Newspaper Page Text
THE magazine page
“Initials Only” * By Anna Katherine Green
J Thrilling Mystery Story of Modern Times
„ „vr:eht 1911. Street & Smith.)
■ (,- ' 19111 by Dodd ’ Mead &Co )
I TOP A Y S INSTALLMENT.
■ - , a .. ; ~f Oswald’s spirit in Oswald’s
J*/ ... r eye. would go far towards
■J re of those demons whose tal-
: j U st released from his throat;
H r ■ j S responded too, he would de-
■ . fate; if he did not succeed in
o, a - mastery of himself which
B* ;: .Ae such hours as these but
■'iL - ’ a life big wi,h interest and
■ '.- r ' " ' !1 Ifeat emotions.
B.'i , - with a resolute air, he made a
■ Y ( . n ' his papers and, with them in
■ out of his room and down
EXp’ stairs.
■ x ~j d!. stood directly in his way—as he
■ for the front door. It was Mr.
W demanded some show of re-
K, ; tween them, and Hrotherson
...,s.mg with his usual cold bow,
■ , n impulse led him to pause
K r ,; ll: n-t the other's eye, with the sar-
remark:
■ y vc expressed, or so 1 have been
■ surprise at my choice of
■ . rm. A man of varied accom-
. n.c. ■. Mr. Chailoner, but one for
~;<- e no further use. If. there-
M, , wish to call off your watch-dog
H, liberty to do so. I hardly think
■ )e . • rviceablc to either of us much
■ ■ ■ gentleman hesitated, seeking
■ , ■ . omposure, and when lie an-
■ •. a as. not only without irony but
certain forced respect:
■ Swot water has just left for New
Mt.. Ji Hrotherson. He will carry with
Hj .. |... il.t, the foil particulars of your
■great liucess.
9 I...wed, this time with distin-
■ r era. Not a flicker or relief had
■ . ■ calm serenity of his aspect.
■<, v moment later, he stepped
■ t -' ■■l’ing admirers in the street.
M ■: glance betrayed a bounding
■ tl i.li another Source must be
■i in ti.an that of gratified pride. A
Mt ' 1..i0 slipped from his spirit, and
■ ' people shrank a little, even
■ riilc t,r\ cheered, it was rather from
Mt.-. - bearing and the recognition of
■ tl-a ser.se of apartness which underlay
■ M.< smile than from any reception of the
■ nia: '-- real nature or of the awesome
■ pyrnosp which at that moment exalted It.
Hit' limi Hie.' known—what a silence would
■ lave settled upon these noisy streets;
Hi: wm- terror and soul-confusion would
He- mail lave slunk away from his fel-
Hlotrs into the quiet and solitude of his
Hewn home.
■ Brotherson himself was not without a
Hter.se of the incongruity underlying this
■ oration: for. as he slowly worked hlni-
■ (elf along, the brightness of his look be-
■ came dinned with a tinge of sarcasm
I which tn its turn gave way to an expes-
S'on of extreme melancholy—both quite
unbefitting the hero of the hour in the
first flush of his new-born glory. Had
he seen Doris’ youthful figure emerge for
a moment from the vine-hung porch he
was approaching, bringing with it some
doubt of the reception awaiting him?
Possibly, for he made a stand before he
rnciied the house, and sent his followers
ba k: after which he advanced with an
unhurrying step, so that, several minutes
elapsed before he finally drew up before
Mr Stott's door and entered through the
now empty porch into his brother’s sit
ting-room.
lie had meant to see Doris first, but his
mind had changed. If all passed off well
between himself and Oswald, if he
hts brother responsive and
rut-aawke to the Interests and ne
l«ssities of the hour, he might forego
Hs interview with her tin he felt
butter prepared to meet it. For call it
dvardice or simply a reasonable precau
tion any delay seemed preferable to him
!1 is present mood of discouragement, to
tnai final casting of the die upon which
nung so many and such tremendous is
, it was f] le fj rs t moment of real
Wo in iiis whole tumultuous life! Never,
l d * ring experimentalist or agitator, had
A t irunk from danger seen or unseen or
• ni threat uttered or unuttered, as he
ranli from this young girl’s no; and
I!h me ’ hl “ g of the dread lle had felt lest he
. , encount er her unaware in the hall
■u>'. r. i, e |,>q on to S p eal{ W hen his own
L'. , nt bade him be silent, darkened
' ea,ur es as he entered his brother’s
Presence.
.ifT ' R " a ' d was sunk in a bitter revery
,i OWI! ’ and took no heed of these
■ , s 1 de Pfesslon. In the reaction fol
ng these days of great excitement,
L pas . t llad reasserted itself, and all was
his once generous soul. This,
,i, at “’ ’ ad time to perceive, quick as
r» i a ,ge came when his brother really
••Ort. Who hls visitor was. The glad
.If, '. n ' n '. and s he forced smile did not
'rifh. ~lm’ and b ’ H v °i ce quavered a
wr.p. . as 1 e beld out 1118 Packet with the
wirt,] 11 ' 1 '' 6 come to show you what the
M os my invention. We will soon
- "hi men,” be emphasized, as Oswald
■ fen'i ". : '' e lellers - “Money has been of-
~ , ' and — Head! read!” he urged.
■'l unconscious dictatorialness, as
fasT'' l)auHed ln kis task. "See what the
'have prepared for us; for you shall
11 my honors, as you will from this
rr my work and enter into all my
''an not you enthuse a lit-
i, 1 r i* •’ Doesn't the prospect con
allurement for you? Would ■ou
t' wn r ■ Kla '' ' oe ' <ed up in *his petty
Orl'' ! ' " r Don’t look like that.
Bsk ’’ was “ cowardly speech and I
’■ "tn pardon. I’m hardly fit to talk
r-idith—"
‘ dda ndo frowned.
• " Jhat name!” he harshly interrupt
useio 11 ,nusl nol hamper your life with
memories. That dream of yours
SIM sa( 'red, but it belongs to the past,
)o u > *''" at reality confronts you. When
'«• ' ' fully recovered your health, your
’“1 will rebel at a weakness
U|f line ol our name. House your-
Pem« <a ' ald ’ Take account of our pros
'•!'•' me your hand and say, ’Life
I T ,. 'nothing for me yet. 1 have a
'.bin/' .."' 10 heeds me if Ido not need
I, sether, we can prove ourselves
!■ a '.d wrench fame and fortune
p world.' ’’
i ” hand he reached for did not rise
e, mmafid. though Oswald started
n faced him with manly carnest-
" Ute Io tiiink long and deep
aid. "before I took upon myself j
eg lik.- thegt iam btuken |
i ( '"I heart. Orlando, and mu-i t» |
II Hod met. ifulh delivers me. j
I should be a poor assistant to you—a
drag, rather than a help. Deeply as I de
li ore It, hard as it may be for one of your
emperament to understand so complete
an overthrow, I yet must acknowledge my
com ition and pray you not to count upon
me n anj' plans you may form. I know
ow this looks—l know that as your
brother and truest admirer, I should re
spond. and respond strongly, to such over
ures as these, but the motive for achieve
ment is gone. She was my all; and while
might work. It would be mechanically,
rne lift, the elevating thought is gone.”
Orlando stood a moment studying his
ro >er s face; then he turned shortly
about and walked the length of the room.
" hen he came back, he took up his stand
again directly before Oswald, and asked,
with a new note in his voice:
1 'id you love Edith Chailoner so much
as that?”
A glance from Oswald's eye, sadder
than any tear.
So that you can not be reconciled?”
A gesture. Oswald's words were always
few.
Orlando’s frown deepened.
grief I partly understand," said
c. But time will cure it. Some dav
another lovely face—"
''We'll not talk of that. Orlando.”
No, well not talk of that.” acquiesced
the inventor, walking away again, this
time to the window. “For you there's but
one woman-—and she’s a memory.”
“Killed!” broke from hls brother's lips.
Slain by her own hand under an impulse
of w ildness and terror! Can I ever forget
that? Do not expect it, Orlando.”
Then you do blame me?” Orlando
turned and was looking full at Oswafd.
I blame your unreasonableness and
your overweening pride."
Orlando stood a moment, then moved
toward the door. The heaviness of his
step smote upon Oswald’s ear and caused
him to exclaim:
“Forgive me, Orlando.” But the other
cut him short with an imperative:
“Thanks for your candor! If her spirit
is destined to stand like an immovable
shadow between you and me, you do right
to warn me. But this interview must
end all allusion to the subject. 1 will seek
and find another man to share my for
tunes; las he said this he approached
suddenly, and took his papers from the
other s band) or—” Here he hastily re
traced his steps to the door which he
softly opened. “Or,” he repeated— But
though Oswald listened for the rest, it
did not come. While he waited, the other
had given him one deeply concentrated
look and passed out.
No heartfelt understanding wae possible
between these two men.
< rossing the hall, Orlando knocked at
the door of Doris' little sitting room.
No answer, yet she was there. He
knew it in every throbbing fibre of hls
body. She was there and quite aware of
his presence; of this he felt sure; yet she
did not bld him enter. Should he knock
again? Never! but he would not quit the
threshold, not if she kept him waiting
There for hours. Perhaps she realized
this. Perhaps she had meant to open the
door to him from the very first, who can
tell? What avails is that she did ulti
mately open It, and he, meeting her soft
eye, wished from his very heart that his
impulse had led him another way, even
if that way had been to the edge of the
precipice—and over.
For the face he looked upon was se
rene, and there was no serenity in him:
rather a confusion of unloosed passions
fearful of barrier and yearning tumultu
ously for freedom. But, whatever his re
volt, the secret revolt which makes no
show in look or movement, he kept his
ground and forced a smile of greeting.
If her face was quiet, it was also lovely—
too lovely, he felt, for a man to leave it,
whatever might come of his lingering.
Nothing in all his life had ever affected
him like it. For him there was no other
woman in the past, the present or the fu
ture, and, realizing this —taking in to the
full what her affection and her trust
might be to him in those fearsome days
to come, he so dreaded a rebuff—he, who
bail been tho bourted of women and the
admired of men ever since he could re
member —that he failed to respond to her
welcome and the simple congratulations
she felt forced to repeat. He could neither
speak the commonplace, nor listen to it.
This was his crucial hour. He must find
support here, or yield hopelessly to the
maelstrom in whose whirl he was caught.
She saw his excitement and faltered
back a step—a move which she regretted
the next minute, for he took advantage of
it to enter and close behind him the door
which she would nevfer have shut of her
own accord. Then he spoke, abruptly,
passionately, but in those golden tones
which no emotion could render other than
alluring:
"I am an unhappy man, Miss Scott. I
see that my presence here is not welcome,
yet am sure that it would be so if it were
not for a prejudice which your generous
nature -should be the first to east aside,
in face of the outspoken confidence of
my brother Oswald. Doris, little Doris,
I love you. I have loved you from the
moment of our first meeting. Not to
many men is it given to find his heart so
late, and when lie does, it is for his whole
life; no second passion can follow it. I
know that I am premature in saying this;
that you are not prepared to hear such
words from me and that it might be
wiser for me to withhold them, but I
must leave Derby soon, and I can not
go until I know whether there is the
least hope that you will yet lend a light
to my career or whether that career
must burn itself to ashes at your feet.
Oswald—nay. hear tne out Oswald lives
in his memo Hes; but I must have an
active hope a tangible expectation—if 1
am to be the man I was meant to be.
Will you. then, coldly dismiss me, or will
you let my whole future life prove to you
the innocence of my past? I will not has
ten anything; all I ask is some indul
gence. Time will do the rest.”
“Impossible,” she murmured.
But that was a word for which he had ,
n- ear. He saw that she was moved, un- j
expectedly so; that while her eyes wan- ;
dered restlessly at times toward the door,
they ever came back in girlish wonder, if
not fascination, to hls face, emboldening
him so that he ventured at last, to add:
“Doris, little Doris, I will teach you a
marvelous lesson, if you will only turn
your dainty ear my way . Love such as
..tine carries Infinite treasure with it.
Will you have that treasure heaped, piled
before your feet" Your lips say no. l>ut
your eyes the truest eyes I ever saw
whisper a different language. The .lay
will come when you will find your joy in
Ibe breast of him you ate now afraid to
t»u*t.” And not waiting for disclaimer;
nr e'en a glatii-e of reproach front the i
I e liad so wilful!' misread, lie with- ■
drew wit! a movement as abrupt as that j
with which he had entered.
To Be Continued in Next Issue
**A Happy Marriage Is My Secret/'Says Ada Reeve in “Beauty Interview”
I Vai-
WfwW
I WMF
I V
Miss Ada Reeve, the charming English comedienne, now in vaudeville here
as a B. F. Keith star.
By Margaret Hubbard Ayer.
THERE'S a great deal of Peter Pan
about Ada Reeve, the English
singing comedienne who is just
beginnig her tour of America at the
Colonial theater.
While she was on the stage singing
those rollicking songs of hers, with a
merry, gallant air, so whimsical and
funny, she was so boyish, so very Pe
ter Pannish, that it is easy enough to
believe she is England's most cele
brated leading boy in the Christmas
pantomime.
Now, the Christmas pantomime in
England is just as much of a conven
tion as Christmas pudding, and the girl
who plays the leajling boy in the pan-
Up-to-Date Jokes
Visitor —I saw your husband In the
crowd in town today. In fact, he was
so close that I could have touched him
Hostess—-That’s strange. At home he
is so close that nobody can touch him.
A purchaser of a riverside property
asked the estate agent if the river didn’t
sometimes overflow its banks.
“Well," replied he, "it isn’t one of
those sickly streams that are always
confined to their beds.”
Miss Passay—You may sneer at pet
dogs, but they're faithful, anyway. I'd
rather kiss a good dog than some men.”
Mr. Sharpe—Well, well, some men are
born lucky.
“Poor old Jones! He had a windfall
last week.”
“A windfall? Then why do you say
‘Poor Jones?’"
“Well, you see. he's an aviator."
Old Gent —-What do you wear specs
for, boy?
Bootblack —'Cos I puts such a shiny
shine on gentlemen’s boots that it hurts
me eyes.
Wise —What is meant, John, by the
phrase, “carrying coals to Newcastle?”
Husband—lt Is a metaphor, my dear,
showing the doing of something that is
unnecessary.
Wife—l don't exactly understand.
Give me an illustration—a familiar one. I
Husband—Well, if I were to bring you I
home a book entitled “How to Talk,'
that would be carrying coals to New
castle.
A youth, who thought that he had
become very fond of a certain maiden,
persistently begged her to accept hls
hand in marriage. Here is a bit of
conversation lietween them which was i
snutolled by an unintentional listener a I
few nights ago.
“I assure you." be commenced, "that
I will not take 'No' for an answer.”
"You need not take ‘No’ for an an
swer,” was her reply. "I will answer
'Yes' on one condition only."
He was ali impatience to hoar what
the question was she wanted him to
ask, and this was her gentle reply;
"Just ask me if 1 am firmly deter
mined not to marry you in any circum
stances."
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tomime is envied by her profession,
adored by all the children, and occu
pies. in away, the role of high-muck
a-muck fairy or special patron saint of
all the Christmas festivities.
Aliss Ada Reeve is the great and par
ticular Christmas Pantomime Leading
Boy, ami wherever she goes in England
she is known as Santa Claus, Junior.
A Joyous Air.
She carries with her off the stage as
well as on, that air of joyousnesg and
gayetv of the boy who never would
grow up. Her siight figure and humor
ous ways, her funny jerky little man
nerisms, all make you think that she is
Peter Pan or Santa Claus, Junior,
dressed up in very pretty lady’s clothes,
and doing a stunt in vaudeville as a
huge joke.
Behind the scenes Miss Reeve is just
the same, a sympathetic personality
with a keen and delicate sense of hu
mor.
She had just been singing to a large
. audience of women, and told me how
glad she was to be popular with her
, own sex.
"I am always astonished at the Amer
ican woman, at her extraordinary
smartness," said Alisa Reeve. "But
Isn t she a bit extravagant now? The
women over here seem to think a great
deal moie of clothes than we do tn
England, especially of all those little
extra frills and novelties that cost so
much and last so short a lime.
American Sentiment.
It s always Interesting to a foreigner
to test an American audience of wom
en, and I'm always especially con
cerned in finding what songs they real
ly like.
"The American audience, besides Its
keen sense of humor, has a great deal
of sentiment. And I am hoping some
day to be able to try some of my
straight, almost classic, numbers, the
old ballads—some of Tom Moore’s old
songs—on them.”
I reminded Miss Reeve that she must
talk of hea'th and beauty for the edifi
cation of the public.
She totally ignored the question of
beauty, though she is a pretty and very
fascinating woman, but there is no pose
about Miss tleeve, and she refuses to b.
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I suffered fifteen years with tor
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(Advt.)
self-conscious or to be made to feel so
even for an interview.
“Let me see; what do I do that es
pecially benefits iny health besides
working hard. In England I am out
in the open air almost all the time; I
have a motor car there and never trav
el by train. We do not play Sundays”
—Miss Reeve looked gratefully to heav
en—“so when I am on a tour I can
make the long jumps in my open ear.
taking all of Sunday to do it.
“Os course that would be impossible
in America, where the distances are so
great, and I know I am going to miss
it. for I travel In the car without a
top, wrapped up in furs in winter and
in raincoats and waterproof caps in
bad weather.”
Good For the Voice.
“Don't you find that harmful to your
voice?”
“No, on the contrary, it seems to do
me a great deal of good. I think there
is no medicine like fresh air. and noth
ing so invigorating. In the summer
time we live at a little place called
Yarmouth. In the Isle of Wight, and
there I have my garden; and then I
have a swim every day. which is the
one sport I really enjoy."
There is evidently no English actress
in the world who does not adore a gar
den, and now I know why the English
landscape is a succession of beautiful
ly set-out and carefully-tended flower
gardens; all the pretty actresses devote
their time to this work in summer, with
the same regularity that they spend
their winters in elevating the stage.
But Miss Peter Pan Reeve was still
bending her thoughts on the health
problem and continued:
“I have one advantage over most
women, for I am never alloWed to wor
ry over anything, and it’s worry that
makes people ill, isn’t it?
“You see. I have the very best hubby
in the world; he manages everything
for me. and straightens out all wor
ries that might fall to my lot. I think
that is the secret of my success as
well as my health.”
Almost a Shock.
It came almost as a shock to think
that Peter Pan was married, but since
she has the very best hubby in the
world, both are to be congratulated,
and evidently Mrs. Reeve and the cel
ebrated Dr. Arnold Lorrand are agreed
that a happy marriage is the greatest
possible promoter of good health and
good looks.
Just then the best of all hubbies came
in with a concoction of some sort, made
of eggs and other soothing things, and
warranted to chase away a bad cold,
which the artist had caught in our
most changeable climate, and so ended
our talk.
st
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* Little Bobbie’s Pa *
PA brought a fine looking gentle
man up to the house the other
nite, the naim of the man was
Morgan. He is a actor. He must be a
good actor, too, beekaus he has a fine
& deep voice, that sounds ' kind of
ernest like the butcher asking for his
munny.
While .Mister Morgan was sitting in
the front room Pa cairn out in the
kitchen whare Ma was fixing his din
ner & sed Wife, I want you to like
this friend of mine that I have
brought hoam. He is a swell fellow
from Boston. & he is differnt from
sum of my other Boston fronds.
I doant care one way or the other
about the Boston part of it, deerest,
sed Ma to Pa, beekaus long years of
dwelling with thee, Ma sed. have con
vinced me that the good or bad quali
ties of yure fiends is not a matter of
geograt'y.
Will you be nice to him, deerest?
sed Pa,
I will treet him like a angel sed Ma.
I will be all dimpels & smiles. It isent
hls fault that he was with you.
Doant be too nice, sed Pa, beekaus
he is a actor & he plays in a show
called the Siran, & he is likely to think
you are a stage struck gurl. He gits
lots of mash notes, Pa sed.
But I can be like a siren without
taking my pen & paper in hand, sed
Ma. 1 ain’t a mash-noter.
Pa beegan for to look kind of queer.
Mister Mogan was a awful fine look
ing fellow, & Pa isent fine looking, he
is jest kind harted, when I grow up
I am going to try to be fine looking
& kind harted too. If I can only be
one of the two I think I wud rather
be fine looking, beekaus thare is a lot
of kind harted peepul that wants to
marry sum gurl thay luv & then the
gurl says no.
I am awfully glad to meet you, Mis
ter Mogan, sed Ma wen Pa interduced
her to his trend. He was telling me
how splendid ou were in yure part in
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the play. I wish my husband had
adopted the stage for a profeshun.
Thafe is sumthing so romantic about
it, the gamor of the foot-lites, the ap
plause of the audience, the love scenes,
the moonilte.
But one is away from one’s hoam
so much, sed Mister Mogan. It is
then, wen you are far from yure neer
est & deerest. that one reelizes the
emptiness & sadness of a actor’s life.
The words ring in my eers sumtimes,
Away From Home, Away From Home,
Away From Hoam.
Thay ring in my eers & husband’s
eers the way thay do in yures, sed Ma.
Aly husband is away from hoam & I
am thare waiting.
Doant you always tellefone yure wife
& tell her whare you are? Pa’s frend
asked him. '
Sumtimes, sed Pa. Not often.
That is de.d wrong, sed Mister Alo
gan. You can always git a tellefone
in five minnits. Newer fergit the lit
tel woman at hoam, he sed to Pa.
He is a fine man, sed Ma to Pa wen
Pa's frend was gone.
PUT TO THE TEST.
Fitzdaube has all the sensitiveness to
color of the true artist, and doesn't
mind showing it.
His neighbors are really very nice
people, but they have absolutely- no
taste, and Fitzdaube frequently criti
cises them very severely In the bosom
of his family.
One morning little Ethelinda Fitz
daube knocked loudly at the neigh
bor’s front door.
"Show me the new rug in your draw
ing room!” she said, with childish im
periousness.
The good lady took her to the room
and Ethelinda planted herself in a chai;
and stared at the gaudy rug.
She stared until her eyes watered,
and still she spoke not.
Her host was just beginning to won
dei' what was the matter, when at las'
Ethelinda pronounced her verdict,
“Well, it doesn't make me sick!” she
declared, decisively.