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Advice to the
Lovelorn
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
t THINK HE DOES.
|)EAR MISS FAIRFAX:
1 am In love. I met a young
man some five years ago, who
paid attention to me, but I did
not give him much encourage
ment, as I am a little backward.
I strayed from him, and every
time he knew I was around he
would make hla appearance, but I
still never gave him any hope. It
i ame to me one day that I loved
him 1 wrote him and explained
all. and told him I would be In
I he same city he was In. He came
to see me and said I did no harm
n writing him. On account of
my backwardness, I can not show
him my love. Do you not think
this man loves me and that when
he sees It he will show his love?
a. p. a. o.
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA A Love Story of the Old Spanish Missions GCrtrtldC ,A,tIld*tOn
Hunting a Husband
By VIRGINIA TERHUNE VAN DE WATER.
Under the influence of the romances
of Dumas. Eulogia In in love with
Juan. The match, however, does not
I receive the approval of Dona Pom-
pona. who, while Juan in serenading
her daughter, pours hot anhen upon
his head. This drives him away and
Eulogia promises that she will have
no more sweethearts until she is six
teen years of age.
When her sixteenth birthday ar
rives Eulogia is taken to a party by
her mother and there meets Don
Pablo Ignestria. who she at first dis
dains but later asks to return to her
« ity after he has been called away.
While she awaits anxiously his ar
rival she hears that he han been mar-
| ried to a former sweetheart. Her
mother then urges her to marry Don
Hudson, the rich American, but Eulo-
i gia demurs, saying that nothing is
... i . n h /ini i.'p »« vr»n known of him and that she does not
He tried to be. attentive to you for Hke hlm ghe haa Bathere „ much
live years, and you discouraged nlm. j wisdom from the reading of Dumas,
Under the circumstances. I think his a nd as 8 ^ e applies this to Don Hud-
persistence proves he things a great
deal of you.
Don’t write him again
step is up to him.
The next
son, her mother is angry.
Now Go on With the Story.
GO TO HER FATHER.
n EAR MISS FAIRFAX:
i have been going with a
young girl for about two yearn.
Her father objects to my going
with her under any circumstances
ind wishes her to go with another
young man whom she dislikes
very much. 1 have always loved
her and always will. For a while
1 thought she cared for me a lit
tle. but they have moved into . n-
other town, and it seems as If she
has forgotten me and Is going
with other young men (I think
against her will). 1 have not been
with other girls since 1 met her,
and it seems as If I can't forget
her I don't Intend trying to love
any other girl on earth If her love
pboves untrue. What would you
do under the circumstances?
BROKEN ARROW.
Her father’s objections must be
overcome, and you can't overcome
them until you know what they are
<5o to him like a man. and tell him
what you have told me. If you can
• In him. It will be easy to win the
girl.
TODAY’S INSTALLMENT.
PERHAPS SHE FLIRTS.
D ear miss Fairfax:
]’m in love with a girl. She
doesn’t .seem to reciprocate my
regard for ber. My brother and 1
go to Sr e this girl. By tome
strange fate we have kept on
friendly terms. How long this
will lapt, I can’t say.
This girl went away recently,
and sent us a card. She told him
how much she missed him and
specified the time of her return
as "to-morrow afternoon.” She
informed me of the fact that she
had received my card and “sup-
poned” she’d get home “to-mor
row." Difference, isn't there?
LOVELORN.
Her cards sound as if she uants to
keep both of you on her waiting list.
Stand aside and give your brother a
chance. If that doesn’t suit her she
nill soon let you know. But. don’t. I
be- let love for this girl come be-
jAveen you and him.
DON’T MARRY WITHOUT LOVE.
D ear miss Fairfax:
1 am nineteen and crgiy in
love with a man twenty-three.
For four months he was devoted
to me, showing by his manner lie
loved me, but never mentioning
a word.
He then went away and, we
corresponded. He said he* would
be ready to be marlred in three
years and asked me my future in
tentions. At last he quit writing.
Irately I met a wealthy man who
wants me to marry him. but I do
not love* him. I love the other
man, who is poor
BROWN EYES.
The first man may be waiting till
he is financially able to care for
\ou. You are only nine teen. Wait a
lit l ie* longer, and don't make the
tragic mistake of marrying a man you
do not love.
NOT THE WAY TO BEHAVE.
rjKAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am twenty-five years of
age and engaged to a young lady
one year my junior. Before our
engagement she had kept com
pany with a young man for al
most one year, but foiVook him
for me. Now that he is paying
attention to her again, not know
ing that we are engaged, do you
think it proper for her to allow
him to kiss her as before? Do
you think she is treating either
one of us light? She' always tells
me w'hat transpires between her
and her old friend. J. J. J.
No, she should not allow him to
kiss her; and if you are wise you
will insist on announcing your en
gagement. or at least letting him
know it. The girl is not treating
either of you fairly.
DON’T TRY.
D EAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am a young lady of seven
teen summers, and I have been
keeping company with a young
man of twenty-two summers. I
had Earned to love him very
much, but he has turned his back
upon me and has been keeping
company wRh a young lady of the
same place and 1 would like to
know how 1 can win him.
TROUBLED.
To win him back would require
energy and time that could be bet
ter invested in your books. Do you
not know, my dear, that a lover who
needs winning “back" is not worth
winning?
"Dost thou never intend to marry?"
demanded Dona Pomposa one day as she
stood over the kitchen stove stirring red
peppers into a saucepan full of lard.
Eulogia was sitting on the table,
swinging her small feet.
"Why do you wish me to marry? I
am well enough as I am. Was Elena
CasianarVs so happy with the man whe
was made for her that 1 should hasten
to be a neglected wife? Poor my
Elena? Four years, and then consump
tion and death. Three children and an
Indifferent husband, who was dying of
love when he could not get her!"
"Thou thinkest of unhappy mar
riages because thou hast Just heard of
Elena’s death. But there are many
others."
"Did you hear of the present she
left her mother?"
"No." Dona Pomposa dropped her
spoon; she dearly loved a bit of gossip
"What was it?"
"You know that a year ago Elena went
horn* to Los Quervos and begged of
Roberto and Dona Jacoba on her knees
to forgive her, and they did, and were
glad to do it. Dona Jacoba was with
her when she was so ill at the last,
and Just before she died Elena said,
’Mother, in that chest you will find a
legacy from me. It is all of my own that
I have In the world, and I leave it to
you. Do not take it until I am dead.
And what do you think it was? The
green hide reata!”
"But Jacoba must have felt as if she
were already In Purgatory?"
"It Is said that she grew ten years
older In that night."
Marry an American.
"May the saints he praised, my child
can leave me no such gift. But all men
are not like Carlo Castanares 1 would
have thee marry an American. They
are smart and know how to keep the
gold. Remember, I have little now. and
thou const not be young forever."
"I have seen no American ! would
marry."
"There is Don Abel Hudson."
"I do not trust that man. His tongue
and his face are handsome, but always
when I meet him I fe.el a little afraid.
Although it goes away in a minute. The
Senor Dumas says that’s a woman’s
instincts"
"To perdition with Senor Dumas! Does
he say that a child’s Instincts are bet
ter than her monther’s? Don Abet
throws away the money like the rofrks
He 1ms the best horses at the races. He
tolls me he has a itouse in Yerba
Buena’
"San Francisco. And I would not live
in that bleak and sandy waste. Did you
notice how he limped at the ball last
night ?’•
"No. What of that? But I am not In
love with Don Hudson if thou art so set
against him. R is true that no one
knows just who he is, now I think of it.
I hod not made up my mind that he was
the husband for thee. But let it be an
American, My Eulogia. Even when they
have no money they will work for it, and
that is what no Californian will do”
Will Be an Old Maid.
FT Eulogia had run out of the room;
she rarely listened to her mother’s
harangues. She draped a rehesa
about her head ami went over to the
house of (Iraclosa la Cruz. Her friend
was sitting by her bedroom window
trimming a yellow satin bedspread with
lace, and Eulogia took up a half finished
sheet and began fastening the drawn
threads into an intricate pattern.
"Only ten days more, my Graciosa,”
she said, mischievously. Art thou going
to run back to thy mother in thy night
gown, like Joseftta Olvera?"
"Never will l he such a fool, Eulogia.
I have a husband for thee.”
"To the tunnel of the mission witli
isbands! I shall be an old makl like
Aunt Anastacia, with black whiskers.’
Graciosa laughed. "Thou wilt marry
and have ten children."
"By every station in the mission 1 will
not! Why bring more women into the
world to suffer . 1
Ay. Eulogia! Thou art always say
A man had crawled out of the bush near them. His face was black with powder, one arm
hung limp at his side.
Hii
sil- i
B'
ing things. I cannot understand tba;
thou shouldst not think about marr> -
Ing. But 1 have .a husband for three
He came from ‘ Los Angeles this morn
ing and is a friend of my Carl
name is not so pretty—Thomas Garfi
—no. There he rides now.”
Eulogia looked out of the window wi
little curiosity. A small young man w
riding down the street on a supe
horse, colored like golden hronxe wi
silver mane and tail. His saddle v.;
heavily mounted with' silver, and h
spurs were inlaid with gold and
ver. The straps of the latter were wor
ed with gleaming mrtal threads. .
He wore a light red scrape heavi
Embroidered and fringed. His boots,
soft deerskin dyed a rich green ai
stamped with Aste«* eagles, were th
at the knee by a white silk cord woui
about the leg. finished with heavy si
ver tassels. His short breeches we
trintmed with gold lace As he caug :
Graclosa’s eye. he raised his sornbrer
then rode through the open door of tl
neighboring saloon and tossed off £
American drink without dismounting
from his horse.
Eulogia lifted her shoulders, "i like
his saddle and his horse. But he is too
small. Still, a new man is not disa
greeable. When shall I meet him?"
"To-night, my Eulogia. He goes with
i to Miramar."
The Night of the Ball.
PARTY of young people started
that night for a bull at Miramar,
the home of Don Polycarp Quijas.
Many a ealbellero had asked the lady ol'
his choice to ride on his saddle while he
rode the less comfortable auquera be
hind, and guided his horse with his arm
as near her waist as lie dared. Dona
Pomposa with a. small brood under her
wing, started last of all in the American
wagon. The night was calm, the moon
was high, the party very gay.
Abel Hudson and the new-t outer, Don
Thomas Garfias. sat on cither side of
Eulogia. and she amused herself r,t the
expense of each.
"Don Thomas says that he Is hand
somer than the men of San Luis." she
said to Hudson. "Do not you think he
is right? See what a beautiful curl his
mustachlos have, and what a droop his
eyelids! And Holy Mary! how that yel
low ribbon becomes his hair! Ay, Sv nor!
Why have you come to dazzle the eyes
of the poor girls of San Luis Obispo?”
"Ah. senorita," said the little dandy,
"it will do their eyes good to see an
elegant young mar. from, the city. And
they should see my sister! She w-cild
teach them how to dress and arrange
their hair."
"Bring her to teach us, senor, and
for reward we will nnd her u tall and
modest husband, such- as the girls of
why c
Have
Obispo admire Don Abel.
,'ou not boast of your sisters?
none—nor mother, nor father,
ier.’ 1 never heard you speak
Maybe you grew alone out of
wandered to the canon
roach ing. "I am alone.
>‘Iy man in a strange
"It Is Kind of You. *
"Is C ut the reason why you are such
a traveler, sentr? Are you never afraid
in your b ng lonely rides over the
unia:i - of that dreadful bandit —
John Powers, who murders whole fam-
<-k of gold they have
I hope you always curry
th<
flo
pis
fa
t(
American's hand-
swell out for an
instant.
A
"True < <ir senorita,” he exclaimed.
"It is kind of you to put me on my
guard. I had never thought of this man.”
"This devil, you mean. When last
night I saw you come limping into the
room"
"Ay yi, yi, Dios!" "Marie!" "Dios de
mi alma!" "Dios di mi vida!" "Cleo
.Santo!"
A wheel hud given way and the par-
was scattered about the road
No one was hurt, hut loud were the
lamentations. No Californian had ever
walked six miles, and the wheel was
pest repair. But Abel Hudson came to
the rescue.
"Leave it to me.” lie said. "I pledge
myself to get you there." and he went
off in the direction of a ranch house.
"Ay! The good American, the good
American!" cried the girls. “Eulogia!
How cunst thou he so cold to him—the
handsome stranger with the kind
heart?"
Abel Was Standing.
IS heart is like the Sacramento
mules plunging, the vaqueros shouting;
but the moon glittered like a silvered
snow peak, the wild, green forest was
about them, and even Eulogia grew sen
timental, as Abel Hudson’s blue eyes
bent over her’s and his curly head cut
off Dona Pomposa’s view.
Used to Pretty Speeches.
"Dear senorita," he said, “thy tongue
is very sharp, but thpu hast a kind
heart. Hast thou mo place in it for Abel
Hudson?”
"In the sala, senor, where many oth
ers are received with mamma and Aunt
Anastacia sitting in the corner."
He laughed. "Thou wilt always jest,
but I will take ail the rooms and turn
everyone out, even to Dona Pomposa
and Dona Anastacia!"
"And leave me alone with thee! How
I should yawn!"
"Oh, yes, Dona Coquetta, 1 am used
to such pretty little speeches. When
thou wouldst begin to yawn I would ride
away, and thu wouldst be glad to see
me when I returned."
"\Vhat wouldst ihou bring me from the
mountains, senor?" ^
He looked at her steadily. "Gold, sen-
orita. I know of many rich veins. I have
a little canyon suspected by no one else
where I pick out a sackful of gold every
day. Gokl makes the life of a beloved
wife very sweet, senorita."
All Were Wet.
drove up to Miramar amid high laugh
ter and rattling jests.
Dona Luisa Quijas, a handsome,
shrewd-looking woman, magnificently
gowned in yellow satin, the glare and
sparkle of Jewels on her neck, came
out upon the corridor to meet them.
"What is this? In a wagon of the
country! An accident? Come in, quick!
quick! I will give you clean clothes.
Trust these girls to take care of their
gowns. Mary! What wet feet. Quick!
Quick! This way, or you will have red
noses to-morrow," and she led them
down the corridor, past the windows,
through which they could see the
dancers in the sala, and opened the
door of her new bedroom.
"There, my children, help your
selves." And she pulled out the ca
pacious drawers of her chest. "All is
at your service." She lifted out an
armful of dry under, clothing, then went
to the door of an adjoining room and
listened with her hand uplifted.
Didst thou have to lock him up?"
asked Dona Pomposa, as she drew op
a pair of Dona Luisa’s silk stockings^
Yes! Yes! And such a time, my
friend. Thou knowest he'swore after
I fooled him the last time, that I should
never have another ball, f was never
meant to be bothered with a husband,
and have I not given him three chil
dren. twenty times handsomer than him
self? Is that not enough? By the soul
of St. Luis, the Bishop, I will continue
to promise, and then get absolution at
the mission, but I will not perform. Well,
he was furious, my friend; he had spent
a sack of gold on that ball, and he
swore I should never have another. So
this time I invited my guests and told
him nothing. At seven to-night I per
suaded hiifi into his room and locked
the door. But Diego had forgotten to
screw down the window and he got out.
I could not get him back. Pomposa.
and his big nose was purple with rage.
He swore that he would turn every guest
away from the door, he swore that he
would be taking a bath on the corridor
when they came up, and throw insults
in their faces. Ay, Pomposa! I went
down on'my knees. f thought I should
not have my ball—such cakes as I had
made and such salads, but Diego savea
>. He went into Don Polycarpo’s room
and cried "Fire!" Of course the old
man ran there and then we locked him
In. Diego had screwed down the win
dows first. What have I done to be
punished with him? m
"Thou art too handsome and too cruel,
my Luisa. But in truth he is an old
wild cat. The Saints be praised that
he Is safe for the night! Did he swear?"
"Swear! He has cursed the skin off
his coat, and is quiet now. Come, my
little one, art thou ready? The Cabal
leros are dry in Diego's clothes by this
time, and waiting for their waltzes,’’
and she drove them through the door
into the salon with a triumphant smile
on her dark, sparkling face.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
A misfit truth is the worst of all lies.
A MATTER OF TASTE.
D ear miss Fairfax-.
Whan you take a girl to the
theater is It proper to buy her
flowers? If 90, what flower
would be suitable? J. W.
If man can afford thorn, flowers are
a thoughtful and pretty remembrance.
In making a selection he should con
sider her taste.
CASTOR IA
For Inianti and Children.
The Kind You Have Always Bought
Sears the
Signature of
THE UNIVERSAL ROUTE
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
we journey along, with a laugh and a song.
We see on youth's flower-decked slope.
Like a beacon of light, shining fair on the sight.
The beautiful Station of Hope.
But the wheels of old Time roll along as we climb.
And our youth speeds away on the yearo;
And w ith hearts that are numb with life’s sorrows, we come
To the mist-covered Station of Tears.
Still onward we pass, where the milestones', alas!
Are the tombs of our dead, to the West,
Where glitters and gleams, in the dying sunbeams
The sweet, silent Station of Rest.
All rest is but change! and no grave can estrange
The soul from its Parent above;
And. scorning its rod. it soars back to its God.
To the limitless City of Love.
Valley, veined with gold instead
x A of blood. What is he bringing?
The wagon of the country!"
Abel Hudson was standing erect .on
the low floor of the wagon behind two
strong black mules. The wagon was
a clumsy affair, a large wooden frame
covered with raw hide and set upon a
heavy axle. The wheels were made of
solid stumps of trees, and the harness
ol' green hide. An Indian boy sat astride
one of the mules. On either side rode a
vasquero with his reata fastened to the
axlq tree.
"This is the best 1 can do," said Hud-
| son. "There is probably not another
I American wagon between San Luis and
I Miramar. l>o you think you can stand
| it?"
The girls shrugged their pretty shoul
der.;. The men swore into their mui-
tachios. Dona Pomposa groaned at the
prospect of a long ride in a springless
wagon. But no one was willing to re-
J turn and when Eulogia jumped lightly
in*they ali followed, and Hudson placed
them as comfortably as possible, al
though they were obliged to sit on the
floor.
The wagon jolted down the canon, the
"In truth. I should like the gold bet
ter than myself, spnor,” said Eulogia
frankly. "For, if thou wilt have the
truth—ay! Holy Heaven! this is worse
than the other!"
A lurch, splash and the party with
shrill cries sprang to their feet; the
low cart was filling with water. They
had left the canyon and were crossing
a slough; no one had remembered it
would be high tide.
The girls, without an instant’s hesi
tation. whipped their gowns- up, but their
feet were wet, and their skirts were
draggled. They made light of it, how
ever. as they did of everything, and
The average woman is a goed actress
off the stage.
A good neighbor is as great a blessing
as a bad one isn’t.
The poorer a man is the less likely he
is to be called a grafter.
Men are reasonably certain fTHout the
age of a woman of uncertain age.
For every patient that swears by a
doctor at least a dozen swears at him.
Occasionally a couple marry and live
happily ever after they are divorced.
A rose by any other name would smell
as sweet and cost as much when out
of season.
It’s awfully hard to be popular with
yourself and please your neighbors at
the same time.
When the average man fails to make
good he begins to look around for some
one to blame It or..
Just because a married man does the
things his wife wants h'im to do is no
sign that he is stuck on the job.
With the waning of the honeymoon
Cupid again gets busy and substitutes a
pair of green goggles for the rose-col
ored glasses.
/npsHE ten days before Robert May-
l nard’s wedding passed dully and
monotonously for Beatrice Minor.
Helen Robbins had changed her plans
about, coming to town, although she
would run in for the wedding, she ex
plained when the widow telephoned her.
Pleasanton was so lovely in its autumn
foliage that she and John had decided
to stay on indefinitely. She appended
to this announcement an invitation to
her friend to run out for a few days
and enjoy the brilliant October weather.
Helen never held resentment long, and
had evidently forgotten her recent tele
phonic snub. But Beatrice declined the
invitation hastily. She did not want to
visit Helen’s country house just now.
She had time to regret her precipi
tate refusal during tlje following days.
At the end of a week her loneliness
and isolation were telling on her nerves.
The children had returned to kinder
garten, and when school hours were over
they played out-of-doors with some
older children, with whom they were
safe. ,
Walked for Duty’s Sake.
Much of their mother’s time was spent
in the apartment with only Mary for
i company. Each afternoon she went out
for a walk from a sense of duty, and,
once, Dr. Haynes came by and took
her for a short spin into Westchester,
but he was busy and she saw him sel
dom.
She read until her eyes ached, and
sewed until they smarted again. She
listened to her children’s prattle when
they were in the house, and, when they
were absent, to Mary’s gossip concern
ing the other families with whom she
had lived.
She rose in the morning with no thrill
of anticipation and went to bed at night
with gratitude that in sleep, at least,
she would have peace.
The monotonous life of a great city
where she seemed just now to have no
friends whom she cared, to see, oppressed
her. and sometimes she longed for the
summer days in Pleasanton, where, at
feast, something interesting had hap
pened. ^
Lacy Wrote Less Often.
Keith Lacy wrote her less often than
his role of an ardent lover would war
rant, but his bright letters were an
event in the woman’s humdrum life
She answered them gladly and with
more warmth than she might have used
had she been less idle and depressed.
She even mistook her loneliness for a
desire to see her absent suitor.
As for Paul Maynard, Beatrice knew
that he was improving slowly, and that
he would not be severely disfigured.
That was all. Twice when she called
up his nurse at the hospital Dr. Yeager
had taken the attendant’s place at the
telephone, and. the second time, had
given such brusque replies to her fal
tered queries that she hung the receiver
up, fiushed and angry, with the deter
mination in her heart to forget Paul,
wholly and forever.
This she tried to persuade herself she
iiad done, yet she w-ould sit motionless
with her book or sewing lying idle in
her lap, for a half-hour at a time, a
wistful, abstracted look on her face, and
her thoughts on the rf man she was try
ing to forget.
Beatrice had thought at first that she
would net attend Robert Maynard’s
marriage, but as* the days crawled by
and her life grew duller, she began to
think of the wedding, of the people
she would see there, and, still more,
of the dress she might wear upon that
occasion. She had a litle money left
from her fire insurance, and, though
she had resolved to put it away in
the hank, the thought of the new- cos
tume she might purchase with it was
too much for her resolution.
All Misgivings Fled.
The dress that she finally bought at
“a special sale” cost more than she
could afford, and she suffered qualms at
the recollection of her extravagance.
But when the costume came home, and
she tried it on before her mirror, all
misgivings rfled as soon as she saw its
beauty.
She was doubly glad she had bought
it when Miss Damerel, Robert May
nard’s fiancee, called on her late one
rainy afternoon.
"I know you are surprised to see me,
and that my calling at this juncture is
most unconventional,’’^ Miss Damerel
said, after the preliminaries of greet
ing had been exchanged and visitor and
hostess were seated in the cozy living
room "But Robert said that you were
all alone here in the city, and he asked
me to see you and urge you to .
our wedding.” 610
Beatrice assured her that she tnt
ed to be present at the ceremony ^
"I have never had a chance to tha
you," prattled on the bride-elect «,
your kindness to my dear boy | n 7
past. He has spoken of you very oft ■
"I am sure that Mr. Maynard «!!,!
me fully for whatever kindness I ,
ever able to show him," replied the
ow, enigmatically.
"He is the dearest man in the world"
declared Miss Damerel, sentimental
"Tho Soul am, .
The best and the truest.'
"A woman should always feel th I
about the man she Is going t 0 ntam f
my dear,” replied Beatrice gently ''
Sat Alone Thinking.
When the happy gin had gone
lonely woman sat for a time in the dusk I
thinking.
"After all," she muttered, •» woman!
can not be happy—really happy~ unleiI ]
she is married.'
Her thoughts
suddenly
turned to |
Keith Lacy with more warmth than m,
had ever before felt for him After
little she arose and turned on the light I
the darkened room and spoke out I
her decision. 1
'Yes, it would be best," she m i
softly. “I would be happier than I an l
now, at least." 1
A letter lay on the table underneath l
the mellow glow of the lamp. She re I
membered now that Mary had laid it|
there when she brought in the tea-serv-1
ice. She picked It up, and saw with J
sudden thrill that it was from Keith f
“Dear Lady,” the letter ran, " y0ii i
will be glad to learn that I wa! mar-f
ried to-day to the dearest girl j n tb ,L
world, and that I am very happy J
has been a case of love at first sight [
and I have written to you because you
have been my dear friend and had uti-[
bounded patience with my futile efroml
to make you care for me as I foolishlvl
thought I wanted you to care. I knosl
that you will rejoice In my happinest [
You were so kind, to me in my boyish |
love that I am sure you will rejoice with I
me now that you know that real low |
haS come to me. She Is the 'little i
ter’ of my partner, and has been visit-1
ing him.
“Always your sincere friend,
"KEITH LACY.'
Pure English.
“TV/fY dear, I wish you would speak!
more carefully,’’ said a stickler I
for pure English to his wife. “Youl
pay that ’Henry Jones came to this!
town from Sunderland.’ Don’t youl
see that it would be better to say that I
he ‘came from Sunderland to this|
town’
“I don’t see any difference in the|
two expressions.” rejoined the lady.
"But there is a difference in the two I
expressions—a rhetorical difference.[
You don’t hear me make use of such I
awkward expressions. By the way. I]
have a letter from your father in my|
pocket.”
“Oh. dear, is my father in your I
pocket?” inquired the wife. "YouI
mean that you have in your pocket a|
letter from my father."
"There you go with your little quib
bles! You take a delight in liarass-l
ing me; you are always taking |n a I
thread and representing it as a ropo.’I
"Representing it to be a rope. yoj|
mean, dear.”
And then he grinned a sickly grin]
and wished he had* never started th;
discussion.
The Despots.
Visitor—But why do you intend to|
give up your flat and' take a house.'
Hostess (wearily)—Because we’d 1
rather live under an absolute monarchy!
than a dual alliance. In a house
will still have the cook, but we woni|
have the hall porter.
Successful
KECHMT8
PULS
Sold everywhere. In boxes. 10c., 2So
\DACHES
"NEURALGIA
ym LAGRIPPE
LAUGH
And Everybody
Laughs With You
The Great Comic Section of
Hearst’s Sunday American
On Sunday will be better than ever
Don’t miss it! Order your Sunday
before.
Ameri
can now! Then you will be sure to get it.
I BOTH PHONES MAIN 8000 i ~
The
1
By WIL
YG‘
eoroi
Lady,
as I 1
long time. 1 d<
Led9 very tend
L.pt when som
t e ts shaved tw
to tip. l iut 1
■George You v
( . ou , if 1 told
rhlstling for ri
Heir mates ev
, ariesre table
jj., art of the Te
ills rooming t
Lfound the sur
fliem clouds th
goad-''
•■What's all t
Ibor wanted to
mance or hop.
L u shy before,
felddo. You 1
ed early and
we ek, and eat
[jour nerves goi
••Well, Georj
k-ou that ' do
(forenoon, the
low over in De
(shattered love'
Uf Sister Mar
jdresser and ne'
, abode. Thi
land Just as th
{here I go and
"Who Is It th
arber.
|ln Love Wi
“It ain’t no
(Manicure
was reading la.
*a9 reading i
Library and v
te stuck it un<
(home with it.
George. It’s c
; have ever s
(•Famous Lovej
labout Napoleoi
i young fellow
• with a gii
ho live In Troy
(Anthony and C
Ithony lost the
|in Egypt so 1<
i to Reno or
|get a divorce.
"I never wi
■mances,” said
■way butter ar
Jtakes all the :
fclary and the
■to live foul* f
(vator and • git
i delicatessen
[gits kinda fras
“But just
|Manicure Lad
gent can f
■when they set
■that ‘Famous
■when I was :
■young P«xis st
land taking h
■made me wisl
■come down fi
■kidnap me aw
|0f course it t
■lot, because v
|l am the only
■they lean on.
■care if someb
■naped Broth e
■poor boy is as
■ever been in
■reer. It was
■ father’s bank
■last one he v
The old gent 1
"I don’t se>
■about stealini
■ other man’s vs
IWanted to
in all the numerous ailments caused I
by defective or irregular action of I
the organs of digestion and elimi-1
nation—certain to prevent suffering |
and to improve the general health-
“Don’t you?
"Gee, I think
■ grand to hav
■to have been
■little nerve lii
I the book told.
"I was thi
■ could have a 1
jRomeo put a
r >rch and wt
would accep
■ and beat do^
(quick before
"Napoleon
■ awful sweet l
■story tells ho
■loved his qu<
■ loved him
■ breaking bad
|in that awful
■ the battle of
|was the narr
■ Duke Wellini
Idlers. There
■ more, Georg*
■ wants to gc
■ starts saving
■ enough to bu
■ End and wh
■ turned down
■ loses it playii
■ such love as
|used to have.
“Every ^n<
■ old gent eon
I his feet well
■ look on his ir
|ing mother <
■ along them 1
I Ing their tr<
■Nobody plig
■ George, until
|got a report
■Duns and Br
“The more
■tiful old rom
■no more, the
■then instead
I “If you’re
■ the way you
■ Paid the Hea
I my feelings
■ftead of riov
|Uve then, to<
■ with you. H
|tomer that i
I ! alk. Humoi
Orif
IMAL"
Th« Fo«
iMore health
lAfrees wit
I Delicious, if
eh milk, i
[A quick !un
|T»kenosubs
O