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Little Bobbie’s
Pa
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
M ISTER and Missus Riley was up j l
to our house last nlte, and thay i
had ihare Uttel son Tommie
with them He was the freshest kid
that I ewer seen, and If I dldent know
so much moar about boxing than he
knows, I wud have took him out in the
yard & handed him a Tew hot wallops.
& beesides, I felt kind of sorry for
Mm beekaus his Pa * Ma kind of
spoiled him. All that his Ma sed to |
him wen he spoak out of his turn was
Now, Tommie, that isent nice
I doant think we will move back to J
the city till skool beegins aggenn, sed
Pa to the Rileys. We like it out here
in the country A beesides, I want Bob
bie to stay here as long as posalbei. A
boy is always better off in the coun
try than he is in the city.
Oh, mercy, sed Missus Riley, how can
you say that? Why. Just think of the
advantages that a boy has wen he is
getting a city bringing up.
He Learns Things.
My husband doesn't think so, sed Ma
You see, he was born & brought up )
in a small town, & he says that a boy
bom & brought up in a small town has
more all around training He can learn
to swim & hunt & fish A row a boat
St hitch up a horse & a lot of other J
things that maiks a man out of him
wen he grows up.
But a boy in the city can get such
perfect manners, sed Missus Riley
Tommie has learned all he knows about
manners by associating with nice little
boys in the city that lern there man
ners from thare private teechers, the
little deers. You are always careful
about yure manners, aint you, Tommie,
sed Missus Riley.
I shud worry about manners, sed Tom
mie. What do I care about manners
People In Hoboken have all the man
ners, sed Tommie.
Now. Tommie, that Isent nice, sed
Missus Riley. See what a quiet little
chap Bobble is.
That is beekaus he is a bonehead &
can't think of anything to say, sed Tom
mie Riley. He beelongs rite up here in
the minor league whare he it. that kid.
I got pritty mad but I knew enuff to
keep still. My Ma always told me not
to start a quarl in the presens of older
peepul.
I wuddert «=tav In this jay town any
longer than I cud help, ped the Rile*
kid The peepul here doant know' they
are alive.
You know a whole lot for a yung
man, don’t you, sed Pa. You will grow
up to he a regular city feller, all rite,
one of them clerks that rides to
work & hack home In the trolley A talks
a ride on Sunday for a outing Sr then
goes around telling what a wise fish
he is.
Tommie will never be that kind of u
braggart, sed Missus Riley, looking at
Pa kind of hard. My lit tel son knows
too much to he a braggart, dount you.
Tommie?
Tell it to Sweeney, sed Tommie to his
mother, (’heese on all that talk about
me. Lay off on me and talk about sum-
body that doesn’t know anything.
Now, Tommie, that isent nice, sed his
rr othe-
I shud fret and take a sweat, sed tb
Riley kid. I shud worry and git gray,
he sed
Pa Talks.
Tommie, sed Pa, as long as yure pa
rents will not tell you the truth. 1 am
going to. You think you are a vary
smart yung man bekaus sum body taught-
you how to say, “I shud worry.” You
can say that & you can sing "Snooky
Ookums” & part of “In my Harum,"
and that lets you out. Sr then you cum
up here in the country & try to malk
fun of grown up peepul that knew moar
when thay was babies than you will
ewer know wen you grow’ up. You
ought to be spanked, Tommie. & sent to
bed to think it oaver.
Then Tommie looked at Pa kind of
fresh Sr sed Say, this is a queer kind
of a country.
I guess if he had stayed long I wud
have had to soak Tommie, but his Pa
St Ma got kind of mad wen they seen
we dident like thare son, so thay tool;
him hoam.
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overheard between two girls apropos
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isn’t he too old to be considered
eligible?"
"My dear." answered the other girl,
‘‘he's too eligible to be considered
old."
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Stella Barre Tells of the Value of Voice!
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One Woman’s
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Miss Stella Earre.
HEN 1 began making vocal
ulture a serious study a
few years ago —six, to be ac
curate,” saki Stella Barre in the most
delightfully musical of voices, as we
sipped cooling ices after the matinee,
"no one except my teacher and myself
believed I had a voice to train. We
did believe, though—we w’orked hard to
prove it—and now we have a few fol
lowers. haven’t We?”
If you have heard Stella Bavre’s top
note and a few others below It such
as she renders at the performsnces of
‘‘All Aboard” in New York you will
agree that she has triumphantly proved
the existence of her voice. And a voice
Is, as we have been told, "an excellent
thing In woman,” be It low and sweet,
or be it high and sweet; but heaven
forefend that any one of us have the
high-pitched nasal voice, or the husky,
breathy croak that are an unfortunate
tradition as the possessions of the
American woman.
"No amount of study is too hard."
•aid the charming singer, "if It gives
you at last the goal of your dreams.
Rut you have to work with your brain
us well as your body. And the thing
I would warn girls most earnestly
gainst is overt'atigue. It is so easy
to think. ‘Oh, I will just keep at this
i bit longer.’ and to use up so much
* nergy and strength that you Infringe
on your reserve store. Now I really
raetice all afternoon long—but only
bout fifteen minutes at a time. 1 work
i bit, and then I go off to something
luite different, and then back to work,
n this way, 1 probably put in three
r four hours’ work with less fatigue
ban two hours of steady application
-rd overstrain would give.
'You read so many romances of how
he fair telephone girl wins a million -
uire husband by saying Hello!' very
uweetly to his listening ear. There is
something in every tale—fairy or other -
j wise—you hear, ami whether a girl has
a singing voice or not, a few singing
| lessons will vastly improve her speafc-
j mg voice- ami perhaps help to discover | is pretty generally becoming—except to
' another prirba donna. j 'he woman with an exceedingly long.
! narrow face. Square neck for her. and
A Suggestion. ; round line that cuts off the throat
"For the girl who can not afford sing- should be generally taboo.
you have breath control and all the
while keeping the voice us deep, clear
and low as possible.” •
"But you don’t think that voice alone
is sufficient beauty for woman, do you?"
I asked, for every line of Miss Barre'*
cool coral colored linen dress and white
hat bespoke a careful attention to the
mysteries of true becomingness in dress,
with beauty and good, taste duly com
mingled and these mysteries become
hist plain everyday facts in the clever
hands and brain of the woman who
knows how to dress. "I am sure that
you recognize the importance of dress
and manner in the field of womanly
charm.”
“Yes," said Miss Barre, with the
pleasing attention that she always gives
to your part of the conversation; "I
believe in dress and manner as ad
juncts to beauty, and I have just four
little pet theories for the first aide to
beauty. Here they are; First and
most important, KEEP UP. Keep up
and ahead of what you are doing of
events and happenings; just cultivate
a habit of feeling light and buoyant
and not weighted down or impeded by
life.
"Next. BE PLEASANT. Friends are
as easy to acquire as enemies, and a
pleasant greeting to the people you
meet won’t harm them or you.
A Mental Picture.
"Of course. I believe in dressing as
well and as becomingly as your means
will allow. And to do that you must
cultivate your Imagination Do you
know. I can always see myself walking
out of the front door and down the
street in a dress Just about the time I
am having my lirst fitting. I picture
myself in clothes, and as 1 don't like
freak pictures. 1 don't get freak clothes.
I make sure that my hats form a back
ground for my face, although if I had
a short neck I would be careful not to
make it appear still shorter by wearing
hats that would cut it off in the course
of their down-droop In back. And I
! study the line of my throat. A neck
j ing lessons. 1 would suggest deep
| breathing at an open window morning
and night, or whenever she has a
hance to try it during the day. Then
II the lungs and hold the breath back
of tlie voice while speaking a few words,
m
gradually Itycreaaing the number until
"It’s a science, isn't it?” laughed Miss
Barre. "Why. I believe taste in dress
has as many branches and ramifications
as the study of singing But they are
both worth while, aren't they?”
And we all agree, don’t we. little
sisters?
P ERHAPS Mary Danforth did not
acknowledge to herself why it
was so hard for her to give her
mind to her studies during the even
ing on which she received Craig’s
pansies. If she appreciated that the
sender of the flowers was in her con
sciousness more than was the book of
civics lying open in the glow of her
student’s lamp, she did not admit it
even in her innermost thoughts. She
tried to “concentrate,” but her wits
wandered, and, time and again, she
found, with a guilty start, that for
some minutes she had been gazing
abstractedly at nothing. It was late
when at last she put out her light,
uiged to this course by her mother,
who insisted that she was wearing
herself out studying so hard, and that
she would be "good for nothing” in
the morning.
When Mary awoke on the morrow
she was forced to confess the ac
curacy of the final part of her moth
er’s prediction, for she did feel "good
for nothing." Her eyes smarted and
her limbs ached as she busied herselt
with her toilet. A vague feeling ol
disappointment possessed her, de
pressing and. at the same time, irri
tating her, und she went to breakfast
with her nerves and temper on edge.
She had difficulty in controlling her
feelings when Mrs. Danforth, in her
desire to promote table talk. Inno
cently introduced the subject of Craig
—feeling that he would be an inter
esting topic of conversation.
Vexed at the Blush.
“1 declare,” announced the kind-
hearted matron, amiably, "I have al
most fallen in love myself with that
tail Texan. He has such beautiful
manners apd is so considerate of el
derly people. Don’t you think he is
delightful 7 ”
As this remark was addressed to
the table at large, Mary, vexed at the
blush which she felt creeping to her
forehead, busied herself with her
grapefruit and made no reply.
"Don’t you like him, daughter?”
persisted her mother.
"I think that he’s a presentable
man, mother, if that’s what you
mean,” responded the girl tartly and
with tightening lips. “You can hard
ly expect me to say, as you just said,
that 1 am ‘almost in love with him'
nnself, can you?”
The words were sharp and the tone
ha'rh. The speaker suddenly appre
ciated that this was the second time
Wit bin u lev days that she had been
Imp: tient with her mother As be
fore. she regretted her show of tem
per when she saw the wounded ex-
I ressicr. In her mother’s eves. She
noted also that her father was looking
at her in amazement.
"I did not mean to speak like that,
mother," «he said quickly and peni
tently. She pushed her chair back
from the table and, going around to
the elderly woman, laid her own
flushed check against the wrinkled
one. “1 had no business to be so
cross, and I am very sorry. I am
as nervous as a cat this morning.
1 Mease forgive me."
Mrs. Danforth patted her daugh
ter's hand, her face all smiles in an
instant.
"That's all right, my darling.’
she soothed. "We all have our
cranky spells. Now cut your break
fast, for it is getting late. I shall
be glad when this dreadful grind is
over and yob have graduated," she
added, with a sigh. "You are not
like your dear self these days, and
it is because you are overwrought
and overtired."
Mary made no protest. She won
dered secretly if the strain of work
w*as entirely responsible for her
vague sense of discontent and uncer
tainly. Breakfast over, she hurried
to her room to collect her books, and.
as she returned to the hall, ready to
leave the house, she came upon her
father. He was leaning against the
wall, his hand to his head. His face
wus pale and his brow contracted as
if he w*ere suffering.
Father!" exclaimed the girl in
alarm, "what is the matter?"
‘Nothing to worry about, pet," he
insisted. "I was just a little dizz>
and headachy for a minute. I’m bet
ter now’. Don't look so frightened!’
"Dad,” said Mary, anxiously, "yot
are not well. You’ve been overwork
ing."
“Oh, I guess not," lie replied with
an attempt at raillery. "An old
codger like me must expect such feel
ings this warm weather, that’s all—
but I And it hard to remember that
I’m getting old.”
"Won't you see a doctor?" urged
Mary.
Mary Gets a Shock.
“Pshaw!" he laughed. “I’m all
right, I tell you! Don’t mention this
little turn to your mother, for she
makes a mountain of a molehill when
I don't feel up to the scratch."
On the way to school Mary thought
of her father with some perturbation
but the hurry and bustle of the day's
work drove all other worries from her
brain and she had forgotten the little
episode by the time she boarded the
subway train in the evening. She
watched the express on which she
rode draw away from a local train.
As the lighted windows slid slowlj
backward she thought of how she had
first seen Gordon Craig under circum
stances like these. It was like a story
book romance, and he looked not un
like a book hero, she said to herself
with a contemptuous smile at her own
silliness.
Her thoughts were still busy with
him as she walked along toward h^r
home. V- cen she turned into her own
street, several leather-lunged men.
carrying bundles of papers, were
shouting "Extra" at the other end of
the block in the hollow, reverberating
tones of the New York disaster har
binger. Still dreaming, she paid lit
tle heed to them, but went up to hei
apartment, her mind on the man she
had known for such a little while
Strange, she mused, that he should
have impressed her so strongly. Her
father was standing in the drawing
room as she entered her home. A
glance at his face brought her to a
comprehension of the news venders’
cries as they were borne now to her
ears through the open windows.
"Terrible accide"* on the Boating
Express!" they were shouting.
Blindly the girl stretched her hands
to her father as he came toward her.
"Dad." she asked hoarsely, ‘‘was
that ”
She got no further, for her father
put his arm quickly about her and
drew her to him.
“Yes, little girl,” he said, tremu
lously, "the Boston Express—Craig's
train—has been wrecked, and, God
help us! most of the Pullman passen
gers are dead!” *
The Most Exciting Serial
of the Year.
SERIALIZED
By J. W. McCONAUGHY
(Copyright, 1913, by Star Co.)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
Rusty raised his head and timidly put
it out around the angle of the fireplace,
where he had taken refuge.
“Wha is he?” he asked huskily.
His master straightened up, put the
revolver back in its holster and pointed
grimly to the trap.
‘‘Water ami a long drop,” he said
quietly. “There’s another of the Duke’s
men gone.”
Rusty got shakily to his feet. “I
knowed them battleship boogies was
spooks,” he observed dolefully. The
plural suggested something to Jarvis.
He motioned Rusty to stay back, and,
picking up the sword, advanced on the
second figure. He made two or three
feints to strike and got no response.
Then he gave it a powerful push with
the point The armor toppied over and
fell down the stairs with a hollow
clash. It was empty.
"I guess he’s harmless.”
Rusty immediately began gathering
up the pieces.
“I’ll fix dis one so he won’t Jump no
mo’!” he declared, savagely.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna sink this other battle
ship!”
"Hold on—wait a minute. I reckon
we can use that,” said Jarvis, smiling
a little. "It takes a thief to catch a
thief, they say. We’ll just out-spook
Mr. Ghost. Come on, Rusty,” he went
on impatiently, holding up the breast
plate and back-piece like an under
shirt, "get into this hardware as fast
as you can."
Rusty drew back with violent head-
shakings.
"Marse Warren, I don’ wanna be no
spook.”
"Listen!" commanded his master,
sharply. "Somebody w*as working in
this room. It’s a cinch that the treas
ure is here and it’s a bigger cinch he’ll
come back to get it w’hen we are
gone."
"You ain’t gonna leave me heah
alone!” protested the old darkey.
The Plan.
"Sure! I’m going to put you in this
so you can watch. I’m going t make
a bluff that we're both gone. You’ll
be as safe as a church In this. No one
would ever think of looking for one
of us in this armor. You watch, and
when he starts to work—then yell your
head off!"
"I’ll yell so loud they’ll hear me In
Kentucky,’’ Rusty assured him, re
luctantly permitting himself to be ar
mored.
"You give your best yell and then
i’ll nail him.”
Rusty sniffed doubtfully. * “If you
don’t nail him he’ll nail me!"
Jarvis grunted and fussed over the
armor as the right valiant swashbuckler
for whom It was constructed was less
generously designed amidships than
the rotund darky.
"Marse Warren," remarked Rusty,
presently, "you mus' think a heap o’
Miss Princess to go prowlin’ and proj-
ec’ing 'roun' in dis boogy house in de
dark.”
“What makes you think that?” mum-
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you, my American!’ ”
A steel thigh-piece slipped through
Jarvis’ fingers and clattered to the floor.
“An'.” concluded Rusty, with invinci
ble logic, "I’se de only American ’roun’
heah ’cep’ you, Marse Warren.”
"God bless you, Rusty!” said his mas
ter, fervently, to himself. But aloud he
said, holding up the heavy casque:
"Here—put your head in this Stet
son. Gloves—here now! How do you
feel?”
Jarvis surveyed him with a grin.
Sancho Panza would have looked a
courtly and sprightly cavalier by com
parison.
"All in,” was the glum response from
the hollow depths of the* helmet. "Do
I look like a spook?” • t
"You’re a wonderful sight!" declared
his master, heartily. "Now, Rusty, get ’ ;
over here. Where’s your sword?”
A cataclysmic sneeze caused the ar
mor to rattle like a Junk wagon.
"I never heard a ghost sneeze be
fore.” chided his master, reprovingly.
“Marse Warren, I’se catchin’ cold,"
pleaded the knight, In the hope of par- / J
don. <
"Nonsense! Now. Rusty, keep your ^
ears and eyes open—don't move a mus
cle. If anyone comes, yell your head
off—but don’t sneeze!”
"Marse Warren. I wanna go home!”
“We haven't any home. Rusty.” was
the sober' response, as his master ad
justed him on the pedestal. Rusty
sighed till the clasps of the armor
creaked complaint.
“Marse Warren, I don’t evah 'spect
to get out o’ dis boogy house nohow.”
"Well, Rusty, there are some
things ”
Jarvis broke off abruptly and threw
back his head, motioning Rusty to be
quiet. To his ears came a sound so
faint and far-off that it was impos
sible to decide whether it was a stifled
groan near at hand or a call from some
distant part of the castle.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
BONES AND FLESH
There’s more real nutrition in a 10c package of
Faust Macaroni than in 4 lbs. of beef— prove it by
your doctor.
“Get into this hardware as fast as you can.”
bled Jarvis, toiling with a rusty clasp.
"Marse Warren,” said Rusty, solemn
ly, ‘‘I* knowed you since you was a
baby.”
“What’s that got to do with it?' Pull
in your breath a little bit.”
“*She gin you dat jew'lry you got
’roun’ your neck, didn’ she? She kind
o’ crazy 'bout you, too, ain’t she?”
"How do you know?” inquired Jarvis,
his eagerness concealed by the fact that
he was bending over in the rear trying
to joint the greaves to Rusty’s pon
derous calves.
"I knows, all right!” declared Rusty.
"But how do you know? Quit shifting
around!”
“We-ell, I’m goin’ to tell you. an' then
you’ll know how I knows. Jus’ 'fore
them horses jumped on me—when I whs
waitin’ in de road—I heard a winder go
up slap! An’ dare was de Princess
a-lookin’ up at de moon, jes’ like a pic-
ter. Jes’ a-lookin’ at de moon, an’
she says—an’ she says—”
"What did she say?” snapped Jarvis.
" *Ah,’ she says, a-lookin’ at de moon,
she says, ‘de world am begun all over
ag in to' me ’ ”
Good News.
Warren started and was conscious of
a singing in his ears that was not all
due to the constant bending over re
quired of a squire-at-arms. He held
his tongue, knowing a darky’s fondness
for sentimental gossip, and Rusty went
on:
"And den—and den—she go right on
an' she says—she says, ’Gawd be with
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