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Daysey Mayme
And Her Folks
By FRANCES L. GARSIDE
T HE long winter and spring
months devoted by Daysey
Mayme Appleton to instructing
spinsters in 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 her 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.
Daysey Mayme is an easy mark
among her friends. All women are
easy marks 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 day Daysey Mayme Ap
pleton was missing, and no one could
Jearn her whereabouts. She had pulled
down the blinds to give the impres
sion that the house was abandoned
for the summer and had locked herseif
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 give 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 215 feet wide; the Ring-
stras.se, in Vienna, is 188 feet: the Paris
Grand Boulevard. 122 feet, and the An-
drassystrasse, in Budapest, 155 feet
wide.
Ninety per cent of English people can
write, only 27 per cent in Spain, and but
16 per cent in Russia.
Fashions of the Moment
A Charming Summer Gown Fully Described by Olivette
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 1 was married 1 suffered so
much from female
troubles and bear-
down pains that I
could not stand on
my feet long
nough to do my
9M work. The doctor
~P;i said I would have
to undergo an op
oration, but my
husband wanted
me to try Lydia
E. Pinkham’9 Veg
etable Compound
I first. I took three
bottles ana 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’.-’ Veg
etable Compound has done for me.”—
Mrs. Lee Manges, R. F. D. 10, Moga
dore, Ohio.
Why will women 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. Plnkham'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 wiitijn and bd** re»-trict confidence.
/: - ■ '4
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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 ail
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-iu drapery at the back.
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 filminess 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.
Up-to-the-Minute Jokes
Walker had accompanied his wife on
an excurison to the realms 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
adoied 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.”
AM a young man of nineteen,”
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
nave been paying her attention for the
past six months, and would like to
know whether to continue.”
Following is th e 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,
we 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 we desire. There is 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 pledge 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 what they will do and
be when they are old tabby cats!
Conceive, if you can, of the kind
of a girl who will deny herself the
frivolities of youth, the pretty rib-
Peter Burrowes, a well-known mem
ber of the Irish bar, was on one occa
sion counsel for the prosecution at an
important trial for murder. Burrowes
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
from 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, amkl many interjec
tions from the audience. “Mr. Chair
man, may I appeal on a point of order?
There is really so much resultory con
versation 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 hall:
“Don’t be downhearted. You’re not
missing much*”
A Pledge of Spinisterhood
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
“I
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 it will look
as if they WANTED to be. Of course,
I’ll sign the pledge. It may please
them and won’t hurt ME!”
And every girl signs, each with th“
secret assurance that.SHE will not oe
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 rrvav 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-denial 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
about 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 on* 1 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 sweet heart. Let
her know 4hat when she is safely
within the walls of this retreat, you
will drive by with your wife some day
and perhaps uame one of your babies
for her.
It will prove a sure cure.
The Mistakes of Jennie By hal coffman
Being a Series of Chapters in the Life of a Southern Girl in the Big City
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, but 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,
the 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 w r hen 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 you 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
‘here he did not know. He felt sore all
over and felt the blood trickling from
his forehead. His coat was torn, 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 was quite clear to him
who had played the dirty trick on hhn.
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 be all right. Somebody tried to
kill me. attacking me from behind, but
they did not succeed. 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.
"Well,” 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.
"Insi<]^nhe lining of my hat."
Brunier then asked for a room ami
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. but 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, but in a cupboard he found a
half-filled siphon of seltzer, a dreadful
weapon In the hand of a 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 sons were busy digging a grave
for his body in the garden.
It was 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 the 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
tlvely around him, and then assisted
Tom Crooke, his bosom friend and part
ner, to alight from the drawing room
window of No. 6&.
"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 about
it lieing 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 lie-
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,
that 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.
Coming 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
her clothes—and 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 boarding house keeper, was surprised to see her
so early, and asked her what was the matter, and
when Jennie told she had been “let out” at the of-
fiiv. 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 how they could.
Jennie went up to her room and, flinging herself
on the lied, had a good cry. When she quieted
down and thought it all over she 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.
—UAL COFFMAN.
(To Be Continued.)
“W
By HANK.
HAT’S this I hear about you
and Marie 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 ot
my business, and
“Cut it out,” interrupted the Steady
Customer. "Mr. Flakes Is kidding
you, or Marie is kidding him. Not
that I 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, but all
those poor boobs act as If one smil*
from the cashier had taken ten years
off their age, and they go out simper
ing like a lot of lovo-sick swines.’’
"Swains, 1 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
anti 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:
“Louise. Louise, you little tease,
Fm really mad about you;
You say you truly love me, dear,
I’d hate to ever doubt you;
So me day, we’ll married be, and then
Our lives we'll link together
And travel doum the broad highway
No matter what the weather.”
"Pretty good," said the Steady Cus
tomer.
“Oh, yes. I raved about it,” said the
Head Waitress, "until I found out that
he was traveling down the ‘broad
highway' with about nine others.”
"But that’s no reason why you
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 Louise, “and believe me, Kip
ling was right.”
Nil Desperandum.
Percy Parkington 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! I 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 try me again.”
Couldn’t Understand It.
Local “Terrier:” “Well, uncle, how
do I look as a soldier?”
F'armer Giles: "Foine, my boy! Bui
blessed If Oi can think ow yer git them
twisted trousers on!”
HOW ARE YOU FEEDING YOUR
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 the 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, tha beat liver
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f ood for children as grown persons.
ry one bottle and be convinced No
griping or bad after effects.
Hold br all merchants and druggists.
A large bottle for 25c. Don’t take any
substitute, but Insist on the EA-
TONE Thousands of testimonials
sent us unsolicited. On the marteet
over « year. If you can not get it at
your stor« send 25o to the main of
fice, No 7 Hill street, Atlanta, Oa. It
will be forwarded to you promjrtly.
Manufactured and guaranteed by G-
G. Crouch.
Send this ad with a part of carton
from a bottle of Ka-Tone, and a U-l.
gold ring will be sent yow absolutely
free State slae wanted.