The URL can be used to link to this page

Home My WebLink AboutThe Exeter Times-Advocate, 1927-10-06, Page 2w ORANGE PEKOE MJF.A SF gloved hand to lie clasped between both his own. “How brave of you, Miss Abing don!” said Harley, “How wonder fully brave of you!” “She’s an Abingdon,” came the deep tones of Doctor McMurdoch. “She arrived only two hours ago andjhere BEGIN HERE TODAY. Sir uharles Abingdon asks Paul Harley criminal investigator, to find out why Sir Cahrles is kept in con stant surveillance by persons unknown to him. Harley dines at the Abing- • don home. Sir Charles falls from his chair in a dying condition. Abingdon’s last words are “Nicol Brinn” and “Fire-Tongue.” Dr. McMurdoch, pro- j she is.” pounces death due to heart failure.] “There can be no rest for me, Doc- Harle.v insists that Sir Charles was for/’ paid the girl, and' strove valiant- poisoned. . j ly to control her voice, “until this Pau goes to call on Nicol Brinn, d d-} doubt is removed Mr Hir millionaire club man. Brinn receives I ,,,u^ lcm?yecL Mr. Mar ius caller cordially but refuses to tell sh® turned to him appealingly him the meaning of Fire-Tongre. ’ —“please don’t study my feelings in Frinn laughs when Harley warns him,the least I can bear anything—now; that he Mands in peril of his life and just tell me what happened. assur0” F . 1. . J____ c’i" e-s’nn. | ' NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY. “There isn’t any one I would rather confide in,” confessed the American. “We are linked by a common danger. But"—he looked, up—“I must ask you again to be patient. Give me time to thing—to make plans. For your own part—be cautious.” Sometlr’ng struck with a dull thud upon a window pane—once—twice. There followed a faint, sibilant sound. Paul Harley stared and the stoical Nicol Frinn turned rapidly and glanced across the room. “What was that?” asked Harley. “I expect it was an owl,” answered Brinn. “We sometimes get them over from the Green Park.” His high voice sounded: unemotional as ever. But it seemed to Paul Har ley that his face, dimly illuminated by the upcast light from the lamp upon the coffee table, had paled, had be come gaunt. ______ Ohl I Paul that he welcomes the had to come. I felt that I had to come." j Doctor McMurdoch sat down on 'a chair beside the door, setting his silk hat upon the floor and clasping his massive chin wtih his hand. “I will endeavor to do as you wish, Miss Abingdon,” said Harley, glanc ing anxiously at the physacian. He began to relate what had taken place at the first interview, when Sir Charles had told him of the menace which he had believed to hang over his life. She made no comment throughout, but her fingers alternately tightened and relaxed their hold upon the arms of the chair in which she was seated. Paul CHAPTER VI. PHIL ABINGDON ARRIVES. On the following afternoon Harley was restlessly pacing his,pri vate office when Innes came in with a letter which had been delivered by hand. Harley too-k it eagerly and to-re open the envelope. A look of expect ancy faded from his eager face almost in the moment that it appeared1 there. “No luck, Innes,” he said, gloomily. “Merton reports that there is no trace of any foreign body in the liquids anal yzed.” He dropped +he analysts’s report into a wastehn<i-et and resumed his restless promenade. There came a ’•on at the door and Miss Snrth. the tvmst, entered. “Miss Phil Abingdon and Doctor McMur- doch ” she said. Almost immediately Phil Abingdon came ir., accomr-.^nied by the sepul chral D<x’tov MeMurdtoch. Phil did not w^r mourning. Har ley recalled +h’'t there had been no time to .procure it. She was exqui sitely and fa”hmnably dressed, and even the paPor of grief could not rob her checks of the bloom born of Devon sunshine. He had expected her to be pretty. He was surprised to find her lovely. Dootor McM irdooh stood silent in the doo’*wav, s-av^g nothing by way of introdncHnn B”t nothing was nec essary. Phil Abingdon came forward quite naturally—ami quite naturally Paul Harley discovered her little JE t r r* WRiGLEYS DOUBLE ICMT-wsy to rcmexnt>er<— and nard to fov* gets once you’ve tried it. Keeps teeth white, breath sweet, aids appetite and digestion After CHAPTER VII. CONFESSIONS. Paul Harle-y crossed the room and, stood in front of the tall Burmese cabinet. He expreienced the utmost difficulty in adopting a judicial atti tude toward his beautiful visitor. “In the first place, Miss Abingdon,” he said, speaking very deliberately, “do you attach any particulai' signifi cance to the term ‘Fire-Tongue’?” Phil Abingdon glanced rapidly at Doctor McMurdoch. “None at’ Mr. Harley,” she replied. “And Mr. Nicol Brinn? Have met this gentleman?” “Never. I know that Dad had him and was very much interested in him.” “H’m,” muttered Harley, now, Miss Abingdon, can you lighten me respecting the identity of the Oriental gentleman with whom he had latterly become acquainted?” “Yes. He could only have meant Ormuz Khan.” Paul Harley gazed steadily at the speaker for a moment. “Can you think of any reason why Sir Charles should have worried about this gentle man?” he asked. The girl lowered her head again. “He paid me a lot of attention,” she finally confessed. “So far as you are aware, then, Miss Abingdon, Sir Charles never met Ormuz Khan?” “He mever-even saw him, Mr. Har ley, tly.t I know of.” • “H’m,” mused Harley. “That’s pos- sible. But such* was not my impres sion.” He turned again to Phil Abingdon. “This Ormuz Khan, I understood you to say, actually resides in or near London ?” “He Is at present living at the Savoy, I believe. He also has a house somewhere outside London.” Presently Harley went down to the street with his visitors. f “There must be so much more you wa®t to know, Mr. Harley,” said Phil Abingdon. “Will you come and see me?” Paul Harley walked through to the private office and, seating himself at the big, orderly table, reached over to a cupboard beside him and took out a tin of smoking mixture. He began very slowly to load1 his pipe, gazing abstractedly across the room at the tall Burmese cabinet. Raul Harley, having lighted his pipe, made a note on a little block: “Cover Activities of Orihuz Khan.” Hq smoked reflectively for a while and then added another notef all, : the busy London lKe around him, Paul Harley walked s’owly along the Strand. | From dreams which he recognized ’ in the moment of awakening to have j been of 1’hil Abingdon, he was sud- I denly aroused to the fact that Phil 1 Abingdon herself was present, Per- ' haps, half subconsciously, he had been ! looking for her. ' Phil Abingdon was coming from the direction of the Savoy Hotel. Was ’• it possible that she had been to visit I Ormuz Khan? I ’ Harley crossed the Strand and paused just in front of the hurrying,! black-clad figure. I She stopped suddenly, and through the black veil which she wore he saw | her eyes grow larger—or such was the effect as she opened them widely. Perhaps he misread theii* message, To him Phil Abingdon’s expression was that of detected guilt. More than: ever he was convinced of the truth; of his suspicions. “Perhaps you were looking for a cab?” he suggested. Overcoming her surprise, or what ever -.......... -........ „„ moment of this unexpected meeting, Phil Abingdon took Harley’s out stretched hand and held it for a mo ment before replying. “I had almost despaired of finding one,” she said, “and I am late already.” “The porter at the Savoy would get you one.” “I have tried there and got tired of waiting, she answered quite simply. For a moment Harley’s suspicions . were almost dispelled, and, observing an empty cab approaching, he signal ed to th man to pull up. “Where do you want to go to?” he , inquired, opening the door. “I am due at Doctor McMurdoch’s,” , she replied* stepping in. Paul Harley hesitated, glancing from the speaker to the driver. “I wonder if*you have time to come with me,” said Phil Abingdon. “I know the doctor wants to see you.” “I will come with pleasure,” re plied Harley, a statement which was no more than true. Accordingly he gave the necessary directions to the taxi man and seated himself beside the girl in the sab. “I am awfully glad of an oppor tunity of a chat with you, Mr. Har ley,” said Phil Abingdon. “The last few days have seemed like one long nightmare ’to me.” She sighed pa thetically. “Surely Doctor • McMur doch is right, and- all the horrible doubts which troubled us were idle ones, after all?” Now, Paul Harley had determined since the girl was unacquainted with Nicol Brinn, to conceal from her all that he had learned from that extra ordinary man. When he replied he replied evasive ly: “I have absolutely no scrap of evidence, Miss Abingdon, pointing to foul play. The circumstances were peculiar, of course, but I have every confidence in Doctor McMurdoch’s efficiency. Since he is satisfied, it would be mere impertinence on my part to question his verdict.” (To be continued.) met “And en- “Watch Nicol Brinn.” For ten minutes or more he sat smoking and thinking, hig unseeing gaW set upon the gleaming lacquer of the cabinet; and presently, as he smoked, he became aware of an ahi-upt aM mifteataF chili. His sixth sense 'whs awake. Taking up a pencil, he added a third mote; “Watch yourself. You arjC in ger,” dan- in over a couple of thousand square miles. Many live in teepees and the rest in log cabins, except two' or three ho. have board cabins. Mr. L.’s house was built by his father forty years ago of Boards sawed with a handsaws Some labor. He gives a party <pme a year after Xmas, The Preacher was so afraid we wouldn’t go that he came after us. It’s hard to find the trail in the snow and it’s a perfect maze to mo, but wo arrived at 7 p.m. and after a hot sup per tho L. children gavo their school program of music, recitations, songs, and dances. They have a big school house in the back yard and the eldest daughter teaches them. After' the program the dining room and big kit chen were cleared for dancing. Every body was there except five and the Catholic Mission. Th white women were elderly— wives who had followed their hus- I Roche to light, they are intermittent- ( bands in here. Old-fashioned, unbob- i ly. running a series letters from Mrs.; bed, and with long skirts, But it was Hilda Rose who is homesteading in like coming home, so warm was the | the Peace River Country near Fort I welcome I received from this lone- Their editorial c--------*■ ... — - -- - - is as follows: On our office map a blue star on the white waste area ; Canada marks the frontier home of Hilda Rose. From her Peace River claim have come letters enlisting our warm sympathy in a struggle which, through it seems almost unparalleled, doubtless has its counterpart in many an unchronicled life. Readers will re member Mrs. Rose’s letters written from her American Stump Farm which we published in February, March, and April, 1927. This later correspond ence- comes to us through the kindness of Dr. Mary Hobart of Massachusetts. In the earlier series Mrs. Rose and her seventy year old husband and nine year old son were camping in a tent in latitude 50 degrees. A few of the letters are as follows:— . Fort Vermilion, Alberta, -July 10, 1926 Dear Doctor-Lady:— I am now on the steamer going north and will land very soon, so«this will be a short letter so I can get it ready and leave It here on the steamer to take back to civilization. We will land at L. Point, which is ten miles- before we come to the trading post. There is only one white settler there and he is on the boat. He has fifteen children —is a very large, ‘fine-looking, jovial man. His father was a missionary and the first white man here. He has taken a great fancy to Daddy, and as he is- a very rich man his word is law on the river. The boat was crowded- and we had no berths and night was coming on. He called the purser and told him to give us a good state room and look after Mr. Rose, as he looked tired and needed rest. ’ Say, I never saw a man jump around so swiftly. The best stateroom was given to us and ^w’e.' had every atten tion as if we were rich. Daddy was eight days In the freight car and was in a dreadful state when he arrived. I took him to a hotel and gave a wo man a dollar to carry me four pails of water from the creek and heat two cans of it, and then I bathed the poor dear and put him to bed. He couldn’t even eat for exhaustion. He was just a helpless baby. . I’m so glad Mr. L. has taken charge of us. Now everything will be all right and I’ve quit worrying. Boy is the only child on the boat and is .very happy. Everybod wants him, and from the captain, who coaxes him up into his tower and lets him use his telescopes, to the engineer and deck hands-, he surely has a good time.* Leaving Edmonton, the freight that Daddy was on lost twelve cars just behind him. They turned turtle and piled up on the track so that my-train was delayed eleven hours. Finally we got going again and we had a wreck, but our car was left standing on the track. This was in a swamp and we were there six hours at night, and the mosplitoes descended on us and Boy almost lost his mind, though I wrapped his legs in my jacket and fanned him constantly. Finally they rustled up an old locomotive *and a freight car and took us.to Peace River Town. It was very crowded and the first-class passengers were horrified when they had to ride with- us emigrants. Three in a seat and on the floor, just as tight as could be. No lights, and they sang songs as we rode along, for most of us were happy to be going through the dark hills to safety. I have no time to write more, land looks green, lovely, and some. I am a little homesick, a tearful feeling. . February 9,1927 There are just 131 civilized in here. By “civilized" I mean speaking Eng lish andi wearing blothes. Of these, thirty-one are white, and I can count the white women on my fingers. The Preacher is a mine of information and our newspaper1. He likes us and is de lighted to think we are feally settling here. We sometimes talk about the “Bonny Lassie" left In England and the aged mother who won’t sell her antique and cherished old furniture and silver because she's keeping it to move right into the “Vicarage" when he becomes “£he. Vicar" of the little village church, He loves the freedom here ahd SAys he CAn’t go bACk to the narrow Ute ot the English. vicar. The Bonny Lasslq Is planning on coming h^rq this summer, Won’t that be fine? Pretty rough on this gentle English, girl to IlVA amongst Indians And trappers, but I Inow she ahd I will bq the best of frlonds Ahd she’s a briclcsif she cdffios. It’s a self- imposed exile for me and will'be for her, too. Lovo for your mate -makes you dating, but, it had Its compensa tions. osiee'W Quick, safe, sure relief from painful callouses on the fact. < At «U. Aug and shoe ::«rcs DJTScWl’s Ay Pwt one on—th® pain is gone ing The Atlantic Monthly Has Discovered a New Canadian Chronicler of Heart Inter esting Story, PIONEERING" TO-DAY The Atlantic Monthly brought Miss ercoiniug ner suiprisv, or wnai". Y’^ri'niljon emotion had claimed her at the „o <.n1i ' Military Defence Contribution Singapore Free Press: Hon. Mr. Bagnall has raised the question of the Military Contribution in Legis lative Council. If we confess that it was a little unexpected we admit that it was timely because it is very desir able that a careful watch should be maintained just now in this matter. The reasons for.this are, in the first place the Home Government is con scious that its expenses on defence generally—not military alone—are beginning to take shape as far as Singapore is concerned; in the sec ond place, the home taxpayer is carry ing extraordinarily heavy burdens, and in the third1 place the Home Gov ernment has realized that this part of the world has put up some notable sums of money in connection with Im perial defence and may therefore reasonably be suspected of being cap able of putting up more. Ballads Petty Stack in the English Review: The old Scottish ballads, which con tain some of the most delightful poetry in our literature, are not so widely known among, us as they should be. They can be read and en joyed equally by those who know much or little or nothing at all about ballad history, that vast and complex sub ject which scholars have found so fas cinating, and which has been the source of such endless controversy and conjecture. ’ To a certain extent all ballads are alike in form and style, and way ( Kg 1 everybody knows in a general how they are told. Would DO It Anyhow^ “Will you keep an. eyo on me go in?” “J me will!” If I Dividing one’s ‘happiness usually multiplies it. reflection and oblivious qf Mhiard’s Liniment lor Toothache. CHAPTER VIII. A WfaUtll OF HYACINTHS Deep in J Their editorial comment, some sisterhood, They held my hands so long; they didn’t want to let them go. They were nearly all from the States. One had gone insane—not very bad; you could see her mind was shattered. You know it takes some mental calibre to come in here and live alone apd not see a white woman more' than once or twice a year, you haven’t much in your head lonesomeness will get you. This man is poor white trash from the ton fields of Texas. She knows thing but work. I questioned about her life here in order to learn what I could of the loneliness that makes insanity among sheep herders and farm women- I see by one of your letters that you have no conception of how far north I am. Calgary is a large city crowded with cars. Farther north is (Edmo^ ton, also a big city. Next comes Peace River, a small town at the end' of the railroad. It has some autos and two wooden hotels. Each hotel has a bath-room in it, but you have to carry your water up from the creek and heat it on the kitchen range if you want to take a bath. Then I went on a steamer that holds thirty carloads of freight in the bottom. We went north all the way until we came o- the Great Slave Lake Region. We got off just this side of It in the wilderness. There are no autos in here. There are nine white people at Fort Vermilion, the Governor, doctor, Mounted Police-, Hudson Bay man, and so forth. Get a map and find the Great Slave Lake. A little south- of it—that’s here. Boy has already had two invitations from Indians to go trapping with them there when he gets a bit older. The Calgary, Edmonton, and Peace River Town districts are settled with farms till it looks like a checkerboard. Here is the primal wilderness. Un less I have the dog with me I never dare go out of sight of the house, as I get lost so easily. The white set tler’s wife and children have to, climb a tree quite<*frequently when picking berries to see in what direction -to go home. As there are no roads in the sea, so there are none here. May 31, 19^7 Boy and I went hunting yesterday together for the firgi time this year. He got four ducks, each time he shot getting his bird. The fifth time he shot he killed his duck, but she floated out of reach and the water was too deep for him to wade in after her. He can’t swim yet very well, and I can’t either. Of those he brought home, two were mig mallards, one was an Indian duck, and the other was a spoonbill. It’s all the meat we have and it’s very good. He is really getting to ^be a very good shot. Meat is very scarce here some years and has been so for quite a few years now, the Indians say. It’s too far north and the country is so large,, and wolves keep it down, too. But ducks are good as long as they last. After a while there will be prairie chickens. There are small deer here, hut they are very scarce. I have never segn one. In the muskegs there are moose, but except in winter they are impassable. Bands of large wolves feed on them. It’s such a big, wild country—big lakes, rivers, and muskegs; no trails and no people. Less than two human beings to each thousand square miles, and that means Indians, too. I won’t admit out loud that I’m lonesome, but it’s a Robinson Crusoe existence. Like be ing alive yet buried. Books will save my reason, and letters. Trappers tell me no white woman from the outside can stand it longer than six years. I’ll have to show them. Sincerely yours, Hilda Rose, So runs this epic of our Frontier. Can not some of our readers tnall a few books or Some magazines to Mrs. Rose, Fort Vermilion, N.W.T., to help her in her task of making a home in the far west. Surely it is not much to do and would be everlastingly ap preciated. Be surd there is sufficient postage on anything you send. Do it now. " Make Better 1 Bread Ask your grocer for ROYAL YEAST , CAKES y XK STANDARD OF QUALITY ^feFOR OVER 50 YEARS^^ of northwestern again The lone- Just Febriiafy 11, 1927 | These civilized. people afi scattered Wilson Publishing Company A SMARTLY SIMPLE FROCK. Extremely graceful is this attrac tive frock and a style the home mo diste will find quite simple to fashion. The flared skirt is joined to the bodice -having gathers at each shoulder, a vestee, and straight collar. The long sleeves may be loose, or gathered to narrow wrist bands, and a soft bow is placed at the front. No. 1640 is in sizes 36, 38, 40, 42 and 44 inches bust. Size 38 requires 3% yards 39-inch, or 2% yards 54-inch material, and % yard 39-inch contrasting for vestee. Price 20 cents the pattern. . Many styles of smart appeal may be found in our new Fashion Book. Ouredesigners originate their patterns in the heart of the style centres, and their creations are those of tested popularity, brought within the means of the average woman. Price of the book f0 cents the. copy. HOW TO ORDER PATTERNS. Write your name and address- plain ly, giving number and size of such patterns as you want. Enclose 20c in stamps or coin (coin preferred; wrap it carefully) for each number and address your order to Pattern Dept., Wilson Publishing Co., 73 West Ade laide St., Toronto. Patterns sent by return mail. Someone has told us that poetry and children belong together because ; they are the two loveliest things in the world. How are we going to bring them, still closer? How are we going to open wide and still wider The wee small 'door When someone comes knocking? Those of us who have the gift of( play, who love to do- what children do,' who feel and see and live with thprn, know that children are just naturally happy, joyous an-d playful. Even with, theii- interests seeming ly confined to the nursery, to the playroom, or to the fence about the garden, their capacity for enjoymout is often greater than ours, for theirs is natural and sincere, free from any prejudice- or unfortunate training. They are capable of thinking, feeling, acting their poetry. It is hard for the child to under stand the coldly technical angle of our educational training that seems- to rob him of so much joy. It is hard for him to undesrtand the mother and the teachei’ who insist on getting at tho exact meaning of the printed page, divulging the fact of the message, when he so much pre fers that everything be not explained. “In the unexplained lies his greatest pleasure.” Do the children not have their own choices, their own tastes-; their own friends among the poets? Have you watched your little child clamor for Mother Goose, dear old Mother Goose, whose every line sparkles with quaint queer imaginings, whose lhymes as fine as any wo can offer to children? Have you seen them for more and more of -that other child, far, far away that in another garden plays that, little child that Stevenson tures to us so sympathetically, small horizon, his tiny exquisite jccts of fancy, his clover trees rainpool seas? And have you quite recently heard vein* children laugh and chuckle with old Jim Jay, or live again with the old lady who went blackberry picking, 'halfway over from -weep to wlck- ing”? Yes, tho wee-small door has opened. Our children are reliving the dance, re-discovering the folk loro, ic- entering the poetry kingdom. They are learning to express thomselvcs, to “pull cut” of the-ir self-consciousness, and to weave their own dreams, their own times, their own aspirations, their very selves into patterns of beauty. We are living in a new era of charm and joy through our contemporary poets. Robert Frost, Vachel Lindsay, Carl Sandburg, Amy Lowell, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Sara Teasdale and all .the rest, have given to us a new solace, a sweet nectar to sip, have taken us all into the land of “choice colors and stories.” And the librarians, bless them! — have peeped right over the adult world straight into the hearts of the chil dren. They have brought to the lib raries the poetry written not about children, but for children. They are helping the children to look for that something in poetry that the-y look for in music or in beautiful friend ships. We have let the children in—their choices, their desires, their tastes are all considered. We allow them to make wee small poems of their own, to close their eyes and see and form their o-wn pictures, to travel afar “up a hill and a hill” and back again— for this is their birthright—“The word with, all its grace of meauing ami, melody is the heritage of all of the children of men.” P ic- li is ob- and J Not Another Drop. “I guess that stage haiid has sworn off?* “How sot” “I heard him say he Intended never to touch a drop again.*” The Present Generation Cloudesl 4 Brereton in the Con temporary Review: Like the poor, the present generation are always with us, and just as opinions of the poor vary from the Teunysonian dictum of regarding thru as bad in the lump to the soapbox orators cliche of their being a sort of exclusive and inex haustible reservoir of all the nation’s virtues, so have the opinions of thq younge generation, especially in their formative years, been equally diverse. At one extreme we have had the old- fashioned belief that the child is a potential criminal, and nothing br.t the right environment on quarantine lines can prevent his evil atuve com ing out. At the other extreme we hkve had the Rousseau dogma that he is born good, and that anything that goes wrong with him is the fault of his environment. An old carter in a Scottish village had a rare fund of eloquence. One day Jamie was driving a'cart loaded with sand up a steep hill, When some mischievous Jboys, seoifig thoir oppor tunity, knocked the tail-board out Of the Cart, and then, taking a short cut, reached the top of tho hill to hear what Jamie would bay When he ar rived thebe. When the cart got to the top, Jamie drew rein,- filled his pipe, And then sauntered round to see that everything was in order. When he got to tho back> ahd Saw whet had taken place, his eyns passed from tho effipty cart’to the expectant 'children. “Run awa’ ham.6, laddies,” ho said. “Run awa* haffio. I’m ho equal to tho occasion," An Absent-Minded Pianist ~ Sapellnikoff, the famous Russian pianist, is a curiously absent-minded man, and at times this trait is tho cause of queer contretemps. But his most amusing effort in this direction happened a year or two ago.. He was leaving his home one morning to motor into the country for a concert. .Seated in the car, and on the point ol starting, Sapellnikoff, suddenly dis covering he had run out of his favor ite brand of cigarettes, ran back into the hotel to see if he could procure some. He came out in a fqw minutes with a box in one hand and half a crown, which ho intended to give to the boots ,ln the other. As he got in to the car and shut the door, he hand ed the box of cigarettes he had just bought to tho boots, and drove .off, firmly clutching the half-crown, never noticing what ho had done until his friend match. by his side offered him a iMlnarcTa LlnlniOnt for A'tthfrta. Royal Vigilance National Review: We have fre quently heard returning Colonial Gov ernors, and Governors-General, con trast the close and intimate knowl- I edge and unabated keenness of our Royal Family in everything that con cerns the Overseas Empire with the relative ignorance and seeming indif- freOhce of most party politicians who are so preoccupied and ovei’whelmed by their common task and daily round' that they have neither time, energy, per inclinationJ to apply themselves to Imperial’ matters. In truth, the, British Empire would be jriowh^e but for the Crown and the unremitting ‘solicitude of the Sovereign and, the Royal0 Family for our feliow-«ubjects<, abroad and all their concerns Phyllis— “I’ll giV& Reg.hald crodit for getting mo a nice engagement ring." Oom—“I ixfide‘'ktand that’s WhM '‘he jeweller did, too."