Newspaper Page Text
a kind or encouraging word. I read
all the Household letters and sketches
with interest. I turn to the House
hold page first, when opening the
paper, but I read everything in it.
It is a good paper, but the love of
our heart is still given to the dear
old Sunny South. However, we have
a number of oui’ old members and
we have our deai' Mater, though she
will not let her name appear.
Tennesseean, I wish the Household
members would decide to meet in
Florida, and spend the coldest part of
the winter there. We could co-operate
and rent a cottage and do our own
work. We would need no servants,
and our living would cost but little,
for we could fish and get oysters and
ducks for meat. Bread stuffs would
not be expensive, and both kinds of
potatoes are plentiful and cheap in
Florida. Let us hear from all who
are interested in the Florida trip. Our
dear Mater could chaperone us and
it w’ould be a privilege to have her
company.
We are having a Methodist tent
meeting near my home —it has been
going on two weeks. We have enjoyed
some excellent sermons, and the Meth
odists have organized a church. Hith
erto, we have had only a Christian
church, with preaching once a month.
I hope we shall have a Presbyterian
and a Baptist church, then there will
be a service every week. Hoping
some of the members will let us
hear what they think of the Florida
Re-union, and that Mr. and Mrs. Pleas
will tell us what part of Florida would
be pleasantest, and most accessible
and central, I am,
Red Oak, Ga. OLD WOMAN.
THE FASCINATION OF JOURNAL
ISM.
While the newspaper business loses
much of its romantic interest after
the aspiring individual has once won
his place on the staff of a daily pub-
"The Limit of the Line. ”
(Continued from Page 7.)
“Oh! talk about ‘Europa’, if you like. I am bored
to death, anyway.”
He talked about "Europa.”
“I’ll bet this cherub,” he snickered, “with these
two wreaths in his pink paws, is a jolly, jolly boy.
I’ll dub him ‘the rioting cherub.’ Oh! Jupiter! Jovis!
—how do you decline Jupiter, Ethel? —Jovi! Jovum!
he looks like a fan-tail pigeon the wind has blown
left-side-up to the zenith. A merry gale has whisked
him out to sea, we’ll imagine. It looks to me as if
Jupiter and Europa are going to miss their wreaths,
if that scamp don’t head for port.”
She sat down, patiently. “Europa” had the field.
She placed her fan against a satin knee, and smiled
at his enthusiasm.
“You can get more joy out of nothing, than any
other man in the world,” she informed him. “I’d
say that your imagination was a monoplane in full
flight.”
“And that I veer a good deal, eh?”
“Y-e-e-s!”*
He sat down then, deserted the charms of “Eu
ropa,” and man-like drew his Havanas toward him.
• “Day at the office been tough,” he epitomized. “Aw
ful hot month —September. Murat got out in the
yard, with Henry Brown’s editorial on ‘The South
Pole.’ ”
She raised her fan to her lips, to conceal a whole
series of smiles, strolled over to the mantel, found a
box, and filled the little bronze match-holder for
him.
“I know which end of the cigar to bite off,” she
confessed.
“I am liable to love a girl who knows that,” he
observed.
She shrugged her shoulders, glanced at the grand
Knabe piano, then at the broad arm of his leather
lounging chair, and out to the stars, burning so quiet'
ly, in the soft, high Southern skies.
lication and becomes a cog in the
great wheel of journalism, it never
lost fascination, this is due, no
doubt, to the fact that no one is
quite so closely in touch with the
activities of the world as is the man
who gathers and prepares the news
for the great daily audiences. And
it is not always the which that is
printed that is most interesting, ‘for
every newspaper man knows things
which would create what might be
conservatively referred to as conster
nation if published.
There is no business which reminds
one more forcibly of the transitory
nature of things earthly than does the
making of a newspaper. One who
watched the activities of an afternoon
newspaper, say about two o’clock,
could not fail to be struck with the
deadly earnestness of every employee
from the office boy to the managing
editor. As in the case of the physician
who, time-piece in hand, watches the
patient hovering between life and
death, every moment counts and min
utes are priceless jewels which may
not be wasted. The casual observer
might be disposed to say that these
men are working for eternity, doing
the work of a lifetime in a day, in
stead of doing today what they did
yesterday and what must be done
312 times in the course of the year.
The work so desperately performed
today will be ancient history tomor
row, and a week hence not one copy
out of every hundred issued from the
press-room can be found throughout
the city. To all intents and purposes
the effort expended has gone for
naught. The story of the day has
been told and read. The historian
will lift out a here and there
for a permanent place in literature —
the remaining columns of matter are
as though they had never been.
Perhaps it is no wonder that, with
such evidence of the mutability of
matter constantly before him, the aver-
“Have you a seat?” Ford invited. He patted the
leather arm of his lounging chair, a smile about the
corners of his de Peyster mouth.
She posed herself, on the broad arm of his chair,
quite artistically, drawing her satin train to one side,
and letting her bare left arm rest on the back of
the chair.
“You look lonesome, Ethel.”
“And miserable”? she asked.
He liked the warm, young body near him, the
violet aroma on her handkerchief, the tendril of
midnight hair, that persisted in escaping over the
pink-shell of her left ear. Then, when she turned
her eyes on him, slowly, dark, and magnetic, in
their Orient beauty, he sat up. There were great
dreams in these wonderful eyes, and he wished
to look into their brown-gold depths.
“G-a-d”!! he said, and forget to light his cigar.
Instead of playing her game, she gave up. Tired,
heart-broken, at the limit, she relaxed along the
chair arm. It was one of Aunt de Peyster’s broad
est —chair-arms!
First a sob shook her white throat, the throne of
ivory beauty where dwelt the daughters of music, *
and then another came, faster and more cruel than
the first, and her breast heaved, her gallant heart
gave way, and she cried, softly, the tears falling
on Ford’s right hand.
The soul of her great love hovered over the ship
that could rescue her, as the white gyrfalcon, after
his long flight from the regions of ice and storm
and snow, hovers a vital, brief, dramatic moment,
over the deck of an Ocean greyhound, utterly ex
hausted, the wing-strokes spent, the spirit dying,
the body ready for an unconscious sea-plunge ♦ ♦ ♦
to safety or to death.
Ford bit into his evening cigar, with an odd, queer
pain, at his throat. He hadn’t had that sort of a
pain in his throat, in three years. On top of the
grand piano, the statuette of Dan Cupid, son and
heir-at-law of Venus, snickered.
“For God’s sake, Ethel, don’t weep,” he suggested.
The Golden Age for September 13, 1909.
age newspaper man shows a disposi
tion to snatch what of life he can
from the fleeting moment, leaving the
future to take care of itself. For he
knows that he, the gatherer of the
news, will be as the news he has
gathered, forgotten almost before the
echo of his footsteps has died away.
New York City. F. L. ORTON.
LIGHTEST ROOF EVER MADE.
And the Tightest—and the Rightest—
and the Mightiest.
Any reader of this paper who con
templates building should think of the
roof very shortly after he has con
cluded on the location of the building
—for if the roof is not right the house
will never be right
To assist house builders, the Cort
right Metal Roofing Co., Philadelphia,
have published several generously il
lustrated booKs giving the experience
of people all over the United States
in roof construction. For the good of
this cause they will send these books
free to any of our readers who write
for them. They have been run into
several editions, and have peen help
ful to thousands of home builders, as
well as architects, contractors and
roofers, because they demonstrate the
good points and the weaknesses of all
the various forms of roofing.
The roofing that is best for build
ings in this section is a very light yet
dense and flexible material that will
make an absolutely tight covering,
proof against weather, fire and wear.
This material and its most practical
application is fully discussed in these
Cortright free books. The Cortright
Metal Roofing Co. have carried its use
to the farthest degree of development,
producing the tightest and rightest
roof that ever went on a house; suited
alike to the smallest house and larg
est structure —and it is of such digni
fied character that it gives a charm
to the little buildings about the house;
while it makes the larger house not
able for beauty in a community of
handsome architecture.
Its application to churches, schools,
town buildings, railroad stations and
factories throughout the United States
is evidence of its practical value and
its ornamental effect. This class of
building is invariably designed by an
architect who specifies the roofing,
and is closely watched by officials
whose duty is to get the most for the
money spent.
To secure the booklet free, address
CORTRIGHT METAL ROOFING CO.,
94 N. 23d St. Philadelphia, Pa.
A REALISTIC ACTOR.
Malcolm was three years old. He
stood stock still in the middle of the
floor, one arm extended horizontally.
His mother, looking up from her sew
ing, saw the door open.
“Shut the door, Malcolm, pleas'' ■'
she said.
No response. She repeated her re
quest. Still no response.
“Malcolm,” she said more sternly, “I
asked you to shut the door.”
Still Malcolm stood in the middle
of the floor with his arm outstretched
and did not move.
“Malcolm”, said his mother, “if you
don’t shut the door at once I shall
have to punish you.”
Malcolm burst into tears and flung
himself on his mother’s knees. “Muv
ver,” he cried, “I was bein’ a wooden
sign, an’ wooden signs can’t shut
doors!” —Woman’s Home Companion.
Cures Chronic Cases.
Cures every time: “Your Hughes’
Tonic for chills and fever has never
failed yet, and I have sold it to a num
ber of chronic cases. It cures them
every time.” Sold by Druggists—soc
and SI.OO bottles.
Prepared by
ROBINSON-PETTET CO., Louisville.
Incorporated.
Then, as his voice went lame. “I think that you are
the grandest woman I have ever known.”
“I —I —can’t help it, she murmured. Then, with a
gallant effort:
“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn fields
And thinking of the days that are no more.”
“Tears,” he repeated. “Yes—certainly—tears”!
He couldn’t remember any of it.
“Tears,” he said, finally, as if that ended it. He
drew her bare, white arm about his neck, and patted
her hand, soothingly.
“Princess! Princess! this will never do. I’ll have
to phone for Dr. Blucher Bloxan, if you don’t hush.”
She did not hush. It was a case of weep or die,
and ebe wept. By-and-by she examined the arm
about his neck, with critical acumen. It was a per
fectly modeled arm and the flesh shone clear as
camw.
“This is exquisitely wicked,” she breathed, her
eyes shining thru her tears, “and you engcyed
Shirley, dear heart. Let me go.”
“I don’t know,” he argued, “suppose you draw it
tighter, and make it idiotically indecent.”
She drew it tighter.
Then, she clasped her other white arm about him,
and locked her fingers over a gold bracelet, as if
the pretty toy had become unsnapped.
“Take a long time to fasten it, Princess,” Ford
suggested. “The worship of the Ghost of Memory
isn’t half what it is cracked up to be. That Vil
lage Heiress was beautiful tho’.”
“Bah”! said the Princess.
“Her red-gold hair, her rose leaf white skin, her
eyes, oh! they looked as if they had just opened in
Paradise.”
“Oh! red-gold hair,” Miss Ford yawned, “it is atro
cious.”
“What? Atrocious? My eye! but you do sail
(Continued on Page 16.)
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