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Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section
J^/air (9oIor7?estorer
It is not a crude dye, greasy and repulsive, but a clean, colorless liquid that dainty women like to use.
like magic on those first gray streaks. Restores the original color in from 4 to 8 days no matter how gray the hair.
Applied by combing through the hair, which it leaves soft and fluffy. Doesn't interfere with shampooing, waving and dressing. To prove this we offer a Trial Bottle FREE.
Send for free
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special comb
and test it on
a lock of
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When you want the
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of your druggist.
Mary T. Goldman
689 Goldman Bldg. St. Paul, Minn.
Mag da
TOILET CREA^V
rm&XitKXXK&iw
MAXINE ELLIOTT
Endorsed Magda Cream
"It i^ Delightful," wrote this Famous Beauty. St,i«e folks have used Mai;da for over 15 years because it's pure, beneficial and a delightful cream for the nightly massage. Try a Magda Massage nightly for one week. If not pleased, return — We return your money.
Druggist* nr dii t — Opal Jars Me— Tins $1.00
Beautiful Japanese Jar (illustrated) 75c
FRED C. KEELING & CO. (Agents)
ROCKFORD. ILL.
Every advertisement in Photoplay is guaranteed not only by the advertiser, but by the publisher
The Light Within
(Continued from page 60 J
den, he braced his nerves with quantities of whiskey and soda; and brooded over his wrongs and the means he had chosen to right them.
It was some time later that Laurel, in the laboratory, discovered traces of culture on the table. Puzzled, she opened the ice-box and reached for the serum bottle, thinking what those three inches of liquid meant to the man she loved — and to herself. A tiny blood stain had trickled on the label from Durand's injured hand. Laurel, breathing hard, examined the contents, then swayed dizzily. She struggled to compose herself; every moment counted.
Confronting Durand in his den, she held out the vial, unable to utter a word. The malicious triumph in his drunken face, the evil in it !
"It's true, then! You—"
Her acute distress for Leslie unleashed all the beast in Durand. He flung off precaution; he revelled in his guilt.
"Yes, by God — it's gone, every damned drop! You will kill your lover even as you killed my son!"
After Laurel's blind rush from the room, Durand reeled to the door, slammed and locked it. The key fell from his unsteady hands and was hidden under a rug which he kicked viciously in passing. Sinking into a chair, he fell into a drunken sleep. Once or twice he roused and, faltering to the door, was surprised to find it locked. But he remembered nothing; and the stupor soon overcame him.
Joe, the Durand's chauffeur, on his way up to receive orders, was astonished when, turning, he saw Mrs. Durand at his elbow, her white face piteous.
"Joe — take the car — " she was saying — "Drive to the Zoo — you know you went there with me to examine that Mascarine turtle — Joe, I must have that turtle — buy it, pay any price; or, if that's impossible, steal it!"
Joe did not hesitate. Hadn't she saved one of his babies, when it had the plague? Hadn't he always said he'd go through fire for her? He'd do his best — give him just an hour —
That hour! Laurel had everything in readiness — if Joe should be successful. "If!" All her hopes and fears and tears and prayers, in one tiny word! And then.
when it seemed that she could wait no longer, Joe returned. He was successful.
The serum was soon prepared; and Laurel, with the aid of the assisting physician, gave Dr. Leslie the first injection.
Meanwhile Durand had roused again, wondering why a few drinks could have caused such teriffic pains in his head. He looked down at his right hand — it hung swollen, limp, discolored at his side. It was curious that a little cut should have such serious results. A look of abject terror came into his face.
"What was in that vial I broke?" Could it be possible that he had infected himself with some sort of deadly stuff?
He staggered to the door and with the greatest effort called for help. He beat against the wood frantically, but with no real strength. He tried to shriek at the top of his voice, and was surprised to find all the glands in his throat were horribly restricted. The poison which had entered through his hand had begun to affect his entire system. He groped for the key; he couldn't remember why he had locked himself in. But no one in the entire household heard his feeble cries; all were engrossed with Leslie. Hours afterwards, Joe and some of the servants broke in, and found him. a disfigured, chattering wreck.
They told Laurel — she had quite forgotten Durand in her eagerness to save Richard — that her husband had become infected with the anthrax germs in the broken test tube. Leslie, conscious and on the road to recovery, overheard her excited conversation with the visiting physician.
"Laurel," Leslie called her; "Laurel — I've thought about this thing; I heard you telling Dr. Green. Laurel — save your husband. Use those two injections on Durand — I'll get along all right — "
"No!" Laurel protested wildly; "no — not for him! We must save you — "
"Laurel — it's the only thing to do."
But when Laurel reached her husband's room, it was already too late. Durand was dead.
Leslie had not forgotten Laurel's message— "My heart is all yours." And in the years that followed, when they faced life together, they learned to know another great joy — the joy that comes from work for others, keeping faith with the light within.
The Burglar
He's thist a bad ol' burglar.
An' he's awful fierce, you know, 1st like th' burglars 'at he's seen
Down to th' pitcher show. He's got a little toy gun.
An' mask an' flashlight too. His hair is all ruffed up, an' he
Is desp'rate, I tell you!
He crawls in th'ough th' window,
An' he looks round everwhers, An' goes 'long on his tiptoes.
Fierce an' brave right up th' stairs. An' nen he opens up th' door
'At leads into th' den. Where Daddy's sittin' comf'table
With pipe an' book, an' nen
He cries. "Hands up!" an' Daddy drops
His book an' ist turns white, An' th'ows his hands up in th' air,
It gives him such a fright. An' nen th' bad ol' burglar
Takes his fountain pen an' ring. His silver cigarette case,
An' his watch an' everthing.
An' nen he takes his plunder
An' he never turns about, But keeps his Daddy "covered"
Tth his gun till he gits out. You better ist be careful,
Or he'll come an' rob you. too. For he's th' bad ol' burglar
In the movin' pitchers. Boo!
hvery sdvertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guaranteed.