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THEQEORQIAFCS MAGAZIME PAGE
BROADWAY JONES
Husedon George M. Cohan, Play A ow R unni „ g New Y „' rk
h Thrilling Story of “The Great White
Way."
By BERTRAND BABCOCK.
TODAY’S INSTALLMENT.
Literafly Jackson took the advice and
and did start on a run for the door, op
.usite to the one through which he ex
pected to see Mrs. Gerard enter any
noment. He almost ran into Josie, who
ust come through another door with her
at and outer coat on.
Jones stopped, his nads almost on his
aiees as though he were a racer about
, make as much of a rtylng start as pos
mie.
Where are you going, Mr. Jones?” the
Jrl asked.
"Anwyhere, any place,” returned Jack
ron breathlessly. “Where are you go
ing?”
“It’s eleven thirty—l’m going -to lunch
eon,” answered Josie.
For a moment Broadway seemed to
put his arm about her to flee to refuge.
GETTING RID OF HER.
"Come on, I'll go with you,” he said.
• Let's go out this way. 1 love to walk
rough the works.”
Jackson took her arm and, to her sur
prise, hurried her through the door.
The desk of all the Jones seemed to
have no terrors for Wallace. He seated
himself at It and touched the buzzer.
When Sammy appeared he ordered:
"All right; show the lady in."
Rankin moved uneasily, as he asked:
"Hadn't 1 better go. sir.”
"No, you stay here,” was Wallace’s
answer.
Trembling so that the plumes in her hat
wavered slightly and with an appearance
of having been projected by an Invisible
force through space, Mrs. Gerard darted
into the room. There were more and
deeper lines upon her face, and it was ap
parent that she had dressed herself hur
riedly.
Wallace, flrm as he usually was, and
self-reliant, took care to entrench him
self behind the desk. Then:
"Why, Mrs. Gerard, what are you do
ing here?”
Words came from Mrs. Gerard's lips
as a runner in a long race might have
spoken pantingly to another.
"I’m looking for Jar’tson- where is he?”
she asked
Wallace caught her hurried, breathless
manner, and answered with the same
quick jerk'ng out of words, as the best
way to expedite her
"He's on his way to the station. He's i
going to make that 11:40 to New York." I
Stil in her panting, whirling way, the
rx-dlvlnlty of Broadway Jones asked:
"He is? Do you think I can catch
him?”,
"You can if you" run all the way.”
just ran all the way from the ho
tel,” she said, and then rushed from the
room.
Quickly Wallace turned to the butler
and ordered:
"You follow her to that depot and get
her on that train, even if you have to
bind and gag her. Don’t leave her until
you land her safely in New York. Un
derstand?"
"Yes, sir," said Rankin, and hurried
out just as Judge Spotswood opened the
floor from the main factory building ami
ame in. A sudden burst of cheers fol
lowed him.
"What are they cheering for now?"
r.sked Wallace.
“Broadwaj F is making another speech,"
was the smiling answer.
Both men went to the door and stood
looking out. From the distant spaces
of the big building came in the voice of
Broadway Jones:
"And, what is more, I never intended to
ell. Why, think of what I'd be selling.
The thing my grandfather worked for
nd handed down to my father—the thing
lie worked for and handed down to me—
lie thing I should work for and band
down to my children, and so on—and so
Part IV.
ENCOUNTERS THE MYSTERY OF A
WOMAN.
There was a light in every window of
the old "Jones Manor” at the topmost
elevation of "the hill,” and within the
rooms, which had not been opened since
he going abroad of Broadway's uncle,
effected young and lively life. For, three
weeks after the refusal of Broadway to
go to the trust, he was giving his first
inner party. His guests were the judge
and his wife, Clara and Bob. of course,
and Sammy and —Josie.
The affair had been entirely the result
f a sudden thought on the part of
Broadway. The Grand hotel had reduced
him to a loathing of food instead of an
appetite, and he had felt that he could no
onger Impose upon the hospitality of
Vlrs. Spotswood, freely as it had been of
fered.
He had been with Josie upon a walk
ate that afternoon, and the idea had sud
denly occurred to him. as most of his
fleas did. It would be a lark, the rather
sedate girl had exclaimed, though she
and Broadway both knew in their in
ier souls that it would be something
more.
For Broadway had spent every moment
f that three weeks that he decently
ould, without neglecting his newly found
business ambitions, with Josie. In this
he had been favored by a chance meet
ing on the outskirts of the village.
Broadway had not been backward in sug'-
nesting at the beginning of the three
weeks period that Josie and he go on
walks or other innocent village amuse
merits, but the girl had excused herself '
-teadily with a multitude of small pre
texts. She had to go to a “class meet
ing,” or hte Girls’ Vacation club was '
meeting, or there was to be a gathering
of the wives and children of some of <
SfatectlfcuUety!
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the employees. Broadway, It is true,
did promptly agree to escort her, but he
tO Se *’ in the ki ndliest man
ner possible, that the girls or the moth
ers, as the case might be, would not
feel at their ease if they knew their
employer was near.
But fortune favored Broadway, as has
>een said, and one day, in "the suburbs
oiPlvi’^Y 1 aS he tern,ed the few
. !n 8 huts of the village, he had met
Josie with a basket on her arm.
HER DISTANT ATTITUDE
.. v "®!!’ wel1 ’ well -” he had exclaimed,
you shall not escape me this time. What
have you in this basket?"
Josie smiled in that distant and yet
sr uJ* 1 10"’ 0 " that hit<l come her
since Broadway had settled the future of
the town by declining to be absorbed by
the trust.
As Broadway noted that smile he for-
K<>t about his inquiry.
~'' Oh ’, I „ T sav ’ Mlss Richards,” he ex
claimed, I don't like that smile. It isn’t
halt as becoming as the other—that one
where you seem to be—er—willing to
admit that a fellow's on earth. Perhaps
he hasnt any right to be—but you
know—”
At her perfectly blank look, which was
her only answer, real pain came into the
face of Jackson.
. su PP°se I don't amount to any
thing.” he said slowly, "and that the
meanest boy in the plant is really pro
ducing more than I am. He's more of a
factor of production than I am."
"Production,” repeated Josie. "Where
did ,on get those terms?”
"Oh,” said Broadway, ingenuously, "I’ve
been reading up on political economy.” He
saw almost disbelief on the girl's mobile
face. "Really, i have. It came to me
that a man in charge of a big business,
no matter how much of a fool he was. was
reaily only a sort of agent of the people
who work in it and an agent of the world
in general. He's their ‘boss,’ but he's
also their destiny. And I mean to make
good both as a boss and a destiny. But
I’m such a fool—l’m —sort of walking
along in the dark.”
BROADWAY PROGRESSES.
Broadway turned and looked out over
the landscape, a curious mist before his
eyes. Then a wonderful thing happened.
He distinctly felt a touch upon his arm,
almost a earess of an intangible spirit—a
tenderness that hovered in the air a
moment over him and then disappeared— j
and that manifested itself by a pressure
upon his arm and then was gone. Had she
touched his arm? Or was he dreaming? 1
But her hands seemingly had not left ■
i their place upon her basket. Her eyes .
I were friendly ami there was a friendly
I smile upon her lips—not the old smile—
nor yet the distant one—but. one that
might promise a future of some sort. No,
she had not given that slight stroke, but
her cheeks were pink.
"You asked what was in my basket.’ the
girl said. "Look.”
She smiled again that friendly smile I
and laid back the bit of shawl that had I
covered the basket. Nestling in a bed of
straw he saw—several dozen—eggs! They
were plainly country eggs and barely from
the nests of their origin. At any other
I time Broadway Jones would have laughed
: long and loud at this termination to that
moment when the angel of tenderness
seemed very near to him. But this Broad
way did not.
AN INHERITED MEMORY.
The eggs affected him curiously. An
inherited memory from his long line of
countrymen ancestors awoke in him.
Those eggs, freshly clean, seemed to him
the spirit of the wholesome countryside.
They seemed to arouse in him an appre
ciation of the beauty and calm of lives
where men and women were themselves —
were as they seemed; where there was d
votion, good faith, and that quality of
prsonality t,hat considers nothing of
human interest a matter of indifference.
Broadway sighed.
"If I were even a hen, I’d be doing
something for my country," he said with
a mingling of simplicity and the complex
that delighted the girl.
"I buy them from Mrs. Andrews,” she
said, "because it helps her. Her husband
is ill and her little boy was killed In the
plant last year.”
Broadway stood struck dumb. In the
new mood in which he found himself, the
awakening of responsibility and of the
deeper fores of character that had lain
dormant in him for so long, he found that
he could nothing to the girl. Here
was she, a slenderly paid employe, tak
ing upon herself the obligations that he
himself should have met. One of his em
ployees’was actually buying eggs that
there might be less suffering in the world.
But whj - should he call her way Inade
quate? She was doing more, at least, than
he.
He dropped several gold coins, with
out looking at them, into her basket.
‘Til buy the eggs after this," he said,
longing to tell her that Mrs. Andrews
should have anything she wanted and
needed from him hereafter.
JOSIE’S INVITATION.
Josie smiled happily down upon her
eggs.
"I sell them to several good customers,”
she said simply.
“You sell them!” exclaimed Jackson.
"That has been one of my problems,"
she said, "not to do anything to hurt their
self respect or pauperize them, and yet
I wanted them to have them.”
"And what do you do with the 5 cents?”
he asked.
"Oh, it goes into the library fund of
the Girls’ club," she said.
With her basket covered again, the girl
turned to go. Then, seeing the desire
in the face of Jackson and his hesita
tion, too, she said:
"You may walk with me If you care
to.”
Her manner was that of a queen—one
of those rare queens whose memoirs, show
a simplicity of feeling and a friendliness
out of all proportion to the understanding
of the snob.
A thoughtful Jackson Jones fell into
step with Josie and carried her eyes down
a country lane. Broadway did not even
think of the contrast between the pres
ent Broadway Jones and the Broadway
of but a little while ago. If the malic
ious Mrs. ITesbrey had seen him she
would have commented:
"He carries a jag down Broadway,
and now see him on that country road
carrying eggs.”
Part V.
THE CHOPS ARE COOKED.
So it was that on this night of the
reopening of “Jones Manor" -the seat
of the family almost from the time of
old Major Tom Jones —unregenerate Tory
—there were several diverse ami opposing
feelings raging within the breasts of the
little party that sat down to the "bachelor ,
dinner." ~
Continued hi Next issue.
Alla Nazimova Talks on Women Who Fascinate
obi ‘ /
Br i
Bn? . ■■ -G ■
" " ill
\ W;, Sh A’’ W ’ ■
\ 1 -- "U .
jp * ■.....ShN/ ,
By Margaret Hubbaiyl Ayer.
I zttaHE other day I went to see Mme.
Alla Nazimoya to ask her to give
us all a few hints on the gentle
art of fascinating, or the business of
being a siren.
Naturally, with such a subject in
mind, J wandered mechanically to the
| home of the famous Russian-American
I who has been a different kind of
charmer in every ncv. part she has
played.
from the fascination of her cerebral
Hedda to the uncanny Bella Donne of
today, she has sung every note in the
siren’s scale. Just as she is many dif
ferent kinds of stage sireu. thei ■’ are
half a dozen different Alla Nazimovas
in her slender little person, and the one
I found at home this afternoon was the
merry, frolicsome Alla, a thousand
miles removed from the creepy, sinu
ous, mysterious, uncanny Ibsenesque
one.
To begin with, she was dressed in a
shoit, little frock, one of those black
satin, hug-me-tight affairs, that made
her look like a little girl. A deep black
velvet ribbon was wound round her
head, and the hair tucked up under >t
at the back, so that she looked as if she
had short hair. The coiffure is known
as "a la Titus,” by the wdy, and is the
vogue abroad, but hasn’t quite reached
us yet.
“I’m Not a Siren.”
Mme. Nazimova, that distant and
mysterious lady, was as merry as a
little magpie. It was as if she had sud
denly reverted to the vivacious, spark
ling gayety of the Russian actress as
she was before she became the un
fathomable siren of the American stage.
"The business of being a siren! \\ hat
a dreadful question!” Mme. Nazimova
looked reproachfully at me. "But I'm
not a siren! I’ve never ‘sirened’ any
body. People think that you are the
parts that you act. Could anything be
more awful? When you think that I
am acting Bella Donna now and the
Do You Know—
A murderer named Janies Schrum
who some months ago killed two men
at Iron Mountain, Mo., was sentenced to
99 years’ imprisonment for the first
crime, and then condemned to be
hanged for the second. His counsel
contends that the 99 years’ sentence,
having been first imposed, must be
served first, and,he lias appealed to the
supreme court to confinn this view.
The difficulty of hitting an aeroplane
In full flight Is illustrated by the nega
tive results of the tests just carried out,
by a shore battery at Toulon. The tar
get was a “glider" towed along at a
height of 800 or 900 yards by a destroy
er traveling 25 to 30 knots an hour, the
range being about five miles. Shrapnel
was used, 50 shots being fired in a
quarter of an hour, but the target was
not touched. Airmen are thus encour
aged in the belief that in time of war
their main danger will come, not from
the earth, but from their rivals in the
air.
Fraud Is practiced in many forms in
France, but it is news that snails are
receiving the attention of the trick
sters. It seems that snail frauds have
become so serious that a society has
been formed to stop it. It is called
the "Syndicate of the Preparers and
Dealers of Snails In France." As a
comestible the snail has an enormous
clientele. Snails are sold by millions
But the consumers are not quite cer
tain of the origin of the snails they eat.
The fraud consists of putting the snails
‘ called the "Bittle Grays" into the empty
I shells of Burgundy snails, which are of
'j superior quality.
At /
-
, , ALLA NAZIMOVA. WHO IS PLAYING IN “BELLA DONNA.”
1 I —1 - . :
Marionettes last season! Oh. what a
change!”
"Last season I was the very best, the
most good, the most pure young person
in rhe world in the Marionettes, and
this season—well”—the actress nodded
her head thoughtfully—"l dont suppos •
there could have been a worse woman;
she is the wickedest one 1 ever have
acted.” Then she looked at me ami
smiled brilliantly, with the air of the
cat who has eaten a particularly juicy
canary.
“Last season,” she went on musing.
“I received all kinds of letters ad
dressed to the dear, sweet Marionette
—me, proposals of marriage, every
thing. Well, Bella Donna's character
will protect me from that this year,”
she laughed.
"You who have played so many fes
cinating woman, will you tell us what
type of woman is most fascinating to
men?” I wishing to get
somewhere near the siren ideal.
“Who can tell that definitely?” said
the star "There is no particular type
of that kind, fortunately for our sex.
Men will be attracted to their oppo
■ sites, to women who represent every
thing that they would seem not to care
for.”
Her Ideal Type.
"What would you describe as th'
ideal type of woman, Mme. Nazimova?'
"A woman who combines a masculine
brain with feminine charm,” said Mme.
Nazimova slowly. "I see a great many
women who affect certain masculine
traits, who wear high boots and queer I
mannish-looking J its, but such things
have nothing to do with the develop- !
ment of intelligence. They are all |
wrong. The woman, to my mind, who ■
would be completely fascinating, would I
understand and retain ideas and |
thoughts presented to her. But even I
that is not enough. She must digest i
those ideas, and transmitting them in
her own mind and through the power
of her own personality, s< nd them forth
again as her own.
“I can imagine that Mme. DeStael, 1
for instance, fascinated all men who I
came near her, and there is a woman
who. to me, is the ideal of this kind.
“She was the winner of the Nobel
prize, you remember, and wrote 'Lay
Down Your A ins.’ Many years ago, i
whenever she appeared in society, tin-
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first thing that impressed people was
her great physical beauty.
"Now it is in r charm, her lira in, her
high and unfaltering purpose that make
her one of the most fascinating women
of the times. For such a woman age
docs not exist; no one thinks about it
where she is concerned.
Depends On the Man.
“As for the type of woman who fas
cinates men, it depends upon the man j
and even them you never can tell. The I
man who. you think, would fall in love
with a woman of brains and educa
tion, and depth of character, will b<-
completely carried away by a shallow,
pretty little ingenue, who hasn’t th<
faintest idea about his work, and
what’s more he will love her devotedly
and be happy with her, as . inie w■ ■
with his fat cook.
"Mrs. Fiske represents'a type of the
fascinating woman of the spiritual I
type. There's iiryiti like a li\ i wire, for '
you can fairly hear it crackle; and In 1
Mai j < larden you have an altogethei I
different type of feminine fascinating."
And 1 may add that there is the
Nazimova type, too.
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Difference in Viewpoint
By Beatrice Fairfax
THIS is the story of a girl named
Ruth. It is a matter of great re
gret that it is also the story of
girls named Mary and Sue and Ann and
Jane. It is the story of girls in every
country. It is the story of every girl
whose parents have let tiieir hearts
grow eld.
Where Ruth lives is not really a mat
ter of importance, since geographical
boundaries are not concerned.
The matte: which concerns us, and
which makes the ,-torj of Ruth the
story of Mary and Sue and Ann and
Jane, is that her parents have forgotten
their youth.
Her Isolated Life.
They can not bring themselves to
look upon life from her viewpoint! This
is her story:
She works in town. She goes at night
to a home where there are no young
folks. Every girl friend she has lives a
long distance away, and she can see
them only occasionally. When they are
with her they talk of the good times
they have with other young folks.
Ruth knows only the evening after
evening spent alone with, her parents.
"They do everything they can," she
writes, “to make home pleasant for me,
but I am young, and naturally long for
the society of young people. In the
evening when other youpg people meet
and laugh and talk and dance and sing,
I. because of living so far away from
my friends, sit and brood over my lone
someness. 1 try to read, but I am too
young to be tied to a book for my sole
enjoyment. I try to be interested in
what mother iuis done all day. and how
things have gOTie with father, but these
do not suffice. I want some one of my
own age! I am tired of living in the
past with my parents as much as I love
them! I want a little happiness, a lit
tle joy. of my own. It isn’t fair! It
isn’t fair!"
Parents Are Selfish.
Ruth is right. It Isn't fair! Her
mother is alone all day, but she is hap
py knowing her daughter will be home
at night.
Her father works ail day with a nap
py heart looking forward to the com
panionship of his wife and daughter in
the evening.
They are good parents. But they are
intensely selfish. In selecting that
home, so far from human companion-
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(Mj/6rnia
i 'the traveler o/ioday. i
Located up-coast, San Diego to San i
Francisco. Several are near Santa
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is truly modern. Here are great !
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A Santa Fe train will take you there.
The California Limited king of the limiteds
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Santa Fe de-Luxe the only extra-fare flyer, Chi
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Fred Harvey meals.
Visit Grand Canyon of Arizona en route.
Say which train you prefer. Will mail booklets.
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Phone, Main 342.
Saa Juan (npirtroeioTtismon
I ship, they considered many things. They
thought they considered their daugh
’ ter’s happiness. But, if they did. it was
from their own sedate middle-aged
viewpoint.
The father and mother would be
, bored if compelled to spend their even
ings listening to the prattle of a lot of
young folks. Yet, they make their home
under conditions where their daughter
will see only those twice her age, and
wonder, and are distressed,’at her dis-
• content.
It is the cry of the young for Its kind.
If r. girl has parents, and brothers and
sisters, there are times when her heart
feels a loneliness that she can neither
express nor define. Out of this unsatis
’ tied longing Is born discontent. She is
; unhappy, and her parents feel the sting
oi ingratitude because she complains.
"You have a nice home,” tney say.
"Here are books, magazines, a piano.
W lat more do you want?”
Ycuth Cries for Youth.
And that question tells the condition
’ of the hearts of the parents. They have
grown old. If they kept their hearts
young and looked at life from, a less
selfish viewpoint they would know.
' lam sorry for Ruth. Also for Mary
> and Sue and Ann and Jane. So sorry I
wish I could call all the parents to-
■ gether and urge them to see that their
daughters have companions their own
• age.
1 I would beg them to recall the long
ings of their own youth.
’ I would beg them to give every
daughter a chance to make friends of
1 other girls; an opportunity to meet
young men, that, if it is so willed, sh >
may have her chance to love and to
marry.
i -
VERY DOUBTFUL.
Barber —Will you have anything on
your face when I have finished, sir?
Victim—l do not know; but I hopi
you’ll leave my nose, at lea«L
CASTOR IA
For Infant* and Children.
The Kind You Have Always Bought