The Huron Expositor, 1922-11-17, Page 7MegirGbi'sibfi9 I P` r+,it,Wj
ilifiert TACIT
I A
9a ,dj �t le to
ua
v .: goodbean*, .,
- a`�i ` grin the head ap;"
4Wipleaaant, neY04,.,.!
:worry, Outsize an,,.
o d, I'.had WAR hneV/p .
,Was to be laid up even
Rav9
egca
li a day in all my life( until
;fast -December. One afteeno J
got' ',p chill and no matter "'how
close I got to the stove, I couldn't
seem to get- warm. This chill
was followed by , s cold in my
chest. As usual I neglected it and
it
het* setting worse and worse.
Bally I had to gp . to bed and
send for the doctor,, His .pxam-
ination showed that I had p
ania and a bad' case at that.- y
m
careful nursing on the part of my
husband, my, . children and some
friends, I managed to pull
through, but the doctor told me I
had a narrow shave. And here's
where my troubles began. While
I was now out of danger, I was
• anything but . well. I was stilt
very weak from the effects of the
pneumonia. Although I had lots
of life and energy before my
sickness, I was now worn out end
time all, the time. I.slept fairly.
w fl, moue'because I was exhaust-
aexL But -lny sleep didn't refresh
me' because; while I appeared,
to be asleep, I was cons-
cious most of the time of what
went on around me. Although all
a kinds of tempting dishes were
prepared for me, I had no relish
for food. This sickness had al-
ready undermined my health to
such an extent that I was a
living skeleton. Y was getting
discouraged as nothing I took
seemed to do me any good. 'I
wonder if Carnal wouldn't build
you up,' a friend said one day, 'It
did me a world of good, I was
completely run down and you can
see for yourself -'how well I look
today. Why don't you try it ?
Thanks to this friend's advice I
am in perfect health again, as
healthy and as full of life and
vitality as I have ever been."
(larnol is sold by your druggist,
and if you can conscientiously say,
after you have tried it, that it
hasn't done you any good, return
the empty bottle to him and he
will refund your -money. 9-622
Sold by E. Umbach, Phm. B.
9 �u
u=;
10@IIIIIIi111111111111111!IIIIIII111111I10611111111111111111111111!IIiellIthelle1111111NNIIIl111N0
How
• Tire and Rubber
sales are
increased
by Lona. Distance
Quotations from recent reports:
"We have increased our
use of Long Distance,33-
1/3% for the `first six
months of 1922."
"When travellers come in
they leave a list of cus-
tomers they will be un-
able to call on the follow-
ing week, and these are
called by Long Distance
from the Branch Office."
"At each Branch we have
one man who does' nothing
but sell over the tele-
phone."
"One of bur staff is allot-
ted to take Long Distance
orders at his home after
business hours, so as to
secure the reduced rate
for night service."
"We often call up custom-
ers by Long Distance be-
tween salesmen's visits."
We can tell you how to
apply Long bisfanoe to
almost say business
Miss L. M. McCormack
Manager
Every. B«!1 Telephone is a
Long Distance Station
Only a Youth, but
Never Knew a Boyhood
George Adams Is a very weak boy
.—he's so weak he can't even turn
the pages of a book without feeling
pain. He has a good many brothers
and -sisters and his parents are very
poor. So when George put on long
\ trousers—he was jOat 12 at the time
he became a man and took upon
imself the task of earning money
or the family. /
He went to learn a trade in an iron
foundry, whore fumes and hard work
undermined a weak system and sowed
future trouble. Now and then one
other working member of the family
Prould cease earning through sickness..
or loss of job, and George would have
to keep his nose to the grindstone.
a fear forn it. hours
lifeach was juste make
work,
ark, work, until one day he drop -
ed on the floor. The company
hystclan, who examined him, pre-
ribed a year or two at the Muskoka
ospital for Consumptives. He pant
aderetand why he never had a boy-
Ood and none of the•.good things of
fe but he's fairly happy—he knows
brat on from his family safegs i'ds
pcpsp�, e s content, and he still has
oTher are many just such elegerVt
n need of treatment `t th,,_
Illus ora- Hospital. Will You lend dr
t i r.m -boeen tFlo.
re o
a nerign, ;d College Street
314101) &.Ne
�w, ' e' #%t .A1 1 ` Sfaitef :at .d
for an dietanti end' ilreyppLed into
revolxiug' f ir'Veoftit)g;1da deep,.
Then 'he Saki to a time Of Undte•
gniaed surprise
"IIreend you ten • thousand .' dollar's;
•iCantinufd from_ last week)
Truth Moved herd head and "niatled
the closer. How had she lived' all the
years of her life,.she thought te'herr.
self, without this shoulder to lean on
and this hand to guide her? She
made no answer. She had 'never
thought about these things in that
way before, hut. she would now. It
wa's so restful and so blissful just to
have him lead her, he who was so
strong and self-reliant, and whose vis-
ion was so clear, and who never dwelt
upon the little isssues. And it was
such a relief to reach up her arms
and kiss him and say, "Yes, blessed,"
and to feel herself safe in iiia ands.
She had never been able to do that
with her father. He had always lean-
ed on her when schemes of economies
were to be thought out, or details of
their daily lives planned. All this.
was changed now. She had found
Jack's heart wide open and Clad slip-
ped inside, his strong will henceforth
to be hers.
Still cuddling close, her -head on his
shoulder, her heart going out to him
as she thought of the next morning
and the task before him, she talked
of their coming move to the moun-
tains, alid of the log -cabin for which
Jack had hlready given orders;•of the
approaching' autumn and winter and
what they would make of it, and of
dear daddy's plans and profits, and
of how long they must wait before
a larger log -cabin --one big enough
for two—would be theirs 'for life—
any and every topic which she thought
would divert his mind—but Garry's
ghost would not down.
"And what are you going to do first,
my darling?" she asked at last, 'find-
ing that Jack answered only in mon-
osyllables or remained silent together.
"I am going to sea Uncle Arthur in
the morning," he answered quickly,
uncovering -his brooding thoughts. It
won't do any good, perhaps, but I
will try it. I have never asked him
for a cent for myself, and I won't
now. He may help Corinne this
time, now that Garry is dead. There
must be some outside money due
Ga'r'y that he has not been able to
collect—commissions on unfinished
work. This can be turned in when it
is due. Then I am going to Uncle
Peter, and after that to some of the
people we trade with."
. Breen was standing by the ticker
when Jack' entered. It was 'a busy
day in the Street and values were go-
ing up by leaps and bounds. The
broker was not in a ,good humor;
many of his customers were short of
the market.
He followed Jack into his private
office and faced him.
"Funeral'/ at one o'clock Sunday,
I see," he said in a sharp voice, as if
he resented the incident. "Your aunt
and I will be out on the noon train.
She got back this morning, pretty
well bunged up. ' Killed himself,
didn't he?"
"That is not the doctor's opinion,
sir, and he was with him when he
died."
"WEiI, it looks that way to me.
He's busted—and all balled up in the
Street. If you know anybody who
will take the lease off Corinne's hands
let me know, She and the baby are
coining to live with us."
Jack replied that he would make it
his business to do so, with pleasure
and after giving his uncle the details
of Garry's death he finally arrived at
the tangled condition of his saffairs.
treen promptly interrupted him.
"Yes, so Corinne told me. She was
in here one day last week and wanted
to borrow ten thou and dollars. I
told her it didn't grow on trees. Sup-
pose I had given it to her? Where
would it be now. Might as well have
thrown it in the waste -basket. So
I shut dqwn on the whole business—
had to."
Jack waited until his uncle had re-
lieved his mind. The state of tali
market had something to do with his
merciless point of view; increasing
irritability, due to less of sleep, and
his habits had more. The outburst
over, Jack said in a calm direct
voice, watching the effect of the
words as a gunner watches a shell
from his gun:-
"Will
un:"Will you lend it to me, sir?"
Arthur was pacing his private of;
five, -casting about in his mind how
to terminate the interview, when
Jack's shot overhauled him. Garry's
sudden death bad;already led him to
waste a few more minutes of his
time than he was accustomed to on a
morning like this, unless there was
business in it.
trW., �ud,'la.'•,
3.4
What r
"To clear pp tome: matters . of.
Garry's at Cbbriclesvfle: 'the Ware-
house matter has been Closed out, so
'Corinne tells me.".
"Oh, that's .it, is it?- I . thought
you 'wanted.' it for yourself. Who
signs for it?
"I do."
"On what collateral?"
"My word."
Breen leaned back in his chair.
The unsophisticated innocence .of this
boy from the country would be amus-
ing if it were not so stupid.
"What are you earning, Jack?" he
said 'at last with a half derisive, half
humorous expression on his face.
"A thousand dollars a year.",Tack
had never taken his eyes from his
uncle's face, nor had he moved a
muscle of his body.
"And it would take you ten years
to pay it if you dumped it all in?"
Yea
"Got anything else to offer?" This
came in a less supercilious tone. The
calm, direct manner of the young
man had begun to have its effect.
"Nothing but my ore property."
"That's good for nothing. I made
a mistake when I wanted you to put
it in here. Glad- you didn't take me
up„
"So am I. My own investigation
showed the same thing"
"And the ore's of poor quality,"
continued Breen in a decided tone.
"Very poor quality, what I saw of
it," rejoined Jack.
"Well, we will check that off. Mac-
Farlane got anything he could turn
in?"
"No—and I wouldn't ask him."
"And you mean to tell me, Jack,
that you are going broke yourself to
helm.a dead man pay his debts?"
"If you choose to put it that way."
"Put it that way? Why, what
other way is there to put it? You'll
excuse me, Jack—but you always
were a fool when your damned idiotic
notions of what is right and wrong
got into your head—and you'll never
get over it. You might have had an
interest in my business by this time
and be able to write your check in
fouiil figures; and yet here you are
cooped up in a Jersey village, living
at a roadside tavern, and getting a
thousand dollars a year. That's what
your father did before you; went
round paying everbody's debts; never
could teach him anything; died poor,
just as I told him he would."
Jack had to hold on to his chair to
keep his mouth closed. His father's
memory was dangerous ground for
any man to tread on—even his father's
brother; but the stake for which lie
was playing was too great to be risk-
ed by his own anger.
"No, Jack," Breen continued, gath-
ering up a mass of letters and jam-
ming them into a pigeon -hole in
front of him, as if the whole matter
was set forth in their pages and he
was through with it forever. "No—
I guess I'll pass on that ten thou-
sand -dollar loan. I am sorry, but
A. B. & Co. haven't any shekels for
that kind of tommy-rot. As to your
helping Minott, what I've got to say
to you is just this: let the• other fel-
low walk—the fellow Garry owes
money to—but don't you butt in.
They'll only laugh at you. Now you
will have to excuse me—the market's
kiting, and I've got to watch it. Give
my love to Ruth. Your aunt and I
will be out on the noon train for the
funeral. Good -by."
It was what he had expected. He
would, perhaps, have stood a better
chance if he had read him Peter's en-
couraging letter of the director's
opinion of his Cumberland property,
and he might also have brought him
up standing (and gone away with
the check in his pocket) if he had
told him that the money was to save
his own wife's daughter and grand-
child from disgrace—but that secret
was not his. Only as a last, desper-
ate resource would he lay that fact
bare to a man like Arthur Breen, and
perhaps not even then. John Breen's
word was, or ought to be, sacred en-
ough on which to borrow ten thou-
sand dollars or any other sum. That
meant a mortgage on his life until
every cent was paid.
Do not smile, dear reader. He is
only learning his first lesson in mod-
ern finance. All young men "rais-
ed" as Jack had been—and the
Scribe is one of them—would have
been of the same mind at his age. In
a great city, when your tea -kettle
starts to leaking, you never borrow
a whole one from your neighbor, you
send to the shop at the corner and
buy another. In the country—Jack's
country, I mean—miles from a store,
you borrow your , neighbor's, who
promptly borrows your saucepan in
return. And it was so in larger
matters: the old Chippendale desk
with its secret drawer was often the
bank—the only one, perhaps, in a
week's journey. It is astonishing in
these days to think how many dingy,
tattered or torn bank -notes were fish-
ed out of these same receptacles and
handed over to a neighbor with the
customary—"With the greatest plea-
sure, my dear sir. When you can
sell your -corn or hogs, or that mort-
gage is paid off, you can return it."
A man who was able to lend, and
who still refused to lend, to a friend
in his adversity, was a pariah. He
had committed the unpardonable sin.
And the last drop of the hest Madeira
went the same way and with equal
graciousness!
Peter, at Jack's knock, opened the
door himself. Isaac Cohen had just
come in to show him a new book, and
Peter supposed some one from the
shop .below had. sent upstairs for
a
a
Tlin
Oleg -'p aoke
'his;Arrbead.
ayandouill $ctin>p( aJack hecioalpsIy.ailed
,
".paj oyy?"
In an anxious £onef ,$ding Marto, a
seat on the sofa "Von look terribly
worn." .
"We :allhaYtkp te. troubles,:: Uncle
Peter," Jack re lre4'rwlth a glance at
Cohe1i, who had risen from/ his chair
to Alike his hand.
"Yes—but not you. Out with it!
Isaac doesn't count, Anything you
can tell me youcantell him, What's
the matter?—ie it Ruth?"
Jack's face cleared. "No, she is
lovely, and sent you her dearest
love."
Then it's your- work up in the
valley?"
"No—we begin in a month. Every-
thing's ready—or will be."
"Oh!.I see, it's the loss of Minott.
Oh, yes, I understand it all now. For-
give me, Jack. I did not remember
how intimate you and he were once.
Yes,it is a dreadful thing to lose a-
friend.. Poor boy!" -
"No—it's not that altogether, Uncle
Peter."
He could not tell him. The dear
old gentleman was ignorant of every-
thing regarding Garry and his affairs
except that he was a brilliant young
architect, with a dashing way about
him, of whom Morris was proud. This
image 'he could not . and would not
destroy. And yet something must be
done to switch Peter from the main
subject -at least until Cohen should
leave.
"The fact is I have just had an
interview with Uncle Arthur, and
he has rather hurt my feelings," Jack
continued in explanation, a forced
smile on his face. "I wanted to
borrow a little money. All I had to
offer as security was my word."
Peter immediately became interest-
ed. Nothing delighted him so much
as to talk over Jack's affairs. Was
he not a silent partner in the con-
cern? -
"You wanted it, of course, to, help
out on the new work," he rejoined.
"Yes, it always takes money in the
beginning. And what did the old
fox say?"
Jack smiled meaningly. "He said
that what I called 'my word' wasn't
a collateral. Wanted something bet-
ter. So I've got to hunt for it some-
where else."
"And he wouldn't give it to you?"
cried Peter indignantly. "No, of
course not! A man's word doesn't
count with these pickers and stealers.
Haji—three-quarters—of the business
of the globe is done on a man's word.
He writes it on the bottom or on the
back of a slip of paper small enough
to light a cigar with—but it's only
his word that counts. In these mouse
traps, however, these cracks in the
wall, they wart something they can
get rid. of the momerirsainebody else
says it is not worth what they loan-
ed on it; or they want a bond with
the Government behind it. Oh, I
know them!"
Cohen laughed—a dry laugh --yin
compliment to Peter's way of put-
ting it—but there was no ring of
humor in it. He had been reading
Jack's mind. There was something
behind the forced smile that Peter
had missed—something deeper than
the lines of anxiety and the haunted
-look in the eyes. This was a dif-
ferent lad from the one with whom
he had spent so pleasant an evening
some weeks before. What had caus-
ed the change?
"Don't you abuse them, Mr. Gray-
son—these pawnbrokers," he said in
his slow, measured way. "If every
man was a Turk we could take his
word, but when they are Jews and
Christians and such other unreliable
people, of course they want something
for their ducats. It's the same old
pound of flesh. Very respectable
firm this, Mr. Arthur Breen & Co.—
very respectable people.- I used to
press off the elder gentleman's coat
—he had only two—one of them I
made myself when he first came to
New York—but he has forgotten all
about it now," and the little tailor
purred softly.
If you had pressed out his morals,
Isaac, it would have helped some."
"They didn't need it. He was a
very quiet young man and -very polite
not.so fat, or so red or so rich as he
is now. I saw him the other day in
our bank. You see," and he winked
slyly at Jack, "these grand people
must borrow sometimes, like the rest
of us; but he never remembers me
any more." Isaac paused for a
moment as if the reminiscence had
recalled some amusing incident.
When he continued his face had a
broad smile—"and I must say, too,
that he always paid his bills. Once,
when he was afraid he could not pay,
he wanted to bring the coat back,
but I wouldn't let him. Oh, yes, a
very nice young man, Mr. Arthur
Breen," and the tailor's plump body
shook with suppressed laughter,
"You know, of course, that he is
this young man's uncle," said Peter,
laying his hand affectionately on
Jack's shoulder,
"Oh, yes, I know about it. I saw
the likeness that first day you came
in," he continued, nodding to Jack.
"It was one of the times when your
sister, the magnificent Miss Grayson
was here, -Mr, Grayson." Isaac al-
ways called her so, a merry twinkle
in his eye when he said it, but with a
face and voice showing nothing but
the deepest respect; at which Peter
fo
8'.lYltY'k •.'t. aft ", eray� WIT S
'bald li4."'al;ut tf11'.00ly
; fretted aiawnst , t9 iiia
'Waited- until' that-eol�uud cif
retreating footstepa'.Misused MAW/permdaseut: departure, thanhe tu$ed
PI, did: telt want to say too much
before U•r.. Cohen, but Caere :Arthur's
refusal bps upset me completely- I.
could . not have believed ;ft o. him.
You nlusi; help use somehows.r, Uncle
Peter„ I•don't mean with ;your awn
money;. you have not got it to spare
—but so' I' can get it somewhere. I
must have it and I can't rest until I
do get it."
"Why, my' dear boy! Is it so bad
as that? I thought you were jok..
ung"
I tried to joke about it while Mr.:
Cohen was here, but he saw through
it, I know, from the way he spoke;
but this really is a very serious mat-
ter; more serious than anything that
everhappened to me,"
Peter walked to the sofa and sat
down. Jack's manner and the tone
of his voice showed that a grave
calamity had overtaken the boy. He
sat looking into Jack's eyes.
"Go on," he said, his heart in 'his
mouth.
"I must have ten thousand dollars.
How and where can I borrow it?"
Peter started. "Ten thousand dol-
lars!" he repeated in undisguised
surprise. "Whew! Why, Jack,
that's a very large sum of money for
-yqu to want. Why, my dear boy,
this is—well—well!"
"It is not for me, Uncle-Peter—
or I would not come to you for it."
"For whom is it, then?" Peter ask-
ed, in a tone that showed how great
was his relief now that Jack was not
involved,
"Don't ask pie, please."
Peter was about to speak, but he
checked himself. He saw it all now.
The money was for MacFarlane, and
the boy did not like to say so. He
had heard something of Henry's fin-
ancial difficulties caused by the dam-
age to the "fill." He thought that
this had been made good; he saw now
that he was misinformed.
"When do you want it, Jack?" he
resumed. He was willing to help, no
matter who it was for.
"Before Monday night."
Peter drew out his watch as if to
find some relief from its dial, and
slipped it into his pocket again. It
was not yet three o'clock and his bank
was still open, but it did not contain
ten thousand dollars or any other sum
that he could draw upon. Besides,
neither Jack, nor MacFarlane, nor
anybody connected with Jack, had an
account at the Exeter. The discount-
ing of their notes was, therefore out
of the question.
"To -day- is a short business day,
Jack, being Saturday," he said with
a sigh. "If I had known of this be-
fore I might have—and yet to tell
you the simple truth, my boy, I don't
know a human being in the world
who would lend me that much money,
or whom I could ask for it."
"I thought maybe Mr. Morris might
if you went to him, but I understand
he is out of town," returned Jack.
"Yes," answered Peter in a perplex-
ed tone—"yes—Holker has gone to
Chicago and won't be back for a week.
He, too, had thought of Morris and
the instantaneous way in which he
would have reached for his check-
book,"
"And you must have it by Monday
night?" Peter continued, his thoughts
bringing into review one after the
other all the moneyed men he knew.
.,'Well—well—that is a very short
notice. It means Monday to hunt in,
really—to-morrow being Sunday."
He leaned back and sat in deep
thought, Jack watching every expres-
sion that crossed his face. Perhaps
Ruth was mixed up in it sonic way.
Perhaps their marriage depended
upon it—not directly, but indirectly
—making a long postponement in-
evitable. Perhaps MacFarlane had
spine old score to settle. This con-
tracting was precarious business.
Once before he had known Henry to
be in just such straits. Again he •
consulted his watch,
i
Bond for free hook
giving cull partic-
ulars of Trench's
world-famous prop-
arationfor Epilepsy
and Fits— simple
home treatment.
Oven BO *an- re' memo. 'rostimelrlale from all parte
Otthe world; o • r 1000 In ono par write at Onooto:
TRENCH'S REMEDIES LIMITED
2607 Bt.Jam5s'oCohntrtotb N. 79 AdelatdoSG B.
(Continued next week.)
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Nn Firs'" trio 4 sN i ,.;jy">
q p fl fig i" F ri
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�ilt)1!ig?r !sax': fljl'�f
A- Big'Bakc c�
with fine lathering -a
for the family wash
•or use ie wailing:m iInes a ovt:it
■ portioe of the "SI7 PRt$ it ti
to . the mscbled- •It ei ' o 6na, sea
i
Itj
$
i
�s
Intimate Things
—the clothing you wear next to
your skin.
Underwear that suits you exactly
—sox that are good to your feet—
bow much they mean in the day's
work and your enjoyment of life.
There is a class of men—and it is
growing fast—who are not satisfied
with anything less than the finest
products of the Mercury Mills.
Good shops everywhere can
supply you with. eu
r
hl
Underwear and Hosiery
D
"Iljercuryited-dlaniilfon—Canada
MAKERS OF HOSIERY AND UNDERWEAR
FOR MEN. WOMEN AND CHILDREN.
H
RIER
/6-ert
PACKAGES IV
"Iiiileseveawarea,,
1."1/414.'17'4sat'al. t,L q• S
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T I i±t!
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