed, where
she drenched the cloth for bathing and
bandaging the wound. When she had
done what she could by way of first
aid she sat supporting the man's
shoulders and shook her head dubi-
ously.
Finally the man's lids fluttered and
his lips moved. Then he opened his
eyes.
"Hello!" said the stranger, vaguely.
"I seem to have—" He broke off, and
his lips smiled. It was a friendly, un-
derstanding smile, and the girl, fight-
>v. •
X--
Wm
courage:
"Stranger, what mout yore name
be?"
"Lescott—George Lescott"
"How'd ye git hurt?"
He shook his head.
"I was painting—up there," he said;
"and I gueBs I got too absorbed in the
work. I stepped backward to look at
the canvas and forgot where the edge
was. I stepped too far."
The man rose to his feet, but he tot-
tered and reeled against the wall of
ragged stone. The blow on his head
had left him faint and dizzy. He sat
down again.
"I'm afraid," he ruefully admitted,
that I'm not quite ready for discharge
from your hospital."
"You Jest set where yer at." The
girl rose and pointed up the mountain-
side. "I'll light out across the hill and
fotch Samson an" his mule."
Who and where is Samson?" he
inquired. He realized that the bot-
tom of the valley would shortly thick-
en Into darkness, and that the way
out, ungulded, would become Impos-
sible. "It sounds like the name of a
strong man."
"I means Samson South," she en-
lightened, as though further descrip-
tion of one so celebrated would be re-
dundant. "He's over thar 'bout three-
quarters."
"Three-quarters of a mile?"
She nodded. What else could three-
quarters mean?
"How lohg will it take you?" he
asked.
She deliberated. "Samson's hoeln'
corn In the fur hill field. He'll hev
ter cotch his mule. Hit mout tek a
half-hour."
"You can't do It in a half-hour, can
you?"
"I'll Jest take my foot In my hand,
an' light out." She turned, and with
a nod was gone.
At last she came to a point where
a clearing rose on the mountainside
above her. The forest blanket woe
stripped off to make way for a fenced-
in and crazlly tilting field of young
corn. High up and beyond, close to
the bald shoulders of sandstone which
threw themselves against the sky, was
the figure of a man. As the girl halted
at the foot of the field, at, last, panting
from her exertions, he was sitting on
the rail fence, looking absently down
on the outstretched panorama below
him.
SamBon South was not, strictly
speaking, a man. His age was per-
haps twenty. He sat loose-Jointed and
indolent on the top rail of the fence,
his hands hanging over his knees, his
hoe forgotten. Near by, propped
against the rails, rested a repeating
rifle, though the people would have
told you that the truce In the "South-
Hollman war" had been unbroken for
two years, and that no clansman need
in these halcyon days go armed afield.
A Low Groan Mingled With Hl
Breathing.
lng hard the shy Impulse to drop his
shoulders and flee Into the kind mask-
ing of the bushes, was in a measure
reassured.
"You must hev fell often the rock,"
she enlightened.
"I think I might have fallen Into
worse circumstances," replied the un-
known.
"I reckon you kin set up after a
little."
CHAPTER II.
Sally clambered lightly over the
fence and started on the last stage of
her Journey, the climb across the
young corn rows. It was a field stood
on end, and the hoed ground was un-
even; but with no seeming of weari-
ness her red dress flashed steadfastly
across the green spears, and her voice
was raised to shout: "Hello, Samson!"
The young man looked up and waved
a languid greeting. He did not remove
his hat or descend from his place of
rest, and Sally, who expected no such
attention, came smilingly on. Samson
was her hero. Slow of utterance and
diffident with the stranger, words now
came fast and fluently as she told her
story of the man who lay hurt at the
foot of the rock.
"Hit hain't long now tell sundown,"
she urged. "Hurry, Samson, an' git
yore mule. I've done give him my
promise ter fotch ye right straight
back."
Samson took off his hat. and tossed
"Yes, of course." The man suddenly
realized that although he was quite j the heavy lock upward from his fore-
comfortable as he was he could head. His brow wrinkled with doubts.
scarcely expect to remain permanently
In the support of her bent arnt. He
attempted to prop himself on his hurt
hand and relaxed with a twinge of ex-
treme pain. The color, which had be-
gun to creep back Into his cheeks, left
them again, and his Hps compressed
themselves tightly to bite off an ex-
clamation of suffering.
"Thet air left arm air busted," an-
nounced the young woman, quietly.
"Ye've got ter be heedful."
Had one of her own men hurt him-
self and behaved stoically It would
have been mere matter of course; but
her eyes mirrored a pleased surprise
at the stranger's good-natured nod and
his quiet refusal to give expression
to pain. It relieved her of the neces-
sity for contempt.
"I'm afraid," apologized the painter,
"that I've been a great deal of trouble
to you."
"What sort of lookin' feller air he?1
While Sally sketched a description,
the young man's doubt grew graver
"This hain't no flt time ter be takln'
In folks what we hain't acquainted
with," he objected. In the mountains
any time is the time to take In strang-
ers unless there are secrets to be
guarded from outside eyes.
"Why hain't It?" demanded the girl.
"He's hurt. We kaln't leave him layin'
thar, kin we?"
Suddenly her eyes caught sight of
the rifle leaning near by, and straight-
way they filled with apprehension.
Her militant love would have turned
to hate for Samson, should he have
proved recreant (o the mission of re-
prisal in which h« was biding his time,
yet the coming of the day when the
truce must end haunted her thoughts.
She came close, and her voice sank
with her sinking heart.
"What air hit?" she tensely demand-
ed. "What air hit, Samson? What
fer hev ye fotcbed yer gun ter the
field?"
The boy laughed. "Oh, hit ain't
nothin' pertie'ler," he reassured. "Hit
fcain't nothin' fer a gal ter fret herself
erbout, only I kinder suspicions
strangers Jest now."
"Air the truce busted?" She put the
question In a tense, deep-breathed
whisper, and the boy replied casually,
almost indifferently.
"No, Sally, hit hain't Jest ter say
busted, but 'pears like hit's right
smart cracked. I reckon, though," he
added In half-disgust, "nothin' won't
come of hit."
Somewhat reassured, she bethought
herself again of her mission.
"This here furrlner hain't got no
harm In him, Samson," she pleaded.
"He 'pears ter be more like a gal than
a man. He's real puny. He's got
white skin and a bow of ribbon on
his neck—an' he paints pictchers."
The boy's face had been hardening
with contempt as the description ad-
vanced, but at the last words a glow
came to his eyes, and he demanded
almost breathlessly:
"Paints pictchers? How do ye know
that?"
"I seen 'em. He was palntln' one
when he fell offen the rock and busted
his arm. It's shore bb beautiful es—"
she broke off, then added with a sud-
den peal of laughter—''es er plctcher."
The young man slipped down from
the fence, and reached for the rifle.
The hoe he left where it stood.
"I'll git the nag," he announced
briefly, and swung off without further
parley toward the curling spiral of
smoke that marked a cabin a quarter
of a mile below. Ten minutes later
his bare feet swung against the ribs
of a gray mule and his rifle lay bal-
anced across the unsaddled withers.
Sally sat mountain fashion behind
him, facing straight to the side.
So they came along the creek bed
and Into the sight of the man who
still sat propped against the mossy
rock. As Lescott looked up he closed
the case of his watch and put it back
into his pocket with a smile.
"Snappy work, that!" he called out.
"Just thirty-three minutes. I didn't
believe it could be done.'
Samson's face was masklike, but
as he surveyed the foreigner, only the
ingrained dictates of the country's
hospitable code kept out of his eyes
a gleam of scorn for this frail mem-
ber of a sex which should be stalwart.
"Howdy?" he said. Then he added
suspiciously: "What mout yer busi-
ness be in these parts, stranger?
Lescott gave the Odyssey of his wan-
derings, since he had rented a mule
at Hixon and ridden through the coun-
try, sketching where the mood prompt-
ed and sleeping wherever he found a
hospitable roof at the coming of the
evening.
"Ye come from over on Cripple-
shln?" The boy flashed the question
with a sudden hardening of the voice,
and, when he was affirmatively ans-
swered, his eyes contracted and bored
searchingly into the stranger's face.
"Where'd ye put up last night?"
"Red Bill Hollman's house, at the
mouth of Meeting House fork; do you
know the place?"
Samson's reply was curt.
"I knows hit all right."
There was a moment's pause—
rather an awkward pause. Lescott's
mind began piecing together frag-
ments of conversation he had heard,
until he had assembled a sort of men-
tal Jigsaw puzzle.
The Soutli-Hollman feud had been
mentioned by the more talkative of
his Informers, and carefully tabooed
by others—notable among them his
host of last night. It now dawned on
him that he was crossing the boun-
dary and coming as the late guest of
a Hollman to ask the hospitality of a
South.
"I didn't know whose house It was,"
he hastened to explain, "until I was
benighted and asked for lodging. They
were very kind to me. I'd never seen
them before. I'm a stranger here-
abouts."
Samson only nodded. If the explana-
tion failed to satisfy him, It at least
seemed to do so.
"I reckon ye'd better let me holp
ye up on thet old mule," he said;
"hit's a-comin' on ter be night."
With the mountaineer's aid, Lescott
clambered astride the mount, then he
turned dubiously.
"I'm sorry to trouble you," he ven-
tured, "but I have a paint box and
some materials up there. If you'll
bring them down here, I'll ehow you
how to pack the easel, and, by the
way," he anxiously added, "please
to handle that fresh canvas carefully—
by the edge—It's not dry yet.
He had anticipated impatient con-
tempt for his artist's impedimenta,
but to his surprise the mountain boy
climbed the rock and halted before
the sketch with a face that slowly
softened to an expression of amazed
admiration. Finally he took up the
square of academy board with a ten-
der care of which his rough hands
would have seemed Incapable and
stood stock still, presenting au anoma-
lous figure In his rough clothes as his
eyes grew almost idolatrous. Then
he brought the landscape over to its
creator, and, though no word was
spoken, there flashed between the eyes
of the artist, whose signature gave to
a canvas the value of a precious stone,
and the Jeans-clad boy whose destiny
was that of the vendetta, a subtle,
wordless message. It was the coun-
tersign of brothers-ln-blood who rec-
ognize in each other the bond of a
mutual passion.
The boy and the girl, under Lescott's
direction, packed the outfit and stored
the canvas In the protecting top of the
box. Then, while Sally turned and
strode down creek in Bearch of Les-
cott's lost mount, the two men rode
upstream In sll«nce. Fln«/ly Hamsou
spoke slowly and diffidently.
"Stranger," he ventured, "e! hit
hain't askln' too much, will ye let me
see ye paint one of them things?"
"Gladly," was the prompt reply.
Then the boy added covertly:
"Don't say nothin' erbout hit ter
none of these folks. They'd devil me."
The dusk was falling now, and the
hollows choking with murk.
"We're nigh home now," said Sam-
son at the end of some minutes' silent
plodding. "Hit's right beyond thet
thar bend."
Then they rounded a point of tim-
ber and came upon a small party of
men whose attitudes even In the dim-
ming light conveyed a subtle sugges-
tion of portent.
"Thet you, Samson?" called an old
man's voice, which was still very deep
and powerful.
"Hello, Unc' Spencer!" roplied the
boy.
Then followed a silence unbroken
until the mule reached the group, re-
vealing that besides the boy another
man—and a strange man—had Joined
their number.
"Evenin", stranger," they greeted
him, gravely; then again they fell
silent, and In their silence was evi-
dent constraint.
"This hyar man's a furrlner," an-
nounced Samson, briefly. "He fell
"CASOARETS" ACT
Tamarack South.
offen a rock an' got hurt I 'lowed
I'd fotch him home ter stay all night."
The elderly man who had hailed the
boy nodded, but with an evident an-
noyance. It seemed that to him the
others deferred as to a commanding
officer. The cortege remounted and
rode Blowly toward the house. At last
the elderly man came alongside the
mule and Inquired:
"Samson, where was ye last night?"
"Thet's my business."
"Mebbe hit ain't." The old moun-
taineer spoke with no resentment, but
deep gravity. "We've been powerful
oneasy erbout ye. Hev ye heered the
news?"
"What news?" The boy put tha
question noncommittally.
"Jesse Purvy was shot this morn-
ing."
The boy vouchsafed no reply.
"The mail rider done told hit. . . .
Somebody shot five shoots from the
laurel. . . . Purvey hain't died ylt.
. . . Some says as how his folks
has sent ter Lexington fer blood-
hounds."
The boy's eyes began to smolder
hatefully.
"I reckon," he spoke slowly, "he
didn't git shot none too soon."
"Sameon!" The old man's voice had
the ring of determined authority.
"When I dies ye'll be the head of the
Souths, but so long es I'm a-runnln'
this hyar famiy I keeps my word ter
friend an' foe alike. I reckon Jesse
Purvy knows who got yore pap, but
up till now no South hain't never
busted no truce."
The boy's voice dropped its softness
and took on a shrill crescendo of ex-
citement as he flashed out his retort.
"Who said a South has done busted
the truce this time?"
Old Spicer South gazed searchingly
at his nephew.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Queerest Dance in the World.
The Godavari dance of the malay-
ers, or drummers, of Malabar is a very
popular function when the native
farmers are taking their ease after the
hard work of harvest. The principal
character is a weird figure supposed
to represent the sacred cow of the
gods, Kamachenu. A Bmall boy car-
ries this about while the other per-
formers, decked out in primitive fash-
ion with painted bodies and hideous
masks, go through a weird dance, ac-
companied by much drum beating and
singing. Wherever it goes the cow
is supposed to shower blessings and
prosperity, and so, ostensibly to please
the animal, but In reality to satisfy
the dancers, presents of money, paddy
or rice are given to the performers.
This custom has been in existence
from time Immemorial and is likely
to continue as long as agriculture en-
dures among the Hindus of Malabar.—
Wide World Magazine.
What Attracted Him.
A mother took her four-year-old son
to a restaurant for his first luncheon
outside of the nursery at home. He
behaved with perfect propriety, and
watched the elaborate service with
keen Interest. When the Unger bowls
were placed on the table, he noticed
the Bquare white mint on the plate
at the side of the bowl, and ex
claimed: "Oh, mother, look at th'
cunning little cakes of soap h
brought us I"—Harper's Magazine.
No sick headache, biliousness,
bad taste or constipation
by morning.
Get a 10-cent box.
Are you keeping your bowels, liver,
and stomach clean, pure and fresh
with Cascarets, or merely forcing a
passageway every few days with
Salts, Cathartic Pills, Castor Oil or
Purgative Waters?
Stop having a bowel wash-day. Let
Cascarets thoroughly cleanse and reg-
ulate the stomach, remove the sour
and fermenting food and foul gases,
take the excess bile from the liver
and carry out of the system all the
constipated waste matter and poisons
In the bowels.
A Cascaret to-night will make you
feel great by morning. They work
while you sleep—never gripe, sicken
or cause any Inconvenience, and cost
only 10 cents a box from your store.
Millions of men and women take a
Cascaret now and then and never
have Headache, Biliousness, Coated
Tongue, Indigestion, Sour Stomach or
Constipation. Adv.
The Prospect
"You don't seem anxious to get
home to your dinner."
"I don't care for the menu I'll get."
"What Is It?"
"When my wife finds out I forgot
to mail her letter the first course will
be tongue served up with hard sauce."
"MY HEALTH
IS PERFECT"
So Says A North Carolina Lady In
Telling What She Owes To Cardui,
The Woman's Tonic.
Mt. Airy, N. C.—Mrs. Ada Hull, of
this place, says: "About six years ago
1 got in very bad health. I Buffered
terrible pains In my abdomen and
back. I dreaded to see the Bun rise
and I dreaded to see It set, for I suf-
fered such agony. No one except my-
self will ever know how badly I suf-
fered. The doctor said i was suffering
as a result of the menopause.
As nothing gave me any relief, I
asked the doctor if I hadn't better try
Cardui. He said, 'It might help you,'
and told my husband to get me a bot-
tle. At this time I was so weak I
could not lift my head, and my voice
was bo weak, people had to lean to-
wards the bed to hear what I said. I
looked so bad and had such a dark
color that I looked like a dead woman,
and my relatives thought I would
never get up again.
I toot one bottle of Cardui and It
relieved the pain and suffering so
much that my husband got another
bottle, and that improved me still
more. I began to strengthen and
gradually got well. I have now had
better health for six years, than I
ever had in all my life. I have taken
no medicine since, and my health is
perfect.
Cardui Is the finest medicine a
woman could use."
Try It. At druggists.—Adv.
If some men had their lives to live
again they probably wouldn't leave so
many dollars for their heirs to scrap
over.
STOP EATING MEAT IF
KIDNEYS OR BACK HURT
Take a Glass of Salts to Clean Kid-
ney* If Bladder Bothers You—
Meat Forms Uric Acid.
Eating meat regularly eventually
produces kidney trouble in some form
0" other, says a well-known authority,
because the uric acid in meat excitea
the kidneys, they become overworked;
get sluggish; clog up and cause all
sorts of distress, particularly backache
and misery in the kidney region; rheu-
matic twinges, severe headaches, acid
stomach, constipation, torpid liver,
sleeplessness, bladder and urinary Ir-
ritation.
The moment your back hurts or kid-
neys aren't acting right, or if bladder
bothers you, get about four ounceB of
J ad Salts from any good pharmacy;
take a tablespoonful In a glass of
water before breakfast for a few days'
and your kidneys will then aot fine.
This famous salts Is made from the
acid of grapes and lemon juice, com-
bined with lithia, and has been used
for generations to flush clogged kid-
neys and stimulate them to normal
activity; also to neutralize the acids In
the urine so it no longer irritates, thus
ending bladder disorders.
Jad Salts cannot injure anyone;
makes ct delightful effervescent lithia-
water drink which millions of men and
women take now and then to keep the
kidueys and urinary organs clean, thus
avoiding serious kidney disease.—Adv.
Why is It that a deaf man can al-
ways hear an invitation to take a
drink?
Every woman's pride, beautiful, clear
nhite clothes. Use Red Cross Bail Blue.
AU grocers. Adv.
Many a man has been carried under
by the Bheer weight of his own dlg
nlty.
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Burke, J. J. The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 2, No. 181, Ed. 1 Wednesday, January 27, 1915, newspaper, January 27, 1915; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc112888/m1/2/: accessed March 28, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.