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) r Cottolene is better than butter or lard for frying because it can be heated about 100 degrees higher without burning or smoking. This extreme heat instantly cooks the outer surface, and forms a crust which prevents the absorption of fat. Fry fish with Cottolene and it will never be but crisp and appetizing enough to make your water. Cottolene is more economical than lard; coat more, and goes one-third farther than cither butter or lard. You are not practicing economy if you are not using ^0^7 , Cottolene in your kitchen. Made onl-* I17 ^— TOE VK.FA!HHANK ffAl/Jr CO All'AAV The Manicure Lady By WILLIAM F KIRK <•(■ ytS?S ? '—^ as 1 lia’ SPRINGTIME Copyright, 13X11. by Journal-Auk r- ioan-Examiner. By Nell Brinkley KOUGE,” said the Manicure 'I uin’t felt so romantic have this forenoon for a time. 1 don’t suppose barbery ever , very tender like and pensive ex- tvhen some Joe with a hard beard ■ el ^ shaved twice over and gives them tip. But it is different with me, ,,rge You wouldn’t believe it, would llf it j told you L can hear robbins I hlstlinff for rain and doves cooing for their mates even if I am sitting at a manicure table right down here in the I . t art of the Tenderloin. The way I feel tills morning there is a golden haze Lround the sun and purple edges to all | Item clouds that floats fleecy-like over- mead,” What's all this about ’’’ the head bar ker wanted to know. “It must be r<> nance or hop. I never heard you get Ijj-ushy before. You look kind a pale, too. llvidJo. You had better try going to I ,ed early and gittlng up early for a jv.>,fk. and eat plenty of celery to keep ,,ur nerves good.” •Well, George, 1 might us well tell v,,u that I do feel kinder romantic this forenoon, the llrsi time since that fel low over in Decatur proposed to me and mattered love's dream by copping one I, f sister Maine’s rings off from the sec and never returning to our lium- | hie abode. That was years ago, George, a ixi just as the scar was healing over, « re I go and get sentimental again." •Who is it this time?'' asked the Head barber. | In Love With a Book. ■•It ain't no fellow," answered the I Manicure Lady. "It's a book that I I was reading last night. Brother Wilfred jwiis tfading it down at the Carnegie ] Library and when nobody was looking I Ik- st uck it under his coat and mooched I home with it. It was worth the risk, deerge. It’s one of the grandest hooks have ever saw. The name- of it is amouss Loves of History.’ It tells all bout Napoleon and Josephine and about a young fellow named Paris that feil in love with «t girl named Helen that used | 0 live in Troy, N. Y., and it tells about Anthony and Cleopatra and how Mr. An thony lost the Roman Umpire by staying in Egypt so long that his wife had to I go to Keno or some place like that to [ get a divorce.” "I never was much /on those ro- I inances," said the Head Barber. ‘‘The | way butter and eggs is selling now . it lakes all the mental Arithmetic to keep | Mary and the children. When you got | io live four flights up without no ele vator and git most of your eatables at I h delicatessen store, love's young dream I Mis kinda frazzled around the edges." "But just the same," insisted tin Manicure Lady, "I think that a girl or a gent can forgii their surroundings | when they set down with the book like that ‘Famous Loves' book. Gee, George, I when I was reading about that brave young Paris stealing a King’s wife away j and taking her up-State to Troy, it iade me wish that some fellow would ome down from the Blue Ridge and kidnap me away from my father’s roof. ' >f course it would hurt the old gent a lot, because with my earning capacity. I am the only pillar up home on which they lean on. The old gent wouldn't care if somebody came along and kid naped Brother Wilfred, because the pucr boy is as far from a job as he has '•V( r been in all his bright young ca reer. It was only fast night he nicked father's bank roll for a case note, ti e last one* he will get for some time, as Mu: old gent has sworn off getting mei- i don’t see anything very romantic ;t 1. <ut stealing the King’s wife or any m; cr man's wife,” said the head barber. Wanted to Be ‘ Stole.” M < n't you?” said the Manicure Lad>. ' tui, l think it must nave been simpiy grand to have lived in them cays and "> nave been stole by some guy with a little nerve like that Paris fellow. And ih-- book told about Romeo and Juliet. • J was thinking. George, thai if 1 id nave a handsome young 5 llow like do-oko put a ladder up against our'front in ch and whisper words • f love to pic i would accept his proposal of marriage at..I beat down the ladder with him m’ •!. before tHe porch broke. ‘ Napoleon and Josephine had ^an awful sweet love, so the book says. The stojy tells how much that great general loved ids quoth and how much she "ted him Until things commenced Lrtaking bad for him and he lost out i that awful rfetreat from Waterloo and he battle of Bunker Hill, or whatever was ihe narpo ot that tight hp lost to 'Mike Wellington and ids German sol diers*. There ain't no love like that no more. George. When a young fellow wants to get married nowadays he starts saving up until he has mone> •nuugh to buy a house and lot in West End and when he proposes and gets 1 urned down he takes the money arm Gscs it playing poker. There ain't ever sue i love as our fathers and mothers use | to have. "Every once and a while when the 'id gent comes home from lodge with "is feet well apart and a k’tula balmy » ' ■ n His map 1 can hear him remind ing mother of how they used to walk a g them lilac-borderod lanes, plight- ng their troth over and over again. V' body plights no troths nowadays. George, until the young girl's folks has - u a report on the young gent from 1 "as and Bradstreets. ' T1 . more T think about them beau* Ml old romances which can never be o more, the more I wisht 1 had lived cii instead of now." ‘‘If you’re going to keep on harping lie way you started out this morning." aid the Head Barber, "it wouldn’t hurt 'ay feelings if you hud lived then in- tetul of now, just so I didn't have to Rv tiien, too. and be In the same shop M you. Here comes the nervous cus- r outer that never likes to bear women ; »:k. Humor him. Kid. humor him.” “Just Say” HORLICK’S It Means Original and Genuine MALTED MILK The Food-diink for All Ages. More healthful than Tea or Coffee. Agrees with the weakest digestion. Delicious, invigorating & nutritious. Rich milk, malted grain, powder form. A quick lunch prrprrcd in a minute. Takencsubstituts. AskfcrHORLICK S Sg Others arc imitations. cr>. ^ What the Newly Wed Should Know FIRST:-‘-'Lcarn to Cook . i* This is ths first of s series of articles prepared by Mar- gr.rst Hubbard Ayer, whe Has bean commissioned by The Geor gian to discuss the problems of newly married people with experts in vsrirus departments ef household economy. By MARGARET HUBBARD AYER Daysey Mayme And Her Folks By FRANCES L. GARSIDE T ~X THEN LvMiiuh t John Appleton VV was a young man, am 1 unat tached, he* found life very gay. He was invited to all the parties, and he took every new girl who came to his town out to look at the moon. He was so popular that the third time he met a girl she would pick the lint off his coat. Then he became engaged, and his popularity became like that of a cold buckwheat cake. Then he got married, and the only envelopes he received in a woman's | hand were sent by the girl book- j keepers in the employ of the groves j and the butcher. His wife did not forget his exist- ! ence. remembering it dutifully whe:. t hero was one more guest than tin game >t' cards required, or when she, had a guest who was very hard of 1 hearing. Occasionally, ton. she would ask him to escort one of her kin home. His duties us Kin Commissioner- General only tended to increase his unpopularity. A decision that when a woman’s kin guest goes horn * her husband has a right to see what she is taking in her trunk made him 30 unpopular among the women that thereafter every invitation Mrs. Ly- sc.rider John Appleton received care fully excluded tier husband. All of this explains his joy the ,,»htr evening when a special messen ger appeared at the door with an in vitation for him! Hi was not completely forgotten! Ai last he was to have another tusre oi society, so steadfastly forbidden ;hr father of a family. "What is the invitation to?" asked pis wife. But he was so excited in looking for his ties whmv his socks were kept, and his gloves in his hand kerchief box, he did not reply. He hummed gayly, and he whistled right nnrvily. stopping between tunes in tell hi* wife he would be gone all night. "Gone all night!” How strangely sweet the words sounded! H« re- a ted them exultantly. He would be gone all night! No on< need sit up for him! What reckless freedom tin* words implied! He whistled louder and more uur- rtly lb' was wildly excited over the welcome change that w as coming into the monotony of his life us a married man. , . . Then, as he started out tile door with the step and bearing of a man half his years, he told his wife when he was going. True, it was an invitation to sit Up with the dead, hut it was the first invitation of any kind he had received in seventeen years’ I T’S springtime in Atlanta. Out of the back-swung door of her car Miss Atlanta, who is u woman most thoroughbred and fair* steps to., the gray curb. She is garbed in all the grotesquerie of looped skirt. Elizabeth frill, tortured cockade and sack coat with the belt at the hips, and a riot of tender flowers from those shops with the extra shiny win dows and the sweet-smelly door ways. It's springtime in the far South west. The sea is as blue as the aquamarine that rests in the hollow at the root of your sweet heart’s throat. Over all the val leys and hills it casts a dreamy light. The far islands lie like a dream on the horizon. The hills that sweep to the sea are livid with lovely uplands of green bar ley and ablaze with seas of golden poppies. All this—peach blossom and almond and orange—and the girl in bathing togs, with the seu water pearling her hair—tells you that it’s springtime in the air far Southwest. As for spring in a fellow s heart. Lay your ear close anil . listen to the little chap who's singing inside! Up-to-Date Jokes Are You Happy? If Not, Why Not? ELLA WHEELER WILCOX Tells How to Gain Joys of Life By ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. Copyright m3, \ y Star Publishing Co. \ -r oil men and women who read these lines, what aro you doing to get the best out of the shot t life you are liglng? i know* what you are striving for. most of you men (American men), it is wealth and power. And you do not want these things to much for yourselves as for the wivi k and children who bear your names. But, good sir. are you not making a mistake to so utterly absorb yourself in business? If you really live to make your dear ones happy, would you not attain the' result sooner by giving them a little more of your time and attention as you go along? 1 have talked with hundreds—yes, thousands— of wives of ambitious men, and the universal complaint is: "Oh, if my husband was not so tied down to his business—if lie could only give a lit tle more time to liis family—take a few weeks now and then for recreation with us. or even a day’s outing now and then, how happy we would be. But he is so busy all the time and so tired and nervous." Does it pay? And you. madam, are you making jour husband realize that you would rather have , more of his leisure than more of his riches? or are you com plaining that you do not live as well ns your neighbors, attd urging him on to renewed efforts by your petty nagging and restless discontent? Many a woman, instead of being the helpmate and comfort to her husband God intended her to be, is the whip that drives him like a tired horse to overtax his strength. Ask yourself if you arc one of these? There have been hard times for men in the last ten years. Have you made your husband feel that you sympathized with him in the difficulties that he has encountered in these days of trusts and monopolies? j Have you been ready to lake a philo sophical and cheerful view of the econ- I omles and deprivations forced upon you. *or have you been despondent, complain ing or rebellious, or by a martyr-like air added -to the mortification of your troubled husband? Have you tried to brace up his dis couraged moods by your optimism, and to turn the temporary tragedy into a laughing jest? or have you driven him to the verge of despair and suicide by your half-concealed contempt at his failures? And you, sir, have you made your wife realize during these years of hard strug gle that she is the dearest thing in the world to you, and that you appreciate her economies, and that her sympathy aad companionship ure more to you than all th« honors the world could offer you would be without her? Or have you left her to gu< ss this to be the fact, that while you plunged deeper and deeper into business ami rurely spoke to her unless it was to find fault and complain of small delinquen cies, with no word of praise for great virtues? Answer these questions silently t* yourself and then ask yourself what makes life worth living. Is it not, first of all, a peaceful, lovc- wf rmed home companionship with dear ones, and the giving and receiving of simple pleasures and of sympathy and affection? What lose those joys out of life Would it not be wise to obtain and retain the best things as you go tiling? The end of the journey is not far—and the only thing you can take across is Love. Bv a Woman Hater r T HE COOK — OI’m sorry, mum, but * the walkin’ diiigate av th* Kuprame Ordher av Cooks hov ordered me to throw up me job. Tic Misti ess (tearfully)—Oh, North! What lave I done? The Cook—Nawthin’, mum; but your foolish husband got shaved in a non union barber shop lh‘ day before yis- terday. * * • "Would you die for me?” she asked, sentimentally. "Now, look here,” he returned in his mutter-of-fact way. "are we supposed to he planning a cheap novel or a wedding?” # 4) «• Airs. Flubdub— My husband goes out every evening for u little constitutional. Does yours? Mrs. Guzzler No; my husband al ways keeps It in the house. Commercial: *'Tf u man has an in come of two million dollars a year, what is his principal?” C>nic: "A man with such an in come usually has no principle." THE SUN AND THE BOY By WILLIAM F. KIRK A fool anti his money aro soon mar ried. Few women have to take lessons in painting. Peace hath her victories, but we gen erally have to fight hard for them. A girl never reads a novel without wondering if she isn't a good bit like* the heroine. You can sometimes flatter a woman by telling her you don't. Time nnd tide wait for no man, but \ ou can't make a woman believe it when she is putting on her hat. When u girl Is proverbially fond of lobsters, she generally goes out to sup per with one. Nearly every girl at some time has made Home fellow happy by refusing marry him. Many a fellow who has told a girl she was good enough to <*ut has been obliged to swallow his own words. The good die young, or if the> don't they grow up to he mighty homely. With some women the tragedy of mar* t ied life begins with the first scratch on the parlor furniture. How To Do It. “Y ; She Might Have Been. Little A ;sitor (pomtlrg to a large oil portrait >- Whose picture is that? Little HoS.ess She was ipy mamma's | I great aunt. I nqrer heard unjch about j ! 'her, but was'a ch» ul teacher. ; ! Little Visit 1 ! Why? I I Ltlc Hci»Uv> - ,->ac li».V. her tye&IVl- j Mow 1: -.Nii? , 1 The Retort Courteous. Sharpson- Phlatz, wnat makes your nose so red? ’ Phlatz—I glows with pride because I ii never pokes itself in o other peo- ! ple'i? business. After Effects. i Hanks--! don't mind the influenza ! | itself so much—it’s the after < (Ted | I'nv afreUl ml - Kite r.\T- Tee :• ft* r dVe ■«.• •' w e.i | ;,il> :r:< . I’m si ill doilg'ne the dot U r | 1 f » r )U must be a wonderful, wonderful Hun,” Said the Little Blind Boy one day "My lather told me you were eaey to see ’Till the stars come to twinkle and play. I wish I could know how you look when you glow Just after the day has begun; Do you think I'll be bigger than you when I grow?" Said the Little Blind Boy to the Sun. "You must he a beautiful, beautiful child." said the Sun through its dazzling glare; “But i am blind, too, and I can not see you, Although I’m. sure you are there. Don’t cry. little lad, and don't try. little lad, T*i gia-p ueatiaipablp joy; Peril;* we ll be peers after billion* of ycurj," Said the Sun to th» l.illl Blind Bov. V1ZHENEVER I got an umbrella," said the prudent person, "I put iny name on it." "So I do," answered the man with out a conscience. "The person who used to own it isn't so likely to iden tify it.” L EARN to cook, as u matter of honesty, if for no other rea son. According to Miss Wilheimina Clement, past mietret® in tne culinary art, the wife who can't cook or su perintend the housekeeping takes her hutfband's pay envelope on false pre tenses. i She does not know her business. Mis© Clement has been teaching ! brides their business for some time, ' and In her immaculately clean kitch- 1 en, from which a class of bride pupil® 1 had just departed, she explained why a knowledge of cooking was one of the most important asset? which a young woman brings to the matrimo nial partnership. Miss Clement is of Dutch descent and is "Mrs." in private life. In her white frock and pretty Dutch cap she is good to look at. Reciprocity Expected. "When a couple marry,” said Mias Clement, "the girl expects her hus band to hand her over most of nis salary, nnd he, in turn, expects that her management of that money will make it go twice as far as It did be fore their marriage. "It's his business to earn the money, it’s hers to spend it wisely. One part is ns important as the other "Now, she would fee’ she had been cheated if she found, ' fter marring*, ;hat he was incapable of earning the bread nnd butter, nnd he has a right to feel that he has been defrauded it • he doesn't know how to cook the food that his money buys. "The foundation of all home life is the kitchen. People live in hotels and boarding houtes, but these are not '•ailed ‘home.* "A home is a place where the hearth fire burns for you and yours alone, even if the hearth fire Is u gar, range*. Don’t Be a Cheat. "The girl who marries for a home and does not know h?r pant of the business of making that home is cheating. She can not know her busi ness unless she knows how to cook. "In very well-to-do homes the wife may not want to do the cooking per sonally, but unless she knows some thing about cooking she can not direct her helper or understand whether or not her family i>: getting proper nour ishment. "Correct feeding is becoming a sci ence, and we are all awakening to th^ fact that it is as important to com bine food properly for the adult as !i is for the baby. "Men who are well fed, proper.y nourlthtd, are less inclined to drink. It’s poor cooking as much as anything that sends men to the saloons. "No woman need think that she too intellectual to bother with cook ing. Cooking is a science as well as an art. and one can go on learning forever. "The bride who has a good foun dation of culinary knowledge and lakes an interest in cooking will find no end of possibilities to it. Don’t Neglect the Scraps. "Right in her own kitchen she cm. Join the great movement to reduce the high cost of living. She can use tip every scrap of left-over material And let me tell you that it Is the clever cook alone who can make left over food tastj’ and who never Wastes anything. "It Is the bride’s business to insist on standard goods, not taking poorei substitutes. In the end it always pays to get the best materials and cut down in some other vay—not having so urny different disii.s per haps. "The smaller the income the more Intelligence It takes on the part of the bride to manage her share of the domestic partnership, and th* more she needs to study and plan her daily bill of fares. "Every girl who is going to be mar ried should take a course of cooking lessons unless a very wise mother ha* taught tier already. Unfortunately, such mothers arc rare nowadays. If she already knows how to cool; ordi narily well, she ought to go on learn ing and trying n?w dime* by herself. "In tin* average home there is an appalling lack of variety in the bill of fare, and that is why men. <• specially, are no glad to get a rnepi at a good restaurant. A man’s stomach craves variety, and the hard-working man is certainly entitled a good meal properly balance! in food values and dainty service. Has Right to Complain. "A man roincH liomo after a hard dash’s wort, and ^ets the ,amo old things hi rved on a soiled cloth. Home- times he sees delicatessen food hastily bought lust before dinner. I think he has a right to comp] tin, and generally he does. ]f lie iw euay-goln* ho says nothing, but after a while he groves ‘grouchy.’ "There are nude grouches caused by bad conking than by bad Jack. "Don’t lie satisfied if you can do plain home cooking. The man of to day, and his wife and children, too. have uc<juireil a taste for foreign dishes, anil that is what the restau rants thrive on. You can learn to make chop suey or Italian spaghetti youiself. They are not mysteries, but no one can leurn them unless the\ are willing t > take timu and though! and pains. "The health and comfort of the fam ily depend largely on tiie wife's knowledg. of cooking. If she does not know her business the Matrimo nial venture will not bo the success she might have made it." Answer Wanted. A LEARNED professor afc one of the large public schools was explaining to his clasa how the identity of a thing might remain, even with the loss of its parts. "Here," he said, "is this pen knife. Now, suppose I lose this blade and replace It with a new one—you see it ima two blades—is It still the t ame knife V* ‘‘Yes, yes!" erbd the class. "And suppose," he said, "I lose the second blade and replace it with a new one—is it still the same knife?" "Oh ye*,” said the class. “Xt v,” L:aid the professor, triumph antly. "suppose T lose the handle and have a new one made—is It still the same knife?” "Certainly!" reared the class. But here «. youth arose-—one of the clear-headed kind. "Professor,” said he, "suppose I should find those two blades and tl at handle and put them together again—what ltnife would that be?" The professor’* answer is not record ed.