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% IMF A Bachelor’s Diary BEAUTY SECRETS OF BEAUTIFUL WOMEN Eifie Shannon l ells Why Twenty -five Years of Work. Has Only Made Her Younger Their Married Life Jack Spencer's Infatuation for the Widow Becomes Serins and His \\ ife Notices It. By MAX. 1n M ARCH 2S.—I had thought con stantly this morning of our evening with the widow al the station last night; of Jack Spencer s evident Infatuation; of the wat which he monopolised her, and the possessive manner In which he took her to the train, though I had hoped to have that privilege; of Sally Spencer's only half-concealed distress, and of the wid ow's triumphant look when she left us. She is an unacrupulous woman. So many women who are fascinating ate, and she holds a grudge against Mrs. Spencar because of the efforts Sally made last winter to prevent me from marrying All this made me uneasy, and know ing Jack to be weak, just as T am weak and Just as all men are weak, 1 felt an apprehension that was almost womanish. I was not surprised during the morn ing to get a telephone message from Mrs. Spencer to come over for a little ■ plain talk,” she said, and it was with a decided feeling of relief that I as. sented. He Walked In. With the privilege framed an old friend I did not stop to knock when I reached Mrs. Spencer's door, but walked in unannounced, making my way to a certain little sunny Bitting room where she always spent her mornings making up her household account*, sewing, writing letters and engaged in similar little tasks which take up so much of a methodical woman's time, and which we men neither can comprehend nor ap preciate. She had been engaged in running a ribbon through some dainty laoe-trim- med garment, hut it had fallen un noticed to the floor beside her, and with her hands lying idly on her lap she was gazing intently through the window. I stepped behind her and looked over her head to see what so engrossed her. The window commanded a view of my back lawn and the picture at wh'ch she gaaed was so pretty I did not wonder at her absorption. Richards had placed a little table on the lawn, and Manette was giving a dinner party, with Sarah Rae Hartman, four dolls, the brown- eved pup and two kittens as her guests. The dolls were sitting holt upright in their chairs with faces so lacking in expression that they looked like real society ladies; the two kittens on one side, not so well bred, were lapping cream from tiny saucers on the table, and the pup. on the opposite side, was harking so fiercely it became necessary for Manette to pause while feeding a doll on her lap to pacify him by stick ing a cake In his mouth. His anger at the kittens, plainly because of their ill-breeding, could not be choked off by rake, and we looked and he gave one hound across the table, the kittens fled without asking to be excused, and sought shelter up the nearest tree with the pup at their heels. I am proud of Manette for many things, and one is that she seldom cries. With her tea table upset and her tea party broken up, she did not give a howl like most babies, but dropped the doll baby and ran aftoc the pup. Tomp kins caught him before he had caught the kittens and restored him to Ma- nette’s arms, who punished him by put ting him to bed in u doll buggy. There he lay, with his head on a pillow, his brown eye.« making a plea for pardon and his pink tongue hanging out. She Weeps. “Does life .offer nny greater pleasure than that"" 1 said to Mrs. Spencer when she had turned around and found me there. Then I noticed that her eyes were filled with tears. •‘Max.' she said, drawing up a chair for me. "that," looking to where Ma nette was tying a doll bonnet on the pup's head, preparatory to taking him for a ride, "is all there is in life worth while. The love men and women have for each other is only a means to hap piness. and that is never attained unless there is a child. "Your home, though you are a bach elor, is happier than mine because of the presence of a child. I tell you. Max, you don’t know how well off you are." "But." I argued, feeling that in some indefinable way 1 was put on the de fensive. "there are lonesome moments even when there is a child I am a man grown with all a man's longing for the companionship of his i>eers. al talk does not satisfy me. I get down to Manette’* size every hour In the day, and when evening comes and she has gone to bed I long for the companion- dp of one who talks my own lan guage. And," growing more emphatic because of the look of disapproval In her eyes, "it is a longing that the society of men doesn't satisfy, and as good and patient as you and Jack are with me, letting me come over here every even ing to forget my loneliness, it is a crav ing that even the companionship of two such good friends can't gratify. Oh, Sally, you are a woman, and a woman never understands!" A Suggestion. "No," she said sadly, "a woman never understands. And a man never under stands either, and here we are, tied to gether for life, and neither understand ing the other. It is a wonder we are as happy as we are. You have no wife to ‘understand’ you," a little sarcastically, "and I have a husband who doesn't ‘understand’ me, but you have a child, and are better off than I." "If you feel that way about it, why don’t you adopt one? There's Harah Rae. for Instance. I have an idea her parents would be glad to give her away." She paid no heed to what I had said, hut gazed out of the window with her mind so far away that her eyes took no note of the efforts Sarah Rae was making to hold the pup in the doll buggy while Manette dragged It back md forth on the garden path. She turned toward me very suddenly. "What is Mrs. Brown’s address?” "But why—" I stammered. "I intend to ask her here to spend a week," she replied. "Sally," I said, "you are mad. If Jack is infatuated with the widow, why do you want to make his infatuation worse? She is gone. He will never see her again, and why, for the Lord's sake, give Mm a chance to play with fire by having her here?" "You say a woman never under stands. You are wrong; it is your sex that is stupid." "But—" I began. Then I decided it was no use. There is never any use of arguing with a woman, so I pulled a notebook out of my pocket, copied Hrs. Brown’s address on a card I found on the table, and handed it to her without a word. "By the wav." as if she had almost forgotten it; "Margaret Hill is com ing also." Margaret Hill! The girl 1 asked to he my wife, but who refused me when she learned there was a breach of promise suit pending against me. The good lit tle I’uritan. who was so good she was .too good! I am sure my face showed i my surprise. A Bitter Cry. "1 tried to tell you at the station last night," she continued, "hut you were so absorbed in the coming of the widow you refused to hear me." "Max," abruptly changing the subject, "is a man’s love ever won for all time? I won Jack Spencer’s love when I was a girl twenty years ago, and 1 have been engaged in trying to keep ir won ever since. I sometimes wonder"—a little bitterly—"if the love of a husband is worth 'the struggle a woman must make to hold it. It Is fight, fight, fight, all the time; a fight to retain my personal charms, a fight to keep him interested, a fight to forget myself in satisfying everv longing he may have, physical, menial or spiritual; a tight to give him just so much of myself that he will never know satiety and will always want more; a fight to keen him from the clutches of that Other Woman, always standing like a threatening phantom in the back ground; and then, when I have his love, what do I possess? Something about as lasting us a soap bubble, and never worth the price!" "Look here. Hally Spencer," T said in real alarm, for this was so unlike her, "you are getting morbid, and t won’t stand for it. Come with me," draw ing her from her chair, and leading her to the door. Five minutes later we were highly honored guests at the table of Sarah Rae. who was hostess this time, each holding a kitten und a doll Us a special mark of honor. But is that so. Diary, what she said about the love of man? Use Palmer’s Skin Whitener And Watch Your Skin Turn Lighter D ON'T doubt its possibility. Idle doubt never yet accomplished anything. Put it to an actual test. If you have a very dark and coarse, swarthy looking complexion, and you want to improve it. do something. There is nothing that can't bo improved. We Will Give You Free a Trial Box of p a i mers skin T^Titentm^XTs^^Mutd see with your own'eyes « hat it does. There la absolutely no doubt about its marvelous whitening: effect upon u dark complexion. You can watch the skin turning fairer after each application And It clears tbe complexion of all blotches and makes the skin soft and smooth. You Can Believe Your Own Even and that ls „. hy we wiu give™youarr7esampl^bo3u\V«^oulTsnow you hundreds of testi monials from enthusiastic users of Palmer's Skin Whitener, but prefer to let you use It and watch the actual improvement in your own complexion. Palmer's Skirt Whitener Is Made By LILLIAN LAUFFERTY. ; T HE "Everybody’s Doing It" of to- j day Is—trying to look young. Row- I der, pencil, patches, paint—art and artifice—these are the methods most of ] us accept; and these methods are all wrong; they "gild the surface" and scarcely deceive the most casual ob- ! server. But there is a way to be so young and charming In spirit that the yearn creep on as friends, rather than ene- j mies. There Is a secret of eternal j youth- and Effie Shannon knows it. After a quarter of a century on the j stage, Effie Shannon stands before us, slender, vibrant with life, magnetic and ! lovely, with the beauty 6f a clean-cut cameo. DELICATE, DAINTY EFFIE 1 SHANNON HAS BEEN A WORKER FOR TWENTY-FIVE YEARS. Think of that, you little girls who fret lest your j days of toil cheat you of youth and make you old before you have crossed life's threshold! As the curtain falls on the evening- hushed rose garden in "Years of Dis cretion" at the Belasho Theater, Miss Shannon is happily echoing her lover- husband's, "It is wonderful to be old.” IT IS WONDERFUL TO BE OLD. IF YOU HAVE THE INNER SPIRIT OF ETERNAL YOUTH—like Effie, of >he play, and the charming woman who portrays her. In the close intimacy of the dress ing room, Miss Shannon is absolutely fresh and untouched by time, and yet she calmly said: "I am glad I am not young any more. Think of all the experience—the richness and fullness of life that I know. Think how high my spirit has fed. Do you think I'd give any of it—any line on my face— and retrace the years, and have a pretty mask with no background of life and feeling? / "Then to you true beauty 1s expres sion, is it not?" I asked. Beauty Is Expression. "Yes; true beauty IS expression— und to acquire beauty or to accent it, a woman must have imagination and sympathy. "I never can sufficiently emphasize imagination and sympathy. Cultivate them—they are a woman's greatest friends. They give a deeper meaning to loveliness, and they veil plainness. "Imagination means dreaming—seeing deep into life and interpreting it. Sym pathy means being in tuwe w?th all of it. % "And as the years pass, a woman becomes more and more capable of them. So why should not a woman who cultivates these qualities become lovelier with the years?” “ ‘We must cultivate our garden. Do you remember that quotation? You seem to live it." 1 said. Her lovely Illuminating smile lit Miss Shannon’s face. "I do remember —'The Beloved Vagabond’ said it— and women who value their great gift, beauty, must cultivate the flowers of imagination and sympathy in the garden of mind and soul. And live! Live life in fullness. Remember you are an individual -a separate soul and learn to be your true self. Don't you think that will insure a beautiful ex- I presslon—deep, tender eyes, a sweet j mouth and a happy soul to illuminate j he face?” asked the charming star ear- ! neatly. Beware of Fat. "1 do, indeed," i replied. "We all must cultivate our gardens. But how about uprooting the weeds—fat for Instance?" "Fat is a noxious weed." laughed vtiss Shannon. "Girls must never get fat if they want to he beautiful. People do eat too much in New York —in all the big cities where dinners md teas at home or in the restaurants are occasions. Beware of too much or too rich food! "1 will tell you how simply I live Breakfast: Tea. toast and a hit oi fruit. Luncheon—nothing. Not a bite Dinner I have at five every day—anC it is a very simple meal. After thf play I have a simple supper, too, if I am hungry. (*>ne needs to see people to keep in touch with life—to have mo ments of gayety and absolute self-for getfulness—to he with friends. After the play happens to he my free time. So 1 go to simple little suppers and ‘njoy them. "Food is not the only practical con sideration 1n connection with keeping bin. A very important one is:. DON’T TAKE NAP6. Those little afternoon sleepy times are dangerously fattening—and life is too short to sleep away. Keep busy—keep doing things, and you will grow in strength, but not in beauty-destroying pounds." "Suppose all else failed to give you the modern ‘straight silhouette," would you wear painfully tlgnt clothes and shoes as you do in the play in or der to he young and alluring," I asked? "NO!" said the graceful star em- ihatically. “Who could he charming with tight shoes on? TIGHT SHOES TORTURE YOUR MIND AS WELL AS YOUR FEET. And ‘five t**!**" of garters' strapping you down firmly - you could not feel in tune with life you would feel only i*tin—in this world full of beauty you would he conscious only of a body painfully striving for fashionable contours. Good corsets, shoes that fit, suitable clothes, they will, when prope.rly adjusted and selected, help you give tlie impression of youth. But they are the lesser aids. • "Youth is a matter of spirit and feel ing, you know. Feel young; think young eager thoughts; love life in its fullness of work and play and Joy and sorrow. "But to be beautiful, you must be young in spirit—not in years. TIME AND EXPERIENCE AND FEELING MU8T CHISEL A FACE TO MAKE IT REALLY BEAUTIFUL; THE SPIR IT OF KNOWLEDGE MUST ILLUMI NATE BEAUTY TO MAKE IT LOVE LY AND PERMANENTLY ATTRAC TIVE. "Express your own true self always better and better—and then it is wonderful to be old’—for your spirit will be gloriously young, and your SPIRIT WIL r MAKE YOU GLOW WITH THE FIRES OF ETERNAL YOUTH." And as Miss Shannon’s voice, fibrant with imagination and sympathy, alight with feeling, and truly expressive of her own rare self, brought me her mes sage, I knew I had heard a vital truth. Youth is deeper than powder and paint and clothes—Youth is Soul. Helen, from a Box, Looks Down Upon Warren at a Banquet at the Astor-Ritz. \ By MABEL HERBERT URNER. 4 , r . “BE SI JRE TO BURN LOVE LE ITERS” By ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. An Eye to Business mWmmsm : % Miss Effie Shannon in Two Charming Poses. in our c.n* n labora- harmless Beware of the market is tory. and we guarantee it to be pure and worthless and dang-erou* imitations with which flooded. Regular price, 25c, postpaid. We will give you a free trial box if you will present this ad vertisement at any of our stores. If sample is to be mailed, send 4c for postage. We want Good Agents. Big Money, made easily. If you are interested, write us for terms. FOR SALE BY ALL JACOBS’ STORES AND DRUGGISTS GENERALLY. "Prisoner at the bar," declaimed the learned Judge, "your offense is of such a nature that:, if you plead guilty, 1 will let you off with a fine." "Pardon me," and the prisoner's coun sel popped suddenly up from his seat. "Before we plead guilty, it will he nec essary for us to know exactly how much the fine will be." "But this is unprecedented, sir!" ex claimed the Judge warmly. "You can not bargain with the Court." "Well, it may be a little unusual, Your Honor," replied the lawyer, “hut 1 am sure, when you learn the full cir cumstances of the case, you will entirely agree to my proposition. You see. the prisoner is in the possession of $60; my fee is $50. and so we cannot afford to plead guilty if you insist on fining him more than $10." D ON’T keep lo\e letters. Unless you are receiving them from your own wife or husband or your fiance, you might better keep a box of dynamite in your kitchen or in troduce an infernal machine into your household than to guard a package of love letters. Let them perish in their own fires as soon as absorbed by the eye and heart. If your engagement is broken, even though one or both swear never to mar- jv, nevertheless it is worse than folly to keep the letters exchanged during the existence of tender relations. Fate plays such strange pranks with us all. Your lover may some day he President of the United States, or youi sweetheart the wife of a great celebrity, and unnecessary pain and annoyance en sue from the unearthing of those old letters by some accident. Burn them, I say, burn them! VERY FOOLISH. I T is one thing to have your husband or wife tell you of an early rehearsal of Cupid’s drama before you met. It is another to encounter the love letters written during that period—which seem to your exacting heart more realistic than the role you have been engaged to play for life. Sometimes a sensible moral being is suddenly swept off his feet by a tidal wave of passion. Sometimes he is safely landed on shore by a happy turn of the wind or by the life-saving crew of Providence. Vie hides his bruises, and no one knows of his brief disaster—unless he carries about with him the incriminating let ter. Oh, the folly of It! BURN THEM ALL. IT is no easy task, how ever, to burn * or destroy, a letter that is dear to you. A genuine love letter breathes the very fragrance of the writer's soul. Who capable of understanding the grand pas sion has not felt the keen sense of pleas ure that was twin to pain at the sight of the beloved one's handwriting? Where is the man or woman so stolid or com monplace who has not at some time kissed the page whereon a dear hand lias rested and then hidden it near the heart whose accelerated throbs welcomed its approach? And who of deep feeling and wide ex perience has not at some time felt his own heart scorching with the parcel of letters he tossed upon the coals? But human hearts have a Phoenix-like propensity for rising from their own ashes., strong with new life and capable of new emotions. Let there be no ac cusing records of the old. Let the dead bury its dead. However it hurts, whatever it costs, burn your love letters. Cleek of the Forty Faces By T. W. HANSHAW. Copyright by Doubleday, Page & Co. TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. "I knew' her the instant I entered the house; and, remembering th^ Chanticler dress with its fowl’s-foot boots, 1 guessed at once what those marks would prove to be when I came to investigate them. She must have stamped on the ground with all her might, to sink the marks in so deeply -but she meant to make sure of the claws and the exaggerated scales on the toes leaving their imprint. I was certain we should find that dress and those boots among her effects; and—Mr. Narkom did. What I wrote on that pretended telegram was for him to slip away into the house proper and search every trunk and cupboard for them. "What’s that? No. I don’t think they really had any idea of incrim inating Sir Roger Droger. That thought came into the fellow' s mind when you stepped out and caught him stealing away after the mur der had been committed. No doubt he. like you, had seen Sir Ralph practicing.for the sports, and he sim ply made capital of it. “The main idea was to kill h>° fa ther and to destroy the will; and. of course, when it became apparent that the old gentleman had died intestate. even a. discarded son must inherit. Where he made his blunder, however, was in his haste to practice his ven- trilociuial accomplishment to prevent your going into the Round House and discovering that his father was al ready dead. "He ought to have waited until you spoke, so that it would appear natural for the old men to know with out turning who it was that had opened the door. That is w'hat put me on the track of him. Until that mo ment I hadn’t the slightest suspicion w'here he was nor under W'hat guise he was hiding. “Of course. T had a vague sus picion even before I came and saw her that ‘the cook’ was in it. Her readiness in inventing a fictitious gypsy with a bear's muzzle coupled with what Nippers had told me of the animal marks she had pointed out, looked a bit fishv; but, of course, un til I actually met her nothing really tangible began to take shape in my thoughts. "That’s all. T think. And now good night and good luck to you. Miss Ren frew. The riddle is solved; and Mr. Narkom and I must be getting back to the wilderness and to our ground floor be<fs in the hotel of the beautiful stars!” THE END r was just 9:30 when Helen, in an evening gown and long white wrap, hurried down to a taxicab. "The Astor-Ritz," she called to the driver as she gathered her chiffon skirts about her white satin slippers and stepped in. To be whirling through the streets alone at 9:30 was for Helen a new sensation, and always self-conscious, she dreaded arriving at the Astor-Ritz unescorted. It was the night of the annual dinner of the International Fraternal Society. Mr. Jennings had invited Warren to the dinner and had given him a box ticket for Helen. She was supposed to ar rive about 10, to sit in a box over looking the banquet hall and listen to the speeches. With a fluttering heart she left the cab and ran up the awning-covered steps of the Astor-Ritz. Kefenly con scious that she was alone, she hurried through the lobby to the nearest ele vator. At the entrance to the balcony of the banquet hall the doorman took her ticket and escorted her to one of the boxes in which were already seated three beautifully gowned women. Below was the banquet hall with a long speakers’ table at the end, and countless smaller tables crowded so close that the waiters could hardly pass be tween. It was a brilliant scene—the lights, the flower-decked tables, the high, gilded ceiling and gleaming chan deliers. Helen’s first impulse as she leaned over the red plush railing of the box was to find Warren. But it was not easy to locate any one in that great crowded hall, with all the diners in evening dress, and each with a white carnation in his buttonhole. Not Warren. Was that Warren with his back to wards her at that table by the pillar? She leaned forward eagerly, but as she caught a glimpse of the man’s side face her searching glance swept on to other tables. # The waiters were just bringing on the dessert—a pinkish ice in tall slender glasses. There were many things in the table appointments that Helen was eager to notice, but she could not be content until she had located Warren. Then suddenly she saw him at a table near the center. Why had she not seen him at once? Surely no one else looked so distinguished! If he would only look up! But he was talking to the man at his right. He had promised to look for her around 10, and it was that now, but he kept on laughing and talking, not even glacing towards the boxes. The waiter had just placed before him his frozen ice and refilled his wine glass. Then Helen saw that every one at War ren’s table was drinking champagne. Some of the other tables had cham pagne, some had claret, and at a few there were no wine glasses at all. Warren was looking up now! He was glancing toward the boxes! He saw Helen and waved his napkin. Helen flushed with pride as the other women in the box turned to look at her. In spite of their expensive gowns and jewels Helen felt certain that their hus- ands were not at handsome and dis tinguished as Warren. The waiters had now' all lined up by the door, each carrying a tray piled high with small w'hite boxes—the din ner souvenirs. At a sign from the head waiter, they filed in and out through the ables, leaving a white box beside eachj 1 plate. Had the dinars been women, they would have instantly opened the boxes, but the men seemed hardly to notice •them. So Helen’s curiosity was not gratified. The Dinner Over. At length the dinner was over. The waiters began carrying out the dishes and the pink-shaded candles, most of which had burned out. The orchestra that had been playing in a balcony above the boxes now stopped. The chairman at the speakers’ table rose and rapped for order. Helen won dered why he was chairman, small and insignificant with a thin voice that did not carry. After some tedious] remarks which no one could hear, he in troduced the first speaker of the even ing, Dr. Olony, an eminent sociologist. Helen leaned forward with eager in terest. The speakers were all promi nent men, and she felt thir addrsses would be well worth hearing. But Dr. Olony began with the usual trite pre liminary remarks about it being "an honor to address so distinguished a gathering." Then to Helen’s dismay he produced a formidable manuscript and preceded to read It. Everybody sat back resignedly. After the first few moments Helen did not l. The women beside ,, ^_ _ her kept up a running conversation.^ 1 * Mrs. M. ZEUNER, 1045 New Jer- Several men had now come up to the se y street, Lawrence, Kansas. ♦ arious boxes to sit with their wives and friends. The eminent Dr. Olony was still reading in a monotonous voice. Helen's glance never left Warren for Vegetable Compound cured me of awful long, and now she saw him push back hsokarhe whioh T hnH cnflFavorl txtJ+K his chair and leave the table. He looked DacKacne wnicn 1 fiad suttered with for up and nodded. He was coming up to months. 1 was so weak I could hardly do lier! my work and my head and eyes ached all "Well, what do you think of it?" when Vr*n*. , v he entered the box and took the chaif . e ^ ime * Your Compound helped me beside her. m many ways and is a great strength- “Oh, dear, it’s very interesting." hap- p ner t a ] waV o recommend it tn oily excited now that she was with her. T . * 1 Always recommend it to my How wonderful he looked—how dis- friends and tell them what a grand mecf- prou U di S y ed! Her eJ eS reSted ° n hImicine it is for women. You may use my "Rotten speaker,’’ he grumbled. “A ^ ame £ or the good of Others. —Mrs., •nan ought to be mobbed for reading a JOHN FRANCIS, Burns, Montana, speech at a dinner like this. What peo-i . « T «. _. . pie want is short pointed addresses of I makers Oi Lydia E. Pinkham’a say—five minutes. That boob's been Vegetable Compound have thousands of spouting for fifteen. . "Oh, dear you didn't bring me your suc n letters as those above—they tell souvenir. I wanted so much to see the truth, else they could not have been •Forgot the blamed thing. Get it for obtained for love or money. Thismed- you later. Wonde. who that stunning Icine is no stranger — it has stood the woman is in that box over there?" Helen followed his glance to the dark-|* CBl ' lor / earB * haired regal-looking woman. She was undeniably beautiful. Her gown of white lace was cut strikingly low, and there were strands of pearls about her throat and in her hair. Helen was not often jealous, but somehow she felt suddenly plain and poorly gowned be side the striking loveliness of that woman. The speaker finished now and sat down amid much applause. He bowed repeatedly, not seeming to realize thai the applause was only an expression of relief that he was through. Again the chairman rapped for order. t This time a United States Senator was introduced. To Helen’s relief he had no notes, his voice was deep and booming, and he was plainly used to talking on his feet. But his ranting eloquence was just words—empty phrases. He had nothing particular to say and was merely "orating." Warren, who loathed after-dinner speaking, and who rarely attended big dinners because he would not be bored, was becoming restive. "How many more of these guys do we have to stand for?" drawing from his pocket the dinner menu, on the back of which were the names of the speakers. "Suffering cats! FOUR more? Well, I guess not! We’ll cut it and make for home." "Oh, dear, we d better wait & little longer! It’ll look rude to leave so early. Mr. Jennings will think we didn’t en joy it." "Guess he's bored stiff, too. Why in blazes don’t they have some live talkers instead of ringing in a lot of dead ones?” If the speech of the eminent sociolo gist had been long, the Senator’s seemed interminable. He boomed on with high- sounding phrases about "The Achieve ments of the Nineteenth Century... The Splendid Strides of Civilization The Advancement of Society,” and something about "Shining Orbits in the Sky of Future Progress Blazing in Front of the Jeweled Crown of an Un conquerable Race." Every one was becoming impatient and restive, even the chairman had his mallet poised as though anxious to rap It, but still the Senator kept on shout ing his oratorical phrases. Missed the Souvenir. "Gosh, that fellow loves to hear him self talk,’’ growled Warren. "He’s good for another hour yet. Come ON!" f "But dear, we must wait—we can't leave while he’s speaking," whispered Helen. "Like to know why we can’t? Here's where I get out!" "And I didn’t g’et the souvenir—I didn’t even see what they were!" be* wailed Helen, as Warren hurried her out through the crowded corridors of the Astor-Ritz. "Souvenirs!" with a contemptuous sniff. "Well I wouldn't have stood for any more of that duffer’s speech for a dozen souvenirs. I’ll wager he’s spout ing there yet." "Yes, he WAS tiresome," Helen ad mitted. sinking back in the taxicab with a sigh of relief. Then laughingly. "Dear, if you ever make an after-dinner- speech, don’t begin by saying you ‘feel honored to address so distinguished a gathering.’ And don’t—PLEASE don’t, use a lot of fine phrases that mean nothing." "Huh," snorted Warren, "don’t you worry! If ever I make a public speech i’ll have something to say, and I’ll say it blamed quick, and have gumption enough to sit down when I’m through." KANSAS WOMAN WHO SUFFEREB From Headache, Backache, Dizziness and Nervousness, Restored to Health by Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. Lawrence, Kans. — “ A year ago 1 was He wap suffering from a number of ailments. I always had pain and was irregular. Dur ing the delay I suf fered a great deal with headache,back* ache, dizziness, fev erish spells,nervous ness and bloating. I had been married nearly three years. I took Lydia E.Pink- ham’s Vegetable Compound and now I feel better than I have for years. J recommend Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vege- I ’ e,eu u, “ " ol table Compound to all who suffer as I pretend to listen. The women beside ... .... Montana Woman’s Case. Bums, Mont. —“Lydia E. Pinkham’s Do Y ou Worry? Tom Powers, the Famous Cartoonist, Has a Scream ingly Funny Feature in The Sunday American