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THE GEORGIAN'S MAGAZINE PAGE • Broadway Jones Based on George M. Cohan’s Play Now Running In New York. By BERTRAND BABCOCK. TODAY’S INSTALLMENT. Her play of wit and fancy dazzled not only Broadway, Bob and the judge, but actually struck dumb Mrs. Spottswood and Clara. The judge was moved to whisper to his wife:' “If Broadway gets that girl she’ll lead him a merry dance. She’s got cham pagne In her temperament. I saw a girl once a little like her in New Britain. But she was drunk.” But the wife could not reply to this con fession, it may have been, of the judge. To Sammy, much of the value of the scene was lost because of the beloved banjo he had insisted upon bringing with him. Josie had just laughed unsteadily and had remarked: “There’s a wealth of meaning In lamb chops, isn’t there, Mr. Jones?” and the ’ company, including Broadway, were trying to puzzle out her intent, when the quivering, shrill sounds of a tune played upon the single string of a banjo out of harmony, jarred it self on their attention. * Everybody, including Jackson and Sammy, turned toward the small boy’ in real relief, and the musician’s little at tempt to entertain served to break the spell' that had had some influence upon each of the group. Sammy's seriousness and his ponderous efforts were thrown nto relief by the gay atmosphere which tad prevailed but a moment before. IN HIS GLORY. Sammy finished and held the banjo closely before his ear while he tested the shrillness of another string, preparatory to playing upon that one alone, too. “That wasn’t at all bad, Sammy,” com mended Jackson. “No, indeed, it was very good,” added Wallace. "Very good,” snuffed Sammy. “I should say it was very good. Gosh, I've only been taking lessons for a year and t half. Well, what are you laughing at* I ton’t you believe me? I'll bet ’Litz’ when he was a little boy. didn’t do as good as that. Beethoven used to make lip tunes and play them when he was a little boy. Now, I'll play one 1 made up myself.” The preparatory agonies so jarred upon the ear of Jackson that he said in a kindly manner to the young group of ambitions: “Don’t tire yourself out, Sammy.” Wishing to be very obliging after the Sinner that Broadway had planned and Josie really cooked, Sammy was quick to disclaim any fatigue. “Oh, no,” he said. “I'd have • * prac tice any way.” Clara, shallower than Josie, who had :< hind that embraced all the world, never bowed to her small brother much va lence. And so now she discourage*! ids ;ood intentions. “Well, go home and practice, S ; . mmy. die said. “We don’t want tv hear it. Mr. Wallace is going to play the piano.” Obediently Bob moved to tlte piano anil began to play. But Sammy had already • tarted upon another of his compositions or one string of a banjo, and he was (uick to order Wallace: SAMMY IN A HUFF. “Say ,* keep that piano quiet, will you* Wallace struck another note, with his miling eyes upon Sammy. The boy stopped at one* and began to lusli his banjo into its case. "Shows how much you people know about music,” he muttered. ”<>osh, you can hear piano any day. I her*- ain t ten good banjo players in Connecticut. I ain't going to stay here and listen to that darned old thing. I'm going to take my banjo and go home. Mrs. Spottswoo-i was quick to r< i rove her son for lack of “being polite when you are invited out to supper But the fat little Spottswood was already on his ,'eet and half-way to the door. “Gosh,” lie mumbled, "that s all the thanks I get going to all the trouble of ria,fin my instrument an' everything, rio.ae day they'll be darned glad to hear ne play !•, when I get It down perfect. Sammy's mother continued the reproo*, .ay'tie: '.’Ain't you got any more manners chan to go without saying good nighty 1111(3 thanking Mr. J ties for the supper.’ Almost on the verge of blubbering was Sammy Waih *1 lie: "Well. n.y iclin's hurt, and I'm going home.” “Just for this you don't get my money to go to the circus this 'ear.” snowed his mother. Through the edge of his almost tears Sammy grinned as lie retorted: “Well, if it ain't any better than it was iast year I don't care a darn. I m getting tired of being bossed around, anyway. I'll bet Edison, the inventor, didn t let neopl? boss him around when he was a boy. I'm goin' to take my banjo and live : n New Haw n.” Ami proudly Sammy strode out through Tears Wont Help The Gray Hairs Bui tin proper care and treat ment will. Ami right now. when the first few white threads ar.- beginning to glis ten. is the time for action. Stop pulling out tin- gray hairs or you will make your self white-headed. , U’Ui liair is losing vitality- I bl. Robinnaire Hair Dye No it isn't a vulgar bleach or artificial coloring. it is a re storative that simply renews the natural color and life and luster of the hair and 3t soft and beautiful. Non-stiiky, and does not stain skin or 81 TRY IT Your hair needs it. Prepared for lignt, medium and dark brown and black hair Trial size 25c, pos paid 30c, large size me. by mall 90t. Purr and harmless. for sale by All Jacobs' Stores And Druggists Generally. His Heart s Gallery of Intimate Portraits * Journal-American-Examiner. By Nell Brinkley j few ' 0» ® JI’WRcWM. Bak ’ twHaROwO wlw<2rt/. J SISK fi zfc'Sy ! the gate and along the road toward his own home. Spottswood and his wife followed in the 1 wake of Sammy, for the moment deter , mined to overtake their son and chastise him for his rudeness. Clara and Wallace were immersed in themselves at the piano, where snatches of music and snatches of a conversation very dear to . themselves alternated. So, to all intents, Broadway and Josie were left alone. "Poor Sammy,” he said, “he but shares the common lot in life. He wants somc- [ thing, and can’t have it. And I want | , something, and can’t have it.” His eyes anil his infllection gave an un dercurrent to his words, but the girl shose to misunderstand him. 1 “There is little that a young man with ’ your prospects in life can not have, if you but desire the better —the higher things,” ' she said primly enough, but there was a ' dimple in her cheek at the thought _ of Broadway's desiring seriously for long any | spiritual uplift. Broadway knew perfeectly well that the ' | thing she meant was not the thing in his 1 ; own mind, but here was an ipening made ’I to his taste. Gradually all the eyening ho had been screwing up his courage. He would dare. He was about to tell her that I there was one thing in ah ' e world that I he warded and his menu: : t had al : readyr framed the words: "I love you.” BROADWAY REFLECTS. But those little words. “I love you” had I started a flood of recollections and lie- saw i tiiei.i as they had been written in tlte i notes he and Mrs. Gerard had exchange-1 'at that "dinner with a punch.” i al’-. Gerard! He reflected bitterly, ttf . | course Josie had r -ad in the newspaper-* .i of that night of folly at Speary’s. so far away in view of the great change that had ! come to him. Os course she knew of the i culminating announcement of that “dinner with a punch.” He could not speak to this 5 young girl, this woman who was above hfm in all refinements of character and 1 fetlings. After all Ids mere refusal to go over to th- trust had been inspired by her, he though sadly. And he could not say to her those words, which use by him and Mrs. Gerard bad sullied: 1 love you.' In acute remorse he groaned aloud: ' "There's no fool like a young fool.” ' The girl smiled her wise, mysterious smile, with its vague quality of comfort. Almost ii seemed in th*' bitterest of self- 1 reproacli-is sin- echoed bis words: ' "There's no fool like a young fool.” i Part VII. HOW FROM A BUTLER MAY BE MADE A SEMI-GENU'INE EARL. <>f oiie tiling Jackson was sure: Josie was apply ing his own words to herself, but why? She was not engaged to Mrs. ’ Gerard! The puzzle be*dm r.g entirely I too much for any one uoai-l *1 by woman | j intuition. Broadway gave -: up and r- - turned to a biiter sell-condemnation be cause of his affair With Mrs. Gerard, while tlie girl at his side talked quietly of com- , monplaces. ’ Jackson was at height of his reproaches addressed to a certain Broadway Jones, I ! when quite by chance his eye travelled I through the open door. Standing close to ■ the edge of the veranda was a white faced man his own eyes rivetted upon Jackson. A moment more Jones recog nixed Rankin, his long absent butleer. Plainly Rankin was making signals to him, but whether of war or peace Broad t way could not decide. However. Rankin , wanted him. With an excuse of an im portant business visitor who would detain j shim but a moment. Broadway stepped outside. ! “Well, where is she? he demanded in » the butler's ear, but “sh-h” was his only answer. Rankin seized his sleeve and drew him > through Hie gate of Jones Manor and even } • walked down the road a few hundred feet. Jackson obeyed the commanding pres- I sure of the other's fingers without ques tion. If Rankin used such secrecy the need must be great. SURPRISING NEWS. in the dark shadow of an old elm that Jackson’s grandfather had climbed, the butler allowed his master to stop. Broad way gulped down a great fear that seemed to rise materially in Ids throat. "Don't break It to me,” he said “Tell me the worst at once.” The butler smiled calmly as he an swered: "Surprising news, sir." "Well, tell me—tell me: what did she say? How did you get rid of her?” He had taken hope from the butler’s answer. Again Rankin smiled. "I didn't get rid of her, sir," he caid. "What? Where did you leave her?” "I didn’t leave her, sir; I've been with her ever since." "Where is she?” "She's here, sir.” Jackson jumped to one side, peering in a very real terror into the shadows. He had had a glimpse of what life could be made on the heights and now the depths were returning. “Oil, she’s not under this tree, sir” the butler’s tone was reassuring—"but slip’s down the road a bit. sir.” "She came ba I- with you?” trembled ..mt Jackson. “Yes, sir ” I “Oil. you idiet! Wnat 'lll' you let ier J Continued Next issue. j •.jl i Ifcf ® ’ Mt W l i"S- 11 | g ( I oh • t Y“,_> He began the collection of his Heart's Gallery of Intimate Portraits long years ago. The first portrait in it is that of the little chubby girl, with the freckled face and the funny mouth, who sat next io him at school. As he remembers her. she always seemed to be seeing the joke in life, and it was hard to determine whether she thought (he joke on you o~ on herself. The next portrait he keens in his gallery is that of the high school girl v hom he took to all the class dances and who wore his “frat” pin. She was pretty, but had no room in her head for anything hut the little festivities of the social clique at school. The third portrait is the girl he chose for his own out of all the realm of womankind. He wears her image on his heart of hearts, and there is joy and happiness in thinking of the dear, wonderful days of his wooing and the sweeter, more wonderful years of his married life. And last, hut not least, is the portrait of his own darling, his gray-eyed baby girl. She is all the world to him. and he sees her mother in her and sees her in her mother—the same looks, gestures and little tricks of saying and doing things. And happy is the man who can look at his Heart's Gallery of Intimate Port aits without regret—and thank- . ful to life for bringing such wonderful things to him. 1 I T ." IT L JI he WiJoiv Arrives at Helen's and Hears Some Dis- UM ling 3. lIUS Da.no agreeable Comments on Her Aged Suitoi By VIRGINIA T. VAN DE WATER. HELEN ROBBINS was on the ve randa waiting to greet the pair as they rode up to her door. Her cottage was on the slope of one of the many hills surrounding Pleasanton Lake and commanded a view that was worth the climb necessary to reach it. And my ear took that hill on high!” exulted Dr. Haynes, is his hostess greeted him. “I tell you. that ma chine’s hard to beat!” Beatrice had a suifden impulse of im patience, accentuated by the fact that waeit the ear stopped all the breeze j seemed t*> slop, too, and she felt as if she were plunged into a steam bath. The sensation reminded her of the “hot room” in a Turkish bath establishment. Glancing donn, she saw that her pretty white shoes were gray with the dust that had blown over them In the swift ride across the dry country. She would not have minded the heat and might not have noticed the dust if her companion had exclaimed to her friend on the delights of the ride with such a charming companion instead of bursting forth into panegyrics of his automobile. But she i hecked her irri tation. and after a moment’s hesitation seconded the man’s praise of fils “ma chine." “lit. Helen, such a drive!” she said with Seeming enthusiasm. “And such a driver as Dr. Haynes is! I am too ignorant to know what it means to have an automobile ‘take a hill on high’ but if it means that a car al most files, why t agro, heartily with tiie statement.” For the second time that day the doctor looked at her with a pleasant expression. Dusty Roads. 'l’m glad you like the car and my driving.' he said. Then he turned to Helen. “Truth compels me to declare," he said ruefully, "that I never saw much dustier roads tiian those we came over this morning. You may know that I like the looks of Pleasanton when I say that now that 1 am here, I can forgive even those miles of heat and dirt." Prompt, safe Relief No matter wnut cauren achini* head ei eesiiive brain fair, ntrvonaneindigestion, colds, jrrippe, coryaa, effects or for all conditions whero p. in is prominent acute or chronic rheumatism, neuralgia, gout, etc.— TABLETS are wonderful, gentle,prompt and safe painrehevers • not intu.xkuuty, stimulant 1 or habit furmen DruggUt For r Helen laughed merrily. “Well, I re joice that you like it out here.” she . said, "and I’m hoping that Beatrice is going to think it such a nice place that she will decide to spend the rest of the summer in the cottage I have ‘ picked out for her. It is right over there." pointing to a bungalow nestled against the hill a little-way beyond her lawn. “You can see only the roof from ' here, but one can walk to tiie place in five minutes without hurrying.” While Beatrice was In Helen's dress ing room removing her wrap and hat, smoothing her liair, her hostess ex , cused herself and went down to give some final instructions with regard to luncheon. The widow, thus left alone, completed her toilet, then strolled Into Helen's lied room, and, going to the window, peered forth between the shut ' ters at the roof of the bungalow in question. She wfis glad to note that even from the upper windows of the Robbins cottage the front door and ve randa of her probable summer resi i dense were not visible. She remem , bered that it might be most inconven ’ tent for her were her neighbor able to spy upon her and her callers. "i do not want h*T to know everv I » time her uncle comes/ to see me,” she mused. “I wonder what I am going to do about him. anyway?” I ( Sinking into an easy chair by tiie , open window, she rested her head > against the cushioned back and closed i Iler eyes. She was glad to have a little linn mill quiet in which to think, for i i she found herself in a position where ! she was more uncertain about iter fu- ■ 'i lure actions than site was before 1 she . ! left home this morning. Then she had I thought of Dr. Hayne: as a man who . might become a possible suitor. She had luqied that she might interest him i lin her sufficiently tp make it worth , ■ while for her to defer settling the ques . | tlon with regard to Henry Blanchard . j until late in the summer—if she could. . But this morning’s experience had , proved to her that, so far. the physician , thought of her only as the mother of I his little patient, in whom she was interested. Her only claim on him, up Act Well! And that you may, profit by the health-restoring, strength giving properties of the time- , tested famous family remedy BEECHAM'S PILLS i S«ld •vorywher* In boa«> 10c„ 25c. I to date, was evidently her relationship | to Jean. Was that the only claim she would ever have. She was not mistaken, for Helen drew a chair close to her guest's, and began, first of all, to talk of Jean’s condition. “I have been so sorry for you. my dear,” she said. “I even telephoned in I yesterday to Uncle Henry to see if he knew how tiie little gnl was." “Why didn't you telephone to me instead?” a.-aed Beatrice auickiy. "B. eaiis*-. dtar, 1 thought perhaps 1: would annoy you to be called from your little girl. Rut Uncle Henry said lit did upt even know sh* was ill.” “of course, lie didn’t,” repll*.*d Beat rice. “How should he?” “Well," laughed Helen, “the poor old man talks of you so much that I thought his fatherly interest might lead him to call on you occasionally. I was glad to learn, however, that he had not been boring you with ills presence.” The widow said nothing, and, after a moment’s silence, Mrs. Robbins con tinued her inquisition. She asked the question anxiously, for she liked this man. Perhaps his very indifference piqued her to further ad miration of him, for it was not an un kindly indifference. It was simply that she had not. as yet, appealed to him mo)'* 1 than did scores of other women whom lie knew. But to her he was much more attiaetive than was Henry Blanchard. Indeed, as sin- thought now of her elderly suitor ami compared him with the big. broad-shouldered, gray haired man who had been her compan ion this morning, sh felt toward the slight, somewhat shrunken old bache lor a shudder of physical repugnance. She did not dislike him, but he was not tiie type of husband she wanted. And yet—he was kind, and good, ami had money, and loved her. Being Cautious. The sound of Helen’s step on the stairs made Beatrice open her eyes and sit up. She must keep her wits about her, for of course her friend would ask her about her plans and would, perhaps, try to learn the widow’s sentiments with regard to Dr. Haynes. There | fore, Beatrice felt she must be careful not to show her hand "I’m so glad,” she remarked, “that Dr. Haynes has sense enough to ap- I predate you, dear. Don’t you like him?" "1 know him very slightly,” replied I Beatrice evasively. "I called him In to I see Jean, us my own doctor was out of J town, ami it was because of the child’s illnfess and the need of getting her out of town that he suggested my coming out witli him today. He is not inter ested in me except as Jean’s mother. m*i' do I know film in any capacity ex- ■pt :-s ~iy little ii: util I*" ' ■ physician!" * "Ah,” . mllcd Helen indulgently, “tnat Up-to-Date Jokes "What's this?" said the editor. " 'Mr Longbow is lying at death’s door Make that read ’laying.’” "What?” exclaimed the reporter in surprise. “That's not correct.” “No.” replied the editor; “but it’s bet ter to make a grammatical error than offend Longbow's relatives. His repu- ; tation for veracity la notoriously bad." < _ < Ada (pensively)—l hope you’ll Invite j me io the wedding when you get mar ried. ' * < Jack tboldly)- You’ll be the first i person I shall invite, an if you don’t ac- - cept there won’t be any wedding. Three months later she married him. “Willie,” said the mother, sorrow fully. “every time you are naughty I get another gray "Gracious!” said Dlllie. "you must have been a, t -rror. Look at grand pa'l” He—Do ymi love me, darling? ,su* —Yes, Jack, dear. He- J.tck! You mean Harold, don’t you ? She—Of course! How absurd I am! I keep thinking today's Saturday. Minister —My dear little boy, why I don’t you carry an uinbr- Ila when it Is raining like this? I Dear Little Boy-Since pa. has I stopped going to church he never ■ brings home any mor* umbrellas. | Elsie (aged seven I—Mr, I w ant a | penny. I Mother —What for, dear? Elate- I asked Willie Jones to play I we’re getting married, and he says he i won’t do it unless I have a dowry. Teacher—Now, Teddy, is "Jerusa lem’’ a proper noun or a common n oun ? I Teddy ’Tain’t neither. It’s an ejac- I ulation, mum. is tvhat YOU say. But I know men ami their ways well enough to know t.h’.t fil'd he not felt more than a pass ing interest in you he would never have troubled himself to take a. long ride with you. Abi-y nan does not lose a whole day front work Just to gratify, his in terest in a four-year-old child who Is nothing to him.” The wish is father to the thought with many of us, and as her friend spoke. Beatrice, while seeming to dis agree with het, was impressed by her logic, and -- ray of hope shot through her mind, making her feel that, after all, Helen's reasoning might bo correct. But she only shook her head and tried to look Incredulous and indifferent. “You are mistaken.” she insisted. “Dr. Haynes told me himself that he had meant to come to lunch with you some day, that it might as well be this day as another, itnil that he would bring me with him so that,l might look over the cottage you wrote of.” Still Helm shook her head and laugh ed. “No no. Beatrice, ’’ she chided, “you can't fool me in such matters.’’ At this juncture the maid, entering to announce luncheon, made further dis cussion impossible, and Beatrice, with a sigh of relief, glanced into the mir ror as sh* passed, noted that she look ed one*' more fresh and cool, and fol lowed her hostess dov.'nstail’s. ! . .SS . I I @ X v J Him*. ■■-Lt— J | Advice to the Lovelorn By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. BOTH, OF COURSE. Dear Miss Fairfax; If two young men walking met a young lady whom only one of the young men knew, and the other did not. is it proper for both to tip their hats, or should only the one who new her do so? W. F. I confess to surprise at'your # ques tion. A spirit of gallantry should prompt a man to raise his hat to his friend’s acquaintances, though he has never read or been told that that is what he should do. A DIVIDED HEART. Dear Miss Fairfax: I have been keeping company with a young man for three years. We love each other very much but he still wants to call on other girls, especially one recently married. • ALICE. If he loved you as devotedly as he should, the society of any girl but you would bore him. The fact that he seeks their society shows a divided heaart. Don’t let hint see that you care. Put him in your place by encouraging- the attentions of other men. THAT DEPENDS ON YOU. Dear Miss Fairfax: I have known a girl three years, half of which time I spent in Cal ifornia. I have told her I love her, and, after promising her I would ' stay In New York and lead a clean life, she lias seemed to forget my existence and goes out. with other men. Shall 1 forget her, or be per sistent? WALLACE. If you really love her, you don’t want to forget her. Perhaps your lack of decision, which shows itself in youii question, is responsible for her Interest in others of your sex. Be persistent, by al! means, if you care for her, and if you win her oi not, your promise to lead a clean lit* will be a good promise to keep. WERE YOU AT FAULT? Dear Miss Fairfax: I am desperately in love with a young man two years my senior. A few days ago, I got in a quarrel with him and I have not spoken to him since. Mj parents do not object to my going with him. <’an you advise me what to do to regain his love? FLORENCE. If sou were at fault in the quarrel, you owe him an apology, and I trust you will be fair enough to make it.( If he provoked tile quarrel without reason, you can do nothing but wait till shame drives him to take steps to ef fect a reconciliation. If be doesn’t love you enough to be fair, he doesn’t love you enough to grieve over losing him. Cottolene better than butter for shortening Eat butter, but don’t waste it. The right place for butter is on your dining table; the wrong place is in your kitchen. Every time you shorten or fry with butter you waste money. Cotto lene—the vegetable shortening—■ will give you equally good results at one-third the cost. Cottolene makes light, digesti ble food, which any stomach can digest. Cottolene-made food is rich, but never greasy Neutral in taste, practically without odor, Cottolene is a product of carefully selected cotton oil, refined by our exclusive process. Use one-third less Cottolene X than either but ter or lard. Cottolen* is never sold in bulk—al* W ways in air-tight ■pMBtSSwMM tin pails, which pro tect it from dirt, F dust and odors. It is always uniform and dependable. THE N. K. FAIRBANK COMPART • =r ’ J ~ ~ A. ■ . ' , WAile on the Pacific Coa t read the San Francisco Examiner DON’T BE TORTURED Eczema can be instantly relieved and permanently cured. Read what .1 B. Maxwell, Atlanta, Ga., says. It pro’. < s that Tetterine Cures Eczema I suffered agony with severe eczema. Tried six different remedies and was In despair when a neighbor told me to try Tetterine. After using $3 worth I am completely cured. Why should you suffer when you can .’o easilt get a remedy that cures all -k'n troubles—eczema, itehlng piles, erysipelas, ground itch, ringworm, etc. Get it today Tetterine. ">oc at drugast-. nr by mail. SHUPTRINE CO., SAVANNAH, GA • <Advt.>