open a box of Sunshine Graham Crackers and eat them with jam or jelly. Sun shine Grahams have the flavor 51. of perfect baking that's found in all 8 Blscrotts j! There are over 350 kinds of Sunshine =r: Biscuits, so many tl at there's al- . ways a Sunshine surprise in store s=r for you. You can buy a big- assort- pf" ~ ment at your dealer's. Just look . for his Sunshine Rack. (okpant NLfocjm \ I AVE RAPE °FIOtIHE3 | L| Kg STOUt'hCURES I W. B. Nuf orm Corsets W. B. Reduso Corsets give Style, Comfort and perfectly make ' ar S e tips disappear; bulky fitting Gown. Long wearing, they waist-lines more graceful ; awk • it. • . i ward bust-lines smaller and assure the nfcnost .n a cornet at ncater> and hayc th HARRISBURG 88699 TELEGRAPH room dtsiivu to be Introduced, and graciously the two followed after. The Chicago George Harrowby rose as he saw the group approach his table. Sud denly behind him Minot heard a voice: "My God!" And the limp English man of the sandwich boards made a long, lean streak toward the door. Minot leaped after him and dragged him back. "Here. Trimmer." he said, "youi proposition has chilblains." "What's the trouble?" Mr. Trimmei glared about him. "Allow me," said Minot. "Sir—oui leading vaudeville actor and his man ager. Gentlemen—Mr. George Harrow by of Chicago!" "Sit down, boys," said Mr. Harrowby genially. He indicated a chair to Mr. Trimmer, but that gentleman stood, his eyes frozen to the face of his proposi tion. The Chicago man turned to that same proposition. "Brace up, Jenkins," he said. "Nobody will hurt you." But Jenkins could not brace. He al lowed Minot to deposit his limp body in a chair. "I thought you was dead, sir," he mumbled. "A common mistake," smiled George Harrowby. "My family has thought the same, and I've been too busy mak ing automobiles to tell them different ly. Mr. Trimmer, will you have a— what's the matter, man?" For Mr. Trimmer was standing, pur ple, over his proposition. "I want to get this straight," he said with assumed calm. "See here, you rrlnging cur—what does this mean?" "I thought ho was dead," murmured poor Jenkins in terror. '"You'll think the same about yourself in a minute—and you'll be right," Trim mer predicted. "Come, come," said George Harrow by pacifically. "Sit down, Mr. Trim mer. Sit down and have a drlnls. Do you mean to say you didn't know Jen kins here was faking?" "Of course I didn't," said Trimmer. He sat down on the extreme edge of a chair, as one who proposed to rise soon. "All this has got me going. I never went round In royal circles be fore, and I'm dizzy. I suppose you're the real Lord Harrowby?" "To be quite correct, I am. Don't you believe it?" "I can believe anything—when I look at him," said Trimmer, Indicating the pitiable ex-claimant to the title. "Say, who is this Jenkins we hear so mucU about?" "Jenkins was the son of my father's valet," George Harrowby explained. "He came to America with me. We parted suddenly on a ranch In south ern Arizona." "Everybody Bald you was dead." per sisted Jenkins, as one who could not lose sight of that fart. "Yes? And they gave you my letters and belongings, eh? So you thought you'd pose as me?" "Yes, sir," confessed Jenkins humbly. CHAPTER XV. • "A Rotten Bad Fit." INOT rose early on Monday VI morning and went for a walk along the beach. He had awak __J encd to black despair, but the sun and the matutinal breeze elevated his spirits considerably. Where was Allan Harrowby? Gone, witU Jjla wed. ding little more than twenty-f