Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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-- YEbbOW JIS^E^. ^ IOTA. CHAPTER XXXIV. One morning Strange came into his wife’s boudoir with his whip in his hand, and a light overcoat on his arm. “I am going out beyond High- gate,” he said, “to see a pointer pup, it is a pretty drive, would you like to come?” She had been thinking with a sort of dread of the hours that must run before the darkness came, and of the numbe's of times she would be expected to smile, to return brilliant ans wers to dull questions, and gen erally to keep up her superb deception. She had a dozen engagements but she decided to go with him. He drove a high mail phaeton that ran very lightly. “That Highgate hill is a bad one,” he said as they were start ing, giving the brake a sharp tug, “I don’t think this will cave in easily, however.” “Besides, Hengist and Horsa can be trusted anywhere,” said Gwen, who knew nothing of or dinary nervousness. “1 wouldn’t trust anything in horseflesh down a steep hill with the brakes off. Look down that mesh of streets! Taking it in patches there isn’t a more hideous, sprdid, mean hole in the world than this Lon don, just look through that lane!” Gwen gave a shrug of dis gust. “It’s all frightful and gray and deadly dull, but that never strikes me as the worst pari of life in these places. It is the hideous want of privacy that revolts me, and the awful near ness of one human creature to nnother, the sheer impossibility of thinking, or feeling, or look ing, except under observation, the horrible indecent openness of life.” “What do you know about it?” he asked laughing. “Oh, I have done slumming in my time, under Mrs. Meades’ wing. 1 like new experiences, you know. We saw a great many frightful things while the craze lasted, but the worst of all was a cobbler’s menage. He had a wife and seven children, and they lived in two rooms, he never went out, that man neith er did his wife; she squatted on the floor all clay and cleaned things with a patent soap which smelt worse than they did, and he saw all she did and thought and felt; the awful hunted look of that woman was a thing to dream of. “While Mrs. Meades talked— ‘religion’ she called it—the cob- ler sewed leather, and glanced now and again at his wife in a way to make your blood freeze, and then he would hold up his awl in a ghastly fashion, and grin at her over it; it was no bit of steel he was gloating over, it was his wife's soul held up on that awl. “But putting husbands and wives out of the question,” she went on, “this appalling near ness of living is most horrible. One must feel forever on a dis secting table, havin one’s most hidden nerves pulled out one by one.” “They have no nerves, and they don’t experiment on one another, those people; they don’t live enough for that, they exist in a smoky thick atmos phere of indifference.” “That man did experiment, and his wife was not indifferent; she was nerves and nothing else.” “These were exceptions.” “The worst tragedies are made out of exceptions.” “Probably, exceptions are mostly unnatural.” “It is not unnatural to object to have one’s seusations flayed j^ive!” “Such sensitiveness is unnat Ural to a low under-fed semi- sentient state of life, such peo- E le have enough to do to keen ody apd soul together, without considering them apart.” “But I contend they do con sider them apart, they do make investigations.” “Yes, into the vices of their betters, which have a perennial interest for them as being be yond their reach. You won’t catch them as a rule classifying one another and flaying souls. These are the distractions of the leisure classes.” “Then,” said Gwen, “I wash I had been born in the other class. ” “To what purpose” said her husband, “you would have been an exception.” “Oh, then,” she said impa tiently, “I shall in future re serve all my pity for the excep tions, and retain my normal hardness of heart for the other crowd. I never could get uni versal philanthrophy to appeal tc me, and it’s comfortable to put one’s want of humanity on a reasonable basis. But these generations of square pegs in round holes, they worry ouel And yet people speak of a just God!” “Poor God! What should we do without that universal scape grace?” As if He had anything to do with the matter! The fathers have trusted to chance, and the children suffer. “But at any rate whether the fathers of God are the real scape goats it’s quite original nowadays to profess faith in justice, and to refrain from rail ing against the Almighty, so we’ll let God and heredity have a rest; besides, we are losing the pauper scent and getting i that of the country—did you i catch that whiff? lam glad we j are down this hill, the horses I are unaccountable.” | “Hengist actually looks like j kicking,” said Gwen. 1 “Bell, get off, will you, I be lieve there is a fly somewhere I can’t spot.” “Sure enough, three on ’em, sir; and them horses is mortal thin skinned since their clip ping yesterday.” “What a duffer I was,” said Strange to his wife, “not to look at them before we started they are probably not half groomed and are tickling like the deuce, and I can’t even have tho satisfaction of swearing about it properly, as I was eve ry bit as careless myself.” A quick little conviction shot into Gwen, that whatever God and the general ruck of fathers might be, her husband was just enough. This silenced her for two solid miles. When they got near the Inn, Strange suggested that they had better stay and lunch there. * “Oh, yes, it really doesn't matter,” she said. “I wonder what does, in her present mood?” thought Strange, as he helped her down. As ill luck would have it, a wretched faint feeling she had experienced once or twice be fore, came on her, and she reel ed a little in her husband’s hands. He looked at her in the most utter astonishment, he hadn’t fathomed her yet it seemed. “Are you ill?” he asked. She blushed suddenly. “No, my foot got twisted in my shoe lace.” “The girl is lying,” he thought, with a most unpleas ant shock. He brought her into a small, clean, quaint old room, fragrant with mignonette, a bunch stood in a glass on the cottage piano and there was a long green box full of it on the window-sill. “Now si v in here in the shade,” he said, “and take off your hat, and rest.” He stood for a moment and watched her then he arranged the pillows on the couch and made her lie down, with an in- volunViry protecting manner quite unlike his usual airs of equality and sexlessness. That lie had made her all at once so young to him, so infi nitely pathetic. He could have taken her in his arms like a little child, and hushed her to sleep. W hen he had gone she clench - ed her hands in a rage. “One can’t call one’s soul one’s own with such a man!” she muttered, “it’s bondage worse than death. Talk of that cobbler, he is not the only man who holds his wife’s soul on an awl—oh, the horrible, horrible, horrible indecency of marriage without love! And this vile pretense of fair living!” she went on, sitting up and staring out of the winder, “the jokes we have together, and the talks!” She got up and went about the room examining the curios* ities, the stuffed birds, and the shells, and the awful oleo graphs. “What’s this!” she said, lift ing the glass from some glitter ing object, but she dropped it as if it stung her. “Ah, why did I touch it? I am sick to death of every thing.” She went over to the sofa and flung herself back among the cushions. It was a great slab of frosted wedding-cake, kept over for the first christening. “Oh, it’s ail a most frantic joke!” she said. “Here he comes, I must sit up and play to my audience, knowing all the time the audience sees into the marrow of my bones.” She was not perhaps quite sane, as saneness goes, all through their lunch, but she was strangely brilliant, her eyes flashed with a queer fluttering light, her lips were soft and mobile, and she ate her chicken with a will, and only that her natural fineness of nature re strained her, she would have seized the big cut glass decanter of wine and have drained it at a gulp. But She kept the curb well on and neve. onc4 flagged in her course, which surprised herself even, more than it did her husband. But wh^en he went out to see the horses ^mt in she had ittle ■» tw ininwisn.n ii iW.a—Wi private collapse all to herself. It was hotter than ever and the flies grew more troublesome, I but it was all very fresh and green. “I never knew this part was so pretty,” she said as they were driving through a chest nut-bordered lane. Talking was an effort but it seemed a less exhaustive one than sitting there mute under her husband’s reflections. “It’s pretty,” he said absent ly, “and almost as little known as Central Africa; look at the indifferent calm estate of those cows, they might live in the desert for anything they know of the noise of life.” “Yes, and here we are in the thick of genteel barbarism.” said Gwen, as they turned into the high road, “ft is well for the cows that they live by sight, not by imagination; it’s a hor rid anomaly, the cows and the country, and not a hundred yards away ‘Arry rampant,” “I believe I like the combina tions, still life, and life in the in the struggle, and ‘Arry every- were, from cradle to grave, his cemetery not a stone-throw away.” “Your toleration is rather ov erpowering,” remarked Gwen sardonically, “you speak in the same kindly good humored way of ’Arry and of God, adopting the same heavy-fatherly style to botn.” “I really beg their pardons, but as a matter of fact, I look on them both as much-maligned beings and as requiring the con scientious championship of all honest citizens. We judge the two, the Potter and His clay, by measuring them by our own standards. I think, for my own part, it’s amazing impudence to sit at one’s ease and damn "Arry as is the vogue now; nearly as much the vogue as sitting at ease and criticizing the Al mighty. I must, however, leave God and man, and pro ceed to think chiefly of horses for the present. Look at those brutes of donkey carts'” They were just going up the hill which was abnormally crowd ed. The donkey cans were ub iquitous. “I never saw them so thick before,” said Strange, “why, I forgot, of course, it’s a holiday! I wonder if it will be so crowd ed down the hill? Those tram lines are the deuce for hoofs.” They drove on silently be tween the rows of quaint old houses, till they got to the crest of the hill coming down toward Holloway. “The horses seem steady enough now,” said Gwen. “Yes, they’re all right—jsut as well too. Did you ever see such a crowd?—Phew!” There was a rustle and a fly ing glimmer of white from a costermonger’s cart coming slowly up the hill behind a jad ed ass. It was the Echo of the day be fore caught by a sudden flicker ing breeze, and carried fantasti cally to and fro right under the horses, noses; they threw up their heads and sniffed angrily, but Strange had them well in hand, end soothed their terror gently, and being no fools the brutes were just realizing the causelessness of their fright when a demon got into the breeze, caught the paper in its clutches, and with a rushing swirl of leaves, dashed it into Hengist’s two eyes right be tween the blinkers. Blinded, tickled, irritated to madness, the horse lashed out wildly, plunged forward, carry ing Horsa with him, and tore down the hill. They were beyond restraint now, it was only possible to swing them by sheer strength out of destruction’s way. It was a touch-and-go game from the first. Just as they got very nearly down the bill, there was a sud den jarring click. Gwen saw her husband’s leg drop sharply. He turned one look on her. “Brake’s gone!” he shouted, sawing the mouths of the fran tic horses till the veins stood out like cords on his wrists. He would have felt the whole thing less hideous and awful if even then he could have seen one sign of failing courage in his wife, if she had once clutch ed him; once cried out. once showed an atom of weak wo manhood. But in all the mad tumultuous race with death her calm inscrutable, half-scornful face loomed on him, watching each movement of his, and not one shade paler. Hhe was more beautiful and less of a woman than she had ever been in all her life. They were just at the twist of the hill, the traffic was den ser than ever, the carriage swayed wildly, and the shrill screaming of women was giving the last touch to the horses madness. The final brash was upon them. “One last experiment,” thought Strange, laughing aloud in a grim spasm of humor. “Gwen!” he shouted, “will you kiss me once, as women kiss men?” She might have done it with out that clause, she changed color for the first time, her mouth twitched, she loosed her hands from their half-mechani cal grasp on the seat, and look ed in her husband’s face laugh ing above her. No tears ever held the pathos of that laugh. Why can’t I kiss him and be done with it?” she thought wild ly “Truth or lie, what matter it now!” She moved forward slightly with curved lips, then she look ed again, one little look, but it was enough, her hands fell limp into her lap, and she shiv ered from head to foot “No!” she shouted, her eyes aflame, “if that had been possi ble I shouldn’t have left it until now.” She pulled herself together to show a decent front to death. The silent laugh on Strange’s face broke into sound, above all the bedlam of clang and yell, then it ceased suddenly. Great spouts of blood and foam flew to right and left from the lips and nostrils of the horses, who were blind now in their anguish. “Hold tight, Gwen!” roared her husband hoarsely. The horses swayed and shud dered, screaming with ter ror. With one desparing shriek, Bell covered his face. The swerving wheel caught in the tram line and then came the end. CHAPTER XXXV. As always happens in such cases it was several minutes af- the crash before anyone with an ounce of reason in his head ap peared on the scene. Then a fallow—he was in the dog line, “and know a thing or two”—dropped in and took a rapid and comprehensive view of affairs, and by the help of in finite blasphemy did what was best under the circumstances. Strange was only stunned. After a time he sat up, and looked about him. A howl from Bell struck on his ears. He turned and saw the horses shivering among the broken mass of carriage, and the dog-man rubbing their nos es to a soft gurgling accompan iment. “Where, where?” he asked faintly, and in reply to a point ed finger, lifted himself up with both hands, and groped half- biindly to a huddled-up lump oi muslin and lace. He knew she was lying there, cold, and white, and moveless. He touched her forehead; it was like marble. He laid his hand on her heart; it was still. A sudden wonder seized him as to who had undressed and covered her with such lovely decency, and ho looked with half vague inquiry at the two women hovering near. As a matter of fact it was the dog-man who had done it, with his eyes turned on the two wo- wen whom he cursed foully the whole time. “Have you sent for a doctor?” demanded gtrange, forcing the the dizziness out of his brain. “Yee, yes,” was yelled from twenty throats, “and here he is.” He was a sufficiently foolish young man, and seemed floor ed. “Live far from here?” he ask ed “In Ebury Square,” said Strange, “is there any danger in taking her so far?” “None, if conveyed on boards in a four-wheeler.” Strange saw at once that the dog man was the only one who had his senses about him; Bell though absolutely unhurt, was altogether useless, and the man had been left at the inn. “You know the horses and cabs here about?” said Strange. “Get the smoothest cab and some boards, and here, you’ll want help, don’t spare tips.” The man went, and was back before the doctor had made up his mind what to say to cover his ignorance. A fat woman, who had lent the mattress to cover the boards, and who had been hovering ov er his wife for some time, here called Strange aside. “You had better have your own doctor at once;” she said, “that there young man is soft. She wants skill, and, sir,” she added, with a soft twiddle of her thumb, “I have my suspic ions.” Strange looked inquiringly at her, and a cold shiver ran down to his toes. For hours after she was brought home Gwen lay insen sible. The doctor did nothing. “Her phisique alone will held her,” he saia, when Strange seemed to demand action of some sort. “She will regain her con sciousness all right,” he said. “There is another complica tion, I beleive,” he added, look ing keenly at Strange, “but the treatment of that must come later.” Agam the horrid coldness paralyzed Humphrey’s very marrow “In view of this,” the doctor went on, “ whftl about her moth- er being summoned?” Strange thought for a mo ment. Her mother was, of course, quite out of the ques tion, ami he remembered that Mrs. Fellowes was ill. “Is this necessary at once?” he asked. “No, I will tell you when the need arises—that is, if any should. Her physique would tide over almost anything.” As the clock began to strike midnight, Strange saw the doc tor stoop suddenly, and lay his head on Gwen’s heart, then op en her eyes and touch her eye balls. When he raised himself his face had altered. “Now we shall soon see a change,” he said, “perhaps you had better stand back, even the shock of joy might hurt her.” Strange gave a ghastly grin in the shadow of the curtain. By a superhuman effort in all those hours of anguished wait ing, even when the doctor and the nurse, in their considera tion, had left him alone for the purpose. Strange had never once kissed or caress his wife, or ev en so much as touched her ex cept in matters of service. Gwen stirred almost imper ceptibly, the doctor looked round the curtain at Strange. “Touch her, and speak to her very gently,” he said. He bent gently over her. “Gwen, wake up, dear, wake up. sweetheart!” He wondered the next second “why the devil” he said it. Perhaps the absurdity of the words struck Gwen’s grim sense humor; she certaily stirred un easily and made a feeble, pa thetic little try to throw up the limp hand that lay on the quut. Strange moved back under cover of his curtain. “Good!” said the doctor, ,,try again.” He was watching Strange’s face with some interest. “He has aged ten years in eight hours, poor devil!” he thought, then he took a long survey of his patient. “I won der if she is worth it all, she is a trifle too superb for me! She looks like one of those momen who keep their flesh too much under.” Gradually Gwen’s stirrings grew stronger and more fre quent, and at last she openeu hei eyes slowly and looked out with vague questioning. “What is it?” she whisper ed. “You have been ill, dear.” “111?” she murmured perplex edly. “I want light.” The doctor moved the screens from before the candles; Gwen raised her head feebly. “What is it?” she asked again. Tho doctor lifted her and gave a draught he had ready, she was two weak to resist him, and presently she fell off into a drowsy half-slumber. After what seemed to Strange a lifetime, she again moved, woke, and repeated the old question, this time audibly and add with a tinge of imperious ness. “Ah, she’ll do now,” said the doctor to himself, grinning a saturnine grin, “when a woman shows her pet weakness she’s out of danger ” He put back the screen. “I am thankful to say,” he said (o her, “you are the sole sufferer, and you’ll soon be all right again.” Humphrey was well then. She shut her dazed eyes and tried to think, but she could on ly hover off into drowsiness. After a time she opened her eyes again and said: “I would like my maid; per haps you will tell Sir Humphrey that I am better.” “Your husband harHly re quires the information,” said the doctor drily. “I shall leave Lady Strange in your hands, Sir Humphrey, and I shall re main on the premises in case you want me.” His wife turned her eyes away and began searching for her handkerchief; he stooped and gave it to her. The sweat still clung to his ghastly forehead and hung on his hair. “He said you were not hurt.” she said, “you look as if you were.” . “It’s been rather a disturbing day,” he said, with sudden bit terness. f'Never mind me. I’ll be as jolly as a sand boy after a bath.” She turned herself uneasily on the pillow and shut her eyes. It was horrible to have him there above her. “Poor little child, poor little unfinished thing!” he thought pitifully. “Shall I send your maid, dear?” “Yes, please, and won’t—oh, won’t you rest?” “Yes, I’m off,” he said, in his old cheery voice, and he weat outside the door and watch ed there till morning, She was very white the next morning, and kept falling off into drow sy little sleeps, but she declared she was all right and meant to get up; the necessity of staying in bed was a new one and she loathed it. She felt more in bet husband's power lying there ill; she grew suspicious too, for the first time in her life, and set herself to search for meanings in looks. "I am demoralized,” she kept repeating. Then she turned her face from the light, and neither spoke nor looked except when she absolutely had to. Strange could make nothing at all of her, and he soon left her for sheer mercy’s sake. When ho had gone she raised herself up and rang the bell. “Give me what I am to take and then leave me for tn'o hours; I will sleep if I can.” The girl brought her a bowl of beef-tea, and she plunged he roically into it. “I am doing my duty,” she said to herself, with a sneer, “but oh, will this liquid never get less? On the contrary, it sems to inorease. You won’t let me be disturbed, will you, Gill?” she said. As soon as the girl had gone she got up and locked the door; then she rolled up her hair, put on a dressing-gown, and sat down on the floor. “I have two hours in which to have it out with myself—this horror made manifest,” she said. “How was it that this most natural of all compiica tions never entered my head? I wasn’t even warned by those new and altogether abominable feelings of weakness.” She leaned her head against the ottoman and shivered; then she reached over for a shawl that lay on it, wrapped herself up in it, but still she shivered. She stood up and was about to go back to her bed, but she turned sharply round with an other shudder; “Bah!” I can’t,” she said and throwing a fur rug on to a couch she lay down there and soon grew warm enough to continue her dreary meditations. “And so, I. Gwen Strange, will soon be the mother of a child—and Humphrey its fath er!” She hid her face in the soft fur. “It is ghastly!” she cried. “It is degradation, feeling to ward him as I do, and as I’ve always done! I am debased to think that any man should nave the least part of a woman so ter ribly in his power, when she can’t, can’t, can’t, can’t,” she almost shrieked, “give him the best What do girls know of the things they make lawful for themselves? If they.did, if they were shown the nature of their sacrifice, then marriage would cease tilKit carried love, abso lute love in its train. Was I mad, my God! was I mad, with all my boasts of sanity? Noth ing, nothing” she moaned, “but perfect love makes marriage sacred, nothing neither God’s law nor man’s, and now the climax has come here in the out ward and visible sign of my shame—I have sinned, not only in the present and the past but in the future; I have hurt an in nocent unborn creature, 1 have set a barrier between it and its motter. “And Humphrey! N o w I must sit under those deep all- pervading eyes of his and feel myself ten thousand times his chattel. Now we have a com mon hope, a common interest, almost a common existence, now every touch of his, every look of his, will burn me anu remind me of my shame. Talk of the shame of women who have chil dren out of the pale of marriage, it’s nothing to the shame of those who have children and don’t love. Those others, they have the excuse of love, that’s natural, that purifies their shame; this, our life—the portion of quite half the well-to-do world —this is unnatural; no sin can beat it for cruel baseness.” She huddled into her rug and lay silent, wild mad thoughts whirling through her brain. Gradually she grew calmer and more reasonable. “At least I can do one thing,” she whispered. “I will do all I can to make up to my child for the harm I have done it ignorantly; I will take care of mysely, I will do everything I can to bring a nat ural creature into the world, I will try to protect it from its heredity. I am glad I know; I will do all I can to right vour wrong, poor child!” She waved her hands to and fro in a sort of dumb agony. “And I could not even kiss our father, 1 couldn’t even iss him when we both thought we were facing death.” She suddenly laughed aloud, a low curious mocking laugh, and put her hands up her head. “I must rest!” she cried, “I must not think any more. I will have some more of that draught; it makes thinking a pulpy sweet sort of muddle; it takes all the keen edges off truth. If I did right,” she went on, throwing her arms back, “I would go out on a crusade to girls and tell them all the truth, then, let them sin in knowledge not ignorance, let them know that love, perfect love, is the ' sanctification of marriage! Churches and rings are a mere farce.” She bad come to the last shred of her strength; she fcrept Into bed, and rang for hermaid [TO BE CONTINUED.] Bucklen s Arnica Salve. The Best Salve in the world for Cuts, Bruises, Sores, Ulcers, Salt Rheum, Fever Sores, Tetter, Chapped Hands Chilblains, Corns, and all Skin Eruptions, and positively cures Piles, or no pay required. It is guaranteed to give perfect satisfaction, or money refunded. Price 25 cents S ar box. For sale at Willcox & o’s drugstore. When Baby waa ulcli, we (tave her Castorla. When ahe was a Chllil, ahe cried foe Caxtorla. When she became Mist, she clung to Caatorla. When she hud Children, she gave them ( aatoria. trrorn rack aches. Or you are all worn out. really good tot noth ing, It is general debility. Try nnotnes utos hittkrs. It * ill cure you, cleanse your liver, and giro a good appetite. STATE OF SOUTH CAROLINA, County of Darlington. Court of Common Pleas. Summons. (Coiu|ilitint not served.) E. L. Wilkins, and Geo. A. Norwood, Jr., co-partners and doiii); business under the Firm name of G. A. Nor wood A Co., Plaint ilfs, atfainst C. S. Nettles; the Hank of Cheraw, a eor- porntion duly charteied and doiiif; business under the laws of Nouth Carolina; West Publishing Com pany. a corporation duly chartered end doin»{ business under the laws of Minnesota; Greenville Savings Bank, a corporation duly chartered and doiiiK business under the laws of South Carolina; The Bank of Dar lington, a corporation duly charter ed and dointf business under the laws of South Carolina; A. Nach man; J. C. Wieters, T. H. McGahan, A. S. Brown, R. P. Evans, and James Dillinirham, eo partners as McGahan, Brown & Evans; the Bank of Timmousville, a corpora tion duly chartered and doint- busi ness under the laws of South f'aro- liua; Salt Springs National Bank, a corporation duly chartered and (loinj; business under the laws of the United States of America; Third National Bank, a corporation duly chartered and doing business under the laws of the United States of America; the Darlington Building & Ix>au Association, a corporation duly chartered and doing business under the laws of Soutli Carolina. Defendants. To the Defendants; C. 8. Nettles; The Bank of Cheraw, West Publishing Co.; Greenville Sav ings Bank; The Bank of Darlington; A. Nachman: J C. Wieters; McGahan, Brown & Evans; The Bank of Tun inonsville; Salt Springs National Bank; Third National Bank of Syra cuse; The Darlington Building and Loan Association You are hereby summoned, and re quired to answer the complaint in tills notion which is tiled in the ofllce of the clerk of the court of Common Pleas for said county, and to serve a copy of your answer to the said com plaint on the subscribers at their of fice, Darlington, S. within twenty days after the service hereof, exclus ive of the day of such service; t.nd if you fail to answer the complaint within tiie time aforesaid, the Plain tiffs in this Action will apply t<M In- court fur the relief demanded in the comphuut, WOODS A SPAIN, Plaintiffs’ Attorneys. Sept. 26, 1894. To the Defendants above'named: You will please take notice that the complaint in this action was duly tiled in the offtee of the clerk of the court of Court of Common Pleas for Darlington county on the 26th. day of September, 1894. WOODS & SPAIN. Plaintiff’s Attorneys. Dissolution of Copartnership. fBTHE partnership existing between | I). H. Muunand J. J. Parrott. Jr , is this day dissolved by mutual consent. The latter will continue the business at the same stand, and all persons indebted to the ffriu will make payment to him. D. H. MUNN, J. J. PARROTT, JR. Philadblphia, S- C., Oc*. 1, 1394. •out of employment, or in: : a position that you do not s jlikc? # Possibly the solic-E j iting of Life Insurance is • : your special forte. Many: j people have, after trial, j sheen surprised at theirv \ fitness for it To all such * E it has proved a most con- E E genial and profitable oceu-• spation. The Management: E of the | Equitable Life j E in the Department of the E :Carolinas, desires to adds E to its force, some agents | sof character and ability.* E Write for information, i S W. J. Roddey, Manager, S Rock Hill, S. C. ■•••••>•<