for it I
had two different doctors. Her head
was very sore and her hair nearly all
fell ont In spite of what they both
did. One day her niece came in and
they were speaking of how ber hair
was falling out and the doctors did it
no good.1 She says, 'Aunt, why don't
yon try Cntlcnra Soap and Cuticura
Ointment?* . Mother did, and they
helped her. In six months' time the
itching,burning tindscalingof her head
waa over and her hair began growing.
To-day she feels much in debt to Cu
\ Ucnra Soap and Ointment for the fine
head of hair she has for an old lady
of seventy-four.
"My own case was as eczema In
any feet As soon as the cold weather
came my feet would itch and burn
and then they would crack open and
bleed. Then I thought 1 would flee
io mycareers that
this country, or any other, has over
known.
The dream-or the novel or dra
ma, whichever you like-began more
than half a century ago. It began in
a shabby little boarding house in
Cleveland, in the brain of a lad of
eighteen who was clerking for a
shipping and real estate company.
There were at that time about a
million other American boys of the
same age, and not many of tbejn had
received fewer privileges than this
one- He had been educated partly
in the public schools, but mainly at
home, by his mother and father. His
pay, at this time, was sixty cents a
day. Hi? hours of labor were from
breakfast until bedtime. For his
room and meals he was paying $1 a
week, so that. his net income-the
basis of hi? dream of fortune and phi
lanthropy-was not more than $135
a year.
Even at this time,