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1 The Finger of Death A SPY has to take many risks, and if he is caught at the game dur ing war time his career as a rule is then and there closed promptly, and Iti most cases in ignominious fashion. It was the money aspect of the busi ness which appealed to Morris Tyler, and induced him to engage in the work. He was a born spy. 'a good linguist, and cunning beyond belief, he was never one to assay a dangerous {ask for the sheer excitement of it. He did not like taking risks, though, of course, he had to take them occasionally; but ah- ways at these Junctures he kept in mind the big pay and extras. It needed these to tune him up to concert pitch. He was always cautious and success ful. Having found it advisable to quit Europe for a time, he made his way to the South American Republic of Caldera which, at the date of his arrival, was just in the throes of on© of its periodi cal revolutions. * offered his services to the Gov- ' ernment party at a rate of pay some what in excess of what he had been re- snatch a few minutes—just to rest his eyes He awoke with a start, and was about to spring to his feet when a harsh voice commanded him to remain still. At the other side of the Chamber he saw an armed man—one of the rebels—standing with his rifle at the “ready.” “So! A spy!” exclaimed the man. “Bueno! It will be promotion for me for having discovered you. Don’t move!” The rifle was raised threaten ingly. “If you so much as move a hand or a foot I will put a bullet through your brain. Yet I do not wish to waste ammunition. A rope is good enough for such as you.” He spat on the floor to typify his con tempt for all spies. Then he called to the nearest sentry, telling him of his “find,” and asking him to bring a rope. But the words had barely left his lips when there was a terrific crash over head, a blinding flash of flame, the split ting of wood and the rattle of falling masonry. A twelve-pound shell from a field gun ceiving in Europe, and President Blance ! bad struck the building and reduced it having heard of him, and finding that he could speak Spanish fluently, en gaged him at pnee. But in Caldera, Morris Tyler had to work under new and unfamiliar condi tions. Hitherto, his spying had been carried on during times of peace. There had been no war in Europe since he had come to the front. Now he found himself in the thick of fighting of a sav age character. When the insurgents took any prisoners, they gave them the to a ruin. It was the first shot fired by 'the Government artillery in their at tack on the hill of San Stafano. The rebels were taken by surprise, became panic-stricken, and instead of shaping up to defend the position began a hasty retreat. Moris Tyler was not immediately concerned with the running fight be tween the loyal troops and the rebels, for the sounds of strife drifted farther away each minute from the ruined boil- Lady Constance Stewart Richardson on Written Exclusively for the Readers of This Page. Figure 1, shown in the topmost picture, shows tlje body poised on one foot. A swaying ex ercise fully de scribed by Lady Richardson’s article brings How to Acquire a Beautiful Figure Through Dancing In Poses Especially Adapted for the Ac companying Article. option of changing sides or being shot. ; er house. No other shot or shell came But when the Government troops cap tured any rebels, they did not permit them any choice. They were placed in a row with their backs against a wall and promptly finished off by a firing party. By the time he had been three weeks at the "great game” as played in this explosive South American State, Morris Tyler was inclined to regret that he had not remained a passive specta- ! tor of the revolution, instead of taking j part in it. However, he fortified his courage with the thought of the pile of dollars he would add to his banking ac count when the fighting was over and the rebels beaten. He had seen enough to feel pretty certain they had no real chance of winning. And so far he had not encounter^! any special danger; his cunning always enabled him to evade it. No Avail. But the day came when he discovered that cunning was of no avail, and that courage would have been a far more desirable possession. He had been sent for by Colonel Voruba. the chief of the Intelligence De partment, to whom he usually made his reports. ‘‘Some rare work for you, Senor Tyler,” observed the Colonel cheerfully, “and it may be the last service we shall require you to perform, for the rev olution must end soon. Still, much will depend on the informtaion you are able to obtain for us.” Morris Tyler nodded, and waited for his chief to go on. “Tb^ rebels are massed In some force on the Hill of Ran Rtefano,” pursued the Colonel, “where it seems they are going to make a last desperate stand. They hold the old fort up there. That much we know. But we do not know' the number of their guns, nor how they are placed. It is Important that we have this information before we storm the position, and we look to you to obtain it for us.” “Can you give me any further particu lar'-*, Colonel?” “There are no further particulars to give you.” replied Colonel Yoruba. “You know the road. The rest lies wdth you. I am instructed, however, to inform you that if you succeed in bringing us cor rect information, you will receive five hundred dollars over and above your pay. You must start at once. By a curious freak of fate, there ar rived at the headquarters of the Cal- deran army, twenty-four hours, later, a deserter from the rebel ranks, who was able to furnish the exa^t information which Colonel Voruba required. Thereupon, an order was given for an immediate advance. This movement taking place so much sooner than was expected, would very likely put Morris Tyler in an extremely tight comer. But the life of one man was of small moment w T hen so much was at stake. And a spy! Well, no one bothered much about a spy when he was not required. In the meantime. Tyler had contrived to get to the top of the Hill of San Stefano with out being observed by the enemy's out posts or sentries. He was. indeed, well within the cir cles of outposts when he reached an abandoned building, which at one time had been the boiler house of a sugar ^plantation. It seemed a safe hiding place, from the security of which he could observe what was going on in the rebels’ camp without himself being seen. He crept inside and laid flat down upon the floor. About half a mile away he could see the camp fires glowing in the darkness, and nearer still the squat shape of the fort showing black against the night sky. Picturesque insurgents were passing to and fro, and a few were seated by the fires playing cards. No Sleep. After a time the camp became silent, even the card players giving up their games and stretching themselves out on the ground to sleep. Only sentries re mained on the alert, but between him and the fort there were three. By no possibility could he get past them un seen, for it was open ground. The night wore on. He was tired, but he dared not sleep. If he could only Oft HER KITCHEN STOVE It is interesting to note that the most successful remedy for woman s ills was originally prepared nearly forty years ago by Mrs. Lydia lv Pinkham, of Lynn. Mass., by steep ing roots and herbs on her kitchen stove and supplied to friends and neighbors without cost. Its fame spreud; the demand grew; until now n.ar.y tons of roots and herbs are used each year in order to hlipi>iy this famous remedy which nas proved such a marvelous success in ontrolling diseases of women. Merit alone could have stood this test of time. D near it. But he was much concerned about himself. He could not move. He was pinned down by some timber from the fallen rqof. and all around him was a wreck of shattered walls, broken planks and beams and debris which bore no likeness to anything in particu lar. Fear! “Luck’s with me, after all,” he mur- j mured. “I am not hurt, and this beam is not too heavy for me to lift. I can raise it up and crawl.” He paused with a sort of gasp, for his eyes, roving around the place, had rested on a gleaming rifle barrel. It was pointed straight at his head, and there was a man’s forefinger resting on the trigger. The man w*as the rebel who had captured him. He was lying on his face amidst the wreckage, and there was blood streaming from a terrible wound at the side of his head. A splin ter of the bursting shell had killed him. The spy gave a sigh of relief. For a moment he had thought that the man was alive, and was taking aim at him. But his relief was of short duration. He did not like that rifle pointing so steadily at him, even though it was only held in a dead man's hand; and when he saw that the lower end of the beam which was lying across his own body rested against the man’s right forearm, he liked it still less. He could not move the beam upwards; he could only move it downw*ards or sideways. If he shifted it ever so little, it was bound to press more heavily on the dead rebel's arm, and that would cause his stiffened finger to press on the trig ger, which would fire the rifle. The bullet would enter his—Tyler’s—-brain, because his head was so wedged that he could not move it to one side or the other. He could raise it a little, but | that would be of no advantage. The bullet would take him then somewhere about the mouth and pass upwards through the base of his skull. He shook with fear, like a man with the ague, and the sweat streamed down his face. It was borne in upon the spy’s mind that he might lie there until he died of starvation. There was the alternative of pushing the beam a little more, so that the dead man’s finger should press harder on the trigger and thus end his misery with a bullet from the menacing rifle. Then all at once something In his brain seemed to snap. A red curtain dropped before his eyes. The noise of a rushing wind howled in his - ears and then came black oblivion. Early the next morning two mounted men reined up close by the ruined boil er house. They were Colonel ^ oru^a and an orderly. The fight was over, and the rebels were beaten. .. “Two men in there,” said the Colonel. , r lgTU*e Une. One Woman’s Story . By VIRGINIA TERHUNE VAN DE WATER CHAPTER IX. ARY smiled reassuringly into the anxious faces of her parents bending over her as she opened her eyes after a brief period of un consciousness. She found herself ly- M mersed in the morning papers. A close observer would have noticed that the only columns she read were those deal ing with the recent railroad wreck and the deeds of heroism of the various un injured passengers—the most active and bravest of whom had evidently been ing upon the living room couch, her | “the young Texan, Gordon Craig by about an easy control of the waist muscles. Practice in this lesson will do more to re duce the waist line than any other fat-reducing method known to Lady Rich ardson. Incidentally it produces natu rally graceful movements when walking or running. HIS is the fourth of Lady Richardson’s valuable arti cles on dancing as an aid to natural beauty. Another will appear on this page next week, in which the student is carried along a little further, and into a trifle more difficult exercises. By Lady Constance Stewart Richardson Copyright, 1913, by International News Service. ANOING Is one of the most characteristic and characterful things I know. It expresses the individual and the nation in perfect accord with the feelings and customs that characterize him or it. Take, for instance, the Hungarian Czardas, the Italian Tarantolle, or the Tango of Argentina—each is characteristic of its place and clime, and however well the peoples of another nation do the dance that is not their own they still must modify it to suit their own temperament. A Perfect Outline. If we take the best of the moderns and add to it the finest stepk of the ancients and teach our result wo will get as many variations as we have individual temperaments expressing the dance we have made. If people will stop to think what a wonderful mode of expression the dance offers them, and will study it, its music and the effect of this expression on their own temperaments, they will no longer consider the dance and the body that expresses it as something to be despised, but they will give to the body, which is capableoof beauty, its due of admiration and its right to beautiful expression, which will mean that one step toward lifting instead of degrading the hu man body will he definitely taken through the wor-‘ ship of loveliness. To heip you all make your bodies so perfect in outline, in strength anil in power to respond to > our desire to express emotion through the great safety valve of movement is my desire. When dancing, look happy and as if you were danc ing because you love to, and as if you were dancing because you love the particular step you are taking— not doing the fashionable thing some dancing teacher had assured you was the “proner way.” Make on > or two steps your own, and through them teach your body to express itself without shame or consciousness in perfect happiness and rhythm. This is the first time that any newspaper lias presented a series of articles in which such expert instruction and advice arc given oil the value of practicing natural movements for the preservation of human grace and beauty. Figure 2 is a walking exer cise that has a wonderfully beneficial effect upon the whole body. Constant practice in this exercise makes it become as easy and natural to you as when a child skipping along the street. It is Lady Richardson’s claim that all these move ments are but normal, simple, human expres sions. This style of dancing, says Lady Richard son, is good for the soul as well as the body. “They may have some life in them.” The orderly dismounted and peered in among the wreckage. “One is a rebel,” he reported. The other is Senor Tyler. Both dead.” The Answer. “The spy!” exclaimed the Colonel. "It is strange,” said Voruba, bend* . ing over Tyler s body, “there is not a | mark upon him. He has received no j wound, no hurl. He could easily have j lifted this beam and extricated himself.” j "Look at the expression on his face even now,” replied the orderly was sheer terror that killed have heard of such a thing. Perhaps he had a weak heart." “Terror!” Voruba raised his eye brows. “Ah, yes, I perceive. The load ed rifle pointing at his head, which, at the slightest movement on his part would Captain Berwick interrupted him. He Dancing is a safe and sane form of self-expression, and it is good for body as well as soul. In Figure 1 the body is poised on the hall of one foot, while the other is raised with the leg thrown slightly backward from the knee and the toes ]mint 's. ing downward. A straight line from flexed knee to tlie tip of the toes seems to be a favorite idea of grace, as depicted by the sculpture of tilt' ancients, and as it adds to beauty of line the benefit of strengthening instep anil ankle, it is one of the little separate movements that I often incorporate in my dancing steps. i'o return to Figure 1—Bend slightly at the waist toward the uplifted leg aud raise the arm above the head so there will tie a continuous curve from elbow to toes. A flexible waist waits upon the earnest practice of tills exercise. From elbow to wrist the arm is bent above and toward the head, while the other arm, stretehed lightly out from the shoulder and parallel with it, terminates in loosely flexed wrist and hand. Sway lightly from foot to foot, and see what easily con trolled muscles of the waist result. Figure Two. Figure 2 pictures for you a walking exercise that has a wonderfully beneficial effect on the whole body. It is a natural bodily expression such as you have often seen little children drop into quite uncon sciously. 'Tiptoe along from foot to foot, with the raised limb flexed at the knee and held with down-pointing toe>. Bend the body well forward from the waist, and sway it toward the lifted foot, stretching the arm over tills foot back and down and the other arm forward and as you would do in feeling your way along a solid surface in the dark. I.eg. arm and waist muscles are here brought into play -and when such simple, pretty, little exercises as this become indeed play you may feel sure that you are on your way to a body' lieautifhl and grace ful. After all. jusl such dance movements as this are normal, simple, human expression, and out of thorn we can evolve natural grace of body and movement. Advice to the Lovelorn Handsome Mr. Slatte :: a si io;vr story complete his face I / / f S ly. “It! I him. I | SHOTTED think you would read more,” suggested the girl in the grass green linen gown as she came upon the porch. “Oh, I don’t know,” responded the young woman in the wicker chair, who was busy embroidering. “This is just at-* satisfactory as most of tile popular novels." ‘It’s every woman’s duty to im part picked the rifle up and opened the ; p roV e her mind,” declared the girl in breech. the green linen. "I feel that I have “He was in no danger at any time from this weapon, loaded!” he said. “It is not Did the Vicar Stop? It was too much. Every Sunday old Adams, who blew the organ, would continue blowing after the music had stopped, thereby producing most un desirable sounds. Time and again had the organist taken him 1° task for it. • Right, mister,” had been old Ad ams’ invariable reply. “I forgits, you know.” , ,, . One Sunday the organist could stand it no longer. The congregation had been set tit tering by the old man’s forgetful ness. and during the sermon the or ganist seized the opportunity to write him a note on the matter, and handed it to a choir bov to deliver. Misunderstanding the whispered directions, the lad handed the note straight up to the vicar, who astound- edly read the following done s»o much since the corner drug store put in its circulating library. Mr. Slatte has been such a help!" “Mr. Slatte?” queried her friend. “What has he to do with it?” The girl in the green linen sighed faintly. "You know.” she said, "I am not the sort of girl to rave over a man’s good looks. 1 prefer brainy any time. But, really, you never in your life saw any one who looked like Mr. Slatte! He ” “He might look like anything with that name," commented tiie young woman who was embroidering. “Do you mean to say he is handsome?" ‘"More than that," said her friend. “He has the sort of eyes that pierce with their brilliance, and such a chin! My dear, every time I see him I am reminded of that stunning portrait ot Lord Byron! I am certain there is a mystery about him! He has the most perfect manners*!” A Shock. “Where ’ •"Why, he's “Will you stop when I tell you to . i of the drug store,’ Pfonlp come here to listen to my mu- in 'he green linen. sic, not to your horrible n iss.” I out r. boo* vilntfl he came un and said recently taken charge explained the girl "1 had just picked he couldn’t bear to see me waste my time on such a tiresome story. II< said he’d be only too .glad to help m< find something worth while that he knew I ^ould appreciate. I thought it so kind ” “Kind!” said the girl who was em broidering. “I think he was imperti nent. I gueso if I wanted a book I’d want what I wanted.” “You don’t understand at all.” ex claimed the girl in green linen, pa tiently. “Mr. Slatte is writing a novel himself, so of course he knows perfectly what—” "Mv goodness! A drug clerk.and a novelist!” said the girl who was em broidering. Her friend bristled at this. “He’s not a clerk!” she said. “He’s a sort of—er—manager. People generally don’t know he is so literary. You don’t suppose that he wastes time on everybody who comes to get a book, do you? Not that he is especially in terested in me, of course—only I sup pose he realizes that I have more than average intelligence. I never saw such eyes in my life! Sometimes when he smiles in that slow, sad sort of way of his I ” “Who puts up prescriptions while he is engaged in smiling sadly?” in quired the young woman who was embroidering. “You are perfectly horrid!” said her friend. “If you knew Mr. Slatte you’d think differently. We have had some of the most inspiring talks since wr met. He always drops whatever he is doing and helps me select my books. I’m a rapid reader and have to ex change books so oftc n. “I'm on my was there now to get another book. 1 do wifth 1 could average make you see what an opportunity it is, now that Mr. Slatte is there. He has such a cultivated mind—many times he has remarked what a treat it is to him to have someone come in who is different from the careless reader.” A Rival. "There comes Dorothy Maye,” said the girl who was embroidering. "Come in Dorothy,” she called across the railing. “1 can’t Just now,” said the girl in question, pausing at the steps. "I’m on my way to the drug store to take back a book. There’s such a nice man in charge there now—perfectly stun ning, and so kind. He’s writing a book himself, too. He always stops whatever he is doing to come and help me pick out something good. He says it is a treat ” “How nice!” enthusiastically Inter rupted the girl who was embroidering. "Alicia is here and she is going there, too ” “No,” said the girl - in grass green linen shortly. “I am not going to the drug store! I am too busy to waste time over those trashy books and to hang around a silly clerk.” Untested. “Yes. sir,” said the successful man ufacturer. ’’no man can t*ajl his fac tory products these days unless they have been thoroughly tested.” “Oh. I don’t know,” replied an other equally successful manufactur er. “We manage to sell our product without testing it.” “You do? What is your line?” “DyoaizuLe/ % By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. LET YOUR HEART DECIDE. Dear Miss Fairfax^: I am a girl of twenty. About two years ago I met a young man, and from that time until a month ago I loved him, but he did not re turn my love in the way I wanted, so I thought it would be best to forgot him. I an-, now keeping company with another young man who is very serious. Two weeks ago the first young man wrote and tol l me ho had found no gitl he could love like me. DOROTHY. You must take the one you love most, hut before you make that de cision bo very fair with yourself. T know nothing of the merits of the two men. but it seems to me that the firs is somewhat like the dog in the manger He did not seek your love till some other man's attentions made it de sirable. HE IS NOT SINCERE. Dear Miss Fairfax; I am nineteen, and in love with a man three years my senior. I am rcnllv crazy over him. I think the world of him. as I think he does the same of me It is nearly a year since wo met and fell in love with each other He a eked me to be his bride. We were to be married in a short time, but now he has excuses for not getting married. He does not writ - as usual, but comes up as aroal \ P. c,. z. The indications are he is trying to get out of it. Save your self-respect bv breaking the engagement, for, be lieve me, it will never end in mar riage. - T am sorry, dear, but this course will save you greater pain la ter on. THAT IS HIS PRIVILEGE. Dear Miss Fairfax: I am a young girl of seventeen and considered good looking. I have been keeping company with a young man for several months and at a dam e one night I intro duced a girl to him to whom he pavs more attention than to me. NORAH. There was no engagement. He was merely your friend. I hope, un der the circumstances, you will be big enough, and broad enough, to be glad you were the means of intro ducing him to a girl whose company delights him. That’s the way to look at it, my dear. forehead wet from the water which her mother had applied in th6 effort to “bring her around.” She struggled to a sitting posture, beginning at once to ex- Tfiain the attack of faintness which had seized her. "I have been working a little too hard in this warm weather,” she said. “I have not felt well lately, anyway, and this is but the culmination of the wear iness and strain—nothing else.” She spoke no word of the news that had held her eyes waking far into the night, nor of the blessed relief of the knowledge that the man whom she had feared was injured or dead was alive and well. “You won’t try to go to school to-day, will you?” pleaded her mother. The girl smiled. "It is Saturday, mother," she re minded her. “But I must go down to the Public Library to look up some mat ters I want to be sure of before Monday. But I will take a cup of coffee first.” She drank this when her mother brought it to her, then arose with de cision. “I am ashamed of myself to be so weak and foolish,” she exclaimed. “Please, dear people, try to forget it.” “Would you like to look over the morning paper?” asked her father, eye ing her keenly. * "No, thank you!’’ she said quickly. “Thank you, mother, for waiting so sweetly on your silly daughter. I will go to bed early to-night and not repeat this performance of fainting. I never did such a thing quite so causelessly and suddenly before in my life.” When she had left the living room, the father and mother gazed again into each other’s faces. “The fact that she avoids the subject that made her faint shows that she cares for this young man,” declared the mother. “Well, he is a nice fellow, I guess.” "I don’t care how nice he is,” re torted the father, “he is not half good enough for my girl. Before I consent to any serious attentions from him I am going to write to his firm and find what his record is.” “That’s all right, dear,” agreed mie wife indulgently. “I approve of your doing that. But if the Angel Gabriel —trumpet and all—were to ask you for Mary you would not think him good enough for her.” “And he wouldn’t be!” asserted the father, without a smile. The most tender mother is willing— j even, at times, glad—to have her daugh ter marry an honorable, well-to-do gen tleman; a fond father seldom looks with favor upon any suitor for his daughter's hand. An hour later Mary appeared in her mother’s room, her hat and gloves on, ready to go out. Mrs. Danforth looked solicitously at her, but, seeing that the color had returned to her lips, she for bore to utter any protest. If the child was restless it was better to let her go. In the library she might find the books she needed for her work, they might quiet her nerves, turning her thoughts from agilating subjects. Mrs. Danforth would have been sur prised could she have seen her daugh ter when she reached her destination, instead of going at once in search of the volumes in which she was to "look up” certain important subjects, she went direct to the reading room of the library and was in a few minutes im- name.” /Vs the girl read, her cheeks glowed and a soft light came to her eyes. So absorbed was she in her dreams, that she was leaving the build ing before she remembered that in her wrist-bag she carried a list of books of reference w’hich she must find this morning, and, with a start, went in search of these. Somehow all literature except the newspapers seemed very dull to-day. As it was Saturday, Mr. Danforth came home at noontime, and was there when his daughter returned a little be fore the luncheon hour. He greeted her brightly. “Well!” she said Jocosely, *T saw our.-' hero this morning! Craig was at my office. He ran in to tell me that he was all right and to ask if we had seen the account of the wreck. I told him that we had, but I did not flatter him by telling him we had been badly scared about him.” • Mary drew a sigh of relief. She had feared h^r father might mention her evident anxiety, then she reminded her self that she might have known he would not. She waited for hla next re mark. Although she had read and re read the newspaper accounts of Craig's heroism, she hoped to hear more about it by word of mouth. Her father an swered her unspoken thought. “He said little about himself," he went on, “and I liked him better for that. When I said that I understood, he had done some pretty fine work he turned as red as a lobster and said—‘It was only what any man would have done under the circumstances,’ and changed the subject. So I let it drop. I asked him to come up and see us before he goes back to Texas, and he said he would try to.” “Probably he will not find time to,** said Mary with studied Indifference. She began to talk vivaciously of her work, of the approaching school com mencement, of anything and everything except of Gordon Craig. And her father and mother, watching her, understood. That afternoon a messenger left at her door a note for her. It was short/ “Dear M { iss Danforth: Will you give, me the happiness of your company to the opera next Wednesday night? I will call for you at a quarter before eight. The performance is ‘Aida.’ “Faithfully yours. “GORDON CRATG.’’ The reply that the messenger carried hack to Craig was even more brief than the note he had brought: “My Dear Mr. Craig: Thank you. 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