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THE GEOBOiAWrS MAGAZINE PAGE Broadway «/ Jones i Based on George M. Cohan's Play Now Running in New York. By BERTRAND BABCOCK. TODAY’S INSTALLMENT. Her plaj of wit and fancy dazzled not ; only Broadway, Bob and the judge, but | actually' struck dumb Mr~ Spottswood and J .Clara. The judge was moved to whisper | to his wife: "If Broadway gets that girl site’ll lead i him a merry dance She's got chani j pagne ih her temperament. I saw a girl i once a little like her in New Britain, t But she was drunk." But the wife could not reply to this eon -1 fessfon, it may have been, of the judge. 1 To Sammy, much of the value of the | scene was lost because of the beloved I banjo he had insisted upon bringing witli ! him. f Josie had just laughed unsteadily and j had remarked: "There's a wealth of ; meaning in lamb chops, isn't there, Mr. j Jones?" ano the company, .including [Broadway, were trying to puzzle out her Intent, when the quivering, shrill sounds 1 of a tune played upon the single string ! of a banjo out of harmony, jarred it | self on their attention. Everybody, including Jackson and I Sammy, turned toward the small boy in [ real relief, and the musician's little at- I tempt to entertain served to break the ■ spell that had had some influence upon ! each of the group. Sammy’s seriousness •nd his ponderous efforts were thrown Into relief by the gay atmosphere which had 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 plsying upon that one alone, too. “That wasn't at all bad. Sammy," coni mended Jackson. "No, indeed, it was very good," added .Wallace. “Very good," snuffed Sammy. "T should say It was very good. Gosh, I’ve only been taking lessons for a year and a half. Well, what are you laughing at* Don't you believe me? I’il bet 'Utz' when he was a little hoy didn’t do as good as that. Beethoven used to make up 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 be said in a kindly manner to the young group of ambitions: "Don't tire yourself out, Sammy.” Wishing to he very obliging after the dinner that Broadway had planned and Josie really cooked, Sammy was quick to ' disclaim any fatigue-. "Oh. no,” he said. "I'd have to prac tice anyway." c""Clara, shallower than Josie, who had a mind that embraced all the world, never showed to her small brother much pa tience. And so now she discouraged his good intentions. "Well, go home and practice, Sammy," she said. “We don’t want to hear It. Mr. Wallace is going to play the piano." Obediently Bob moved to the piano and began to play. But Sammy had already started upon another of his compositions for one string of a banjo, and he was quick to order Wallace: SAMMY IN A HUFF. "Say, keep that piano quiet, w ill you*" Wallace struck another note, with his smiling eyes upon Sammy. The boy stopped at once and began to push his banjo into its case. “Shows how much you people know . about music.” he muttereel. "Gosh, you can hear a piano any day. There ain't ten gooel banjo players In Connecticut. I ain't going to stay here and listen to that darned old thing. I'm going tb take my banjo anei go home." Mrs. Spottswood was quick to reprove her son for lack of "being polite when you are invited out to supper." But the fat little Spottswood was already on his feet and half-way to the door. "Gosh," he mumbled, "that's all the thanks 1 get going to all the trouble of brlngin' my Instrument an' everything. Some day they'll be darned glad to hour me play it. when I get It down perfect." Sammy’s mother continued the reproof, saying: "Ain't you got any more manners than to go without saying good night and thanking Mr. Jones for the supper?" Almost on the verge of blubbering was Sammy. Wailed he: X "Well, my feelin's hurt, and I'm going nptne.” "Just for this you don't get any money to go to the circus this year," snapped his mother. Through the edge of his almost tears Baramy grinned as he retorted: "Well, If It ain't any better than it whs last year t don't care a darn. I'm getting tired of being bossed around, anyway r. I'll bet Edison, the inventor, didn’t let people boss him around when he was a boy. I'm goln' to take my banjo and live in New Haven." And proudly Sammy strode out through Tears Won t Helj The Gray Hairs But tm- proper care and treat ment will. tnd right now, 7 '' ' -« ‘thread.- ... be ginning to glis ten. Is th- tlmi i n- <> tion. Stop pulhng out tiie gray .hairs or you will make you: self white-headed. Your h.til ls losing vitality USE Rob in n air e Hair Dye No. it isn't a vulgar bleach <>r artificial coloring. It is at, - • storatlve that simple renews the natural color and lif. and luster of the hair, and make- it soft and beautiful. Non-sticky and does not stain skin or scalp. TRY IT. Your hair nerds it. Prepared for Hgnt. m< ilium and dark brown and black | hair. Trial size 25c, postpaid J 30c, large size 75c. by mail 90c. PE’ Pure and harmless. FOR SALE BY Jacobs' Stores His Heart’s Gallery of Intimate Portraits T - * By Nell Brinkley •/ A IJHhHhH mHI ■ //r /; '''?A T/W> A/// I / y7/ V ' I I aE • .y ( K ' ■' 6 ' s'// / y /A Lhe-/b.- .< izy//, .--<kE— Ml/ f ■ —-Gr- ,5 > - ,z-' the gate and along the road toward his own home. Spottswood and his wife followed in the 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 snatche.s of a conversation very dear to themselves alternated. So. to all Intents, Broadway and Josie were left alone. “Poor Sammy,” be said, "he but shares the common lot in life. He wants some thing. and can't have it. And I want something, and can't have it.” His eyes and his infllection gave an un dercurrent to his words, but the girl shose to misunderstand him. “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 own mind, but here was an fpening made to hfs taste. Gradually all the evening lie had been screwing up bls courage. He would dare, tie was about to tell her that, there was one thing in all the. world that he wanted and his mental lips hud al ready framed the words: "I love you.” BROADWAY REFLECTS. But those little words, "I love you” had started a flood of recollections and he saw them as they had been written in the notes he and Mrs. Gerard had exchanged at that “dinner with a punch.’ Mrs. Gerard! Ho reflected bitterly. Os course Josie had read In the newspapers 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 culminating announcement of that “dinner ■with a punch.” He could not speak to this young girl, this woman who was above him in all refinements of character and feelings. After all his mere refusal to go over to the 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 had sullied: "I 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 It seemed in the bitterest of self reproaches she echoed his words: “There’s no fool like a young fool." Part VII. HOW FROM A BUTLER MAY BE MADE A SEMI-GENUINE EARL. Os one tiling Jackson was sure: Josie was applying his own words to herself, but why? She was not engaged to Mrs. Gerard' The puzzle becoming entirely too much for any one unaided by woman intuition. Broadway gtfve it up and re turned to a bitter self-condemnation be cause of his affair with Mrs. Gerard, while the girl at his side talked quietly of com monplaces. Jackson was at height of his reproaches addressed to a certain Broadway Jones, when quite by chance his eye travelled through the open door. Standing close to the edge of the veranda was a white faced man his own eyes rivotted upon Jackson. A moment more Jones recog nised Rankin, his long absent butleer. Plainly Rankin was making signals to him. but whether of war or peace Broad way could not decide. However, Rankin wanted him. With an excuse of an im portant business visitor who would detain shim but a moment, Broadway stepped outside. ell, where 1r she? he demanded in the butler’s ear, but “sh-h” was his only answer. "Rankin seized his sleeve and drew him through the gate of Jones Manor and oven walked down the road a few hundred feet. Jackson obeyed the commanding pres sure us 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 I 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 hi s throat. "Don’t break It to me." he said. “Tell nv- the worst at onct ” Tnc butler smiled calmly as he an swered: "Surprising news, sir." "Welt, ten me—tell me; what did she How did y..u get rid of her'."' He hud taken hope from the butler’s answer. 'gain Rankin smiled. "I didn’t get rid of her. sir," he said. W hat \V here 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 >< very real terror into the shadows. He had had a glimpse of what life could be made on the heights and now the tiepths were returning "< 'b. she's not under this tree, sir" the butle.r’s tone was reassuring “but sio-'s lown the road a bit, sir " "Sh< came back with yuu?" trembled lout Jackson. sir. "■'ti. you kilo;; What ni: yoi- let her i 1111 \ ‘ 2 \n > 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 to him at school. As he remembers her, she always seemed to he seeing the joke in life, and it was hard to determine whether she thought the joke on you or on herself. The next portrait he keeps in his gallery is that of the high school girl whom 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 but 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, but 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 Portraits without regret—and thank ful to life for bringing such wonderful things to him. I—liiTtfinrr I—Jimkn»-»zJ Arrives at Helen's and Hears Some Dis- l*Uniing a lIUSDaiIQ agreeable Comments on Her Aged Suitor 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 wag 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 car took that hill on high!” exulted Dr. Haynes, as Ills hostess greeted him. "J tell you. that ina chitie's'liard to beat!” Beatrice had a sudden impulse of im patience, accentuated by the fact that when the ear stopped all the breeze seemed to stop, 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 down, 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 ofj bursting forth into panegj rics of ills automobile. But she checked her irri tation, and after a moment’s hesitation seconded the man's praise of his chine." “111, Helen, such a drive!” she said with seeming enthusiasm. ".And such a driver as Dr. Haynes is! lam 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 flies, why I agree heartily with the statement.” For the second time that day the doctor looked at her with a pleasant expression. Dusty Roads. "I’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 J never saw much dustier roads titan 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 Prompt, Sats Relief No matter what cauaes your achin K head ex emsive brain far, nervousness, indigeetion. colds grippe coryza effects over-indulgence or for all 'undiuons where n«m is prominent acute or chronic rheumatism, neuralgia, a’ ANTI-KAMNIA TABLETS •re wonderful, gentle, prompt and safer . irelievera —inroxiiunlJ, stimulants or habe: formers Ash Any Drug klat For I gpa Helen laughed merrily. “Well, I re joice that you like it out here,” she . said, ‘ami 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 the place in five minutes without hurrying.” While Beatrice was in Helen’s dress ing room removing her wrap and hat, smoothing her hair, her hostess ex cused herself and went down to give some final instructions with regard to luncheon. The widow, thus left alone, completed he: toilet, then strolled into Helen': bed room, and, going to the window, peeled forth between the shut ters at the roof of the bungalow in question. She was glad to note that even front the upper windows of the Robbins cottage the front door and ve randa of her probable summer resi dence were not visible. She rement i bered that it might be most inconven ient for tier were her neighbor able to spy upon her and her callers. "I do not want her to_ know every time her uncle comes to see me,” she mused. "1 wonder what I am going to Jo about him, anyway?" Sinking into an easy chair by the open window, she rested her head against the cushioned back and closed her eyes. She was glad to have a little i time and quiet in which to think, for shi found herself in a position where she was more uncertain about her fu ture actions than she was before she left home this morning. Then she had thought of Dr. Haynes as a man who might become a possible suitor. She . had hoped that she might Interest him I in iter sufficiently to make it worth j while for her to defer settling the ques i tion with regard to Henry Blanchard I until late in the summer—ls she could. But this morning's experience had proved to her that, so far. the physician thought of her only as the mother of 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 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 yesterday to Uncle Henry to see if, he knew how the little girl was.” “Why didn’t you telephone to me instead?" asked Beatrice quickly. “Because, dear, I thought perhaps it would annoy you to be called from your little girl. But Uncle Henry said he did not even know she was ill.” “Os course, he didnU,” replied 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 his 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 more than did scores of other women whom he knew. But to her he was much more attractive than was Henry Blanchard. Indeed, as she thought now of her elderly suitor and compared him v Ith the big, broad-shouldered, gray haired man who had been her compan ion this morning, she felt toward the slight, somewhat shrunken old bache lor a shudder of physical repugnance. She did not dislike him. but he was not the type of husband she wanted And yet—he was kind, and good, and 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 tense enough to ap preciate you, dear. Don’t you like him?” “I know him very slightly.” replied Beatrice, evasively. "I called him In to see Jean, as my own doctor was out of town, and It was because of the child’s illness and the need of getting her out of town that he suggested my coming out with him today. He is not inter ested In me except as Jean’s mother, nor do I know him In any capacity ex cvpt as my little daughter’s physician!” 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 is notoriously bad.” Ada (pensively)—l hope you’ll invite me to the wedding when you get mar ried. Jack (boldly)—You'll be the first 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 hair.” "Gracious!” said Dillie, "you must have been a terror. Look at grand pa!” He —Do you love me, darling? She —Yes, Jack, dear. He—Jack! 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 don’t you carry an umbrella when it is raining like this? Dear Little Boy—Since pa has stopped going to church he never brings home any more umbrellas. Elsie (aged seven) —Mr, I want a penny. Mother—Wiiat for. dear? Elsie—l asked Willie Jones to play we’re getting married, and he says he won't do it unless I have a dowry. Teacher—Now, Teddy, is "Jerusa lem” a proper noun or a common noun? Teddy 'Tain’t neither. It’s an ejac ulation, mum. Is what YOV say. But I know men and their ways well enough to know that had he not felt more than a pass ing interest in you he would never have troubled himself to take a long ride with you. A busy- man does not lose a whole day from 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 her, was impressed by her logic, and a ray of hope shot through her mind, making her feel that, after all, Helen’s reasoning might be coirect. But she only shook her head and tried to look incredulous and indifferent. “You are mistaken,” she insisted. “Dr. Haynes told mo himself that he bad meant to come to lunch with you som ? day. that it might as well be this day as another, and that he would bring me with him so that I might, look over the cottage you wrote of.” Still Helen 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 she passed, noted that she look ed once more fresh and cool, and fol lowed her hostess downstairs. L Save Risk ||Hj Delicious and con venient. Add rich aa ness to SOU P S > 6 ra * MEJBL vies and sauces. •■SflKk FREE W' A ' brra • .!;.; > for you* yWjteßti defies -s e -nir uM ad<‘.H ><• Upffißn corneille david* < - p ' )le -^ eDtß Dept p o WNCT 9 North Moore Street, . wR$ cube» 10 c WySHxBWWt —lO c übet 2 5c W*, ""Bkm • I® jt •) A J ’1 *** A 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 youhg men'knevv, 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. 1 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 heart. Don’t let him see that you care. Put him In your place by encouraging the attentions ot other men. THAT DEPENDS ON YOU. Dear Miss Fairfax: I have known a gill three years, half of which time I spent in Cal ifornia. I have told her I love her, .and, after promising her 1 would stay in New York and lead a clean life, she has seemed to forget my existence and goes out with other men. Shall I forget her, or be per sistent? WALLACE. If you really love her. you don't want to forget her. Perhaps your of decision, •which shows itself in ybur question, is rrsponsibk for her interiM in others of your sex. Bo persistent, by all means, if you care lor her, and if you win her oi not, jour promise to lead a clean life will be a good promise to keep. WEnu YOU AT FAULT? Dear Miss Fairfax: I am desperately in love with a young man two yea’s my senior, few days ago, I got in a quatTil with him and 1 have not spokdn to him since. My parents do not object to my going with him. Can you advise me d hat to do to regain his h,v< '.' FLORENCE. If you were at fault in the quarre’ you owe him an apology, and I trust you will be fair enough to make it. If he provoked the quarrel withoui reason, you can do nothing but wait till shame drives him to take steps to ef fect a reconciliation. If he doesn't love you enough to b< fair, he doesn’t lovi you enough to grieve over losing him. 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