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GETTING MARRIED By DOROTHY DIX. M y DEAR ROBERT—Who was the wise guy that said "the remarriage of a widow or widower was the final, triumph of hope over experience"? Anyway, he was there with the goods when it tame to sizing up the nerve of those who. like yourself, are contemplating er„'ring that Mendelssohn Rag. i am not, knocking secpnd marriages. I am strong for them. Hut I confess they always fill me with amazement. If a man or woman has been happily married the first i ; me, I should think that he or she would not dare to even attempt to replace the angel he or she has lost with another husband or wife, be muse he nr she would realize that no one i an always make matrimonial h n - trikes. I'll the other hand, if a man or woman has beenunhappilymarried.it hat always seemed to me that the very sound of wedding bells would be anathema to him or her, and that, having been mercifully delivered bv .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 weren’t all plungers, none of us would 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 wav 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 least 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 he 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 thi9 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 us 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. Ft’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 j have to spend. Tell her that she wll 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 bis 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! u x -F you are interesting in getting 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 clock 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 horn* 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 1 will be two or three days apart. There will 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 r “Without a doubt. 1 can go down to the station, say at 12 o'clock, and start for home immediately. lne station is eighteen blocks away. It takes me thirty minutes, about- “About! We want the exact time. And, besides, as likely as not you “ stop 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. 1 can lay just 60 bricks an hour. I am absolutely cor rect to a dot.” 0 „ “But how does that help us. “It is the only thing I can time myself on.” ' .. “Then 1 will go to the railroad station and at 12 o'clock I’ll £ ive y° u some sort of signal, and you can be- gine to lay bricks. Then as soon as I 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. He’s Too Kind ■T BETTER THAN SPANKING ; .Spanking does not cure children of \ bed-wetting. There is a constitutional f ‘-ause for this trouble. Mrs. M Sum- ' mei Box W, Notre Dame. Ind., will ,) send free to any mother her success- \ ful home treatment, with tull m- < struotions. Send no money. hut > write her to-day if your children > trouble you in this wav. Don t blame the child: the chances are it can’t help It. This treatment also ) cures adults and aged people trou- « bled with urine difficulties by nay ) or night. 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 1 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 airing by the fire place, and then hurried out and changed her drees. 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 1 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 hi* wife a dig, and she gave him a dig—sort of tennis fash ion. I was the net for their little contest and every now and 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 o'ne of the best fellows I ever saw! And 1 went to school with Emily, his wife. But I am blessed if I like to drop in there for a meal at night 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!” ROCHESTER S PILLS TFIE DIAMOND BRAND. Ladlea! AskyonrU Cht-rbea-ter’a Dlsm PMIa m Red *nd bo*es. sealed with Take n« other. Buy of yoar v Dracfflat. AvV f«r Clfl-C ITES-TPR* DIAMOND BRAND PILLS, for ta vear* knew* as Beat, Safest, A!**»vs Reliable 501DBV DRIGGISTS EViRVUIlfBS KODAKS The Beat Flelthln* and Ealwj- ind That Can Be Pradaaed* RMtir.au Fl'rn? and 1 m mmmv plate me a tour tupptta* •SSWfcr-S&Sa PrteT'u*” A. K. HAWKE5 CO. K D °, D A". ■i -mh tehsll St.. Atuaf. a*. .Ur Bubbles *4 MAGAZINE Copylgrht. 1913, by International Newt Serrtra. S By NELL BRINKLKY Do You Know Thai— Nell Brinkley Says: The longest hunger strike on record was carried out some years ago by a Frenchman named Granie, who was 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 eat 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 enmpam pur chased the coffins fifteen years ago, but they were too cumbersome and could not be disposed of. The c offins, which were sold at prices ranging from ten cents to a quarter each, will be used by the farmers for watering troughs for their stoc k. A new machine, called the stenotvpe, ; has been invented, which enables the j shorthand writer to get from 400 to 600 ; words a minute upon paper in an ahs<; lutely correct and accurate form The j basis of operating the machine is pho- [ netie spelling While the woi i clone is j virtually the same as done by short- | hand, it has t*>e advantage <>f being re- l 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 arms of cherry trees In spring bloom. On the broad, flat top of it was a gvpsy- 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 thev floated, some long breathless seconds, some but an instant, giv ing to the wind changing and glowing 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 that dreams are made of; the blowing of them, .there 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. 1 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 stuff wb { ch 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- stuff then the 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 ter all, would we care about a bubble at all if we could hold it in our band and play with it? For that matter, we can go buy us a big crystal or a pretty marble any day. t 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 ;i single trait wherein his ideal resembles her She hasn’t found it, and Bunker dines in the city now. WITHIN THE LAW A Powerful Story of Adventure, Inlringe and Love 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.” Copyright. 1913. by the H. K. Fly Com pany. The play '‘Within the Law" is copyrighted by Mr. Veiller and this novelizatlon of it is published by his permission. The'American Play Com pany Is the sole proprietor of the ex- cluslve rights of tn« representation and performance of “Within the Law” in all languages. 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 of emotions, strong and baffling. Now, however, when the father spoke, her face grew more composed and her eyes met his coldly. Her voice was level and vaguely dangerous as she answered his accusation. “What is that compared to what ' you have done to me?” Gilder stared at her in honest amazement. He had no suspicion as to the tragedy that lay between him and her. “What have I done 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 w-Ith an intensity of supreme feeling in her voice. “Do you remember what I 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 who swore she was innocent—yes. she swore that she was innocent. And she woultj have got off—only, you asked the Judge to make an example of her. T 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 by 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 W'hile. 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 t worked ... . - — out its evil through the The man to whom she spoke had scheme of which he was the innocent gone gray a little. He began to un- / victim derstand, for he was not lacking in ! tt t> • , T Intelligence. Somehow, it was borne t *16 KemaineCl Loyal, in on him that this woman had a. He cared little for the fact that r«- srrlevance beyond the usual run of cently sh6 had devoted herself to de _ 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 myse ‘Now, if that cabbage comes up sut denly she’ll go over,’ and just thei it came up and over she went." Brown—I’ve got an excellent plan for getting rid of duns. Green—Ah! That so? Brown—I have. Never fails. Green—Then, old fellow, you must let me into the secret, for I’m worried to death Dy ’em. Brown—Well, I’ve tried it several times of late and 1 find the man never comes back again. Gr<*en—Aye. aye! what do you do? Brown—I pay him. “I want you to put up 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 hangine 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. “()h. 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 1 of har pur*e. injuries “You are that girl?” he said. It 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- ! 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 ot 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 one—her hus band. Dick suddenly aroused and spoke with the violence of one sure. “It Is not!" Burkp 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 my affair,” he said, and the others fell silent. He stood up and went to Mary and took her two hands in hts, very gently, yet very llrmly. "Mary,” he said softly, yet with a strength of conviction, "you married i me because you loved me.” The Wife shuddered, but she strove to deny. I "No.” she said gravely, "no. I did not!” "And you love me now!” he went on, tnsistingly. "No, no!” Mary’s denial came like a cry for escape. ■ You love me now!” There was a j masterful quality In his declaration, which seemed to Ignore her negation. "I don’t,” she repeated, bitterly. But he was inexorable. “Cook 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 "Book 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. “Juert 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 straightest 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, iWith a gesture of high disdain. “And I'm proud of It!” came her vious devices for making money, to ingenious schemes for legal plunder. In his summing of her, he set as more than an offset to 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 all the suffering of her life she had retained the more beautiful qualities of her womanli ness, for which he reverenced her. In the closeness of .their association, short as It had been, he had learned to know something of the tenderer depths withjn her, the kindliness of her, the wholesomeness. .Swayed as he was by the loveliness of her, he was yet more enthralled by 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 Be 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 riage 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 T 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. The Other Case. Cary, Maine.—“I feel It a duty 1 owe to all suffering women to tell what Lydia K. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound did for me. One year ago T found myself a terrible sufferer. I had pains in both sides and such a soreness I could scarcely straighten up at times. My back ached. T bad no appetite and was so nervous 1 could not sleep, then I 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. I 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, Main*.