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• • A Powerful Story of • •
• • Adventure, Intrigue and Love • •
WITHIN THE LAW
• e
• o
By MARVIN DANA from the • •
Play of BAYARD VEILLER • •
What Has Gone Before
Mary Turner, n beautiful and refined girl, worked in the great Gil
der store in New York.
There had been thefts in the store. They had been traced eventu
ally to a certain department, that in which Mary worked. The detective
was alert. Some valuable silks were misled. Search followed immedi
ately. Th«‘ goods were found in Mary's locker. That was enough. She
v .i charged with the theft. She protested innocence—only to be laugh
ed at in derision by her accusers Every thief declares innocence. Mr.
Gilder himself was emphatic against her The thieving had been long
continued An example must be made. The girl was arrested. The
jury found her guilty and she was sentenced to prison for thr<*- years
Dick Gilder, the store proprietor's* son, returns unexpectedly from
Europe because he was homesick for his father. The latter's secretary
tells him that Mr. Gilder has gone to court, that one of the girls was ar
rested for stealing.
“And Dad went to court to get her out of the scrape!” cries Dick
That’s Just like the old man.”
Now Go On With the Story
Copyright, 1!*13. by the H. K. Fly Com
pany The play “Within the I-aw" is
copyrighted by Mr. Velller and this
novelization of it is published by hla
permission. The American Play Coin-
puny is the sole proprietor of the ex
clusive rights or the representation
and performance of “Within the I-aw”
in all languages
TODAY’S INSTALLMENT.
Gilder settled himself again in his
chair and gazed benignantly on his son.
“Pretty well.” he said, contentedly;
“pretty well, son. I'm glad to see you
home again, my hoy,*' There was a
xroat tenderness in the usually rather
cold gray eyes.
The young man answered promptly,
with delight In his manner ,of speech,
and a sincerity that revealed the un- ,
derlying merit of his nature.
"And I’m glad to he home. Dad, to
he”- there was again that clearing of
the throat, but he finished bravely—
“with you.”
The father avoided a threatening dis
play of emotion by an abrupt change of
subject to the trite.
“Have a good time?” he Inquired cas
ually, while fumbling with the papers
on the desk.
Dick’s face broke in a smile of remi
niscent happiness.
“The time of my young life!" He
paused, and the smile broadened. There
was a mighty enthusiasm in his voice
as he continued: “I tell you, Dad. it’s
a fact that I did almost break the hank
at Monte Carlo. I’d have done it sure, if
only my money had held out.”
“It seems to me that I’ve heard some
thing of the sort before,” was Gilder’s
caustic comment. But his smile was
"till wholly sympathetic. He took a
curious vicarious delight in the esca
pades of his son. probably because he
himself had committed no follies in his
callow days. “Why didn't you cable
meV" he asked, puzzled at such restraint
on the part of his son.
Her Face Lighted.
l)lck answered with simple sincerity.
“Because it gave me a capital excuse
for coming home.”
It was Sarah who afforded a diversion.
Sh< had known Dick while he was yet a
child, had bought him candy, had felt
toward him a maternal liking that in
creased rather than diminished ns he
grew to manhood. Now her face light
ed at sight of him and she smiled a
welcome.
“T see you have fount! him,” she said,
with a ripple of laughter.
Dick welcomed this interruption of
the graver mood.
“Sadie,” he said, with a manner of the
utmost seriousness, "you are looking
finer than ever. And how thin you have
grown!”
The girl, eager with fond fancies to
ward the slender ideal, accepted the
compliment literally.
“Oh, Mr. Dick!” she exclaimed, rap
turously. “How much do you think I
have lost?
The whimsical heir of the house of
Gilder surveyed his victim critically,
then spoke with judicial solemnity.
“About two ounces, Sadie.”
There came a look of deep hurt on Sa
die s far at the flippant Jest, which
Dic,k himself was quick to note.
He tyad not guessed she was thus
acutely sensitive concerning her plump
ness. Instantly, he was all contrition
over his unwitting offense inflicted on
her womanly vanity.
"Oh. I'm sorry. Sadie.” he exclaimed
penitently. “Please don’t he really angry
with me. Of course. I didn't mean—”
“To twit on farts!” the secretary in
terrupted bitterly. ,
Not Plump Enough.
"Pooh!” Dick cried, craftily. “You
aren’t plump enough to be sensitive
it-'-ut : \\ v, you’re just right." There
'■.'us something very boyish about his
manner, as he caught at the girl’s arm.
\ memory of the days‘when she had
ruddled him caused him to speak warm-
iy, forgetting the presence of bis fath
er “Now, don’t be angry. Sadie. .lust
give me a little kiss, as you used to
do." He swept her into his arms, and
his lips met hers in a hearty caress
"There!" he cried. “.lust to show
there’s no ill feeling
The girl was completely mollified,
though in much embarrassment.
“Why, Mr. Dick!” she stammered, in
confusion. “Why, Mr. Dick!”
Gilder, who hud watched the scene
in great astonishment, now interposed
to end it.
"Stop, Dick!” he commanded, crisply.
“You are actually making Sarah blush.
I think that's about enough, son.”
But a sudden unaccustomed gust of
affection swirled in the bre&ut of the
lad. Plain Anglo-Saxon as he was, with
all that implies to the avoidance of dis
plays of emotion, nevertheless he had
been for a long time in lands far from
home, where the habits of impulsive and
affectionate people were radically un
like our own austerer forma. So now.
under the spur of nn impose suggested
by the dalliance with the buxom sec
retary, he grinned widely and went to
his father.
“A little kiss never hurts any one,”
he declared, blithely. Then he added
vivaciously: "Here. I’ll show you!”
Clasped His Father.
With the words, he clasped his arms
around his father's neck, and, before
that amazed gentleman could under
stand his purpose, he had kissed sound
ly first the one cheek and then the
other, each with a hearty, wholesome
smack of filial piety. This done, he
stook hack, still beaming happily, while
the astounded Sarah tittered bewllderly.
For his own |>art, Dick was quite
ashamed. lie loved his father. For
once he had expressed that fondness
in a primitive fashion, and he was glad
The older man withdrew a step, and
there rested motionless, under the sway
of un emotion akin to dismay. He
stood sturing intently at his son with
a perplexity in his expression that was
almost ludicrous. When at last he spoke
his voice was a rumble of strangely shy
pleasure.
"God bless my aoul!” he exclaimed,
violently. Then he raised a band and
rubbed first one cheek, and after It Its
fellow with a gentleness that was sig
nificant. Tiie feeling provoked by the
embrace showed plainly In his next
words. "Why, that's the first time you
have kissed me. Dick, since you were
a little boy. God bless my soul!” he
repented. And now there was n note
of pubilatlon.
The son. somewhat disturbed by the
emotion he had aroused, nevertheless
answered frankly with the expression
of his own feeling, an he advanced and
laid a hand on his father's shoulder.
"The fact Is, Dad,” he said quietly,
with a smile that was good to see. “I
am awfully glad to see you again.”
Kisses of Tenderness.
"Are you. son?” the father cried hap
pily. Then. abruptly his manner
changed, for he felt himself perilously
close to the maudlin in this new yield
ing to sentimentality. Such kisses of
tenderness, however agreeable in them
selves, are hardly fitting to one of his
dignity “You clear out of here, boy,”
lie commanded, brusquely. "I’m a work
ing man. But here, wait a minute,”
e added. He brought forth from a
pocket a neat sheaf of banknotes, which
he held out. "There’s carfare for you,”
he said with a chuckle. "And now clear
out. I'll see you at dinner.”
Dick bestowed the money in his pock
et and again turned toward the door
“You can always get rid of me on
the same terms,” lie remarked slyly.
And then the young man gave evidence
that he. too, bad some of his father's
ability in things financial. For in the
doorway he turned with a final speech.
which was uttered In splendid disre
gard for the packet of money he had
Just received perhaps, rather, in a
splendid regard for it. “Oh. Dad, please
don’t fnrget to give Sadie that five dol
lars I borrowed from her for the taxi.”
And with that impertinent reminder he
was gone.
The owner of the store returned to his
labors with a new zest, for the meeting
with his son had put him in high
spirits Perhaps It might have been
better for Mary Turner had she come
o him Just then, while, he was yet in
this softened mood. But. fate had or
dained that other events should re
store him in his usual harder self be
fore him interview The effect was.
indeed, presently accomplished by tin*
advent of Smithson Into the office. He
entered with an expression of discom
fiture on his rather vacuous counten
ance. He walked almost nimbly to the
desk and spoke with evident distress, as
his employer looked up interrogative
ly
"McCracken has detained—er—a—
lady, sir,” he said, feebly. ”bhe has
been searched, and we have found about
hundred dollars' worth of laces on
her.”
"Well?” Glider demanded, impatient-
y. Such affairs were too common in
the store to make necessary this Intru
sion of the matter on him. "Why did
ydu come to me about it?” His staff
knew Just what to do with shoplifters.
At once Smithson became apologetic,
while refusing to retreat.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” he said, halting-
y, "but I thought it wiser, sir, to- er-
o bring the matter to your personal at
tention. ’’
“Not Eactly a Thief.’’
“Quite necessary, Smithson,” Gilder
returned, with asperity. "You know my
views on the subject of property. Tell
McCracken to have the thief arrested.”
Smithson cleared his throat doubtfully,
and In his stress of feeling he even re
laxed a trifle that majestlcal erectness
of carriage that had made him so val
uable as a floorwalker.
"She's not exactly a—er a thief,” he
ventured
“You are trifling, Smithson,” the
owner of the store exclaimed. In high
exasperation. “Not a thief! And you
caught her with a hundred dollars'
worth of laces that she hadn't bought.
Not a theif! What in heaven's name do
you call her, then?”
“A kleptomaniac,” Smithson explain
ed, retaining his manner of mild insis
tence. “You see, sir, it’s this way. The
lady happens to be the wife of .1, W.
Haskell, the banker, you know.”
Yes, Gilder did know. The mention
of the name was like a spell in the effect
it wrought on the attitude of the irri
tated owner of the store. Instantly his
expression changed. While before his
features had been set grimly, while his
eyes had flashed wrathfully, there was
now only annoyance over an event
markedly unfortunate.
“How extremely awkward!" he cried;
ind there was a very real concern in
his voice. He rngarded Smithson kind
ly, whereat that rather puling gentleman
once again assumed ills martial bear
ing. “You were quite right In coming
to me." For a moment lie was silent,
plunged in thought. Finally he spoke
with the derisiveness characteristic of
him. “Of course, there's nothing we
•an do. .Just put the stuff back on the
counter, and let Irer go."
But Smithson had not yet wholly un
burdened himself. Instead of immediate-
y leaving the room in pursuance of
he succinct Instructions given him, he.
again cleared his throat nervously, and
made known a further aggravating fac-
r in the situation.
“She's very angry, Mr. Gilder,” lie
announced timidly. "She er she de
mands an—er —an apology .”
The owner of the store half rose from
iis chair, then throw himself back with
un exclamation of disgust. He again
ejaculated the words with whfch he
iad* greeted his son’s unexpected kisses,
now there was a vast difference in the
ntonation.
“God bless my soul!” he cried. From
his expressing, it was clear that a pious
aspiration was farthest from his
thought. On the contrary! Again he
fell silent, considering the situation
I he went on with a sort of elephantine
playfulness, “I shall take It as a per
sonal favor if you will tactfully advise
the lady that the goods at Altman and
Stern’s are really even finer than ours.”
When Smithson had left the office,
; Gilder turned to his secretary.
"Take this,” he directed, and he forth
with dictated the followlhg letter to the
husband of the lady who was not a
i thief, as Smithson ha<l so painstakingly
i pointed out:
Cut that!’’said Garson. The eyes of the two men locked. Cassidy struggled with all his
\ pride against the dominant fury this man hurled on him.
"J. W. Gaskell, Esq..
"Central National Bank, New York.
"My Dear Mr. Gaskell: I feel that I
should be doing less than my duty as a
man if I did not let you know at once
that Mrs. Gaskell is in urgent need of
medical attention. She came into our
store to-day, and ”
Found Her Wandering.
He paused for a moment. “No, put
J it this way,” he said finally:
“We found her wandering about our
store to-day in a very nervous condi
tion. In her excitement, she carried
away about $100 worth of rare laces.
Not recognizing her, our store detect
ive detained her for a short time. For
tunately for us all, Mrs. Gaskell was
able to explain who she was, and she
has just gone to her home. Hoping
for Mrs. Gaskell’s speedy recovery, and
with all good wishes, I am,
“Yours very truly.”
Yet. though he had completed the
letter, Gilder did not at once take up
another detail of his business. Instead,
he remained plunged in thought, and
i now ids frown was one of simple be
wilderment. A number of minutes
imassed before he spoke, and then his
, words revealed distinctly what had
been bis train of meditation.
“Sadie,” he said in a voice of entire
sincerity, “1 cffti’t understand theft. It’s
a thing absolutely beyond my compre
hension.”
On the heels of this ingenuous dec
laration, Smithson entered the office,
and that excellent gentleman appeared
even more perturbed than before.”
"What on earth is the matter now?”
Gilder spluttered, suspiciously.
“It’s Mrs. Gaskell still,” Smithson re
plied in great trepidation. "She wants
you personally, Mr. Gilder, to apologize
to her. She says rhat tho action taken
against her is an outrage, and she is
not satisfied with the apologies of all
the rest of us. She says you must
make one. too, and that the store de
tectives must be discharged for intol
erable insolence.”
The Business Instinct.
Gilder bounced up from his chair an
grily.
“I’ll be damned if I’ll discharge Mc-
Gracken," he vociferated, glaring on
Smithson, who shrank visibly.
But that mild and meek man had a
certain strength of pertinacity. Be
which Smithson
had pre
sented
and.
as
sid
es, in this
ca
«e, he
had
been
having
he reflect
ed, h
s frown heir
ived
he
mi
ltitudinous
roubles of
his
own,
emotion n
atural
enough
under
the <
ir
wh
ich could
ie
ended
only
by h
is em-
cumstanei
s. At
last. h»
wever.
he mt
is -
l*lc
yer’s placatin
g of t
ie offended Ulep-
tored his
irritat
on to st
me <ic
tree, j
nd
tomaniac.
spoke hi
s con
miand
briefly
”\Y
pll.
But about
th
e apol
w.
Mr. C
Aider,”
Smithson,
apologize to 1
er. It
can’t
he
he
reminded,
sp
making
very
deferential-
helped.”
Then
his face
lighte
1 witl
a
ly.
yet with
ns
stence
sardonic amusement. “And, Smithson." Business instiflet triumphed over the
magnate’s irritation, and his face
cleared.
“Oh, I'll apologize.” he said with a
wry smile of discomfiture. “I’ll make
things even up a bit when'I get an
apology from Gaskell. I shrewdly sus-
]>ect that that estimable gentleman is
going to eat humble pie, of my baking,
from his wife’s recelpe. And his will be
an honest apology, which mine won’t,
not by a damned sight!” With the
words, he left the room, in his wake a
hugely relieved Smithson.
Alone in the office, Sarah neglected
her work for a few minutes to brood
over the startling contrast of events
that ha<l Just forced itself on her atten
tion. She was not a girl given to the
analysis of either persons or things but
in this instance the movement of affairs
had come close to her, and she was
compelled to some depth of feeling by
the two aspects of life on which to-day
she looked. In the one case, as she
knew it, a girl under the urge of pov
erty had stolen. That thief had been
promptly arrested, finally she had been
tried, had been convicted, had been sen
tenced to three years in prison. In the
other case, a woman of wealth had
stolen. There had been no punishment.
A euphemism of kleptomania had been
written to her husband, a banker of
pow'er in the city. To her the proprie
tor of the store was even now apologiz
ing in courteous phrases of regret.
. . . And Mary Turner had been sen
tenced to three years in prison. Sadie
ihook her head in dolorous doubt, as
she again bent over the keys of her
typewriter. Certainly, some happenings
n this world of ours did not seem quite
fair.
CHAPTER V.
The Victim of the Law.
It was on this same day that Sarah,
on one of her numerous trips through
the store in behalf of Gilder, was accost
ed by a salesgirl, whose name, Helen
Morris, she chanced to know. It was in
i spot somewhere out of the crowd, so
hat for the moment the two wore prac-
•ally alone. The salesgirl showed signs
of embarrassment as she ventured to lay
a detaining hand on Sarah’s arm, but
she maintained her position, despite the
secretary’s manner of disapproval.
“What on earth do you want?” Sarah
inquired, snappishly.
The salesgirl put her question at
once.
“What did they do to Mary Turner?”
“Oh, that!” tlie secretary exclaimed,
with increased impatience over the de-
y, for she was very busy, as always.
‘You will all know soon enough.”
“Tell me now.” The voice of the
Tirl was singularly compelling; there
was something vividly impressive about
her just now, though her pallid, prema
turely mature face and the thin figure
n the regulation black dress and white
apron showed ordinarily only insig
nificant. f ’Tell me now,” she repeated,
with a monotonous emphasis that some
how moved Sarah to obedience against
her will, greatly to her own surprise.
"They sent her to prison for three
years,” she answered, sharply.
“Three years?” The salesgirl had re
peated the words in a tone that was in
definable, yet a tone vehement in its in
credulous questioning. “Three years?”
;he said again, as one refusing to be
lieve.
“Yes,” Sarah said, impressed by the
girls’ earnestness; “three years.”
Sarah is Astonished.
“Good God!” There was on Irrever
ence in the exclamation that ’broke from
the girl’s lips. Instead, only a tense
horror that touched to the roots of emo
tion.
Sarah regarded this display of feel
ing on the part of the young woman be
fore her with an increasing astonish
ment. It was not in her own nature to
be demonstrative, and such . trong ex
pressions of emotion as this she deemed
rather suspicious. She recalled, in ad
dition, the fact that this was not the
first time that Helen Morris had shown
a particular interest in the. fate of Mary
Turner. Sarah wondered why.
“Say,” she demanded, with the direct
ness habitual to her. “w'hy are you so
anxious about it? This is the third time
you have asked me about Mary Turner.
What’s it to von, I’d like to know?"
The salesgirl started violently, and a
deeji flush drove the accustomed pallor
fio mher cheeks. She was obviously
much disturbed by the question.
"What is it to me?" she repeated in
an effort to gain time. “Why, nothing—
nothing at all!” Her expression of dis
tress lightened a little as she hit on an
excuse that might serve to justify her
interest. “Nothing at all, only—she’s a
friend of mine, a great friend of mine.
Oh, yes!” Then, in an instant the look
of relief vanished, as once again the ter
rible reality hammered on her conscious
ness, and an overwhelming dejection
showed in the dull eyes and in the
drooping curves of the white lips. There
was a monotone of desolation as she
went on speaking in a whisper meant
for the ears of no other. “It’s awful—
three years! Oh. I didn’t understand!
It's awful! awful!!” With the final
word she hurried off, her head bowed.
She was still murmuring brokenly, in
coherently. Her whole attitude was of
wondering grief.
Sarah started after the girl in com
plete mystification. She could not at
first guess any possible cause for an
emotion as poignant. Presently, how
ever. her shrewd, though very prosaic,
commonsense suggested a simple ex
planation of the girl’s extraordinary
distress.
Secretar}' Hurried Away.
“I’ll bet that girl has been tempted
to steal. But she didn’t, because she
was afraid.” With this satisfactory
conclusion of her wonderment, the sec
retary hurried on her way, quite con
tent. It never occurred to her that the
girl might have been tempted to steal—
and had not resisted the temptation.
It. was on account of this brief con
versation with the salesgirl that Sarah
was thinking intently of Mary Turner,
after her return to the office from which
Gilder himself happened to be absent
for th« moment. As the secretary
need up at the opening of the door,
she did not at first recognize the figure
outlined there. She remembered Mary
Turner as a tall, slender girl, who
showed an underlying vitality in every
movement, a girl with a face of regular
features, in which was a complexion of
blended milk and roses, with a radiant
joy of life shining through all her ardu
ous and vulvar conditions. Instead of
this. now. she saw a frail form that
stood swaying in the. opening of the
doorway, that bent in a sinister fash
ion which told of bodily impotence,
while the face was quite bloodless. And,
too, there was. over all else a pall of
helplessness—helplessness that had en
dured much, and must still endure in
finitely more
As a reinforcement of the dread im
port of that figure of woe, a man stood
beside it, and one of his hands was
clasped around the girl’s wrist, a man
who wore his derby hat somewhat far
back on his bullet-shaped head, whose
feet were conspicuous in shoes with
very heavy soles and very square toes.
It was the man who now took charge
of the situation. Cassidy, from head
quarters. spoke in a rough, indifferent
voice, well suited to his appearance of
stolid strength.
“The District Attorney told me to
bring this girl here on my way to the
grand Central Station with her.”
Could Only Stand Dumb.
Sarah got to her feet mechanically.
Somehow, from the raucous notes of the
policeman's voice, she understood in a
flash of illumination that the pitiful fig
ure there in the doorway was that oi
Mary Turner, whom she had remem
bered so different, so frightfully differ
ent. She spoke with a miserable effort
toward her usual liveliness.
‘Mr Gilder will be right back. Come
in and wait.” She wished to say some
thing more, something of welcome or of
mourning, to the girl there, but she
found herself incapable of a single word
for the moment, and could only stand
dumb while the man stepped forward
with his charge following helplessly in
iis clutch.
The two went forward very slowly, the
officer, carelessly conscious of his duty,
walking with awkward steps to suit the
feeble movements of the girl, the girl
letting herself be dragged onward, aware
of the futility of any resistance to the
inexorable power that now had her in
its grip, of which the man was the
present agent. As the pair came thus
faltcringly into the center of the room,
Sarah at last found her voice for an
expression of sympathy.
“I’m sorry, Mary,” she said, hesitat
ingly. “Tin terribly sorry, terribly
sorry!”
The girl, who had halted when the of
ficer halted, as a matter of course, did
not look up. She stood still, swaying a
little as if from weaknelfc. Her voice
was lifeless.
Was Not Successful.
"Are you?” she said. “I did not know.
Nobody had been near me the whole
time I have been in the Tombs.” There
was infinite pathos in the tones as site
repeated the words so fraught with
deadfulness. "Nobody has been near
The secretary felt a sudden glow of
shame. She realized the Justice of that
unconscious accusation, for, till to-day,
she had had no thought of the suffer
ing girl there in the prison. To assuage
remorse, she sought to give evidence
as to a prevalent sympathy.
“W'hy,” she exclaimed, “there was
Helen Morris to-day! She has been ask
ing about you again and again. She’ll
all broken up over your trouble."
But the effort on the secretary's part
was wholly without success.
“Who is Helen Morris?” the lifeless
voice demanded. There was no interest
in the question.
Sarah experienced a momentary as
tonishment, for she was still remember
ing the feverish excitement displayed
by the salesgirl, who had declared her
self to be a most intimate friend of th#
convict. But the mystery was to re
main unsolved, since Gilder now entered
the office. He walked with the quick,
bustling activity that was ordinarily
expressed in his every movement. He
paused for an instant, as he beheld the
two visitors in the center of the room,
then he spoke curtly to the secretary,
while Crossing to his chair at the desk.
"You may go, Sarah. I will ring when
I wish you again."
There followed an interval of silence,
while the secretary was leaving the of- /
flee and the girl with her warder stood
wailing on his pleasure. Gilder cleared
his throat twice in an embarrassment
foreign to him, before finally he spoke
to the girl. At last, the proprietor of
the store expressed himself in a voice
of genuine sympathy, for the spectacle
of woe presented there before his very
eyes moved him to a real distress, since
it was indeed actual, something that
did not depend on an appreciation to
be developed out 9f imagination.
“My girl,” Glider said gently—his hard
voice was softened by an honest re
gret—“my girl. I am sorry about this.”
Her Eyes Opened Widely.
“You should be!” came the instant
answer. Yet the words were uttered
with a total lack of emotion. It seemed
from their intonation that the speaker
voiced merely a statement concerning
a recondite matter of truth, with which
sentiment had nothing to do. But the
effect on the employer was unfortunate
It aroused at once his antagonism
against the girl. His instinct of sym
pathy with which he had greeted her
at the outset was repelled and made of
no avail. Worse, it was transformed
into an emotion hostile to the one who
thus offended him by rejection of the
well-meant kindliness of his address.
“Come, come!” he exclaimed, testily.
“That’s no tone to take with me.”
“Why? What sort of tone do you
expect me to take?” was the retort in
the listless voice. Yet now in the dull
ness ran a faint suggestion of some
thing sinister.
“I expected a decent amount of hu
mility from one in your position.” was
the tart rejoinder of the magnate.
Life quickened swiftly in the drooping
■form of the girl. Her muscles tensed.
She stood suddenly erect, In the vigor of
her youth again. Her face lost in the
same second its bleakness of pallor. The ,
eyes opened widely, with startling ab
ruptness, and looked straight into those
of the man who had employed her.
“Would you be humble,” she de
manded, and now her voice was become
softly musical, yet forbidding, too, with
a note of passion, “would you be hum
ble if you were going to prison for three
years—for something you didn’t do?” '
There was anguish in the cry torn
from the girl’s throat in the sudden
access of despair. The words thrilled
Gilder beyond anything that he had
supposed possible in such case. He
found himself in this emergency totally
at a loss, and moved in his chair doubt
fully, wishing to say something, and
quite unable. He was still seeking some
question, some criticism, some rebuke,
when he was unfeignedly relieved to
hear the policeman's harsh voice:
"Don’t mind her, sir,” *,assidy said.
He meant to make his manner very
reassuring. “They all say that. They
are innocent, of course! Yep—they all
say it. It don’t do ’em any good, but
just the same they all swear they’re in
nocent. They keep it up to the very
last, no matter how right they’ve been
got.”
The voice of the girl rang clear. There
was a note of inconsistence that carried
a curious dignity of its own. The very
simplicity of her statement might have
had a power to convince one who lis
tened without prejudice, 'although the
words themselves were of the trite sort
that any protesting criminal might ut
ter.
“I tell you, I didn’t do It!”
Gilder himself felt the surge of emo-
ion that swung through these moments,
but he would not yield it. With his
lack of Imagination, he could not In
terpret what this time must mean to
the girl before him. Rather, he merely
deemed it his duty to carry through
this unfortunate affair with a scrupu
lous attention to detail, in the fashion
that had always been characteristic of
him during the years in which he had t
steadily mounted from the bottom to
the top.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
Cra
fty Tricks o
f I
"as!
_ • _ TL; A 1TA< , . DESIGN PIRATES AND I
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or securing photographs of
fashion models will be taken
into custody and the pictures
confiscated." , Such is the string
ent order issued by M. Lepine.
the Prefect of Police in Paris,
in response to the bitter com
plaints of prominent French dress
makers. who find their latest designs
being surreptitiously copied. Indeed,
this piracy of fashions has of late
become such a scandal that dress
makers in England and Paris are
combining in their efforts to check
the practices of those dressmakers
who trade in stolen brains.
Spies From Foreign Countries.
To qubte the words of one dress
maker; "Some of the imitators are so
clever that they are able without
notes to reproduce the model to the
final sleeve-button. This is so well
known that some of the leading firms
in London and Paris never exhibit
their more exclusive models in the
window or the showrooms. Never
theless, by various subterfuges now
designs are sometimes stolen and
placed on the market before they are
even shown in the windows of the
firm which cieated them In such
ases we can only come to the con
clusion that by bribery or other
means some one has managed to ob
tain a drawing of the design from an
employe.”
Talking of tricks of fashion plates,
my informant went ‘on to describe
how frequently young.men and wo
men are sent over from France and
Germany, presumably to learn their
business, whereas they really act
spies and reguarly forward to thi !r
employers on the*Continent any new
designs they may be able to scour*.
One of the cutest dodges was thu
of a woman who one day drove up to
a certain modiste famous for h r
original creations and ordered a
dress. This was duly delivered and
paid for: after which the lady called
again and made another purchase, at
the same time intimating that she
wished to see s one entirely new de
signs for evening dresses, as she \v:ia
about to go abroad. Impressed wPh
her manner and appearance, a num
ber of unique designs were sent t1
her hotel. After looking at these, she
J promised to call next day when she
I had finally decided on the dress she
j liked. She did not put in an appear
ance. and this particular firm of
j dressmakers were chagrined to fin i
shortly afterward that their unique
j design# were being copied in detail
by certain Parisian dressmakers it
afterward transpired that the lady
in question was a fashion thief, who
-ad hit upon this cute dodge to ob
tain designs.
Busy in May and June.
So jealously do dressmakers guard
their new models that only those peo
ple with the highest credentials are
allowed in-the showrooms and at the
private views "We are particularly
on our guard.” said my informant,
“against experts from America and
Germany. Many of them have a habit
of coming over here, or visiting a
house in Paris, about May or June,
and whatever costumes for the fol
lowing winter can be secured in ad-
I vnnee they promptly acquire, forward
! them to their headquarters, have
| them copied more or less badly, and
I sell them as the latest London and
i Paris creations. A new design ao-
I ouired in this way was once repro-
Iduced by an American house, with the
■ result that when a lady went to a
well-known dressmaker in Paris and
| was shown the fashions for the win
ter she exclaimed: ‘Oh, no; these are
not new I have seen these styles in
New York much cheaper.’ ”
The same complaints are made by
the best milliners who have to be
| constantly on the qui vive against the
unwelcome attentions of people who
are always on the lookout for unique
and novel designs. “Or course,’’ said
one milliner to the writer, "one mast
show hats in order to sell them; and
it is easy enough for a smartly
dressed lady artiste to mix with
other women around the shop win
dows or in the showrooms, make a
mental picture of the hat and a rough
sketch in the neighboring tea shop,
and come back afterward to com
pare the sketch with the original. And
it is thus, to our chagrin, that a hat
we are often selling for three and
four guineas is copied and sold at
shops in the suburbs at something
like half the price.”
Pirating Lace Resigns.
Even more serious is the manner in
which lace designs are pirated, for
not only do shopkeepers suffer, but
the manufacturers find themselves
losing thousands of dollars every year
through unscrupulous tricks. The
president of the I^ace Finishers’ As
sociation at Nottingham. England, re
cently mentioned that English de
signs are systematically betrayed to
foreign competitors. Inquiries showed
that while many draughtsmen were
above suspicion and could be relied
on to keep designs secret, others
cared not how much damage they did
to English manufacturers. Foreign
manufacturers were sparing neither
effort nor expense to obtain posses
sion of the Nottingham patterns as
soon as they were produced. One
draughtsman boasted that he had sold
four copies of original designs en
trusted to him to four different coun
tries. So great has the scandal be
come that the question of an inter
national agreement on the subject i
being seriously considered.
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