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i =rpTLJTTe Toll Da vsev Mayme And Her Folks FASHION’S LATEST, THE “1. C. U.” WAIST, A DISAPPOINTMENT? By FRANCES L GARSIDE. I T Is not given to the grosser mas culine sex to understand the full ' significance to the world when a claes of girls step through the school door with diplomas in their hands. Of materialistic minds, they sec only another hatch of girls to hang around home till they are married off. They see only girls in white dresses; some pretty, some ugly, some serious and the majority giggly, hut all Just girls who are great bores because they know so much they don't know anything A Big Task. The editor, realizing that such a great event hf a commencement merited the work of an appreciative mind, detailed Daysey Mayme Apple- ton to write up the graduation exer cises of the Parthenon High School, a task for which she felt well-fitted, having only recently delivered a com mencement address to a world that waited outside her school room door “There were twenty-seven girls in the class that was graduated from Parthenon High School last evening, she wrote, “and the audience that sat spellbound through twenty-seven orations and essays till 1:30 next morning regretted there were not more. “Every problem to which mankind is heir was solved, from the tariff to eugenics. Though a tunnel has been completed through the Alps, making It no longer necessary for the gradu ate* to Inspire us to greater efforts b> telling ns that Beyond the Alps lies Italy,' such encouragement was not lacking, and again we crossed the Alps, surmounting every obstacle that lay in our way. “Demosthenes was excelled; Socra tes was rolled Into oblivion by the superior wisdom of tlie class; Ru- phrides Aristotle, Uonfucius, Solo mon. Lincoln and all who have left names that blazed in history were extinguished by the flood of wisdom that poured forth last night Had Napoleon been present he would have learned of his great mistake; Moses could have sat at the feet'of last night's class, and Atlas never again will have to bear tin* burden of the world alone. “They conquered the superstition of the ages; their souls soared supe rior to mundane considerations; a perfect constellation of talent and ge nius. they shone in the heavenly firmament as guiding lights to a world groping in a labyrinth of dark ness. “They showed by the depth of their investigation, the eloquence of their- delivery, the mastery of their style, and the intrepidity of their bearing that at last the world has found a deliverer! Many Deliveries. “A deliverer, did I say? Nay. it has found twenty-seven of them!" With the report of the commence ment Day say Mayme sent a personal note to the editor. “I regret," she wrote, “that 1 lack words In which to express the stu pendous Importance that last night's commencement bears to the world." T Served Him Right. UiK following story of an English nobleman now deceased was re cently told in a West End club: | “The Duke was once in church when a collection was announced for some charitable object The plate began t° go round, and the Duke carefully put his hand Into his pocket and took a florin, which he laid on the pew* fore him ready to be transferred to plate. “Betfide him sat a litlle snob, wh noticing this action, imitated It by os- I tentatiouslv laying a sovereign alongside the ducal florin. This was too much for his Brace, who dipped his hand into his pocket again and pulled out another florin, which he laid by the able of the first. The little snob followed suit by I laying another sovereign beside the first. H’s Grace quietly added a third florin, which was capped by a third sovereign on the part of tlie little snob. Out came a fourth florin to swell the Duke’s dona tion. and. then the little snob triumph antly laid three sovereigns at once upon the board. The Duke, not to be beaten, produced three florins. "Just at this moment the plate ar- r ved T^be little snob took up his hand- f il of sovereigns, ostentatiously rattled them into the plate, and then turned defiantly toward his rival, as if he would aav. *1 think that takes the rise out of you.’ “Fancy his chagrin when the Duke, \ ith a grim smile, put one florin Into the plate, and quietly swept the remain ing six hack into his pocket!” AHK hit C II" waist, the * very in feminine apparel, lias reached the United States from With it <-a me the modified i-skirt second cousin to the mod- I Murathon—because you can run Par spl Ifie in Both are important, we arg told, but neither is anywhere near as startling as the first descriptions from Hv French capital hud led us hem—hope they might be. The i cable dlsp atohes had ft that th* new waist WUJ * a ’’diaphanous’’— tnctffk word —aff air that had the old peek-. H -boo faded that c ven the “peek was take n out of it. Imagine WITHIN THE LAW the fame of the dressmaker that could claim the reputation as being the one that had taken the peek oul of “peek-a-boo.” We were told in the dispatches that the new waist “had a transparent body, generally made of the filmiest mousselJne dc sole, the only opaque material used being a silk sash around the waist; the rest, sleeves included, being of absolutely trans parent inatorial, in some cases so much so as to Indicate a wish on the part of the wearer to outdo the most daring fashion of the directoire period.” Th.- real thing has come, but it is not at all startling In the way expected. There is worn under the transpar ent waist, beside the girdle described, a delicately embroidered intimate garment, besides a heap of ribbons and such —a he-reporter is doing this word daubjng—so that the grand ensemble is artistic, sensible and a continual delight to the eye. As for the new skirt, it, also, will be disappointing to the “lookers.” The lines of this garment arc not changed in the new model. The nar row width at the knee f s is to he main tained. and therefore there must be some allowance made for my lady to i 1 ') her West on tag. The allowance Is there. Yes, it is a longer- and wider slit. Thought Them Samples. A young man who had sj>ent hifc life ;i country village came td New York •« seek his''fortune. On.ihft day rtf his arrival he walked Into a restaurant and rdered dinner. I The waiter brought the meal in all o e little side dishes sacred to restau- • nt keeping, and arranged them .in empting array around the young man's date. For half an hour he sat and looked at e untouched dinner, untij. overcome >y hunger, he called the waiter, who id been watching him wonderingly, and “Look here, mister, if you don't hurry nd bring my dinner IT. eat up jour m pies." Serve Velva On YOUR Table You can’t know how really good Velva Syrup is, unless you serve it to vour family not at any one meal—but at all three. There’s a use for Velva three times a day—on griddle cakes, muffins or hiscuits in the morning, in dainty desserts at noon, in cakes and cookies at night. Besides that, you’ll find that makes the best candies and fudge that you ever munched— chewy taffies, kisses, pulled candies and sugary sweets—and the fudge; you can’t beat it, try as you will. Nearly a hundred ways of using Velva, the svrup in the red can —clean, sanitary, delicious. Send for the book of Velva recipes. No charge. Velva in the green can, too. if you prefer it. Both kinds, ten cents up, according to size. Cranberry Sherbet l cupful Red Velva Syrup, 2 Quarts cranberries. ( lemons. 2 me whites, 1 1-2 cupfuls sugar. 1 quart water Coxrr the cranberries with water and boil until soft Strain and add the syrup, sugai and lemon juice Freeze, and when partly frozen add the ■ .v wnites of cjgs and freeze to the desired con- t 1 }| sistenc\ This is excellent with turke . PENICK & FORD, Ltd. New Orleans. La. On one occasion a well-known man ager went to the theater for the ex- pre>*s purpose of encouraging a young actor who had shown signs of ner vousness in a new part. When the promising young man made his exB into tin* Wihgs perspiration was streaming down his face. The man ager looked at him for a moment and tnen said, in tones of intense admira tion : "How well your skin acts!” A funn> mistake occurred lately in printing labels for a meat preserving company. The printer had been In the habit of labeling tins of beef or mutton, as the case might be. with the words “without bone" prominently displayed. The company having add l'd kidney soup to its list, the new ar ticle was duly ticket: ! as “Kidney soup—without bone." slip out: “Gentlemen, if everybody will be silent we shall be better able to discover who makes the row." This reminds us of a medical re port. which began thus: “There exists a great number of families in Dublin who have died of cholera.” A—You don’t seem to have any life in you. Is there nothing or nobody over which you can enthuse? B.—Nothing at all. 1 once became enthusiastic over somebody, and a short time afterward she became my wife. That was a sad warning to me to avoid enthusiasm. Tear what i her—John, can you tell me s meant by « steward? John A ; ard is a man who doesn’t mine 1 hit • own business. Teacher- Whe ■iv did you get that idea ? John We 11. I looked it up in • the dictionary u ml i it said: “A man who attend- to t he *i iflairs of others." Mrs Snoo per- -Men make me tired. Mis. Svvav k - What’s the matter Mrs. Snoc - AJ> husband sa w Mrs. Keedic k > t ‘sterday. and I a pked and he repli. much no the following naivete half was in front.” Taken Literally The parish tea was over, and the curate stood up to say a few v ords to tlie recipiehts before they dispersed. He spoke in eloquent i • m» of the impecuniosity of curates <n general, and then went on to say , in apparent ly touching tones: “Why. even as 1 stand before you now I have only half a shirt on my back." A few day? later the rev rend gen tleman received a parcel itaiivng half a dozen new shirts, accompanied by a card bearing the name of one of his fair (though, alas! no longer young) parishioners. At th earliest opportunity he called upon the lady and thanked her for the gif;, and -hen proceeded to ask what bad prompted the kind action. ■ Why." she replied, "you told us the other night that you had only ha'f a shirt to your back.” “True,” he answered, "but tb otherj Copyright, m3, by the H. IC Fly Com pany The play “Within the I^aw" is [ copyrighted by Mr. Veiller and this 1 novflizatlon of it la 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. Bv MARVIN DANA from the Play by BAYARD VEILLER. TO-DA Y S INSTALLMENT. He would not believe that the girl did not care for him. Whatever had been her first purpose of tiling him only r as an instrument through which to strike*ugainst his father, whatever might be her present plan of elimi nating him from her life in the fu ture. he still was sure that she had grown to know a real and lasting af fection for himself. He remembered startled glances from the violet eyes, caught unawares, and the music of her voice In rare instants, and these told him that Jove for him stirred, even though it might as yet be but faintly, in her heart. .Out of that fact he drew an imme diate comfort In this period of his misery. Nevertheless, his anguish was a racking one. He grew older visibly in the night and the day. There crept suddenly lines of new feeling into his face, and, too. lines of new strength. The boy died in that time; the man wag bom. came forth in the full of his steadfastness and his cour age and Ills love. The father suffered with the son. He was a proud man, intensely gratified ovei the commanding position to whicli he had achieved in the com mercial world, proud of his business integrity, of his standing in the com munity as a leader, proud of his social position, proud most of all of the son whom he so loved. Realized His Son’s Love. Now. this hideous disaster threat ened his pride at every turn—worse, it threatened the one person in the world whom he really loved. Most fa thers would have stormed at the boy when pleading failed, would have given commands with harshness, would have menaced the recalcitrant w ith -disinheritance. Edward Gilder did none of these things, though his heart was sorely wounded. He loved his son too much to contemplate making more evil for the lad by any estrangement between them. Yet Tie felt that the matter could not safely be left in the hands of Dick himself. He realized that his son loved the woman—nor could he w onder much at j that. His keen eyes had perceive'! Mary Turner's graces of form. h° loveliness , of face. He had appre- j hended, too. in some measure at least, the fineness of her mental fiber an 1 the capacities of her heart. Deep within him, denied any outlet, he knew th*re lurked a curious, subtie sympathy for the girl in her scheme of revenge against himself. Her per sistent striving toward tlie object of her ambition was something he could j understand, since the like thing m ' different guise had been back of his I own business success. He would not let the idea rise to i the surface of consciousness, for he still refused to believe that Mary Tur ner had suffered at his hand unjustly. Hr* would think of her as nothin? els^ than a vile creature, who had caught his son in the tolls of her beauty an 1 charm for the purpose of eventually making money out of the intrigue. Gilder, in his library this night, was pacing impatiently to and fro, eagerly listening for the sound of his son’s re- , turn to the house. He had been the j guest of honor that night at an impor tant meeting of the Civic Committee, and he had spoken with his usual clarity : and earnestness in spite of the trouble ! that beset him. Now, however, the re generation of the city was far from his thought, and his sole concern was with | the regeneration of a life, that of his son. which hade fair to be ruined by the wiles of a wicked woman. He was anx ious for the coming of Dick, to whom he would make one more appeal. If that should fail—well, he must use the influences at his command to secure the forcible parting of the adventuress from his son. “Dick at Last,’’ He Muttered. The room in which he paced to and fro was of a solid dignity, well fitted to serve as an environment for its owner. It was very large and lofty. There was massiveness in the desk that stood oppo site the hall door, near a window This particular window itself was huge. high, jutting-in octagonal, with leaded panes. In addition, there was a great fireplace set with tiles, around which was wood work. elaborately carved, the fruit of patient questioning abroad. On the walls were hung some pieces of tapestry, where there were not book cases. Over the octagonal window, too, such draperies fell in stately fines. Now, as the magnate paced back and forth, there was only a gentle light in the room from a reading lamp on his desk. The huge chandelier was unlighted. . . . . It was even as Glider, in an increasing Irritation over the delay, had thrown himself down on a couch which stood just a little way within an al cove, that he heard the outer door open and shut. He sprang up with an ejacu lation of satisfaction. “Dick at last!" he muttered. It was. in truth, the son. A moment later he entered the room and went at once to his father, who was standing waiting, facing the door. “I’m awfully sorry I’m so late. Dad,” he said simply. “Where have you been?’’ the father demanded gravely. But there was great affection in the flash of his gray eyes as he. scanned the young man's face, and the touch of the hand that he put on Dick s shoulder was very tender. “With that woman again?" The boy’s voice was disconsolate as he replied: “No. father, not with her. She won't see me.' The older man snorted a wrathful ap preciation. Gilder Was Impressed. “Naturally:” he exclaimed with ex ceeding bitterness In the heavy voice “She's got all she wanted from you—my name!' He repeated the words, with a grimace of exasperation. “My name!" Then# 1 was a novel dignity in the son’s tone as he spoke. “It's mine, too, you know, sir." he, said quietly. To Be Continued To-morrow. * BACHELOR WHO WOULD BE A JILT He Thought He Was in Love, Proposed. Was Accepted, and Now He Is Sorry By DOROTHY DIX. A N old bachelor, who in an un wary moment allowed himself to be captured by some skill ful lady fisher of men, is wriggling on the hook and has appealed to me for assistance In getting free again. He writes a doleful letter in which he says that although the girl to whom he is engaged is all that is nice and charming and would make some other man an admirable wife, he doesn’t want to marry her or any other woman, because It will inter- f< i<* with .ill qf his old bachelor ways. He Is settled in his habits and he doesn't feel that he could change them to please a wife. For instance, it upsets him for the entire day to have anybody alter the position of his brushes on his chiffonier. And what he should do if he found a long hair in his comb he trembles to con template. Also of an evening he likes to sit by himself and smoke his pipe in silence* an amusement which in his opinion is a million times more pleasurable than listening to the chatter of any wife. He dreads to think of this unsociable custom be ing broken up, and he palpitates with horror lest he should not only get a wife who would want io talk and be talked to of an evening, but who might put the taboo on pipes al together. Wants Advice. The poor fellow is in a terrible, dilemma, and he asks me what I think he should do under the circum stances. My advice to him is to break off the engagement, not for his own sake, but in common humanity to the girl. He has become fossilized, and fossils have no business getting mar ried. Their proper place is on a shelf in a museum, or at a seat at a club window, and not in cluttering up the holy estate. What would a young and blooming girl, full-of vitality and enthusiasm, brimming over with interest in life, do with a man who was nothing but a bunch of peculiarities and cranki ness? A woman with “ways” is bad enough, goodness knows, but heaven help the poor girl who marries a man with “ways." There are many men who are hard to live with, but the sissy man with all sorts of little fin- nicky habits has gotten all the bal ance of them beaten a city block. However, I commend my corre spondent for one thing. He is can did and honest with himself and with the girl. He knows he wouldn’t make a good husband, and he warns the girl of his cantankerousness be fore marriage Instead of waiting to let her rtnd it out afterward when it is too late. This is, at least, playing the game squarely, and it’s a pity that more men don’t show the same sportsman like attitude toward matrimony, U they did there would be fewer mar riages, but happier ones. For example, the man who is sting' and who feels as if he were parting with his life blood every time he spends a nickel, knows very well that matrimony isn't going to work any DOROTHY DIX. liracle in him that will make him g^n^rous. He is perfectly aware of how grudgingly he is going to pay his family expenses. Why shouldn't he emulate the example of my corre spondent and be frank w ith the wom an he asks to marry him? He might say to her when he popped the ques tion. “I love you, kid. but oh. my pocketbook!” That would give the girl a chance to know the difficulties she was sure to confront in matrimony, and if she thought i’he would not enjoy cork screwing money out of a tightwad husband, she could decline the Job. But the man never says a word to her concerning his miserly habits, and so the poor, ignorant girl goes blunder ing along into a lifetime of begging and coaxing for pennies, and of get ting scolded because she can’t run a house on air. Certainly the man who does not like to talk, or to be talked to, and who has the fixed habit of spending his evenings in solitude over pipe and pa- \wr, is in honor bound to warn the woman he marries that that is what she has got to expect if she becomes his w ife. And. believe me, there would be a mighty falling off in the ringing of wedding bells if girls knew how often they were getting a dummy in stead of a live husband. You see the poor things marry for companionship. They dream of the* , jolly times they are going to have go/ ing about with their husbands, or th& dear heart-to-heart talks they are going to enjoy across their own drop light, and when they find out that hubby is always too tired to go out to any place of amusement, and that his entire stock of domestic conversation consists of a few grunts, they get tho jar of their lives* and wonder why > they left their happy homes* for this., f Nor is it very lively Tor a woman to' spend the evening at home alone be cause her husband has the club habit and prefers to play poker with a lot of men to making himself agreeable to his wife. Few girls have to marry in this day for support. They have a good home, or else they can make one for themselves. Also, they have their friends and amusements, and there is nothing meaner, nor crueller, for a man to do than to take a young wom an out of her own gay and pleasant environment and dump her down in a strange place and leave her by her lonely. Unless he means to bear her company and to make her life happy and cheerful he lias no right to marry her. Another Don’t. Likewise, the man who knows him self to be fickle, and that his errant fancy is snared by every pretty face that passes, should give himself the benefit of the doubt and stay single. He shouldn’t marry to tear his wife's heart with jealousy. And no man should marry until he has finished sowing his wild oats crop. As long as man wants to run with the boys, and come home at all hours of the night, he should be hu mane enough not to inflict on an in nocent woman the sad lot of the drunkard’s wife. In a word, unless a man can make up his mind to change his habits, if they are bad ones, and adapt his ways to those of the woman he marries, he should stay single. THE FIVE FRANKFORTERS , A Romance of Great Wealth as Played by Money Kings By KATHRYN KEY. Copyright, 1913, by the New York Even ing Journal Publishing Company. TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. “Money? He can have as much money as he wants for all I care.” “Come, sit where Grannie and I were this morning. It is so cosy talking across her dear little, round breakfast table—sugar and cream, sir?" She laughed at her tner-y fancy. “Don't Charlotte—that hurts," he said, in a voice that he tried to keep smooth and impassive. But the thought of pretty Charlotte in the gentle Intimacy of the breakfast hour was almost more than his heart coum bear. Charlotte dismissed her game, since it appeared, for some reason which she could not fathom, to be most un welcome. “Then if the Duke is wel come to our money—which Is most important. I should think—what is it you object to?” There was a long pause—Jacob wondered dully ho v much a man might bear. “Oughtn’t I to ask? Dear Jacob, shall we forget I tried to pry into your private— and. no doubt, very good—reasons?” Jacob laughed roughly and uneven ly—a laugh in which there was no mirth. “ ‘My reasons.’ I must t**ii you—I must. Little Charlotte, yofir fate is being sealed in that room up stairs. Now you know." “My fate! But I do not understand! How does it concern me?" "The Duke will ask for you in mar riage—he is to marry you as part jf the bargain—in return for the ser vices our family is rendering him. It is all your father’s clever idea. He is the cleverest of us all. He can turn almost anything to good account. Even his own daughter." So flowered the seed of bitterness Solomon had sown in Jacob’s heart. Charlotte answered with gentle ear nestness: "You must not speak like that of my father. Remember that I love him—and although you and even I may not understand all he does—he loves me and he tries to do his best for ine.” “So you will marry the Duke?" Jacob in turn questioned gently— but he had not dreamed that her love for her father would carry the girr so far—where, in truth, was her re sentment at being the puppet for for use in her father’s tremendous schemes? Charlotte did not an swer. Jacob spoke again: “You like him, don’t you?” Masculine jealously sug gested a solution of Charlotte’s strange attitude. She must like the man, else how coud she so calmly take the great news of how her fate was being settled ip the room above. "I like him—yes. He is clever— more so than he pretends to be. And he has a kind heart, too—though he likes to appear bitter sometimes—but he ought to outgrow that. He is quite young.” Charlotte spoke her thoughts aloud, in calm consideration of this most unexpected turn of events. But, after all, she was accustomed to her father’s wizardry. Life Had Been Easy. “ ‘Young’—‘And handsome,’ ” said Jacob. The girl continued in her train of thought. "Yes. He Is handsome and he is not conceited.’ "In fact, he has a perfect character —as well as a grand position. What more could a girl of my people—of ANY people—want?” Charlotte answered dreamily—the bitterness of her cousin's tone had not yet echoed its way into her conscious ness. “It would be a very different life from what I have always pic tured for myself.” She paused a mo ment and looked at the man witlK whom she was so dispassionately dis- * cussing her marriage to another man. In his face she beheld the fires of an emotion tar greater than she had ever known—or seen. Life had been lilies and roses and violets in a garden for Charlotte—of life’s governing forces, of the roots from which the flowers— and we humans alike—spring she had known no real fact. Vaguely and dimly aho sensed now in Jacob's burn- ingly tender eyes something very big —very far and very real. Elemental, primitive love—the guardianship of a man for his mate. For a second the girl looked into Jacob s soul and then she spoke uneasily: “Why do you dis like the Duke so?” "Because I am jealous of him!” Jealous?’’ “Only because he is so self-pos sessed, and I am just the opposite! He makes me feel stupid, awkward. I know* I am far beneath him. I have nothing against him. and just be cause I haven’t T feel” “What? asked Charlotte very gently. The boy’s iron self-control broke. He buried his face in shaking arms and breathed one word. “Miserable.” A tender light broke over the girl’s face. Another second of weakness on Jacob’s part, and the course of lives might have been changed—little Prin cess Evelyn in Neustadt Castle, who knows what a man’s strong feeling of family one-ne.ss and family honor did for your gentle fate? "What troubles you, Jacob? Let me help.” The woman’s tender heart spoke in the girl’s tones—and Jacob knew that the victory lay with him£ and his to choose what the victory' must be. To Be Continued To-morrow. A stubborn backache that hangs on, week after week, is cause to suspect kidney trouble, for when the kidneys are inflamed and swollen, bending the back brings a sharp twinge that almost takes the breath away. It’s hard to work and just as hard to rest or sleep. Doan’s Kidney Pills re vive sluggish kidneys— relieve congested, aching kidneys. The proof is an amazing collection of backache testimonials. Here’s an Atlanta case. Oh! My Back! A Atlanta Proof “Every Picture Tells a Story.” Testimony of a Resident of Cooper Street E. W. Brooks. 198 Cooper Street, Atlanta, Ga., says: “I can recommend Doan’s Kid ney Pills. Some months ago I procured a box of Doan’s Kidney Pills at Jacobs’ Drug Store for one of my family who had been suffering with kidney disorders. They quickly removed all traces of the trouble. I advise all suf fering from kidney disorders to give Doan’s Kidney Pills a trial.” “When Your Back is Lame—Remember the Name” DOAN’S KIDNEY PILLS Price 50 cents. Foster-Milbum Co, Buffalo. N. Y„ Proprietors