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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.