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Little Bobbie s
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
M ISTER and Missus Riley was up
to our house last nlte, and thay
had th&re littel son Tommie
with them. Up wan the freshest kid
that I ewer seen, and If I dident know
so much inoar about boxing than he
knows. I wud have took him out In the
yard & handed him « few hot wallops,
& beesides, I felt kind of sorry for
him 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 nl re.
I doant think we will move hark to
the city till skool beegins aggrnn, sed
Pa to the Rileys. We like it out here
In the country & beesides, I want Bob
ble to stay here as long as possibel. 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. 1
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 swirn & hunt & fish & row a boat I
& hitch up a horse & a lot of other j
things that malks 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 le.rn thare 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. Bed Tommie.
Now, Tommie, that Isent nice, sed
Missus Riley. See w’hat a quiet little
chap Bobbie is.
That is beekaus he is a bonehead A*
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 wuddent stay in this Jay town any
longer than I cud help, sed 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 be a regular city feller, all rite,
one of them clerks that rides to
work & hack home In the trolley Si talks
a ride on Sunday for a outing * then
goes around telling what a wise fish
he is.
Tommie will never he that kind of n
braggart, sed Missus Riley, looking at
Pa kind of hard. My littel son knows
too much to be a braggart, doant you,
Tommie?
Tell It to Sweeney, sed Tommie to his
mother. Cheese on all that' talk about
me. Lay off on me and talk about sum-
body that doesn’t know *unything.
Now, Tommie, that isent nice, sed his
mother.
I shud fret and take a sweat, sed th<
Riley kid. 1 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 sumbody 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. & then you cum
up here in the country & try to maik
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 St sed Say, this is a queer kind
of a country.
I guess if he had stayed long I wud
have had to soak Tommie, hut his Pa
& Ma got kind of mad wen they seen
we dident like thare Afon, so thay tool;
him hoam.
Where Riches Count.
The late Mr. Bradley Martin, who
was himself a polished wit, used to
recall with delight a conversation he
overheard between two girls apropos
of an aged millionaire's marriage to
a debutante.
“I know he’s rich.” said one, “but
isn't he too old to be considered
eligible? ’
"My dear,” answered the other girl,
‘‘he’s too eligible to be considered
old."
Beauty Secrets
Stella Barre I ells of the Value of Voice
Cultu
re.
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HEN I began making vocal
ulture a serious study a
few years ago—six, to be ac
curate,” said Stella Barre in the most
delightfully musical of voices, as we
sipped cooling Ices after the matinee,
"no one except my teacher ami myself
believed I had a voice to train. We
did believe, though—we worked hard to
prove It—and now we have a few fol
lowers, haven’t we?”
If you have heard Stella Barre’s top
note and a few others below It such
as she renders at the performances 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 he 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
I American woman.
' "No amount of study is too hard,"
said the charming singer, “if it gives
you at last the goal of your dreams.
Hut you have to work with your brain
as well as your body. And the thing
I would warn girls most earnestly
gainst is overfatigue. It is so easy
to think. ’Oh, 1 will just keep at this
i bit longer,' and to use up so much
energy and strength that you infringe
on your reserve store. Now 1 really
■ructice all afternoon long—but only
bout fifteen minutes at a time. I work
i bit, and then I go off to something
uite different, and then back to work.
,n this way, I probably put In three
r four hours’ work with less fatigue
nan two hours of steady application
and overstrain would give.
"You read so many romances of how
he fair telephone girl wins a million-
lire husband by saying ’Hello!' very
sweetly to his listening ear. There is
something in every tale—fairy or other-
; wise—you hear, and whether a girl has j
a singing voice or not. a few singing i
lessons will vastly Improve her speak-
l ing voice—and perhaps help to discover
another prima donna.
you have breath control and all the
while keeping the voice as deep, dear
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’s
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 bepome
just 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 hove just four
little pet theories foi* the first aids 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
ilfe.
“Next, BE PLEASANT. Friends are
as easy to acquire as enemies, and a
pleusant greeting to the people you
meet won’t harm them or you.
A Mental Picture.
A Suggestion.
A sk ycrordnirsrlst for
CAnnot hip-
ply the A RYE L.
accept no other. but
.seed fctamp iorbook
SbiiLlSia.LT.
"For the girl who can not afford sing
ing lessons, 1 would suggest deep
breathing at an open window morning
and night, or whenever she has a
hancfe to try it during the day. Then
ill the lufcgs and hold the breath hack
I of the voice while speaking a few words.
gradually increasing the number until
“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 first fitting. 1 picture
myself in clothes, and as I don't like
freak pictures. I don’t get freak clothes.
1 make sure that my hats form a back
ground for my face, although if 1 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. Artd I
study the line of my throat. A neck
is pretty generally becoming—except to
the woman with an exceedingly long,
narrow face. Square neck for her, and
a round line that cuts ofT the throat
should be generally taboo.
"It’s a science, isn't it?" laughed Miss
Barre. "Why, 1 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?
One Woman's
Story
By Virginia T. Van de Water.
CHAPTER VII.
i An Opportunity
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“Get into this hardware as fast as you can.’
bled Jarvis, toiling with a rusty clasp.
“Marse Warren,” said Rusty, solemn
ly, “I knqwed 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
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 f how I knows. Jus’ ’fore
them horses Jumped on me—when I was
waitin’ in de road—I heard a winder go
up slap! An’ dare was de Princess
a-lookln’ 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 safs, ‘de world am begun all over
ag’ln fo’ 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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Mary Gets a Shock.
“Pshaw!” he laughed. “I’m all
right, 1 tell you! Don't mention this
little turn to your mother, for she
makes a mountain of a molehill when
1 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 slowly
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 her
home. Wnen 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, /y
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 aeeidev*» on the Boating
Express!” they w'ere shouting.
Blindly the girl stretched her hands 1
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." Ip' said, trenui- *
louslv, “the Boston Express—Craig's
train—has been wrecked, and, God
help us! most of the Pullman passen- i
gets are dead!”
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P ERHAPH Mary Danforth did not
acknowledge to herself wh^ 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
s< nder of the flowers was in her con-
si iousness 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 lpnermdat thoughts. She
tried to "concentrate,” but her wits
wandered, and, time and again, she
found, with a guilty start, that for
Horn*- minutes she had been gazing
abstractedly at nothing. It was late
when at last she put out her light,
urged to this course by her mother,
who insisted that ahe was wearing
herself out studying so hard, and that
she would be "good for nothing” in
the morning.
When Alary awoke on the morrow
she was forced to confess the ac
curacy of the final part of her moth
er’s jr»Miiction, for she did feel “good*
for nothing.” Her eyes smarted and
her flmbtf ached aH she busied herself
with her toilet. A vague feeling of
disappointment possessed her, de
pressing and, at the same time, irri
tating her, and she went to breakfast
with h* r nerves and temper on edge.
She had difficulty in controlling her
f« elings 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.
“I declare,” announced the kind-
hearted matron, amiably, “1 have al
most fallen in love myself with that
tall Texan. He has such beautiful
manners and is so considerate of el
derly people. Don’t you think he is
delightful 9 ”
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 io say, as you Just said,
that 1 am ’almost in love with him
m\sc!f, can you?”
The words were sharp and the tone
ha^sh. The speaker suddenly appre
ciated that tiiis was the second time
within a few days that she had been
impr tient with her mother As be
fore, she regretted her show of tem
per when she saw the wounded ex-
I ressior. in her mother’s eyes. She
noted also that her father was looking
at her in amazement.
“I did not mean to speak like that,
mother,” she said quickly and peni
tently. She pushed her chair back
from the table and, going around to
the elderly woman, laid her own
flushed cheek against the wrinkled
one. “I had no business to be so
cross, and I am very sorry. I am
as nervous as a cat this morning.
Please 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 eat your break
fast, for it is getting late. I shall
be glad when this dreadful grind is
over and you have graduated,” she
added, with a sigh. "You are not
like your dear self these days, and
it is because you are overwrought
an<l overtired.”
Mary made no protest. She won
dered secretly if the strain of work
was entirely responsible for her
vague sense of discontent and uncer
tainty. 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
was pale and his brow contracted as
if he w’ere suffering.
“Father!" exclaimed the girl in
alarm, “what is the matter?”
“Nothing to w’orry 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, “you
are not well. You’ve been overwork
ing.”
“Oh, I guess not," he replied with
an attempt at raillery. “An old
codger like me must expect such feel
ings this warm weather, that’s all—
but I find it hard to remember that
I’m getting old.”
"Won’t you see a doctor?” urged
Mary.
The Most Exciting Serial
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SERIALIZED
By J. W. McCONAUGHY
(Copyrigbf, 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?’’ ho asked huskily.
His master straightened up, put the
revolver back In its holster and pointed
grimly to the trap.
“Water and a long drop," he said
quietly. “There’s another of the Duke’s
men gone.”
Rusty got shakily to his feet. ”1
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 wdth
the point. The armor toppled 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.
‘Til 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 was 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 when 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 1 safe as a church in this. No one
would ever think of looking for one
of us ! n this armor. You watch, and
when h i starts to work—then yell your
head oft;”
“I’ll yeh *»o 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 thfe
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-
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.
Rancho 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?”
“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
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