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THE WOMAN T H0U
TK is Is the Story the Whole Country
Is Talking About. Read the Sy
nopsis and Installment and Con
tinue It in Hearst sMagazine
for August, Just Out.
By Hall Caine
Author of “The Christian,” Etc.
SYNOPSIS
D-
* ter
ANTE!/ O’NEILL*, a powerful, aelf
marie man, forces hla only daugh-
.Mary, into a loveless mar
riage with the impecunious and prof
ligate Ijord Raa, so that his ambi
tion to have his descendants the right
ful heirs of the one earldom In EUan
may he realized. . Mary, a convent-
raised young woman, shocked to find
her husband a man of sordid, sensual
passions, refuses utterly to have any
thing to do with him until such time
as he can prove himself worthy of
her love. During the honeymoon
abroad Alma Ller, a divorcee, who Jiad
been expelled from the convent Mary
attended in Rome, attaches herself to
the party and makes the “honeymoon
trip” a long series of slights and in
sults for I^ady Kaa.
At last Rady Raa becomes certain
of the Infidelity of her husband and
of his misconduct with Alma Ller. On
her return to London Mary encounters
her old play-fellow, Martin Conrad,
who has returned from his triumph
ant expedition to the Antarctic
Drawn into ever closer relations with
the only man for whose friendship she
had ever cared, Mary finally awakes
to the fact that she is hopelessly In
love with Martin. Terrified by this
knowledge, and finding herself more
and more in love with Martin, she
determines to 'run away from the
cause of her distress, an<l go home.
Mary’s home-coming to Cast'e Raa
is a sgd affair. Her husband fills the
tumble-down old mansion with his
fast frlenfis from London, including
Alma Ller, who assumes control of
.the household. Ultimately the Illness
of her father offers Mary excuse for
escape from the Intolerable environ
ment. But before visiting her old
home Mary appeals In turn to her
Bishop and to her father’s lawyer,
orriy to be told that neither church
nor statp can offer any relief from her
false position She returns next day
to Castle Raa to find that Martin Is
arriving for a farewell visit, and that
by Alma Ller’s deceitful scheming
the whole house party has gone off fo
a few days’ cruise.
•During her. three days alone with
her lover Mary fights a grim battle
with temptation, only to find on the
last night that her faith in renun
ciation and the laws of the church
1s a fragile thing compared with
her overwhelming love for thla
pure-heart ed man. With Martin’s
passionate words, “You are my real
wife. I am your real husband,” ring
ing in her brain she forgets every
thing else, and with strong steps
walks across the corridor to Martin’s
bedroom. This is the action which
Martin has advised as being the only
course open to them which Is sure to
bring the one result they have decided
to attain—Mary's divorce from Lord
Raa.
Mary decides, nfter the departure
cf Martin Conrad, to hide herself in
London. She is driven by fear of
Lord Raa’s discovery of her unfaith
fulness to him.; she Is equally afraid
of the venomous tongue of Alma
Ller. She Is no sooner settled in a
►cheap, little hoarding hotise in Lon
don than a great hue and cry is raised
by her father. Of all persons, it is
Mildred, that one truest friend of her
convent days, .who ferrets her out ; but
for Mary’s sake she breaks a vow and
refuses to give her up. Then comes
the report of the loss of Martin’s ship
in the Antarctic. The report is false,
but Mary, who flees from Mildred to
a still more obscure part of London,
Is plunged Into the depth of black |
despair from which she is saved only
by the birth of her child. Mother
hood is poignant with Joy and sorrow,
but poverty compels Mary to deny
herself of even 11h privileges; she de
cides to leave her child with a poor
family In Ilford while she searches for
employment.
Daysey Mayme and Her Folks
By FRANCES L. GARS IDE.
W HEN President Chauncey De-
vere Appleton ascended the
platform to preside at the
148th convening of the Children's Con
gress, called in session extraordinary,
he did not take a seat in the presi
dent’s chair,, as was his custom, but
remained standing in rather a con
strained, unnatural attitude. * *
The secretary read the report of
the previous meeting; the treasurer
reported three pennies, a marble and
a guftidrop in the treasury; Tommy
Nuckles, aged 3, sang, “Oh, I’m a
Pirate Brave,” breaking down on the
second verse \n stage fright; Leoni
das Smith, when called for an open
ing prayer, could think of nothing but
"Now I lay me,” and repeated that;
£nd through It all the president re-
mained’^standing.
The sniffling of three sleepy chil
dren; the whispered scoldings given
them by older sisters; the wails of
one little girl,who dropped her doll
and broke it, and the restless move
ment of 40 pairs of feet were all that
disturbed the solemn hush when
President Appleton wiped his brow
and waved his hand in token that he
was ready fo speak.
“The thought I will give you to
take home to-day,” he began, the
weight of a sad experience giving
gravity to his voice, "is that none of
you must take your mothers literally
“I am 7, and while I believe that 1
have reached an age of dignity and
wisdom, my mother does not always
agree with me.”
A groan swept the house thet
caused the sleeping delegates to
awaken and cry to go home.
“Overcome with pain, recently,” he
resumed, “at the slap I received from
my sister when I used her oil paints
in decorating my dog. I broke into
tears.
“’Don’t cry,’ said my mother. 'Be
a man!’
‘“Be a man!’ It sounded good to
me, and I resolved to he one.
“That evening I watched my father
closely, and the next day I tried to ‘be
a man.’ I grumbled about my break
fast, I picked up the morning paper
and scattered it all over the house* I
collected father’s cigar stumps and
left one on the piano, two In the fern
dish, three on the dresser, and four,
with ashes and matches, on the din
ing room tablecloth. I threw one of
my slippers under the bed and hung
the other on the bathroom door
knob; I hung ties on everything, from
the pictures in the parlor to the hall
chandelier; I threw' the contents of
the top chiffonier drawer on the floor,
and was swearing about my collar
button, when my mother heard me.
”‘I am trying to "be a man!’’’ I J
cried w'hen she grabbed me. ‘You told
me to be a man!’ I wailed when sho
began to punish me.
"Brother and sister delegates, my
appeal was In vain!”
Then he turned and walked stiffly
and painfully from the platform. He
hadn’t sat down during the entire ses
sion.
Advice to the Lovelorn
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
♦
Every week for months and months I carried a large black bag of ready-made garments back and forth to the large shops in the West End.
Oh, how I dreaded those trips, haunted as they were by the terror of accidentally meeting Sister Mildred. Again and again I was ready to give
up, but always that one thought came, and I whispered to myself: “For baby's sake.” I did not dare even to ask my employer to give me
something else to do, for I could not forget his words as he had said with a si-gnificant smile: “You vill be gradeful and convenience your em
ployer, mine child.” Still, in spite of my fears, I never saw a familiar face among the multitudes that passed through the streets like waves under
the moon at sea. But what sights I saw for all that! What piercing, piteous proofs that between the rich and poor there is a great gulf fixed!
Memorandum by Martin
Conrad.
M
r Y great-hearted, heroic
little woman!
All thiij time I. in my
vain belief that our expedition
was of some consequence to the
world, was trying to comfort
myself with the thought that mv
darling must have heard .of my
safety.
But how could 1 imagine that
she had hidden herself away in a
mass of humanity—which ap
pears to be the most impenetra
ble depths into which a human
being can disappear?
llow could 1 dmun that, to the ex
clusion of all such interests ns mine,
she was occupied day and night,
night and day. with the joys and
sorrows, the raptures and fears of
the mighty passion of Motherhood,
which seems to be the only thing in
life that Is really great and eternal?
Above all, how could I believe that
lu London itself, in the heart of the
civilised and religious world, she was
going through trials which make
mine, in the grim darkness of the
polar night, seem trivial and easy?
It is all over now, and though,
thank God. it did’ not know at th<
time what was happening to my dear
one at home, it is some comfort to
me to remember that I was acting
exactly as if I did.
From the day we turned back I
heard my darling's voice no more.
Eut I had a still more perplexing and
tormenting experience, and that was
a dream about her, in which she was
walking on a crevassed glacier toward
a precipice which she could not see
because the brilliant rays of the au
rora were in. her eyes.
Anybody may make what he likes of
that on grounds of natural law, and
certainly It was not surprising that
my dreams should speak to me in
pictures drawn from the perils of my
daily life, hut only one thing matters
j now -that these experiences of my
j sleeping hours Increased my ea,ge.r-
j ness to get hack to my dear one.
I My comrades were no impediment
to that, I can t«*ll you. With their
J faces turned homeward, and the wind
I at their backs, they were showing
■ tremendous staying power, although
| we had thirty and forty pretty con-
' stantly, with rough going all the tlmt.
for the snow had been ruckled up by
the blizzard to almost impassable
heaps and hummocks.
A Message.
On reaching our second installation
at Mount Darwin 1 sent a message to
the man at the foot of Mount Erebus,
telling them to get into communica
tion (through Macquarie Island) with
the captain of our ship in New Zea
land, asking him to return for ns as
soon as the ice conditions would per
mit, and this was the last of our Jobs
(except packing our instruments tight
EA TONE
A Vegetable Ccmpound
tones the liven. PHoe 25
• II drug and g roocry
HN B. DANIEL,
Distrib«4|~*
in order, but received one piece of
alarming intelligence that the at
tempt to get into wireless communi
cation with our ship had failed, with
Hu result that we should have to wait
for her until the time originally ap
pointed for her return.
That did not seem to matter much
to im* shipmates, who, being snugly
housed from blinding blizzards, set
tled down to amuse themselves with
' ; ing-songs and story tellings and
j readings.
But, do what I could, to me the de
lay was dreadful, and every day, in
the fever or my anxiety to get away
as scon as the ice permitted, I climb
ed the slopes of old Erebus with
O’Sullivan to look through powerful
glasses for what the good chap called
the “open weather.”
Thank God, our wooden houee was
large enough to admit of my having
a cabin to myself, for I should have
been ashamed of my comrades hear
ing the cries that sometimes burst
from me in the night.
It is hard for civilized men at home,
accustomed to hold themselves under
control, to realize how a man’s mind
can run away from him when he is
thousands of miles separated from his
dear ones and has a kind of spiritual
certainty that evil is befalling them.
I don’t think I am a bifjger fool
than most men in that way, hut 1
shiver even yet at the memory of* all
the torment I went through during
those days'of waiting, for my whole
life seemed to revolve before me, and
i accused myself <»f a thousand of-
buried and forgotten.
Some of these were trivial in them
selves. such as hot and intemperate
words spoken in childhood to m.v
good old people at home, disobedience
or ingratitude shown to them, with
all the usual actions of
boy, who ought to have been-jspanked
and never was.
But the worst of them concerned my
darling, and came with the thought
of my responsibility for the situation
in which 1 felt bure she found* her-
■elf.
A thousand times I took myself to
task for that, thinking what I ought
and ought not to have done, and then
givjng myself every had name and my
conduct every damning epithet.
Up and down my cabin I would
ing’s danger (for such I was sure it
was) and how I was cut off from her
by thousands of miles of Impassable
sea there came an overwhelming
longing to go with my troubles to
somebody stronger than myself.
I found It hard to do that at first,
for a feeling of shame came over me,
and I thought:
“You coward, you forgot all about
God when things were going well with
but now that they are tumbling "from that innocent circumstance cer-
and warm) before we started down j walk with hands buried in my pock
the "long white gateway” for ourl ets. revolving these thoughts and
quarters at the Cape.
With all the heart in the world,
though, our going had to be slow. It
was the middle of the antarctic win
ter. when absolute night reigned for
weeks, and we had nothing to alle
viate the darkness but the light of the |
scalding moon, and sometimes the j
glory of the aurora as it encircled j
the region of the un risen* sun.
Nevertheless my comrades sang
their way home through the sullen
gloom. Sometimes I wakened the I
echoes of those desolate old hills my
self with a stave of “Sally’s the Gel,”
although I was suffering thoughts of
what the damnable hypocrisies of life
working myself up. against my will,
to a fever of regret and self-accusa
tion.
Talk about purgatory—the purga
tory of our dear old Father Dan!
That whs to come after death—mine
came, before, and. by the holy saint*,
I had enough of It.
Three months passed like this, and
when the water of the sound was open
and our. ship did not appear, mine
was not the only heart that was eat
ing itself out. for the spirits of my
shipmates had also begun to sink.
In the early part of the Antarctic*
spring there had been a fearful h¥r-
icane, lasting three days on the sea.
with a shrieking, roaring chorus of
fiends outside, and the conviction now
forced itself on my men that our
ship must have gone down in the
storm.
down, and death seems certain, you
whine and want to go wher^e you nev
er dreamed of going; In your days of
ease and strength.”
I got over that, though there’s noth
ing except death a man doesn’t get
over down there—and a dark night
came when (the ice breaking from
the cliffs of the Cape with a sound
that made me think of my last even,
ing at Castle Has.) I found myself
folding my hands and praying to the
God of my childhood, not for mypelf,
hut for my dear one. that He before
Whom the .strongest of humanity wer
nothing at all, would take her into
His fatherly keeping
“Help her! Help her! I can do no
more.”
A Glad Sight.
It was just when I was down to
that "ex; remit y that it pleased Provi-.
dence to eoine to my relief. The very
next morning I was awakened out of
my broken sleep by the sound of a
gain, followed by such a yell from
Treacle as was enough to make you
llitiik the sea-serpent had got hold ol
his old buttocks.
■ The ship! The ship! Commander!
Commander! The ship! The ship!"
And, looking out of my little win
dow. I saw him. with six or seven
other members of our company, half
naked, just as they had leaped out of
nnmrhtv I their berths, running like savage men
to the edge of the ?e a , where the Beo
tia, with all flags flying (God bless
and preserve her!-), was steaming
slowly up through a grinding pack of
broken Ice,
What a day that was! What shout
ing! What hand-shaking! For O'Sullt-
I van it was Ponnybrook Fair with the
' tail of his coat left put. and for Tre
acle it was Whitechapel road with
"What cheer, old cock?" and an un-
quenchable desire to stand treat all
around.
But what I chiefly remembered Is
that the moment I awoke, and before
the idea that we were saved and about
to go heme had been fully grasped by
my hazy brain, the thought flashed to
my mind: _
"Now you’ll hear of her. M. L.
T
about 35, with a square chin,
a very thick neok, and a close-
cropped, red. bullet head, and he vas
in his stocking feet and shirt sleeves,
as if he had been dressing to goSput
for the evening.
I remember that it flashed upon
me—I don’t know why—that he had
seen me from the window of the
room upstairs, driving up in the old
man’s four-wheeler, and had drawn
might be doing with my darling, and ! Short Rations.
my desire to take my share of her , , . ... .. . .
. . , . . .. . , Of course. I fought this notion hard,
trouble whatever it might he. - , ,
_. , , 1 for my lust hopes were based on not
The -sun returned to us the third week i .
. , » believing it. But when, after the
in July. Nobody can know what re - ; , , , , ,
..... . . . . , lapse of weeks, I could hold out no
lief that brought us except those who . .
. , ... longer, and we were confronted by
have lived for months without it. To , ...... . r , . .. ..
see the divine and wonderful thing j ’ po.. ihilitj of being held there an-
I rise up like a god over those lone °ther year (for how were our friends
j white regions is to know what a puny ( to know before tbq ice formed again
world. man '* ,he “ cheme ° f ,h *jtha,*it was cssary to send relief ?)
1 think all of us felt like that at f 1 faced th<? situation firmly—measur-
sight of the sun. though some (myself
among the rest) were thinking more
of it as a kind of message’ from
friends at home. But old Treacle, l
remember, who had stood looking at
it in awed solemnity, said:
“Well, I'm d !’’
After that we got on famously until
we reached winter quarters, where’we
found everybody well and everything
Woman
Is interested and should
know about the wonderful
Marvel ™ ir, ^ s . pr *»
Douche
Ask rourdruggistfor
it. If he cannot sup
ply the MARVEL,
accept no other. but
* fa|book.
v **191. It -
ing out our food and putting the men
on shortened rations, 2S ounces each
and a thimbleful of brandy.
By the Lord God, it is a fearful
thing to stand face to face with slow
death. Some of my shipmates could
scarcely bear it. The utter solitude,
the sight of the same faces, and the
sound of ‘the same voices, w ith the
prospect of nothing else, seemed io
drive most of them nearly mad.
There was no sing-songing among
them now, and what speaking I over
heard was generally about the great
dinners they had eaten, or about theii
droam>\ which ware usually of green
fields and flower beds, and primroses
and daisies—daisies, by heaven, in a
world that was like a waste!
As for me. 1 did my best to play the
game of never giving up. It was a
middling hard game. God knows, and
after weeks of waiting a senre of
helplessness settled down on me such
as 1 had nev< r known before.
I am not whai is called a religious
man, but when 1 thq^ht of my dari-
i
/
The Unforgettable.
HE floor of No. 10 was opened
by a rather comely woman of
perhaps 30 years of age, with
ak face and watery eyes.
This was Mrs. Oliver, and it oc
curred to me even at that first sight
| that she had the frightened and eva-
| sive look of a w’ife w r ho lives under
i he intimidation of a tyrannical hus
band.
She welcomed me. however, with a
warmth that partly dispelled my de
pression, and 1 followed her into the
kitchen.
It was the only ‘room on the ground
floor of the house (except a scullery),
and it seemed sweet and dean and
I comfortable, having a table in the
middle of the floor, a sofa under the
window, a rocking chair on one side
of the fireplace, a swinging baby’s
cot on the other side, and nothing
about it that was not homelike and
reassuring, except two large photo
graphs over the mantelpiece of men
stripv>ed to the waist and sparring.
"We’ve been looking for you all
day. ma'am, and had nearly given you
up.” she said.
Then she took baby out of my
arms., removed her bonnet and
pelisse, lifted her barrow coat to ex
amine her limbs, asked her age.
kissed her on the arms, the neck,
and the legs, and praised her with
out measure.
“And what’s her name, ma’am?”
“Mary Isabel, but I wish her to be
called Isabel.”
“Isabel; a beautiful name, too! Fit
for a angel, ma’am. And she is a lit
tle angel, bless her! Such rosy cheeks!
Such a ducky little mouth—such blue
eyes—blue as the bluebells in the
cemet'ry. She's as pretty as a wax-
work, she really is. and any woman
in the world might be proud to nurse
her."
A young mother is such a weakling
that praise of her child (however
crude), acts like a charm on her. and
in spite of myself l was beginning to
feel more at ease, when Mrs. Oliver’s
husband came downstairs.
lie was a short, thick-?»cr of
tain unfavorable deductions about
my character arnd my capacity to pay.
I moist have been right, for as soon
as our introduction was over, and I
had interrupted Mrs. Oliver’s praises
of my baby’s beauty by speaking
about material matters, saying the
terms were to be four shillings, the
man, who had seated himself on the
sofa to put on his hoots, said in a
voice that was like a shot out of a
blunderbus:
“Five.”
“How’d you mean, Ted?” said Mrs
Oliver, timidly. "Didn't we say four?”
“Five,” said the man again, with a
ptill louder volume of voice.
I could see that the poor woman
was trembling, but assuming the
sweet air of persons who livo in con
stant state of fear, she said, “Oh, yes.
It was five; now’ I remember.”
I reminded’ her that, her letter had
?*aid four, but she insisted that I must
he mistaken, and when I told her 1
had the letter with me. and she could
see it if she wished, she said. “Then it
must have been a slip of the pen in h
manner of speaking, ma’am. We alius
talked of five. Didn't we, Ted?”
“Certainly,” said her husband, who
was still busy with nis hoots.
I saw what was going on, and Ffelt..
hot and angry, hut there seemed to be
nothing to do except submit.
“Very well, we’ll say five then,” I
said.
“Paid in advance," said the man.
and when I answered that that would
suit me very well, he added;
The Last Coin.
“A month in advance, you know.”
By this time I felt myself trembling
with fear, for while I looked upon all
the money I poy’sessed as belonging
to baby, to part with almost the whole
with Indignaton, as well as quivering
of it in one moment would reduce rm
to utter helplessness, so I said, turn
ing t > Mrs. Oliver, "Is that usual?”
It* did not escape me that the un
happy woman was constantly study
ing her husband's face, and when he
glanced up at her with a meaning
look she answered, hurriedly, “Oh,
yes. ma’am, quite usual. All the wom r
en in the Row has it. Number five,
sh* has ‘twins and gets a month in
hand with both of them. But we’ll
take fi.ur weeks, and I can’t say no
fairer than that, can I?”
“Bu‘ why?” I asked.
“Well, you see, ma’am, you’re—
you’re a stranger to us, and if baby
was left on our hands—not as wo
think you'd leave her chargeable as*
the saying is. but if you were ever ill
and got a bit hack with your pay
ments—we being only pore people—*
While the poor woman was floun
dering on in this way my blood was
boiling, and I was beginning to ask
her if she supposed for one moment
that I meant to desert my child,.when
the man, who had finished the lacing
of his boots, rose to his feet, and ssa.id.
“You don’t want yer baby to be giv
over to the Guardians for the sake Oi
a week or two, do you?”.
That settled everything. I took out
my purse and with a trembling*hand
laid my last precious sovereign on the
table.
A moment or two after this Mr.
Oliver, who had put on his coat and
cloth cap. made for the door.
“Evenin’, ma’am," he said, and with
what grace I could muster I bade
him good-bye.
“You aren’t a-going to the ’Sun*
to-night, are you, Ted?” asked Mrs.
Oliver.
“Club,” «ald the man, and the door
clashed behind him.
I breathed more freely when he was
gone, and his wife (from whose face
the look, of fear vanished instantly)
was like another woman.
“Goodness gracious!” she cried,
with a kind of haggard hilarity,
“where’s my head? Me never offer
ing you a cup of tea. and you looking
so white after your journey.”
I took baby back into my arms
while she put on the kettle, tet a
black teapot on the hob to warm,
laid a napkin and a thick cup and
saucer on the end of the/ table, and
then s»at on the fender to toast a little
bread, talking meantime (half apol
ogetically and half proudly) about her
husband.
He was a bricklayer by trade, and
sometimes worked at the cemetery
which I could see at the other side
of the road (behind the long, railings
and the tall trees), but was more gen
erally engaged as a sort of fighting
lieutenant to a labor leader whose
business it was to get up strikes. Be
fore they were t married he had been
the “Lightweight Champion of White
chapel,” and those were photos of his
fights which 1 could see over the
mantelpiece, but “he never did no
knocking of people about now,” being
"quiet and matrimonual.”
In spite of myself, my heart wanned
to the woman. I wonder it did not
occur to me there and then that, liv
ing in constant dread of her tyran
nical husband, she would always be
guilty of the dissimulation I had seen
an example of already, and that the
effect of it would be reflected upon my
child.
It did not. T only told myself that
she was clearly fond of children and
would be a kind nurse to my baby.
It even' pleased' me, In my foolish,
motherly selfishness, thgit she was a
plain-featured person, whom baby
could never come to love as she
would, I was sure, love me.
Time to Go. j
I felt better after I had taken tea,
and as it was then 7 o’clock and the
sun was setting horizontally through
the cypresses of the cemetery, I knew
it was time to go.
I could not do that, though, with
out undressing baby and singing her
to sieep. And even then I sat for a
while with an aching heart, and Isa
bel on my knee, thinking of how 1
should have to go to bed that night,
for the first time, without her.
Mrs. Oliver, in the meantime ex
amining the surplus linen which I
bad brought in my parcel, was burst
ing into whispered cries of delight
over it, and. being told I had made
the clothes myself, was saying, “What
a wonderful seamstress you might be
if you liked, ma’am!”
At length the time came to leave
baby, and no woman knows the pain
of that experience who has not.gone
through it.
(Continued in Hearst’s Magazine
. for August.)
A HARD TASK.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am twenty years old, while
my girl is seventeen. Her father
favors me, but her mother objects
to me, for which she gives no rea
son at all and Is trying to per
suade her daughter to give me up.
I have an A No. 1 character, • no
had habits except smoking, and
earn a good salary with an ex
cellent chance of advancement.
Whenever I call on this girl her
mother treats me like one of the
family, but when I am gone she
talks about me. How can I make
myself liked by her, as I want to
marry this girl in two or three
years. We love each other.
GEORGE.
No mother likes to lose a good
daughter, and often she objects with
out any reason more definite than
this.
You must persevere; conduct your
self in a manner with which she can
find no fault, and respect all her
wishes and foibles. You have won
the daughter; now you must court the
mother, and good luck to you!
FOOLISH IF YOU DON’T.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I have been keeping company
with a younv man four years, my
senior for the past fifteen months.
He is fickle-minded, and when
making an appointment with me
always seems to find an excuse
every once in a while for not
coming, and then I am left in the
lurch.
Do you think it would be prop
er for me to go out with others?
He says 1 he cares for me very
much. HEARTBROKEN,
You are encouraging him In hia
neglect by letting him continue Jt.
Go with others, and may you meet
and win the love of some man who
will treat you better.
1892. Donald Fraser School for Boys. 1913
Decatur, Ga.
Thoroughly prepare* for collage. Experienced faculty o>f male toachora.
Gymnaaium. Athletic aports. Limited number. Catalogue upon request.
RAUL J. KINO, Principal.
Phone Decatur 253,
MAIL YOUR FILMS TO US
£VSj:
I" Pa P« r . All roll film, developed FB6R
& Wrfle 'for ,¥ uro J5 Me<s - Brownie PrlmYjo each
r9 lot o? r d ,? 90 l P t * v * Camera Catalogue Q. Sioeis *2 Ofl
A **5.00. t ee tVtat faet Ansoo film; flu any camera or
M^f k 6rd* D2^m?nt bUt **“ * ,V ” ‘ ru# eolor vaJa "
E. H. CONE. Inc., 2 Stores, Atlanta, Ga.
COLGfiTEl'S
RIBBON DENTAL CREAM
Safe, efficient, delicious—profit
by its regular twice-a-day use.
COMES OUT A RIBBON-LIES FLAT ON THE BRUSH
Colorado
Is Bigger than Imagination
The brush of fancy can’t paint upon the canvas of
the mind as wonderfully as nature’s titanic hands have
built here in the birth-spot of the mighty Rpckies.
But Colorado is a condition as well as a picture.
You’ll not only see a country different from any
under the stars, but you’ll be a different human’ the
moment you stand in the shadows of her majestic
ranges and bathe your worn and sluggish city-dulled
being in the vital, sparkling, clean, clear, sweet air
of the great American Highlands.
Rock Island Lines
through sleeping car to Colorado
offers the best service to the Rockies. Electric lighted, fan cooled
sleeper through to Colorado Springs, Denver and Pueblo, via
Memphis and Kansas City. Dining car service all the way.
The Colorado Flyer from St. Louis and the 1 Rocky Mountain
Limited from Chicago, one night on the road trains—offer splendid
service for those desiring to go by St. Louis or Chicago.
If you can afford to go anywhere,you can afford a Colorado vacation
Board and room $7 per week up.
Hundreds of good hotels and boarding houses offer good board for as low
as $7 per week, and rooms at $3 per week.
Low Fares Daily, June 1 to September 30
Write or call for handsome Colorado book; and let this
office help you plan your trip.
H. H. HUNT, District Passenger Agent
18 North Pryor Street, Atlanta, Ga.
Telephone, Main 661
iAi *