The Cumby Rustler. (Cumby, Tex.), Vol. 20, No. 27, Ed. 1 Friday, October 6, 1911 Page: 3 of 8
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: Hopkins County Area Newspapers and was provided to The Portal to Texas History by the Hopkins County Genealogical Society.
Extracted Text
The following text was automatically extracted from the image on this page using optical character recognition software:
Boon
O&hh
£^LOUI<§ JOSEPH mNCE
AUTHOR OP “THE BRASS BOWL” ETC.
0QJLa95mOT0®c3S by \ngsf WAanEmg-
CGPYfVCKT BY J-Ol/SB c/CXSBJVi YA/YCB'
14
SYNOPSIS.
David Amber, starting for a duck-shoot-
ing visit with his friend, Qualn, comes up-
on a young lady equestrian who has been
dismounted by her horse becoming fright-
ened at the sudden appearance in the road
of a burly Hindu. He declares he is
Behari Lai Chatterji, “The appointed
mouthpiece of the Bell,” addresses Amber
as a man of high rank and pressing a
mysterious little bronze box, “The To-
ken,” into his hand, disappears in the
wood. The girl calls Amber by name.
He in turn addresses her as Miss Sophie
Farrell, daughter of Col. Farrell of the
BrlUsh diplomatic service In India and
Visiting the Quains. Several nights later
-—the Quain home is burglarized and the
bronze box stolen. Amber and Quain go
hunting on an island and become lost and
Amber is left marooned. He wanders
about, finally reaches a cabin and rec-
its occupa
ognizes as its occupant an old friend
named Rutton, whom he lasjt met in Eng-
land. and who appears to be in hiding.
strangely agitated. Chatterji appears
and summons Rutton to a meeting of a
mysterious body. Rutton seizes a revol-
ver and dashes after Chatterji. He re-
turns wildly excited, says he has killed
the Hindu, takes poison, and when dying
asks Amber to go to India on a mysteri-
ous errand. Amber decides to leave at
■once for India. On the way he sends a
letter to Mr. Labertouche, a scientific
- friend In Calcutta, by a quicker route.
Upon arriving he finds a note awaiting
him. It directs Amber to meet his friend
at a certain place. The latter tells him
he knows his mission is to get Miss Far-
rell out of the country. Amber attempts
!to dispose of the Token to a money-len-
der, is mistaken for Rutton and barely
■escapes being mobbed. A message from
(Labertouche causes him to start for Dar-
jeeling; on the way he meets Miss
jFarrell, and at their Journey’s end asks
her to become his wife. A Hindu con-
ducts Amber to a secret place.
i _
With no other word Salig Singh
turned and strode down the corridor.
CHAPTER XIV. (Continued)
.“Well, then, what do you want?
ftphy have you brought me here?”
1 “Why didst thou come? There was
no force used: thou didst come of
thine oVn will—thine own will, which
fs the will of the Body, hazoor!”
“Oh, damnation! Why d’you insist
<m beating round the bush forever?
You know well why I came. Now,
fwhat do you want?”
“My lord, I move, it seems, in the
ways of error. A little time ago the
words of the Voice were made known
to thee in a far land; thou didst an-
swer, coming to this country. A few
days agone I myself did repeat to you
the message of the Bell; thou didst
swear thou wouldst not answer, yet
art thou here in Kuttarpur. Am I to
be blamed for taking this for a sign
of thy repentance? . . . Hazoor,
the Body is patient, the Will benig-
nant and long-suffering* Still is the
Gateway open.”
"Is that what you wanted to tell
me, Saligh Singh 7'
I “Wljat else? Am I to believe thee
a madman, weary of life, that thou
shouldst venture hither with a heart
hardened against the .Will of the
Body? I seek but to serve thee in
thus daring thy displeasure. Why
shouldst thou come to Bharuta at all
If thou dost not intend to undergo the
Ordeal of the Gateway? Am I a fool
or—I say it in all respect, my lo/d—
art thou?"
"From the look of things, I fancy
the epithet fits us both Sallg Singh.
You refuse to take my word for It that
I know nothing of your infamous Gate-
way and have no intention of ever
approaching it, that I have not a drop
of Indian blood in me and am in no
way related to or connected with Har
Dyal Button, who is dead—”
“I may not believe what I know to
bs untrue.”
“You’ll have to learn to recognize
the truth, I'm afraid. For the final
time I tell you that I am David Am-
ber, a citizen of the United States of
America, traveling in India on purely
personal business.”
The Rajput inclined his head submis-
sively. “Then is my duty all but done,
hazoor. Thrice hath the warning been
Clven thee. There be still four-and-
twenty hours in which, it may be,
thou shalt learn to see clearly. My
lord, I ask of thee a single favor.
Wilt thou follow me?" He motioned
toward the arched entrance to the
passageway.
"Follow thee?” Amber at length
■dropped into Urdu, unconsciously
■adopting the easier form of communi-
cation now that, he felt, the issue be-
tween them was plain, that the Rajput
labored under no further misunder-
standing as to the reason of his pres-
ence in Khandawar. “Whither?”
“There is that which I must show
thee.”
"What?”
"My life be forfeit if thou dost not
return unharmed to the resthouse ere
aunrlse. Wilt thou come?”
“To what end, Salig Singh?”
“Furthermore,” the Rajput persisted
otubbornly, his head lifted In pride
and his nostrils dilated a little with
scorn—“furthermore I offer thee the
word of a Rajput. Thou art my guest,
since thou wilt have it so. No harm
shall come to thee, upon my honor.”
Curiosity triumphed. Amber knew
Ithat he had exacted the most honored
pledge known In Rajputana. His ap-
prehensions were at rest; nothing
could touch him now—until he had de-
Iturned to the bungalow. Then, he di-
fvined, it was to be open war—himself
|and Labertouche pitted against the
strength of the greatest conspiracy
/ known in India since the days of ’57.
But for the present, no pledge of any
sort had been exacted of him.
“So be it,” he assented on impulse.
“I follow.”
CHAPTER XV.
From a High Place.
The passageway was long and dark
and given to sudden curves and an-
gles, penetrating, it seemed, the very
bowels of the Raj Mahal. It ended un-
expectedly in a low arch through
which the two men passed into an
open courtyard, apparently given over
entirely to stables. Despite the late-
ness of the hour it was tenanted by
several wideawake syces, dancing , at-
tendance upon a pair of blooded stal-
lions of the stud royal, who saddled,
bridled and hooded, pawed and
champed impatiently in the center of
the yard, making it echo with the
ringing of iron on stone and the jin-
gling of their silver curb-chains.
Salig Singh paused, with a wave of
his hand calling Amber’s attention to
the superb brutes.
“Thou canst see, hazoor, that all Is
prepared!”
“For what?”
But Salig Singh merely smiled enig-
matically, and shaking a patient head,
^passed on.
A second arch gave upon a corridor
which led upwards and presently
changed into a steep flight of steps,
of ancient storn worn smooth and
grooved with the traffic of generations
of naked feet-. At the top they turned
aside and passed through a heavy
door which Salig Singh unlocked with
a private key, into a vast, vacant
room, with a lofty ceiling supported
by huge, unwieldy pillars of stone,
sculptured with all the loves and wars
of Hindu mythology. At one end the
fitful, eerie flare of a great bronze
brazier revealed the huge proportions
of an ivory throne, gorgeous with
gems and cloth of gold, standing upon
a dais and flanked by two motionless
figures which at first sight Amber took
to be pieces of statuary. But they
quickened, saluting with a single
movement and a flash of steel, as the
maharana drew nearer, and so proved
themselves troopers of the state,
standing guard with naked swords.
“There is no need, perhaps, to tell
thee, hazoor,” Salig Singh muttered,
bending to Amber's ear, “that sitting
upbn this throne, in this Hall of Au-
dience, for generations thy forefathers
ruled this land, making and adminis-
tering its laws, meting out justice,
honored of all men—and served, my
lord, for generations by my forebears,
the faithful stewards of thy house;
even as I would prove faithful.”
“Interesting,” Amber interrupted,
brusquely, “if true. Is this what you
wanted to show me?”
“Nay, hazoor, not this alone. Come.”
The rajput led him out of the hall
by way of a small doorway behind the
throne, and after a little turning and
twisting through tortuous passages
they began to ascend again, and so
went on up, ever upwards, the flight of
steps broken by other corridors, other
apartments, other galleries and gar-
dens, until at length they emerged
into a garden laid out in the very top-
most court of all—the loftiest ^pot in
all Kuttarpur.
It was a very beautiful garden, a
Jungle of exotic plants and shrubs
threaded by narrow walks that led
to secluded nooks and unsuspected
pleasaunces, and lighted by low-swung
festoons of dim lamps, many-colorfed.
“My lord,” said the maharana, paus-
ing, “if thou wilt wait here for a little,
permitting me to excuse myself—?”
“All right,” Amber told him toler-
antly. “Run along.”
Salig Singh quietly effaced himself,
and the American watched him go
with an Inward chuckle. “I presume
I’ll have to pay for my Impudence in
the end,” he thought; “but it’s costing
Salig Singh a good deal to hold him-
self in.” He moved away from the cis-
tern, idling down a path in a direction
opposite that taken by Salig Singh.
An abrupt turn brought him to the
outer wall, and he stopped to gaze,
leaning upon the low marble balus-
trade. '
Amber turned away to rejoin Salig
Singh by the cistern. But the rajput
was not there; and, presently, another
path tempting him to unlawful explo-
ration, he yielded and sauntered aim-
lessly away. A sudden corner cloaked
with foliage brought him to a little
open 8pace, a patch of lawn over
which a canopy had bee;a raised. Be-
neath this, a woman sat alone. He
halted, thunderstruck.
Simultaneously, with a soft swisk
of draperies, a clash of jeweled brace-
lets, dull and musical, and a flash of
coruscating color, the w^man stood
before him, young, slender; graceful,
garbed in indescribable splendor—and
veiled.
For the space of three long breathe
the Virginian hesitated, unspeakably
amazed. Though she wete veiled, it
were deep dishonor for a woman of a
rajput’s household to be seen by a
stranger. It seemed inexplicable that
Salig Singh should have unwittinglj
left him In any place where he might
encounter an inmate of/ the zenana.
Yet the maharana must have known
. . . Amber made an Irresolute
movement, as if to go. But it was toe
late.
With a murmur, inaudible, and a
swift, infinitely alluring gesture, the
woman swept the veil away from her
face, and looked him squarely in th^
eyes. She moved toward him slowly,
swaying, as graceful as a lawn, more
beautiful than any woman he had ever
known. His breath caught in his
throat, for sheer wonder at this incom-
parable loveliness.
Before he could collect his wits she
had made him captive—had without
warning cast herself upon her knees
before him and imprisoned both his
hands, burying her face in their
palms. He felt her lips hot upon his
flesh, and then—wonder of wonders! —
tears from those divine eyes streaming
through his fingers.
The shock of it brought him to his
senses. Pitiful, dumfoimded, horrified,
he glared wildly about him, seeking
some avenue of escape. There was no
one watching; he thanked heaven for
that, while the cold sweat started out
upon his forehead. But still at his
feet the woman rocked, softly sobbing,
her fair shoulders gently agitated, and
still she defied his gentle efforts to
free his hands, holding them in a
grasp he might not break without
hurting her. He found his tongue
eventually.
“Don’t!” he pleaded, desperately.
My dear, you mustn’t. For pity’s
sake don’t sob like that! What under
the sun’s the trouble? Don’t please!
. . Good Lord! what am I to do
with this lovely lunatic?”
Though in time the fiercest
paroxysm of her passion passed and
her sobs diminished in violence, she
clung heavily to him and made no re-
sistance when he lifted her in his
arms. The error was fatal; he had
designed to get her on her feet and
then stand away. But no sooner had
he raised her and succeeded in disen-
gaging his hands, than *“ soft, round
arms were clasped tightly about his
neck and her face—if possible, more
ravishing in tears than when first he
had seen it—pillowed on his breast.
And for the first time she spoke co-
herently.
“Aie!” she wailed, tremulously.
Aie! Now is the cup of my happi-
ness full to brimming, now that thou
hast returned to me at last, O my
( rrom the north, Laljl—the maiden who
had grown to womanhood ere thy re-
turn from thy travels to take up thy
father’s crown? . . . Aie! Thou
canst never forget, beloved; though
years and the multitude of faces have
come between us as a veil, thou dost
remember—even as thou didst remem-
ber when the message of the Bell
came to thee across the great black
waters, and thou didst learn that the
days of thy exile were numbered, that
the hour approached when again thou
shouldst sit in the place of thy fathers
and rule the world as once they ruled
it.”
A denial stuck in Amber’s throat.
The words would not come, nor would
they, he believed, have served his
purpose could he have commanded
them. If he had found no argument
wherewith to persuade Salig Singh,
he found none wherewith to refute the
claim of this golden-faced woman who
recognized him for her husband. He
was wholly dismayed and aghast. But
while he lingered in indecision, star-
ing in the woman’s face, her look of
petulance was replaced by one of di-
vine forgiveness and compassion. And
she gave him no time to think or to
avoid her; In a twinkling she had
thrown herself upon him again, was in
his arms and crushing her lips upon
his.
“Nay,” she murmured, “but I did
wrong thee, beloved! Perchance,” she
told him, archly, “thou didst not think
to see me so soon, or in this garden?
Perchance surprise hath robbed thee
of thy wits—and thy tongue as well,
O wordless one? Or thou art over-
come with joy, as I am overcome, and
smitten dumb by it, as I am not?
Aho, Lalji! wras ever a woman at loss
for words to voice her happiness?”
And nestling to him she laughed quiet-
ly, with a note as tender and sweet
as the cooing of a wood-dove to its
mate.
“Nay, but there is a mistake.” He
recovered the power of speech tardily,
and would have put her from him;
but she held tight to him. "I am not
thy husband, nor yet a rajput. I come
from America, the far land where thy
7
The Scarlet Lips Curled and the Eyes Grew Cold and Hard.
/
lord! Well-nigh had I ceased to hope
for thee, O beloved; well-nigh had
this heart of mine grown cold within
my boBom, that had no nourishment
save hope, save hope! Day and night
I have watched for thy coming for
many years, praying that thou
shouldst return to me ere this frail
prettiness of mine, that made thee
love me long ago, so fade that thy
heart should turn to other women.
O my husband!”
“Husband! Great—heavens! Look
here, my dear, hadn’t you better come
to your senses and let me go before—”
“Let thee go, Lalji, ere what? Ere
any come to disturb us? Nay, but who
should come between husband and
wife In the first hour of their reunion
after many years of separation? Is it
not known—does not all Khandawar
know how I have waited for thee, al-
most thy widow ere thy wife, all this
weary time? ... Or Is it that
thy heart hath forgotten thy child-
bride? Am I scorned, O my lord—I,
Narainl? Is there no love In thy bo-
som to leap in response to the love
of thee that is my life?”
She released him and whirled a pace
or two away, draperies swirling, jew-
els scintillating cold fire in hopeless
emulation of the radiance of her tear-
gemmed eyes.
“Naraini?” stammered Amber, re-
calling what he had heard of the wom-
an. “Naraini!”
“Aye, my lord, thy wedded wife!”
The rounded little chin went up a
trifle and her eyes gleamed angrily.
“Am I no longer thy Naraini, then?
Or, wouldst thou deny that thou art
Har Dyal, my king and my beloved?
Hast thou indeed forgotten the child
that was given thee for wife when thy
husband died. . . . Nay, it doth
pain me to hurt thee so, Ranee, but
the mistake is not of my making, and
it hath been carried too far. Thy hus-
band died In my presence—”
“It is so, then!” she cut him short
And his arms were suddenly empty,
to his huge relief. "Indeed, they had
warned me that thou wouldst tell this
story and deny me—why, I know not,
unless It be that thou art unworthy of
thy lineage, a coward and a weak-
ling!” Her small foot stamped angri-
ly and on every limb of her round
body bracelets and anklets clashed
and shimmered. “And so thou hast
returned only to forswear me and thy
kingdom, O thou of little spirit!” The
scarlet lips curled and the eyes grew
cold and hard with contempt. “If that
be so, tell me, why hast thou returned
at all? To die? For that thou must
surely come to, if it be in thy mind
to defy the behests of the Voice, thou
king without a kingdom! . . .
Why, then, art thou here, rather than
running to hide in some far place,
thinking’ to escape with thy worthless
life—worthless even to thee, who
art too craven to make a man’s use of
it—from the Vengeance of the Body?
. . . Dost think I am to be tricked
and hoodwinked—I, in whose heart
thine image hath been enshrined these
many weary years?”
"I neither think, nor know, nor
greatly care, Ranee,” Amber inter-
posed, wearily. “Doubtless I deserve
thine anger and scorn, since I am not
he who thou wouldst have me be. If
death must be my portion for this of-
fense, for that I resemble Har Dyal
Rutton . . . then it is written that
I am to die. My business here in
Khandawar hath concern neither with
father reigned in Khandawar, and thou , thee, nor with the state, nor yet with
wertbutaboy—a boy of ten, the Ma- the Gateway of Swords—of the very
haraj Har Dyal? Hast thou forgot- name of which I am weary,
ten the little maid they brought thee Now,” with his mouth settled in lines
! of unmistakable resolve, “I will go;
nor do I think that there be any her®
to stop me.”
He wheeled about, prepared to fight
his way out of the palace, if need be.
indeed, it was in his mind that a death
there were as easy as an hour after
sunrise; for he had little doubt but
that he was to die if he remained ob-
durate, and the hospitality of the raj-
put would cease to protect him the
moment he set foot upon the marble
bund of his bungalow.
But the woman sprang after him
and caught his arm. '‘Of thy pity,"
she begged, breathlessly, "hold for a
space until I have taken thought.
. . . Thou knowest that If what
thou hast told me be the truth, then
am I widow before my time—widowed
and doomed!”
“Doomed?”
“Aye!” And there was real terror
in her eyes and voice. "Doomed to
sati. For, since I am a widow—since
thou dost maintain thou art not my
husband—then my face hath been
looked upon by a man not of mine own
people, and I am dishonored. Fire
alone can cleanse me of that defile-
ment—the pyre and the death by
flame! ”
“Good God! you don’t mean that!
Surely that custom has perished!”
“Thou shouldst know that It dieth
not. What to us women In whose
bodies runs the blood of royalty, is
an edict of your English government?
What the Sirkar Itself to us in Khan-
dawar?” She laughed bitterly. “I aln
Rohilla, a daughter of kings; my diaK
honor may be purged only by flame
Arre! that I should live to meet with
such a fate—I, Naraini, to perish in
the flower of my beauty. . . . For
I am beautiful, am I not?” She dropped
the veil which instinctively she had
caught across her face, and met his
gaze with childish coquetry, torn
though she seemed to be by fear and
disappointment.
“Thou art assuredly most beautiful,
Ranee,” Amber told her, with a break
in his voice, very compassionate. And
he spoke simple truth. “Of thy
kind there is none more lovely in the
world. ...”
“There was tenderness then in your
tone, my lord!” she caught him up
quickly. “Is there no mercy in thy
heart for me? . . . Who is this
woman across the seas who hath won
thy love? .. . . Aye, even that 1
know—that thou dost love this fair
daughter of the English. Didst thou
not lose the picture of her that was
taken with the magic box of the sa-
hibs? ... Is it for her sake that
thou dost deny me, O my husband?
Is she more fair than I, are her lips
more sweet?”
“I am not thy husband,” he declared,
vehemently, appalled by her reversion,
to that delusion*. “Till this hour, I
have never seen t&B^^nor is the sa-
hiba of any concern to thee. Let me
go, please.”
But she had him fast and he could
not have shaken her off but with vio-
lence. He had been a strong man in-
deed who had not been melted to ten-
derness by her beauty and her dis-
tress. She lifted her glorious face to
him, pleading, insistent, and played
upon him with her voice of gold. “Yet
a moment gone thou didst tell me I
was greatly gifted with beauty. Have
I changed in thine eyes, O my king?
Canst thou look upon this poor beauty
and hear me tell thee of my love—and
indeed I am thine, altogether thine,
Lalji!—and harden thy heart against
me ? . . . What though it be as thou
hast said ? What though thou art of a
truth not of the house of Rutton, nor
yet a rajput? Let us say that this is
so, however hard It be to credit; even
so, am I not reward enough for thy
renunciation?”
“I know not thy meaning. Ranee,
I—”
“Come, then, and I will show thee,
my king. Come thou with me. . . .
Nay, why shouldst thou falter? There
is naught for thee to fear—save me.”
She tugged at his hand and laughed
low, in a voice that sang like smitten
glasses. “Come, beloved!”
Unwillingly, he humored her. This
could not last long. . . . The wom-
an half led, half dragged him to the
northern boundary of the garden,
where they entered a little turret
builded out from the walls over an
abyss fully three hundred feet in
depth. And here, standing upon the
verge of the parapet, with naught but
a foot-high coping between her and
the frightful fall, utterly fearless and
unutterably lovely, Naraini flung out
a bare, jeweled arm in an eloquent
gesture.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Engineer’s Brave Act.
Tom Shaunsey was running a hois*,
lng engine in a Nevada mine, where
three hundred men were employed On«
day, just after the twelve o’clock shift
had gone down into' the mine and
were well away from the main shaft
at work, it was suddenly discovered
that the hoisting works were on fir®.
The building was old and dry, and
burned like tinder, and, notwith-
standing all efforts to quench it, ft
burned so fast that it seemed as if th$
men in the mine were doomed to sui>
focation. The heat in the hoistinf
works drove out every one but Tom
Shaunsey, who stood by the engine,
with the lever in his hand, steadily
watching the cable as it ran through
the pulleys, with a speed never known
before. The men yelled to Tom to
come out, but he only replied with
a wave of his disengaged hand, un-
til the last cage-load of miners was
hauled to the surface. At the same
time part of the roof fell in; but Tom
was got out, with his right arm ter-
ribly burned and nearly choked. To
say that the miners were grateful
| would be superfluous, „nd between
them and the mining company the
brave engineer was handsomely re-
warded.
l^vOCTORS know
E' that Oxidine is a
most dependable sys-
tem-cleansing tonic.
Most useful in stirring
up lazy livers, sluggish
bowels and kidneys,
weak stomachs. Its ef-
fects are quick, safe,
sure and permanent,
OXIDINE
—a bottle proves.
The specific for Malaria, Chills
and Fever and all diseases
due to disorders of liver,
stomach, bowels ,
and kidneys. \
50c. At Your Druggiata
•turn BXHK1XS B1V» 00.0
Waco, Texas.
CAREYACT
animal installments. Ample water supply gaai
teed. IDAHO IRRIGATION CO., Richfield” Id
land and water i
to entr
_______’vote______
Idaho. *50.50 an acre In 19
rights.Open
try on Big Wood
Biver Project in Southern
ran-
REMEMBER
for Couchs L Colds
Such Is Fate.
“Why do you rock that boat?”
asked the wise man.
“Because, in case of accident,” r®
plied the fool, “I’m always saved.”
Wasted Opportunity.
Stella—What do you consider a
waste of opportunty?
Bella—A freight train going through
a tunnel.
Keeping Busy.
We are told that at New York’s com-
ing municipal budget exhibit bells will
be rung and lights flashed to show a
birth every four minutes, a death every
seven minutes and a marriage every
eleven nlinutes. *
Just what sort of demonstration is
made every time a cafe bottle pops, or
a bellboy is tipped, we are not told.
Degerierated.
Kid McCoy, the hero of 125 battle^
Is to open a sanitarium at Stamford.
He said the other day to a New York
reporter:
“I hope in my sanitarium to restore
lots of grumpy middle-aged people to
perfect health, and if I give them back
perfect health I’ll give them back
youth and gayety land romance. If mid-
dle age is stupid/if middle age is pro-
saic, it is only because the health of
middle age is poor.
"The woman,” he continued, “who
sends her grumpy mate to my estab-
lishment will no longer have to make
the bitter complaint of Mrs. Blank.
“ ‘My husband, 15 years ago,’ said
Mrs. Blank, ‘used to kiss me every
time we passed through a tunnel. But
now—’
“She gave a bitter laugh.
“ ‘Now,’ she said, ‘he takes a long
pull at his traveling flask.' ”
SOUND SLEEP
Can Easily Be Secured.
“Up to 2 years ago,” a woman writes,
“I was in the habit of using both tea
and coffee regularly.
“I found that my health was begin-
ning to fall, strange nervous attacks
would come suddenly upon me, making
me tremble so excessively that 1 could
not do my work while they lasted; my
6leep left me and I passed long nights
in restless discomfort. I was filled
with a nervous dread as to the future.
“A friend suggested that possibly
tea and coffee were to blame, and I
decided to give them up, and in cast-
ing about for a hot table beverage,
which I felt was an absolute necessity,
I was led by good fortune to try Dost-
um.
“For more than a year I have used.
It three times a day and expect, so
much good has it done me, to con-
tinue its use during the rest of my
life.
“Soon after beginning the use of
Postum, I found, to my surprise, th&U
instead of tossing on a sleepless bed
through the long, dreary night, I
dropped into a sound, dreamless sleep
the moment my head touched the pil-
low.
“Then I suddenly realized that all
my nervousness had left me, and my
appetite, which had fallen off before,
had all at once been restored so that
I ate my food with a keen relish.
“All the nervous dread has gone. I
walk a mile and a half each way to
my work every day and enjoy it. I
find an interest in everything that
goes on about me that makes life a
pleasure. All this I owe to leaving off
tea and coffee and the use of Postum.
for I have taken no medicine.” Name
given by Postum Co., Battle Creek,
Mich.
“There’s a reason,” and it is ex-
plained in the little book, “The Road
to Wellville.” in pkgs. -
Ever read the above letter? A new
one appear** from time to time. They
are arenulne, true, and full of kam*a
Interest.
Upcoming Pages
Here’s what’s next.
Search Inside
This issue can be searched. Note: Results may vary based on the legibility of text within the document.
Tools / Downloads
Get a copy of this page or view the extracted text.
Citing and Sharing
Basic information for referencing this web page. We also provide extended guidance on usage rights, references, copying or embedding.
Reference the current page of this Newspaper.
Morton, George M. The Cumby Rustler. (Cumby, Tex.), Vol. 20, No. 27, Ed. 1 Friday, October 6, 1911, newspaper, October 6, 1911; Cumby, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth770419/m1/3/: accessed April 25, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Hopkins County Genealogical Society.