Newspapers / Jackson County Journal (Sylva, … / March 27, 1925, edition 1 / Page 3
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DISTEMPER COMPOUND [S.S. stops iheumatism Rheumatism is all gone. I feel i wonderful glory again in the free ton 1 used to have when my days were younger. I can thank S. S. S. for it all! Do not close your eyes and think that health, free motion and strength are gone from you for ever! It is not so. S. S. S. is waiting ie!p you. When you increase the num of your rcd-bbdd-cells, the entire em undergoes a mendou3 change. irything depends blood-strength. lod which is minus IfJcient red-cells lis to a lor.g list of lubles. Rheumatism Ine of them." S. S. S. is the great od-cleanser, blood-builder, system ngthener, and nerve invigorator. S. S. S. is sold at all good drug stores in two sizes. The larger size is more economical. ^he Worlds Best t ^lood Medicine Free Booklet Send name and address to S. S. S. Co.. Ill 8. S. 8. Bldg., Atlanta, Ga., for special booklet on Rheu matism & Blood. |Wt 1st That Cold Turn Into "Flu" Rub on Good Old Moilero/c ? That cold may turn into "Flu,* rippe or, even worse, Pneumonia, ikss you take care of it at once. Rub good old Musterole on the con gested parts and see how quickly it 'rings relief. Colds are merely congestion. Mus ercle, made from pure oil of mustard, amphor, menthol and other simple Ingredients, is a counter-irritant which timuiates circulation and helps break ;p the cold. As effective as the messy old mustard tester, does the work without blister. Just rub it on with your finger-tips. !'ou will feel a warm tingle as it enters ie pores, then a cooling sensation that rings welcome relief. To Mothers: Musterole is alto made in milder form for babies and small children* Ask for Children's Musterolo* 35c and 65c, in jars and tubes. Better than a mattard plotter Si USmaSJ Ju EmmEQIoI *!#???; B An LX ? S< SON M ?* f ?? ? Old Chestnuts Enjoyed Mw> than ?_?:{ years ago Sally Ileid, fil|-iii?T%.4 i|;iu'_rliter living near Itich M,D'l. \\. \'a., gathered a box of chest ",N iinc> s,.in them to Henry Holt, a irim'r Imiv living near Gauley Bridge. p'n|l.v Hit' girl, who is now Mrs. ,nr> llitit, found the chestnuts hid 1,11 ii\vny in an old trunk owned by er i'lisiijini). They were well pre ^(,'l ilQd c<?od tasting. Sure Relief FOR INDIGESTION 6 Bell-ans r ^ Hot water I Sure Relief ,-LL-AMS ? +AN0 75? PACKAGES EVERYWHERE ,< ) in ?By, CLIVE ARDEN Copyright by Th? Bobbs-MerrlU .Co. PART FOUR-?Continued. ?19? "This was our wedding rinf^." she whispered. The iuvolumary start which the other gave was quickly cttntro'led. She met steadily, albeit with some ap prehension, ^the girl's searching look? seeming to probe to her yery soul, proving its faith., "Yes," she encouraged. "You?mar ried him? Tell me everything{ will you?" "You understand?" The searching look never relaxed. "You do under stand?" I ; The appeal in that passionate re gard aud question brought quick re sponse. "Dear;" she replied, pulling hei down on the couch by the fire. "I understand. You loved each other ?nd acted in accordance with?honorable convictions, In extraordinary circum stances. Is that enough? What more can I say?" Barbara drew'a breath of Inexpres sible Relief. Holding fast to that sym pathetic hand, she recounted with sim ple fervor the whole history. Nothing was omitted up to the present. When her voice ceased, there fell a long silence.' From somewhere In the house . came a merry laugh; ah opening door let out a brief flood of dance music. . . . Then a piece of coal dropped into the fende^, and Mrs. Field moved. "Ah, my darMng!" she cried. "It isi bitter . ('!]_ . I know ... I know. . A ." That was the first of many talks together during that Christmas season, which brought with it such acute mem ories. . , ( 1 On the afternoon of Boxing day, as the girl sat alone. Hugh suddenly appeared?a grave-faced Hugh, with the bewildered "doggy" look still in his eye. She, rose to meet him, with some embarrassment. "Mrs. Field's with the old people. She said you were alone," he blundered. In explanation. "Bab?I've missed you. old thing!" ) The simple directness touched her. She, too, had been conscious of a gap in the surface of her life, among the old haunts of their childhood, which had added to her wretchedness.* Im pulsively. s)ie gave him her other hand. "I ttiiie^missed you, too, Huglile!" Hugh clearly had something r& his mind. "I wanted to say," he blundered on, ?? to tell you?I was a rotter?that day! I've been thinking the deuce of a lot lately. Bab! And I wanted vou just to >know?you can count on me any time to?back you and Croft up, I mean." . . . It was clumsily expressed; but she ?mderstood what the effort cost him. and the genuine feeling behind it all. Hugh looked at her diffidently, then away through the window, speaking quickly and huskily. "And ! warned you to know that if?Ivter on, per haps?you felt you rould marry me, after nil?" he paused, glancing at her. "I shall always be there?just the same." 'yfie eyes that met his were swim ming in sudden tears. "My dear!" she cried. "But it can never be now?" "You need not say anything, or bother ahout it," he said simply. Impulsively she pressed his hands against her cheek; then he drew him self free. Hugh intensely disliked scenes. Having said what he wanted, he 'turned the subject. "Mrs. Field told me to have tea with you. She said there were loads of muffins! Let s sit on the hearth-rug and toast them, as we used to do." So they sat together on the floor toasting muffins, the barrier breaking down between them. Thus Mrs. Field found them on her return; and a cer tain look of relief crossed her face. It was one of those days when ev erything goes wrong" The village "help" did not 1 come; and Martha therefore considered herself too much overworked to (Complete any one job. Lunch was late, the soup tepid, the potatoes were hard, coffee was luke warm. The clogging of the well-oiled wheels of this small groove naturally resulted in "nerves" on the part of Mrs. Stockley. These, working up gradually, found relief in an explo sion, when Barbara announced an af ternoon's golf with Hugh. J Surely there must be work of some sort for her to do in this tragedy of Jtn un "help"-ed household? This led to a heated argument, which took a sudden deflection down an unexpected chan nel. "Of course, i If yorf have renewed your engagement with Efugh?" "I have not mother. I never can." "And why can you never marry Hugh?" her mother asked testily. "Is It still because of that 'ridiculous in fatuation?. Barbara, I Insist upon your forgetting such nonsense." , "You don't understand, mother. 1 can never forget." \ "No," agreed Mrs. Stockley with some heat; "I do not understand; and I think it Is time I did!" She turned to her sister, as usual, for support, which was speedily forth coming. ' "Barbara," began that worldly worn nn. her curiosity at last given legiti mate rein, "how far did this infatu ation go? What can you never for get?" , The girl looked at her, startled, at a momentary loss.- Her sensitive face, an enemy to subterfuge, flushed an grily. "Ah!" exclaimed her aunt meaning ly, "I thought from the first there was something wrong." "YVh-what do you mean. Aunt Mary? There was nothing?wrong!" "Then why maintain such mystery? Why are you afraid to talk of the matter?to tell the truth?" A rush of loathing, contempt for all the suspicious minds about ber, recklessness, which, in impulsive na tures, has far-reaching effects, swept the. girl away. After all, what did their feelings matter? What their opinions to the man whose memory she had tried in vain to shield from vulgar calumny? Barbara turned and faced the two women, tossing back the hair from her brow. \ "You shall have th^e) truth!" she cried, with suddenly blazing eyes. "This 'infatuation' you talk about went ?to the end. He returned my love. We became husband and wife." \ ? ; ' vh ( The silence was awful. A dormant volcano could not have seemed more vibrant with foreboding. The two women sat, bereft of speech, gazing blankly at the girl, \yho faced them fearlessly from the hearthrug. From Mrs. Stockley's face every vestige of color had fled. She looked suddenly old; her features were haggard. Then Barbara, as she had done twice before, held out her left hand. . "Tliis," she said, breathing fast, "Is my wedding ring. He was my hus band." The tension broke. Mrs. Stockley gasped, and her sister gave a snort of contemptuous laughter. "'Husband'!" she mocked. "Pray? who was the priest? Where was the church? Or?had (you a native reg istry office?" >> ? \ The sarcasm was to the girl merely as the heat of an extra candle to one already Enveloped in flames. She ignored the speaker, fixing her eyes upon her mother. "Do you understand, mother?" > At that moment the sight of her mother's deathly face struck, like a blow, upon her heart. Her anger sub sided as quickly as it had arisen; in_ its place a huge pity arose, making It suddenly imperative that the wom an who had home her should be saved the suffering of misconstruction. Impulsively she moved forward, stretching out both hands. "Mother?" airs. Stookley rose slowly t<^4ter feet, ignoring the hands, still staring ut her daughter as if she were some hideous snake seen in a corner^ of her comfortable room. "You!" she muttered. "You?my daughter?you dare to face me with those?lies?" The hands dropped and clenched at her sides. "They are not lies! It was impossible to get married accord ing to English law. We therefore per formed the ceremony for ourselves. We took the same vows?it was per fectly honorable." Miss Puvies broke in with another harsh laugh. "Did he actually succeed in stuffing you with all that, to cloak your Im morality?" ' , "Aunt Mary! How dare you??" "Oh ! it's always the same! Haven't I dealt with hundreds of cases in my work which have been 'perfectly honorable'? Fools! Dupes! You weak women believe anything!" "You?y-you?" Barbara choked, in her furious Indignation. "Immorality!" Mrs; Stockley caught at the word. "Immorality? In ohe of our family? My own daughter??" "You got off lightly;" broke In her sister, watching the girl narrowly, through her lorgnette. "Without pay ing the price!'' Most girls are not so fortunate. But I suppose you took good care to prevent?" "Yes!" cried her mother almost hys terically, "suppose there had been chil dren?" , "Tlere would have been," she re plied with unnatural catni, her eyes burning in an ashen face. , "That is why } was so ill at Singapore." For n moment both women were again bereft of speech, Barbara turned to the fire and stood gazing into its depths. "Ha:" gasped her aunt, at last. "1 always thought there was something suspicious in that illness." Then the girl flashed round, con tempt ringing in her voice. "Yes, Aunt Mary, you would! Peo ple like you would find something suspicious in?an archangel. Oh!" she cried passfbnately, "I know all the disgusting, vulgar gossip concerning Alan and myself! I knew it before I reached England. Now, I' suppose, Vpu will all purr in your self-rlghteous niess. thinking how wise you were?" "B-Barbara!" spluttered her dura founded aunt. "Oh, yes, you will! But"?turning blazing eyes upon Miss Davies* furi ous face?"jou are ail wrong! Hew can you tell what was right and what was not?out there? What do you all know of real, fundamental life? What experience have you had of?love, temptation?any problems?'that you should dare?dare to judge? You all carry ?ut your religious observances to the letter?but what about the spirit of it all?" The two women were, staggered by her furious flow of words. "I understand," cried Mrs. Stock ley, in weak impotent rage, "that you have disgraced our name! Sin can not be excused. Whatever the man was?and thank heaven he is dead! ?you should have shown strength. You?you?are nothing but a?wan ton !" "Mother!" The girl recoiled, as if she had been struck, catching at a chair for support. I^er mother broke into a storm of hysterical weeping. ' ( "Go!" she cried, between her sobs. "Leave the house! I?I refuse to own you! Go to your friends who?con done immorality?who encourage sin. . . . Join Jenny Grant?" "Mother!" she cried again, iwith white lips, "you don't realize what you are saying?" "I do! I do!?(?o!" Weakly she stamped her foot, then sank into her chair, burying her face in her hand kerchief. ) , . A wild caricature of a laugh broke from Barbara's lips. She looked at her mother's shaking form, then at her aunt's rigid figure and hostile countenance. "Very well," she said slowly, "I will go." ... As if dazed, she put up her hand to her head, and gave one look round the familiar room. . . . Presently the drawing room door closed, with deliberate quietness, be hind her. ? * , ? * ? , ? ' ? Barbara's sudden appearance at the flat brought Mrs. Field little surprise. She had heard the rumblings of the storm approaching in Darbury, had seen the lowering clouds; but, with Very Well; I Will Go," rare insight, she forebore to interfere. Some storms, being inevitable, q.re best left to themselves. "Forewarned and forearmed," one's work comes later with salvage and reconstruction Not a whole regiment of d^jineers could pull down the wall encircling Mrs. Stockley's horizon; of that Mrs. Field was certain. In time, when the shock, and?above all?the talk, had subsided, a few bricks might, with infinite tact, be drawn away, allow ing an occasional glimpse of wide up lands beyond, v. . . But that would not be yet. ... In the meantime it was the girl's quivering soul which needed infinite delicacy in handling; which wavered, struggled, sank gradu ally lower into the dark wilderness of morbidity, from which those who get lost therein take long to discover a way>out; and, when they do, find the burrs and thorns still sticking to them, never to, be qui?e shaken off. Margaret Field had been through all this herself, years ago. No words, she knew, could help. She watched the girl closely, but made no attempt to force her. Putting back the clock of her own days, she entered the black pit with her, understanding her darkness. \ Barbara went away. She gave no address. "I want to feel cut off from everything and everybody who knows me?for a time," she said, when her friend expostulated. ? ? * * ? ? ? A remote Cornish village, trailing its whitewashed cottages down a pre cipitous narrow lane bordered by lit tle cobbled ditches wherein ducks waddlM and talked together?winding round a corner between fragrant gar dens that merged into gray walls of houses and banks which, in summer, oozed ferns from every crevice, burst forth into fires of purple-red fuchsias and bulged out into great clumps of hydrangeas; pausing for breath, while the lane dropped to the old inn in the valley below, the white and gray cottages straggled along on either sid? the stream gurgling over its stony bed between rolling coombs in the Valley behind, to the harbor which was Ifs goal. . . . Such was the retreat in which Barbara found herself. The chance memory of a friend's rapture had led her weary footsteps thither?to a small gray house near the river, kept by a bright young wom an and her true-hearted husband. Here, unknown and unnoticed, away from the stings of malicious tongues, the inquisitive world?not even see ing a newspaper?she wrestled with the questions and doubts and miseries of her heart. "If the joy of your own personal love is withdrawn," Margaret Field had said, one day in London, "the seed is never lost. You may think It is for a time; but, later, it shoots up. nourished by experience, growing into a strong plant which will develop into a flowering tree of many branches." The truth of that, too, was dimly in her mind as sne watched the stars come out above the harbor?in her heart the tired peace of one who, giv. ing up tilting at windmills he can never conquer, lays his hand upon the plow which needs, It. If solving the mystery of suffering could never be accomplished; if her own personal keynote to happiness were lost; then content she must be to hold out the haud of fellowship to those compan ions In bitter waters?to help find it for the world starving for love. . . . Perhaps?who knows??that is the an swer to the riddle.! As darkness fell, she turned down the path over the rocks; crossed the little bridge spanning the river; and made her way to the gray house, from which cheerful lights beckoned. . . . She fumbled with the handle, turned it; opened the door; then stood for a moment blinking confusedly; for something big anfi fork had loomed up in the smaH passage, hiding the hanging lamp. . . . A great cry burst suddenly from the girl's lips. ... In the dark she turned ashy white; swayed; clutched vainly at the door-post; and would have fallen, had she not been caugftt by arms that held her so strongly that they stopped her breath Alan stood on the threshold. '< vm It was only a small sitting room, with an oil lamp ard a crackling fire. But all the wordg and all the heav ens were enclostri within its walls to the two who cluiu together in their rapture. Wondorfngly, almost reverently, th? girl passed her hands over the arm* ! that clasped her?touching the dark hair and bronzed cheek half-fearfully, scarcely believing in their reality, looking Upon him with bewildered, darkened eyes almost afraid to trust their own sight. The tall broad-shoul dered figure had lost not an inch of its uprightness, nor had the head lost its old dominant poise. The few extra lines round the smiling lips and glow ing eyes were swept up into the radi ance which seemed to envelop him. Yet, in the dark clothes of civiliza tion, he appeared subtly strange to the half-clad, barefooted overlord of savages of other days. "Yes," he said at last, catching her hand lightly wandering over his an*L "It's all real. Solid flesh?no ghost!" He raised her chin in the old pos sessive way, and looked long into the thin face and dark-ringed eyes, which told their own tale of suffering en dured ; then he pressed her head to his breast and held her close again in silence, as if defying any fate to sep- j arate them now. . . . "But," she stammered faintly at last, "how is it?why?I don't under stand??" "Why I'm not sleeping with my fa thers, as you all surmised? Well that is your fault." "Mine?" He nodded. "When Babooma was about to send me .to ray gods, you conveniently sent him, instead, to the shades of Valhalla?that last bullet, you know!" Her eyes opened wide, and she caught her breath. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Get Loans Front "Aunt" In Paris and other big French cities the pawnbroker is called "my aunt." In France one needn't bllush in doing business with the pawnbroker, for ho is the state; that is, the government conducts the flawnbroking business. It does it very well, too, if I am to be lieve the testimony of some Americans who have "traded" with "My Aunt" while awaiting delayed re-jniitatces from home. "My Aunt" bus ted a good year's business. She does little business nowadays with the working man, for he is always in work. Tho center of poverty has moved. It is the white-collar brigade which, unable to make both ends meet, resorts to "My Aunt." Oddly enough, "My Aunt's" shop in Paris is on "the Hill of Piety." Not a misprint for pity.?A. B. I*, ll World Traveler Magazine. NHflEfS "after every meal" Parents- encourage the children to care for their teeth/ Give them Wrigley's. It removes food particles from thf teeth. Strengthens the gums. Combats acid mouth. Refreshing and beneficial! SEALED TIGHT KEPT RIGHT Wind puffs up empty bladders; opinion fools.?Socrates. Snow King Baking Powder is of the very highest qualitv. Yet a 25-ounce can of it costs only 25 cents. Use it the next time you bake. You'll no tice that Snow King is better and you don't need so much of it, either. Double the Life of Your Shoes with USKIDE SOLES The Wonder Sole for Wear Wears twice mm long mm beat leather] ?and for a Better Heel "U.S." SPRING-STEP Hernia United States Rubber Company At Last New Patent Turns Ford Headlights Automatically With . Steering Wheel I lighting your way |around dangerous turns. Easily in stalled. Weight 4 pounds. Guaranteed. All steel. Money re funded for sample, ifyou accept agency. Send $2 now. Pay $3 when received. Sent postpaid. NIGHT GUIDE: CO.. 2611 California St? t: SICK BABIES Respond instantly to a short treatment of Dr. Thornton's EASY TEETHER Ask Your Druggist The New Freely-Lathering Giticura Shaving Stick ForTender Faces EMOLDENT medicinal antiseptic
Jackson County Journal (Sylva, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
March 27, 1925, edition 1
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