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| A Romance of Great Wealth and the Came J | ' FT T\ / 17 PQ A \ j J/' TT f^\ D 'T’ E7 D Q A NoCelizalion °) the Successful Play of the j
! of Finance as Played by Money Kings J. A 1 l i 1 A 1 a X l\/ll 1 J^L V-/A\. A 1 Same Name Now Running in New York.
Little Bobbie’s
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' r ■' — " ■ ■■■ ■■ ■ - ■ Nathan filled in the hiatus with a
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX
rpHF, little Kiri of this atory was
one of the Sample Kiris, a large
family of which you doubtless
have heard many timea. Her baptis
mal name is immaterial, but we will
call her Grace, that helm? Just the sort
of name for a Kiri who was so sweet
and pretty In the beginning.
She awakened one morninR feelinK
strangely depressed and irritable. She
hadn’t slept well; the morninR had
come too soon, a habit It has under
such circumstances, and she crawled
out of bed without her customary
feeling of gratitude for health,
strength and a ple-arant home.
She dressed quickly and nervously,
her irritation finding vent in the man
ner in which she Jerked on one gar
ment after another, snapping off a
button here and tearing a rent where
a hook had caught in another place,
each little accident adding fuel to her
wrath till, by the time she had dress
ed and was ready for breakfast, It
had burst into full flame.
Mother always understands, and the
mother of Grace understood. Indeed
she had been expecting Just such a
scene for many days. But she said
nothing, knowing among the many
things that are revealed only to
motherhood when silence is best
The girl was moody and snappy to
the girl friends she met on her way
to work, and w r hen she reached the
office she opened her typewriter desk
with the same resentful hang she had
given the door w'hen she left home.
She took her dictation carelessly and
Indifferently, mistakes resulted, and
he*' employer spoke to her so sharply
that when she returned from luncheon
there were traces of tears around her
eyes.
Just the Same.
The afternoon was a duplicate of
the morning, and her manner toward
the girls she met on the way home
was so much worse that they formed
little groups on the cars and shunned
her. Not that she cared at all' If
Grace had eared, her manner would
have been less reprehensible.
It made no difference to her, she
argued, looking sullenly out of the
window. She didn’t care for them
any way, and she didn’t have any
use for friends, and hoped she never
would have any. She hated every
body; she hated her position down
town; she neared her home with a
growing dislike for every one in it
She knew just how the family would
look, what they would say and what
there would be for supper; every
familiar detail of the home appeared
in memory as something unbearably
hideous.
She was tired, she was bored, she
even, as she opened tfye door of her
home, wished she were dead, and the
sullen tones in which she gave a curt
‘ Yes’’ to her mother’s cheerful in
quiry of “Is that you. Grace?” bore
out her mother’s mental diagnosis
of her case in the morning.
It is a very good thing for every
one to occasionally take a thought
bath, and had Grace taken one that
day she would have found that the
fault lay not with others, but with
herself. Her temper, her morbidness
and her selfishness all had their ori
gin in overtaxed nerves
And this thought bath might have
revealed to Ijer that she hadn’t over
taxed her nerves in giving pleasure to
others, but in seeking it for herself.
A Mistaken Thought.
She was confined In an office all
day, and with the blindness of youth
thought that pursuit of pleasure at
night meant rest. The evenings she
spent at home were devoted to read
ing highly seasoned fiction till a late
hour instead of good, wholesome
books till a reasonable hour and then
going to bed. Or she invited In a few
friends who came at 9 instead of at S.
and stayed till midnight instead of till
10, and she made fudge and filled her
stomach with all that Is unholy.
Sometimes she went to a dance and
•layed till 2, because she was too
young to know 12 was late enough,
and on other occasions she went to a
theater and tortured her stomach wLh
a supper at midnight.
She was paying the penalty fo>-
overtaxing her strength. She was
burning the candle at both ends, an
illumination that is the funeral pv.\
of the grace, the charm, the strength
the freshness of youth.
Are you. my dear, like Grace? rc
you one of the Sample girls?
Use Cottolene
for cooking
Having backed heavily the peace of
Europe Nathan Rothschild is discon
certed to find that Napoleon has
burst forth again, and all the bank
er’s outpouring of gold for national
development In England will be en
dangered. The banker hastens to
Waterloo. There are the English,
who have guaranteed to him that the
peace of Europe shall he maintained
From a height above the field of bat
tle Rothschild sees the whole of 11
Rothschild sees that the wealth of
the world lies in London, his for the
taking if he can he first on the
ground with the news of the battle
He hurries to London, and next
morning appeared on the Exchange
That night he went to bed $10,000
000 richer.
Seven years later a great banker
left Vienna, another Naples, another
Paris and another London, and trav
eled to a little old house in Jews’
Lane, In Frankfort-arn-Main. It
was a gathering of the bouse of
Rothschild. Perhaps some king was
very hard pressed for money.
Now Go on With the Story,
By KATHRYN KEY,
Copyright, 1913, by the New York Even
ing Journal Publishing Company.
“Do you live in Paris?” she in
quired.
He nodded. “My business keeps
me there.’’
“And you are a friend of famous
composers:
“Shall I introduce myself for
mally?" he smiled.
The girl held up an imperative
finger. “Wait—-I will guess. Are
you little Jacob?”
Little Jacob's laugh rang through
the house and the girl's silvery voice
Joined In so that Prau Oudula heard
them afar and smiled.
"Now. it is your turn to guess.”
cried the girl, putting up her glow
ing face as if to give him plenty
of opportunity for inspection. Jacob
thought it an excellent opportunity
for a number of things that he had
considered somewhat frivolous up to
this time, but which now assumed
an entirely disproportionate import
ance. He felt unwonted stirrings in
his chest, a phenomenon that he dis
covered to be due to certain remark
able performances on the part of hi6
heart.
"You don't belong to Frankfort,"
he said with a conviction that was
not complimentary to the staid old
city.
“Well—no,” admitted the girl
“Who—and what—do you think I
am?”
Heard His Grandmother.
The “Who" might have stumped
him, hut Jacob felt that he would
tell her with much fervor what she
was—the loveliest and most fascin
ating human being he had even seen.
Hut all he said, with a subdued
thoughtful air, was:
“You might be—an actress?”
The girl clapped her hands and
loaned back.
“How flattering. ' she bubbled.
“Or a lady of title,” he suggested
hastily. “A countess, perhaps or a
princess?”
She leaned toward him with a
grave little smile.
“Or one of the family,” she sug
gested softly.
“No, no,” declared Jacob, with a
conviction that placed the Roth
schilds in the same category with
Frankfort.
The girl made a little moue at him.
“Ought I say, ‘Thank you?’” she in
quired.
Before Jacob could make up bis
mind to tell her what he thought she
ought to say he heard his grand
mother behind him.
Well, Jacob. have you made
friends?" she asked, beaming upon
him.
“He doesn’t know, quite, whether
m a fit person for his friendship.”
put in Charlotte, wickedly.
Why, Jacob!” exclaimed his grand
mother with Indignation. "This is
Solomon’s Charlotte—from Vienna!"
Charlotte, watching his face, burst
into another merry peal of laughter,
but his moment of revenge was at
hand.
“Goodness knows whnt he might
have thought of me if you hadn’t
•ome in. Grannie!” she laughed, as
Jacob’s confusion grew.
“Give your cousin a kiss. Jacob,”
■ommanded the old lady. And never
was a grandmother obeyed with
greater alacrity. But Charlotte drew
>ack and got the table between them*
\11 the confusion on her side now.
“Do cousins kiss in Paris’.”' she
sked, doubtfully.
•What an idea!” exclaimed the
4
U
wm Wi
mm
Jilii
Presently There Entered a Girl Who Looked Like a Princess.
frau. “In my time we held out our
cheek and blushed."
Charlotte could not be found guilty
of disobedleV.^ on the score of blush
ing, and for tv rest her cousin came
to her rescue.
“At least, I may kiss your hand,” he
pleaded, gently.
And with a quick, grateful smile
she held it out.
* • ♦ * * •
“To-morrow I am going to take you
for a drive—all of you.
This was Solomon's opening of the
family conference that evening. Am-
schel, ponderous, uncrossed and
crossed his legs.
“Have you collected the family to
give them a day in the country?” he
inquired, mildly.
“You will sec what’s at the end of
the drive,” returned Solomon, mean
ingly. Carl tapped the arm of his
chair with his quizzing glass.
“Have 1 been summoned from Na
ples to engage in a guessing con
test ?” he asked.
Solomon gazed about the circle of
solemn and frowning faces and
chuckled.
"1 believe you are getting impa
tient!” he cried, good-naturedly.
“Yes. of course.” retorted Nathan,
from the edge of his lip.
Solomon fished a large envelope out
of his poeket and held It up.
"Do you wonder why 1 brought all
of you here?” he cried. “Well, here
is one of the reasons. What do you
think of it?”
They Get a Title.
Nathan stirred with impatience.
“Need we waste any more time?” he
asked coldly.
"No. not a moment," declared Sol
omon, dramatically. “This is a pres
ent for all of us”—he turned to his
mother with a bow and added: “Bar
oness!”
The men started forward in their
chairs and stared at his.
“Baroness,” he went on in a loud
tone, “I have the honor to hand you
a patent of nobility from the Chan-
eery of State in Vienna—which raises
us all to the rank of baron.
The old frau took the paper with
trembling fingers, entirely uncon
scious of what she was doing. A dead
silence followed the announcement,
,v 1 then it was broken by an explo
sive:
pon my word!”
“Children, children." faltered the
old woman. “I can not see clearly —
read it for me—one of you.”
“I Must Laugh.”
Nathan sprang up and took the pa
per.
“Yes," he said, solemnly, while Carl
peered over his shoulder and Amschel
stared stupidly, "the Emperor has be
stowed on us the rank of baron.” Carl
snatched the paper and Nathan held
OUt his hand to the master of the gift.
"Solomon, you did that well,” he
said, generously.
"Well, mother, what have you to
say?” cried Solomon, with a proud
and happy laugh.
The old lady was almost overcome
by emotion.
“I feel 1 must laugh!" she cried, un
certainly. Then suddenly she re
gained control of herself and her
voice grew grave and solemn. “I am
very proud—very glad for all your
sakes. Your dear father would have
been so pleased—only—you must not
get conceited.”
The paper was passed around again
and again and the brothers slapped
each other on the back and called
each other by title to their hearts’
content. Jacob and Charlotte, alone,
did not seem greatly impressed by the
honor done them.
“I am wondering if it really makes
any difference,” said Jacob, slowly,
when his grandmother chided him.
“Listen to him—the spoilt child!”
laughed Solomon. Then he added,
soberly: “No. we are not changed—
but we now have a sign of our suc
cess which every one will recognize.”
It was characteristic of Solomon
that he dismissed his daughter from
the conference before he took up
even the matter of the price of the
title.
This, it developed, was in the shape
of a loan which would never be re
paid. It was suggested that each of
the five pay an equal share, but Frau
Gudula insisted that it be divided into
six shares. “1 pay for my own,” she
declared.
“So be it, then,” said Solomon.
“There is another matter that I want
to discuss with you. You all know’
the young Duke of Taunus—at least
by reputation.”
“By reputation—or the want of it,”
remarked Carl.
“I know- his signature," said Am-
schel grimly.
“I saw him once as a child—a
handsome boy,” the frau remember
ed.
“He is often in Paris.” contributed
Jacob. “I have seen him sometimes
—and one often hears of him. He
enjoys life."
"He has been to my house in Vien
na," said Solomon, with a little swell
of pride in his tone. “He has charm
ing manners. He was very polite to
Charlotte."
When you shorten or fry your
food with butter it is needless
extravagance. Butter is too ex
pensive for use anywhere but
on your table. If butter were
really better, would produce
better results in cooking, you
would be Justified in using it,
but it won’t. Cottolene is fully
the equal of butter for shorten
ing; it is better for frying. It
makes food rich, but not greasy,
because it heats to a higher tem
perature than lard or butter,
and cooks so quickly that the
fat has no chance to ‘‘soak in.’’
Cottolene is more healthful than
lard, and you only need to use
i-Wo-thirds as much as you
would of either butter or lard.
When you
stop to consider
that the price
of Cottolene is
no more than
price of
you can
readily figure
out what a sav
ing its use in
your kitchen
means.
THEN.K. FAIRBANK COMPANY
Unhappy Outsiders in Conjugal Spats
the
lard
By Virginia T. Van De Water.
T HIS Is a plea for the outsider—
the unfortunate person who
mu«t hear the disagreeable
things that some husbands and wives
say to each other.
I wonder if the man who snubs his
wife or the woman who nags her hus
band has the least idea of how in
tensely uncomfortable each makes the
unwilling listener. Surely the parties
to a conjugal spat can hardly appre
ciate the sensations of the bystander
who, through no fault of his own, Is
compelled to be present during their
petty squabbles.
“It can’t be helped," said a bach
elor to whom I mentioned this matter,
"and all the etTorts at reform won’t
make married people ditYerent from
what they are. They will quarrel, so
you may as well reconcile yourself to
that fact.”
I am not disputing his statement—
at least not just now. Whether he is
right or not is, as Kipling would sav,
"another story.” and one with which
we may deal at some other time. The
matter against which 1 wish to pro
test at present is not that husband
and wife say disagreeable things to
each other, but that they say them
where others have to hear them. It
is. perhaps, none of my business if
they quarrel when alone; it is my
business if they quarrel in my pres
ence. But they sometimes do! And
there are many other people who are
forced to be witnesses to many a con
jugal interchange of discourtesies.
Embarrassed Guests.
"You’re late, as usual!” exclaimed
a man, as his wife hurried into the
drawing room, where one of the
guest* whom she had invited to her
home for that evening was already
waiting.
"And you call attention to it, as
usual!” was the sharp retort.
“The fact that I frequently do so
does not seem to move you to change
the habit," sneered the husband.
“And long as you take satisfac
tion In nagging me about it l shall
not change it!" the wife snapped back
bitterly.
Is it any wonder that the one guest
wished from the depths of a sinking
heart that he, too. had been late? The
fact that he was an Intimate friend of
the host may have made the wedded
pair feel that they could say what
they pleased in his presence. They
were unconscious that they were
guilty of a breach of one of the first
rules of hospitality, namely, that one
should be kind to the guest under
one’s roof. They Were truly more un
kind to the visitor than to each other
They were used to their altercations.
He was not.
Both Sorry and Vexed.
A certain husband has strict notions
and disapproves of decollete gowns—
nor does he admire trains. His wife
wears both. I was present last week
when, in crossing the room, he trod
NO COMPETITION.
When it comes to bad handwriting,
says the Popular Magazine, the two
men who have beaten all others ip
this regard in the entire United States
for the last twenty years are Joaquin
Miller, the poet, and Samuel G. Blythe,
the humorist. And only Blythe sur
vives.
A LIFTED LOAD.
Just after Governor B. B. Comer,
of Alabama, had won his election, fol
lowing a long, hard struggle for the
job, his friends were congratulating
him and one remarked:
“I suppose this is the happiest day
of your life. Governor."
"No.” replied the Governor, who is
said to be worth more than a mil
lion dollars. “I shall never forget
the happiest moment of my life. I’ll
tell you about it. For five years af
ter my marriage Mrs. Comer and I
had a hard time making a living. We
were trying to buy a little home and
it was a tough fight. The day she
and I went to pay the last note on
that small house was the happiest of
my life. I never expect to have an
other like it.”
BANK CLERKS.
W. J. Burns, the famous detective,
says that in more than twenty years
of his connection with the Govern
ment secret service he has not
“turned up” a single counterfeit.
"All the credit for discovering
counterfeit money," says Mr. Burns,
“belongs to the bank clerks of this
country. There is not a person, young
or old, who does not owe a debt of
gratitude to the indefatigable bank
clerks who are always on their job,’
and whose keen discernment keeps
our currency clear of counterfeits.”
on her dress. She started angrily.
“Look out!” she exclaimed. “You’re
treading on my gown! Don’t be so
clumsy!”
“Well," exclaimed her lord and mas
ter (?), “if you would take some of
that dress up off the floor and put it
around your shoulders, where it would
do some good, it would be less in the
way of sensible people!”
I tried to look as if I were not un
comfortable. as if I were not listening
and as if I were not lots of things
that I was. For I was wretched and
painfully embarrassed. I have a fatal
facility for seeing any quarrel from
the standpoint of both contestants,
and in this case I was sorry for the
woman and for her husband, and at
the same time vexed with both of
them. Moreover. I felt that they were
lacking in consideration for me and
my feelings—in fact, that they were
selfish.
Unhappy Outsiders,
Selfishness becomes cruelty when
the outsider is dragged into a conju
gal spat and the husband or wife ap
peals to her for confirmation or refu
tation of some statement which has
caused dispute. What can the un
happy outsider do? If she agrees* with
either person she "gets in wrong” with
the other. Moreover, she may see
that both are in error (for was there
ever a quarrel in which either person
was absolutely right (?), but if she
dares to suggest this both will con
demn her as lacking the courage to
tell the truth or declare herself on the
side of justice.
Lo there she stands, a miserable
victim of a wrangle between married
people—and she not one of them. This
last reflection may be the one comfort
£*he has. Yet it is rather hard to
suffer for the quarrels of matri
mony when the matrimony has been
none of one’s own making.
He looked keenly at the others as
he spoke, but there was no answering
gleam to show that they caught the
drift of his thoughts. The old lady
shook her head sadly.
“You are all so grand,” she com
plained.
“He is very deeply in debt,” re
sumed Solomon.
Amschel nodded feelingly. They
say he has more creditors than sub
jects.”
“When he came home after Napo
leon’s abduction," went on Solomon,
“he rode through triumphal arches—
to an empty treasury. Perhaps, too,
he has been foolish as well as un
fortunate. Now* he is anxious to put
his house in order. He has ap
proached me with regard to a loan.”
A Big Loan Requested.
“For how much?” asked the oldest
brother.
Solomon hesitated, then threw a
quick look about the circle.
“Twelve million florins,” he re
plied quietly.
None spoke until Nathan asked, in
his weary manner: “How will he
pay ?”
“I have thought out a scheme of
payments to extend over 40 years.”
"And if the payments are not kept
up?" suggested Carl.
“Solomon waved his hand. “Of
course I should insure against that.
I can explain my plan.”
Amschel stared thoughtfully at the
floor. “If he is a spendthrift, as they
say ” . „
“It is surely too risky—too risky,”
put in Carl, decidedly.
“With a man to whom extrava
gance has become second nature”—
Advice to the
Lovelorn
“Guarantees must be made that he
changes his habits,” insisted Solo
mon.
“How?” inquired the Londoner.
“By his marriage,” was the prompt
reply.
“To whom?”
Solomon again gave each face in
the circle a quick glance. Then he
stepped forward as if inviting the
storm, and said in a cool, steady
voice:
Jacob Sprang Up.
"With my daughter, Charlotte."
Jacob sprang up and gripped the
back of his grandmother’s chair. The
old lady’s jaw fairly dropped and she
stared at her son as at a maniac.
Nathan and Carl merely sat motion
less—and looked. Amschel, the most
truly phlegmatic of all, was first to
speak.
“The Duke of Taunus marry Char
lotte?” he said with placid scorn.
“It is absurd.”
Solomon winced slightly.
“I am aware of difficulties,” he
said with grim hardihood.
“If it w*ere possible,” remarked
Nathan, in his coldest and most dis
passionate tone, “if it were possible,
it would go against us. We would
be thought too ambitious.”
Solomon sprang at the word. “We
are ambitious,’’ he cried. “Remember
—we are Jews! I am ambitious for
the family. What do you say?”
He appealed to the others, but there
was no reply. These sons of an ob
scure German money-lender, greatly
as they had grown, could adjust
themselves to such a possibility on
the spur of the moment. As for Ja
cob. his thoughts were In a wild tu
mult. Frau Gudula, for the first time
of her life, sat stunned and speech
less.
“Listen to me!” exclaimed Solo
mon, a flush of impatience on his
dark face. “Thirty years ago the son
of an obscure lawyer came from a
little island of which nobody had ever
heard. He came to Paris. What did
he do? He took Paris, then France,
then half Europe! Everything is pos
sible to a man who’s made up his
mind!”
•He paused, and Amschel spoke
gravely.
“We will think the matter over.”
“I have thought it over,” retorted
Solomon, grimly, thrusting out his
chin. “To-morrow I am going to
take Charlotte for a drive—to Neu-
stadt Castle. I should like one of you
to come with me.”
“We must think—we must think it
over,” said Nathan, evasively, as the
appeal seemed directed to h\m. “Carl
—Amschel, let us talk It over.”
Little Jacob Is Right.
The others rose and followed him
slowly toward the door. Solomon,
frowning and hiting his lips, stopped
Jacob with a gesture.
“Stay with me, will you?” he asked.
“Let's play a game of chess, I’m wor
ried—I want to distract my thoughts."
“Uncle,” said the young man. sol
emnly, “you have forgotten some
thing. You’ve left one very impor
tant thing out of your calculations.”
“What Is that?” demanded his un
cle Instantly.
“Charlotte’s happiness—her life's
happiness,” replied the young man,
looking straight into his eyes It
seems to me that any girl at her age
would wish to choose for herself.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Solomon.
“She likes him, Jacob. He is a charm
ing fellow. She met him and was
charmed with him at once. Why
should she not be happy with him?
—because he is a prince? How ab
surd! Why, she might marry a bank
clerk and be just as miserable! Don’t
you agree with me, mother?”
“No, I don’t!” was the unexpected
reply, with unexpected violence. The
three brothers halted at the door and
came hack a step or two.
"Mother!” exclaimed Solomon.
“Little Jacob's right!" The old
woman rose slowly and faced them.
Her face was pale and her eyes burn
ed with a strange fire. They could
hear her breathing In the stillness.
"Children, you terrify me,” she
cried, but she did not look terrified-
only stern and immovable. "My
grandfather came from Neustadt in
the Taunus, where he lived in the
simplest way. And now you—my
sons—declare that my grandchild
shall ride in a coach and be called
a Duchess where he, my grandfather,
was once of such low degree! No! We
live in an'age of miracles. You boys,
with your wealth and influence, may
accomplish even this—hut not with
my consent! It is Impossible,”
She walked slowly to the door and
turned again. “For the first time In
this old house of ours T withdraw
from a family conference. I’ll have
no hand In this affair. Do as you
please—but keep me out of it!”
V
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
P OOR Pa, he got pinched yester
day by a gaim warden. It is
the first time that Pa ewer got
•arrested, & he felt vary bad about It.
He was hanging his hed all the morn
ing ar brekfust to-day, & wen he
started for the littel postoffice to see
if thare was any mall for him or Mil
or me, he sed: Deer wife, look long
upon ■ my countenance, for you may
newer see me aggen. I feel as if
sumthing terribul was going to hap
pen to me aggen to-day.
Oh, I doant think so, sed Ma. Sure
ly, after beeing arrested one day B'ate
wuddent be so unkind as to hand you
anything raw the next day. It can
not be. Now, go to the postofflee,
deer, brave man that you are, & see
if you got any checks with extra
money In them, as I need a cuppel of
plain, simpel frocks to ware wile Ae
are rusti-kating here In this butiflil
littel hamlet.
I doant see what you want of two
plain, simpel frocks, sed Pa. to ware
up here. Why doant you ware sum
of yure old frocks? Your plain, sim
pel frocks will cost as much as the
fancy one you ware in the city. Look
at me & littel Bobble, sed Pa. About
all that we ware up here is a pair of
plain, simpel overalls & sum shoes.
But newer mind, we shall see. Good
bye, deer, & reemember what I tell
you—I have a premonishun. Then Pa
went.
The way Pa happened to get
pinched was kind of funny after all.
It was a good joak on him, & after he
had paid his fine Ma toald him' that it
served him rite for trying to be a boy
comic. It was like this.
How It Was.
Pa & me started out erly in the
morning to catch sum moar trouts.
We went to a littel stream called
Horse Brook, neer Bob Hardie’s farm.
This is a grate morning. Bobbie, sed
Pa; the wind is from the southwest &
thare is a sort of haze in the. air, al
most as if it was Injun summer. The
condishuns are Ideel for trouts to bite,
sed Pa. I anticipate sum rare sport.
We started to fish, & all the fore
noon Pa had all the luck. I fished
in sum of the saim places that he
did, but the trouts dident seem to
care for the worms wich was on my
hook, or else thay was afrade thay
wud drag a littel boy like me into
the water. Anyhow, thay dident bit
for me at all, & then Pa wud cum
along & throw into the saim place
cc catch three or four nice big ones. ^
Doant be down harted, littel boy;
sed Pa. Much moar expeerienced
anglers than you are have tried to
catch fish with me, & in the end I
have forced all of them to bow thare
heds in shaim & walk slowly away.
Few men indeed can hope to vie with
me in luring the finny tribe from
thare lair. Pa sed, & then he kep on
bragging & catching moar fish.
After a long while I got a gratis
big trout on my line & I was gittinfe
him out all rite by mlself, but Pa
had to butt in with his landin’net to
help me wen I dident need any help,
& he knocked the fish off my line.
I was so mad I cud almost sware but
I dident say anything. The fish was
gone & that was all thare was to it.
He Gets One.
Jest befoar we quit fishing t
caught a littel three inch trout. I
was going to put It back in the
water, hut Pa sed Wait a mtnnit,
Bobbie, I have a plan. Put the littel
fish in yure littel basket. I will
explain the plan wen we git neer
hoam.
Wen we got neer hoam Pa gaiv
me his big basket to carry with all
his big trouts, & he took my littel
basket with the one littel trout in it.
We will walk into the village & to
the hotel this way & I will show the
littel trout to yure mother & you
show her all the big ones & tell her
that you caught them. That will be
a good joak on her, Pa sed.
Just then a man caim up to Pa &
sed Any luck?
Indifferent, sed Pa, & he kep walk
ing.
Let me look in that basket, he sed
to Pa, & he looked & saw the littel
three inch trout & he sed That will
cost you $25 dollars. No angler is
allowed to keep a trout under six
inches in length. Why dident you
throw him hack in the stream?
I wanted him to, I toald the man.
but he sed he wuddent. Look at all
the nice big ones I caught, I sed to
the man, he was a game warden. 1
threw all my littel ones back. Pa
looked at me like spanking sounds
& feels. But he dident have the $25
with him, so he had to be arrested
till I cud go to the hotel to git it. \
Ma made lots of fun of Pa. She
sed she wud maik him a striped fish
ing sute.
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
TAKE THE ONE YOU LOVE.
D ear miss Fairfax:
I am 20 and have been
meeting a young man three years
my senior about two years. He
teils me he loves me very much
and if I would ever meet another
man It would break his heart.
Three months ago I fell in love
with another man who wants me
to marry him. I love him more
than the first man. Do you think
I am doing right if I .marry the
second man, whom I have .known
only three months? VIOLET.
You will be doing wrong if you
marry the first man. loving the sec
ond one better. 1 am sorry for the
first lover, who deserves better re
turns for his devotion, but you must
not marry him loving another man
more.
SEND HIM AWAY.
D ear miss Fairfax:
A young man loved a girl,
but was too bashful to tell her
so. She loved him also, but act
ed very coldly to him. So he
told her chum everything, and
she told the girl, who was de
lighted. As she is coming back
in three weeks, would you ad
vise her to speak to him or send
him away? She loves him very
dearly, but is only 17, while he is
19.
You are both too young—so young
there is e\ery prospect that when the
three weeks are up you both will have
changed your minds.