Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

A CUBE FOR DYSPEPSIA 139 ly!" he exclaimed, wiping his "Henry will be the death of Fyet!" His immoderate spirits became infctious, and the conspirators angered each chuckle with suppressed |ies from the dining-room. I never knew cooking brandy was ich funny stuff," tittered Naomi. "I'mso glad it 's happy firewater, ' ' mghed the roguish George. "Your father 's a tiptop comedian, because he In joys the part so himself. "The fact is," he added confidentially, "it always makes me — glad to yee others so happy." An unusual sound from the sitting 'oom distracted her attention from Leorge's lame conclusion. There was lo doubt about it, Mr. Kirkweather Jwas gently snoring. The symphoni [ous breather had at last succumbed to [the effects of his hilarity. Joining hands, like children viewing a benevolent giant, the pair entered the room of mirth and tiptoed it ].o Kirkweather 's side. Under the rays f the reading-lamp, Kirkweather iy sprawled out grotesquely, the ontagious Beecher open across his nees. It was as if he had been struck | down standing by the fatal humorist. The abstemious George gazed on his prostrate antagonist with the dejected look of the village pessimist; then, [catching Naomi's more humane expression, he readjusted his countenance to the occasion. He prided himself on his forbearance in not stepping to the parlor organ, and, with stops open, playing "How Have the Mighty Fallen ! " In the interests of science, however, this agile opportunist thought of something nobler, and whispering to Naomi not to leave her father unprotected, he hastened from the house. It did not seem moments before he 'eturned, bearing a newspaper packet. [e opened it promptly before Naomi, nd disclosed an empty bottle, bearW the gilded label, "OLD FRENCH 10GNAC," and beneath, in small Itters, "Distillery 4, District 12, S. A." Depositing this grim me>nto by the side of Mr. Kirkweather, he asked Naomi to fetch the disastrous jelly glass. Having arranged this also to his liking for striking effect, with undertaker-like solemnity he gestured Naomi to withdraw. They passed the benign head of Mr. Kirkweather cautiously, and as they gained the hall, George slammed the door to with unnecessary violence. Mr. Kirkweather started in his pleasant slumber, and his heavy eyes stared at the white space of ceiling. For a delicious moment he thought that he had passed away, and was floating on a cloud, thru space, toward his diverting predecessor. Then, with broadening vision, as the cloud seemed to remain stationary, he summoned up his courage to look beneath him. Instead of miniature fields, his horrified eyes encountered his own patterned carpet, and, almost under his nose, an empty and most redolent bottle. Kirkweather arose to a sitting posture slowly, and stung by the most harrowing remorse, tried to gather his fleeting wits. He remembered the harsh clashes with his family, and that dreadful meeting with George Merridew. The chain of events was so coherent, that the unsatisfying trip to the absent minister, and his attack of dyspepsia, he recalled with equal facility. He had returned home half frantic, seeking for a remedy. Horrors ! He saw it all now : the stealthy groping in the pantry, and the surreptitious drink of Kate's supposed nostrum. By the devil's connivance he had stumbled on the fiery potion that now evidenced his shame. But why had Beecher been so exquisitely humorous? Why was he sitting on his own parlor floor in a stultified condition? The empty bottle and smelling jelly glass drove the unpleasant truth home. He, James Kirkweather, the apostle of anti-rum, and Gabriel of prohibition, had been on a regular orgy! He covered his strained face with seeking fingers, and groaned audibly. George and Naomi, entering suddenly, found him in this enlightened and repentant position. It is needless to say that George faced the embar