Atlanta Georgian. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, April 16, 1913, Image 6

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/ This Is the Opening Installment of the New Serial---Read It! AMBLE WITH EULOGIA Old Spanish Missions GCftrtiClC A-tllCrtOIl PART I. *dXA POMPOSA • msx-d her hands oft heY stomach and twirled her A red spot was in each eok, and the mole in row jerked ominously, ei in a taut line, and of* were fixed upon a window RtrumminK raised with an air thumb* e-cidercd clieo f*cam> ,^ycbro lips waro.sei ey(g ftrl who sccj by th guitar. nor chin hf placid 1 fridlfforon *hoti wlft stop no more giant ajKind Dona P< ! vD thou think that 1 am wont let ipy^daughter marry before she n hemV ,Thank God, we have more nee th® 11 our mothers. No child of nine shall marry at fifteen. Now Helen -thou shalt be locked in a dark room 1 am 1 opt v ti *• ;icrain I ' that 1.'■ erenadlng m i ' window 1 .to worn Bt. Three nights have I been awak ened by that tw-a-n-g, tw-a-n-g ” "You need not be afraid," said her aughiei, digging her little heel Into | |lhe floor. J shall not fall in h>\. I j ha^e no faith in men." Her mother laughed outright in spite I pt her ahger Read Dumas' Novels. "Indeed* my. Eulogist! Thou are very uriae. And why, pray, has thou no Ifanh in men ?" Eulogia tossed the soft, black braid (from AM* shouledra and fixed her keen, oguish eyes on the old lady's fare. "Because 1 have read nil the novels the Senor Dumas, and I well know i those men he makes. And they never apeak the truth to women; al- vays they are selfish and think of only heir own pleasure. The women suffer, they do not care: they do not love |the women only themselves So I am mot going to he fooled by the men 1 bthall have a good time, but 1 shall (think of nr--?* If. not of the men Her mother gazed at her In Bpeec-h- less &ma zement (book in 1 of locking from her daughter the few volumes her dead husband' had collected Then alie gasped with consternation. "A flue woman thou wilt make of parti, with such ideas a nice wife mother, when the time cornea! IThat does J'adre F! or gee say to that, should like to know? It is very range that he lets you read those oks " “I never told him." said Eulogia, in differently. "What."* screamed her mother "Thou ver told at confession?" "N6, 1 never did. It w’ns none of his business what I read Reading is no I confessed all " Dona Pomposa rushed at Eulogia with uplifted liands; but her nimble daughter lived under her arms with a provoking augh and ran out of the room. Town Was Still Awake. That night Thilogia pushed aside the window and look- tlful bare hills and cli»yr_ San Luis were black in the lilveilRiight. but the moon made tlie (town light us day The owls were htH.iiagl on the roof <>f the mission: ‘"wnftw iiei otflg Tttie'beaut'll .ulo ould see them flap few Indians were still fall in love with me. I shall have a good time. That is enough " The padre* smiled; he was used to her. “Men Shall Love Me.” "Thou little Wise one." He collected himself suddenly "But thou art right to build thy hopes of happiness on the next world alone Then he continued, as if he hud merely broken the con versation to say the Angelus: "And ihou art sure that thou wilt he the la fav^rita? Truly, thou hast confidence in thyself an inexperienced chit who has not half the beauty of many other girls.' "Perhaps not; but the men shall love me belter, all the same. Beauty is not everything, my father. 1 have a greater attraction than soft eyes and a pretty mouth." "Indeed! Thou baby! Why, thou art no bigger than a well-grown child, and thy mouth was made for a woman twice thy size Where dost thou keep that extraordinary charm?" Not. but what he knew, for he liked her better than any girl in the town. As the night was warm the younger people danced through the low windows onto the wide corridor; and if eyes relaxed their vigilance stepped off to the grass and wandered among the trees. The I brown ohj woman in dark silk sat against the wall as dowagers do to-day. Most of the girls wore bright red or yollow gowns, although softer tints blossomed here and there. Silky black Advice to the Lovelorn By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. BOTH RUDE AND CARELESS. TAKA It MISS FAIRFAX Is a young girl keeping company with a young man justi fied in feeling offended when the young man making an appoint ment to meet her on the way home from business does not keep j this engagement, this having happened twice? The excuse given by the young man for not keeping the appointment was. "he had forgotten all about the ap pointment." ANXIOUS. She most certainly is justified in being offended, and if I were she \ would never make another engage- ; ment with him. He has treated her in ! a way that is both rude a.nd careless, j WITH HER PARENTS’ CONSENT. D ear miss fairf'ax: T am a young man 18 years of age. During business hours 1 am forced to answer the telephone very often. I have struck up an . acquaintance with a young lady • over the phone, and have asked her to go out with me, but she re fuses* to go. Do you think it would be proper for me to ask the young lady again, and would It be proper for her to accept the invi tation? G. H. She is quite right in refusing to go to the theater with a mere telephone acquaintance. If you call at her house and meet her parents, and they sanc- hair was braided close to the neck, the j tion the acquaintance, it will be all right for her to accept your invitation. Ask her if you may call on her. Well, my daughter, have I not won the battle?” said a voice behind her, and Eulogia sat down on the window seat and swung her feet with silent wrath. their mov- idr dark huts outside the within the Padre walked olive 'trees Beyond the n was still awake. Once dashed down the street, wondered If murder had in the mountains: the ban- thick in their fastnesses, wish she could see one. Then ced eagerly down the road be r window. In spite of the wis agkepted from the French istlper fancy was just a little by Juan Tome!. Tlift black, flesh®! f ->A* looked so tedder; tie rodi* tifully! She twitched the cur- to place and rah across the Xfjet pattering upon the bare he dumped into her little iron drew the dainty sheets to her A J ladder was leaned heavily the- side of the house. *ar|' an agile form ascend and §Mf on the deep window sill guitar vibrated under the master fingers and a rich, sang to her. lay as quiet as a mouse in not daring to applaud, had sent her mother to lover tuned his guitar and song, but she did not she was listening to footfalls above. With a present - what Vfas to happen, she sprang with a warning cry', but she late. There was a splash and on the window seat, a amoth- a qutpk descent, a tr1« laugh from above. Eulogia You Wanf Skin ? K ILE wishing never ye* Kotangcfl .»n ugly com- pip\inr Do something. Find the remedy. There is .t rem edy for every evil. If you have a very dark, coarse, swarthy looking skin TRY Dr. Palmer’s Skin Whitener M The* is ho doubt whatever labour its marvelous whiten ing effect upon a dark, sallow ^complexion, and it makes the skin soft and clear. " Of course you won’t believe this unless you try it. But one box will show you how easy It is to improve your complex ion. 25e postpaid anywhere. Good agents wanted in every town. Write for terms. FOR SALE BY Hi Jacobs’ Stores od Druggists Generally. stamped her foot with rage. She cau tiously raised the window and passed her hand along the outer sill. This time she beat the casement with both hands, for they were covered with warm ashes. "Well, my daughter, have I not won the battle?" said a voice behind her, a ml Eulogia sat down on the window seat ami swung her feet with silent wrath. Dona Pomposa wore a rather short nightgown and her feet were encased in a i>alr of her husband’s old boots. Her hair was twisted under a red silk kerchief, and again she crossed her hands on her stomach, but the thumbs held the candle. Eulogia giggled sud denly. "What dost thou laugh «t. sem»pitaV At the way I have served thy lover? Dost thou think ho will come again soon?" "No, mamma; you have proved the famous hospitality of the Californians the Americans are always talking about. You need have no more envy of the magnificence of Quevos." "Oh, thou canst make sharp speeches, thou Impertinent little brat, hut .luan Tornel will seremlae under thy win dow* no more! Go to thy bed! Diosl but the ashes must look well on his pretty irmstnrhlo Go. to thy bed I will put thee on board in n convent to morrow " Then she shuffled out of the room, her, ample figure swinging from side to side like a huge pendulum. The next day Eulogia was sitting on her window seat, her chin resting on her knees, the volume of Dumas beside her. when the door was cautiously opened ami her Aunt Anastaela enter ed the room Aunt Anastaela was very large. In fact, she nearly filled the doorway She also disdained whale bones and walked with a slight roll. Her ankles hung over her feet, and her red cheeks and chin were covered with a short black gown. Her hair was twisted. Into a tight knot and protected by a thick net, and she wore a loose gown of brown calico, patterned with large red roses. But good nature beam ed alt over her indefinite features. Her little brown eyes dwelt adoringly upon little Eulogia, who gave her an absent smile. "Poor little ope!" she said in tier In dulgent and contralto voice. "But it was cruel in my sister to throw ashes on thy lover. Not but what thou art too young for lovers, my darling, al- I though 1 had one at twelve. But times I have changed. My little one, 1 have a not© for thee. Thy mother is out, and he has gone away, so there can he no iarm in reading it" "Give it to me at once!" and Eulogia lived into her aunt's pocket and found he note. Shrugged Her Shoulders. "Beautiful and Idolized Eulogia - Velios! Adios! I came a stranger to thy town 1 fell blinded at thy feet. I fly forever from the scornful laughter of thine eyes. Aye. Eulogia, how couldst thou? But no! 1 will not believe it was thee The dimples that play In thy cheeks, the sparks that fly in thine eyes God oI my life! i cMutod ball*** t hu' th* \ come from a Nnaliclous soul No, enchanting Eulogia! consolation of ray soul! it was thy mother who so cruelly humiliated me. who drives me from thy town lest I be mocked in the streets Aye, Eulogia! Aye. miseri- cordia! Adios! Adios!" Eulogia shrugged h thee. Not but what I had many lov ers ” "It is too bad thou didst not marry one." Interrupted Eulogia maliciously. "Perhaps thou wouldst' and She pick ed up her hook "if thou hadst read the Senor Dumas." "Thou heartless little baby!" cried her indignant aunt "When T love thee so, and bring thy notes at the risk of my life; for thou knowest that thy mother would pull the hair from my head. Thou little brat! To say I could not marry, when I had twenty —" Eulogia Jumped up and pecked her on the chin like a bird "Twenty-five, ray old mountain! I only Joked with thee. Thou didst not marry because thou hadst more sense than to trot about after a man. Is it not so. my old sack of flour? 1 was but angy because I thought thou hadst helped my mother last night." "Never! 1 was sound asleep " "1 know, I know! Now trot away 1 hear my mother coming." and Aunt Anastaela obedlaptly left her niece to the more congenial company of Senor Dumas. Green With Fruit Trees. HE hills of Ban Luis Obispo shot upward like the sloping sides of a well, so round was the town let patches lay in the slopes -the wide blossoms of the low cacti. Th© garden of the mission was green with fruit trees and silver with olive I groves. On the white church and long wing lay the red tile; beyond the wall the dull earth huts of the Indians. Then the straggling town, with its white adobe houses crouching on the grass. Eulogia was sixteen. A year had passed since Juan Tornel had sere naded beneath her window, and, if the truth had been told, she had almost for gotten him Many a glance had she shot over her prayer book in the mis sion church; many a pair of eyes, dreamy and fiery, had responded. But she had spoken with no man. After a tempestuous secene with her mother, during which Aunt Anastacia had wept profusely, a compromise had been made. Eulogia had agreed to have no more flirtations until she was sixteen, but at that age she should go to balls and have as many lovers as she pleased. She walked through the olive groves with Padre Moraga on the morning of her sixteenth birthday. The new padre ami she were the best of friends. "Well," said the good old man. push ing the long white hair from his dark face it fell forward whenever he stooped "well, my little one, thou goest to thy first hall to-night Art thou happy?” "Hupps There Is no such thing as happiness, my father I shall dance and flirt, and make all the young men coiffure finished with a fringe of chenille. As they whirled in the dance their full bright gowns loowed like an agitated flower bed suddenly possessed by a wandering tribe of goddesses. Eulogia came rather late. In the last moment her mother had wavered in her part of the contract, and not until Eulogia had sworn by every saint in the calendar that she would not leave the sala, even though she stifled, had Dona Pomposa reluctantly consented to take her. Eulogla’s perfect little figure was clad in a prim white silk gown, hut her cold brilliant eyes were like jewels, her large mouth was red as the cactus patches on the hills, a flame burned in. either cheek. In a moment she was surrounded by the young men who had been waiting for her. It might be true that twenty girls in the room were more beautiful than she, but she had a quiet manner more effective than animation, a vigor ous magnetism of which she was fully aware, and a cool coquetry which : piqued and fired the young men. who were used to more sentimental flirta- j tions. “I Am Not a Man.” | Bhe danced as airy as a rower on the wind, but with untiring vitality. "Senorita.” said Don Carmelo Bena, "Thou takes! my breath away, post thou never weary?" "Never. 1 am not a man." "Ay, senorita, thou meanest" "That women were made to make the world go round, and men to play the guitar." "Ah, I can play the guitar. I will serenade thee to-morrow night." "Thou wilt get a shower of ashes for thy pains. Better slay at home and prepare thy soul with three card monte.’ "Aye, senorita, thou are cruel. Does no man please thee?" "Men please me. How tiresome to dance with a woman!" "And that is all thou hast for us? For, us who would die for thee?" "In a barrel of aguadiente? I prefer thee to dance with. To tell the truth, thy step suits mine." "Ay, senorita mla! Thou canst put honey on th.v tongue. Light of my life, Senorita —I fling my heart at thy feet." To Be Continued To-morrow. The Spinster By Ella Wheeler Wilcox , Copyright, 1913, tjy Star Company. shoulders, r is satisfied perhaps, him away. At least i> go \o the convent.*’ sold, my little noe,” facia, disapprovingly. Ifteen years, and >et <lde a lover as if he usa. Mother of God! *ht>uld have wept and 3ut» perhaps, that is the young men are wild for I. ORE are the orchard trees all large with fruit; And yonder fields are golden with young grain. In little journeys, branchward from the nest. A mother bird, with sweet insistent cries, Urges her young to use their untried wings A purring Tabby, stretched upon the sward, Shuts and expands her velvet paws in Joy, While sturdy kittens nuzzle at her breast. O mighty Maker of the Universe, Am I not part and parrel of Thy world, And one with Nature? Wherefore, then, in me Must this great reproductive impulse lie Hidden, 'ashamed, unnourished and denied. Until it starves to slow and tortuolis death? 1 know the hope of Springtime; like the tree Now ripe with fruit, I budded, and then bloomed, We laughed together, through the young May moms; We dreamed together, through the Summer moons; Till all Thy purposes within the tree Were to fruition brought. Lord, Thou hast heard Th© Woman in me crying for the Man; The Mother In me crying for the Child; And made no answer. Am 1 less to Thee Than lower forms of Nature, or in truth Dost Thou hold Somewhere in another Realm Full compensation and large recompense For lonely virtue forced by Fate to live A life unnatural, In a natural world? II. 'T'HOU who hast made for such sure purposes * The mightiest and the meanest thing that is — Planned out th o lives of insects in the air With fine precision and consummate care, Thou who hast taught the bees the secret power Of carrying on love’s laws ’twixt flower and flower, Why didst Thou shape this mortal frame of mine, # If Heavenly joys alone were Thy design? Wherefor the wonder of my woman’s breast, By lips of lover and of babe unpressed, IT spirit children only shall reply Urfto my ever urgent mother cry? Why should the rose be guided to its own, And my love-craving heart beat on alone? III. V” ET do I understand; for Thou hast made 1 Something more subtle than this heart of me; A finer part of me To be obeyed. Albeit I am sister to the earth. This nature self is not the whole of me; The deathless soul of me Has nobler birth. The primal woman hungers for the man; My better self demands the mate of me; The spirit fate of me, Part of Thy plan. Nature is instinct with the mother-need; So is my heart; but. ah, the child of me Should, undeflled of me. Spring from love’s seed. And if in barren chastity I must Know but in dreams that perfect choice, of me, Still with the voice of me Proclaim God just. YOU MUST DO NOTHING. FJRAR MISS FAIRFAX; l am eighteen and am deeply in love with a young man who often invites me up to the show. He is an usher. What could J do to gain his love, or show him that I love him? HEART-BROKEN. You are too young to be involved in any sentiment as serious as lov ing. Make no attempts to win his love, and teach yourself to know* that you do not love him. EXPLAIN IT. P)EAR MISS FAIRFAX: I am a young lady of eighteen. Some time ago a young man ask ed the pleasure of my company to a show'. I refused it; later he asked me again, but I told him T did not care to go to the plate, but changed my mind and went by myself. I met him as I was entering. He did not say any thing. Since then he has spoken to me, but has never asked for my company. Lately I have come to like him very much. DOT. Explain it by saying you changd your mind, but do not take it to heart if he never asks you again. Your actions showed you did not care for his company and that is what rankles. SHE WAS WRONG. Beauty Secrets: “HAIR PULLING MAKES IT GROW QUICKLY” TROUBLED OVER NOTHING. D ear miss Fairfax; I am 28 and have been keeping steady company for one year with a gill of 18. We are about to be engaged. Do you think.it improper to be married to a girl ten years younger than yourself? To he engaged, what is the proper way to do it, and must it be announced? Also is it nec essary" to present her with an en gagement ring? FT F. S. • She is not too young for you. Ask her to marry you. and if she accepts, | you are engaged. If her parents know, further announcement is immaterial, though it is a safeguard against mis - 1 understanding If all your friends know it. By all means, give her an engagement ring. NO SERIOUS OFFENSE. TYEAR MISS FAIRFAX: I am 16 years of age. Last week I was invited to a party to which T was requested to bring a young man. I invited a young man whom I know to be very re spectable and polite, but I had known him a very little time, and, at that, only to talk to. Now. what I want to know is if it waft right to invite him. ANXIOUS. You have been introduced and you knew him to be honorable. Under the circumstances, you did no great wrong. The mistake, if there was any, lies in the custom of asking a girl of 16 to hunt up a boy escort. TELL YOUR BEST FRIEND. HKAR MISS FAIRFAX: I would like to establish a home. I have no woman ac- qu.'Yntance. Can you give me any help or direction toward the at tainment of my desire either through social or direct introduc- tion ? H. G. M. Tell the best friend you have among the men. If he is married, he will tell his w'ife, and every woman is. at the bottom of her heart, a born matchmaker. She will see that you meet other women and have a choice. rtrails of Miss -Josephine Brown. and most bewitching style. Every-* one is in love with short hair, and con siders a woman wdth curly locks, snip ped off at fhe nape of the neck, much more attractive than her sister of Sutherland descent. "I shall never keep my hair very long any more, because I know the delights of short, healthy, clean hair." J~)EAR MISS FAIRFAX: T HERE seems to be one univer sal and unanimous answer to the question of "What makes life really worth the living?" No matter to whom you put it, if he or she has lived—and in the living Joyed and suffered—the one answer that is given is "Children.’’ And. after all, the little tykes do make this old world of ours worth living in. They may be a trial and dren will not have to deal with them. The man who is money mad most times piles up his hoards of golden coins for the children who come after him. The parent who lives in the hovel sees better times coming for his children, and is content to put up with his hard lot. knowing that he will live again in their enjoyment and in their ease. The society lady knows the vapid ness of her life and feels that she has a tribulation—they may be a care not lived hi vain and- been a drone In the hive if she gives forth to the world children. The poor washer woman works and denies herself to keep her family of tots together and give them advantages that she had not Ofttimes in a c rowded car my little lady comes in and perches primly on the edg© of the seal, c There is a and a sacrifice—but where is the one who answers to the name of father or mother, who are really human men and women, who do not prefer chil dren to all forms of wealth and all shades of glory. We see the king on his throne try ing to make things easy and settle difficult problem*, *o that hi* chil- change in the atmosphere at once, and humans who were glowering at each other smile and laugh to see the Jittle one ape her grown-up sisters. The nifty little kid you meet on the way, who looks up at you with friendly eyes, clear and unafraid, stirs your heart more than all dreams «nd visions of money and success. The little tatterdemalion you meet makes you want to change conditions so that all children can be taken away from the city and given the joys of the country and a taste of childhood close to nature. And the baby, who plays with its little pink toes, and is all unconscious of your presence, is of more interest than the speculations and theories of the philosophers who have filled the libraries with their thoughts from the long ago till now. took a lady friend of mine to an evening dance, and at 11:30 o'clock I asked her to come home, and she begged nte to wait until she had just one more dance. See ing that she enjoyed it, I consent ed, but it was to be the last, as we had about tw-'o hours’ travel for home. After she got through with this dance she w T anted to wait for the next one. and I re fused to give my consent. With this she claimed I offended her. MARK. She did not keep faith with you, but her offense is not serious. If you took her to the dance for her pleas ure, and that is always assumed, you should be glad to stay as long as she chooses, reserving to yourself the decision not to take her again if she chooses to stay too late. This Model Greatly Reduced. The Sad Lad\--I want a hat. The Milliner—Yes. madam. • Merry Widow ?” The Sad Lady—No; miserable wifi. By Margaret Hubbard Ayer. M ISS JOSEPHIN'E BROWN, the pretty actress, stood before the | mirror and clutched her short J curly mane with both hands. Then I she gave a yank as if she were def.er- i mined to pull all her pretty reddish | hair out by the roots. "Don’t look so worried," she said | to me. "I’m not mad at myself. This j j is the latest Paris method of growing j hair in a hurry., “Yes, I cut it off because I had to j be in style. And to be in style in I Paris to-day means that you must look I j as if you had short hair. Most of | the really smart women are really cutting theirs off altogether. "Leon Baker, who did the costume designing for the Russian ballet and j for all the Oriental plays* has set the rage for short-haired coiffures, and short hair is ah ' !y THE THING Ri c h milk, malted grain, in powder fomu now in Paris. T,. . ni. you musi Forinfant8-inva lid s and growing children, wear your hair very tint on the hear - and bound around with a silk sash of Oriental material, from under which a few short curls are allowed to escape.. "There must be no wad of hair to i spoil ot the Tht PORUCK S Contains Pure JhIIK head must look very boyish, indeed . . ,■ ■ —., — — and those women who have cut all | their • long hair off attain the true Bakst effect," the pretty young act-es continued. “I want to have long hair for eral reasons. First, 1 am in America A VOID IMPURE MILK lot Infants and Invalids Get HORLICK’S It mean9 the Original and Genuine MALTED MILK 0tAci& *** Jnutatwm The Food-Drink lor all Ages Fu re nutrition .upbuilding the whole body. Invigorates nursing mothers and the aged. More healthful than tea or coffee. Take nO substitute. Ask for HORLICK’S ■t"ess I again, and America has not accepted the short-haired woman. Over here you still think short hair masculine, while in Paris short hair is consid ered fascinating on a woman's head, and the boyish look of these * Bakst coiffures is* the latest and smartest Another Precocious Child. A director of one of the great trans continental railroads was showing his 3-vear-old daughter the pictures in a work on natural-history. Pointing to a picture of a zebra, he asked the baby to tall him what’- H represented. Baby answered: "Uolty.” Pointing to a picture of a tiger in the same way. she answered: "Kitty.” Then a lion. Elated with 1 tion. he the! a chimpanze sne answered: er seeming quit turned to the ; and said: Doggy.’ LU E GEM $4.75 Best Jellico $4.50 PIEDMONT COAL CO. Both Phones M. 3648 "Baby, what is ihi: “Papa."