Newspaper Page Text
THE GEOBOIAM’S MAGAZINE PAGE
The Gates of Silence”
By Meta St mm ins, Author of "Hushed I’p"
TODAY’S installment
To -lack Rimington. waiting in prison
for death with a resignation which had in
it nothing short of apathy, the news had
not yet come.
I'p until now he had not heard so much
B? a whisper of the agitation which was
being conducted in his favor, in the con
demned cell there is at least the mercy
of silence. The chaplain, who had not
so long since left him, had said nothing
of it. He had spoken to Rimington of
resignation to the will of God: of a heart
serene in the storm as in tlje sunshine
spoken in a manly way that had brought
g rush of feeling to the prisoner’s heart.
A prison chaplain has to ape the Im
partiality of Fate itself. Yet this old man,
as he talked to Rimington, speaking as he
might have spoken had the interview been
conducted in his own study instead of in
a prison cell, had left with him an im
pression that he believed him to be what
he. without protestation or asseverations,
had stated himself to be-an innocent
man.
Next to the interview with Betty, Rim
ington thanked God for his impression.
It helped him more than he knew—for it
(rave him back that most precious of gifts
of which Imprisonment robs a man—his
self respect.
As Rimington aat now with an open
hook on his knee, facing the wall on
which hung those texts which spoke of
justice and mercy—of those Four Last
Things which the world contrives so suc
cessfully to forget—Rimington was think
ing of the chaplain, wondering if It would
be possible to intrust him with some last
message of hope tor Betty that would
nerry oottviotlon to that broken heart.
Words formed themeelves in bls brain,
grouped tbemeetvee into phrases. For an
tnstarrt it was almost as though he spoke
faee to face with her.
The Governor.
T7>en, with a thrill almost of vexation.
tM heard the clang of the opening of
the oefl door.
No chance now of a visitor-of any vis
ttor he eared to aee. He had forbidden
the timid, horror-stricken woman at the
Red Rerase to come up, as she had wished
to do. Hie uncle, it was probable, would
receive the Order of Release before he
htmseK did. David Rimington was ly
tag at the point of death. Raxe would
not come again. And Betty—never again
in his life would he look on Betty That
was not poesibie for either of them
"To go before the governor!”
That was the curt direction given to
him. Still with rebellion In hfs mind.
Rimington marched between his warders
Couldn't they leave him at peace now?
That condemned cell was home—hls last
home on earth. He felt an odd reluctance
to leave it.
Even now as he went he had no thought
of what awaited him. Had the hour been
earlier he might have thought perhaps
that it was the end. The warders, who
probably knew, or at least guessed, cast
curious glances at him as they went.
Afterwards Rimington remembered lit
tle enough of the interview. What hap
pened at It wiped the details from his
mind. He remembered vaguely the gov
ernor and the chaplain and some prison
cfficlals to whom he could not have given
a name: his own warders and that pre
vailing note of prison life, the remem
brance of which never leaves the man
who has done "time"—the click and cla’ng
of the keys.
He noticed one thing and one thing only
- the look on the faces of the two men,
the governor and chaplain—a new light
In the eyes with which they regarded him.
which seemed to tell him, or so he
thought, the news before their tips did
“In conaequenoe of . . . the home
secretary has seen fit to commute
penal aervfttsde . .
Vague words framing tn Jack Rtming
•orfa ears, that ted grown strangely
dulled, and above them all one booming
wvfl repeated over and over again: Re
prterrwW Reprieved’
ted then that word, too, was drowned
by the strange buzz and roar that sound
ed In Ms ears, and a great veil of dark
ness descended on him, blotting out the
gtomy room and the oddly Impassive face
of the governor, the frankly Joyful face of
the old chaplain. He felt himself falling—
filling into an abyss where nothing mat
tered, neither the things of life nor death.
...
'"Painted, poor wretch!" one of the pris
on officials in attendance on the governor
eadd, ae they watched a warder, kneeling
hy Rlmtngton’s side and forcing brandy
between the tightly-clenched teeth "If he
only knew, he'd take It quick enough: it's
the last drink he's likely to get for many
a long day Twenty years M works out at.
I suppose. By George! it’s hard to say.
but I think If the choice were offered to
tne Pd prefer to swing Twenty years—
poor beggar!"
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6
.'!' " a “ i the problem which presented it
•‘H io hiningion as, later, he sat in the
cell to whieli he had been taken —no
longer that grim anteroom to Death's aud
ience chamber, but a temporary cell
where he would remain until he was
drafted out to begin the new life into
which he had been born—the life of a con
vict condemned to penal servitude for
life. Ihe reprieve which had been grant
ed to him was it a blessing or a curse?
In those first moments in the govern
or's presence when be had realized that
he was not to die. his thoughts had rushed
out to embrace life with a Joy and thanks
giving that had bee nso poignant in its
emotion as to cause that womanish faint
which had surprised and humiliated him.
But now -facing the future—facing seven
thousand odd days and nights which
stretched between him and even the hope
of liberty it was very different.
Twenty Years.
Twenty years! In twenty years. If. by
the most exemplary behavior be succeeded
in never losing his remission marks, and
by an effort of self control, that even to
contemplate at that moment was a tor
ture. he could succeed in making himself
an absolutely passive Instrument In the
hands of those who from henceforth would
have the ordering of his life, he would be
a free man. A free man! The words
echoed tn Rlmlngton's brain with a bitter
Irony. An elderly' man, broken by prison
life, demoralized perhaps, heaven knew,
by prison association. A man who had
cheated the gallows by a fluke, who had
fallen out of his place In the world for
twenty years. What mockery! A free
man—a free man!
And Betty?
No. no; he must not think of her. He
could not —he would go mad. He must
shut out all though of her forever from
his heart—dig a grave for bls love and
bury It deep, deep— stamp down the cold,
wet clay on It with ruthless feet. Betty
was lost to him now forever. It was not
decent that a dead man as he was should
associate himself In thought with a living
woman. Before ft had been different;
going out to death he had the right to
look forward to reunion beyond the stars.
Now, tn the twenty years that stretched
between them, much could happen. It
was not conceivable that any woman
could waft twenty years for a—felon. He
would pray every day that she would learn
to see the folly* of such waiting. Tn twen
ty years she might become the wife of an
other man. the mother of hls children
Ah, Betty—Betty! In twenty years! The
mockery of It!
He sprang to hls feet. laughing mad
laughter—laughter that rang through the
cell, waking no echo, attracting no atten
tion. They were used to the laughter, to
the tears -that are allied to madness
there in those four walls that are fronted
by the grim Gates of Silence.
* • •
Yet if at first he had found that it was
easier to face death with unfaltering
courage than this new life which stretched
out before him in an Illimitable vista of
monotony, Jack Rimington began as the
time passed to realize that life was sweet
in the possessing—that even this life of
servitude was impregnated with the per
fume of hope.
The chaplain had visited him again,
and the doctor also—a less human per
son than the chaplain, perhaps, but a
good sort all the same—who spoke cheery
words that Rimington did not forget.
"You’re beginning as a prisoner in ear
nest. Well, let me give you an unofficial
tip. Give your will a rest cure while
you're In prison Good conduct in prison
and out of It are different things; ’men
tality' Is the most useless of sciences to
a 'lifer ’ ”
Beginning as a prisoner In earnest!
The words had an ugly ring There had
been little enough of make-believe tn
what he had endured hitherto. Rimington
thought. But he was to realize very
acutely the gulf which exists between
the leniency of the treatment meted out
to the man under sentence of death and
the regulation of penal servitude men.
Hitherto he had known nothing by per
sonal experience of the degradation of
prison death, of the prison crop, of the
physical examination—all those Insignifi
cant Items which eat into the soul of the
gently nurtured man in prison, each, as
it were, a out from the knife that whit
tles down hls personality and reduces him
to a human automaton without so much
as a name.
Leaving the Prison.
He left the prison that was to have
been hls place of execution and his grave
on the afternoon following hls reprieve.
He had no Idea of his destination, though
from vague Impressions in hfs own mind
and from the conversation overheard in
the prison van. he believed he was being
drafted to Wormwood Scrubs.
To Be Continued in Next Issue.
The Making of a Pretty Girl &
No. 6.—How to Dress Appropriately
By Margaret Hubbard Ayer.
UTHEN you go down the street you
' instinctively Judge every girl
you meet by her clothes, don't
you? Do you realize that she is Judg
ing you by yours?
I recommended a young girl for a po
sition as stenographei not long ago and
sent her with a letter to a friend of
mine who had s very good position to
offer.
The gir| was capable and efficient,
and was nicely and suitably dressed
at least she was when she left me with
the letter—but she evidently thought
she would Improve herself by adding a
few trinkets and make a better impres
sion on her new employer, for I received
this irate message from him over the
phone: "She's impossible—l don’t care
how well she can work—l can't s'and
cheap Jewelry—why should she wear a
big sparkling slim-slam on her chest in
the office? .My wife would never think
of wearing so many noisy jewels even
for a big dinner."
It was hopeless to argue with him. as
the thermometer was almost at boiling
point and the man was right anyhow. I
had a heart-to-heart talk with my small
girl. She won't make lite mistake again
of wearing imitation diamonds, even in
the form of hatpins, during norking
hours, for she was judged a. once by
the most conspicuous thing about h r.
the sparkle of cheap, pretentious and
absolutely false and unsuitable orna
ments.
No Real Rule.
So much imitation jewelry is worn
nowadays that one can not merely wave
it aside and call it ail vulgar, as was
the custom even ten years ago.
There are plenty of good, nea -prc
cious stones, but there Is one unfailing
rule for them. Never wear the Imita
tion when it would not be good taste to
wear the real jewels if you possessed
them.
No woman of the fashionable wo! 1
wears her beautiful diamonds with t
plain shirtwaist or a simple cotton
frock.
The woman of wealth never wears a
profusion of jewels except on state o< -
casions and never by daylight. Shi
confines herself to a brooch and lai
pins generally of semi-precious .‘■tones
for morning wear such as are neces
sary to her costume. Incidentally it is
not considered good taste to wear many
rings on the middle finger, for the sim
ple reason that this makes the hand
look larger and more awkward than
when the rings are placed on the fourth
finger of either hand.
SI,OOO Worth of Clothes.
The girl tn the picture is wearing
SI,OOO worth of clothes, including her
hat. With this costume she could wear
jewels of any price, and were she to
wear good imitation jewelry no one
would ever believe that it was not gen
uine. But she looks, as if she were t
ADVICE TO THE LOVELORN > * By Beatrice Fairfax
TELL HIM YOU’VE FORGOTTEN.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am a young lady of nineteen,
and dearly in love with a young
man four years my senior. I love
him. but I know that he does not
love me. I know he loves another,
yet he often calls to see me on
Wednesday and Friday evenings.
He said he will take me into so
ciety to make me forget. It will
bteak mv heart to give him up.
A CONSTANT READER.
Are you not making a mistake in
letting him see that you love him .’ He
is most kind in offering to take you
into society to help you forget. 1 mar
vel at your lack of pride In failure to
resent It.
Tell him you have forgotten you evei
loved him. And make your word good
by forgetting it.
THAT IS WHERE YOU ERR.
Dear Miss Failfax:
I am eighteen, and very much
in love with a man of twenty-one.
I have been going with him for
eight months, and he seems to care
for me. but never told me so. Some
times he is . very indifferent, and
this makes me angry, as 1 am never
that way to him. F. S.
You tell the source of all his cold
i ness in that one line, "1 am never that
I way to him.”
Why not? Why let him see that your
heart hangs on a branch, ready for
him to pick it whenever he pleases?
Meet his indifference with indiffer
ence. It will al least arouse his curl-,
oslty, and a man who Is curious is
never inattentive.
LOVE OF MUSHROOM GROWTH.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am a young gentleman of
eighteen and deeply in love with a
lady about my age. I often meet
her on the street and she speaks
pleasantly and that is all. 1 do not
know her name or address, and yet
I feel that life is getting unbear
able without her love.
DISTRACTED.
You are in love, "desperately," with
a woman whose name you do not know '.’ .
Then how do you know she is not mar- i
lied? Do you know if she Is amiable,
intelligent, capable? Do you know if i
she is really the kind of girl you want I
for a wife?
Think all this over with a cooler
head. Perhaps you may decide your
infatuation is only a passing sentiment.
GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am 22, and conxidced very
[dotty About eighteen months ago
I met a young man about the same
age, and kept company with him i
six months. He told me he loved
me ami wanted me to marry him,
which I did not want to do, as he
had not a good salary. I was called
II w ,11 sudd, nA . and had no chtim e I
to let him know, but wrote and ex-
J The girl in ;
| the picture is ' ,X
; wearing N
; SI,OOO worth .
>f 1 ’ lll,l
' Wif ° tb ■ w
cort-r.'.e she \
; cov.kt wear
je ' vckof
aiy price. 5
Were she to 1
wear good
je ' vclry iT wW : ;fl|
< one would WWW . W
< believe th. t ' fife Isl "
j it was not
genuine
Maw phr UMi
v
11111 i ~ Oiol
IB iifeit
If
ONE THOUSAND DOLLA RS' WO RTH OF CLOTHES.
young p; son who does not believe in
sham of any kind, sham jewels or
sham feelings.
Non. sham jewelry is almost always
flotected, excepting when one is dressed
in such a manner as to throw the jew
els in tlie shade. If you wear Inexpen
sive frocks, wear plain and inconspic
uous pins: even a real pearl necklace
will be branded as "fake” if it is worn
with an inappropriate costume.
Whatever clothes you wear, see that
they and all the accessories are appio
priate. A party hat and a raincoat
plained. I got no reply. East sum
mer I. went to Europe to try and
forget him, but failed. Recently 1
have met him at two dances, and
he was real nice to me, and wanted
to know where I lived, but I did not
tell him. Do you think he still
cares for me. and how could I win
back his love? HEARTBROKEN.
He wants to call; give him a chance.
Endoubtedlj h>- is still interested in
you, and if you are at al! clever you
can easily give him an opportunity to
disclose his feelings without letting
him know you sought the disclosure.
LET THINGS TAKE THEIR COURSE
Dear Miss Fairfax:
While at a dance 1 met a young
man with whom I fell deeply In
love. He took me home and asked
to take me out. 1 refused, telling
him I did not know him well
enough. I haven't seen him since.
Kindly let me know how I can re
new his friendship. LOVESICK.
You were right In refusing his at
tentions on such slight acquaintance,
and no ill can come to you because of
your decision.
If he really cares, he will make op
portunity for getting better acquainted.
I'ntil he does, try not to think of him.
Don’t let yourself think for a moment
that you are In love with a man you
have seen only once.
HE WILL NOT MAKE YOU HAPPY
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am keeping company with a
young man who is desperately jeal-
] ous of all who pay the least bit of
attention to me. Although I love
him very dearly, 1 can not help but
feel embarrassed when he gets an
gry because the boys all make a
fuss over me. WORRIED.
Jealousy is only another name for
selfishness. He Is not the kind of a
man to make any woman happy, and if
a break should occur in your relations
1 am sure it will be for your ultimate
good.
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don’t go together unless the hat is pro
tected by a veil.
The business girl can't dress like he:
sister who stays at home, nor should
the busy, housewifely w oman dodge th*
early morning dress question by slip
ping on a wrapper. The shirtwaist suit
buttoned in front in one piece is a
blessing even greater than were lh<
shirtwaist and skirt, and It has come to
stay. There is no reason for untidiness
on one hand and ovet dressing on the
other, for these simple frock- are with
in the means of almost all of us.
I
WHEREIN DOES HE FAIL?
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am twenty and deeply in love
with a young man with whom I
have been keeping company for the
past year. He says lie loves me.
hut does not seem to show it. He
has told me several times that he
really loves me and would wish no
better girl for his company.
E. M. M.
He tells you he loves you: lie ha.-
been your steady company for two
years. Two proofs he does. Is the
third proof lack of respectful attention
or failure to escort you to places of
amusemenl ?
If the former, don't have anything
mote to do with him. If the latter,
perhaps he can't afford it.
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Daysey May me and Her Folks
By Frances L. Garside
THE most that may be said about
Daysey Mayme Appleton as an
artist is that she has all the
pa: a ph. :na lia. anil the mannerisms.
Attired in an apron that would scare
inspiration away, and with her hair
twisted in a knot so bard the monkey
wrench has been added to iter toilet
articles, site looked the part.
"I want to paint a picture of Hope,”
she mused. "I don't want the stereo
typed one of a maiden silting In a
white kimono looking at a rose. I
want to be original.
She . oliloquized no longer. but
worked with her paints with feverish
energy. Then she called her father
to criticise.
"Now w hai makes you paint such
glow some things?" he cornpl.lined.
"Who wants a picture of a man -itting
beside a grave'.”'
" I'tia; isn', a grave." screamed Day
sey Mayme. "That's a radish bed. and
he is waiting for the radishes to come
up That is a picture of Hope."
Lysander John mumbled ■ miething
about it being better to paint' Hope as
i woman: that men oidii'l know what
hope is. and left tin- rOom. Davsey
V >5 ‘ pw'
• V'>:-?4' fll )\ ■. HB,
As id ”
WKeWOWw
~
Anty Drudge Tells How to Do “Dry
Cleaning” at Home.
J/is llt/r- "('..mo out Iroin under there, George! You?
clothes will be all covered wit 11 grease again and you
know it won't come off. We’ll walk home.”
A nly Ih-udyr— "Let him fix if. Dearie; and don’t fear the
grease. I'els-.X'aptha will ta\*e out all the grease
spots dp] -tains. j:'s as good for “dry cleaning’ gar
ments uj it. is lor was-binc clothes.”
Where there's a will there’s away.
But, usually, only one way.
Fels-Naptha is the way through
which you can free yourself from the
drudgery of the old-fashioned washday—
if you will.
What is that drudgery ?
ou know.
Boiling clothes, making fires, hard
rubbing.
Fels-Naptha lops it ail off, takes it
out of your washday program.
itself does all the w r ork
that, you yourself would have to do in the
roundabout way, summer or winter.
/Xnd it does it in cool or lukewarm
water, without hot fire, without nauseous
suds or steam in the house, without hard
rubbing.
Have jew the will to cut loose from
the old ways —to free yourself from this
drudgery?
hollow the easy directions on the
back of the red and green wrapper.
WHIIBB. 11.—W—g—W— ■. ■<>—
UNIVERSifY SCHOOL FOR BOYS
STONE MOUNTAIN, CA.
Jfe;
UNIVERSITY S< TIOOL FOR BOYS In a regular school where boys are taught and not just
compelled to attend classes. A school fashioned after the old style system of tutoring where in
dividual instruction is given each student; where the finer attributes of a gentleman, not taught
by books, are inculcated; where a sound, healthy body is developed coincident with a broad,
quick mind.
A school where l>oys are transformed into men equipped, mentally and physically to take up
Life’s duties or given a firm foundation on which to build their education in the higher institu
tions of learning. This is done by limiting the students to 96, one instructor for every ten boys.
More than Fwenty per cent, of the student body, each year, are brothers of former students.
dive us a boy; we'll give you a mam
Handsome Illustrated catalog and information burnished. A<idres«
SANDY BEAVER, Principal. Box 53 STONE MOUNTAIN, CA.
A High Grade Inetituhan For Young Women. x-r
I Beautifully located near the Mountains, in th, n>o«t healthful section of
I the South—not a death in the College durins the forty years of its
*■' Sti nce. Every convenience of modern home. Only two girls to
f "P J a room with large study between every two rooms. Every building
a oA Gifcjfp of re-enforc’d concrete, absolutely tire-proof thoroughly modern,
’aKSrc", l" > acres 11 grounds and campus. Faculty chosen from finest
American and European Universities. Full Literary Course lead
ingtoA. R. degree: unexcelled advantages in Music. Art. Exprea
flLXVfrT slon. Special attention to Physical Development Catalog on ra»
(ip..' — 1 , r We \ Wx quest.
A - W ' VAN HOOSE, President, Rome, Go.
"jft ." J i ■- ■- , , .
Mayme wiped out the radish bed and
begun again.
When her work was done this time
the canvas showed a woman with a
prophetic look in her eyes sitting on
the ground. Behind her were a few
locks, a little grass, and a lot of
stakes, set in the ground at regular
intervals.
In one corner Daysey Mayme painted
the title; "Hope As Defined in New
York."
"Th< woman," she explained, "gets
twenty a week as a stenographer.
Fifteen years ago she bought a lot in
S tub Valley, paying twelve dollars A
month, and which will be paid for in
nineteen years.
“Every Sunday in the summer she
goes out to Scrub Valley and sits on
her Io: and dreams dreams of how New
York will grow She sees a fifteen
slory skyscraper on the lot on tlie.
left, and a twenty-four story sky
scraper on the lot on tlie right, and
she hears herself refusing seven
million for her property, knowing she
will get forty-two million if she holds
' on till next week.
"fn-ii is the New York version of
Hope."