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THE MAGAZINE PAGE
Daysey Mayme and Her Folks
By Frances L. Garside
AT THE WAILING PLACE.
rpHE Wailing Place, which is al
ways as crowded as a public well
A in a little town, had been thronged
from early morning and though the
afternoon was waning, the crowds
showed no signs of diminution.
Old men were there to wail of neg
lect. and women were there of all ages
to wail of Ujelr hair coming out. Chil
dren turned their faces to the wall
while they told of stern parents, and
parents lifted up loud voices while they
complained of undutiful children.
The long summer, the heat that sap
ped energy and made business dull,
lovers who were fickle, grapes that
wouldn’t jell, tight shoes, high prices
and all the little pins that scratch
caused a united wail to go up that
sounded like the cry of a banshee, a
safe comparison to make for the rea
son that none of us knows what its cry
Is like.
Suddenly there appeared a spot so
far up the road it seemed like a grain of
■lust. It gtew and grew as it came
nearer, and 10, the wailen- saw that it
was not a grain of dust, cut Daysey
Mayme Appleton!
"Make way for me!” she cried, scat
tering the dust as she flew. And they
made way for her, falling back so that
she had clear entry to the Wailing
Place.
"I have a guest.” she began, and then
ill the wails of the others ceased. They
knew, all too well, that they had no
sorrow as great as this.
"Her name,” wailed Daysey Mayme,
-
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«BJSB
Fels-Naptha to the Rescue.
Aftn Dainty “Oh, Aniy, John and I were coming home
in the automobile and something went wrong with
the machinery. I got out to help. And —oh dear!
the first thing I knew, I was grease and grit from
head to foot. My suit is ruined; I know it is. ”
Anfy Drudge— “ Don’t worry about that, my dear. It
isn’t bo bad at alt A little Fels-Naptha soap and
cool or h»kewarm water, and that suit will look as
good as new in a jiffy. Fete-Naptha has been wash
ing things dean for many years. Now run along and
get your beauty sleep, and tomorrow we’ll get at
that suit with Fete-Naptha.”
There’s no need of slaving over the
wash-tub every Monday morning; and
when night comes, so tired out you can’t
even get a decent meal for your husband.
Try the Fels-Naptha way of washing.
It will save you many a Monday backache
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The Fels-Naptha way is easy. Easy on
the clothes and easy on you.
Just rub the Fels-Naptha on the
clothes, roll them up and leave them
in cool or lukewarm water for half an hour
or so.
Give them a light rub to loosen the
dirt, rinse, blue and hang up.
That’s all.
Fels-Naptha is the soap that works
while you look on.
Think of it —no knuckling down to
the washboard —no boiling —no steaming —
no hard muscle work.
And you’re done in half the time, too.
Doesn’t that mean a whole lot to you?
Read the easy directions on the red and
green wrapper. Then follow them closely.
Use any time of the year.
throwing back her head and beating her
breast, "is Jane. She is my cousin
Jane.”
A low murmur from the others tob'-
of sympathetic understanding. They
also ha" kin. and often the kin were
guests.
"I spent all my Easter money taking
her to grand opera," wailed the soloist,
"and when I said, 'That's Caruso; isn't
he divine?' she said, 'J don’t think he
is as good as the records.'
”1 spent my summer clothes money in
taking her to Boston, and she was dis
appointed when we left because we
hadn't had any beans.
“I took her to the beach. She said
she had a bath tub at home. I showed
her over the Olympic. She said she
supposed it was larger than that. 1
took her to the art gallery. She didn’t
see anything as fine as a landscape she
had painted, and that sold for five dol
lars at a church fair.
"The rarest specimen in the aqua
rium reminded her of mustard sardines,
and”—the sobs began to choke the so
loist—"she had seen corset advertise
ments more interesting than the god
dess of” —
Her voice now could be scat ely heard
with her.
"She is going to stay three months
longer!” she shrieked, and then was
heard no more, for there burst from the
throats of the others a wail of sympa
thy so shrill and so prolonged that no
one’s wail could be told from an
other's.
Daysey Mayme had touched the pop
ular chord!
Steam Heat Makes AX/omen Fat, Says Billy Burke
Charming Actress Expresses Startling Theory in Beauty Interview '
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By MARGARET HIBBARD
AYER.
MISS BILLIE BURKE isn’t exact
ly the kind of person you would
expect to find extolling the de
lights and benefits of the simple life, the
quiet life, the life rural and peaceful.
Fascinating Miss Burke is associated
-chiefly in our mind with all the be
witching butterfly qualities of the
restless, winsome,. coquettish star in
genue which she depicts on the stage,
and it came as a sort of shock to find
that Miss Billie was promulgating these
theories of quiet and restfulness as aids
to youth and beauty, when I saw her itt
her dressing room, after watching her
in all the changing moods of the "Mind
the Paint Girl.”
You appreciate how thoroughly Miss
Burke has gotten under the skin of
her part if you pass quickly from the
glamour that Lilly Parradell has
thrown over yon and go into Miss
Burke's room behind the stage at the
Lyceum after the play is ovei just as
I did. I had never met Miss Burke
before, for I am always in dread of be
ing disillusioned, but this time there
was nothing to fear.
A Marked Change.
In the two or three minutes that
elapsed since the falling of the curtain
on the last act Miss Burke seemed to
have changed her personality as she
had changed her frock. The stage per
sonality had been intensely interesting,
but both personality and the frock that
went with it in the star’s dressing room
were refreshingly novel and delightful.
Miss Burke is as unaffected as you
could imagine. All the will-o'-the-wisp
motions of Lilly Parradell were trans
formed into the quiet and gracious
movements of Billie Burke, and she
looks younger off the stage than on.
The frock, too, was unusual. A white
chiffon thing looped up on sleeves and
bodice and skirt, and fastened with lit
tle bunches of quaint old-fashioned
flow ers. She made a charming picture,
and this time it was with real curiosity
that I asked her how she managed to
retain so much vitality and exuberant
youth and a face unlined and devoid of
any trace of fatigue amid a life as
strenuous and exhausting as that which
the popular star leads.
“Oh, w'hat do you want me to say'.”’
said Miss Burke, as if the question were
rather embarrassing.
With all her girlishness, she im
presses you as absolutely sincere. She
wouldn’t talk even to please a press
agent, for she knows it's flubdub, and
so do I. Still I did want to know' how
she kept the fountain of youth a-bub
bling.
"I don't think I do anything espe
cially. Nothing worth writing about.
Let me see. Yes; I have It. I think I
remain well and full of vitality for my
work because I get all the resi that I
need." she ventured at last.
Lives Out of Town.
“No one in New York ever gets rest
ed; at least, that’s what I think.,and so
I don’t live in New York, but out of
tow n, a llttb way up the Hudson. Out
there I get quiet, sound sleep and rest,
with no noise to harass the nerves.
There it Is not possible that there
should be constant demands made upon
my time.
“The first winter that I played In New-
York 1 lived In the city, but that was
enough. Never again! It seems to me
I never stopped: I never had any rest
or quiet. 1 never knew what it was to
relax for a moment. Since then I have
lived In the country, and 1 feel that it
Is worth the extra effort in getting in
and out A* a matter of fact. I rather
like to drive out at night, It’s only
Jr B
A A
MISS BILLIE. BURKE IN CHARAC
TERISTIC POSES.
about 40 minutes and I find it very
restful.
"I lead a very simple, quiet existence,
but I love the country, as all English
people do. and that compensates me for
a great deal. Have you ever thought
how strange it is that in America,
where great distances seem to be of no
account whatever, people dread living a
few miles outside of the city? Now, in
England people run in and out of Lon
don and live quite a distance out with
out feeling suburban, or out of it in any
way.
“Keeping young and well is very
largely a matter of the mind, don’t you
think? If you feel young, and if you
are physically t efreshed by plenty of
sleep and rest, it's natural that you
should have exuberant youthful spirit-.
Probably most women would retain
their youth much longer if they could
learn to rest, if they didn’t try to keep
up with everything at one time, and if
they didn't live at such terrific high
pressure
Compliments England.
“We all feel this so ti ciuendouslj
when we come to America, for in Eng
land life is so much more leisurely, even
in London itself.”
I was complimenting. Miss Burke on
the beautiful frocks she wore In the
play, especially the one in the second
act. and she expressed eonsldi table -at
isfaction at having grown thinner dur
ing het vacation.
“Every one seems to grow fat here,
don’t they? It’s the steam heat,” said
Miss Burke, emphatically.
"The steam heat?" I asked. very
much surprised for I have never hear t
the steam heat blamed for that partic
ular sin.
"Why, yes,” said Miss Burke, placid
ly. “The houses and theaters are so
overheated that people nattrally get
sluggish and lazy in wintertime and
dislike exercising, exactly as if it wen
the heart of summer. That's what hap
pened to me. but I'll have no more
steam-heated rooms in my house at
least.
"That intense heat is very had so;
one. anyhow. It seems to me that be
sides making one dull and logg) men-
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tally and physically, it dries the skin,
and it is certainly dreadful for the
voice. Here in the di easing room we
have a constant light to keep the steam
neat from overpowering us, for if you
are not used to it, it is devitalizing am’
enervating.
"I am sure It makes people fat. and I
believe that if women would take a
si and against overheated apartments
they would be much healthier in every
way.” ,
So take it from Billie Burke, who is
the embodiment of health, and when
the janitor tin ns on the steam in about
three weeks, as he will do, whether the
thermometer regioter-s summer weather
or not. don't lei the heat get into your
room, for It will mean extra pounds on
your figure, and extra bills to pay the
doctor. Altogether Miss Billie's secrete
of beauty are so sensible and practical
that you wouldn't think she was a mucll
flattered and much envied theatrical
star and one of the very prettiest girls
on this or any othei stage.
WASHING THE WINDOWS.
A boy about fourteen years old, em
ployed at a grocer's was washing the
windows the other morning when a pe
destrian with a squint in his eye came
along and stopped to say:
"Boy, don’t you see that the water is
running all over the pavement and
making it so slippery that people are
liable to fall and break their necks?”
"Yes, sir. 1 do," was the reply.
“Then why do you wash your bloom
ing old windows?”
''lt’s the orders of the boss, sir. If
the boss should come down and not
find the windows washed he’d say to
me;
" Joe, you infernal imp of laziness,
why haven’t you washed the windows
this morning?’
'Because a cock-eyed man with a
stiff knee objected.' I’d reply. And
j then he’d say that you could go and
Ibe hanged to you. That would make
I you mad, ami you’d drop in to have it
out with him. My boss is a small man
and humble looking, but how he can
scrap! The minute you opened on him
he'd w hirl around and cock your other
eye and smash that other knee, and
there’d be a call for the ambulance,
anil you'd be laid up in the hospital
for at least sixty days. Sorry if I in
convenienced you, sir; but I have got to
continue to wash. I've got to do it to
ho|d my job, and I've got to do it to
keep the boss from knocking you into
th' middle of next week, and now you
know all about it."
"Yes, I know all about it. and hanged
if I wouldn’t give two bits for the priv
ilege of smashing you to mincemeat!”
muttered the cock-eyed man as he skat
ed over the wet spot.
‘ 4 lnitials Only By Anna Katherine Grene
A Thrilling Mystery Story of Modern Times
(Copyright. 1911, Street & Smith.)
(Copyright, 1911. by Dodd. Mead & Co.)
TODAY S INSTALLMENT.
“When I lost my daughter. I lost every
thing,” he declared, as they walked slowly
up the road. “Nothing excites my inter
est. save that which once excited hers. I
am told that the deepest interest of her
life lay here. I am also told that it was
an interest quite worthy of her. 1 expect
to find it so. I hope with all my heart to
find it so. and that is why I have come to
this town and expect to linger fill Mr.
Brotherson has recovered sufficiently to
see me. I hope that this will be agree
able to him. I hope that I am not pre
suming too much in cherishing these ex
pectations.
Doris turned her candid eyes upon him.
"I can not tell; I do not know,” said she.
"Nobody knows, not even the doctor, what
effect the news we so dread to give him
will have upon Mr. Brotherson. You will
have to wait—we all shall have to wait
the results of that revelation. It can not
be kept from him much longer. When I
return. I shall shrink from his first look,
in the fear of seeing it betray this dread
ful knowledge. Yet 1 have a faithful
woman there to keep every one out of his
room.”
“You have had much to carry for one
so young. ' was Mr. Chailoner's sympa
thetic remark. "You must let me help
you when that awful moment comes. I
am at the hotel anti shall stay there till
Mr. Brotherson is pronounced quite well.
1 have no other duty now in life but to
sustain him through his trouble and then,
with what aid he can give, search out anti
find the cause of my daughter's death
which 1 will never admit without the full
est proof, to have been one of suicide.”
Doris trembled.
"It was not suicide." she declared, ve
hemently. “1 have always felt sure that
it was not; hut today I know.”
Her hand fell clenched on her breast
and her eyes gleamed strangely. Mr.
Chailoner was himself greatly startled.
What had happened—what could have
happened since yesterday that she should
emphasize that now? .
"I've not told any one," she went on,
as he stopped short in the road, in his
anxiety to understand her. “But 1 will
tell you. Only, not here, not with all
these people driving past; most of whom
know me. Come to the house later —this
evening, after Mr. Brotherson's room is
closed for the night. I have a little sit
ting room on the other side of the hall
where we can talk without being heard.
Would you object to doing that? Am 1
asking too hutch of you?"
“No, not at all." he assured her. “Ex
pect me at eight. Will that he too early?"
"No'no. Oh. how those people stared!
Let us hasten hack or they may connect
your name with what we want kept
secret.”
He smiled at her fears, but gave in to
her humor; he would see heresoon agtt'ti
and possibly learn something which would
amply repay him, both for his trouble and
his patience.
But when evening came and she turned
to face him in that little sitting room
where he had quietly followed her. he
was conscious of a change in her manner
which forbade these high hopes. The
gleam was gone from her eyes; the trem
ulous eagerness from her mobile and sen
sitive mouth. She had been thinking in
the hours which had passed, and had lost
the confidence of that one impetuous mo
ment. Her greeting betrayed embarrass
ment and she hesitated painfully before
she spoke.
“I don't know what you will think of
me." she ventured at last, motioning to
a chair but not sitting herself. "You
have had time to think over wixat I said
and probably expect something real
something you could tell people. But it
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Isn’t like that. It’s a feeling—a belief.
I’m so sure—” ,
“Sure of what, Miss Scott?”
She gave a glance at the door before
stepping up nearer. He had not taken
the chair she proffered.
"Sure that I have seen the face of th*
man who murdered her. It was in a
dream," she whisperingly completed, her
great eyes misty with awe.
"A dream. Miss Scott?” He tried to
hide nis disappointment.
"Yes; I knew that it would sound fool
ish to you; it sounds foolish to me. But
listen, sir. Listen to what I have to tell
and then you can judge. I was very
much agitated yesterday. I had to write
a letter at Mr. Brotherson’s dictation—a
letter to her. You can understand my
horror and the effort I made to hide my
emotion. 1 was quite unnerved. I could
not sleep tin morning, and then —and then
—I saw—l hope I can describe it."
Grasping at a near-by chair, she leaned
on It for support, closing her eyes to all
but that inner vision. A breathless mo
ment followed, then she murmured in
strained monotonous tones:
T° Be Continued in Next Issue.
FEET
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