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Y Four ^SSBj
Trains Daily
from Cincinnati
splendidly equipped in perfect mannet
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LINES sA
1"he Manicure Lady
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
Advice to the
Lovelorn
Snared!
With the Golden Apple of Love for Bait J3y NELL. BRINKLEY
Copyright, 1913. by International News Service.
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
WAIT A WHILE.
P)KAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am 22, and have been keep
ing company with a certain Kiri
for six weeks. At first it seemed
love at first sight, hut lately she
has grown cold. I buy her candy
and flowers and try to please her
and her parents have taken a lik
ing to me. But she now assumes
an indifferent air Do you think
my proposal would be accepted? I
am madly in love with her.
S. S.
Has it occurred to you that she
may have grown tired of seeing so
much of you? Try an application
rot that old adage, "absence makes the
heart grow fonder."
In any event, a proposal after an
acquaintance of only six weeks is apt
to be premature.
DON’T LET HIM KNOW.
HEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am a girl of 18 years and in
love with a man of 30 years This
man is a friend of my folks. He
has never taken me out and he is
very nice to me. and always talks
of getting married. He doesn’t
know I love him Please tell me
how I could win his love.
A SPANISH GIRL.
Suppose I were to tell you to let
him know of your love. You are only
3 8, and girls of that age transfer
their hearts easily. If you let him
know of your love to-day, the chances
are you will love another man to
morrow'. Spare yourself humiliation
by keeping your love a secret until he
asks for It.
NOT IMPROPER.
TAEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
Do you think it proper for a
girl who is keeping steady com
pany to ask the man when she
will see him next? A. L. W.
Their Intimacy warrants such a
question from her, hut I would not
want her to be urgent or persist
ent, and it is in better taste if she
lets him take the initiative in making
future engagements.
MOTHERS SHOULD CALL FIRST.
1YEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
1 am keeping company with a
young lady and wish to know if It
is proper for the young lady's
mother to call on my mother, or
my mother to call on her, my
mother being the elder. We will
■V soon be engaged. S. S. L.
Such overtures should come from
the family of the man, never from the
family of the girl.
THE LADY FIRST.
rtEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
V-' Which is proper: For a lady
■ to greet a gentleman first, or a
gentleman to greet a lady, while
walking on the street? ARCO.
The lady is the first always to give
some sign of recognition.
“M"-*
R and brother Wilfred spent
week-end up in the coun
try, and 1 have Just cams
back," said the Manicure L«&dy. "I
would rather than not spend all my
week-ends in the country, George, be
cause the air Is so restful up there,
but I guess Wilfred don’t want to go
back no more to the town where we
was.
"You see, George, mv poor, deluded
brother had an Idea that he could sail
into the little town where we was
going and Just tell theip that he was
from New York. He thought that
would make him an Idol In said
town. I didn’t think so for a minute,
George, because I know how people Is
in small towns. They mind their own
business and everybody else’s, but
they don’t care a rap where they find
out you came from. You might as
well try to make a gorilla kiss your
hand as to make a small towner re
spect you because you are a New
Yorker. They simply don’t care where
you are from, and the way they treat
ed my poor brother I guess the big
ger the town you came from the less
they care.”
They Go to Europe.
"I don’t blame them,” said the Head
Barber. “I don’t see why a man
should figure himself a favorite Just
because he lives in a little New York
flat and rides up and down town m
the subway. How is that going to
make a. man wise? Most of the fel
lows that was born in the ’shadow
of the Brooklyn Bridge—the kino
that comes in here sometimes to get
shaved—ain’t got much idea of the
great country they are living in. if
they save up a little dough, they don’t
go out to the wonderful Pacific Coast.
No; they go to Europe and get
bunked. They pay a guide a lot of
dough to show them some place where
an English king had his nephews
choked to death in a tower, and th *n
they come hack and tell about their
travels.”
“I hope you ain’t doing a mono
logue, George,” said the Manicure
Lady. "I was trying to tell you
something about this week-end party,
if you are enough of a gent to Jlsteo
Well, Wilfred and rae reached the
town all right, and the minute we
got to the hotel and were seated with
our country friends around the table,
poor brother pulls the very phm#i
that I asked him not to. ‘This is fair/
he says to the company, ‘but little o!{
New York for mine.’ I knew rlghf
off that he had made a bonehead play*
because I seen the folks look at eacf.
other kind of funny, but he doesn't
gete wise, not Wilfred. The reason
I like Manhattan/ he babbles right
on, ‘is because Manhattan Is the mar
ket for brains. I write, as perhaps
some of you people know,’ says poor
brother, ‘and the brains of the coun
try, in literature, all flock to New'
York. If I were a farmer, I would
like it up here, but being a writer, I
have to be in the heart of the literary
world, little old New York/
A Quiet Fellow.
"There was a nice, quiet-looking
fellow tn the party, George, that I
seen looking over my fool brother
kind of sly and unobstructlve like. He
was dressed rough, because he was or
a fishing trip, but I seen right away
from his calm, well-bred misdemeanor
that he was a gent. He listened a
long time while Wilfred was telling
them what a terrible strain it is on a
writer to keep writing, and he even
stood for my brother’s reciting some
of his own poems right at the table
with his mouth full of chow-chow and
new bread. Then he got up and went
out with a smile at me. 1 seen then
and there that him and me .would be
good friends, because we both knew
Wilfred through and through.
"Honest to goodness, George, do
you know who he was? I asked one
of the ladies, and she told me. The
gent that had been listening to Wil
fred’s hot air about writing and writ
ers was George Ade, who wrote
‘Fables in Slang’ and ‘Horatius at
the Bridge’ and ‘David Copperfleld’
and a lot of other books and plays.”
‘‘Did Wilfred find out who he was?'*
asked the Head Barber.
“Sure he did, but it didn’t feaz©
him. He said that the time would go
swift for the party with two clever
writers at the same table!”
The Care-Free Spin
By FRANCES L. GARSIDE.
-NELL BRINKLEY SAYS
Do You Know-
Some curious experiences seem to
have befallen Mr. William Campbell,
late of the Black Watch, who has just
finished a 60.000-mile walk, in a kilt,
through India, Ceylon, Australia and
New Zealand. In Italy his dancing of
a Highland fling in the street led to
arrest, a New Zealand chief offered
him a wife In exchange for his cos
tume, and in Australia he lavished
money on eau-de-cologne in order to
keep the mosquitoes away from his
knees. He tvas nearly murdered at a
religious festival in Ceylon, being
taken for a devil.
The Quebec agency of the Canadian
Marine Department has received word
that a gas buoy which drifted from
its position in the lower St. Lawrence
River during the winter of 1912 has
been picked up by the lightship at
Hellewick, New South Wales. It is
supposed that the buoy drifted round
Cape Horn, a distance of 16,000 miles.
The date of the buoy’s disappearance
is not given, but even if it took place
early in the winter of 1911-12 the
buoy would have to drift 30 miles a
day or more to reach New South
Wales in the time.
I N this fashion is it done! In the depths of a
lovely forest, velveted underfoot in emerald-
moss and sewn thick with flowers—forget-
me-nots, heartease and such like soft names—
hide certain wary wights with very fat cheeks
and tummies! Over the runways they set their
snares—a cunning loop of golden cord—thrown
over a high tree-bough and down, as high from
the ground as—a maid’s waist. On the green
moss under the shining loop (which is so like a
slanting sunbeam that a strolling lady would
never catch it in her bright eye in the world)
they drop a golden apple. And on the golden
apple the sun smites hard enough to enchant and
blind a maid with its flame. One malicious
wight, the coldest-blooded of all, shins up the
tree into the leafy green shadow and- lies there
with his bow drawn and a keen-tipped arrow
necked. The rest fall upon the other end of the
cord. They hold their breath, their eyes harden
and brighten. The feathery curl on the tip top
of one’s head waves idly in the wind! One itches
his pink heel with the toes of his other foot. One
breathes too loud and gets a fat knee in his back
for his stupidity. They WAIT—the cord a bit
slack. Down the runway comes a maid, with
soft black hair, primroses over her ears, a nar
row slashed skirt (the better to dance the Tango
in), silver buckles on her shoes and an unsus
pecting sweet blue eye! And the sun on the
golden apple smites into her eyes! The wights
behind the tree-bole stiffen an$ dig their toes
into the moss. With a little cry the maid pinches
up her silken skirt between a forefinger and
thumb and runs swiftly—in a soft rush—she
dives down with a greedy hand for the apple in
the moss. Her head hovers within the big gold
en loop. She straightens—ah-h-h down slithers
the noose over her shoulders—“Heya”—the
wights lean and pull like mad, and my lady’s
body is twirling in midair, her little heels kick
ing nothing! “Heya!”—-the wight in the tree
lets his arrow go singing straight to the cap
tive’s heart—and another maid is snared 1
A Powerful Story of Ad
venture, Intrigue andLove
WITHIN THE LAW
By MARVIN DANA, from the
Play of BERNARD VEILLER
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-
i pany is the sole proprietor of the ex
clusive rights of the representation
and performance of ‘‘Within the l^aw”
' in all languages.
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By MARVIN DANA from the
Play by BAYARD VEILLER.
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
The father was Impressed of a sudden
with the fact that, while this affair was
of supreme import to himself. It was,
after all, of still greater significance to
his son. To himself, the chief concerns
were of the worldly kind. To this boy,
the vital thing was something deeper,
something of the heart ; for. how r ever ab
surd his feeling, the truth remained that
he loved the woman. Yes, it was the
son’s name that Mary Turner had taken,
as well as that of his father. In the
case of th© son, she had taken not only
his name, but his very life. Yes, It was,
indeed, Dick’s tragedy. • Whatever he,
the father, might feel, the son was, after
all, more affected. He must suffer more,
must lose more, must pay more with
happiness for his folly.
Gilder looked at his son with a strange,
new respect, but he could not let the
situation go without protest, protest
most vehement
“Dick,” he cried, and his big voice
was shaken a little by the force of his
emotion, "boy, you are all I have in the
world. You will have to free yourself
from this woman somehow.” He stood
very erect, staring steadfastly out of his
clear gray eyes into those of his son.
His heavy face w'as rigid with feeling;
the coarse mouth bent slightly In a
smile of troubled fondness, as he added
more softly: “You owe me that much.”
The son’s eyes met his father's freely.
There was respect in them, and affec
tion, but there was 7 something else,
too, something the older man recognized
as beyond his control. He spoke grave
ly, with a deliberate conviction.
Gilder’s Voice Rang Out.
"I owe something to her, too, Dad.”
But Gilder would not let the staie-
ment go unchallenged. His heavy voice
rang out rebukingly, overtoned with
protest.
"What can you owe her?” he de
manded. indignantly. “She tricked you
into the marriage. Why, legally, it’s not
even that. There's been nothing more
I than a wedding ceremony The courts
i hold that is only a part of the marriage
actually. The fact that she doesn't re
ceive you makes it simpler, too. It can
be arranged. We must get you out of
the scrape.”
He turned and went to the desk, as
if to sit, hut he was halted by his son’s
answer, given very gently, yet with a
note of finality that to the father’s ear
rang like the crack of doom.
"I’m not sure that I want to get out
of It, father."
That was all, but those plain words
summed the situation, made the issue
a matter not of advice, but of the heart.
Gilder persisted, however, in trying
to evade the Integral fact of his son’s
feeling. Still he tried to fix the issue
on the known unsavpry reputation of
the woman.
‘‘You w^ant to stay married to this
jail bird!” he stormed.
“She Is Justified.”
A gust of fury swept over the boy. He
loved the woman, in spite of all; he re
spected her, even reverenced her. To
hear her thus named moved him to a
rage almost beyond his control. But he
mastered himself. He remembered that
the man who spoke loved him: he re
membered. too, that the word of oppro
brium was no more than the truth,
however offensive it might be to his sen
sitiveness. He waited a moment until
he could hold his voice even. Then his
words were the sternest protest that
could Tiave been uttered, though they
came from no exercise of thought, only
out of the depths of his heart.
"I'm very fond of her."
That was all. But the simple sin
cerity of the saying gripped the father’s
mood as no argument could have done
There was a little silence. After all,
what could meet such loving loyalty?
When at last he spoke Gilder’s voice
was subdued, a little husky.
“Now that you know?" he questioned.
There was no faltering in the answer.
"Now that I know," Dick said dis
tinctly. Then abruptly the young man
spoke with the energy of perfect faith
in the woman. ‘‘Don’t you see, father?
Why, she is justified in a way. in her
own mind, anyhow, I mean She was
innocent when she was sent to prison.
She feels that the wmrld owes her—”
But the older man would not permit
the assertion to go uncontradicted. That
reference to the woman’s innocence was
an arraignment of himself, for it had
been he who sent her to the term of
imprisonment.
“Don’t taW< Vo rtfe about her inno
cence!" he said, and his voice was omi
nous. "1 suppose neat *ypy will ,ht“gye
that, because shn’s bijen cfeV'qr ebough
to keep w’ifhln the law since she*s got
out of State’s prison, she’s not a crim
inal. But let me tell you—crime is
crime, whether tho law touches it in
the particular case or whether it does
not."
Gilder faced his son sternly for a mo
ment, and then presently spoke again
with deeper earnestness.
"There’s only qne course open to you,
my boy. You must give this girl up."
The son met his father’s gaze, with a
level look in which there wa*s no weak
ness. ’*
'Tve told'you, Dad ” he began.
"You must, I tell you,” the father in
sisted. Then he went on quickly, with
a tone of utmost positiveness. "If you
don't, what are you going to do the day
your wife is thrown into a ffmrol wagon
and carried to police headquarters—for
it’s sure to happen? The cleverest of
people make mistakes, and some day
she’ll make one.”
Dick threw out his hands in a ges-
V
ture of supreme denial. He was furious
at this supposition that she would con
tinue in her irregular practices.
But the father went on remorselessly.
"They will stand her up where the
detectives will walk past her with masks
on their faces. Her picture, of course,
i$ already in the Rogues’ Gallery, hut
they will take another. Yes, and the
imprints of her fingers, and the meas
urements of her body.”
The son was writhing under the words.
The woman of whom these things were
said was the woman whom he loved.
It was blasphemy to think of her in
such case, subjected to the degradation
of these processes. Yet, every word had
in it the piercing horrible sting of truth.
His face whitened. He raised a sup
plicating hand.
"Father!”
"That’s what they will do to your
wife," Gilder went on harshly, "to the
woman who hears your name and mine.
There was a little pause, and the father
stood rigid, menacing The final ques
tion came rasping. "What are you go
ing to do about it?"
Dick went forward until he was close
to his. father. Then he spoke with
profound conviction.
"It will never happen. She will go
straight, Dad. That I know. You would
know it If you only knew her as I do."
Glider once again put his hand tender
ly on his son’s shoulder. His voice was
modulated to an unaccustomed mildness
as he spoke.
"Be sensible, boy," he pleaded softly.
"Be sensible!"
Dick dropjled down on the couch, and
made his answer very gently, his eyes
unseeing as he dwelt on the things he
r of
T HERE is this difference: She Is
an Old Maid if she is old fash
ioned and resigned, and a Bache
lor Girl if she fights hard.
It must he dreary to be a Spin and
have no hupband coma home and growl
all evening about the high cost of liv
ing.
When a Spin knows how to smooth a
man’s plumage an ideal wife is lost
to the world. ,
No one can save money quite as fast
as a Spin after she has put aside the
curling iron with the conviction that
no man is worth having.
When all her'frijnds unite In saying
"What a good time she has,” you can
bet "She’s is either a Spin or a widow.
It Is easy to compliment the mother
of children, but when a woman has
become a real old Spin the only way
to reach her Is to appeal through
what she learned at school.
"The top of her voice" is a com
mun expression, but the top note de
pends entirely on whether a woman
is married or a Spin. Mothers reach
a high key through experience In
screaming at the children, their hus
bands and the dog, but the top of a
Spin’s voice Is a low pitch, and: when
sh$ tries to raise’tt it becomes a squeal.
The top of a mother’s voice would stop
a fire engine, the top of a Spin’s voice
isn’t loud enough to call the cat home
from the next yard.
Once Upon a Time there lived an Old
Maid. She did not call herself a Spin.
She was frank about it, and admitted
she was an Old Maid, despising such
subterfuges as Spin and Bachelor Girl.
The Old Maid was lonesome, and lone-
somnness for an Old Maid Is DANGER
OUS. She was more lonesome than
her friends realized/ and one day left
Ixmesome I-and by walking from the
altar with & Man. One morning a few
yeara later her husband left the house
after a stormy scene, banging the door
with such violence that pictures and
plates tumbled from the walls. The
noise awoke the Twins, and they set up
a Howl "At least," said the ex-Old
Maid, as she tried to soothe the crying
babies and pick up pictures and broken
glass and china at the same time, "I
Am No Longer Lonesome." And hav
ing said that she sai<f All!
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. 72 South Pryor Street, Atlanta, Ga.
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The Best
know
the woman he loved.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
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