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MAGAZINE,
The Passing of Miss Tearful
; A Powerful Story of Ad- \\ / J-
/ venture, Intrigue andLocc y f £
irVltrt I OVI J B y MARVIN DANA ’from the '
The Girl Alone m New York
Woman Is Ceasing to Weep—They Realize That No Man
Wants to Be Salted Down in Brine as If He Were a
L 1 1 11 1 HI 1 > W R l a y °f BERNARD VE1LLER
She Loses Her Position, But Obtains Another in an Unusual Way.
Dried Herring.
Tells Sister All About It.
By DOROTHY DIX.
O NE of th© most Interesting and sig
nificant phases of the evolution of
woman Is that she 1s ceasing to
weep. I don’t know how science ex
plains It, but It 1s a self-evident fact
rnat every observing person must have
not%d that as women developed back
bone their tear ducts have dried up.
Time was. and not so long ago, when
the very name of the feminine sex waa
synonymous with crying. It was wo
man's hereditary destiny to weep, Just
; s it was man’s to work, and she did
what was expected of her by sitting
down and bowling whenever she came
up against any of the hard propositions
of life.
The modern woman has changed all of
that. You hardly ever see a woman
weep now. There are-God help us -
Just as many things to wring a woman’s
heart to-day, and Just as many causes
for tears as there ever were, but if she
weeps, she weeps In private. It Is al
most as unusual and startling now to
see a woman give way publicly to erno-
tlon as it is to see. a man do so, and 1
can think of no other one thing that
o emphatically marks the progress of
my sex.
It measures all the distance between
hysteria and reason. It marks the Im
measurable difference between the spoilt
child crying Impotently for forbidden
sweets, and the strong adult who takes
what life gives with unfaltering bravery
and cheerfulness.
It seems likely that women always
overvalued the effectiveness of tears,
anyway. Tears were supposed to always
bo an unanswerable argument ho far as
men were concerned. Unfortunately few’
women can weep effectively. In poetry a
pearly drop that makes a blue eye look
like a violet drowned in dew, gathers
slowly and rolls guntly down the alabas
ter cheek, ami the man who goes down
before it. In everyday life the woman
who weeps gets red-eyed, her nose
swells and she looks purple and appo-
plectic, and the man gets up, and slams
life door behind, and goes downtown un
til the water spout Is over. In these pro
saic and commonsense days weeping has
played out as a fascination, and tears
ure a failure. No man wants to be salt-
id down in brine as if he were a dried
herring.
They Wept Too Much.
The trouble with women’s tears In
the pust has been that they wept too
much, upd In the wrong way. A tear as
a tear Is as effective as any other drop
» f salt water, yet people make the mis
take of reverencing It as if weeping over
thing was going to perform some kind
of a miracle.
You might woep over a starving fami
ly until you shed an ocean of tears, yet
it wouldn't keep them from j»erishing of
hunger. It is only when you begin to,
sob with your pocket book that you do
any good, it isn’t the people who come
to weep with us when we are unfortu
nate and poor and downcast who help
It is those who have learned to
sympathise with their bunk book and
personal interest and assistance.
Nothing else on earth is as plentiful
and cheap and useless as tears, but un
til they are backed up with good deeds
and money nobody has a right to at
tempt to sustain a reputation for chari
ty on them Plenty of people do. I have
seen women sit tip In a fashionable
church and sniffle Into a point lace
handkerchief all through a charity ser
mon and then drop a plugged nickel Into
the contribution plate.
Then there’© poverty. If all the tears
woman have shed over being poor had
been brought to account It would make
a water power that would turn the
wheels of the machinery of the world.
Tears toll back no vanished dollars.
Nobody ever heard of a woman lament
ing herself Into a fortune, yet they go
making themselvos perfect Nlobes over
their split milk.
I had a friend once who lost her money
and who thereafter did nothing but
weep. “What shall I do?" she demanded
*i shall starve.’’ ’’If you would put In
as much time and. energy mopping a
floor as you do in mopping your eyes,
you could make a fortune as a charwo
man.’’ I answered, brutally. Fhe never
forgave me. People never do when you
teJl them the truth, but It Is a fact nev
ertheless, that the only tears that can
conjure back prosperity are the Pars we
weep with our hands at some good, hon
est labor.
Sometimes 1 amuse myself by specu
lating on what an improvement If would
be if mothers wept less over their way
ward children and spanked more
Shameful Tears.
Sentimentalists have embalmed h
mother’s tears in song and story, and
made them sacred, but I tell you the
tears a mother sheds over an illraised
son or daughter are shameful. There
should be no cause for them, and there
would be no cause for them, once In a
million times, If she had done her duty.
Weep with strict authority, mothers, sob
with a wise up-bringing while your chil
dren are little, and when they are grown
you will not have to shed salt and hit
ter tears over sons and daughters who
have brought disgrace upon you.
It has also appeared to me that women
have wasted quite an unnecessary
amount of tears on their husbands. For
a thousand generations wives have clung
to the theory that a man could he wept
into ail the virtues of beatitude. When a
woman bad a drunken husband she
opened the door for him in the early
hours of the morning, and bedewed him
with her tears. When she had a brutal
one, she wept when ho mistreated her,
'nit she forgave him and let him go on
doing It. Men don't weep any over wo
men. They make their wives behave
themselves, or else they haul them up
before the divorce court, and that’s why
the percentage of good conduct is so
largely In favor of the fair sex, and wo
men might well copy their example.
Any way you look at it, It Is a hope
ful sign women have abandoned doing
Tic baby act. It was always weak and
useless. We owe it to the world to give
t smiles and sunshine, not showers, and
we best do our part in It when we meet
the misfortunes of life with that brave
attitude that nothing can daunt.
But wait a minute,” English Eddie expostulated, ‘‘you see this chap, Gilder, is
SYNOPSIS.
: Electing a New Pope :
ONE OF THE WORLD’S MOST MOMENTOUS CEREMONIES
T HE greatest secrecy, as well ns the
utmost solemnity, is observed
when the Cardinals of the Church
of Home are called upon to elect one of
their number as Pope.
Immediately after the Pope is buried
there is a gathering together of the Onr-
dInals, or conclave, as it Is'called. Inci
dentally It might be mentioned that the
word '‘Conclave"’ is derived from the
Latin cum clave, and literally means an
apartment which can bo closed with one
key.
Once gathered together, the Cardinals,
like the Jury in a murder case, are not
permitted to leave the Vatican until they
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s Parisian Sage is a scientific
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< One application will astonish you
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All doubts settled at one stroke
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(Jet a bottle to-day—-always keep
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; For sale by Jacobs’ ten stores
> ar.d mi drug: arid toilet counters
have selected from among themselves a
successor to the Papal chair. The cere
mony of election observed to-day is the
same ns that inaugurated by Gregory X,
six hundred years ago.
Communication Impossible.
The Cardinals assemble In what Is
snown as the Sistin© Chapel. All the
entrances are walled up with the ex
ception of one great door known us the
"SaJa Regia." The greatest precautions
are observed that no persons except the
Cardinals remain in the building during
ihe conclave, and a very careful search
is made, not only hy officials of the Va
tican, but also by the Swiss guards, who
maintain a vigil over the only door lead
ing to the building. Even the food
is carefully examined to make sure that
no communication enters the Vatican.
The actual election ceremony is quite
ample. Each Cardinal writes in a dis
od hand on a ballot-paper the nalbe
I of bis particular select ion for the high
office, which he then deposits In a chal
ice or urn placed upon a special altar.
Before doing so. however, he turns to
his colleagues and solemnly swears he
j bas voted according to his firm belief,
without fear or favor, and In the true
interests of the Church of Rome only.
First and Second Ballots.
There arc three official scrutators,
who, when all the Cardinals have voted,
and after a short prayer, take all the
ballot-papers from the chalice and read
aloud to the conclave the names record
i ed. The number of votes required to
Immediately the two-thirds majority
has been recorded for any candidate a
i bell is rung by the junior Cardinal l)eo-
I con. In response the secretary' of the
Sacred College enters with the master
<>f ceremonies, after which the Cardinal
Dean approaches the Pope that is to be
and inquires whether he accepts the
papacy. Receiving an answer in the af
• Urinative, he next Inquires what name
the new pontiff Intends to be known b\
It should be mentioned that the name
usually selected is that of the Pope by
whom the Pope-elect was created a
I Cardinal, and as soon as this is un-
1 nounced the senior Cardinal Deacon g» es
outside and thus addresses the waiting
cro\v<i. "1 announce to you a great joy
We have as Pope the Most Eminent anti
Most Reverend , Cardinal of
the Holy Roman Church, who has taken
the name of
Meanwhile the new dignitary has been
conducted to the rear of the high altar,
where Itp ;s speedily arrayed in ;he vest
ments of the pontificate. He then takes
tis place in the chair of state in front
>f the high altar, and is ready to receive
the greetings of the Sacred College. Each
• *f the Cardinals kisses him on the foot,
the hand and the mouth, and that pre
cious symbol, the ring of the Fisherman.
** placed on his finger by the Cardinal
Camerlingo.
i New York Dental Offices
28i/o and 32y 2 PEACHTRFk, STREET.
Over the Bonita Theater and Zakas' Bakery.
Gold Crowns , . . $3.00
Bridge Work . ■ . $4.00
All Other Work at Reasonable Prices.
Mary Turner, after the death of
her father and mother, is forced
to make her own way in life. She
secures a position at the Empo
rium. a department store owned
by Edward Gilder, and, after five
years of bare existence, valueble
silks are stolen from the store,
traced to Mary’s department, and
some of the goods found in her
locker. Although innocent, the
girl is arrested and sentenced to
three years in prison.
After her conviction she tells
George Damarest, chief of Gilder’s
J legal staff, that she can show the
$ merchant how to stop thievery in
( his store if garnted a ten-minute in-
> tervievv. The interview is granted,
< and. handcuffed to a plain-clothes
} man, she enters Gilder’s private
1 office. He enters immediately af
terward.
Without mincing of words, Mary
tells him that hfe can stop stealing
by paying bin employees a living
} wage. , <
Now go on with the story '
Copyright. 1913. by the IT. K. Fly Com
pany. The play “Within the I>aw" is
copyrighted by Mr. Vciller and this
novelizatlon of it is published by his
permission. The American Play Com
pany is the sole proprietor of the ox-
clur'.ve rights ol the representation
and performance of "Within the Law”
in all languages.
TODAY’S INSTALI,MENT.
Nevertheless Indomitable in her pur
pose, she maintained the struggle. A
third time she obtained work, ai d there,
after a little, she told her employer, a
candy manufacturer In a. .small way. the
truth as to her buying been in prison.
The man bad a kindly heart, and, in
addition, he ran little risk in the matter,
so he allowed her to remain. When,
presently, the police called his attention
to the girl’s criminal record, he paid no
heed to their advice against retaining
her services. But such action on his
part offended the greatneef of the law's
dignity. The police brought pressure to
bear on the man. They even called in
the assistance of Edward Gilder himself,
who obligingly wrote a very severe let
ter to the girl’s employer. In t!.< end.
such tactics alarmed the man. For the
sake of his own interests, though un
willingly enough, he dismissed Mary
from his service.
With All Hev Strength.
It was then that despair did come
upon the girt. She had tried with all
the strength of her to Uvo straight. Yet,
despite her innocence, the world would
rot let her live according to her own
conscience. It demanded that she bo the
criminal it had branded her if she wore
to live at all. So, it was despair! For
she would not turn to evil, and without
such turning she could not live. She
still walked Jhe streets t.lteringly,
seeking some place; but her heart was
gone from the quest. Now. she was
sunken in an apathy that saved her
from the worst pangs of misery. She
had suffered so much, so p 1, : autly,
that at last her emotions had grown
sluggish. She did not mind much even
when her tiny hoard of money was quite
gone, and she rorimod the city .starving.
* • • Came an hour whim she thought
of the river, ami was glad!
Mary remembered, with a wan smile,
how, long ago, she had thought with
amazed horror of suicide unable to
imagine any trouble sufficient to drive
one to death ns the only relief. Now,
however, the thing was simple to her.
Since there was nothing else, she must
turn to that -to death. Indeed, It was
so very simple, so final, and so easy,
after the agonies she had endured, that
she marveled over her own folly In not
having sought such escape before.* * *
Even with the first wild fancy, she had
unconsciously bent her steps westward
toward the North River. Now, she
quickened her pace, anxious for the
plunge that should set the term to sor
row. In her numbed brain was no
dicker of thought as to whatever might
come to her afterward. Her sole guide
was that compelling j>assion of desire to
bo done with this unbearable present.
Nothing else mattered not in the least!
In That Final Second.
So, she came through the Jong stretch
of ill-lighted streets, crossed some rail
road tracks to a pier, over which she
hurried to the far end, where it pro
jected out to the fiercer currents of the
Hudson. There, without giving herself
a moment’s pause for reflection of hesi
tation, she leaped out as far as her
strength permitted into the coll of wa
ters. But, in that final second, natural
terror in the face of death overcame the
lethargy of despair- a shriek burst from
her lips.
But for that scream of fear, the story
of Mary Turner had ended there and
then. Only one person was anywhere
near to catch the sound. And that sln-
e r> rson heard. On the south side
• r the pier a man had just tied up a
motorboat. He stood up in alarm at
the < ty, and was just In time to gain
a glimpse of a white face under the
dim moonlight as it swept down with
the tide, two rods beyond him. On
the Instant, he threw off his coat and
sprang far out after the drifting body.
He r ime to it in a few furious strokes,
irid caught it. Then began the savage
struggle to save her and himself. The
currents tore at him wrathfully, but
he fought against them with all the
fierceness of his nature. He had
strength a-plenty, but he needed all of
it, and more, to win out of the river’s
'iungr> clutch. What saved the two
of them was the violent temper of the
nan. Always, it had been the demon
o set him aflame. To-night, thcro in
re faint light, within the grip of the
waters, lie was moved to insensate
lurv against the element that menaced.
His rage mounted, and gave him new’
oower in the battle. Maniacal strength
:rew out of supreme wrath. Under the
«rim of it, he conquered- at last brought
'imc.olf and his charge to the shore.
When, finally, the rescuer was able
1 > do something more than gasp chok-
ng’y, he gave anxious attention to the
voman whom he had brought out from
‘ie river. Yet, at the outset, he could
cot he sure that she still lived. She
ad shown no sign of life at any time
once he had first seized her. That fact
ul b« on of incalculable advantage to
u in his efforts to reach the shore
ith her. Now, however, it alarmed him
.1;, Mil' , though it hardly seemed pos
sible iluit she could have drowned. So
. r as lie could determine, she had not
even sunk once beneath the surface.
Nevertheless, she displayed no evidence
T Natality, though he chafed her hands
r ;i long time. The shore here was
vc* lonely, it would take precious time
• summon aid. It seemed, nothwith-
andirg, that this must be the only
<>urre. Then just as the man was
.bout to leave her. the girl sighed, very
;i icily, with an infinite weariness, and
opened her eyes. The man echoed the
rh. but his was of Joy, since now he
knew that his strife in the girlNs be
half had not been in vain.
Afterward, the rescuer experienced no
great difficulty in carrying out his work
to a satisfactory conclusion. Mary re
vived to clear consciousness, which was
at first inclined toward hysteria, but
this phase yielded soon under the sym
pathetic ministrations of the man. His
rather low voice was soothing to her
tired soul, and his whole air was at
once masterful and gently tender.
Moreover, there was an Inexpressible
halm to her spirit in the very faot that
some one was thus ministering to her.
It was the first lime for many dread
ful years that any one had taken
thought for her welfare. The effect
of It was like a draught of rarest wine
to warm her heart. So, she rested
obediently as he busied himself with
her complete restoration, and, when
finally she was able to stand, and to
walk with the support of his arm, she
went forward slowly at his side with
out ’so much even as a question of
'/hither.
And, curiously, the man himself shared
the gladness that touched the mood of
the girl, for he experienced a sudden
pride in his accomplishment of the night.
Somewhere in him were the seeds of
self-sacrifice, the seeds of a generous
devotion to others. But those seeds had
been left undeveloped in a life that had
)©en Jived since early boyhood outside
the pale of respectability. To-night Joe
Garson had performed, perhaps, Ills first
iction with r.o thought of self at the
back of It. He had risked his life
o save that of a stranger. The fact
astonished him, while it plqpsed him
hugely. The sensation was at once novel
'in<l thrilling.
Glow of Satisfaction.
Since it w r as so agreeable, he meant
“o prolong the glow f of self-satisfaction
ny continuing to care for this waif of
the river. He must make his rescue
complete. It did not occur to him to
luestion his fitness for the work. His
introspection did not reach to a point
«>f suspecting that he, an habitual crim-
inal, was necessarily of a sort to be most
objectionable as the protector of a young
girl. Indeed, had any one suggested
:he thought to him, he would have met
it with a sneer, to the effect that a
wretch thus tired of life could hardly
object to any one who constituted him
self her savior.
In this manner, .Toe Garson, the noto
rious forger, led the dripping girl east
ward through the squalid streets, until
it last they came to an adequately
ighted avenue, and there a taxicab was
found. It carried I hem farther north,
and to the east still, until at last it
*ame to a halt before an apartment
nouse that was rather imposing, set in a
dreet of humbler dwellings. Here, Gar-
jon paid the fare, and then helped the
girl to alight, and on into the hallway.
Mary went with him quite unafraid
hough now with a growing curiosity.
Strange as it all was, she felt that she
*ould trust this man who had plucked
her from death, who had worked over
or with so much of tender kindliness.
So, she waited patiently; only watched
with intentness as he pressed the button
>f the flat number. She observed with
nterest the thick, wavy gray of his
air. which contradicted pleasantly the
youthfulness of his clean-shaven, reso-
ute face, and the spare, yet well-
muscled form.
The clicking of the door-latch sounded
soon, and the two entered and went
slowly up three flights ot stairs. On
the landing beyond the third flight, the
loor of a real fiat stood open, and in
he doorway appeared the figure of a
woman.
“Well, Joe, who’s the skirt?" this per
son demanded, as tlie man and his
charge halted before her. Then, abrupt
ly, the round, baby-like face of the
woman puckered in amazement. Her
voice rose shrill. “My Gawd, if it ain’t
Mary Turner!’’
At that, the newcomer’s eyes opened
swiftly to their widest, add she stared
astounded in her turn.
“Aggie!" she cried. 4
CHAPTER VII.
I N the time that followed, Mary
lived in the flat with Aggie Lynch
occupied along with her brother.
Jim, a pickpocket much esteemed
among his fellow craftsmen. The pe
riod wrought transformations of a
radical and bewildering sort in both
the appearance and the character of
tht girl. Joe Garson, the forger, had
long been acquainted with Aggie and
her brother, though he considered
them far beneath him in the social
scale, since their criminal work was
not of that high kind on which he
prided himself. But, as he cast about
for some woman to whom he might
take the hapless girl he had rescued,
his thoughts fell on Aggie, and forth
with his determination was made since
he knew that she was respectable,
viewed according to his own peculiar
lights. He was relieved rather tiian
otherwise to learn that there was al
ready an acquaintance between the
two women, and the fact that his
charge had served time in prison did
not influence him one jot against her.
On the contrary, it Increased in some
measure his respect for her as one of
his own kind. By the time he had
learned as well of her innocence he
had grown so interested that even her
folly, as he was inclined to deem it.
did not cause any wavering in his
regard.
Now. at las;, Mary Turner let her
self adrift. It seemed to her that
she had abandoned herself to fate in
that hour when she threw herself into
the river. Afterward, without any
volition on her part, she had been
restored to life, and set within an en
vironment now and strange -to her, in
which soon, to her surprise, she dis
covered a vivid pleasure. So, she
fought no more, but left destiny to
work its will unhampered by her fu
tile striving?. For the first time in
her life, thanks to the hospitality of
Aggie Lynch, secretly reinforced from
the funds of Joe Garson, Mary found
herself living in luxurious idleness,
while her every wish could be grati
fied by he merest mention of it. She
was fed on the daintiest of fare, for
Aggie was a sybarite in all sensuous
pleasures that were apart from sex.
She was clothed with the most deli
cate richness for the first time as to
those more mysterious garments
which women love, and she soon had
a. variety of frocks as charming as
her graceful form demanded. In ad
dition, there were as many of books
and magazines as she could wish. Her
mind, long starved like her body, seiz
ed avidly on the nourishment thus
afforded. In this interest. Aggie had
no share—was perhaps a little envi
ous over Mary’s absorption In print
ed pages, kut for her consolation
were the matters of food and dress,
and of countless junketings. In such
directions. Aggie was the leader, an
eager, joyous one always. She took a
vast pride in her guest, with the un
mistakable air of elegance, and she
dared to dream of great triumphs tc
come, though as yet she carefully
avoided any suggestion to Mary of
wrongdoing.
To Ee Continued To-morrow.
By LILLIAN LAUFFERTY.
D arling kitty:
Since I have been over here in
the role of needle in the big New
York haystack, 1 have had blue days
and rose-colored days and just gra>
days; but to-day is all a white glare,
and I think the lights are pretty strong
for my eyes. sis. Not the “Bright
Lights." Iffit the glow and gleam of ex
citement and having adventures follow
themselves up as I didn’t think they
ever could in really truly life.
Your kind attention, sisterkln, and
I will tell my little tale from its
beginning. Three days ago I lost my
Job—but don’t picture me starving on
the streets of New York, for T found
a new one this morning! Hard times—
and cutting down the staff. ’ That is
why I went.
After dealing that blow to my pride
and my literary aspirations, fate turn
ed around and began to treat me like
the perfect gentleman he can some
times be!
A New Job.
I answered thirty advertisements
yesterday—but I did not seem to an
swer any one’s needs. When I got
down to No. 4 on my list to-day I had
arrived at the offices of Clark, Clarke
& Clark, attorneys-at-law. Just when
I began to open the door from the
outside some one was turning the han
dle from the inner realms.
open flies the door collision
. . Madge’s hat takes a little list to
port, and Madge yearns for a port of
her own.
A voice speaks: “I BEG your par
don. Have I upset you completely?
Well, 1 declare—I do seem to run into
you! And on your way to my office
* d is time. Now* what can I do for
you?”
I should have fled the spot I sup
pose. Instead I said, "Your office?"
And 1 wanted to add—“Who are YOU? ’
“Why yes,’’ I am Clarke—the one
with the ‘E.’ Now what can I do for
you?’’
“Give me a position; I have lost
mine." Probably I should not have
.id it—but X did not want to come
home defeated at the end of four
weeks! i wanted work and a chance
to "show” New York—well, I guess I
have both.
I am to get twenty-five dollars a
week in return for my services as "Pri
vate Secretary” and Stenographer to
he firm, which consists of Clarke Sen
ior, forty-five or fifty, as New York
ages go—so he may be sixty or a grand
father at that)! Mr. James T. Clarke,
of whom “more anon,” and Clarks Jun
ior, who looks twenty-two or three, and
thinks life Is to be devoted to getting
a cane with just the crook to fit his
arm to a nicety. He is called Mr.
Tommy, and looks it!
And now for the “Anon" and more
of Mr. Clarke. He is the man who
imped Into me so violently that day
as I was comm;;' < at of Grund Central,
and then invited me to tea to give me a*
‘lance to recover my equilibrium j
thereby quite upsetting it. I will never
do for the wife of a President! For
Mr. Clarke has a perfectly unforgetta
ble voice, and all I could do about re
membering it was feel that it belonged
to someone X had in all probability met
and forgotten—and it was not until he
was my employer, duly signed and seal
ed, that I realized the full force of that j
first impact.
Asked to Tea.
But he was considerate and recom
mended me to the attention of his
partners in the most impersonal, hard-
ly-knew-you-were-a-girl sort of a way.
And yet the girl alone has as her
“Boss" a man who thought he might
venture to ask a little stranger—that
stranger being me—to tea!
Now’. Little Miss Safe-at-Home, think
it over—I need work if I am to be a
self-supporting person in New York,
the while I wait for my literary ability
to develop so it can be seen by people
who are more interested in subscription
pulling than in the mere feeling of per
sonal pride In "Darling Madgie"—and
I like Mr. James T. Clarke. Was I
silly to go on the payroll of Clarke,
Clarke and Clark?
And Kitty, I want to know that man
—so that is a perfectly good reason why
I shouldn’t—since I am an employee In
his office. Mr. Clarke is surely a
gentleman—even if tie is a bit overly
friendly. I shall have to prove that
I am a lady, I suppose, by being overly
unfriendly.
Or, won’t I? Hurry up and give
your sage opinion to
Your loving
MADGE.
: Good Discipline ::
Putting Yourself in Your Wife’s Place
HEARD a man talking about hi* |
wife the other day -he began with i
his wife
and
ho
ende<
.1 w
ith all
tht
* women
in the
wo:
rid.
‘What is
the m
attt
r wi
th 1
;hom?”
he
s&ld bltt
erly. *'
Arc
f they
r all
going
cr£
lzy, or v
hat? 1
I a
m a
goo
il hus-
ba
nd, if I t
jo have
? tc
» say
it
rnyself
to
get any
one to
bel
leve
1 work
lik
e a bond slave
tei
r my
wi
fe and
family; I devote most of my waking
hours and some of my sleeping ones
to thinking of new ways to make mon
money and more money and more
money for her anil the little fellows.
"My wife has a new hat whenever
she wants one, and 1 never complain
about the bill—even if it does make
me feel blue to see it sometimes—a
hat and a feather, * ' • Why, It's
enough to take a man’s breath. And
she goes away in the summer »tiiii
takes tho children and has a fine time
for three months, and qhe has a good
home, and—yet is she happy?
not
mi.
P<
rtly
miser-
tore Me,
•Who i
tay b;
FOR THAT TIRED FEELING
Tdk* Hortfsrri’s Acid Phasahat
ir that sohg I’m whistling?’ ’Who
\va • the woman who stared at me so
in th theater the other night?’ Why
don’t I love her any more?’
“And she’s not the only one. My
bro;her’s wife is the same—worse, if
anything. My brother can’t spend an
evening out to save his life without
his wife wanting to know exactly
where he went and whom he saw, and
11 about it -and she doesn’t believe
him \vh n he tells her the truth."
Nice little preachment, wasn’t It?
Vnd the mar. meant it, too—every
| word of it. You could see that by
! tin* look of irritated, puzzled misery
:n his tired face
What i* the matter with us, any*
, tow. Kiris?
1 wonder if any one knows?
Ft r one thing, it’s the mystery of
j the thing that puzzles us.
Did you ever think of that. Mr
j M a n ?
What If the person you loved best
| in the world, the person you left
! ver\ one you ever cared for just to
1 he with, went away every day to a
, mysterious place he called downtown
i and stayed ill day. and came home
ving with the speech of aliens,
looking ith the look of strangers, al-
j ways thinking, thinkirfg about some
thing that you didn’t know a thing
1 about ?
Wouldn’t
f
’i you wonder sometimes j
| "ha. it all was that made him so j
absent-minded? Wouldn’t you wish
he’d tell you something about it once
in a while, just enough so you could
visualize his day to some extent and
have some sort of vague idea what
is that he does—down there in the
barred city where you must never go?
It Wouldn’t Bore Her.
You know every step your wife
takes all day long—she wants to tell
you all about it—and when you don’t
listen she thinks you are tired of her
It wouldn’t bore her to hear all
about what you do, but you never help
her out a bit. You see. she’s in love
with you; you’re fond of her, but
you are not in love with her. That
isn’t the way you acted when you
were in love. Don’t tell rue! She may
not know much, but no woman on
earth is there who can’t tell when a
man really loves her and when h?
stops loving her. too—so you might as
well stop going over that Action once
and for all.
She’s in love and you aren’t—that’s
all. Help you any to know that ?
Well, maybe not, but it may help
your judgment of her and your sym
pathy. too. Just think back a year
or so and remember now you used
to feel about her. That will help you
to realize that she 1s having rather a
bail time of It herself just now. too.
Morbid, unbalanced, irritating—of
course it is—all of these things, bur so
‘.s the life the woman who loves leids
morbid, unbalanced and irritating
from start to finish.
You'd go crazy in six months if
you had to live it, shut in all day
with a baby; no one to speak to but
the grocer’s boy and the postman; no
big ambitions, no great hopes; just
little things, little, iittle. from morn
ing to night.
Don t scold your wife, don’t be cross
with her. get her mind off the little,
silly suspicions and little stupid curi
osities by telling her a few things
she’d dear y love to know. Tell them
to her without her asking, and sec-
how surprised and delighted she’ll be.
She’ll take just as much interest in
you and your affairs as Jones, and yet
you talk and talk to Jones.
Think it over. Friend Husband. Put
yourself in tho place of the poor little
puzzled thing who’s been tied into a
corset every morning of her life ami
had her poor little tootsies pinched,
and her poor head made to ache by
some fool kind of hair dressing ever
since she can remember, just to got
ready for you and for love, and then
she finds out that love is just a pavt
of life after all and not all of it, as
she has been carefully taught to think,
and she’s al. at sea. Put yourself iu
her odd. confused, mixed up place and
see if you can’t see what’s the matter
with her.
Maybe you can. and if you ’c
you’ve won the battle before it is
fought.
Try it and let’s hear from you—
we’d like to know.
you think any member of your
I family needs a spiritual stimu-
A lant during the present sea
son,” said the young girl with ^ the
camera slung over her shoulder, “buy
him a camera and a tank and a scale
and a few dozen different chemicals,
and a book of direction* 1 and leave
him to his fate. The seeds of humil
ity, patience and long suffering will
bear fruit a thousand fold.
"Don't laugh. It’s true! If you
know anything about the capital sins
you know that pride is at the head of
the list. To cure it, let sonre one take
a good swift snapshot of you when
you’re not looking. It can reveal and
correct more beauty defects than 52
visits to the F'hop where they make
you beautiful while you wait. When
that, same snapshot is three or four
years old and you gaze upon the hat
that was none too becoming in its
best days, you begin to realize that
the lily of the field had some advan
tages over Solomon.
“As for patience, amateur photog
raphy is more instructive than Bruce’s
spider and more effective than Job’s
soliloquies. When you have measured
out 16 ounces eff hypo in a half-ounce
so^le—which means that you have to
balance it 32 times, to the rhythmic
chant of ‘Twenty grains one scruple,
three scruples one dram, eight drams
one ounce’—and then forget whether
the last measure was the twenty-first
or twenty-second half ounce, and you
have to spill it all out and begin all
over again—if you can do it with
cheerful heart your spiritual condition
is encouraging.
Vacation Time.
"When you have come home from
a vacation with several rolls of films
and begin developing the best and
most cherished roll, and It comes out
of the tank distinct and clear and you
drop it into a bowl of innocent looking
hot water which should have been
cold—a bowl which a member of your
family had placed carelessly at your
side—and you see your jolly groups of
bathers and eanoers run into a shape
less mass of gelatin and you hold in
your hand a blank film roll, then if
you can turn to the offender and say
with serenity: ‘It’s all right, 1 really
don’t mind then you have merit
ed a triple halo.
“Do you wish to understand your
neighbor? Try a group picture. In
the first place, when It comes to pos
ing a group, have you ever observed
the serene indifference with which
each member regards the position and
advantages of every other member?
The most humble and retiring indi
vidual quietly and persistently slides
into an advantageous position, re
gardless* of the same desire on the
part of everyone else,
"And when that same group has
been finished and you talk about light
and shade, tone and contrast—you
were not in it. of course—and you try
to get anvone else to observe tiles,
points and you say, ‘Don’t you think
the shadows are good?’ your friend
will invariably reply. ‘I didn’t know I
had a double chin!’ or ‘I certainly
can’t wear a soft collar!’
"Then you suddenly realize that
your modest, 3elf-cffacing friend lias
a normal ego.
“For social popularity the snapshot
is an open sesame. If with your ‘bread
and butter' letter you can inclose a
few snapshots of the infant idol of
the family, of your host’s new chicken
coop, or your hostess’ new porch set,
the invitation to come again will be
sincere and urgent.
"When it comes wo generosity
gentle art of snapshotting lias fro
equal. Suppose in a rash moment you
have promised each of eight friends
a full set of twelve prints. After a
preliminary struggle with drams and
scruples you start in to print. Your
family admonishes, urges and finally
commands you to be sensible and go
to bed, but you feel that you must
persist in your altruistic endeavors.
It is midnight before you set your
96 prints to wash in a bowl of run
ning water in the kitchen sink.
“When you return at the end of an
hour you find that several of the
prints, with the perversity of inani
mate things, have slipped over the
draiii and a miniature Niagara is
splashing down upon the floor, on
which the water is already three
inches deep. You try a mop, which Is t
no more effective than a handkerchief
in the Gulf of Mexico.
“The heat has been off two hours
and it’s 10 degrees below zero, and
the kitchen has a west exposure, but
you open the door and sweep strenu
ously and exhaustively. And you hear
the splash of the water on the porch, #
on the landing below, then on the ^
walk in the yard, and you think of I
the profile of drainage of the great
lakes. And you tread lightly and
softly, partly because you are re
luctant to dislodge the water-soaked
ceiling in the flat below and partly
because you are afraid of wakin-
your family and bringing down or.
your unoffending head a chorus
‘I told you so’s.’
“After three hours of hard labor
you close the door just before the
milkman tears up the back stairs.
And then, when you come to the
breakfast tabic the next morning,
heavy lidded and sore of spirit, but
discreetly silent, another of your
household comes in and says in a
convincing and appealing tone: I’m
dead tired! I didn’t sleep a wink last
night! ’
“Then, if you can restrain your
words of contradiction and offer
sympathy in soft and gentle tones,
with an invisible smile for the audi
ble slumbers to the rhythm of which
you swished a broom half the night—
well, amateur photography has done
more for you than Gideon Bibles and
long weeks of fasting and sacrifice:”
WOMAN SICK
FOURTEEN YEARS
Restored to Health by,
Lydia E. Pinkham's •’
V egetable Compound.
Elkhart, Ind.:—-"I suffered for
fourteen .rears from organic inflam
mation, female
weakness, pain and
irregularities. The
fains in m.v sides
"'ere increased b.v <
"'Hiking or stand
ing on my feet and
I had such awful
fearing down feel
ings, was depressed
in spirits and be-
xame thin and pale
with dull, heavy
'.res. i had six
doctors trom whom I received only
temporary relief, i decided to give
Lydia E. Pinkham’s tegetable Com
pound a fair trial and also the Sana-
tne Mash. I have Niow used the
remedies for four months and can
not express my thanks for what thev
have done for me.
“If these lines will tie of any bene
fit you nave my pcrmi R,
iish them.”—Mrs. Same Williams.
4oo James Street. Elkhart. Indiana*
I.ydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable
Compound, made from native roots
and herbs, contains no narcotic .r
harmful drugs, and to-day holds the
record of being the most successful
remedy for female ills we know of.
and thousands of voluntary testi
menials on file in the Pinkliam lab
oratory at r.ynn. Mass., seo,,,
prove tiiis fact.
If you have the slightest doubt
that Lydia E. Pinkhann _ vege.„„.^
Compound will help you, write to
Lydia E. Pinkham Medicine Co. (con
fidential.) Lynn, Mass., for advice.
Your letter will be opened, read and
answered by a woman, and held in
strict confidence.