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Advice to the
Lovelorn
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA A Love Story of the Old Spanish Missions By Gertrude Atherton
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
I THINK HE DOES.
TAEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
U 1 am in love. I met a young
man sirfne five years ago, who
paid attention to me. hut I did
not give him much encourage-
ment. as 1 am a little backward.
I strayed from him, and every
time he knew 1 was around he
would make his appearance, but 1
still never gave him any hope. It
came to me one day that I loved
him I wrote him and explained
all, and told him I would be In
the same city he «u in. He came
to see me and said I did no harm
in 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 hln love?
a. p. a. o.
Under the influence of the romance#
of Dumas, Eulogia is in love with
Juan. The match, however, does not
receive the approval of Dona Pom
posa. who. while Juan Is serenading
her daughter, pours hot ashes 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 |
city after he has been called away.
While she awaits anxiously his ar
rival she hears that he has been mar
ried to a former sweetheart. Her
mother then urges her to marry Don
Hudson, the rich American, hut Eulo-
gia demurs, saying that nothing is
.. f __ known of him and that she does not
He tried to he attentive to you for , „ he hlm 8h , has Ralhered m , 1( .h
five years, and you discouraged him w j Hdom from the reading of Dumas.
Under the circumstances, I think nls and as „he applies this to Don Hud
persistence proves he thinks a great
deal of you.
Don't writ* him again. The next
irtep is up to him.
GO TO HER FATHER.
D B 1\
son, her mother is angry.
Now Go on With the Story.
MISS FAIRFAX:
have been going with a
young girl for about two years
Her father objects to my going
with her under any circumstances
and wliPhes her to go with another
young man whom she dislikes
very much. I have always loved
her and always will For a w hile
1 thought Bhe cared for mo a lit -
tie, 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). I 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 otlMsr girl on earth If her love
proves 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.
Oo to him like a man. and tell him
what you have told me. If you ( j.ti
win him. It will be easy to win the
girl.
PERHAPS SHE FLIRTS.
T^EAR MISS FAIRFAX
U Pm In love wdth a girl She
doesn’t seem to reciprocate my
regard for her. My brother ai d 1
go to see this girl By -ome
strange fate we have kept on
friendly terms How long this
will last, 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
posed” she’d get home "to-mor
row." Difference, isn’t there ’
LOVELORN.
Her cards sound as if she wants to
keep both of you on her waiting list
HtftAd aside and give your brother a
chance If that doesn’t suit her she
will soon let you know. But. don’t, I
let love for this girl come be
tween you and him.
DON'T MARRY WITHOUT LOVE.
D ear miss Fairfax:
1 am nineteen and crazy in
love with a man twenty-three.
For four months lie .was devoted
to me, showing by bis manner he
loved me, but never mentioning
a word
He then went away and we
corresponded. He said be would
be ready to be marired in three
years and asked me mv future in
tentions At last he quit writing.
Lately 1 met a wealthy man who
wants me to marry him. but 1 do
not love him. 1 love ‘the other
man, who is poor.
BROWN EYES.
The first man may be waiting till
he is financially able to cure for
vou. You are only nineteen. Wait a
little longer, and don’t make the
tragic mistake of marrying a man you
do not love.
NOT THE WAY TO BEHAVE.
r^EAR 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 forsook 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
kikni to kiss her as before? l)o
you think she is treating either
one of us right? She always tells
me what transpires between her
and her old friend. .T. J J.
No. she should not allow him to
kiss her; and if you ar« 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 fair fa x
I am a young lady of sefen-
teen summers, and 1 have been
keeping company with, a young
man of twbnty-two summers. I
had learned to love him very
much, but he has turned his back
upon me and has been keeping
company with a young lud\ of the
same place and 1 would like to
know how I can win him.
. , TROUBLED.
To win him buck would require
energy and time that could »b»* bet
ter invested in your books. Do you
not know, my dear that a lover, w ho
■needs winning “back’’ is not worth
winning?
A MATTER OF TASTE.
T~\EAR MISS FAIRFAX
* When you take a girl to the
theater i« it proper to buy her
flowers.’ If so. what flower
would be. suitable? J. W.
If tnan can afford them, flow'ers a «-
a thoughtful and pretty r* membrane,
In making a selection he should con
sider her taste.
CASTOR IA
For Infant* and Children
The Kind You Have Always Bought
Bears the
Huature of
r
TODAY’S INSTALLMENT.
“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 Hitting on the table,
swinging her small feet
“Why do you wish me to marry? 1
am well enough as I am Was Elena
t’astanares so happy wdth the man who
was made for her that I 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 thlnkest , of unhappy mar
riages because thou hast just heard of
I Elena’s death But there are many
j others."
j “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
home to Los Quervos and begged of
Koberto and Dona .faeoba on her knees
to forgive her, and they did, and were
glad to do it. 'Dona Jaeoba 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 1 leave it to
you. Do not take it until I am dem!
And what do you think it was? The
green hide reata!”
"But Jaeoba 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
I can leave me no such gift. But all men
are not like.Carlo t’astanares 1 would
I have thee marry an American They
j are smart and know how to keep the
j gold. Remember, 1 have little now. anti
thou cunst not be young forever."
"1 have seen no American 1 would
I marry."
"There is Don Abel Hudson."
“1 do not trust that man. His tongue
and his face are handsome, but always
when I meet him I feel a little afraid,
j lit hough 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 Abel
throw's away the. money like the rocks.
He has the best horses at the races. He
tells me he lias a house in Verba
Buena"
"San Francisco. And 1 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 1 am not in
love with Don Hudson if thou art so set
against him It is true that no one
knows Just who lie is. now 1 think of it
I had 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.
Hunting a Husband
By VIRGINIA TERHUNE VAN DE WATER.
A man had crawled out of the bush near them,
hung limp at his side.
His face was black with powder, one arm
B UT Eulogia had run out of the room.
she rarely listened to her niovher’s
harangues She draped a reboot*
about her head aVid went over to the
house of Gradosa la Cruz. Her friend
was sitting by her bedroom window
trimming a yellow satin bedspread with
iaee, and Eulogia took up a half finished
sheet and began fastening the drawn
threads into an intricate pattern.
“Only ten days more, my Gradosa.’
she said, mischievously. Art thou going
to run hack to thy mother in thy night
gown, like Joseflta Olvera?"
"Never will 1 he such a fool. Eulogia.
I have a husband for thee
"To the tunnel of the mission with
l-sbands! I shall be an old maid like
Aunt Anastucia, with black w hiskers."
Gradosa laughed “Thoti wilt marry
ajid have ten children."
"By every station in the mission 1 will
not! Why bring more women into the
world to suffer"
"Ay. Eulogia!
Thou art always say
ing things I cannot understand that
thou shouldst not think about marry
ing. But l have a husband for three.
He came from Los Angeles this morn
ing and is a friend of my Carlos. His
name is not so pretty Thomas Garfias
no. There he rides now."
Eulogia looked out of the window’ with
little curiosity. A small young man was
riding down the street on a superb
horse, colored like golden bronze with
silver mane and tail His saddle was
heavily mounted with silver, and his
spurs were inlaid with gold and sil
ver. The straps of the latter were work
ed with gleaming metal threads.
He Wore a light red set ape, heavily
embroidered and fringed Ills boots, of
soft deerskin dyed a rich green and
stamped with Vzlfi eagles, were tied
at the knee by a white silk cord wound
about the leg. finished with heavy sil
ver tassels. His short breeches were
trimmed with gold lace As he caught
Graciosa's eye. ' he raised his sombrero,
then rode through the open door of the
neighboring saloon and tossed off an
American drink without dismounting
from his horse.
Eulogia lifted her shoulders. "1 like
his saddle ami his horse. But he is too
small. Still, a new man is not disa
greeable When shall 1 meet him?"
'To-night, my Eulogia. He goes With
us to Miramar."
The Night of the Ball.
A PARTY of young people started
that night for a ball at Miramar,
tb* home of Don Polycarp Quijas.
Many a calbellero had asked the lady of
his choice to ride on his saddle while he
rode the less comfortable auqueta be
hind. and guided bis horse with his arm
as near her waist as he dared. Dona
Pomposa w.itli n 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-comer. Don
Thomas Garfias. sut on * ither side of
Eulogia. and she amused herself at 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 wlmt a beautiful curl his
mustachios have, and what a droop his
eyelids! And Holy Mary! how that yel
low ribbon becomes his hair! Ay. senor!
Why have you come to dazzle the eyes
of the poor girls of San Luis Obispo?”
"Ah. senortta." said thp- little dandy,
"it will do their eyes good to see an
elegant,yming man from the city. And
they should see my sister! She would
,teach them how to dress and arrange
their hair."
"Bring her to teach us. senor. and
for reward we will find her ,t tall and
modest husband, such as the girls of
San Luis Obispo admire. Don Abel,-
why do you not boast of your sisters?
Have you none—nor mother, nor father,
nor brother" I never heard you speak
of them Maybe you grew alone lout of
the earth."
Hudson’s gaze wandered to the canon
they w’eer approaching. "1 am alone,
senorita. a lonely man in a strange
land.”
“It Is Kind of You.’’
"Is that the reason why' you are such
a traveler, senor? Are you nevAr afraid
in. your long, lonely rides over the
mountains, of that dreadful bandit—
.John Powers, who murders whole fam
ilies for the sack of gold they have
under the floor, i hope you always carry
plenty of pistols, senor."
The muscles in the American's hand
some face seemed to swell out for an
instant.
“True dear senorita," he exclaimed.
"It is kind *;f you to put me on my
guard. I had never thought of this man."
“This devil, you mean. When last
J night 1 saw you come limping into the
>m
‘Marie!*’ "Dios de
mi vida!" "Cieo
By Ella it heeler Wilcox
A S we journey' along, with a laugh and a song.
\Ve 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 »mr youth speeds away on the year?*;
And with hearts that are numb with lift’s sorrows, we coin*
To the mist-covered Station of Tears
Still onward we pass, where the milestones, a.as!
Are tiie tombs of our dead, to the West
Where glitters and gleams, in the dying .sunbeams.
The eweet, silent Sta.ion of Res’
A rest ; s b it change, and no grave can estrange
The soul from it' 1 Parent above:
And, s ;ornin* h* rod. j* wars back to its God.
To the limitless Pity of Love
H
“Ay yi, yi, Dios!"
mi alma!" "Dios di
Santo!"
A wheel had given way and the par
ty was scattered about the road.
Np one was hurt, but loud wore the
lamentations. No Californian had evel*
walked six miles, and the wheel was
past repair. But Abel Hudson came to
the rescue.
"Leave it to me.’’* he 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!
Ho\v cans* thou be so cold to him - the
handsome stranger with the kind
heart ?"
Abel Was Standing.
IS heart is like the Sacramento
Valley, veined w ith gold instead
of blood. What is he bringing?
The wagon of the country!"
Abel Hudson was standing erect on
the low floor of tlie 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
of green hide. An Indian boy sat astride
one of the mules. On either side rode a
vasquero with his reata fastened to the
axle tree.
"This is the best 1 can do,” said Hud
son. "There is probably not another
American wagon between San Luis and
Miramar. Do you think you can stand
it?"
The girls shrugged their pretty shoul
ders. The men swore into their mus
tachios. Dona Pomposa groaned at the
prospect of a long ride in a springless
wagon. But no one was willing to re
turn and when Eulogia jumped lightly
in they all followed, and Hudson placed
them as comfortably as possible, al
though they were obliged to sit on the
j floor.
The wagon jolted down the canon, the
mules plunging, the vaqueros shouting;
but the moon glittered like a silvered
snow peal:, the wild, green forest was
about them, and even Eulogiikgrew sen
timent.<i. as Abel Hudson’s blue eyes
bent over hcr’s and his curly head cut
off Dor; a Pom post's view. ,,
Used to Pretty Speeches.
‘•Dear senorita,” he said, “thy tongue
is very sb; rp, but tj^ou hast a kind
heart. Hast thou no place in it for^Abel
Hudson?”
“In the sala. senor, where many oth
ers are received with mamma anti Aunt
AnasiaetA sitting in the comer."
Ho laughed. "Thou wait always jest,
but 1 will take all the rooms and turn
everyone out, even to Dona Pomposa
ar>d Dona Anas.lacUt!”
“And leave me alone with t^hee! How
1 should yawn!’
"Oh. yes, Dona Coqiie.Ua, 1 am useo
to such pretty little speeches. When
Ilu.u y.ukLst Ixsinjo sawn ! wouiri rijie j is b ' e ca „ ert
away, and thu- woul.dsi be glad to see*
me when .I returned."
"What wouldst thou bring me from the
mountains, senor?"
He looked at her Steadily., "Gold, .sen
orita l 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. Gold 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
j gowned in yellow satin, the glare and
j 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 i idled 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 on
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. I was neAer
meant to be bothered with a hupband,
and have I not given him throe chil
dren, twenty times handsomer than him
self? Is that not enough 0 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 1 should never have another. So
[his lime I invited my guests and told
him nothing. At seven to-rdghi I per
suaded him into his room and locked
the door. But Diego had forgotten to
screw down the windov/ 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! 1 went
down on my knees. I thought I should
not have my bull—such cakes as I had
made and such salads, bu; Diego saven
me. He went into Don Polycarpo’s room
and cried "Fire!" Of course the old
man ran there and then w - e locked him
in. J3iego had screwed down .the win
dows first. What have I done to be
punished with him?
“Thou art too handsome and too cruel,
my Luisa. But in truth he is an old |
wild cat. The Saints be praised that j
he is safe for the night! Did he swear?" I
“Swear! He has cursed the skin off
his coat, and is quiet now. Home, my
little one, art thou ready? The eahal-
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.
r
To Be Continued To-morrow.
Humanisms
\ misfit truth is the worst of all lies.
Fite average woman is
the stage.
a good actress
A good neighbor is as great a blessing
: a bad one isn't.
The po<
Were
‘In truth.
l should like the gold bet
ter than myself, senor." 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 wi-th
shrill cries sprang to their feet; the
low cart was filling with water. They
had le f t 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
a man is the less likely he
grafter.
Men ai- reasonably certain about 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.
“NHE ten days before Robert May
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 the 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
company. Each afternoon she went out
for a walk from a sense of duty, and,
once, Dr. Haynes came hy ar.d took
her for a short spin into AYestchester.
but he was busy and she saw him sel
dom.
She read until her eyes ached, ar.d
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
f 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 site seemed just now to have no
fr er.ds whom she cared to sec. oppressed
h©r. and ‘ometimes Die longed for the
summer cays in Pleasanton, where, at
rrast. something interesting had hap
pened.
Lacy Wrote Less Often.
Keith Lacy wrote her less often than
his role of an ardent lover would war-
tar, t, but his bright letters were an
evert in the woman’s humdrum life
She answered then; gladly and with
nmie warmth than she might have used
i:ad she been less idle and depressed.
She even mistook her’loneliness for a
desire to sec her absent suitor.
As for Paul Maynard. Beatrice knew'
that lie 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, flushed and angry with the deter
mination in her Heart to forget Paul,
wholly and forever.
This she tried to persuade herself she
had done, yet she would 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 man she was try
ing to forget.
Beatrice had thought at first that she
would net attend Robert Maynard’s
marriage, but as days crawled by
and her life grew duller, she began to
think of the wedding, of the people
«he would see there, and, still more,
of the dress she might wear upon ti
occasion. She had a litle money le
from her fire insurance, and, though
she had resolved to put it away in
the bank, the thought of the new cos
tume she might purchase with it was
too much for her resolution.
1 come|,
me to see you and urge you to i
our wedding."
Beatrice assured her that she int
ed to be present at the ceremony **
•I have never hail a chance to th ,
you,” iirattled on the bride-el,*., .7?,
your kindness to my dear hoy *1
past. He has spoken of you very r.f, 1
"I am sure that Mr. Maynard J?
me fully for whatever kindness I ”
ever able to show him,” replied the
ow, enigmatically.
“He is the dearest man in the w or uJ
declared Miss Damerel. sentimental
"The best and the truest.” '•■
“A woman should always feel
about the man she is going t 0
my dear,” replied Beatrice
gently.
■;l
Sat Alone Thinking.
When the happy girl had gone tij
lonely woman sat for a time in the dutt.1
thinking
“After all.” she muttered,
can not be happy—really happy__,
she is married.'
Her thoughts
iWr.a;. I
’■niessl
suddenly
turned to]
Keith Lacy with more warmth than she
had ever before felt for him. After
little she arose and turned on the llfl.
in the darkened room and spoke "
her decision.
"Yes. it would be best,” she
softly. ”1 would be happier than I a «
now, at least.”
A letter lay on the table undementt!
the mellow glow of the'lamp. Sh e
membered now that Mary had laid nl
there when she brought in the tea-sen.
ice She picked it up,
sudden thrill that
*m I
and saw with &|
it was from Keith I
“Dear Lady,” the letter ran, ‘^1
will be glad to learn that I was mar-l
l ied to-day to the dearest girl in the
world, and that I am very happy,
has been a case of love at first sig
a:;d i have written to you because yoi|
have been my dear friend and had un .f
bounded patunce with my futile tffnJ
to make you care for me as I foolishlyl
•.nought I wanted you to care. I krowL
i hat you will rejoice in my happines?.!
You were so kind to me in my boyish!
love that I am sure you will rejoice witfll
DU BOW that you know* that real iot« |
has come to me. She is the ‘little s:g.|
ipf of my partnej, and has been visit-1
ing him.
"Always your sincere friend,
“KEITH LACY. ’
eft
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 on.
•lust because a married man does the
things his wife wants him to do is no
sign that he is stuck on the job.
W ith the waning of the honeymoon
Cupid again gets busy and substitutes a
pair of green goggles for the rose-col
ored glasses.
All Misgivings Fled.
The dress that she finally bought at
"k special sale" cost more than she
could afford, ano she suffered qualms at
the recollection of her extravagance.
But when the costume came home, and
she tried it ou before her mirror, all
misgivings fled as soon as she saw its
beauty.
She w r as doubly glad she bad* 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
Fure English.
“Y|Y dear. I wish you would speak]
more carefully,” said a stickler!
for pure English to his wife. “Yon!
say that ‘Henry Jon^s came to td
town from Sunderland.’ Don’t you I
see that it would be better to say that!
he ’<ame from Sunderland to this|
town’?”
“I don't see any difference in tin ]
two expressions.” r joined the lady.
“But there is a difference in thetwivj
expressions- a rhetorical difference.!
You don’t hear me make use of such!
a w'• v. urd expressions. By the way. II
have a letter from your father in myj
pocket.”
"Oh. dear, is my father in your I
pocket?" inquired the wife. “YouJ
mean that y ou have* in your pocket a]
letter from my father.”
"There you go with your little quib-1
ble?! You take a delight in harass-1
ing me; you are always taking up a]
thread and representing it as a rope"
“Representing it to be a rope, you]
mean, dear.”
And then he grinned a sickly grin j
and wished he had never started the j
discus? ion.
The Despots.
Visitor But why do you intend toj
give up your flat and take a house?
Hostess < wearily) — Because wedl
rather live under an absolute monarchy
than a dual alliance. In a house we
will still have the cook, but we won’t)
have the hall porter.
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