Newspaper Page Text
THE GEORGIAN’S MAGAZINE PAGE;
i “Initials Only” * By Anna Katherine Green
A Thrilling Mystery Story of Modern Times
(Copyright, 1911, Street & Smith.)
(Copyright, 1911, by Dodd, Mead & Co.)
TODAY’S INSTALLMENT.
Orlando was in that shout of natural
forces, but he Is not in this stillness. They
look aloft, but the heavens are void.
Emptiness is where life was. Oswald be
gins to sway, and Doris, remembering
him now and him only, has thrown her
strong young arm about him, when —
What is this sound they hear high up,
■ gh up, in the rapidly clearing vault of
> heavens! A throb —a steady pant—
<u..wing near and yet nearer —entering the
> relet of great branches over their heads
descending, slowly descending—till they
catch another glimpse of those hazy out
lines which had no sooner taken shape
than the car disappeared from their sight
within the elliptical wall open to re
ceive It.
It had survived the gale! It has re-en
tered its haven, and that. too. without
colliding with aught around or any shock
to those within, just as Orlando had
promised; and the world was henceforth
Ills! Hail to Orlando Brotherson!
Oswald could hardly restrain his mad
joy and enthusiasm. Bounding to the
door separating him from this conqueror
of almost invincible forces, he pounded it
with impatient fist.
"Det me in!” he cried. "You've done
the trick, Orlando, you've done the trick.”
"Yes. I have satisfied myself," came
back in studied self-control from the
other side of the door: and with a quick
turning of the lock, Orlando stood before
them.
They never forgot him as he looked at
that moment. . He was drenched, battered,
palpitating with excitement: but the
majesty of success was in his eye and in
the bearing of his incomparable figure.
As Oswald bounded towards him. he
leached out his hand, but his glance was
for Doris.
"Yes,” he went on. in tones of sup
pressed elation, "there's no flaw in my
triumph. I have done all that I set out
to do. Now —”
Why did be stop and look hurriedly
back into the hangar? He had remem
bered Sweetwater —Sweetwater, who at
that moment was stepping carefully from
his seat in some remote portion of the
car. The triumph was not complete. He
lia- meant —
But there his thought stopped. Nothing
of evil, nothing even of regret should mar
his great hour. He was a conqueror, and
it was fcr him now to reap the joy of
conquest.
N ight.
Three days had passed, and Orlando
Brotherson sat in his room at the hotel
before a table laden with telegrams, let
ters and marked newspapers. The news
of achievement had gone abroad, and
Derby was, for the moment, the center
of interest for two continents.
His success was an established fact.
The second trial which he had made with
his car. this time with the whole town
gathered together in the streets as wit
nesses, had proved not only the reliabil
ity of its mechanism, but the great ad
vantages which it possessed for a direct
flight to any given point. Already he
saw Fortune beckoning to him in the
shape of an unconditional offer of money
fn>ni a first-class source: and better still
-for he was a man of untiring energy
and boundless resource—that opportunity
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All this was his and more. A sweeter
hope, a more enduring joy had followed
hard upon gratified ambition. Doris had
smiled on him—Doris! She had caught
the contagion of the universal enthusiasm
and had given hint her first ungrudging
token of approval. It had altered his
whole outlook on life in an instant, for
there was an eagerness in this dem
onstration which proclaimed the relieved
heart. She no longer trusted either ap
pearances or her dream. He had suc
ceeded In conquering her doubts by the
very force of his personality, and the
shadow which had hitherto darkened their
intercourse had melted quite away. She
was ready to take his word now and
Oswald's, after which the rest must fol
low. Love does not lag far behind an
ardent admiration.
Fame! Fortune! Love! What more
could a man desire? What more could
this man, with his strenuous past and an
unlimited capacity for an endarged future,
ask from fate than this. Yet, as he
bends over his letters, fingering some,
bur reading none beyond a line or two,
he betrays but a passing elation, and
hardly lifts his head when a burst of
loud acclaim comes ringing up to his win
dow from some ardent passerby: "Hurrah
for Brotherson! He has put our town
on the map!”
Why this desopndency? Have those
two demons seized him again? It would
seem so and with new and overmastering
fury. After the hour of triumph comes
the hour of reckoning. Orlando Brother
son in his hour of proud attainment
stands naked before his own soul's trfb
unal and the pleader is dumb and the
judge inexorable. There is but one wit
ness to such struggles: but one eye to
note the waste and desolation of the de
vastated soul, when the storm is over
past.
Orlando Brotherson has succumbed; the
attack was too keen, his forces too
shaken. But as the heavy minutes pass,
he slowly regathers his strength and
rises, in the end a conqueror. Neverthe
less, he knows, even in that moment of
regained command, that the peace he had
thus bought with strain and stress is but
momentary: that the battle is on *or life:
that the days which to other eyes would
carry a'.sense of brilliancy—days teeming
with work and outward satisfaction—
would hold within their hidden depths a
brooding uncertainty which would rob
applause of its music and even overshad
ow the angel face of Love.
He quailed at the prospect, materialist
though he was. The days—the intermin
able days! In his unbroken strength and
the glare of the nonday sun, he forgot to
take account of the nights looming in
black and endless procession before him.
It was from the day phantom he shrank,
and not from the ghoul which works in
the darkness and makes a grave of the
heart while happier mortals sleep.
And the forme.r terror seemed formid
able enough to him in this hour of start
ling realization, even if he had freed him
self for the nonce from its controlling
power. To escape all further contempla
tion of it he would work. These letters
deserved attention. He would carry them
to Oswald, and in their consideration find
distraction for the rest ofthe day, at least.
Oswald was a good fellow. If pleasure
were to be gotton from these tokens of
good-will, he should have his share of it.
To Be Continued in Next Issue.
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Valuable Beauty Hints by Elizabeth Risden
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MISS ELIZABETH RISDEN, LEADING WOMAN IN "FANN Y’S 'FI RST
PLAY.”
By Margaret Hubbard Ayer.
THIS is Miss Elizabeth Risdon, the
Fanny of “Fanny’s First Play,” a
verj- young woman, and ns shy
about talking of herself as most Eng
lish actors seem to be when they first
come to this country.
During the course of the interview I
admit that I did most of the talking:
somebody has to talk on these occa
sions. and every woman likes the sound
of her own voice.
Besides. I can tell you it is no easy
tiling to draw out the secret of her
beauty from an English actress.
Miss Risdon put her hands over her
face and chortled with glee at the very
thought of having to talk on such a
topic. But she didn’t say anything, so I
asked a few of those leading questions
which would be so rude if one did not
have the excuse tl;at the dear public
thirsts for such information, and this is
what she said:
“I know ail the things you ought to
do, and I don’t do one of them."
Not Exactly Right.
Miss Risdon continues to be healthy,
and she Is very pretty, with traces of
her Scotch-Irish descent in her big
eyes, slight face and earnest expres
sion. despite the fact that she goes con
trary to all the best known and most
neglected rules of health and beauty.
“Have you found out what Bernard
Shaw’s ideal of beauty is?” said I, with
the air of the orchest a leader when he
is "vamping” til! I‘eady.
"No,” said Miss Risdon, “none of us
know. Margaret, the heroine of Fan
ny’s play, is described somewhere. I
think, as a vigorous young woman with
Daysey May me and Her Folks
Ry Frances L. Garside
TWO SIDES TO A STORY.
I>HEPE had been a great deal in
the papers about the proper way
tor a man to propose.
Mrs. Lysander John Appleton gave a
sigh.
"Your father doesn’t look it now.”
she said to her daughter, "but he was a
very ardent lover when he was young.
I could have done better, but I.ysander
John made love so persistently that I
turned down a duke and several mil
lionaires to marry him.”;
A sigh, in which her daughter joined.
"He proposed to me nine times. The
last time' he said if 1 didn’t marry him
he would throw himself in the river. I
just had to marry him or be a mur
deress."
Daysey Mayme thought of the duke
and the millionaires, and looked re
proachfully at her mother. But now
that father was tn the family, there
was no use in complaining about it.
Lysander John cut the cards in order
to give himself a square deal, and laid
them out for a game of Canfield.
"You women,” he said, turning up a
queen, "don't know how funny you are.
If you did. and had any sense of hu
mor, you would laugh yourselves to
death.
"Here you are, talking all at once
about the proper way for a man to
propose.
"My dear madam," addressing the
queen in tones of conviction, “the men
don't propose. They just call on a girl
a few times, and she begins to get her
clothes ready for the wedding."
fl- begun to play, but turned up so
many noarts hi* mind wandered back
dilated nostrils. That doesn't exactly
strike me as a description of beauty.
Dilated nostrils, Indeed! It sounds as
if she snorted, but probably she had
excellent lungs. People with dilated
nostrils usually do, don’t they?
“Please ask me abqut something that
I know about." said little Miss Risdon,
in her pretty English voice, and it Anal
ly transpired tliat she knew a great deal
about what you should or should not do
when posing for a photograph. Now,
as every woman has to submit to be
photographed once in her life, and some
of them seem to be doing it ail the time.
I will quote Miss Hisdon’s advice:
“Women make a great mistake in be
ing photographed in their latest and
most stylish frocks, because the photo
graph is soon out of date, just as the
frock is, while an arrangement of ar
tistic drapery never goes out of fashion.
“The same thing is true of the hair.
Os course, a woman on the stage is
photographed for every part, and that is
a different thing, but fancy how ridicu
lous the picture looks today of the
woman with ten or twelve puffs on her
head, such as were worn two years
ago. One should wear the hair as sim
ply as possible, and in an artistic or
picturesque arrangement, that will al
ways look well, while the fashionable
coiffeur of five years ago now is laugh
able. Never brush your hair too flat or
arrange too carefully.
"Another thing: Never allow a pho
tographer to take your picture when
you are depressed in spirits or in ill
health. Be photographed at the time of
day at which you look your best. Some
people look very much brighter in the
evening then in the daytime, and there
to the days when he was young. In
those days he knew he had a heart.
Now that he was old he knew mor
about his liver.
"1 had called on the woman who mar
ried me." he resumed, "three times. I
remarked on my last call that a young
man who lived at a boarding house at'-
a carload of fried potatoes a year. I
said it "omplainingly. Sir >oked sym
pathetic and threw her arm around my
neck.
“It seems,” making a wrong play
"that I had proposed marriage without
knowing It. Then she sent for the
preacher!”
He sighed, and shuffled for a new
deal.
WELL IN ADVANCE.
"I would like to look at some house
hold goods,” sale] the tall brunette as
she entered the big furniture shop.
“You see. I expect to be married soon.”
"Ah, indeed.” said the polite clerk;
"just step this way. We have special
Inducements for young couples start
ing in housekeeping. When is the glad
event to come off?”
"Well—er—the day hasn't been set
tled yet."
"Oh. I see; the lucky young man has
just proposed, and—’’
“No. he hasn't proposed yet. but- ”
“Ah, he is going to propose. How
long has he been calling?”
"Well, he hasn’t started calling yet.
but—”
"What is the young man's name?"
"Really, I don’t know at present, but
mamma says she thinks some nice
young man will start calling soon, so
I wanted to be In »<"•*
are photographers who make a spe
cialty of evening work, just to meet the
demands of the woman who looks pret
ty by candle light,
“Never wear gloves in a photograph:
they make the hands look larger and
awkward. If your hands are going to
show, the finger nails should be highly
polished; it gives more tone and color
to the picture, and makes the hands
look prettier.
Some More Hints.
"Don't let a photographer arrange you
in a curlicue way with your feet round
one way, your head another, and your
arms twined about the studio chair.
When a woman goes to a photographer,
she generally leaves her will power and
her individuality at home. That's why
so few photographs resemble the orig
inal.
"As to make-up. Many people use it
when they are going to be photograph
ed. Outlining the eys, especially where
the eyelashes are faint or very light, is
good, and the lips can be moistened or
rubbed over with vaseline to give them
more color, but rouge and powder give
the photograph a queer and unnatural
look and spoil the likeness.”
Up-to-Date Jokes
Quack Doctor—Yes, gentlemen. I
have sold these pills tor over 25 yearS,
and never heard a word of complaint.
Now, what does that prove?
Voice from the Crowd —That dead
men tell no tales, guv'nor!
Hunting Squire-—Mu.phy, you told
me there was good hunting on your
laud. Why. we’ve been here an hour
and haven’t seen any game.
Murphy—Just so, sir. But the less
game the more hunting you have.
Sandy was walking along the toad
in deep thought, and it was his minis
ter who brought him to earth again
with:
"Halloa, Sandy! Thinking of the fu
ture, eh?”
"No,” replied Sandy, moodily. "To
morrow's the wife’s birthday, and A’m
thinkin' o’ the present.”
She put down the book with a sigh
“What is It, darling?” he asked.
“Ah. dearest, I am so happy," she
replied.
"But you had such a sad look in your
eyes just now.”
"I know. I've been reading about the
unhappiness that wives of men of
genius have always had to bear. Oh,
Alfred, dear, I'm so glad you’re just an
ordinary sort of a fellow.”
A small boy was selling papers at a
railway station where there were som"
20 or 30 persons waiting for the train.
A comedian standing by called to the
newsboy:
“I say, boy. would you like a new
job?"
"Yes, sir," replied the boy. “What is
it?”
“Well," said the comedian, "my mas
ter wants a fool.”
"Oh. does be?" said the newsboy. "Is
he going to sack you, or keep two?”
Two young fellows recently attended
a tea for which they had bought tickets
at ten cents each. The profits were to
go toward a treat to the aged poor. One
of them, after consuming four cups of
tea. six ham sandwiches, a plate of
bread and butter, two tea cakes, five
jam tarts and four huge buns was pass
ing his cup for the fifth time when he
turned to his friend and said in a se
rious tone:
“I think every one should encourage
a thing of this sort, ft's for a good
cause, you know."
SEVEN YEARS
OF MISERY
How Mrs. Bethune was Re
stored to Health by Lydia
E. Pinkham’s Vegeta
ble Compound.
Sikeston, Mo. "For seven years I
suffered everything. I was in bed for
four or five days at a
time every month,
and so weak I could
hardly walk. I had
cramps, backache
and headache, and
was so nervous and
weak that I dreaded
to see anyone or
have anyone move in
the room. The doc
tors gave me medi
cine to ease me at
if
MRllilwr illii. ,
I those times, and said that I ought to
I have an operation. I would not listen to
that, and when a friend of my husband’s
told him about Lydia E. Pinkham’s Veg
etable Compound and what it had done
for his wife, I was willing to take it
Now I look the picture of health and feel
like it, too. I can do all my own house
work, work in the garden and entertain
company and enjoy them, and can walk
as far as any ordinary woman, any day
! in the week. I wish I could talk to every
suffering woman and girl, and tell them
what Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable
Compound has done for me.”—Mrs.
Dema Bethune, Sikeston, Mo.
Remember, the remedy which did this
was Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable
Compound.
It has helped thousands of women who
have been troubled with displacements,
I inflammation, ulceration, tumors, irreg
ularities, periodic pains, backache, that
bearing down feeling, indigestion, and
nervous prostration, after all other means
have failed. Why don’t you try it?
* Little Bobbie’s Pa <
Ry William F. Kirk
BY the way. Bobbie, set! Pa to me.
while I am ijp here in the coun
try’ I think I will have to buy
sum honey A send it hoani. I newer
tasted any nicer honey than the homy
I am eating now. The bees that made
this honey must have had a sweet
disposishun. Pa sed.
So after we had our breakfast Pa
A me went to a place whare thare
was a old farmer wich had a lot of
honey to sell. All flic way to the
farm Pa was talking about how much
he knew about honey. I used to keep
bees myself, sed Pa, when I was a
young man back in W isconsin. & the
mlnnit I see the bees I can tell the
kind of honey that thay make. The
minnit 1 look a bee in the eye. Pa sed
to me, I know jest how much he knows
about honey. If he looks at you steddy.
sed Pa. 1 know he is a honest bee that
doesnt bedeevi- In slltiing his work,
but if lie looks kind of shifty 1 wud
dent he sur-prised if his honey wud
dent be fit to eat.
Wen we got to ware the honey was
Pa called the old farmer oaver A sed
I want to buy sum honey to send back
to New York.
All rite. the old man sed. that is
what me A the bees is here for. How
much honey do you want*
I want to get ti whole case of it. Pa
sed, fourteen boxes, the saint as my
trend John Dick got here la,st week.
He sed that your bees was as honest
and hard working as the day is long.
The only thing is, sed Pa, the days is
kitting shorter now, so maybe the bees
ain’t on the level any moar.
Doant worry about the bees, sed the
farmer to Pa, they made sill this honey
along in th. summer anyhow. Jest
talk a taste of it & se?.
Me A Ba both tasted the honey A it
tasted fine. Tiiis seems to be tile reel
artlkel, said Pa. but beefoar 1 take it I
wud like to look the bis oaver.
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The Right Way to do Your
Housecleaning.
Mrs. Tired N. Weary—“ Here’s a letter from Mrs.
Sprightly. She wants John and me to come over on
Wednesday night. I would just love to go—but no, I
will be housecleaning next week. Scrubbing and rub
bing make me unfit for everything. It is worse than
a whole week of washdays, isn’t it, Anty Drudge?”
Anty Drudge—" It depends altogether on how you do
your housecleaning, my dear. If you do it the
Fels-Naptha way—rub up your floors and paints with
cool or lukewarm water and Fels-Naptha Soap, you £
will be fresh enough for any entertainment when ■
night time comes. ” •
Is it any wonder that the woman with
a big family who washes the way her grand
mother did has red swollen hands —big
knuckles —large veins?
Yours would be that way too, if you
had to spend one whole day out of each
week, standing over a tub of steaming suds,
rubbing like mad on the washboard.
To say nothing of the labors of house
cleaning.
But, “thank goodness!” times have
changed since grandmother was a girl.
Fels-Naptha has relieved the world of
the hard rub and scrub; of the steaming
suds. It washes clothes white as snow in
cool or lukewarm water, in one-half the
time and with one-tenth the effort of the
old-fashioned way.
That is why so' many housewives of
today are retaining their soft, white and
shapely hands; their fine nails and their
clear, girbsh complexion.
Follow the directions on the red arid
green wrapper. Use any time of year.
You can look at the bees if you want
to take a chanst, sed the farmer, out 1
can’t see for the life of me what dif
fems it maiks how the bees look. a»
long as you like the honey, t urn on &
' look at them if you want to.
You bet I want to, sed Pa. i have
lived among bees too long to git stung.,
in a bizness deal. j
I ain't going to sting you.'-btff thgl
tiers miti . sed the old man. So then 1
lie t. ok Pa oaver to one of the hives,
■ A I slaved rite whare I was.
All I want to I<> ik at is one of them,,
, sed Pa.
Thare is one on the outside of thel
hive now, sed th- old firmer. Pick'
him up A look him over.
So Pa picked up tile bee & beegan.
to look into tin- bee’s eyes to see if
th. bee looked honest A strate.
I doant kno ii the bee looked at
Pa In the eyes or not. but I know it
’ stung him on the nose.
BITING SARCASM.
N' lghbor ar :i' v.r\ well v. hen it’s'
a question of your doing them a good
turn; hut when i. comes to a question!
of them iv biing you, it’s a very differ-i
"tit tiling. jeSH
When Mr. Smith’s house caught flrel
tile first thing he did was to rush out,
to seil, help from his nelT'’bors. Al-;
i ready there wi-rc t u upon the scene. ,’S
"I sin ." lie cried anxiously to one of
them, "will you rush to the corner and
i give the alarm'."'
"Awf;:!!j 5,.: ...” .. s th. r ply, “my
leg's v< y bad. Can't move.”
"Weil, look it. ," said S dth to ‘h*
othi r. "Would ou mind running to the
> corne. and outing ‘Fire!’ whilst I
• get a few tilings out of the house?”
"Sore, also." canii the responses!
’ "I'm : offering from frightful sot 9
• throat, c.uld'.'t make any roise if ’
t tried all night." 91
“Oh." said Smith. "I ni -or y mysc9|
I that you can't help me." Then he ndl’a
I ed. wit , biting sircasn: "Suppose
I go and fi tcli out .-asy chairs and enjlS
the blaze?" '|