Atlanta Georgian. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, May 27, 1913, Image 17
Snared!
With the Golden Apple of Love for Bait
Copyright, 1913. by International News Service.
By NELL BRINKLEY
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
WAIT A WHILE.
P)EAK MISS FAIRFAX:
1 am 22, and have been keep
ing company with a certain girl
for six weeks. At first It seemed
love at first sight, but 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? 1
am madly in love with her.
S. S.
"Has it occurred to you that she
vfnay have grown tired of seeing so
much of you? Try an application
of 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.
TXEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
* ‘-'I am a girl of 18 years and in
love with a man of 80 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 GIRD.
Suppose I were to tell you to let
him know of your love. You are only
18, 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.
T~)EAR 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, but 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.
TXEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
t-' I am keeping company with a
young lady and w ish 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
i mother being the elder. We will
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.
TXEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
E’ 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.
The Manicure Lady
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
K and brother Wilfred spent
week-end up In the coun
try, and I have Just cams
back,’* aaid the Manicure Lady. ‘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, my poor, deluded
brother had an idea that he could sail
into the little town where we was
going and Just tell them that he was
from New York. He thought that
would make him an idol In said
town. 1 didn’t think so for a minute,
George, because 1 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 And
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 himse’f a favorite Just
because he Uvea in a little New York
flat and rides up and down town :u
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 kind
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 back 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 .listen
WelL Wilfred and me 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 pull* the very phrae*
that I asked him not to. 'This is fain
he says to the company, ‘but little olj
New York for mine.’ I knew right
off that he had made a bonehead play,
because I seen the folks look at eaot.
other kind of funny, but he doesn'r
gete wise, not Wilfred. 'The reaeon
I like Manhattan,’ he babbles right
on. is because Manhattan Is the mar
ket for brains. I write, ae 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 Qui«t Fellow.
"There was a nice, quiet-looking
fellow In the party, George, that I
seen looking over my fool brother
kind nf sly and unobstructive 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 fease
him. He said that the time would go
swift for the party with two clever
writers at the same table!"
1
The Care-Free Spin
By FRANCES L. GARSIDE.
NELL BRINKLEY SAYS
Some curious experiences seem to
have befallen Mr. William Campbell,
late of the Black Watch, who has Just
finished a 50,000-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 was 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 1 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
tnoss 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 MW smites bard 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 WATT—the eord 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 and 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 and Love
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 16 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.
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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. however 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 was 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, hut there was 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 state
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
than a wedding cereitiony. The courts
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, but 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 soil’s
feeling Still he tried to fix the issue
on the known unsavory reputation of
the woman.
“You want to stay married to this
jail bird!” he stormed.
“She Is Justified.”
A gust of fury swept over the hoy. 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 he to his sen
sitiveness. He waited a moment until
he could hold his voice even. Th/m his
words were the sternest protest that
could have been uttered, though they
came from no exercise of thought, only
out of the depths of his heart.
“I’m very fond of her.*V
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 world 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 UjBk ' to' n'hy afoout her imo*
cence!” he said, and his voice was omi
nous. . '’I suppose m-xt ypu will argue
that, because she’s beeii ^cl/tfver ejiough
to keep within 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 law touches it in
the particular case or whether it does
not.”
Gilder faced hls son sternly for a mo
ment, and 'then presently spoke kgain
with deeper earnestness.
“There’s only one course open to you,
my boy. You must give this girl up>”
The sdn met hls father s gaze with a
level look in which there was no weak
ness. . 7/ *•
"I’ve 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 patrol 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
ture of supreme denial. He was furious
at this supposition that she would con
tlnue 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,
is already in the Rogues’ Gallery, but
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 bears 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.”
Gilder once again put hls hand tender
ly on hls son’s shoulder. Hls voice was
modulated to an unaccustomed mildness
as he spoke.
“Be sensible, boy,” he pleaded softly.
“Be sensible!”
Dick dropped down on the couch, and
made his answer very gently, hls eyes
unseeing as he dwelt on the things he
know or
T HERE is this difference: She Is
an OM Maid if she Is old fash
ioned and resigned, and a Bache
lor Girl if she fights hard.
It must be dreary to be a Spin and
have no husband come home and growl
nil 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 aeide the
curling iron with the conviction that
no man is worth having.
When all her friends 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
mon 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
she tries to raise it 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 w’as 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-
sorri^ness for an Old Maid is DANGER
OUS. She was more lonesome than
her friends realized, and one day left
Lonesome Land by walking from the
altar with a Man. One morning a few
years 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 I^onesome.” And hav
ing said that she saldl All!
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the woman he loved.
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