BEHIND INDIGRSTION A WEAK STOMACH.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9307, 6 August 1908, Page 4

BEHIND INDIGRSTION A WEAK STOMACH.

THAT'S THE SOLE CAUSE OF ALL STOMACH ILLS. WELLINGTON WOMAN TELLS HOW DX WILLIAMS' PINK PILLS STRENGTH- = ENED HER STOMACH TO DIGEST FOOD. UNTIL' CURED IT LAY ON HER CHEST LIKE A, WEIGHT. Behind Indigestion there's always a woaK jtouu.cn. Ihai's the iroubie in a musheii: he sto:nacu can't do what it ought iO duel. "»esL food A very uei.c-ate'fuomach requires -wl'iy u.gestod iced, but Nature never m- , tended lhat tno food shr.u.d be digested be- I ore it is <*aten. '■' The . stomuoh mus. bo irengthened •to perform Its own work, arui • v.-hut it 'needs is do 1 , loed already d.gested, i:ut a tonic. Experience shows that stomach roubles vanish just as soon as the stomach ; uwae s.iung enough 10 digest the food. ■ It needs a tonic thai will rouse it to do ,too york of changing the food inio nourishment, ihc processes of .digestion axe controlled by . ths-b'ood and nerves, and medical scienou ' as ' mrcduced no belter digestive tonic than Dr Wil.Jems' Fmh PILs. That's whai Dr i ;.ul;iauis' Pnk Pi.is did for Mrs Jessie Bay- . mond, 176, Taranaki Street, Wellington. Mrs iJ.yinond says: — " For abou; two year 3 I suffered m6re or ess. with L.d:gcsticn Firft 1 had just a f.elng^of weakness, always tired ar.d used up. I had riot ths lea-4 scrap of energy ftficr ft ••while, and all my work was a . trouble to o Some days 1 was so worn cut .tIKVi -hings about the hbu<*, that really wanted i olng, had jnst to side. I hadn't tho heart ] ■ o start doing them. I only v,'<mt«d to w boat; al 1 day and rest. I suffered terno'.y vvh . hwidcohes. Day and night my he d f elt as if it was spotting opeu. Across my forehead the throbbing aching was as v s :meone ww banging me with ft lump oi wood. I had to go and lie down until it cashed off. Work was right out of the quss-t-on I ootfld not eat much. Getung the meals resdy mbbed i»6 of my appetite " When I sat down to the tnble it was =inro!y to wait on the others, and to just -ck a little myself I rea'ly. did no 1 mak-3 _ a <-ea'.!y goof meal once a week. When I uid, he food 'aid or: my chest in a Varrt lump, and medo me feel as if I wss bursting open. When I went to bed ii nisrht it w»s just w toba sboul for hours. I d ; d not really wfc a <rood right's rest for nearly two years. Theu ? owards morning I ■ dozed off in'.o a kind ot 'roubled sleep nrd very often woke up w:th a i"mn. Day after fay I got weaker arid less bVto get abcut and do tlrngs. I thcu?ht I wa= ii for a hf". of sickness, and began to be Pfraid I wu'd never get better Then enc day a friend advised me to take Jjr Wil'iams' P ; nk Pills, so I got a couple of boxer' from the grofcer's The first box made s a gr«vf change in me I ecu d eat and sleep belter and felt better generally. The Record box put me right mto good health and mado a stone- womsn of me For the last Aye war? I Hve not had a day's sickness, and Dr Williams' Pink Pills cured m*. for good. _ By their direct action on b. 9 blood ana i.tives, Dr Williams' Pink Pilis have curod A"fem ; a Sciatica, Indige-lioo, Para ya«, B :1 :ou nes=, Nervousness, H^adacnes BackRchcs, Ncura'gia,' D:bility, Rheumatism, und a' 1 a. : 'ments of women. Sod by a"! Cl. r.ii'ts and Storekeepers, and ' by the Dr< WMiams' Medicme Co., of WelHngton, 3s a box, six boxes W? M, post free. G ' fancy ourselves hermetically entombed and proceed to exchange anguish or i*oo-"oo, utterly re- ardless of open transoms. We have the courtesy to pretend, however, that what is. noli addressed to us direct has not been overheard. 'We none of us confided to another that Essie Airly was patently in loye with Fenton Lessing, that Lessing was in love with Helen, and that Helen was in love with Jack Germaine and he with her both breaking their hearts trying to keep faith with themselves and with Geneva, who never by any chance kept faith with anybody. The procession of events was exactly in line with the ancient fairy tale, "Water won't quench fire, fire won't biirn stick, 'stick won't hit dog, dog won't bite pig, pig won't go over the stile and we'll never get home to night." The nur6ery-tale version of it was Chapman Childs'. He was the low comedian. He had to be. He wanted to be a tragedian, and spiritually was capable of ft, having a mind and the silver voice of an orator, but the breath of his life happened to be confined in a very comic body., He had a paunch which belied him, for j he rarely ate bne full meal a "week, hayI ing a screw looge with his digestion ; also, he had- legs' a trifle bowed, and his. face was fat and heavy; his eyei brows, too, had a grotesque tilt. His general make-up woe low comedy, and that settled it. If he tried to be manly and serious, tho public let him starve. Under such circumstances, one oi'dinarily makes up one's mind to jbe funny. Usually, too, more brains j go to a "first-class fool than to a dozen leading men. If Jack Cerrnaine played mother to Henrie, why Chapman Childs was grandmother, and a good one, too. Toward the erid of the season, he had worked himself and the rest of us into nervous jim-jams concerning the baby's evident loss of health. By the time "we had reached — what was the town ■now? can't remember the name, but know it was out West somewhere, lor we had to play , Sunday night— wherever it was, Henrie wilted suddenly, like a little brown nasturtium. " Don't drag her around to the theatre to-night, Jack," ordered Chapman angrily, mad as hops because his feelings were strained. " Tuck her in bed and leave her to sleep. ,^ e H :ll * come ajnd have 6upper witn you, Henrie.T " All right," said Henrie weakly. "All right," said Jack just as ! weakly. It sounded like a sensible arrange- . ment, but we had grown so used to see- . ing tho tiny lady at the, wings that that night's performance went like a • funeral, though the audience screamed [ as usual, and we were all mighty > to get through and hurry back to the j hotel. , - "How's my Little Red Hen?" stfUd . Jack, while yet away down jhe iornt, dor. ' He did not stop to think it was ; the middle of .th« night, and that cerj tain weirdly constructed folks might be 3 wanting to sleep. To him, and to us, - the middle of the night was ever the t likeliest part of the day. t "00-h<io!" she piped up, invisible. The sound was good to hear. on 6is 1 apt to fancy always that a child left I alone will go and swallow something, , or r/ill fall off, or fall out, or will croak

somehow. A child is awfully like strong drink — once get used to it and yon can't be comfortable with it or without it. We all burst cheerfully in. Except for Fenton Lessing. He was oevet cheerful ; lie was too young and happy to bo cheerful. And besides he was carrying an armful of bottles. Essie had a tray of sandwiches. Henrie vcb completely snowed under with Geneva's pictures, the bed was covered with them. " I think this is the prettiest of ill, ;r she said, cramming one into he) father's hand. "Don't you, Ja*.k?" " Very pretty," he assented. It was tough on Jack. His wife's facf smiled up at him, as impudent as life. "Is her season a lont^ one?" pursued Henrie. " I don't know," said Jack. " Will she sign for a summer engagement, do you think?" "I cannot possibly tell, Henrie.' 3 "Doesn't she write to you ever?" "No, Henrie." "Why, do you suppose?" " She never was any hand at writingletters," he said. Then, under his breath, "to me!" "If she doesn't sign for the summer, will she come to see us?" If ever a man looked as if it would be a relief to lie, it was Ja«k. His little"' daughter stared at him hopefully. But,, between these two, whose brief home happiness had been fabricked on lies and (wrecked by' them, there was a solemn pact of truth, truth to be taken by the handle if possible; if hot, then by the blade, &a now " No." "Why?" whispered Hsnrie. "Were too slow for Geneva," 6aid Jack, forcing a rollicking tone and rejoicing to see that he was a bio to licep back the deathly pallor which had begun creeping into Henrie'e face. "She likes good times and good company. She'll probably go abroad, as she always does." " Geneva's popular, isn't she?" crowed Henrie, her pride returning. " She is," said Jack drily. " Get your toes out of the way. Hen; I want to put down the tray," ordered E:-sie, glad of a pretence which enabled her to bundle the photographs away to a side table. "How did the play go to-night, Jack?" asked Henrie. "Great!" "What sort of a house?" . "Stuffed." " Did they laugh at your funny sceno in the last act?" ' "Fell off the benches!" \ "00-ool" Henrie rubbed her soft hands in a shuddering delight. She felt a proprietary interest in that scene — Jack, always used to play it "to" her, nights. " Don't leave me again," she begged suddenly. " I won't," promised, Jack, " foT I see you do not s^p." "No " murmured Henrie, " I think." "What about?" challenged Childs, taking the evening paper from his pocket. Henrie made no answer; her eyes were fised darkly on Helen Keith, to whose side J ack had gone. " Any time to-night, Germaine," suggested Lessing, glowering over the tope of the ; , bottles.. Jack relieved him 4 none too genially. There was open hostility between the two. " By Jove I" snorted Childs, throwing a startled look from the newspaper to Jack. Then he nervously rolled iip the sheet and stuffed i£ in his pocket. " I've read it," said Jack-, gamely. H© cast a protective glance at Henrie. "•But.be careful you don't " "God bless my soul, never!" threw in Childs. ' " let the little shaver into the joke," finished Jack stoically. Geneva played the same town the following week. It was no unusual coincidence; this matrimonial- game of , hare and hounds ; couples can dodge each ether in and out of cities fehe season through, without once meeting, even at a depot; but, to stir advance interest, and in a way best calculated to catch the public's winking eye, the papers were stocked with anecdotes of such of Geneva's amusements as were printable. To Geneva herself, it added the final pleasure to her escapades that she committed them under her husband's name. This last of hei-s was certainly very funny — to anyone elso's husband, that is. "Were we long coining?" a^ked Helen, bending lovingly over Henrie. " No," said th s child curtly, turning away. v " Monday night in a new town," explained Essie Airly. " You know what that means, Henrie? We'll be through half an houjr earlier to-mor-row." ' " Get a cork out. Jack. I'm chewing feathers*," mourned Childs. Supper was soon in progress. It was a failure as far as Henrie was concerned, she eating nothing and 600-n dropping to sleep. It was a fashion she had, to sleep when we were all around her, and to stay awake when she wa6 left to sleep. Instituted for Henrie, the meal was soon over when she refused to oartake. But who wants to rush to bed at one o'clock? We separated into groups and chatted quietly. "I'm going downstairs to hunt for mail," scowled Lessing, glooming terribly at Jack and Helen, who were sitting by Henries cot. " Come with me, Helen, won't you, and we can take a stroll?" • *' No, thaiik you," answered Helen, with sweet indifference. " Bring my mail, if there is any." Fenton Lessing played a little scene all by himself. He threw a look of reproach at the heartless fair one, cast a meaning glance at the bell, as if to hint that if she wanted a menial she could ring for one, then appealed to heaven for help, comprehension and the gift of patience and departed sulkily upon his errand. " Helen," said Jack. He spoke low, to her alone, and his voice was troubled. " Yes?" The brief word was a whole volume. Shorn of the indifference of a moment ago, her tone was warm with life. " We are old friends." For a while that was all, she looking at him meanwhile with a keen intuition of what Wi*,s coming. Presently he continued: " Better still, wo are good friends. May T say something?" Laughter and jest were humming