The New Ulm Enterprise (New Ulm, Tex.), Vol. 15, No. 21, Ed. 1 Thursday, March 12, 1925 Page: 3 of 8
eight pages : ill. ; page 23 x 16 in. Scanned from physical pages.View a full description of this newspaper.
Extracted Text
The following text was automatically extracted from the image on this page using optical character recognition software:
NEW ULM ENTERPRISE, NEW ULM, TEXAS
ROELF POOL
SYNOPSIS. — Introducing "So
Big” (Dirk DeJong) in his in-
fancy. And his mother, Selina
DeJong, daughter of Simeon
Peake, gambler and gentleman
of fortune. Her life, to young,
womanhood in Chicago in 1888,
has been uncon-^entional, some-
what seamy, but generally enjoy-
able. At school her chum is Julie
Hempel, daughter of August
Hempel, butcher. Simeon is killed
in a quarrel that is not his own.
Selina is nineteen years Old and
practically destitute. Selina se-
cures a position as teacher at the
High Prairie school, in the out-
skirts of Chicago, living at the
home of a truck farmer, Klaas
Pool.
CHAPTER II—Continued
Selina’s quick glance encompassed
the room. In the window w’ere a few
hardy plants in pots on a green-paint-
ed wooden rack. There was a sofa
with a wrinkled calico cover; three
rocking chairs; some stark crayons of
Incredibly hard-featured Dutch an-
cients on the wall. It was all neat,
stiff, unlovely. But Selina had known
too many years of boarding-house ugli-
ness to be offended at this.
Maartje had lighted a small glass-
bowled lamp. A steep, uncarpeted
stairway, inclosed, led off the sitting
room. Up this Maartje Pool, talking,
led the way to Selina’s bedroom. Se-
lina was to learn that the farm wom-
an, often inarticulate through lack of
companionship, becomes a torrent of
talk when opportunity presents itself.
A narrow, dim, close-smelling hall-
way, uncarpeted. At the epd of it a
door opening into the room that was
to be Selina’s. As its chill struck her
to the marrow three objects caught
her eyes. The bed,' a huge and
not unhandsome - Walnut mausoleum,
reared its soiffber height almost to the
Toom’s top: The mattress of straw
and cornhusks was unworthy of this
edifice, but over it Mrs. Pool had
mercifully placed a feather bed,
stitched and quilted, so that Selina
lay soft and warm through the win-
ter. Along one wall stood a low chest
so richly brown as to appear black.
The front panel of this was curiously
carved. Selina stooped before it and
for the second time that day said:
■“How beautiful I” then looked quick-
ly round at Maartje Pool as though
fearful of finding her laughing as
Klaas Pool had laughed. But Mrs.
Pool’s face reflected the glow in her
own. She came over to Selina and
stooped with her over the chest, hold-
ing the lamp so that its yellow flame
lighted up the scrolls and tendrils of
the carved surface. With one dis-
colored forefinger she traced the bold
flourishes on the panel. “See? How
it makes out letters?”
Selina peered closer. “Why, sure
enough! This first one’s an S I”
Maartje was kneeling before the
chest now. “Sure an S. For Sophia.
It is a Holland bride’s chest. And
here is K. And here is big D. It
makes Sophia Kroon DeVries. It is
anyways two hundred years. My
mother she gave It to me when I was
married, and her mother she gave it
to her when she was married, and
her mother gave it to her when she
was married, and her—”
“I should think so 1” exclaimed Se-
lina, rather meaninglessly; but stem-
ing the torrent. “What’s in it? Any-
thing? There ought to be bride’s
clothes in it, yellow with age.”
“It is I” cried Maartje Pool and gave
a little bounce that imperiled the
lamp.
“No!” The two on their knees sat
smiling at each other, wide-eyed, like
schoolgirls. *
“Here—wait.” Maartje Pool thrust
the lamp into Selina’s hand, raised
the lid of the chest, dived expertly
into its depths amidst a great rustling
of old newspapers and emerged red-
faced with a Dutch basque and volum-
inous skirt of silk; an age-yellow cap
whose wings, stiff with embroidery,
stood out grandly on either side; a
pair of wooden shoes, stained terra-
cotta like the sails of the Vollendam
fishing boats, and carved from toe to
heel in a delicate and Intricate pat-
tern. A bridal gown, a bridal cap,
bridal shoes.
“Well!” said Selina, with the feel-
ing of a little girl in a rich attic on
a rainy day. She clasped her hands.
“May I dress up in it sometime?”
Maartje Pool, folding the garments
hastily, looked shocked and horrified.
“Never must anybody dress up in a
bride’s dress, only to get married. It
brings bad mck.” Then, as Selina
stroked the stiff silken folds of the
skirt with a slim and caressing fore-
finger: “So you get married to a
High Prairie Dutchman I let you wear
It.” At this absurdity they both
laughed again. Selina thought that
this school-teaching venture was start-
ing out very well. She would have
such things to tell her father—then
she remembered. She shivered a lit-
tle as she stood up now. There surged
over her a great wave of longing for
her father—for the theater treats, for
his humorous philosophical drawl,
for the Chicago streets, and the ugly
Chicago houses; for Julie; for Miss
Flster’s school; for anything and any
one that was accustomed, known, and
therefore dear. She had a horrible
premonition that she was going to
cry, began to blink very fast, turned
a little blindly in the dim light and
caught sight of the room’s third ar-
resting object. A blue-black cylinder
of tin sheeting, like a stove and yet
unlike. It was polished like the
length of pipe in the sitting-room be-
low. Indeed, it was evidently a giant
flower of this stem.
“What’s that?" demanded Selina,
pointing.
Maartje Pool, depositing the lamp
on the little wash-stand preparatory
to leaving, smiled pridefully. “Drum.”
“Drum?”
“For heat your room.” Selina
touched it. It was icy. “When there
is fire,” Mrs. Pool added, hastily.
Selina was to learn that Its heating
powers were mythical. Even when
the stove in the sitting room was
blazing away with a cheerful roar none
of the glow communicated itself to
the drum. It remained as coolly In-
different to the blasts breathed upon
it as a girl hotly besieged by an un-
welcome lover.
“Maartje!” roared a voice from
belowstairs. The voice of the hungry
male. There was wafted up, too, a
faint smell of scorching. Then came
sounds of a bumping and thumping
along the narrow stairway.
“Og heden!” cried Maartje, in a
panic, her hands high in air. She
was off.
Left alone in her room Selina un-
locked her trunk and took from it two
photographs—one of a inild-looking
man with his hat a little on one side,
the other of a woman who might have
been a twenty-five-year-old Selina,
minus the courageous jaw-line. Look-
ing about for a fitting place on which
to stand these leather-framed treas-
ures she considered the top of the chill
drum, humorously, then actually placed
them there, for lack of a better refuge,
from which vantage point they regard-
ed her wifh politely interested eyes.
Perhaps they would put up a shelf for
her. That would serve for her little
stock of books and for the pictures ae
well. She was enjoying that little
flush of exhilaration that comes to a
woman, unpacking. She took out her
neat pile of warm woolen underwear,
her stout shoes. She shook out the
crushed folds of the wine-colored cash-
mere. Now, if ever, she should have
regretted its purchase. But she didn’t.
No one, she reflected, as she spread it
rosily on the bed, possessing wlne-col-
ored cashmere could be altogether
downcast.
•' From below stairs came the hiss of
frying. Selina washed in the chill wa-
ter of the basin, took down her hair
and colled it again before the swimmy
little mirror over the wash-stand. She
adjusted the stitched white bands of
the severe collar and patted the cuffs
of the brown lady’s-cloth. The tight
basque was fastened with buttons from
throat to waist. Her fine long head
rose above this trying base with such
grace and dignity as to render the stiff
garment beautiful. It was a day of
appalling bunchiness and equally ap-
palling tightness An dress; of panniers,
galloons, plastrons, revers, bustles,
all manner of lumpy bedevilment. That
Selina could appear in this disfiguring
garment a creature still graceful, slim,
and pliant was a sheer triumph of
spirit over matter.
She blew out the light now and de-
scended the steep wooden stairway to
the unlighted parlor. The door be-
tween parlor and kitchen was closed.
Selina sniffed sensitively. There was
pork for supper. She was to learn that
there was always pork for supper.
She hesitated a moment there in the
darkness. Then she opened the kitch-
en door. There swam out at her a haze
of smoke, from which emerged round
blue eyes, guttural talk, the smell of
frying grease, of stable, of loam, and
of woolen wafth freshly brought in from
the line. With an inrush of cold air
that sent the blue haze Into swirls the
outer kitchen door opened. A boy,
his arm piled high with stove-wood,
entered; a dark, handsome sullen boy
who stared at Selina over the armload
of wood. Selina stared back at him.
There sprang to life between the boy
of twelve and the woman of nineteen
an electric current of feeling.
“Roelf," thought Selina; and even
took a step toward him, Inexplicably
drawn.
“Hurry then with that wood there 1”
fretted Maartje at the stove. The boy
flung the armful Into the box, brushed
his sleeve and coat-front mechanically,
still looking at Selina.
Klaas Pool, already at table,
thumped with his knife. “Sit down,
teacher.” Selina hesitated, looked at
Maartje. Maartje was holding a fry-
ing pan aloft in one hand while with
the other she thrust and poked a fresh
stick of wood into the. open-lidded
stove. The two pigtails seated them-
selves at the table, set with its red-
checked cloth and bone-handled cutlery.
Roelf flung his cap on a wall-hook and
sat down. Only Selina and Maartje re-
mained standing. “Sit down! Sit
down!” Klass Pool said again, jovial-
ly. “Well, how is cabbages?” He
chuckled and winked. A duet of tit-
ters from the pigtails. Maartje at the
stove smiled; but a trifle grimly, one
might have thought, watching her. Evi-
dently Klass had not hugged his joke
in secret. Only the boy Roelf remained
unsmiling. Even Selina, feeling the red
mounting to her cheeks, smiled a little,
nervously, and sat down with some
suddenness.
Maartje Pool now thumped, down on
the table a great bowl of potatoes fried
in grease; a platter of ham. There was
bread cut in chunks. The coffee was
rye, toasted in the oven, ground, and
taken without sugar or cream. Of this
food there was plenty. It made Mrs.
Tebbitt’s Monday night meal seem am-
brosial. Selina’s visions of chickens,
oly-koeks, wild ducks, crusty crullers,
and pumpkin pies vanished, never to
return. She had been very hungry, but
now, as she talked, nodded, smiled, she
cut her food into infinitesimal bites,
did not chew them so well, and de-
spised herself for being dainty.
“Well,” she thought, “it’s going to be
different enough, that’s certain. . . .
This is a vegetable farm, and they
don’t eat vegetables. I wonder why.
. . . What a pity that she lets herself
look like that, just because she’s a
farm woman. Her hair screwed Into
that knob, her skin rough and neglect-
ed. That hideous dress. Shapeless.
She’s not bad looking, either. A red
spot on either cheek, now; and her
eyes so blue. A little like those women
in the Dutch pictures father took me
to see in—where?—where?—Slew
York, years ago?—yes. But that wom-
an’s face was placid. This one’s
strained. Why need she look like that,
frowsy, horrid, old! . . . The boy is,
somehow, foreign-looking — Italian.
Queer. . . . They talk a good deal
like some German neighbors we had in
Milwaukee. They twist sentences.
Literal translations from the Dutch, I
suppose.”
Jakob Hoogendunk, Pool’s hired
hand, was talking. Supper over, the
men sat relaxed, pipe In mouth.
“Fields of Cabbages—What You Said
—They Are Beautiful," He Stam-
mered.
Maartje was clearing the supper things,
with Geertje and Jozina making a
great pretense at helping. If they gig-
gled like that in school, Selina thought,
she would, in time, go mad, and knock
their pigtailed heads together.
Roelf, at the table, sat poring over
a book, one slim hand, chapped and
gritty with rough, work, outspread on
the cloth. Selina noticed, without
knowing she noticed, ’ that the fingers
were long, slim, and the broken nails
thin and fine.
Selina wanted, suddenly, to be alone
in her room—in the room that but an
hour before had been a strange and
terrifying chamber with its towering
bed, its chill drum, its ghostly bride’s
chest. Now it had become a refuge,
snug, safe, Infinitely desirable. She
turned to Mrs. Pool. “I—I think I’ll
go up to my room. I’m very tired. The
ride, I suppose. I’m not used . . .”
Her voice trailed off.
“Sure,” said Maartje, briskly. She
had finished the supper dishes and was
busy with a huge bowl, flour, a baking
board. “Sure go up. I got my bread
to set yet and what all.”
“If I could have some hot water—”
“Roelf! Stop once that reading and
show school teacher where is hot wa-
ter. Geertje! Jozina! Never in my
world did I see such.” She cuffed a
convenient pigtail by way of emphasis.
A wail arose.
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.
Don’t bother.” Selina was In a sort of
panic now. She wanted to be out of
the room. But the boy Roelf, with
quiet swiftness, had taken a battered
tin pail from its hook on the wall, had
lifted an Iron slab at the back of the
kitchen stove. A mist of steam arose.
He dipped the pail into the tiny reser-
voir thus revealed. Then, as Selina
made as though to take It, he walked
past her. She heard him ascending
the wooden stairway. She wanted to
be after him. But first she must know
the name of the book over which he
had been poring. But between her and
the book outspread on the table were
Pool, Hoogendunk, dog, pigtails,
Maartje. She pointed with a deter-
mined forefinger. “What’s that book
Roelf was reading?”
Maartje thumped a great ball of
dough on the baking board. Her arms
were white with flour. She kneaded
and pummeled expertly. “Woorden
boek.”
Well. That meant nothing. Woorden
boek. Woorden b— Dimly the mean-
ing of the Dutch words began to come
to her. But It couldn't be. She
•brushed past the men in the tipped-
back chairs, stepped over the collie,
reached across the table. Woorden
—word. Boek—book. Word book.
“He’s reading the dictionary!” Selina
said, aloud. “He’s reading the diction-
ary 1” She had the horrible feeling
that she was going to laugh and cry
at once; hysteria.
Selina flung a good-night over her
shoulder and made for the stairway.
He should have all her books. She
would send to Chicago for books. She
would spend her thirty dollars a month
buying books for him. He had been
reading the dictionary 1
Roelf had placed the pail of hot
water on the little wash-stand and had
lighted the glass lamp. He was intent
on replacing the glass chimney within
the four prongs that held It firm.
Downstairs, In the crowded kitchen, he
had seemed quite the man. Now, In
the yellow'lamplight, his profile sharp-
ly outlined, she saw that he was just
a small boy with tousled hair. About
his cheeks, his mouth, his chin, one
could even see the last faint traces of
soft Infantile roundness.
“He’s just a little boy,” thought Se-
lina, with a quick pang. He was about
to pass her now, without glancing at
her, his head down. She put out her
hand; touched his shoulder. He looked
up at her, his face startlingly alive,
his eyes blazing. It came to Selina
that until now she had not heard him
speak. Her hand pressed the thin
stuff of his coat sleeve.
“Cabbages — fields of cabbages—
what you said—they are beautiful,” he
stammered. He was terribly 10 earnest.
Before she could reply he was out of
the room, clattering down the stairs.
Selina stood, blinking a little.
The glow that warmed her now en-
dured while she splashed about in the
Inadequate basin; took down the dark
soft masses of her hair; put on the
voluminous long-sleeved, high-necked
nightgown. Just before she blew out
the lamp her last glimpse was of the
black drum stationed like a patient
eunubh in the corner; and she could
smilej at that; even giggle a little, what
with Aveariness, excitement and a gen-
eral feeling of being awake in a
dream. But once in the vast bed she
lay there utterly lost in the waves of
terror and loneliness that envelop one
at night in a strange house amongst
strange people. She listened to the
noises that came from downstairs;
voices gruff, unaccustomed; shrill,
high. These ceased and gave place to
others less accustomed to her city-
bred ears; a dog’s bark and an answer-
ing one; a far-off train whistle; the
dull- thud of hoofs stamping on the
barn floor; the wind in the bare tree
branches outside the window.
Her watch—a gift from Simeon
Peake on her eighteenth birthday—
with the gold case all beautifully en-
graved with a likeness of a gate, and
a church, and a waterfall and a bird,
linked together with spirals and flour-
ishes of the most graceful description,
was ticking away_companionably un-
der her pillow. She felt for it, took it
out and held it in her palm, under her
cheek, for comfort.
She knew she would not sleep that
night. She knew she would not
sleep—
She awoke to a clear, cold November
dawn; children’s voices; the neighing
of horses; a great sizzling and hissing,
and scent of frying bacon; a clucking
and squawking in the barnyard. It
was six o’clock. Selina’s first day as a
school teacher. In a little more than
two hours she would be facing a whole
roomful of round-eyed Geertjes and
Jozinas and Roelfs. The bedroom was
cruelly cold. As she threw the bed-
clothes aside Selina decided that it
took an appalling amount of courage—
this life that Simeon Peake had called
a great adventure.
Anyway, Selina finds a kin-
dred soul in Roelf, who also
thinks cabbages beautiful.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Scientific Future Love
The matrimonial reports of our day
are undertaking to put love on a sound,
scientific basis. Let us skip a few
hundred years and behold the synthet-
ic romance of a youth and a maid of
some generations to come. The young
man, armed with a stethoscope, a tape
measure and the means of making a
blood test, goes to call upon the lady
whose charms have attracted him. He
taps a vein, listens to the thump of
her heart and to the wind whistling
through her bronchial tubes and ends
his labors with a careful examination
of the soles of her feet.- Satisfied with
the showing he makes a request for
a kiss and obtains one, duly hygienized
through a strainer whipped from a
vanity bag. That is, he does unless
the young woman wallops him instead.
—Toledo Blade.
Mozart
It is doubtful if anybody knows the
exact spot where Mozart is buried. A
violent storm was raging at the time of
the funeral, and the hearse went its
way unaccompanied to the churchyard,
and his body was committed In the
pauper^’ corner. In 1859 the city of
Vienna1, erected on the probable spot a
monurpent to his memory.
QTie Kitchen
Cabinet
(©, 1925, Western Newspaper Union.)
A well-cooked and a well-served
dinner Implies on the part of the
entertainer a sense of the respect
he owes to his guests, whose com-
fort and happiness he controls
While they are under his roof.
—Didsbury.
WHAT TO EAT
With a can or two of pineapple on
the shelf with the usual cans of peach-
es, pears and one
of white cherries,
a delicious fruit
salad may be
ready to serve in
a short time. Ar-
range the tender
curled head let-
tuce as a nest,
put into it half of a peach or more, a
little chopped pineapple and a cherry
or two cut into halves and stoned.
Serve with a mayonnaise dressing.
Tomatoes Stuffed With Pineapple.—
Peel medium-sized tomatoes, cut a
slice from the top of each and remove
the seeds and pulp. Sprinkle the in-
side with salt and fill with chopped
pineapple which has been mixed with
nuts and mayonnaise dressing. Ar-
range the tomatoes on lettuce, garnish
with mayonnaise and half of a walnut
meat.
Pineapple and Cucumber Salad.—
Drain one cupful of crushed pineap-
ple, add one cupful of finely diced cu-
cumber, a teaspoonful of onion juice,
all mixed with enough mayonnaise to
be well seasoned. Add salt and cay-
enne and serve on lettuce, garnishing
each salad with narrow strips of red
and green pepper.
Pineapple Cake Filling.—Take one
cupful of sugar, one-half cupful of wa-
ter and cook it until it threads. Pour
gradually on a well-beaten egg white.
Beat until thick and of the right con-
sistency to spread on the cake. Drain
the juice from a can of crushed pine-
apple, spread the pineapple over the
cake, then cover with the boiled frost-
ing.
Pineapple Sherbet.—Boll two cup-
fuls of water with one cupful of sugar,
dissolve a teaspoonful of gelatin
(softened in a tablespoonful of cold
water) in the hot sirup, beat until
cold, then add the well-beaten whites
of four eggs and a can of crushed pine-
apple with the juice of a lemon.
Freeze and serve in sherbet glasses?
Sponge Cake With Pineapple.—Ar-
range small pieces of sponge cake in
a pint bowl, pour over it as much pine-
apple juice as it will absorb. Set in
a cool place; at serving time invert
on a platter and garnish with pine-
apple and whipped cream.
Stewed, stoned prunes added to
lemon jelly, molded and served with
whipped cream and sugar, makes a
. desirable dessert.
Food for the Hungry.
A most tender and delicate muffin
and especially nice for breakfast is:
Raisin Muffins.
—Take three cup-
fuls of warm wa-
ter, one-half cup-
ful of lard, two
eggs, two-thirds of
a cupful of sugar
and two-thirds of
a cupful of yeast
compressed yeast,
mix as stiff as can be stirred, let rise,
stir again, then cover slowly and set
in a cool place. Put the muffins in the
tins about four hours before time to
bake them. They may be put into the
tins late at night and brought into the
heat early and baked for breakfast.
Macaroon Custard.—Soak nine mac-
aroons in a fourth of a cupful of
orange juice. When they are well
softened, add the yolks of two eggs
well beaten, one and one-half cup-
fuls of milk, two tablespoonfuls of
sugar and one tablespoonful each of
bread crumbs and dry macaroons. But-
ter a shallow pudding dish, pour in
the custard and cook in hot water, cov-
ered for twenty minutes. When about
half done, whip the whites of two eggs
until stiff, add two tablespoonfuls of
sugar and two teaspoonfuls of lemon
juice, pile lightly on top of the custard
and finish cooking. Serve cold, dotted
with fresh macaroons.
Rhubarb Baked With Figs.—Cover
well-washed figs with boiling water
and cook until the water is nearly
evaporated. Cut a pound of rhubarb,
unpeeled (if young), into Inch pieces,
put-a layer into a baking dish, sprinkle
with sugar, add a few figs; then an-
other layer of rhubarb until the pound
Is used and one-half pound of figs.
Add a few spoonfuls of water to start
the cooking and cover, bake in slow
oven until tender but unbroken. Dates
or raisins may take the place of figs.
Slaw With Dressing.—Shred cab-
bage very fine and let it stand in cold
water to become crisp. Put one cup-
ful of vinegar, two teaspoonfuls of
sugar, a pinch of salt, and one tea-
spoonful of butter in a saucepan and
bring to the boiling point. Beat the
yolks of five eggs, add the boiling
liquid slowly and cook just long enough
to cook the eggs. Pour over the well-
drained cabbage and serve.
Baked Oyster Plant.-—-Drop the
scraped roots Into water to which a
little vinegar has been added. Drain,
wipe dry, brush over with olive oil or
butter, place In the oven and bake
until well done, turning occasionally.
Put into a hot dish and pour over a
nicely seasoned white sauce. Cover
with buttered crumbs, mixed with
grated cheese, and replace in the oven
to brown.
MRS. WM. BUTTS
WAS VERY SICK
Gives Foil Credit to Lydia E.
Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound
for Remarkable Recovery
Wellston, O. —“Itook Lydia E. Pink-
ham’s Vegetable Compound to make me
strong.I was troubled
with my back and
sides hurting me till
I could not do my
work, and whenever
I caught cold it made
me irregular. Since
I have taken the
Vegetable Com-
pound my side and
back don’t bother
me and I can do my
housework and care
for my children now,
where before I did not feel like doing
anything or going around. After my
first child was. oom about four years ago
I saw an advertisement in the paper
about the Vegetable Compound. I Knew
it would help me, but I was afraid to
try it because people said it would help
you to have children and I knew I was
having children fast enough. But I
thought if it would help me it would be
better to have a whole house full of
children and have good health. I be-
came stronger from taking it and my
husband says I look like a live woman
instead of a dead one. When Spring
comes I am going to take your Blood
Medicine as I am very thin. I will an-
swer letters from any woman who
Wishes to ask about your medicine.
Mrs. William Butts, Wellston, Ohio.
Are You One
of the 80%?
Eighty people out of a
hundred are handicapping
themselves in life. Eight of
every ten are victims of Anemia
—blood starvation—and don’t
know it.
Rich, successful, complete
lives need rich, red blood . . .
vitalizing, ener gy-building blood .
Try the test pictured above:
unless the inner eyelid shows a
rich scarlet color, it means that
your lack of energy may also be
due to Anemia.
Gude’s Pepfo-Mangani -for *
thirty-two years has beeA the
choice of thousands of physiclaps.
It is the sure way to add energy-
building iron and manganese to
your blood.
Your druggist has Gude’s
Pepto-Mangan in liquid or tab-
let form.
Gude’s
pepto-Mangan
Tonic and Blood Enricher i
■MWSMt
Get a
£5*BO9C
KEEPING WELL--An Nt Tablet
(a vegetable aperient) taken at
night will help keep you well, by
toning and strengthening your di-
gestion and elimination.
Chips off *Hie Old Block
Nt JUNIORS—Little Nta
One-third the- regular dose. Made
of the same Ingredients, then candy
coated. For children and adults.
HmmSOLD BY YOUR DRUGGISTmh*
Intuition is of little account in driv-
ing an automobile.
Sure Relief
FOR INDIGESTION
BtU-kHS
INDIGESTION
__ 6 Bell-ans
If I Hot water
Sure Relief
ELL-ANS
254 AND 754 PACKAGES EVERYWHERE
HEALS RUNNINGSORES
“I feel It mv duty to write you a
letter of thanks for your wonderful
Peterson’s Ointment. I had a running
sore on my left leg for one year. I
began to use Peterson’s Ointment three
weeks ago and now it Is healed.”—A.
C. Gllbrath, 708 Reed St., Erie, Pa.
For years I have been selling through
druggists a large box of PETERSON’S
OINTMENT for 35 cents. The healing
power in this ointment is marvelous.
Eczema goes in a few days. Old sores
heal up like magic; piles that other
remedies do not seem to even relieve
are speedily conquered. Pimples and
nasty blackheads disappear in a week
and the distress of chafing goes in a
few minutes. Mail orders filled. Pe-
terson Ointment Co., Inc., Buffalo, N. Y.
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.
The New Ulm Enterprise (New Ulm, Tex.), Vol. 15, No. 21, Ed. 1 Thursday, March 12, 1925, newspaper, March 12, 1925; New Ulm, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1200431/m1/3/: accessed July 5, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Nesbitt Memorial Library.