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GETTING MARRIED By DOROTHY DIX. Bubbles s Copyigrht, 1913. by International New* fltrrte*. S By NELL BRINKLEY M y DEAR ROBERT—Who was the wise guy that said "the remarriage of a widow or widower was the ilnal triumph of hope over experience’? Anyway, he was there with the goods when it came to sizing up the nerve of those who, like yourself, are contemplating er^ring that Mendelssohn Rag. ■"». ? am not knocking second marriages. I am strong for them. But I confess they always All me w ith amazement, if a man or woman has been happily married the first lime. 1 should think that he or she would not dare to even attempt to replace the angel he or she has lost ,wiih another husband or wife, be cause he or she would realize that no one can always make matrimonial ten-strikes. "ri the other hand, if a man or woman has beenunhappilymarried.it has always seemed to me that the very sound of wedding bells would be anathema to him or her, and that. . having been mercifully delivered by death or divorce from the partner who made life a torment, such a one would no more rush back into the holy estate than the soul who has Just won out of purgatory would vol untarily return to it. Opinion of the Public. However, the general public does not share in these opinions. Every day we see the truly bereaved con soling themselves by taking new partners, and the freed hastening to put their, necks once more under the yoke; for marriage is the only human experience from which we learn no wisdom. Perhaps this is just as well. If we w eren’t all plungers, none of us w ould ever get married, for matrimony is the big gamble of life. In it we stake our all on the turn of a card, and whether we win or lose is pure luck, since there is no earthly way of tell ing beforehand what sort of a hus band or wife a man or maiden will turn out to be. Your first venture into matrimony was so disastrous that you can at l<*ast comfort yourself with the thought that you have been through the worst, disillusionment that do mesticity can offer. Any other of the fifty-seven known varieties of wives must be better than the one you had, whose only claim to your gratitude was established when she packed her trunks and hiked for Reno. As I said before, it is strange that your previous experience of matri mony should incline you to try it over again: but, since it does, let us hope that you are making a more for tunate choice in a wife this time and that luck will be with you. Of Our Own Making. But did you ever think, eon, that luck in matrimony Is a good deal like luck in business—principally of our own making? Opportunity and hap piness knock on our door, but unless we are on the job, ready to welcome them in, they pass U9 by. They don't force their way in with a club. They have to be cajoled across the thresh old. So, if you want this second mar riage of yours to turn out success fully, it’s going to be up to you to strike the keynote, and make it either a grand, sweet song or a scream. What? That’s right. It’s the husband’s ~’ace to make the home happy. Of course, the wife is due to chip in with her little contri bution to the general felicity; but no woman, working alone and unaided, can carry out that contract. It's too big for her. It’s a man’s size job. To begin with, son, make of your divorce papers a torch to light you on the road of happiness with this mar riage. Think back and remember the things that you and your wife quar reled about. Was there a perpetual conflict between you on the money question? Tell Your Income. Avoid that snag by telling the girl you are about to marry exactly what your income is. and what she will have to spend. Tell her that she will have to do without many of the things that rich women have, per haps without many of the luxuries that she has been in the habit of hav ing. That will start out fair with her and give her. at least, a chance to keep out of the box of becoming a poor man’s wife, unless she loves you enough to prefer you to fine clothes and an automobile. Then, when you are married, give her a definite allowance for the house and for her own personal expenses, and give it to her as her due, without making her come to you for it like a beggar. And make her live within her allowance. That’s the way to train her into being a good business woman. Did you and your first wife have a never-ending fight because you stayed out late at night? Don’t marry, son, until you are done sowing your wild oats. If you dance attendance on chorus girls and Joy-ride them around; if you want to play poker and drink with the boys, stay sin gle, where you'll have perfect liberty to do so. Don't be selfish enough to take a girl away from her home and put her to watching through weary nights for the drag of a drunken hus band’s footsteps. Dreary for Girl. Aside from the heartbreak and the anguish and the anxiety of it all, think how dreary it must be for a woman to spend her evenings alone. No girl would marry If that was what she expected to get in matri mony, so be just and don’t ask one to leave her happy home for you unless you are going to give her one just as happy in return. A man’s idea of doing his full duty by his wife is to give her food and clothes. That Isn't enough. He owes her consideration and tenderness and comradeship besides. It’s Just as much his place to try to be enter taining to her, and meet her with a glad, sweet smile of an evening, as it is hers to try to interest and en tertain him. And when a man does this, son, he never has to pay ali mony. Make your own matrimonial luck in the second marriage, son, and may heaven prosper the brave! ^tF you are interesting in getting I mother off on the train you’d better make some arrangement to set my clock right,” suggested Mrs. Binkum. I certainly am interested,” replied Binkum. ‘But you know, Betsy, that 1 have no way of setting your clock because my watch loses from eight to eighteen minutes a day. I never know’ whether it has lost eight or eighteen minutes and I do not like to gamble on any such important event as your mother's catching her train.” My Slock gains about thirteen minutes a day,” said Mrs. Binkum. “Wouldn’t that make it easier to get to set it by your watch?” “Let me think—let me think,” mused Binkum. * “If a watch loses from eight to eighteen minutes a day and a clock gains thirteen minutes » a day how can a watch be used in setting the clock? And at 12 o’clock fast watch time, what would be the hour by slow clock? I give it up.” “If they would only blow a whistle at noon in this town,” said Mrs. Binkum. “I could tell the time at least once a day, and the rest of the time I should be able to tell about what time it was.” “The situation is serious I admit.” said Binkum. “If we keep on this way you and I will be tw T o or three days apart. There w T ill come a time, in- fact, when it will not even be the . same year by our respective time pieces.” “The railroad clock is correct, I suppose?” “Without a doubt. I can go down to the station, say at 12 o’clock, and start for home immediately. The station is eighteen blocks away. It takes me thirty minutes, about ” • “About! We want the exact time! And, besides, as likely as not you’ll fctop to talk to somebody. You do not know how long it takes you to walk eighteen blocks.” “I admit that I do not know how long it takes me to walk eighteen blocks. But there is one thing that I can time myself by. You know I was a bricklayer, I can lay just 60 bricks an hour. I am absolutely cor rect to a dot.” “But how does that help us?” “It is the only thing I can time myself on.” “Then I will go to the railroad station and at 12 o'clock I’ll give you BETTER THAN SPANKING Spanking does not cure children of bed-wetting. There is a constitutional ause for this trouble. Mrs. M. Sum- mei s Box W, Notre Dame. Ind., will send free to any mother her success ful home treatment, with full in structions. Send no money, but write her to-day if your children trouble you in this way. Don't blame the child: the chances are it ■an': help it. This treatment also -•ares adults and aged people trou bled with urine difficulties by day or night. some sort of signal, and you can be- gine to lay bricks. Then as soon as 1 get home we can count the bricks and know how many minutes have elapsed since I left the station.” “All right. I’ll order the bricks and have the mortar ready. But what sort of signals are you going to give me?” “I have read that the sound that carries farthest is the sound of a bass fiddle. I’ll borrow Uncle John’s bass fiddle. Then at precisely 12 o’clock I will get a good big sweep at the bow, and you’ll hear it and begin to lay bricks. So when I get home I will know the exact time and set my clock and mother can catch her train.” “Fine!” ejaculated Binkum. U \ HAVE no use for the hospitable man!” declared the young architect, who had come In from dining out. and was at the mo ment engaged in rooting around in the pantry for something to eat. “I hate a man who carries you proudly off to dinner when you don’t want to be entertained. There's Rob inson. the soul of hospitality! He's always trying to drag me home with him for dinner, and I have always managed to get away from him until to-night. “This night he nailed me, and I couldn’t get away. You should have seen Mrs. Robinson s expression when he shoved me in through the door. “He shoved me right into the din ing room, into the bosom of his fam ily. His poor wife grabbed some things that were ailing by the fire place, and then hurried out and changed her dress. Then I heard the kitchen range rattling and knew that the unfortunate woman was cooking dinner all over again. “Robinson was very entertaining for a while. He caught part of what I said, and I caught part of what he said. But he was uneasy and soon bolted out into the kitchen, where de bate was immediately in order. “In due time we had a very un- festive meal. Every once in a while Robinson gave his wife a dig, and she gave him a dig—sort of tennis fash ion. 1 was the net for their little contest and every now ^.nd then I got the ball. “The three kids got spanked and put to bed in relays. That was not ex actly delightful for me! “Robinson is one of the best fellows I ever saw! And I went to school with Emily, his wife. But I am blessed if I like,to drop in there for a meal at nighU~and have them play tennis across me in the manner de scribed. “I like to be treated formally. If a man wants to invite me to dinner, let him take me to the club or proceed to make adequate arrangements with his family ahead of time!” Do You Know Thai— Nell Brinkley Says: ^CHESTER S PILLS Y. THE DIAMOND CRAN’D. a Ladlt«! Ask joar Drngflat for Chl-chea-ter’a Diamond Krasd/^k\ IMlIa in Red ar.l Gold tnetallfc\\r/ botes, sealed a-Ith Blue Ribbon. i Take no other Bar of roar Y AbkforCin.Cires.TEBt DIAMOND BRAND PILLS, for S6 years known as Best, Safest, Always Reliable ! SOLD BV DRUGGISTS EVERYWHFK 1 KODAKS The Beat FlnltMna Md Ealarj* ilia That Caa Be Prod 'oed.* Eaauntn Film* and com plete nt/Mk amateur nppltaa Quick mail sendee for out-of-town customer* Send for Catalog and Price List. A. K. HAWKES CO. *ggf% ■ Dl 14 WhiMhail St-, a*. The longest hunger strike on record was carried out some years ago by a Frenchman named Granie, who wa. arrested for murder in circumstances which left no doubt as to his guilt. He determined to starve himself to death in order to escape the guillo tine, and from the day of his arrest refused to eat in spite of every effort on the part of the prison authorities, who first tried tempting him to oat by placing the most dainty meals in his cell, and when that failed, at tempted forcible feeding. Granie held out for sixty-three days, at the end of which time he died. It is reported that all German sub marines are to be fitted with guns. Two types have been selected a 12- pounder. which can be housed and a 1-pounder, which will be permanently in position. The older boats will probably carry 1-pounders only. The 12-pounders are on special high-angle mounting for use against aircraft if necessary. The crew of these guns consists of four men, three to work the gun and one to hand the ammu nition. The newer boats will carry two of these guns. Farmers in the Boyertown district of Pennsylvania came for miles round to attend a sale held at Boyertown of a number of heavy rolled steel cof fins. A burial casket company pur chased the coffins fifteen years ago but they were too cumbersome and could not be disposed of. The coffins, which were sold at prices ranging from ten cents to a quarter each, will be used by the farmers for watering troughs for their stock. A new machine, called the stenotype. j has been invented, which enables the} shorthand writer to get from 400 to 000 j words a minute upon paper In an abso lutely correct and accurate form. The j basis of operating the machine is pho netic* spelling. While the work done is j virtually the same as done by short- | hand, it has the advantage of being re- j corded in plain English characters. * I WALKED with a sceptic who has scarcely a rag of a dream to his name to believe in, close under a garden wall, warm ed by the sun and cuddled close by the fragrant &rms of cherry trees in spring bloom. On the •broad, flat top of it was a gypsy like girl of ten, maybe, with a bowl of iridescent suds between her scratched, sun-tanned knees and a head as velvety black as the poplars in the garden must be when night comes. Up into the still scented air she was sending big elastic soap bubbles, hued like a box of loose gems with a shaft-of sunlight lying on them, frail discs of perfect beauty which are the vanishing soul of a drop of crystal water. Idly they floated, some long breathless seconds, some but an Instant, giv ing to the wind changing and glowiqg with swift-running riv ers of color before they snapped into thin air with a tiny shat ter of splintering light. “There, by my new straw hat!” quoth the sceptic, “there is the stuff that dreams are made of; there the blowing of them, there the rainbow coloring, there the vanishing into thin air. What are they? Nothing. Why blow* them through our little thin pipe in the first place? Only the ver iest child takes joy in blowing soap bubbles, and only the sim ple-minded among grown-ups (your pardon, mad’moiselle) find the making of dreams delectable. They only snap and vanish, and where once our eyes saw a sphere of unutterable beauty there is nothing! Ah, ah, I don’t dream any more, my child. They amount in the end to just a bit of elastic color that we cannot touch or breathe upon—pf!—there is nothing there. Dreamers are fools, out of a drop of ether, col orless it is true, but very real and material stutf which they can at least possess, out of this tiny but satisfactory thing they insist on stretching a gorgeous thing that a breath will break.” “Nevertheless,” quoth 1 in re turn, I who am so much less wise and who have so much a better time, “nevertheless, the little kid on the wall is having a better time than you. The bursting of one thin bubble Is just nothing. There are count less more in the bowl between her knees. What is the vanishing of one lovely-hued thing when you have the making of endless more? What is the breaking of one little tiny dream of yours when you have the source of countless more in your head and heart? There is the big dream of all—wise man—the bowl—-the bowl! Real it is, too—just soap and water. There is the big dream of all. wise man, the head and the heart that are the source of frail and lovely dreams! Real they are, too—red blood and brain. There is where you are poor, m’sieu. You have considered the bubble too deeply, and you haven’t the bowl!” The little black head on the wall went on blowing thin, lovely planets into the spring air, and her eyes were thoughtful enough to make me think she saw child dreams of the things that are to be in their opalescent sides. It looked lots of fun, and it IS fun to blow dreams, for without dreams (real dreams are ambi tions) where would we be? Af- t^r all, would we care about a bubble at all if we could hold it in our hand and play with it? For that matter, we can go buy us a big crystal or a pretty marble any day. . Hasn’t Found It. Jackson—Bunker has got himself into a nice fix. Johnson- -How ? Jackson—He wrote an article on “The Ideal Wife” for a ladies’ paper last month. Johnson- Well, what’s that got to do with his present fix? Jackson— Somebody ,told his wife about it, and she’s been reading the thing over during the past two days trying to discover a single trait wherein his ideal resembles her. She hasn't found it, tand Bunker dines in the city now. ' WITHIN THE LAW A Powerful Story of Adventure, Infringe and Love Copyright. 1913, by the H. K. Fly Com pany. The play “Within the Law” la copyrighted by Mr. Veiller and this novelization of It is published by his permission. The American Play Com pany is the sole proprietor of the ex clusive rights of the representation and performance of “Within the Law” in all languages. A minister in a small country vil lage, who was noted for his absent- mindedness, was once observed to stop suddenly in the middle of his sermon and heard to mutter: “I knew she would—I knew she would! ” After the service was over some one asked him the reason. “Dear me,” said he, “did I? Well, you know, from the pulpit I can just see old Mrs. Rogers’ garden, and this morning she was out pulling up a cabbage, and I thought to myself, ‘Now, if that cabbage comes up sud denly she’ll go over,’ and just then it came up and over she went.” Brown—I’ve got an excellent plan for getting rid of duns. Green—A h! Tha t so ? Brown—I have. Never fails. Green—Then, old fellow, you must let me into the secret, for I’m worried to death by ’em. Brown—Well, I’ve tried it several times of late and I find the man never comes back again. Green—Aye. aye! what do you do? Brown—I pay him. “I want you to put u'p some wall paper I have bought,” said the coun try clergyman, meeting the local man- of-all-work. “When can you do It?” “Well, sir,” he exclaimed, “you see I’m rather busy just now. I hung Mrs. S yesterday; I’m hanging your churchwarden to-day; ’but, if it’s convenient. I’ll drop round and hang your reverence on Wednesday.” “What’s the matter, dear?” asked a woman of her troubled-looking hus band. “Oh. I’m worried about the money market ” he testily responded. “And I’m bothered about the mar ket money,” quietly remarked the woman as she counted the contents of her purse. By MARVIN DANA from the Play by BAYARD VEILLER. TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. | The father looked at Mary with a reproach that was pathetic. “See,” he said, and his voice was for once thin with passion, “see what you’ve done to my boy!” Mary had held her eyes on Dick. There had been in her gaze a conflict i of emotions, strong and baffling. Now, j however, when the father spoke, her * face grew more composed and h?r eyes met his coldly. Her voice was level and vaguely dangerous as she i answered his accusation. “What is that compared to what you have done to me?” | Gilder stared at her in hone3t amazement. He had no suspicion as | to the tragedy that lay between him j and her. “What have I don© to you?” he questioned, uncomprehending. Mary moved forward, passing be yond the desk, and continued her ad vance toward him until the two stood close together, face to face. She spoke softly, but with an intensity of supreme feeling In her voice. “Do you remember what 1 said to you the day you had me sent away?” The merchant regarded her with stark lack of understanding. ”1 don’t remember you at all,” he said. The woman looked at him Intently for a moment, then spoke In a color less voice: "Perhaps you remember Mary Tur ner, who was arrested four years ago for robbing your store. And perhaps you remember that she asked to speak to you before they took her to prison.” The heavy-jowled man gave a start. “Oh, you begin to remember. Yes? There was a girl w r ho swore she was innocent—yes, she swore that she was innocent. And she would have got off—only, you asked the Judge to make an example of her.” The man to whom she spoke had gone gray a little. He began to un derstand, for he was not lacking in Intelligence. Somehow, it was borne In on him that this woman had a grievance beyond the usual run of injuries. “You are that girl?” he said. It j was not a question, rather an affirm ation. Mary spoke with the dignity of long suffering—more than that, with the confident dignity of a vengeance long delayed, now at last achieved. Her words were simple enough, but they reached to the heart of the man ac cused by them. “I am that girl.” There was a little interval of si lence. Then Mary spoke again, re- I morselessly. “You took away my good name. You smashed my life. You put me be hind the bars. You owe for all that. . . . Well, I’ve begun to collect.” Burke Shouts a Warning. The man opposite her, the man of vigorous form, of strong face and keen eyes, stood gazing intently for long moments. In that time he was learning many things. Finally he spoke: “And that Is why you married my boy.” “It is.” Mary gave the answer cold ly', convincingly. Convincingly, save to on©—her hus band. Dick suddenly aroused and spoke with the violence of one sure. “It is not!” Burke shouted a warning Dema- rest, more diplomatic, made a re straining gesture toward the police official, then started to address the young man soothingly. But Dick would have none‘of their interference. “This Is mv affair.” he said, and the others foil silent. He stood up and went to Mary and took her two hands in his. very gently, yet very firmly. “Mary,” he said softly, yet with a strength of conviction, “you married me because you loved me.” The wife shuddered, but she strove to deny. 1 “No.” she said gravely, “no, I did not!” “And you love me now r !” he went on, insistingly. “No. no!” Mary’s denial came like a cry for escape. “You love me now!” There was a masterful quality In his declaration. , which seemed to ignore her negation. “I don’t,” she repeated, bitterly. But he was inexorable. “Look me in the face and say that.” He took her face in his hands, lift ed it, and his eyes met hers search- ingly. I "Look me In the face and say that,” he repeated. There was a silence that seemed long, though it was measured in the passing of seconds. The three watch ers dared not interrupt this drama of emotions, but at last Mary, who had planned so long for this hour, gather ed her forces and spoke valiantly. Her voice was low, but without any weak ness of doubt. “I Do Not Love You.” “I do not love you.” In the instant of reply Dick Gilder, by some inspiration of love, changed his attitude. “Just the same.” he said cheerfully, “you are my wife, and I'm going to keep you and make you love me." Mary felt a thrill of fear through her very soul. “You can’t!” she cried harshly. “You are his son!” “She’s a crook!” Burke said. “I don’t care a d—n what you’ve been!” Dick exclaimed. “From now on you’ll go straight. You’ll walk the straifchtest line a woman ever walked. You’ll put all thoughts of vengeance out of your heart, because I’ll fill it with something bigger—I’m going to make you love me." Burke, with his rousing voice, spoke again: “I tell you, she’s a crook!” Mary moved a little and then turned her face toward Gilder. “And, if I am. who made me one? You can’t send a girl to prison and have her come out anything else.” Burke swung himself around in a movement of complete disgust. “She didn’t get her time for good behavior.” Mary raised her head haughtily, with a gesture of high disdain. “And I’m proud of It!" oame her instant retort. “Do you know what goes on there behind those stone walls? Do you. Mr. District Attor ney, whose business it is to send girls there? Do you know what a girl Is expected to do to get time off for good behavior? If you don’t, ask the keepers?” Gilder moved fussily. “And you Mary swayed a little, standing there before her questioner. "I served every minute of my time —every minute of it. three full, whole years. Do you wonder that I want to get even, that some one has got to pay? Four years ago you took away my name—and gave me a num ber. ... Now I've given up the num ber and I've got your name." CHAPTER XV. Aftermath of Tragedy. HE Gilders, both father and | son, endured much suffering throughout the night and day that followed the scene in Mary Turner’s apartment, when she had made known the accomplishment of her revenge on the older man by her ensnaring of the younger. Dick had followed the others out of her pres ence at her command, emphasized by her leaving him alone when he would have pleaded further with her. Since then he had striven to obtain another interview with his bride, but she had refused him. He was denied admis sion to the apartment. Only the maid answered the ringing of the telephone, and his notes were seemingly un heeded. Distraught hy this violent inter jection of torment into a life that hitherto had known no important suf fering, Dick Gilder showed what met tle of man lay beneath his debonair appearance. And that mettle was of a kind worth while. In these hours of grief the soul of him put out its strength. He learned beyond perad- venture of doubt that the woman whom he had married was in truth an ex-convict, even as Burke and De- marest had declared. Nevertheless, he did not for an In stant believe that she was guilty of the crime with which she had been originally charged and for which she had served a sentence in prison. For the rest, he could understand in some degree how the venom of the wrong inflicted on her had poisoned her na ture through the years till she had I worked out Its evil through the •scheme of which he was the innocent [ victim. i He Remained Loyal. I He cared little for the fact that re cently she had devoted herself to de vious devices for making money, to ingenious schemes fpr legal plunder In his summing of her. he set as more than an offset io her unrighteousness In this regard the desperate struggle she had made after leaving prison to keep straight, which, as he learned, had ended in her attempt at suicide. He knew the intelligence of this woman whom he loved, and in his heart was no thought of her faults as vital flaws. It seemed to him rather that circumstances had compelled her, and that through ail the suffering of her life she had retained the more beautiful dualities of her womanli ness, for w-hieh he reverenced her. In the closeness of their association, short as it had been, he had learned to know something of the tenderer depths within her, the kindliness of her, the w holesomeness. Swayed as he was by the loveiinesB of her, lie was yet more enthralled bv those inner qualities of which the outer beauty was only the fitting sym bol. So In the face of this catastrophe, where a less love must have been de stroyed utterly, Dick remained loyal. His passionate regard did not falter for a moment. It never even occurred to him that he might cast her off. might yield to his father's prayers and abandon her. On the contrary, his only purpose was to gain her for himself, to cherish and guard her against every ill, to protect with his love from every attack of shame or injury. To Bo Continued Monday. TWO WOMEN SAVED FROM OPERATIONS By Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound— Their Own Stories Here Told. Beatrice, Neb.—“Just after my mar* riago my left side began to pain me and the pain got so severe at times that I suffered terribly with It. I visited three doctors and each one wanted to operate on me, but I would not consent to an operation. I heard of the good Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vege table Compound was doing for others and I used several bottles of it, with the result that I haven’t been both ered with my side since then. I am in good health and I have two little girls.”—Mrs. R. B. Child, Beatrice, Neb. Th® Other Case. Carv, Maine.—“I feel It a duty I owe to all suffering women to tell what Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound did for me. One year ago I found myself a terrible sufferer. I had pains In both sides and such a soreness T could scarcely straighten up at times. My back ached. I had no appetite and was so nervous 1 could not sleep, then 1 would be so tired mornings that I could scarcely get around. It seemed almost im possible to move or do a bit of work and I thought I never would be any better until I submitted to an opera tion. but my husband thought I had better write to you and I did so. stat ing my symptoms T commenced raking Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound and soon felt like a new woman. I had no pains, slept well, had good appetite and could do al most all my own work for a family of four. I shall always feel that 1 owe my good health to your Vege table Compound.”—Mrs. Hayward Sowers, Cary, Maine.