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THE QEORQrIAN’S MAGAZINE PAGE
An Arrow Tipped
Withhold
. By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
rpHERE Is a legend to the effect
that Cupid went storming to
Vulcan one day because he had
found his arrow useless. "It isn't fit,"
he cried, “to let fly at a sparrow, and
i- is an age since it fairly went home
to a heart.”
Vulcan took the arrow and, after
working with it a while, handed it
back.
The urchin shot 'out, and rare havoc he
made.
Th** wounded and dead were untold.
Hut no wonder the rogue had such a
slaughtering trade,
For the arrow was tipped with gold.
*4T AM a younßr man past 21 ’” writes
I a Philadelphia youth, “and
about five months ago I became
acquainted with a department store
girl. It was love at first sight. Things
ran rather smoothly-until a month ago.
when I received the following message:
■•• Dear Harry—l can no longer con
tinue our friendship, as in time you
might take things seriously, and on
your present salary it would be ab
surd.’
I was then earning sl6 a week.
Now. wasn’t that enough to make one
purple about the eyes?
“Well, to make my story short, some
time elapsed and I did not hear a word
from her. Last week I received word
that my uncle, who was a sheep owner
in Patagonia, S. A., had died and left
me SII,OOO.
Wrote at Once.
“Os course, the gif! heard of this and
sent me an invitation to call that same
evening. I consulted my closest friends,
hut they shook their heads and an
swered .in the negative. 1 did not call.
Now. was J right or wrong?”
A young man who makes the as
tounding leap from an income of sl6 a
week to an inheritance of SII,OOO has to
have a more level head than borne on
most shoulders if he would avoid dan
gerous entanglements, and not mistake
the false for the true.
The girl -was right in telling the
young man frankly and honestly that
she couldn't think of marrying on sl6
a week, and thought the intimacy had
better end before they grew to love
each other so much they couldn't end it.
That she didn't love him Is evident.
Had she loved him she would have lost
ail reasoning power. She would have
urged that their intimacy continue
though he got only $6 a week. Love is
attended by hope. Deluded by that lit
tle attendant, she would have pictured
that life for two on sl6 a week was not
only possible, but would be the greatest
joy life could hold.
But since she didn’t love him. she
deserves credit for frankness and hon
esty. At least, she didn’t accept atten
tions from him; theaters and rides and
gifts, with the mercenary desire to get
as much out of him as she could, to
dismiss him when a more promising
victim came along.
I hope he will give her credit for this.
And I am sorry that she wrote asking
him to call. That looks a little mer
ci nary. it would be better if she had
waited for him to write her of his good
'ortune, telling her he was now in po
sition to marry.
Must Be On His Guard.
It may be that sue wishes only to
congratulate him. It may be that mer
cenary gain is the last thought in her
mind.
I hope he will give her the benefit, of
the doubt. And I beg him to remember
'hat whom he meets hereafter will not
bf Influenced in some measure by the
halo his inheritance throws around
him.
That Is human nature. It Is not a
pleasant trait of human nature, but it
exists, and must be reckoned with.
If he wants to be loved for himself
alone, he must put that inheritance
away in good securities, and forget
that he has it. He must continue his
work at sl6 a week, and when he finds
a girl who will love him on that wage
I hope he will promptly grab her.
For he will have found that which is
more desirable than riches: A true and
loving heart.
iLow Summer
Excursion Rates
CINCINNATI, $19.50
LOUISVILLE, SIB.OO
CHICAGO, - $30.00
KNOXVILLE - $7.90
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eczema has no terrors
FOR THIS YOUNG LADY
. SHE HAS FOUND TETTERINE.
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I use no other preparation but Tet
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„ ELSIE M. JUDERINE,
Edgar Spring, Mo., July 15, 1908,
The Sirens Copyright 1912, National New» Association ley
. ... T
. 1 .y- iSPRIFIB.
iTaBgQIBISX - IS' ’■ jrV
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€ “The Gates of Silence” &
7?y Meta Sim mins, Author of “Hushed Up"
TODAY'S INSTALLMENT.
Betty had crushed the letter In her
hand. She did not envy her sister the
possibility of happiness that seemed about
to open before her, only—how hard life
had been to her! How bitterly hard
life, had been to the man who loved her!
"I am glad to hear you say that,” the
doctor said. "You mustn't worry about
the funeral. I'll make the arrangements.
Did Mrs. Rimington leave any papers?”
"I haven't looked." Betty said, dully.
"Somehow I hardly dared to do so."
"If it would save you trouble—if you
cared to trust me so far —and a doctor is
like a priest or a lawyer, his patient's
secrets are as his own—l'll go through
Mrs. Rimlngton's papers for you."
"How good you are!'' Betty said, grate
fully. She handed the doctor the leather
dispatch box and the dead woman's keys,
and went gratefully to the rest the doc
tor suggested in her own room
Perhaps she had fallen asleep. She
hardly knew, but the doctor's voice call
ing excitedly cut through the thread that
bound her to sleep or to half-waking
dreams.
“Miss Lumsden —Miss Lumsden —come
out —quickly, please! No —It’s good news
—too good to keep."
He wondered afterwards at the ex
citement which had swept tact and or
dinary decency of feeling, as it seemed,
away on its tide relentlessly. He had
given no thought to the dead woman—
to her reputation, to her relationship to
the two people who were to benefit so in
timately by her death. He only knew
that here in his hand he held, in this
closely written set of four quarto pages,
the key that would unlock the Gates of
Silence and let an innocent man go free.
He never forgot—he never tired of tell
ing it in after years—how the girl, flushed
a little with sleep, with shining eyes, had
come out from the cell-like room that had
been her voluntary prison never forgot,
he never tired of telling how bravely,
how magnificently she had received the
news of Deborah Rimlngton's confession.
The Confession.
For it was Deborah Rimington. frag
ile and silent, the gentle-eyed, fanatical
little mystic, who was the woman in the
case—the woman the Rondon police had
suspected of being present In Tempest
street on the night Fitzstephen, the
money-lender, was murdered.
All that had happened there that night
had happened with the strange ease and
simplicity which so frequently cling about
the events of great tragedies. Mrs. Rim
ington had set down her share in the oc
currence of that night in a style of lucid
simplicity which must have been bor
rowed from the Book In which she loved
to read of the fierce deeds of the war
like women of Israel.
Dike Jael like Judith—inflamed with
the righteousness of her cause, she had
gone to Tempest street to tlmeaten the
money-lender with the exposure and the
punishment he deserved. Toby Riming
ton had been very dear to her. She had
loved him with the garnered love that
would have been the birthright of those
children who had never been born to
her. and Toby Rimington had died dis
credited, disgraced and broken-hearted-
done to death by this crafty money-spider
as certainly as though the usurer's ugly
brown hands had tightened about his
throat.
"He laughed at me,” she wrote. "Made
a mock of my grief and pain. He had
been drinking, and the fumes of drink
had made him mad. When he came near
me, bestial and threatening, I struck in
self-defense. At my feet he bowed and
fell down. I felt no pity for him. The
Lord, using my hand as an instrument of
justice, had struck at a man who was a
menace to his kind. I left him lying
there.
"Since then I have been a coward; but
my cowardice must cease. It has come to
me that the expiation I sought Is not
enough. I must speak and clear the In
nocent man.”
The confession had ended abruptly Ap
parently she had not concluded the writ
ing of it on that night when Jack Rim
ington had made his mad bid for free
dom
But it was signed and attested. Pos
sibly William Vogel, whose signature was
appended as witness to the document,
had imagined he was witnessing a will.
“Is It true?" Betty asked. "Oh, doctor.
Is it true'' Poor woman, what she must
have suffered."
Slipping to her knees, she bent her
head on her folded arms and burst into
tears.
« * •
' The crocus, blue and white, had opened
their cups very widely to the sun in the
long, tiled boxes in the windows of the
Barringtons’ house at Princes Gate
The man coming slowly toward the house
glanced at them with the thrill of joy
that flowers now never failed to give
him. Each time that lie glanced at their
beauty it seemed to him that until lately
he had gone through the world blind.
The long, dreary months of his impris
onment, If they had given him bitterness
and pain, had quickened also his sense
of beauty, his capacity for joy
Rimington had been free for a couple
of weeks now. The machinery of the law
had worked slowly and creakingly, but it
had worked; the usual farce of granting
pardon to an innocent man had been gone
through, the Gates of Silence had rolled
back, and all the world lay before him.
But he had not yet seen Betty. He
had not felt it possible to meet her until,
so to speajt, he had shed something of
the prison taint, come to some faint sem
blance of his old self But today he was
to see her.
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These Are the Real Things, as Every Midsummer Johnnie Knows.
And as he looked he saw the door of
the house open. Betty herself stood on
the threshold and held out welcoming
hands.
There in the hall, with its beautiful
bronzes and furnishings, where Edmond
Levasseur had met his death at the hands
of the master of the house, Rimington
took the woman he loved in his arms.
Their lips met. There was no necessity
for speech between them.
But later, when they did speak, ft was
of the future—not of the past—that they
spoke. Not of Paul Saxe, the liar, the
blackmailer, who had used them both so
cruelly and so 111, who had expiated his
sins in so horrible a manner—not even
of Edith Barrington and her husband,
who, like themselves, were about to be
gin life anew with a greater humility,
a greater trust In each other —but of
that new world into which so soon they
would go hand in hand —that new world
of wedded life which is yet as old as time.
THE END.
BILLY AND THE BILL.
Teacher —"Evil communications cor
rupt good manners. Now, Billy, can
you understand what that means?”
Billy—“Yes’m. Pa got a communi
cation from ma's dressmaker this
morning, and it made him use bad lan
guage.”
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Motor Boat Race
The Biggest Cruising Event This Year
turned the eyes of every motor boatman in the country toward the
Atlantic These staunch little boats traversed 719 tem
pestuous miles of open sea in their long race from Philadelphia to
Bermuda. A big achievement, you say, and interesting; but not
more interesting than the story of the trip as told in the Septem
ber Motor Boating.
It you own a motor boat, or expect to, you will want to read this
article. The detailed description of each of the racers—their equip
ment and accessories and how they were handled —will be invalu
able to you, whether your boat be an eighteen foot launch or an
ocean-going yacht
This helpful narrative, together with full accounts of the big Chi
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Islands, you can read in the September
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Daysey Mayme
and Her Folks
By FRANCES L. GARSIDE.
WHAT’S A MAN TO DO?
THERE hangs over the clock at the
Appleton home a green and gold
motto to this effect:
“SPEAK THE TRUTH.”
But when there is company neither
Mrs. Lysander John nor Daysey Mayme
sees ft. Naturally, they can't see it,
because it hangs over the clock, and
they are perfect ladles.
And no perfect lady ever looks at the
clock when she has a guest. She may
look at anything else in the room, even
at the cobwebs on ths celling, but under
no circumstances may she look at the
clock.
There was a caller. Mrs Appleton
was telling of her familj-’s claims to
distinction. Lysander John was amused,
but so well trained he didn't show it.
She told of one realative who had
had four funerals. Every once in
awhile, when the citizens wanted to
have an Event, they would exhume his
body and remove it to a More Fitting
Sepulchre.
The visitor was Impressed.
Then she told of another relative so
distinguished that 40 surrounded his
bedside when he died. The telegraph
never gives more than 30 to the most
distinguished man’s death bed. By ac
tual measurement no bed could accom
modate more than sixteen, but the vis
itor was not skeptical, and was again
impressed.
“The town of Appleton. Wis." she
aid; "was named for my husband, who
ounded It.”
Lysander John gasped. He had never
been In Wisconsin In his iife!
The visitor looked at the clock and
gave an Incredulous scream. When a
guest looks at a clock and gives an In
credulous scream her hostess is also
j given the right to look at the clock.
But not a minute sooner.
It is two hours fast," said Mrs. Ap
pleton. Lysander John had set it right
that evening, and his wife knew it! He
gasped again.
When his wife, after seeing her guest
I to the door and begging her to stay
longer, returned, complaining that she
feared the guest was going to stay all
night, Lysander John gasped once more.
“What," he plaintively asks the wom
,en who are engaged in making this
I world a Sweeter, Purer, Nobler World
to Live In. "is a man to do when his
| wife tells stories like that?”
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