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A Story for Baseball Fans That Will
InterestEvery Lover of the National Game 7$
THE
The “Man of Mystery” Mafyes
Everything Clear in l his Great Story
SYNOPSIS.
Gordon Kelly, a young North Geor-
; gia mountaineer, cumos to Atlanta
1 to, get a place with Willy Smith's
1 Crackers. It is raining whan he
; reaches Ponce DeLeon and he is
nearly run over by an auto. In which
are two parsons—a man and a young
[ girl. The driver of the car 1s an
, arrogant fellow. The girl makes
1 him stop the machine. She gets out
and inquires if Kelly is injured. She
| apologizes for her companion’s
brusque manner. Kelly sees Mana
ger Smith and tells him he has never
'■played a game of ball Smith con
sents to give Kelly a trial.
Now go on with the story.
By A. H. C. MITCHELL.
The manager gave the applicant a
searching look. Kelly had the large
blue-gray eyes of George Slosson,
Vhe billlardist, and he returned the
look in a long, steady gaze without
winking. It was all right to have
• ■Blosson’s eyes, Smith thought, but
that gaze wlthou.t winking was an
other matter. The manager recalled
having read that insane persons have
that j>ecul1arity. At that moment,
however, the corners of Kelly's eyes
began to wrinkle pleasantly and his
mouth widened into a smile again,
disclosing that wonderful set of w hite
teeth. Bill Smith promptly forgot all
about crazy people*
A Mind Reader.
-Say,” demanded the manger, “what
brand of tooth powder do you use?’'
“Pure. castile soap, on a tooth
bru^h,” replied Kelly. "It is some
what bitter, but it does the business
for me."
’“Mixeaorae sugar In the soap and sell
it as the ‘Gordon Kelly Tooth Paste*
You’ll make more out of It, I’m think
ing/ than you ever will out of base
ball,!’
“I know' you think I'm crazy,"
laughed the young man.
“You’re a mind reader,” returned
the manager, quickly.
'Whisky poked h^s head in the door
and said, significantly:
**Bd§£, when you gits time Ah’d like
to see you ’bout some ’porta nt base
ball business.'’ He emphasized the
wordr baseball, rolling it off like an
end man trying to impress the in
terlocutor.
“All right. Whisky; I'll see you In
a few minutes,” replied Bill Smith,
pleasantly.
’’Your attendant doesn’t seem to be
* vbry, much impressed with me,” ob
served Kelly,.
• “All Whisky thinks about is base
ball and ball players," replied the
manager. “You will have to make
f ood with him as well as myself be-
ore y.ou will stand much chance
around this club house.”
’’That brings us right back to the
original proposition,” said Kelly,
fcrfskly. “What’s the verdict?”
“I’ll be perfectly candid with you,
Mr. Kelly. I don’t believe you have
a chance in the world to make good
on it. At the same time you never
can tell. I make Tt a rule never to
pass up a mail until I have § had a
chance to look him over If you w ant
tfrPtick around for a while I have no
objections to yoiif* doing stf. Bpt you
Pee 1 am lukewarm and skeptical.”
“That’-s all right, Mr! Smith; I don't
blame you, but I’ll take my chances,”
replied Kelly with a smile.
A Few Questions.
*’My players Will not be reporting
for spring practice before ten days
or' two weeks,” continued the mana
ger. “In the meantime, as I don’t
want them to have anything on me,
I’m going to ge. in condition before
they arrive. I’m going to start in this
afternoon. The sun is out and the
gf&unds will be dried out by 2 o’clock
Tf‘ you want to come around at that
time, you are welcome to do so.”
^‘Thank you; I will be here,” re
plied the applicant. “As my clothes
wem to be dry, I’ll slip them on.”
The manager picked up hts copy of
“Sporting Life” and proceeded to ab
sorb some more baseball “dope” while
the other dressed.
“Much obliged, Mr. Smith.” said
Kelly, when he was ready for the
street. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
VIOne moment,” said the manager.
“You said you came from the moun
tain district?”
“Yes., s^.”
“Born there?”
“Yes. sir."
“Lived there all your life?”
Y^Yes, sir.”
bNever been to Atlanta or any oth-
ef* city before?”
“No, sir."
“Never saw a ball game?”
“No, sir.”
'You don’t talk like a Southerner." 1
"No. sir.”
"You er—all right. See you later. |
So Iong.”<
Gordon Kelly disappeared through [
the doorway with a long, swinging j
stride. Instantly Whisky came into
the clubhouse by another entrance.
"There goes a m.vsterioso for you, .
Whisky,” said Bill Smith, cocking |
his feet on the stove again.
“A myste-what, sir?” demanded I
Whisky.
”A mysterioso. It is a Latin word, j
derived from a combination of com
plicated Spanish and Portuguese !
phrases, with a dash of Slavonic in
it. It signifies that the person re
ferred to is not exactly clear to the .
understanding; that he is, in fact,
somewhat obscure, or unexplained, i
In short, Whisky, there Is a certain
something—a vague in-com-pre-hen-
si-bil-i-tive-ness appertaining to his
striking personality. Do you get
me?”
“Yasslr, yassir, I knowed he wasn’t j
no ball player when I fust sized him .
up.”
CHAPTER HI.
N EITHER the driver nor the
young woman who sat beside
him in the high-pow'ered. un
derslung automobile spoke as the car
raced in the blinding rain up the hill
leading from Ponce DeLeon Park,
where they had left Gordon Kelly
standing in the middle of the road
But when the machine was foroed to
slow down and then come to a stop,
in accordance with the traffic regula
tions of Atlanta, which forbids an
automobile to pass to the right of a
street car discharging or taking on
passengers, the driver turned to his
companion and said:
“I can’t understand, for the life of
me, Mildred, why you Insisted on
turning around and going back to
that fellow'. You saw him get up
and that proved he wasn’t hurt any.
It was entirely his fault. He had no
business in the middle of the street
with an automobile speeding the way
this was. He' was entitled to no
consideration whatever—that is, in
view of the fact that he wasn’t hurt
at all. It was purely unnecessary
for you to go back and commiserate
with him. Just look at us; not a
square inch of. dry clothes on either
of us. You’ll catch it from your moth-,
er and I don’t blame her. although I
suppose I will get the blame for it
all.”
“Are you trying to quarrel with
me, Forrest?” replied Mildred. “Be
cause if you are I will get out of the
car and walk the rest of the way
home. You say you can not under
stand w'hy I asked you to return and
see if the young man was Injured.
For my part I can not understand
how you so far forgot common de
cency and even hesitated about turn
ing back. And you acted like a brute
to that young man. I don’t think I
care to go automobile riding with
you again, Forrest.”
“No Need to Argue.’’
The machine started forward again
and quickly passed the street car.
Forrest took a little time to digest his
companion’s remarks and then he
said in aj.ess surly tone:,.
“I guess I’m getting in bad with
you, Mildred.”
The young woman Ignored this re
mark and went on: "Why, to think
you were actually running away from
the scene of the accident and ”
"I wasn’t running away," the driver
broke in impatiently. “t wanted to
get you home and out of the wet as
quickly as possible,”
“There is no need to argue over it,"
declared Mildred. "I have a pretty
clear idea of all that happened. And
as for ‘catching it,’ as you say, from
my mother, please understand, For
rest, that 1 am old enough to look
out for myself and my mother knows
it, if you don’t.” .
"Now, don’t get peevish, my dear
girl,” said Forrest, with a frown.
“Hurry home, please. I’m afraid
I am going to have a chill,” was the
young woman's answer.
The rain had ceased and the sun
broke through the clouds as the oar
turned off Peachtree Street and ran
a short distance down an intersecting
thoroughfare and drew' up in front
of a'large, old-fashioned house, set
well back from the street. The well-
kept grounds and the orderly ap
pearance of the property indicated
that its owner had the means and
the pride to properly conduct his es
tablishment.
The young woman stepped from the
car and, with a curt “<3ood-bye, hur
ried up the walk in the direction of
the house. Her clothes hung to her
like sheets of'-lead; she was a sorry
looking figure. The incident of a few
‘You poor child,’’ said Mildred’s mother. ’Hurry right to your room and you can tell me all about it later.’
Qjitlnued to call
moments before, when the young man
was nearly run down by the automo
bile, had unnerved her. She recalled
with a shudder how she had screarp-
ed when she first caught sight of him
only a few feet in front of the on-
rushing car; she recall ecL„Uifc...hl;bd-
ing sheets of rain that came down at
that moment and the surprising agfl-
ity of the pedestrian. His quickness
alone had saved him froth a horrible
death. And then she recalled the
brutish actions of her companion-in
the car, who, without so much as
looking around after knocking down
the pedestrian, jammed his toe on the
accelerator and sent the car rush
ing up the hill at its highest speed.
Looked Like Sisters.
Her mother met her at the' front
door.
“Why, Mildred, where have you
been?” she asked. “You look —”
“Don’t tell me how I look, please,
mother. We were caught in th.e rain
storm and I haven’t a dry sjtitch <>f
clothes on me and we nearly killed
a man, and Forrest acted like a brute
and, oh. I’m terribly upset and I’m
chilled to the bone, and—
“You poor child. Hurry right to
your room; come, and you can tell
me all about it later. Mandy,. draw
a hot bath for Miss Mildred and turn
on the ft earn in her room.’’
They were hurrying up the stairs
as Mrs. Deery spoke. She was a re
markably youthful looking woman to
have a daughter close., to twejity
years old; in fact, when they were to
gether they might easily hre taken
for sisters in their companion-ship.
Fifteen minutes later Mildred, robed
in snowy white, with little blue rib
bons here and there, was safely tucked
in her bed.
sbndes and - •trptwpd-M-nif
Soon after, the young woman fell in
to a troubled sleep. Bui she dreamed
of standing in the mjddle of a road
in a sweeping rainstorm; of her hand
t?«iog held. iftjava.’taai^-UUaiU uufia.
man, of his large blue-gray eyes
looking ettriight in to Hi eh* arid of that
\Vondterful smile**and'of those dazzling
white teethe ■ .
? * . * ,
Forrest Cain.-sat motion lees* in hts
automobile..^iid wutQlwd- the retreat
ing figure «q£ v M U&rxxl tV’eijy, , If.lie
expected hfr .io-Jurnjyid \yn\y aTarril
well, \vmm disappointed.' for she
disappeared wfthin the*'dobr of’the
hoti'se, giving him rvd • further sign
of recognition. Puttmg hhr ear? <m.
motion he drove it to the garage.’
jumped, .out. hurried ^ tQ hifj rooms,
swore roundly at his man, poured ou*
a stiff drink of" bourbon whisky rind
drank it, stripped off his clothe*
got ffitb tf-hot bath; w'hvre/he Smoked
a cigarette, his man placing at • be
tween his lips and holding r a lighted
match to—it. • • . • •,.
Reviewed the Morning.
Fils valet was a < oTore'd man ’ bf
about his own rige, thirty years. He
was ‘formerly* a Pullman car portbr,
who, a w.hcn ..k^tip
was making a particularly riotous and
troublesome trip frurp Y.ori£. t,q
Atlanta, attended ” to Tis wants frl
such an eager and .solicitous manner
that Cain had hired from
the r Pullman Company. Then and
there Cain had called "ft is man Geofg^
on the train, as- all Colored/ isn’t‘^**5
are called by the-': tr.r-vohfvg pvtbl-wv
and* when George entered *hb* enjpkjy
he didn’t trouble--himself* inquire
•hm real* name, fcijpt
him .(.it-orge.
After his barb, Cain slipped on his
bathrobe and threw himself on a
lounged
“George,” he ordered,^ “call up.the
florist and tell him to send rpufcs to
Miss Leery at once, inclosing my
card. Then get out some clothes. 1
am going over to the club .for lunch.”
Cain lay back on the lounge and
mentally reviewed the incidents of
the 'rtidming. He had mad6 Up his
mind to be ^particularly,, .niceJo Mil-.
,dred Leery, but it seeme’d- he had
made a botch of it. Everything had
gone smoothly until he had nearly
run over the man in front of Ponce
DeLeon Park. Mildred had been a
very, c-harming, , lively- . ^ppawuilon up.
to that time, but when fte was for
leaving the victim of the Occident
sprawling in , the road her manner
changed entirely. When he refused
to turn back she Had deliberately
kiekwri the, magneto switch over,
causing tin car to sioq, and then
threatened to 1 get out aria walk hack
t(j \vhel*e the young man was unless
he turned the car around and took
her back. Y<;s, lu^figured this was 1
ri. bad play on hi;- part and he must
work carefully to get bock in her)
good grates again.
X's'a'matter of fact,TT mean streak, j
\VJ-iich he had not flf ‘fey* in his na-
t
ment
lay” it? all tftt to the furious ? and sud
den rainstorm and plead that the
sTiriefi of 1 tea My k1 Hi n'ff'li fffriri''Tf3'<r'iiri
ivwrvdv him In the meantime he I
would have flowers sent to Mildred |
Depr.v every day and plriy his cards
carefully in future. ‘
Doling for his clothes, Cain ar
rayed him self-.with his usual care and
sauntered forth to his club. Among
the jeunessee doree of Atlanta he was
the acknowledge Beau Brumrnell and
to such an exterft that they would not
venture to consult their tailors at
certain seasons of the year until For
rest-Cain had appeared on the streets
of the city displaying the last word
in sartorial art.
Forrest Cain was a lily of the valley
in more ways than one. He tolled
not, neither did he spin. He was one
of the few wealthy young men of At
lanta who employed his time in kill
ing that measure of duration. The
other young men of his .set. while
many of them could easily afford to
loaf, preferred to engage in business.
Cain shared his father’s estate with
his married sister, his only relative,
and he was known to have spent
more money In a night than she spent
in a year. He lived a life of en.se
and luxury and attended to matters
of business only when it was abso
lutely necessary for him to do so.
I
W \VJiich he had not .•j-ftT* in his na-
tnrt? showed itself at^thi wrpns mo
ment. He wondered if he, couldn’t
CHAPTER IV.
T was on a matter of business that
Forrest Cain had made a lunch
eon .engagement at his clpj) that
day. It was with Galen Decry, Mil
dred’s father, a crafty speculator in
timber lands, Who by strict attention
to business had piled up more money
than he had any use for, but from
lifelong habit he persisted in striv
ing’ for more.
As one of the executors of his fa
ther’s will, Cain came across the
deeds to a piece of property consist
ing of several thousand acres, situ
ated in the northwestern part of the
State. Ht had never seen the prop
erty and It did not interest him, so
when Galen Deery had, several
months before, offered to buy it for
spot cash, he was for selling it with
out any further trouble in the matter.
But his more businesslike sister,
when she heard that it was Galen
Deery who made the offer, figured
there was something behind it all that
did not appear on the surface and
refused nor permission to sell.
Showed His Cards.
After bluffing around for several
weeks. Leery was forced to lay his
hand on the table and show' his cards.
It was then seen that Deery, too,
owned several thousands of acres In
the neighborhood of the Cain estate's
property, which he had acquired sev
eral years before through a fore
closure process. And it further ap-
peared that J)oery bad evolved a vast
scheme involving lumber, water pow
er dnd manufacturing plants, wihch
would net several millions of dollars
If successfully carried out. But In
order to carry out the plan it was
necessary for Deery to not only con
trol the Cain property, but also a
vast tract of land that laid between
the Deery property and the Cain
property. This intermediate proper
ty was really the key to the whole
situation. Deery counted on first ac
quiring the Caiti holdings and then
quietly grabbing up the other.
When bis sister refused to sanctum
a sale of the land to Deery, Cain men
tally cursed the perverseness of wo
men generally, but when his sister
forced Deery to a showdown he was
quick enough to see that she was
right and he wap wrong. The re
sult of the whole business was that
Deery and the Cains, brother and sis
ter. formed a partnership for the de
velopment of the plan, with Deery
as general manager of the proposi
tion. Early that morning Deery had
telephoned that he needed some help
on a matter that had just developed,
so it was arranged tha.t they meet
at the club for lunch and talk it
over.
After fortifying himself with a
couple of cocktails againt»t an unin
teresting session With Deery, Cain sat
down at the table with W-rii and tried
to appear Interested in what he had
to say. As soon as tne waiter had
retired with the order Deery opened
up as follows:
"Forrest, I’ve got something in con
nection with our scheme that is
right in your line, and if you will get
busy on It we will land that piece
of property that separates yours from
mine and we can l go right ahead with
our plans ”
"Much work involved In it? You
know I’m not very strung for work,”
said Cain.
No Work at All.
“No work at all; simply pleasure;
right in your line, I tell you."
“That being the cane, I will listen
more carefully than I otherwise would
have done. Please proceed.”
<f \Vefl,” began Deery. “I haven’t
bothered you much with the delafls
of the wmrk I have been putting in
on this scheme lately, because usu
ally you refuse to listen. But as a
matter of fact the old warhorse that
owned that property that lies be
tween us died three or four months
ago—got full of liquor and Jumped off
a mountain, or something like that.
But. being of sound mind and body
a short time before this event took
place, he made a new will and sent
it down here to old Judge, Barbee, his
lawyer. The property is left to his
son. who isn’t of age* hut pretty close
to it. In a previous will be had left
the property to his wife, but she died
two years ago. Of course, the son
would have got the property anyway,
but I guess he thought It better to
make a new will and save all com
plications.
“I learned all this early this morn
ing, when I happened to pick up
Judge Barbee and take him downtown
in my car. But beyond all this I
learned that this son is in Atlanta
and the judge expects to see him any
minute. He wrote several days ago
that he would be here March 1.
“Now, the judge doesn’t know we’re
after that property, and neither does
the son. What I want you to do is
to get acquainted, with the young
fellow and prove to him that city-
life beats mountain liffc so far that
he will never want to see that piece'
of property again and will be glad
to sell it for a song. I expressed an
interest in the young man to Judge
Barbee and said I would like to meet
him, but l can’t entertain him the
way you can. The best I can do is
to have him up to dinner some night.
You know I’m not much on clubs.
I do not even go to lodge meeting as
often as I should.
“Now, Forrest, here’s something
right in your line; something you
ran do to the queen’s taste. Re
member the scheme is worth millions
to us if we can get this young fellow's
land. Just make things pleasant for
him, but, on your life, don't talk busi
ness with him. You would spoil it
all. Leave the business end of it to
me.”
“That sounds promising.” said Cain,
“and of course I'll do all I can to
push a good thing along.”
Deery unfolded some other details
of the big scheme he was working
on and did most of the talking until
they had finished their meals. Then
he looked at his watch and said he
must hurry to keep an appointment.
He put on his hat and shook hands
with Cain. A tiunky opened the door,
and he was about to pass out, when
Cain hailed him.
“By the way, Mr. Deery. what is
the name of the young man? You for
got to tell me.”
“His name is Gordon Kelly.”
CHAPTER V.
A T 2 o’clock that same afternoon
Gordon Kelly walked into the
clubhouse back of the grand
stand on the Atlanta baseball grounds.
He carried a large bundle wrapped in
a kind of home-made canvas covering
in one hand, while in the other were
three bats wrapped together. These
bats were of the kind known to ball
players as the “Louisville Slugger."
Bill Smith was there before him
and was in the act of putting on an
old set of “spangles,” as the ball
players call their uniforms. He greet
ed Kelly with a grin.
“Hello, young fellow. I see I can't
lose you.”
“■YoiiYe right about that. Mr.
Smith,” returned the embryo Ty Cobb.
"You said I could come around and
practice with you, but any time you
get tired of your bargain all you have
to do is to say the word and I’ll get
out.”
"What hav« you got in that
bundle?” demanded the manager.
“My uniform and fixings.”
“Let's have a look at ’em.”
Kelly unfastened the canvas cover
and displayed a regulation gray uni
form that showed signs of some w'ear,
cap, dark blue stockings, well-worn
baseball shoes, with spikes attached,
a fielder's glove that. had evidently
seen service, sliding pads, heavy un
dershirt and drawers. Rolled up in
the stockings were a pair of “sun
field” goggles—smoked glasses used
by outfielders when the sun shines di
rectly in their eyes. Smith examined
the outfit critically.
“Whore’d you get all this stuff?"
he asked
“Bought it.”
The manager picked up a well-worn
shoe and looked at the sole of it.
There were trac es of red Georgia clay
around the spikes.
"Never played a game of ball In
your life, eh?” Smith gave the young
man a searching look as he asked the
question.
"That’s true. Mr. Smith,” replied
Kelly, returning the look steadily.
“Never saw a ball game, I believe
you told me?"
“That's true, too.”
"I’ve Told the Truth.’’
The manager dropped the shoe and
resumed the putting on of his uni
form.
”1 can’t quite figure you out, Kel
ly," he said, pulling on his shirt and
buttoning it. "If you're trying to put
something over on me,” he added
grimly. "It is Just as well that you
have it done with before my players
arrive."
“1 give you my W'ord, Mr. Smith,
that I have told you the exact truth
in regard to myself. I’m not trying
to fool anybody: I want to play ball.”
Kelly replied, seriously.
"AH right. Bo, we’ll let it go at that,"
remarked the manager. “Get on your
spangles and we’ll go out on the field
and take gome exercise.”
At this juncture Whisky walked
Into the clubhouse, gave one look at
the recruit, sniffed the air contemptu
ously, turned around and wmlked right
out again. Ten minutes later Smith,
carrying a brand new baseball In his
hand, strode on the field, followed by
Gordon Kelly. Their relative size
might be compared with Weber &
Fields, or Mutt and Jeff The man
ager hardly tall enough to reach the
young man’s shoulder.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
TRUTHFUL JAMES
THEIR MARRIED ]
LI
FI
7 rS Wete* Learns How a Girl Alone Achieves p<] By MABEL HERBERT URNER
—t ^ Her Own Home ana Her Independence & —
big dinner party, hired a page for
that particular evening to help with
the waiting, antf duly Impressed his
duties upon him during the course of
the afternoon.
"Now. James," she said, "it will be
your duty to hand round the wunes.
and you will begin with the sherry.
There are two kinds of sherry, and
the inferior kind is to be offered with
the goup. Do you understand
James duly mastered this and the
other details of his work, and the
banquet began. Presently the hostess
signed to James, and that young man,
seizing the decanter, began to make
his rounds, saying in clear and pene
trating tones as he approached each
KU -Jnferior sherry, ma'am? Inferior
sherry, sir?”
A VOID IMPURE MILK
tot Infants and Invalids
Get
HORLICK’S
It means »he Ordinal and Genuine
MALTED MILK
"Ct/kU ate Jmitaticnl'
Th* Food-Drlnh for all Ages
• Bfe-h milk, malted grain, in powder form.
For infants, invalids and growmg children.
Purenutrition,upbuilding the whole body.
Invigorates nursing mothers and the aged.
More healthful than tea or coffee.
Take no substitute. Ask tcr HORUCK’S
HORLICK’S Contains Pure Milk
jffeTSk': dSfiSsU,*' "C
O N each side of the vestibule was
the row of names, letter box^s
and bells. Some of the names
were on soiled cards carelessly writ
ten and carelessly inserted, whldh
gave one an unpleasant impression of
the tenant. Others were printed and
one or two were on metal plates
Helen pressed the bell under a neat
card in small script type—"Miss
baura Wilson.” From the door came
an answering click.
Inside the hall was dark and nar
row. The stairs were at the back.
She had just turned the second flight
when T.aura Wilson, in a large bib
apron, appeared at the landing above.
"Oh, it was dear of you to come,"
leading Helen Into the little four-
room flat. "I’ve been so excited about
i all day. I could hardly wait to get
home from the office."
' I do hope you haven’t gone to any
trouble," protested Helen as she toqk
, IT her things In the tiny bedroom.
What a cunning little place!” look
ing around with eager interest.
"isn't it? And I’m so absurdly
proud of it all! Oh, I’ve so much to
tell you—I don’t know where to be
gin It seems so wonderful to have a
real home of my own. Wait. I've
something op the stove that'll bum!
Come on out if you want to,” and she
darted into the kitchen.
It had been over a year since Helen
had called on Laura Wilson in her
oingy furnished room. She had just
come to New York then from Helen's
home town, and Helen's mother had
w ritten her to call and see what she
could do to makp her feel less lonely.
1 Helen had had Laura to dinner sev-
I pial times and then had lost track of
her. as one so often does in New
York It was only by chance they
j bad met again in the subway. Laura
had told her enthusiastically of a lit
tle four-room fiat she had taken on
One Hundred and Fifty-sixth Street,
and had eagerly insisted on her com
ing up some evening for dinneF.
"I’d ask Mr. Curtis, too,’’ she laugh
ed. "only I havent’ enough dishes.
So Helen promised to come the first
evening Warren dined out. She fell
conscience-stricken that She had not
kept in touch with her. A young wom
an alone in New York—there were
many ways she might have helped
her.
Blue and White.
“Isn’t it the dearest little* kitohon*?’
proudly, as Helen exclaimed over it
all. “I had the loveliest time fixing
up my chin^i closet. Look—I painted
it all white myself.”
Everything was blue and white, the
shelving paper, the cl\ina, the tea and
coffee canisters and even th« enam
eled saucepans.
"But doesn’t it cost a good deal to
keep this up?” for she knew Laura’-s
salary as a stenographer could not
be very large.
“It doesn’t cost me any more than
it did in that awful furnished ro6m,
and I made mysejf sick eating around
at cheap restaurants.”
“But your rent here* >” began
Helen.
“My rent Is just twenty-four dol
lars,” as she took from the refrig
erator a plate of butter and pift a
generous spoonful in the potatoes she
was creaming. "I have the bed' room
rented to a young girl for two dollars
and a half a week. I’ll show it to
you in a minute. That was'supposed
to be the living room von were in-
I’ve mAde that into my bed room, and
used t$ie dining room for a sitting
room. Do you like . onions?” taking
a bunch of young oniorfg froVfi a bas
ket of fresh vegetyJUcs under *.the
table.
"Love thejn v ”’ j&J3§ ; w'qre(j , jjelen
promptly. ’ .’
“Well., tJjift ih^jjs . . about eleven,
dollars /\ motu.Tj'x.EjyfitV-h -;i^a.v,cg s tr&
rent ■■!)!'- thirteen, and r
for tha,t ret‘9pd-^>iqrv .hack /oqri> 4 al
iVT r’s. Ellison s' - -y o 1 i 4 KTfc>Xv fto w „ .uiftgy,
ap.d - depressing ^Untt. r >.
Again . she ±6\. £h# refrigerator
and took out a plattefr oL fivcl fre^hJ^.
cut .lauib .thqpa, with pqf»er Trills. >n'
ltie trirgiyied lippes. . ...
“I told my butcher T^v^fygoljag ,t©
hjLye my j that c0.mpn.9y r /llnrieAV;to
night, an<Lv.w'tf Afk U- .^. lw
the cUops,''. t'ylcfpg jOU lUw 'V*aV*« Ui. '
grill back in the nvep, ..'Yoifue, v J’U,
SftoWv.jiOU da,t. . n E ,. t .. <
Helen was <?TLUi«yiasr1f~ ribowtritr
Every thing .wzrs'Jso* Clean/ ratnl brdikrly.
The tiny hath .Tootn w?as .spoBesslV’
white. '' "■*
“The landlord papjereri (he rooms,
but he wouldn't .do aitylliihg/to? the
hath r<K>m *a^d r <ki , tt r hon^w> , Dh&YT ho*
paint aM this; Woddwtlnk ‘mysfertf;; Gb,
you don't ftno’wtm'haty ydu cmT'drrwtH’?'
t «-an of whit*’ ‘paint l "
“What a' clevei; a!“ l ex£lalmecV
Helen, pointing to/ a ’step-ladder
which was t.ipd up Vy t \y<V big hook:
on the "of ..thy’ .rodjri. T
put It,.>9.'I ‘t^'iLIt uj» .-thy^o. U s oi/t
of_ihe wav. .anil it, doesp’t Jbojc-jfp
bad,, does it?” 7 . • . - - * »<
"HUt, how did-,r.Jl these
things—surely cyoq -get it fui>
njshed for $2
"Oh, no-—no, they’re all mine. WtaijW
I’ll have to turn the chops!”
It was not until they sat down to
the 1 "dinner that they really had a
chance to italic
“It ftW JrhJrte through this advertise
ment”—darting Into her bedroom and
rolfiihg k with a newspaper cl1p-
jiihrg whkdr she Mid by Helen’s plate:
j * “WANTED—To sell the contents
of a four-room flat. No reasonable
offer refused? Party loading the city.
fiat dan be rented for $24.
No, ——, W. 15<uh St.”
1r one of tbe Sunday
ame right up. An old
hd was selling -out to g>
rdSveKl.
that
Apply
: *1 Si
paper
lady had it;
to live with her
everything for
< W»;ip*fiifriltUT<
bad taste, and
son. She let me have
}f>. Of course, it’s all
but It’s not In such
erything was clean."
'Why, f think that was wonder-
ftflfy diid'ai>—$^5! Nbt the rugs too?”
Bought That New.
“•Yds. tiwhmigs and curtains—every
thing- but the ohina and kitchenware.
1 »bought-That new, but ii cost very
little.' This blue china Is all ten cents,
except the meat platter—that was
thirty. Now you must- hade another
chop—thhy’ro so small.!’
"They're delicious! You’re a won
derful Kt-tle housekeeper. But 1 don't
kee how you have time with all your
work r at*the office-.”
‘.‘it'doesn't take so much time. I’ve
learned to get my breakfast in twenty
minute*, and T wash the dishes when
I’m getting dinner. Luring the week
l don‘4'try to do. any cleaning except
(lusting. But Saturday afternoons I
fiveabe-wh<de place a thorough going
f.v r. 1 i t Saturday 1 £"t home%t
lurlX-paa* • J, put on an old wrapper
and went- to work. It was after 6
before I was t Uroughr-hathroom.
kitchen and all I took a bath,
lahl d*>w./i, resle<j|wfnr an hour and
woke up fueling perfectly finoi* Per-
hajjre-you dike, more oH in your /salad
-**: =r. —.-nsi. . *
dressing?”
“No, this is just right. And you're
never lonely or afraid?”
“I haven’t time to be lonely, and
that young girl is here, at night. Sh«*’s
a telephone operator. Poor child, she
orriy gets $8 a week. 1 don’t see how
she lives on it. I hope they will
make that $9 minimum wage law. 1
don’t believe this girl has enough to
eat half the time. I can’t bear to see
her go out of here without break
fast, so I’ve been giving her a cup of
coffee and a roll. She’s studying
shorthand so she can gel a better po
sition. Oh, I didn’t tell you that I
was studying Spanish.”
“Y'ou very wonderful person!”
laughed Helen. “Now. when do you
find time to study Spanish?”
“Two evenings a week. Y'ou know
there’s a great demand for Spanish
Stenographers. Lse this for your but
ter—I haven’t any bread and butter
plates yet.”
“And you mean to say you come
from the office, get your dinner and
then go out to take Spanish les
sons?”
“Yes, but of course on those even
ings I don’t try*to have much dinner.
Usually I just beat up an omelette—
that’s quick and easy.’’
“Well, my dear, there isn’t one girl
in a thousand that would have had
the courage and energy to do what
you're doing. 1 think you can afford
to be very proud of it.”
"I am.” laughingly, “and I love to
feel that I've done it all myself. Sat
urday afternoon when I got through
cleaning and laid down to rest, I felt
that 1 was abcJht the happiest, the
most independent and most self-satis
fied young woman in New Y’ork.”
Helen watched her almost enviously
rs she cleared away the salad plates
and brought on a little bowl of fruit
Jelly with whipped cream. She knew'
w'hat the feeling of Independence, “of
having done it all herself,” must
mean.
She thought of the time when War
ren was out West, when things were
at the* worst between them, when she
felt she would soon he* thrown on her
own resources. How’ helpless and ter
rified that she was so incapable of
making tier own living.
tlow' many women, she wondered,
stay with their husbands for the sim
ple reason that they can not support
themselves. This was a humiliation
that Laura Wilson could never know',
she had proven so superbly that she
could make her own way. Should she
marry n<*w. the man would know he
could hold her only through love and
not merely because he supported her. j
“Don’t you like fruit jelly?” disap- i
pointedly, for Helen w r as toying ab- !
sently with her spoon.
"Oh, yes! I w*as only thinking,”
w'istfully, “how wonderful it must be
for any woman to feel that she’s so
capable—that whatever happens she
can always be independent.”
Not Fashionable.
“What you need, madam, is oxygen.
Come every afternoon for your Inhala-j
tions. They will cost you $4 each.”
“i knew that other doctor didn’t un
derstand my ease,” declared the fash
ionable patient. “He told me all I
needed was plain, fresh air.”
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