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( By FRANCES L. CARS IDE T HE long winter and spring months devoted by Daysev Mayme Appleton to instructing spinsters i-n the care of infants, to fighting for the ballot for mothers, and to relegating to his place among the worms of the dust that monster called Man, had taken the starch out of Jier amibition and the curl out of her hair. She realized that though it would fall with a crash fatal to its inhabit ants, she must drop the world she was carrying on her shoulders. She must go away from kin and friends, seeking some holy spot of sol itude where she might renew the fagged impulses of her soul, and de- *cide what degree of blonde would be most becoming to her for next season. “I am going to spend the summer at Lake Skodunk,” she announced one afternoon to her friends. “Oh,” replied seventeen of them, “how nice! We will go with you!" Then immediately they began to seek for railroad pamphlets telling about the beauties of Lake. Skodunk, to write for reservations at the hotel, and to pack their trunks. n Daysey Mayme is an easy mark among her friends. All women are easy mark^ among their friends. Or else they have no friends! There was only one thing to do: She must not offend her friends; she must give up Lake Skodunk. She had found at the last'moment, she said when seeing them on their train, that she could not go. She might join them later. Kick-a-poo-by-the-Sea looked good on the map. “I will go to Kick-a- poo-by-the-Sea,” she said, wearily, to a third cousin, “where my soul may commune alone with the sad sea waves.” The third cousin looked Interested. She hurried away to tell the other kin. That evening seven cousins, five un cles. eleven aunts and nine in-laws called Daysey Mayme to the tele phone. “We think.” each one cried, "that it would be fine to have a fami ly reunion at Kick-a-poo-by-the-Sea, and we are all going with you.” The next dgy Daysey Mayme Ap pleton was missing, and no one could learn her whereabouts. She had pulled down the blinds to give the impres sion that the house was abandoned for the summer and had locked herself In. Every morning she dressed while balancing on one foot on a piano stool in a very small closet, to simulate the experience in the dressing car on a Pullman, and every night she slept on the pantry shelf. "In this way,” she said, putting a cinder In her eye, “I experience all the joys of travel and escape my dear rel atives and friends.” Frau Emma Giehrl, of Munich, daugh ter of a former Bavarian Finance Min ister has just celebrated a remarkable Jubilee. For fifty years she has not left her sick bed, and to forget her suf ferings and to gtve pleasure to other people she has during this period writ ten stories of mystery and educational works. Her books for women and in valids form quite a library. At the close of the wedding breakfast a gentleman noted for his lack of tact rose, causing keen anxiety to the bride groom. who knew his failing. "Ladies and gentlemen," he cried, genially. “I propose the health of the bridegroom. May he see many days like this!” Unter Den Linden, the famous Berlin thoroughfare, is 515 feet wide; the Ring- strasse. in Vienna, is 188 feet: the Paris Grand Boulevard, 122 feet, and the An- drassy strasse, In Budapest, 165 feet wide. Ninety per cent of English people can write, only 27 per cent in Spain, and but 16 per cent in Russia. MRS. MANGES ESCAPES OPERATION How She Was Saved From Surgeon’s Knife by Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vege table Compound. Mogadore, Ohio.—“The first two years I was married I suffered so much from female troubles and bear- down pains that I could not stand on my feet long enough to do fay work. The doctor said I would have to undergo an op eration, but my husband wanted me to try Lydia E. Pinkham’s Veg etable Compound first. I took three bottles anu it made me well and strong, and I avoided a dreadful oper ation. I now have two fine, healthy children, and I can not say too much about what Lydia E. Pinkham’s' Veg etable Compound has done for me.”— Mrs. Lee Manges, R. F. D. 10, Moga dore, Ohio. Why will v/omen take chances with an operation or drag out a sickly, half-hearted existence, missing three- fourths of the joy of living, when they can find health in Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound-? For thirty years it has been the standard remedy for female Ills, and has restored the health of thousands of women who have been troubled with such ailments as displacements. Inflammation, ulceration, tumors, ir regularities, etc. If you want special advice, write to Lydia E. Pinkham Medicine Co. (con fidential), Lynn, Mass. Your letter will be opened, read and answered by a woman and held in strict confidence. Fashions of the Moment A Charming Summer Gown Fully Described by Olivette H ERE is a little summer costume that may be truly called a “con fection,” though we generally prefer not to use that gastronomic term in the description of even the dreams of the sartorial realm. White or shell pink is the foundation of heavy grade china or shantung silk. There is an eight-inch slit over the left ankle, and all about the hem tiny pink wild roses are set at equal intervals. The overskirt is of wide shadow lace, falling to the knees at the front and lengthening some eight inches under the caught-in drapery at the hack. A garland of the roses peeks from under this, and another surmounts the wide girdle and rises to meet the square-cut vest of filmy white chif fon. Both waist and puff sleeves are of the lace, and another garland of the dear little wild roses nestles under the sleeve at the elbow. The hat is a great round white Neapolitan, covered with frill after frill of white accordion plaited maline, with a monster pink rose crush ing in all the tllminess at the left. Dainty white slippers and silk stockings, and a filmy parasol with a wide border of chiffon printed in great pink roses, complete an abso lutely ideal summer costume. , v Up-to-the-Minute Jokes Walker had accompanied his wife on an excurlson to the realm? of bargains, and in the enormous building, with its many departments, had become separ ated from his better half. For an hour at least he remained lounging impatiently at the junction of many ways, where lifts, stairs and pas sages met, and then, tired and angry, he approached an irreproachable shop walker. “Sir,” he said to the frock-coated and suave attendant, in tones of righteous indignation, "I’ve lost my wife.” Back came the reply, with stunning force: “Third floor over the bridge for the mourning department!” • • • It was In a country village that the swain had proposed for the hand- of the village beauty, and had been ac cepted. , He had bought the engagement ring and was hurrying to the home of his adored one. A friend stopped him to make inquiry concerning his haste. “Hullo, there. Bob! Is there a fire?" “Yes, ’ replied Bob, with what breath he had left, "my heart's on fire and I'm going now to ring the' village belle.” Peter Burrowes, a well-known mejn- ber of the Irish bar, was on one occa sion counsel for the prosecution at an important trial for murder. Burrowea had a severe cold and opened his speech with a box of lozenges in one hand and in the other a small pistol bullet by which the man had met his death. Be tween the pauses of his address he kept supplying himself with a lozenge. But at last, in the very^ middle of a high falutin’ period, he stopped. His legal chest heaved, his eyes seemed starting fronj his head, and in a voice tremu lous with fright he exclaimed: “Oh-h-h! Gentlemen, gentlemen, I’ve swallowed the bul-let!” • * • "Mr. Chairman,” said the orator, who had already occupied the platform for twenty minutes, amid many Interjec tions from the audience. "Mr. Chair man. may I appeal on a point of order? There Is really so much resultory con-< versatlon going on in parts of the hall that it is impossible for me to hear a word I am saying.” Voice from the back of the ball: "Don't be downhearted You’re not missing much.” A Pledge of Spinisterhood By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. The Mistakes of Jennie • • • ^ Being a Series of Chapters in the Life of a Southern Girl in the Big City {{T AM a young man of nineteen,” l writes X. Y. Z., “and in love with a girl of seventeen who has signed an old-maid pledge, about which she seems to be serious. I have been paying her attention for the past six months, and would like to know- whether to continue." Following is the pledge of spinster- hood which this wise old dame of seventeen has signed: “We, the undersigned, vow in all good faith that we shall, for the convenience of ourselves and the good of the world, live as Old Maids. “We, the said undersigned, do agree that we will work honestly and faithfully until, if our lives are spared, w r e have accumulated a sum requisite for purchasing and maintaining a small house in the suburbs, where the said undersigned shall reside. “We shall have freedom to visit, entertain, etc., such of our friends as w’e desire. There ife to be no re striction, except that we shall deport ourselves in all manner, and under all circumstances, as ladies. “It is also agreed by the under signed that when we reach the age of 40, with consent of the majority, we shall each adopt a child from the asylum. "If any of this charmed and secret circle should commit the grievous er ror of marrying, the penalty will be expulsion from the aforesaid circle, and she MUST HAND HER FIANCE THIS PLEDGE BEFORE THE COM MITTEE, TO BE TORN UP BY THE SAID FIANCE.” No Sense of Humor. The young have no sense of hu mor. It requires adversity, humilia tion, disappointment and grief to make one philosophical, and philoso phy is the parent of wit. If the young had a sense of humor, X. Y. Z. would carry this pfiedge about with him that he may have something to smile about when things go wrong. and the girl who has signed it would laugh herself to death. What does it amount to? Less than the paper it is written on! Imagine, if you .can, a lot of kit tens agreeing w’hat they will do and be w’hen they are old tabby cats! Conceive, if you can, of the kind of a girl w’ho will deny herself the frivolities of youth, the pretty rib bons and feathers and clothes, the theater, the dance, the love that is looking her way, that she may some day have a home in which she will enjoy the glorious privilege of shriv eling up as an old maid! No girl makes that pledge for her self. my dear young man. She looks at the other girls, and sees that they are plain, and not so attractive as herself. “They know they will be old maids,” every girl says, “and are making their plans so that if will look as If they WANTED to be. Of course, I’ll sign the pledge. It may please them and won’t hi>rt ME!” And every girl signs, each with the secret assurance that SHE will not be an old maid. They agree to deny themselves, that they may purchase a home. This is the story of every good woman’s life: A self-denial in the hope that some day she may own a home, but it is a self-denial that is a Joy because it has its origin in LOVE. A woman loves a man and sentences herself to a lifetime of self-dental when she marries. She loves her children, and thereafter knows not what the word "SELF” means. Wait, Awhile. She pinches and skimps and scrapes and makes over with "Love’s old sweet song” ringing in her ears, and knows neither discouragement nor re gret. But can anyone imagine that the same noble effort and sacrifice are possible w’hen the goal is a home where a lot of spinsters may abide in ab6ut as much peace as so many tabby cats? Believe me, my dear young man, your sweetheart would work harder to stay out of such a place than to enter It. Let me assure you that she would know neither peace of mind nor rest if she thought for a moment that a home with no one in it but WOMEN was to be her refuge. If she thinks so now’. It is because she is 17. When she is 27, she will be in a panic because her steps seem to be turning that way. Encourage your sweetheart. Let her know tha» when she is safei/ within the walls of this retreat, you will drive by with your w ife some day apd perhepc name one of your babies for her. It will prove a sure cure. The Amulets A Tragic Short Story Complete. T HE cattle dealer opened the door of the taproom of the roadside inn and ordered a liter of cider. “You must be thirsty, Brunier, or you would not order a whole 'liter,’’ said the innkeeper. “You bet I am, bu£ I can afford a thirst on a day like this, when I have four thousand francs in my pocket. Four nice, crisp brown bills, and al most half of It Is clear profit.” “But are you not afraid to walk home alone with that much money In your pocket?” “Afraid! With fists and arms like mine! Not a bit of it, and besides I wear two amulets guaranteed to guard you against any danger.” He opened his shirt and showed two greenish-looking copper medals hang ing on a string on his broad breast. “Look at these,” he said, “this one ; s the holy Benoit’s, the patron of all travelers, and the other St. Antoine’s, .he protector of the poor. These saints have never failed, and I feel as safe as if I were already at home, though it will be a dark night to-night.” The innkeeper laughed. “Is it really possible," he asked, “that a sensible fellow like you, who gets the best of everybody in any deal, can real ly believe in two old copper medals?” “Well, I do believe In them,” said Brunier, “you have to believe in some thing: you surely do yourself." "I don’t believe in anything," said the innkeeper, and offered his customer a drink before he started. He Starts. “Well, I don't mind: I still feel a lit tle dusty In my throat.” % Half an hour later when the sun had set and darkness was setting In, Bru nier started homeward. He carried his hat in his hand and the evening wind played with his heavy dark curls, cool ing his hot head. The innkeeper stood looking after him with a frown on his face and his lips pressed tightly to gether. Then he called his sons. “Did you see that big fellow?” he asked. "That is Brunier, the cattle dealer, going home from market.” The two boys looked like retrievers scenting the game. “You understand what I mean,” said the father. "And if y#u two are not fools you will cut across the fields to the crossroads near the forester’s house. You Will get there at least a half hour ahead of Brunier. In two hours you ought to be back here with 4.000 francs in your pockets.” The brothers did not waste any time. The younger armed himself with a heavy crowbar and the older with a hunting knife. "Do you think we ought to kill him?” asked the younger. The innkeeper was silent for a mo ment, then he nodded. * * * How long Brunier had been lying there he did not know. He felt sore all over and felt the blood trickling from his forehead. His coat was tom, the pockets rifled, his heart was beating hard against his ribs, and his arms were so stiff that he could scarcely move them. After many attempts he succeeded in getting on his feet, and when he had bathed his face in a spring close by he felt much better and began to think of what he ought to do. He was not strong enough to reach home so he decided to return to the inn. Blood was still flowing from the gap ing wound, but he walked ahead with out minding. • It wao quite clear to him who had played the dirty trick on him. It must be some cattle driver or wood- chopper. But. thank God, he was still alive and had his money yet. He pulled forth his amulets and kissed them fer vently, thanking the saints who had so wonderfully preserved his life. * • • “So you expect me to believe you did not find any money, you scoundrels,” roared the innkeeper to his sons. "No. And still we searched every where, in the pockets, coat, vest, shirt and stockings.” “Then you are bigger fools than I thought you were,” the father shouted. Suddenly there was a knock at the window The door was opened, and a ghastly silence followed the loud quar rel when the bloodstained Brunier en tered. The two sons turned pale as ghosts and beads of cold perspiration stood on their foreheads. The innkeep er stood motionless In the middle of the floor staring at his guest. Brunier dropped into a chair and gased: “Give me a glass of brandy, and I shall b« aJl right. Somebody tried to kill me attacking me from behind, hut they did not suefceed. I am still alive and have my money yet. Unfortunately I did not get a chance to see who they were.” The three men breathed easier. He had not recognized them, so the mat ter was not serious. “Wall,” said Brunier to the Inn keep er, “perhaps you Will believe in my amu lets now.” The Hiding Place. He did not notice the innkeeper's vi cious scowl. "But where did you hide your money, Brunier?” he asked in a trembling voice. “Inside the lining of my hat.” Brunier then asked for a room and said he wanted to sleep. “I’ll give you my own bed,” said the innkeeper and conducted him to a room above the taproom. Brunier un dressed and went to bed. hut could not sleep. His wound was very painful, so he decided to go down and get some oil for a dressing In the darkness he felt his way and was about to open the door of the taproom when he heard somebody mention his name. He lis tened, and what he heard made him shiver. He had to sit down on the step not to fall. They were planning to kill him yet. He sneaked back to his room. Flight was out of the question, but he would sell his life dearly. He had no weapon, not even his cane, which he had left below, hut In a cupboard he found a half-filled siphon of seltzer, a dreadful weapon In the hand of & determined man. He posted himself behind the door and waited. A few moments later he heard sneaking steps on the creaking stairs. It was the innkeeper. He stopped a moment on the top step and then opened the door. As he was approaching the bed the siphon came down on his head and he dropped without a sound. “You have got what you deserved,” said Brunier. Then he picked up his hat and ran toward the village, while the two sort" were busy digging a grave for his body in the garden. It wa§ almost daylight when he reached the village and told what had happened. An hour later the house was surrounded by gendarmes. They found the two boys still digging in tile garden. In the room above the innkeeper was found. He confessed his crime before he died. Some time later Brunier had two gold cases made for the amulets which had twice saved his life. Professional Rivalry. Everything in the street was dim and quiet, for the thoroughfare was in a highly respectable neighborhood, and the hour was 2 a. m. In fact, save for a stray, wandering cat. and a constable, now rounding a corner in the far dis tance, there were no signs of life or animation anywhere. William Sikes stepped out from the shadow of a friedly tree, glanced fur tively around him, and then assisted Tom Crooke, his bosom friend and part ner. to alight from the drawing room window of No. 61 "Well, old pal, what luck?" he whis pered. "No luck at all,” growled Tom "The bloke what likes there is a lawyer.” William looked apprehensive "Then ’ow much ave you lost?” he asked. They Would Get Along Somehow W HEN the boss sent for Jennie to come to his private office he told her the old story abput It being the dull season and that he would have to let her go at the end of the week, and when she reminded him that he had always kept her be fore during the dull season he told her that he had noticed a decided lack of interest in her work com pared to the way she used to work, and, besides, thr.L he had heard stories about her being out with men at night, etc. So Jennie was sure that her former girl friend had kept her word about getting even with Jennie for—as she thought—stealing her fellow away from her. Doming out of the office, she wanted to cry. but held in so as not to give the girl the satisfaction of seeing her. As It was, she thought she noticed a flicker of a satisfied smile on the girl's face. What now of paying the weekly Instalments on “W By HANK. HAT'S this I hear about you and MaHo having a date?" asked the Head Waitress of the Steady Customer in the Cafe L’Enfant. “Nothing to It,” he replied. "Where did you get It?” “From Mr. Flakes, the manager.’' said the Head Waitress, "and he told me he had it straight, too. He said that Marie asked for an hour off so she could get all dolled up to go out with you. Of course, It ain’t none of my business, an(l ** "Cut it out." interrupted the Steady Customer. “Mr. Flakes is kidding you, or Marie is kidding him. Not that r wouldn’t dearly love to take both you and Marie out any time, but I’m getting too old to go gallivanting around with two such beauteous dames.” "I guess Marie was kidding." said the Head Waitress. "All them' cash iers is great kidders, especially the blondes. You see, every guy that goes up to the desk hands out some thing foolish while he's paying his check, and Marie has to take their money with one hand and wave to them with the other or they'd be broken-hearted. I don’t see much nourishment In it myself, hut all those poor boobs act as if one smile from the cashier had taken ’ten years off their age, and they go out simper ing like a lot of lovo-siek swines." "Swains. I suppose you mean,” cor, rected the Steady Customer. "Have it your own way,” said the Head Waitress, “you literary guys is great sticklers for correct pronounce ments. ain’t you? Well, I’m glad to hear you ain’t fallen for no blonde "because I’ve taken an Interest In you and I’d hate to see you going nutty over a pair of big eyes and a golden dome. Not that Marie ain’t a nice girl and one of the nicest I ever seen, but she shouldn't be wasting her time with any of you newspaper guys " “What’s the matter with us?” asked the Steady Customer. "I’m surprised to hear you talk that way, Louise.” "Are you?" she said. "Well, long ago In the dim, distant past. I show ered my young and innocent affec tions on one of you literary blokes, and for a time I was in the seventh heaven of happiness. He used to write me poems, too, real love ones. I remember one that went something like this: “Louite, Louitr. you little Irate, I’m really mad about you; 'You say you truly love me, dear, I'd hate to ever doubt you; Home day, we’ll married be, and then Our lives we'll link together And travel down the broad highway A'o matter what the weather “Pretty good," said the Steady Cus tomer. “Oh. yes. I raved about it," said the Head Waitress, “until*! found out that he was traveling down the 'broad highway' with about nine others.” "But that's no reason why yon should be down on all literary lights,” exclaimed the Steady Customer. "A child once stung, never goes back to the beehive, as Kipling says," replied Lonise, “and believe me, Kip ling was right." her clothes—anfj they were the only ones she had —and what of the money that was so badly needed at home? When Jennie Reached home, her friend, the hoarding house keeper, was surprised to see her so early, and asked her what was the matter, and when Jennie told she had boon “let nut” at the of fice, the good woman. Instead of deriding Jennie for losing her position, tried to sympathize with her and took her Head on her breast, saying they would get along SOMEHOW until Jennie could get another job. But in her heart she didn’t see bow they could. Jennie went up to her room and. flinging herself on the bed, had a good cry. When she quieted down and thought it all over Rhe remembered the fellow she had been out with and his offer to fur nish up a flat for her. She shrank at the mere thought of it. but wondered if it wouldn't be the EASIEST WAY at that. —HAL COFFMAN. (To Be Continued.) Couldn’t Understand It. Local “Terrier:” “Well, uncle, how do I look as a soldier?” Farmer Giles: “Koine, my boy! But blessed if Oi can think ’ow yer git them twisted trousers on!” Nil Desperandum. Percy Parklngton arose and brushed the dust from his knees. Then, drawing himself up to his full height, he gazed resentfully upon the farm of Miss Muriel Muggins, who nonchalantly fanned her self the while. “Very well, Miss Muggins,” came in bitter tones from Percy. “Oh, very well' You have spurned me, it Is true! Indeed, you have spurned me twice! But, though despair eats my heart, I shall not die! I mean to go into the busy world I will fight! 1 will win! My name shall become known and my riches shall become envied—” “Pardon me for interrupting you, Mr Parkington,” interjected Miss Muggins, "but when you have accomplished all that you may up- me again. HOW ARE YOU FEEDING VOUR CHILDREN? Are you giving them nourishing food—food that will develop their muscles, bones and flesh—food that is easily digested and cheap? Ever thought about Spaghetti— Faust Spaghetti? Do you know that a 10c package of Faust Spaghetti contains as much nutrition as 4 lbs. of beef? Your doctor will tell you it does. And Faust Spaghetti costs one- tenth the price of meat. Doesn’t that solve a big item in th$ high cost of living? You probably haven’t served Faust Spaghetti as often as you should be cause you don’t know’ how many dif ferent ways it can be cooked—write for free recipe book to-day and you’ll be surprised at the big variety of dishes you can make from this nutritious food. In 5c and 10c pack ages. MAULL BROS., St. Louis, Mo. THE EA-TONE LIVER LAXATIVE That tones the liver, the best liver and stomach remedy known. It acts like magic on the whole system—as good for children as grown persons. Try one bottle and be convinced. No griping or bad after effects. Hold br all merchants and druggists. A large bottle for 26c. Don't take any substitute, but Insist on the EA- TONE Thousands of testimonials sent us unsolicited. On the market over «• year. If you can not get it at your store send 25c to the main of fice, No 7 Hill street, Atlanta, Ga. It will be forwarded to you promptly. Manufactured and guaranteed by G. G. Crouch. Send this ad with a part of carton from a bottle of Ea-Tone, and a 12-k. gold ring will be sent you absolutely free. State size wanted. iiuieiy An Opportunity ToMakeMoney . nea ef ideas a>d i I tin af ianadaai mm ability, ihouM writ*. * mi tract mi end k, lead) Fatwto unwed a* cm fee returned. "Wkr 3aa>» l»e Fed,” "Hoer W Dal Yaw Pa tea: aad Year Momey.” sod valuable bookiaia ant free la ear eddten. i RANDOLPH a GO. Nlael itlaraara 618 “F” Street, N. W„ wnaHiNovoN. & c.