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THE GEORGIAN’S MAGAZINE PAGE
“Initials Only” * By Anna Katherine Green
A Thrilling Mystery Story of Modern Times
(Copyright, 1911, Street g- Smith.)
(Copyright, 1911, by Dodd, Mead & Co.)
TODAY’S INSTALLMENT.
There was nothing left to the inspector
but to dismiss him. He had answered all
questions willingly, and with a oounten
ance inexpressive of guile. He even in
dulged in a parting shot on his own ac
enunt. as full of frank acceptance of the
situation as It was fearless In its attack.
<s he halted in the doorway before turn
ing his back upon the room, he smiled
for the third time as he quietly said:
■I have ceased visiting my friend’s
apartment in upper New York. If you
„ er want me again, you will find me
amongst my books. If my Invention halts
an d other Interests stale, you have fur
alshed me this day with a problem which
ran not fail to give continual occupation
ro my energies. If I succeed in solving it
prat, 1 shall be happy to share my knowl
edge with you. Till then, trust the laws
of nature. No man when once on the out
side of a door can button It on the inside,
nor could any one without the gift of
complete invisibility, make a leap of over
fifteen feet from the sill of a fourth story
window on to an adjacent Are escape,
without attracting the attention of some
es the many children playing down be
low.”
He was half-way out the door, but his
name quickly spoken by the inspector
ares him back.
"Anything more?” he asked.
The inspector smiled.
You are a man of considerable analytic
power, as I take it, Mr. Brotherson. You
must have decided long ago how this
woman died.”
■ Is that a question, inspector?”
You may take it as such.”
Then I will allow myself to say that
there is but one common sense view to
take of the matter. Miss ChaJloner's
death was due to suicide: so was that of
the washerwoman. But there I stop. As
f«r the means—the motive—such mys
teries may be within your province but
they are totally outside mine! God help
us all! The world is full of misery. Again
I wish you good day."
The air seemed to have lost Hs vitality
and the sun its sparkle when he was
gene.
“Now. what do you think. Gryce?”
The old man rose and came out of his
corner.
“This: that I’m up against the hardest
proposition of my lifetime. Nothing in
the man's appearance or manner evinces
guilt, yet I believe him guilty. I must.
Not to, is to strain probability to the
point of breakage. But how to reach him
is » problem and one of no ordinary na
ture. Years ago. when I was but little
older than Sweetwater, I had just such a
conviction concerning a certain man
against whom I had even less to work on
than we have here. A murder had been
committed by an envenomed spring con
tained In a toy puzzle I worked upon
the conscience of the suspect in that case
by bringing constantly before his eyes a
facsimile of that spring It met him in
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MASHVH.It HOUSTON JAiANONViI.I
the folded napkin which he opened at his
restaurant diner He stumbled upon it in
the street, and found It lying amongst his
papers at home. I gave him no relief and
finally he succumbed. He had been al
most driven mad by remorse. But this
man has no conscience. If he is not in
nocent as the day, he's as hard as un
quarried marble. He might be confronted
with reminders of his crime at every turn
without weakening or showing by loss of
appetite or interrupted sleep anv effect
upon his nerves. That’s my opinion of
the gentleman. He is either that, or a
man of uncommon force and self-re
straint.”
' I’m inclined to believe him the latter."
And so give the whole mater the go
by?"
"Possibly,"
It will be a terrible disappointment to
Sweetwater."
’’That's nothing."
"And to me.”
That s different. I’m disposed to con
sider you, Gryce—after all these years."
Thank you; I have done the state
some service."
“What do ydu want?" You say the
mine is unworkable.”
Yes. in a day, or in a week, possibly
in a month. But persistence and a pro
tean adaptability’ to meet his moods might
accomplish something. I don’t say will I
only say might. If Sweetwater had the
job. with unlimited time in which to car
ry out any plan he may have, or even
for a change of plans to suit a changed
idea, success might be his, and both
effort and outlay justified."
“The outlay? I am thinking of the out
lay.”
"Mr. Chailoner will see to that. I have
his word that no reasonable amount will
daunt him.”
"But this Brotherson is suspicious. He
has an inventor’s secret to hide. If none
other. We can’t saddle him with a guy
of Sweetwater’s appearance and abnormal
loquaciousness."
"Not readily. I own. But time will
bring counsel. Are you willing to help the
boy. to help me and possibly yourself by
this venture in the dark? The depart
ment shan't lose money by it; that’s all I
can promise.'
"But it’s a big one. Gryce, you shall
have your way You’ll be the only loser
if you fall; and you will fail: take my
word for It."
"1 wish I could speak as confidently to
the contrary, but I can't. I can give
you my hand though, inspector. • and
Sweetwater's thanks. I can meet the boy
now. An hour ago 1 didn't know how I
was to do It.”
That's the Question.
"How many times has he seen you?'
"Twice.”
"So that he knows your face and fig
ure?"
"I'm afraid so He can not help re
membering the man who faced him in his
own room.”
"That's unfortunate.”
"Damned unfortnnate; but one must
expect some sort of a handicap in a game
like this. Before I'm done with him,
he'll look me full in the face and wonder
if he’s ever seen me before. I wasn’t
always a detective. I was a carpenter
once, as you know, and I’ll take to the
tolos again. As soon as I’m handy with
them I'll hunt up lodgings in Hicks street.
He may suspect me at first, but he Won’t
long; I'll be such a confounded good work
man. I only wish I hadn’t such pro
nounced features. They've stood awfully
in my way, Mr. Gryce. I don't like to
talk about my appearance, but I'm so
confounded plain that people remember
me. Why couldn't I have had one of
those putty faces which don’t mean any-«
thing'.' It would have been a deuced
sight more convenient.”
"You've done very wall as it is.”
“But I want to do better. I want to
deceive him to his face. He's clever, this
same Brotherson, and there’s glory to lie
got in making a fool of him. Do you
think it could be done’with a beard? I’ve
never worn a beard. While I’m settling
back Into my old trade, I can let the hair
grow.”
"Do. It'll make you look as weak as
water. It'll be blonde, of course.”
To Be Continued in Next Issue.
TESTIMONY
OF FIVE WOMEN
Proves That Lydia E. Pink
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pound's Reliable.
Reedviiie, Ore.—“l can truly recom
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Compound to all women who are passing
through the Change of Life, as it made
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suffering three years. ”
Mrs. Mary Bogart,
Reedville, Oregon.
‘Mi-*- New Orleans, La.—
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anything until I took Ly
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The Ten Ages of Beauty
Illustration from Good Housekeeping Magazine for September.
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This Picture by Nell Brinkley Is Reproduced by Perm,- ,i u and Accompanies an Article by Oc-
tave Uzanne on “The Store of Furs and Muffs.”
THE MANICURE LADY
TILPRED got stung good and
V/\/ plenty at a social the other
night” said the Manicure
Lady. "The poor boy was going to re
cite two of his latest poems there just
to please the Ladies Auxiliary a little
and himself a lot. and he recited the
Up-to-Date Jokes
‘‘We hear much of compromise now
adays,” said a politician recently, “and
it is sometimes a good thing.” He
knew a young man who got married
about a year ago, and he and his wife
were constantly arguing as to whethet
they should buy two cycles or an up
to-date motorcycle. Meeting him one
day. he said:
“My wife and I wrangled for months,
but, thank goodness, we’ve compro
mised at last!”
"What have you compromised on?”
“A baby carriage." he proudly an
swered.
A celebrated engineer, being exam
ined at a trial where both the judge
and counsel tried In vain to browbeat
him, made nee in his evidence of the
expression, "the creative power of a
mechanic." on which the judge rather
tartly asked him what he meant by “the
creative power of a mechanic."
“Why, my lord.” said the engineer, ‘‘l
mean that power which enables a man
to convert a goat's tail into a judge's
wig.”
"Your head.” remarked the garrulous
barber to the Irishman in his chair, “is
twice as large as mine.”
"But Ot suppose that head av yours
do be big enough for you?" said the
genial son of Erin.
"Why, certainly,” said the tonsortal
artist.
"Av coorae." continued the Irishman;
“p’waf's the use av a man havin' a big
thrunk whin he hasn't any clothes to
put in it?”
‘"Excuse nay laughing," said Mrs.
Brldey, "but 111 never forget my feel
ings when you asked me to marry you.”
"Why?" asked the husband "Was it
such a hard thing to answer?”
“No. but you were such a soft thing
to answer.”
'That’s a fine watch you've got. Is
it a good goer?"
"A good goer? Well, you bet your
life it's .< good goer. Why, it can do
an hour in half the lime."
poems, all right, but he didn't get no
audience to speak of.
“They was having this social in the
shade of a old elm tree that had grew
up in the shadow of the church and had
saw many things since It was a sap
ling. especially about church socials. I
seen light away that the poor boy was
disappointed to think of reciting out in
a picnic crowd in the afternoon.
"He had been telling me all the way
down on the car about the way he was
going to stand up inside the church and
recite about the first temples, and all
them naves and architraves, or what
ever they call them parts of a church
He had wrote two of the most solemn
poems that he had wrote for years, and
imagine his feelings when he had to
stand up there with a kid rubbing jam
on his only suit and hollering. 'Oh,
mama, come and see the funny clown'.'
"When Wilfred had got thvougn re
citing his first poem, he said that he
was going to get the next car home, and
I seen at once that his artistic temper
ature was getting colder with winds
from the north whistling around inside
his brain. 1 guess for a moment that
the poor kid set n snowbirds and musk
oxen. Hts face took on the blue, stern
look of old Doc Cook defying the Dan
ish nation.
"But one of the ladies of the Aux
iliary came over and patted him on the
shoulder kind of nice. She was a awful
sweet-looking lady, with a young face
and snow white hair, and after she had
told Wilfred that she had a son wno
loved poetry she had him won over, so
he promised her that ho would stay un
til he recited his second poem that he
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had wrote —that is, if he could wait un
til after dusk to recite it. 'lt is about
moonlight,’ Wilfred told her. 'and I
thought that this was going to be a
moonlight social. Poetry was not made
for daylight, the garish day, the biting
sun,’ said Wilfred.
“ ‘Very well,' said the sweet-faced
lady with the gray haid, "you shall re
cite out under the lanterns after din
ner. We are going to have our bazaar
this evening, and just as the moon
comes up and our Chinese lanterns are
Mt, with all thei suggestion of the Ori
ent and of pulsing poetry, you shall
read your lines,’ ”
I don t know nothing about pulsing
poetry," said the Head Barber, "but I
always heard that poets was apt to feel
their pulse while they was writing,
sometimes with their fingers, some
times with one of them needles that
surgeons uses to carry them over a
long strain."
My brother ain't no needle user,"
said the Manicure Lady. "Goodness
knows, George, that he is too much a
son of his father, who comes from that
old Bourbon strain you read about in
the histories But 1 want to give you
the real laugh.
"When Wilfred got up to read his
Oriental poem with the moon behind
them fleecy clouds and the lanterns
swinging in the trees, the lanterns went
out in the middle of the first verse, and
at the end of the verse the moon went
behind a cloud, too, and in the stilly
darkness somebody pinched the watch
that Pa had gave Wilfred for a birth
day present. That's how Wilfred got
stung at the social.”
Advice to the Lovelorn
By Beatrice Fairfax
A CASE THAT DEMANDS CANDOR.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
About six months ago I met a
young man. who, after a short ac
quaintance, confessed his love for
me. He has been very nice to me.
has taken me out. and gave me a
Christmas gift. But I do not love
him at all; in fact. I hardly like
him, but because he has been so
nice I have been afraid to tell him.
All the while I have been longing
to meet a young man I liked a
great deal. At last the young man
I had been going with introduced
me to the other one, and we have
been going together since. Now,
the first one feels yerv hurt.
- TROUBLED.
You have been unjust to the young
man in accepting his attentions and
will be more than unjust to yourself
if you continue accepting them now
you know your own heart better.
Tell him you can never love him, and
let that end it.
iipii
fi i OS
ii
t VU/ drud®:•
mJ BWk /
II InhwSr Z itjL
Anty Drudge Tells 1 Why Washboilers
Are So Cheap.
Mrs. Bargain Hunter—‘‘Oh, Anty! I see by Bargain
Brothers ad. in the papers they’re selling dollar
washboilers for fifty cents.”
Anty Drudge— “No wonder. Since I’ve told the women
of this town how much better they can wash clothes
with Fels-Naptha in cool or lukewarm water,summer
and winter, without boiling, they have no use for
washboilers. The stores can’t sell ’em to women
who have learned the new way of washing, and that’s
why they’re so cheap.”
/
Fels-Naptha takes the dirt out of
clothes instead of leaving it to elbow work
on a wash board.
Little rubbing is necessary and no boil
ing or scalding.
Lukewarm or cool water —never hot.
Boiling weakens clothes and hard rub
bing wears them out.
Clothes washed the Fels-Naptha way
fast longer and are whiter, sweeter and
cleaner.
Follow the simple directions on the
red and green wrapper.
WirO #'■ t®-!
z ; jHT*., t» v jWv’i
||-siLJp /w
J I Threw Open
ij the Throttle StSI ’
g When I Got That Ip&m \
| Auxiliary Line 11 \
There’s no choking of my telephone
rj business now, no disgruntled customers
H trying in vain to get me,—for with that ad- \
K ditional line and telephone, the incoming and
M outgoing business is adjusted automatically.
It’s “full steam ahead” all the time.
H Are there profitless, wasteful waits on your
Kj telephone line? Call the Bell Contract Depart-
M ment and ask the manager to tell you about an
t i auxiliary line. :
I
i ft A'l SOUTHERN BEU TELEPHONE
1 AND teiegrapb COMPANY I
I I
YOU CARE TOO MUCH.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am a young girl, seventeen
years of age, am considered pretty,
but when 1 go to dances or parties
I never seem to have, a nice time
like the other girls. The young
men always seem so cool to me. I
never did anything to any one, and
their coolness to me hurts my feel
ings very much. MARIE.
Your feelings are hurt because of;
their indifference to you? Do you know, I
my dear, if you didn’t care if they
looked at you or not they would look
all the sooner and longer? Nothing
interests a man more than a pretty girl
who looks right over his head. He
makes up his mind he will make her
look at him; he win compel her to rec
ognize his existence, and the greater
her indifference the greater his efforts.
Don't care for the men—at least, don't
show that you do.