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Changing Places
With Jimmie.
By W. F. BRYAN.
Copyright, 190S, by Associated Lit
erary Press.
Jack Morewood stood upon the
piazza tapping the floor with the tip
of her daintily booted foot and slap
ping at her habit skirt with n sliver
mounted crop.
It was a perfect day for a ride. The
sun kissed the peaks of the low chain
of hills to tlie west, and in between
was the bright green of early summer.
Nature was in her kindliest mood, but
Jacqueline did not share it.
The groom was si >w about bringing
her mount around, and while she wuit
ed a dozen couples had cantered past
waving their hands gayly to Jack.
Hut no cavalier waited to assist her.
and no smart cob whinnied Impatient
ly over the delay in the appearance of
her own horse.
Presently the groom would lead her
horse to tlie block, he would assist her
In the saddle with the perfunctory care
of a hireling, and she would go canter
Ing off alone to her ride.
It was tills fact and not the slow
ness of tlie stable hands that brought
ttie frown to Jacqueline’s face. For
the first time in her life she was tired
of being the boy of the family.
When stalwart John More wood had
. leaned over the cradle to look down
Into the blinking eyes of his flreborn
the baby had sel/.inl tlie proffered fin
ger In sturdy clasp and her father had
chuckled with delight.
“Mile's shaking hands like the little
gentleman she Is,” lie declared. Then
and there he had nnined her Jacque
line that he might call her Jack
He Seemed to find comfort for his dis
appointment In her sex by making his
little daughter iih boyish as possible.
In her youth, thanks to tils training,
she had t>ee given over to tomboy
tricks- When she was thirteen and a
baby brother came to share her reign
she regarded tlie newcomer’s appear
ance with contempt.
"I’ui the lest boy,” she declared
with emphasis, and she took pride in
her father’s assurance that she was
indeed. Jimmie became his mother’s
pet. while Jack still chummed with
her father, and as the hoy grew up
delicate and pallid Jack seemed to
gain mannishness by contrast
She was the pi If champion of the
country club, not In the ladies’ class,
but by virtue of having beaten all the
men. She could ride wherever a man
went, could shoot straight and handle
a cue. She was voted a "good fellow,”
but now, on the eve of her twenty-sec
ond birthday, .lack turned rebellious.
Her thoughts were interrupted by
the appearance of the groom with her
horse, and presently she was cantering
down ttie drive to the highway. Once
on the road she eased the horse into a
trot. The cliff road was accounted one
of the most beautiful in the state, but
Jack gave no heed to the beauty of
the scene.
I’iiil Minium bad cantered past with
Hess Farley just before she had start
ed oid, and ids careless greeting had
..wounded her.
"She had been good chums with Phil
rv since slie was a little girl, and
he hod always given her the same
cswless greeting of fellowship, but this
morning it had jarred. She knew that
he did not really care for Hess.
He had said so more than once, but
Mrs. Farley would not let Bess ride
unless there was someone with her
Who con hi keep a watchful eye on her
mount! .so I'hil, being a neighbor, bad
cptne to iiie girl's relief.
"XT with Phil, so it was with the
•r>tlk'st men. They were all good chums.
Tut they were only chums. Jack
could not recall u tender speech ever
made t* tier, and. carrying her iutro
spectlim further, she did not blame the
•beys for regarding her as one of them
selves. Kven in (lie evening her thick
dark hair was severely done and her
dress was in keeping.
It came upon her with all the sud
denness of a revelation that she had
missed the pretty speeches which she
had pretended to despise and that her
heart clamored for the rights of young
womanhood.
i .With lips that pressed hard together
she turned her horse's head toward
home. She scarcely recognized the peo
ple she passed, and it was not until
she had almost reached the house that
her attention was attracted. She heard
her brother’s voice raised in appeal,
and through sheer force of habit she
prepared to come to his rescue.
The boy never had been permitted to
fight his own battles, and in younger
days Jack had sometimes come to his
assistance with her own sturdy fists.
Now she reined in her horse and drew
near the Innlge which separated her
from the little boys.
There were a dozen of them, sturdy,
tanned youngsters with dirt on clothes
and countenances, and in their midst
stood Jimmy, immaculate iu blue vel
vet, with long golden curls.
“It’s not my fault,” he said in ag
grieved tones. “I'm not old enough to
buy my ovyn clothes yet You fellows
might let me olay with you.” _
"O’wan?'was the tin feeling response.
“We don't play with girls."
“I'm not a girl," asserted Jimmie. “I
tell you It's not my fault.”
“Boys don't wear velvet dresses,” re
minded his tormentor. “Come on, fel
lers. Lady Jane’s going to cry.”
With a burst of derisive laughter the
boys ran off. For a moment Jimmie
made as though to follow them, but he
knew as well as the others that pur
suit was impossible.
Jimmie had never had a chance to
toughen his legs In exercise. With
quivering lip the boy turned towaro
the house, and Jack urged her horse
closer to the hedge.
“Jimmie,” sho called warnlngly, “if
you dare to cry I shall spank you. Go
get your pony and come back to me.”
“What are you going to do?” demand
ed Jimmie.
“Never mind,” she said. “You do
what I tell you. I)o you want really
and truly to be a liny?”
“Do IV” repented Jimmie, st iffing at
the folly of the question. “I ain’t either
a boy or a girl.”
“Neither am I," said Jack. “Hurry
up, dear.”
She waited beside the road until her
brother joined her on his pony, and to
gether they headed for the town. It
was long nfter luncheon hour before
the two returned, and Mrs. Morewood
was pacing ttie veranda in an agony of
a ppreheuslon.
She had no fears for Jack, but she
lamented that at times Jimmie's pony
had shown signs of wildness, and tho
two grooms were already scouring the
country, while the mother was promis
ing herself that the boy should be at
tended ou future rides.
Mr. Morewood said nothing, but
there was a white line about his lips
where they were pressed firmly togeth
er to hold back the words of apprehen
sion.
He was afraid for Jacqueline, and
when tbe children were seen turning
into the drive, followed by a groom on
whose usually impassive face there ap
peared a broad grin, Morewood gave a
sigh of relief.
Mrs. Morewood shrieked with horror
when they came closer and she was
able to see that Jimmie’s hair had been
cropped close to his head, while the
velvet suit had been replaced by a
stout corduroy. But as they slipped to
the ground Jack took the boy’s hand
and led him to his father.
“Dad,” she said simply, “here is your
son. I am your daughter. It has been
all wrong until now. I've never had a
sweetheart, and Jimmie's never had a
fight. We’ve come to the conclusion
that we have both been cheated out of
what belongs to us, and we've changed
places.”
She stooped to kiss her father’s
bearded face and whispered, “And
your daughter loves you more than
ever, dad." Morewood clasped her to
his heart, for he understood the trans
formation even while his wife be
wailed her darling’s lost curls.
That evening at the Country club
Jacqueline was the sensation of the
dance as she entered with her hair
loosely waved instead of tightly knot
ted. In her dress, too, there was a sub
tle suggestion of femininitr which
caused the men fo gasp and tell them- •
selves that they had never before real
ized what a stunning girl Jacqueline
Morewood was. j
radiant tonight,” murmured
Miuturu "aJ |re held out his hand for
her dance programme.
“I’m tired of being father's boy," she
explained. “I’ve changed places with
Jimmie,” and as Mint urn calmly ap
propriated three waltzes and returned
the programme she read in his eyes 1
approval of the change.
• How It Affected Him.
Monk (the caddie)—Ever since Leo
ale that Gordon highlander he won't
do anything hut play golf.
Unlike Some Married Men.
“It must be forlorn for a bachelor
when he falls ill.”
“That’s so. No one to take in board
ers for him."—Browning’s Magazine.
Fool and Sage.
The fool and his money are parted,
not long did they stay in cahoots, but
the fool is the cheeriest hearted and
gladdest of human galoots. His neigh
bor is better aud wiser, six figures
might tell what he’s worth, but, oh, bow
folks wish the old tniser would fall
off the edge of the earth!—Emporia Ga
zette.
Nothing preaches better than the
ant, aad she says uothing.—Franklin.
The Best Man
By EMELINS BARR.
Copyright, 1908, by Associated Lit
erary Press.
For the first time in hia life John
Amidon found himself in New York.
It was a warm spring day—much too
warm and too glorious to spend in
visiting a round of stuffy offices. He
would make a holiday of it and let
business wait until tomorrow.
An inspiration seized him, and after
some search through the vnrious com
partments of his leather wallet he drew
out a dingy visiting card.
“H’m,” he mused. "That’s funny.
I was sure I had his address. ‘Richard
Malloney,’ that's all it says, though,
that's sure.”
He put the card back thoughtfully.
“It was something about Washing
ton," ho reflected
But the “something” had eluded him
impishly. He drew a map out of his
pocket and studied it carefully. With
an air of triumph he at length pounced
upon the words “Mount Vernon.” He
had it!
Should he consult a telephone direct
ory? What was the use? It would
j be more fun to give Dick a surprise.
Dick was Just tbe kind of fellow to
enjoy the unexpected. Ou the way
: out on the train Amidon indulged in
pleasant reminiscences of college days
when he and Dick had been such jolly
good chums. Was it possible a whole
1 ten years had gone since they had seen
each other?
“But Dick’s ail right." ire solilo
quized. "It’s a great thing to be sure
of a welcome. He’ll be just as glad
to see me as I will”—
“Mount Vernonl” shouted the con
ductor, and Amidon got off hurriedly.
“Gan you tel! me where Mr. Richard
Malloncy lives?" he asked the first per
son he happened to run into at the
station. Before the person addressed
had time to reply a six-year-old boy
piped up:
“I can.”
“Is that so?” returned Amidon gen
ially. “Well, suppose you show me
then. Will you?”
For answer the knowing one turned
to lead the way importantly. When
he came to the end of the station plat
form he stopped beside a shining auto
mobile.
“Get in,” he said to Amidon hos
pltably.
Amidon hesitated.
“Why, thank you, young man,” he
replied. “You are very kind, but if
you’ll just be good enough to tell me
where Mr. MalJoney lives I’ll walk
there.”
“But we’re going right there,” per
sisted Aruidon’s personal conductor.
“Mr. Richard Malloney is my father.
I’m Richard Malloney, Jr., you know.”
In spite of his amazement Amidon
was alert enough to be conscious of
the chauffeur's silent chuckling. Rich
ard Malloney, Jr., was proving a most
unexpectedly sprightly pilot It might
be well before committing oneself ir
revocably to his management to ask
a few definite questions. So Amidon
addressed the amused chauffeur.
“I arrived from town on this last
train.” he stated. “Can you tell me
if Mr. Malloney is at home?”
“Very sorry, sir.” returned the chauf
feur civilly. "He’s Just started for
town himself.”
“And—Mrs. Malloney?”
“She went with him, sir.”
Amidon reflected a moment.
“Barbara’s home," volunteered Mai- j
loney junior.
Arnidon’s face lighted Instantly. Bar
bara that was Dick’s sister, of course.
Me remem bored, but this was no time
for reminiscences.
“Is she, indeed?” he exclaimed jovial
ty. “Then 1 will run out.” Aud he
jumped in beside Richard.
“Let’s see,” he mused, hardly con
scious that he spoke, “how old must
Barbara be now?”
“About thirty,” Richard suggested.
Amidon glanced at the chauffeur.
He was quite sure he was chuckling
again.
“About thirty?” repeated Amidon.
”It doesn’t seem possible.”
“She’s grown up awful fast,” Rich
ard commented. "She was only just a
girl when she went away to school,
but now she does her hair up and stays
up evenings. I wish I wms thirty.”
This yearning was accompanied by
a very genuine sigh, but Amidon had
quite forgotten to listen to the child’s
prattle. His own thoughts were more
absorbing.
Had he or had he not met Dick's sis
ter? So many fellows at college had
sisters! If so, what had she looked
like? She must have been very young
—and to think of Dick s being married
and never letting him know —more
than that, to think of there being a
Richard Malloney, Jr.!
“Here we are,” exclaimed the boy,
“and there's Barbara on the porch.
Hoo-oo!”
Barbara came to the top of the steps,
looking at Amidon curiously.
As for Amidon. he was seized, with &
panic or mlaglvfnga. Surely, if heifad
ever in his life seen that girl, no mat
ter how many years ago. he would
never have forgotten her.
But he most say something, for
yoong Richard had already climbed
out of the machine and announced,
“Here’s a man to see you. Barbara,”
an Introduction that certainly needed
elucidating.
Amidon braced himself.
“I am John Amidon.” he stated sim
ply, standiug below her, with hat in
hand. “Your brother and I were
friends at college. I hoped to find him
hero.”
To his astonishment Barbara burst
oat laughing, revealing two very beau
tiful dimples in her glowing cheek3.
She recovered herself with evident ef
fort
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Amidon
There must be some mistake. You see,
this is my only brother," she said as
sho lifted Richard junior off his feet
and then let him down again with a
suddenness that evidently tickled that
young man’s fancy.
“Well, it' couldn’t have been your
father!” ventured Amidon.
At the absurdity of this suggestion
Barbara and John both laughed hearti
ly. Then Barbara had an idea.
“Why, of course, you mean Cousin
Dick. Are you a Harvard man?”
John nodded. “Ninety-eight,” he in
formed her.
“How stupid of me not to have
thought of that at once!” Barbara ac
cused herself. “But, you see, ’9B is a
pretty long time ago, and Dick has been
abroad neprly ever since he left col
lege.”
It was all such a ridiculously mixed
up state of affairs—the idea that Cousin
Dick was married and that Richard
junior was his son; that Barbara was
Dick’s sister—when in reality, as it
turned out, Dick had no sister; that,
most comical of all, Barbara was
“about thirty”—well, what was there
todo but to laugh and laugh about it?
“But how,” suddenly broke out Bar
bara, “did you happen to find us here
in Mount Vernon? Dick’s family lives
in New York, you know.”
“What part of New York?” asked
John.
“Washington square.”
And then followed more explanations
and more laughter.
When Mrs. Malloney returned from
town at luncheon time she found Bar
bara and John in the midst of an ex
citing tennis match.
“Who’s playing with Barbara?” she
questioned Richard junior after several
futile attempts to recognize the young
man.
“A man I brought from the station,”
Richard informed her boastingiy.
“Richard, what are you talking about?
What’s his name?”
“Barbara will tell you. She likes him.
They’ve been laughing lots.”
The introduction, with its subsequent
explanations, at last over with, Mrs.
Malloney was all charming hospitality.
“Of course you’ll come out and stay
with us while you’re here, Mr. Ami
don. The city is so disagreeable In
warm weather. It’s a great privilege
to be able to do anything for Dick’s
friends. We’re all most fond of him,
but be gives us very little chance to
show it You will make this your
headquarters, won’t you?”
John Amidon had to hold on to him
self good and hard. He was so happy
that he feared he would appear over
zealous in accepting the invitation.
Of course John Amidon fell head over
heels in love w ith Barbara. Of course
he decided to spend the whole summer
In the east, and, of course, at the end
of the summer he wrote to his chnm.
Dick Malloney, commanding his con
gratulations.
“You’re going to marry Barbara,
aren’t you?” asked Richard junior, bob
bing abruptly out from under the ham
mock where the lovers were sitting
one evening at twilight.
“You bet i am!” exclaimed John,
catching him up affectionately.
“What will 1 l>e then.” queried the
puzzled Richard, “your cousin or your
son V”
“You? Why,’’ said John, laughing,
“you’ll be my best man, of course.”
A Pretty Quarrel.
“Yes,” said the suburban citizen, “it
is a very pretty quarrel as it stands.”
“No hard words, 1 hope.”
“None whatever. My folks are try
ing to play the piano Isjte enough every
night to make the lawn mower artists
next door oversleep themselves next
morning.”—Washington Star.
Concentrated.
“Say, why didn’t you tell me that
your father had a sore throat and
couldn’t speak?”
“I don't see what difference that
could make.”
“You don’t? Why, it enabled him to
concentrate all his energy in his feet.”
—Cleveland Plain Dealer.
Enough to Keep Him Waiting.
“I hate to have my husband find a
horseshoe.”
“Why?”
“He always brings it home, nails it
up and then waits around for luck to
strike him.” <
“Weir?”
“And there never was such a man
for finding horseshoes.” Cleveland
Plain Dealer.
Humor
A GENTLE COLT.
And What Happened to the Man Who
Bought It.
“Whoa!” was the simultaneous excla
mation of the two old Brownstown
farmers as they met on the road and
pulled up for a little chat.
“Coin’ on past Sim Jones’ place?”
asked one of them after they had dis
posed of the weather and their fami
lies
“Yep; I’m goin’ a couple o’ miles'
beyont him. Why?”
“Say," after a prolonged chuckle,
“when you git front o’ his place walk
the hosses. If Sim don’t show up, jest
let ou suthin has gone wrong with the
wagon and go in and borry a wrench
or a hammer. It’s worth walkin’ half
a day to see Sim. Jemimy, but he’s a
sight!”
“Bee stings or what?”
“I hain’t sayin’ a word, only see him.
That’s all. Mornin’. Git ep!”
As good luck would have it, Sim was
limping up and down in front of his
place, and no strategy had to be used
In gettiug sight of him. There was a
towel about his head, he had but one
eye in commission, and it was two
thirds closed, his hair was cut out in
blotches to accommodate an adhesive
plaster, and he could just manage to
locomote with a crutch and a cane.
“Hello, Sim!” shouted the man from
the wagon. “Keers run over you?”
“No; the keers didn’t.run over me.
Durned cur’us how much people wan
ter find out when they come ’long here.
But I hain’t makin’ no grumble ’bout
you, Abe, ’cause you and me alius
been friends. I know I look jest ’s
though I’d been sawed and split and
piled up. Did you see that feller
round here las’ week peddlin’ a pop
eyed black colt ’itbout a white hair on
Mm?”
“Yaas; stopped at my place and
stumped me fur a dicker.”
“Well, you’ll never see him ag’in,
Abe. ef I see him first. He toie me
positive that colt was gentle as a kit
ten, and I bought him. That night I
rode him inter the woods to look fur
the cows, and when they found me
’bout midnight I was a blamed sight
worse’n I am now. Ef you ever see
that cuss, Abe, git me word ef it costs
a dollar.”—Detroit Free Press.
- Just Like a Girl.
The Friend—Do you think she will
keep her engagement a secret?
The Envious One—Well I should say
not!
The Friend—Well, she received the
gold hand last night
The Envious One—lndeed! Well, it
is a wonder she don't hire a brass
band to announce it today. Denver
News-Times.
Dusty’s Kick.
“Dese automobiles are a nuisance,"
growled Dusty Dennis as he frowned
at a passing touring car.
"What's de matter, pard?” asked
Gritty George. “One of dem run you
down?”
“No. but last night dey put me in a
cell wid a chauffeur, and I couldn’t
sleep for de smell of gasoline.”—Chi
cago News.
Self Accusing.
“I don’t believe you know much
about farming,” said the patronizing
man w ho had just settled in the neigh
borhood.
“No,” answered Mr. Corntossel; “I
kind o’ think I don’t myself. A man
that knew much about farming would
not have bought a farm anywhere
rround here in the first place.”—Wash
ington Star.
What Was Lacking.
Tom— When are you going to wed
your pretty fiancee?
Dick (gloomily) lndeed I do not
know.
Tom—But the report Is gaining cur
rency.
Dick— Yes, but I am not gaining cur
rency. That is just the trouble.—Chi
cago News.
All About Her.
Winkle—See that little woman in
black over there? I'll bet there are
mote men crazy about that woman
than any woman in town.
Hinkle—What makes you think so?
Winkle —Well, she’s the matron out
at the insane asylum.—Judge.
Just Exactly Right.
“I have used Dr.Kind's New Liio
Pills for several years, and rind
them just, exactly right,” says Mr.
A. A. Felton, of Harrisville, N. Y.
New Life Pills relieve without
the least discomfort. Best remedy
for constipation, biliousness and
malaria. lioc. at G. \V. DeLa
perriere's drug store.
How a woman disliks to have peo
ple tell her she is getting fat.