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1 J *K One Woman’s Story By VIRGINIA TERHUNE VAN DE WATER Chapter XII. ry->HE day Hollowing: the evening on 3 which Oralg had taken her to the opera seemed to Mary Dan- forth different fiom any other day she had ever passed. She had heard much of dual personality, but she had never before had the sensation of possessing in her own being two dis tinct persons. One, the sensible, cool, headed working creature, went through the usual routine of daily du ties. The other—the true inner self— found time between tasks requiring thought and concentration to remem ber the events of last night; the look in Craig's eyes, the touch of his lips upon her hand at parting. She no longer chided herself for thinking of this man. She knew now that she could not help thinking of him. She did not know that she loved him, but she was sure that he cared for her, and the knowledge brought with it a new kind of happiness. The evening meal in the Danforth home was served earlier than usual to-day, and Mary ate it alone. It was supper instead of dinner. It was the cook's “evening out,” so the waitress prepared the repast. Mr. and Mrs. Danforth were dining out with an other elderly couple, and. as Mary was to remain at home, she had sug gested that Jennie, the waitress, serve a simple early supper and then be al lowed to have the evening to herself. “Why should she stay at home when her work is done just because it is not her regular “day out?” she asked of her mother. “Girls of all classes like recreation. 1 know that I do.” Her mother smiled acquiescence of the suggestion. "Certainly, dear,” she returned, “If you don’t mind hav ing your supper at 6 o’clock, there is no reason why Jennie may not be al lowed the evening off.” Thus it came about that the sun set wa« still shining through the liv ing room windows when Mary, her supper over, sat in an easy chair, w atching the western glow across the river. She was vaguely happy, too happy to try to analyze her feelings. She was not lonely, for she had her work to do, yet she felt a disinclina tion to begin it just yet. She would wait until darkness made it advisable to turn on the lights. Meanwhile she would have this quiet hour for think ing. She sighed with content at the idea. So engrossed was she in her thoughts that she sprang to her feet with a gasp when the telephone bell rang, and she hurried to reply to its summons. The boy at the switch board downstairs announced: “Mr. Craig's calling, please, ma’am.” “Send him up," Mary ordered in a voice that was a little unsteady In spite of her efforts to make It firm. Why should he be coming at this early hour of the evening? And why had he not informed her that he was going to call? In the few' moments that elapsed before the ring at the door told of the presence of her call er, Mary had time to congratulate herself that site bad put on before supper a pretty tea-gown. Few' wom en are si> absorbed in soul struggles or heart yearnings that they fail to consider how they look when a guest arrives. This girl glanced hastily in the mirror as she went through the hall to open the door for the young man, w ho started in surprise in see ing her instead of the maid who usu ally admitted him. "You expected to see Jennie, you see me!” Mary laughed. Then she hurried on to explain the maid’s ab sence. and that he;r parents were also out, talking against lime of trifling matters because of the consciousness that the man was waiting for an op portunity to say something of impor tance. But at last he spoke. “I am going West to-night." he an nounced without preamble. “A tele gram from the firm calls me home. There are some c hanges being made in the office and I am wanted. I could not go without tiling you good bye.” The girl felt the color recede from her face, and for a moment the only words she could find were “Going to night?” She heard herself repeating them dully: stupidly. She and Craig were standing, for he had told his news as soon as he entered the living room. She looked away from him across the river at the hills on the Jersey shore. The glory seemed to have gone out of the sky. Craig spoke again, this time more softly. “Mary,” he said, laying his hand on her'clasped hands, “I am coming back soon if you will let me. Can’t you tell me that you ate sorry I am going now?” She said nothing, but she clasped her hands together more closely in an effort at self-control, and. seeing this, the man drew her to him with a sudden gesture of tenderness. “Dear,” he said, “I love you very dearlv. Won’t you try to love me a little?” “I don’t know,” Mary whispered, but as she dropped her head upon his shoulder for a moment before dis engaging herself from his encircling arm, the man was almost satisfied. Before Gordon Craig left a half hour later, he had told Mary Danforth that he would return for her answer in June. He had explained that it would be sevteral years befre his busi ness would warrant his marrying, but he wanted her permission to work and wait for her. am coming back to see you graduate, dear.” he said with a whim sical smile. “The firm wants me to come East once more before mid summer, and I will try to make It the last w'cek in June. Then you will tell rne W'hat I want to know—won’t you, Mary?” He bent his head to catch her low reply. “Perhaps I will,” murmured the girl. But the look in her eyes as she raised them to his said more than her words. Confessions of a Medium (Spirit Transference in Clairvoyancy) An Expose of Frauds Practiced in Spiritualism, Clairvoyance, Etc., Etc. THE MEMBERS OF THE CIRCLE DREW SHRINKINGLY AWAY AS IF AFRAID, UNTIL SOMEONE ASKED, "WHAT IS THE MATTER? IS THIS CHARLES D. ISAACSON, OR IS IT SOME OTHER COME IN CLAIRVOYANT POSSESSION?" By Charles D. Isaacson. (Copyright, Hi 13, International News Service.) The Gold Coin f riendship is to be valued for what there is in it. not for what can be got. ten out of it.—Trumbull. Let friendship creep gently to a height; if it runs to it, it may run it self out of breath. The strength of friendship consists more in liking the same things than in liking each other. There is no folly equal to throwing ? way friendship in a w'orld where rtendshlp is so rare. It is a fine thing to be yourself, and It. true friend loves you most when you are? Think less of your right to demand pervice from friendship and more of your sacred duty to give to it To be a hero, trust yourself—to be fe, martyr, trust the world—and if you lire an idealist, trust your frie.id. When your friend disappoints you It hurts—but the agony^s bitter w r hen roi^ find yourself failing your own Ideal of friendship. * * • ON FRIENDSHIP. He w’ho has a thousand friends Has not a friend to spare— And he who has one enemy Will meet him everywhere. * • • **You are my friend, for you have dwelt with me In gay or stormy weather; t like you for the times you’ve smiled with me— I love you for the tears we’ve wept together.” Inviting Callers By MRS. FRANK LEARNED. Author of “The Etiquette of New York To-day.” M ANY little questions are coming up constantly in the minds of people who are in search of the correct thing in manners. Small problems which are puzzling need to be solved. For instance, a young woman or girl may be uncertain whether she should ask a man to call or wait for a request from him. Now, in social life, the rule is well understood that a woman has the right to choose who may be admitted to her house, and this rule should be kept in mind in a decision about asking a man to call or withholding that privilege. A woman does not, therefore, hasten to ask a man to call who has just been introduced to her, and certainly does not if she knows very little about him. If she should do so she would seem very eager for his society, as well as rather injudicious in her se lection of friends. In the world of society a mother would usually know' most of the young men whom her daughter w'ould meet. They belong, for the most part, to families known to each oth er. When it is possible the invita tion to call may be made by a girl's mother, who might say, informally, “We are always at home on Thurs day afternoons.’’ or “We like to have our friends come in on Sunday after noons, and shall be glad to see you.” A remark of this sort gives ease in every direction. A man therefore understands that he should wait to be given the priv ilege of calling. He should not ask a girl if he may call to see her unless he has some good reason to think that the suggestion might come from him. but he should know her quite w r ell before making it. Another reason why a girl should not be in haste to ask a man to call is that if he should prove indifferent to the privilege granted she has the unpleasant sensatipn that he is not anxious for her society. If a man has been introduced to a girl at the house of intimate friends, and there is reason to believe that he is a desirable acquaintance, an ex ception may be made to the gen eral rule of not asking him to call after a first meeting or conversation. In a case of this sort the young peo ple may have heard much of each other and may become on a friendly footing quickly. The important thing is for a girl to be careful in her selection of friends. Of course, it is only respectful for a man to wish to be introduced to a girl s parents and there should be no delay about this. It is not correct for a girl to urge a man to call who has failed to ap preciate the courtesy offered, nor is it advisable to seem so anxious for his attentions as to name a time for him to come when he has not even inquired when he might find her at home. In large cities evening visits are out of fashion. The Head Waitress SEASHORE EXCURSION AUGUST 7. Jacksonville, Brunswick, St. Simon, Cumberland, At lantic Beach, $6.00—Limit ed 6 days. Tampa, Fla., $8 -—Limited 8 days. TWO SPECIAL TRAINS. 10 p. m. solid Pullman train. I0fl5 p. m. Coach train. Slake Reservations Now. rOUTKERN RAILWAY By HANK. Woman Is Interested and should know about the wonderful 1 Douche A sk yoardrugglst for “• If he cannot sup- Wy the MARVEL, •crept no other, but ^odstamp for book. <*■. *4 E. 23m, K.T, ^x-r THAT’S the manager looking \/\/ sc chesty about, Louise?” asked the Steady Customer of the Head Waitress in the Cafe d’Enfant. "A little girl stranger slipped Into his home yesterday,” she replied, "and, believe me, she was some, cherub. Nine and a quarter pounds." "Gee! No wonder Mr. Flakes Is all puffed up.” said the Steady Customer. "And what are they going to name little Miss Flakes?" "Miss Snow Flakes would be a hit," said the Head Waitress. The Steady Cuatomer chuckled. “My, hut you're getting facetious Louise," he said. "It’s Harmless.’’ “I’m going to look that word up," she replied, "and if it means what I think it means. I’ll land you over the head with a plate of steamed hash.” "It's harmless," said the Steady Customer, "but tell me more about the manager’s new arrival. "Well when he came in this morn ing" She said, "the telephone started ringing every five minutes with some one of his friends on it, all wanting io I congratulate him. Later on he was 1 called down into the basement to in- Isnect the fresh baked pies and slnk- ara, and the assistant manager had to answer the phone. Every time he went to if. some voice would say, Hello, Pop!’ while some started , to sing. ‘Here Comes My Daddy Now,’ until the assistant manager got so mad that he nearly bit a piece out of the receiver.” “Some folks can’t take a joke,” said the Steady Customer. “No,” replied the Head Waitress. “But, all joking aside, I do admire Mr. Flakes. He’s a home man. As soon as he’s through here he beats it straight to the fireside and don't make any stops on the way, either. That’s the kind of a bloke that could cop mv young affections any time. But I guess all of them guys is married, because the only legible ones I ever seen either had a nermanent distillery breath or chicken fever.” “What does Marie think about It?” asked the Steady Customer. “She’s tickled to death, too.” said the Head Waitress. “She thinks Mr. Flakes is great. He’s so kind to her. Any time she has a date he always lets her off for an hour so she can doll up and put on her glad rags ” “Well, Marie,” said the Steady Cus tomer as he paid his check at th- cashier’s dt-sk. “I hear Dame Fortune h^s knocked on the manager s door.” i“Yes,” said Marie, “it's great, but id she didn't knock mor« than once at a lime.” T IEY picked up his mangled body at the foot of the cliff. In his pocket was a ^letter. “To-day I went to meet you, child, when you came home from the office. You like so much to have me* come and meet you these bright summer even ings. /when It Is still daylight at 8 o’clock. But you do not like me to call for you on dark winter evenings. You are so full of loving care for me, child. “On the corner of Bergstrasse I stop ped to wait for you. From this corner I can see the big office building In which you are working. I stood look ing toward the door anticipating the moment when you came out. “The clock in the church tower struck 8 and filled the air with the sound of its chimes and suddenly the thought struck me: To-day is the last day of the month, when you receive your month's salary. This will make you come a little later. “Then a stylishly dressed young lady went by, tall and straight and hand some. I recognized her face under the big hat: It was Grete Allmers, your former friend and schoolmate. Now she is Grete ARnenrs no longer, for she has married a rich husband, whose name I forget. She saw me, too, and nodded her head with a friendly smile, though she is a fine lady and I am only a poor old man. I followed her with my eyes. She looked so proud, so young and vlgorou sthat It was a pleasure just to look at her. And then I saw you coming out of the door and run almost into the arms of your friend. Grete Allmers laughed and there was a happiness in her voice, and you smiled as you often smile. And then, quite auddenly I saw something I had never seen before. A mother, perhaps, sees such things coming, a father does not see them until they are there. I saw that you are no longer young, child, and that you have dark shadows underneath your eyes and that the eyes themselves are not as bright as before. That your lips are no longer red and that there are lines running from your nose to your mouth. Never, child, did I see this before. I never noticed that time put new lines into your face, but now I suddenly discov ered though I saw how bitter was your smile compared to your friend’s happy young laughter. You and she are the same age. still Bhe looked the same as always, while you had aged. You came toward me. You were happy and smil ed. And I—I looked at your smile, child, as I have never looked before. The Coin. “Was the evening long or did it pass quickly? I do not know. Then we said “Good night,” and when I came Into my room I found, what I have found every mon«h in all these years, your gold coin. When you, seven years ago, got your present good position and for the first time brought home your sal ary, you came to me, your eyes beam ing with Joy, and said: “Look, father, what a lot of money I am making. I won't need nearly all of it. What does your little housekeeper cost? We are only tw'o people. Now, please, take this for yourself—for some little thing you might want. Do take it for my sake. And I took it. not for the sake of the ten marks, but for the light of happiness In your eyes- .And since then the same thing has happened every month—when I have come into my lit tle room I have found your little gold coin. You never w’anted me to thank you for it. My thanks were to be the spending of the money. And I have spent some of it, because you have watched me too closely to put all aside, but I spent far from all of It. Many of your gold coins are still lying In a drawer of my desk. “When I looked at the gold coin to night I suddenly understood what had been struggling within me all night. It was as if an iron gate were suddenly opened and the whole pack of thoughts that had been struggling inside as If in a cage were suddenly released and rushed at me. His Return. “Golden coins—that Is all you have received in return for your youth, mis erable gold coins. You have done things in an office which scores of people could do just as well, your young life was nothing but a small part of a dead machine. “You have not married. No husband has enjoyed your youth. No children have come to you to keep you young “All that remains of your youth are a heap of golden coins. “Oh, my child, this is what has hap pened and I have not seen it happen It is as if the seven years had sud denly acquired voices that shout at me l-ntil now they have been silent, and have hidden themselves in the dark ness, but now they rush at me, a dread ful host, and their shrieks resound in my ears. “A painter who understood to paint pictures only, but not to sell them! A pitiful, perhaps a heroic figure—then came the para'ytic stroke, and the hero become a martyr. Was it then really so? Was It perhaps not quite differ ent. You have not only made the nec essary money to provide for ua both, you have nursed me, you have kept our ittle home neat and attractive without any help, you have cooked our meals, you have sewed and worked. “Never in my life have I sold a polnt- ng below my price. I could never cheapen my art. And now a voice within me shouts that I have always valued myself too highly; far too highly. I must die now. I have no right to live, hild. You will suffer with me at first; I know how you will suffer, because you love me. But that suffering was bound to come some time anyway, and there ire sufferings that come too late. Your salary will be more than big enough for you, now that you have no body to share it. You will have no money troubles. You will not have to work like a slave before and after office hours. You will travel and see things • hat will make your eyes bright once more and make your smile young again. “You know that I love the path across the Ottersberg Mountains. I go there very seldom, because you are afraid something might happen to me. It is a dangerous path, with a deep abyss on one side and no railing Several acci dents have happened' there. “But it will be hard, very hard, at the last moment. The gold coin I found here in my room to-night 1 shall take with me and look at it before * * * Then j shall in turn be strong enough to do iW* O FTENTIMES a medium loses her own personality and becomes for the time being another indi vidual—so many are led to believe. That Is to say. her spirit goes out of her body, float3 temporarily in the at mosphere, goodness knows where, while some long deceased person oc cupies her material frame and dis courses through her lip. Mrs. Piper, a famous clairvoyant of the last cen tury. often permitted a mythical “Dr. Phinuit” this privilege, and Mrs. Pep. per was very kindly to an Indian maid, “Bright Eyes,” as many will well remember, through the reports of a recent lawsuit. At such times their voices would completely change, and to all intents and purposes they were different people. I have no opinions to offer on the truth or telslty of such experiments. 1 only know what I have done along the very same lines. And I have been told that some of the thing? that I have accomplished have far outdone any recorded of them, and were de cidedly more convincing. (I am in forming you that every so-called man ifestation to my credit was founded on nothing outside of my own Imagi nation and trickery.) He Would Try. I had often been asked by my fol lowers if I had ever permitted my body to be occupied in clairvoyancy. I bad not., but 1 would try—it was my purpose to leave no field of mystery untouched. One night I was seated with my circle, talking quietly and slowly. It was winter, and the faint moonlight streaks on the snow outside looked like vagrant ghosts of other days. A low light glimmered from one end of our room and reflected a ghastly yel low glare on my 'face. 1 had been asked a question, which I was about to answer, when I pressed my hand suddenly to my heart with a quick, short gasp. Instantly all were close about me. "What’s the matter’. "Aren’t you well?” "Speak out, please.” , „ . . I answered not a word. My body began to twitch and shake, my eyes closed, and I lay back on the sofa where they had taken me, motionless, as If dead. Someone sprinkled my forehead with water, others rubbed my hands. until finally my eye* opened. Slowly I sat up, looked queerly about me. walked with sham bling gait and bent shoulders like at) old man, to the mantelpiece, examin ing with curious manner the familiar objects in the room. The members of the circle drew shrlnklngly away as if afraid, unlij someone, asked, "What Is the matter. Is this Charles D. Isaacson, or Is It some other, come In clairvoyant pos session ?" Got Him At Last. Then I began to speak. Slowly and slightly rapping, and as if with great difficulty. I said: “This is Forster— David Forster. Do you not know me? Lawver. Once of Manchester. Eng land.' Fine family. Friend of the nobility. Handsomest man of my time in my younger days and popular with the ladies. All. 1 had the ladles. I passed out at 90 years—respected and loved. Have you never heard of me?” And I advanced to one of the wom- THEN I BEGAN TO SPEAK. SLOWLY AND SLIGHTLY RASPING, AND AS IF WITH GREAT DIFFICULTY, I SAID: “THIS IS FORSTER—DAVID FORSTER. DO YOU NOT KNOW ME? LAWYER. ONCE OF MANCHESTER, ENGLAND. en. tickled her under the chin as 1 chuckled. “Ah, you’re a fine set here, you are Fine women, fine women. Smart men. Clever medium, that Isaacson—I caught him this time, though, didn’t 1? He’s been keeping me out for the damriest time. I got ’im this time, ah right.” So I went on. conversing with mv friends, talking about Forster, his past life, his friends, his present ex istence; about myself, how I had been fighting him and how he had finally succeeded in beating me; about th- members of the circle and intimate points about the private life of each, which he claimed to have witnessed himself. Then I was taken again with a apasm—coming to—as myself. "What did you think of that experi ment?” I was asked. “Don’t know anything about It,” I replied, to the growing astonishment of all. Since that time David Forster has returned many times-—in fact, he has been what might be called the coun terpart of “Dr. Phinuit” and “Rrigni Eves.” He has come at every call a. d told us marvelous sitcries < f the pas;, of the present beyond the grave, and of the future. Nor has he been the only one whom they thought, ousted me from my body In clairvoyant trance. On Washing ton’s birthdf.y, the father of his coun try delivered a long speech. Charles Dickons gave us the synopsis of a ftovel. A crazy Indian frightened everyone with his native war-whoops and dance. Dr. Johnson gave a very masterly discussion on decadent lit erature. One gentleman gave a long message in French, and still another amused us with a curious English de scription mingled with a conglomera tion of Italian and Spanish. Paganini, the great violinist of ghoulish mem- FINE FAMILY. FRIEND OF THE NOBILITY. HAND80MEST MAN OF MY TIME IN MY YOUNGER DAYS AND POPU LAR WITH THE LADIES. AH, I HAD THE LADIES. I PASSED OUT AT NINETY YEARS—RE SPECTED AND LOVED. HAVE YOU NEVER HEARD CF ME?” orv, came in and asked for a violin. He played w’hat he called a new mel ody, but if anyone listening had been a student of music he would have recognized It as the famous “Devil's Trill,” which, I had carefully Ptudied for several weeks previous to making the experiment. Several women had “taken posses sion" and my voice had been very carefully changed to suit each case. But perhaps the greatest sensation of all w r as when there came Sir Henry Irving, the English actor, most artis tic of all his time, who recited hi? fa vorite number, “The Dream of Eu gene Aram,” bringing tears to the eyes of many of my listeners. Very Impressive. At another time I described In de tail a place far distant, giving names and dates, providing a very impres sive example of clairvoyancy: “I am in a cpmetery,” I began in the person of an old Dutch settler of New' Amsterdam. “There are many tombstones and many beautiful trees. Come with me and I will show you where my body lies. We go in the main entrance by a church. Here is my grav-» and on it the name. Von Glahn. Farther on, within a plot where many lie, we look over the rail ing. and there Is a small headstone, on which appears the name, Washing ton Irving.” The message extended over a full evening, telling everything about the old Dutch cemetery of Tarrytown— the estates nearby—the bridge—the streets and stores. Several members of the circle traveled up there to cor roborate or disprove what they ha<l heard. Oh, it’s a shame that people will be ?uch ninnies. Hadn’t I been there a week before to make wire that noth ing was said that wasn’t right to the finest detail! KODAKS The Be«t FlnUhlnt and lalara- int That Can Be Produtad.* knMman Kilns* and '’um pire stock smataur supplies, iefi for out-of town customera. 'Send for Catalog and Price L!«t. A. K. HAWKES CO. 14 Whitehall St., Atlanta, Ga. 10c Package]'Equals 4 lbs. of Bee! in A Food Value You spend too much money on meat—it’s the one big item in your high cost of living. 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