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Marriage and Happiness
By DOROTHY DIX.
“Give Me Long Distance”
By NELL BRINKLEY
Copyright 191$ by International New*
•Service.
I S the happy way to be married the
scrappy way?
Is the real emblem "f domestic
felicity the prize fighter’s mitt, and
not the dove of pon i
Can husbands and wives really I*.-
too polite, too considerate, and loo
amiable?
Is the perfect husband or wife not
to be desired, after all?
The average married couple would
answer these questions by saying that
nobody knew, because no man or
woman had ever achiev< d his or her
ideal mate. He or she might hav»*
thought he or she was getting this
wonder at the time of the marriage,
but later on—say five years after
ward—well, that's a different stoiy.
and^ a sad one, friends.
Undoubtedly we are all in the way
of thinking that the reason that mar
riage is so often a failure Is b.< au-
the high contracting parties an not
only shy on a large proportion of the
domestic virtues, but they are also
short on patience, and civility, and
tact, and the most elementary re
gard for each other’s rights and per
sonal liberty. When we see the way
In which most husbands arid wives
treat each other we are not surprised
at the sound of breaking and rending
of matrimonial bonds that we hear
all about us. We are amazed that
any couple remain tied together.
It appears, however, hat you can
overdo, a good thing even In matri
mony, and that a husband and wife
can be too perfect, as witness the
case of a prominent young couple of
actors, who have just separated be
cause they found an Ideal marriage
too dull to be endured.
The Same Kind.
This young man and woman were
of the kind of people who take life
seriously, rtofore they were married
they had long heart-to-heart talks
in which they discussed the duties
and obligations of husbands and
wives, and formulated a plan for
making matrimony a grand, sweet
song.
They drew up a list of things that
they would do and would refrain from
doing, and pledged themselves never
to speak a harsh word, never to an
swer back when the other spoke Im
patiently, never to provoke a quarrel
never to be jealous, or unreasonable,
or moody, or grouchy, but to he al
ways tender, affectionate, consider
ate, patient, forbearing and so on.
In short, each was to be a pin
feathered angel, and their home was
to be a heaven on earth, but instead
this ushering In a domestic millen
nium as they anticipated, each soon
began to be bored stiff, and to long
to make a few dents in the perfec
tion of the other. Life became in
supportable. It was like living on a
diet of nothing but chocolate creams,
or in a climate where there Is never
anything but sunshine, and so the
victims of the too much perfection
in marriage are petitioning the courts
to divorce them.
This case can hardlv he considered
in the light of an awful warning, be
cause there are not many people who
err on the side of being too good.
But undoubtedly hard lie the faulty
husband or wife is to endure, the per
fect one would he still worse, for
there Is nothing in Heaven or earth
that is more exasperating than the
individual that Is always right, unless
It Is the person who remains cool,
calm and collected while you are a
seething volcano.
It is not in humanity to endure per
fection, especially in Itft mate, and
that is why the wife of a man who is
an example in the community always
wears a meek, dejected look, while
the husband of a superior woman Is
a sight so abject that it brings tears
to the hardest eye*.
The Successful Wife.
It is aleo to be observed that the
women who are the happiest and the
best loved wives are almost Invari
ably poor, weak, faulty creatures, who
waste their husbands’ money on fin?
clothes end good times wheresis the
wives who do their duty by their
families by economizing and working
and going shabby, never get any
thanks for It. It is also discouraging
to masculine virtue for men to ob-
-<*rve that the most adored husbands
are those whose wives are kept busy
forgiving them things
As a matter of fact, most of the
theories about married life don’t
work out In real exp< rience. For In
stance. wive* are advined that the
way to keep a man nailed to his own
fireside Is to be always amusing and
entertaining and dressed up. and to
chat gaily with husband of an even
ing. and to sing and play for him. and
keep something going all the time.
Can anybody Imagine anything more
horrible than such a home, a home
that was an understudy of a music
hall and a wife that leapt nimbly
from vaudeville Kunt to vaudeville
stunt ?
What you want with a home is a
place where you can take off your
coat and your <o lar, and wit on the
back of your nock, and be quiet, with
out having to tnlk, or to be talked to.
or to have to listen with a polite ex
pression of an Interest you don’t feel.
Certainly to be married to a woman
who would read aloud to you. or
render a few operatic selections when
vou were dead tired, ought to entitle
any man to divorce on the ground of
cruel and unusual punishment.
And, equally objectionable would be
a husband who was such a perfect
gentleman that he always- made his
wife feel ns If she must have on her |
best frock and her company man-
ners. and before whom she could
never permit herself the luxury of
appearing In a kimono, and saying
what was really on her mind.
A Mystery.
Outsiders often wonder at the why ,
of the family spat. Tt Is so perfectly
use le‘-s. and so easily avoided. They
can not see why the wife should not
have kept silent on the topic that is j
like waving a red flag before a mad (
hull to Introduce to her husband’s no
tice Nor can they see why the man
hasn’t prudence enough to turn away
anger with a soft word.
The real psychology of the domes
tic quarrel is- that nature is trying to
Infuse a little ginger into domesticity
to keep it from getting too monoto
nous* and so cloying on the domestic
painte. A good round quarrel is the
thunderstorm that clears the atmos
phere and bring fresh ozone into the
family circle.
The immoral of nil of which is that
it is fatal to try to be too good a
husband or wife.
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John Has a Garden
“J
'OHN is a very intense man,”
said the woman in the laven
der dress who had Just or
dered tea. “Whatever be does or
buys or thinks is the . Itimate limit
of that particular thing. When he
wanted to have a flower garden I
forgot his peculiarities and so 1
neglected to head him off it seemed
tu me then that growing green stuff
was a harmless form of amusement
and would give me lots of time to
take my mind off froth worrying
about John.
“He nearly had brain fever through
trying to plant an acre of things in a
space 80 by r,o feet. Having room for
ten penny plants, he bought twenty.
When the 30 larkspur plants arrived
he found that he had space for fif
teen. It was the same way all
through the garden.
“However, these that I have men
tioned were only minor annoyances.
“What 1 am getting at is that posi
tive revolution of our manner of liv
ing that followed his discovery that
the scheme of nature included in
sects. At least we started out by
calling them insects, but w r e ended
by using the briefer and much more
emphatic term. bugs.
A Promising Stage.
"John’s garden had reached the
promising stage where there were
tiny, hard little buds on everything
and he was terribly excited, imagin
ing what it was going to look like
presently and was pluming himself
on the result of his toil when he hap
pened to investigate a fuchsia bud
that had withered unaccountably.
“I'll never forget the sight of my
husband in that awful instant
“First he shot right up in the air
about ten feet, then he waved his
arms and choked and immediately
beat his chest and howled for me.
Believe me, I ran. It is a terrible
things to be married to a man for
several years and then discover that
he is a victim of spasms! But such
was my experience.
“‘John!’ I gasped as soon as I
could speak. ‘Where is the pain?'
“‘Pam?’ John bellowed. ’It was a
spider’ T smashed him’ A measly,
little gray spider. Millicent. has eaten
off the stern of that perfectly good
fuchsia bud! And it would have
bloomed to-morrow!' John was star
ing at the blasted bud in his hand
‘Look out!' he yelled as 1 toppled
over against the fence in my relief.
‘You’ll break those lilies.’
“Then John did another war dance.
He had discovered two devouring in
sects on his lilies. He killed them with
a murderous rage and then petted
those lilies scandalously. If he had
rescued his child from a man-eating
tiger he couldn’t have gone on worse.
“From that time on he became a
prowler. He was up at dawn chasing
gray spiders, black spiders and pink
spiders, nut to mention furry cater
pillars and cutworms and beetles.
Oh. I know all about them because
he had to have some one to tell his
sorrows to and what is a perfectly
good wife for but to unload troubles
upon?
"I would be sinking back into slum
ber when suddenly 1 would w ike up
^ with a shriek and find John dangling
p
say. What do you suppose this kind
of bug Is? I found it on the honey
suckle vines and nine of the buds are
gone! Confound It!’ Then he would
clutch the bug firmly around th?
throat and shake it till its teeth rat
tled while 1 crawled under the bed
clothes. Or he would rush In bringing
a lot of mud on his shoes which he
would leave on my rose-colored ruga,
and in a quivering voice would re
port that he had slain 23 beetles that
were engaged In making terrible hav
oc amid the petunias.
Irritated.
“The abundance and variety of bugs
| continually Irritated John. He passed
j rapidly from a state of amazement
to one of constant rage. No matter
where he was he would stare suddenly
and make a grab for a shadow or a
shoe button or a dangling string, and
then would apologize and explain that
he thought for a minute the object
was another kind of hug.
" ‘Why are there so many kinds?’
he would ask, helplessly. *A fellow
just gets used to seeing one kind o*
caterpillar and looking for it and
meanwhile six other varieties are eat
ing things up right before his eyes.’
“He hunted bugs hours before
breakfast, and he spent his evenings
in the garden with a lantern becaus *
there were some kinds of hugs that
were more easily caught then. Dur
ing the few moments that he devoted
to his meals he read books on bugs or
frowned over plans to exterminate .ill
bugs at one fell swoop by germs >r
compressed air.
“The day he told me that he had
counted up to date 341 different kinds
of bugs in his garden I saw that
something had to be done. So I ac
cepted the Fishers’ invitation to go
traveling with them for six weeks—
and we start to-morrow. John nearly
passed away when I broke the news
of his impending departure to him,
but he is partially reconciled now, for
he has hired a man to do nothing but
kill bugs in his garden the rest of the
summer."
■Nell Brinkley Says:-
ttTTELLO, DANNY—hollo—hello!
; Give mo long distance please.
What? Yes, this is the fellow who’s
making his pile—out here where the
hills come down from the snow of the
Sierra Madres to dip their feet in the
sea. I’m boosting land, I am. It’s a
great country, Danny—just a little
piece of heaven that got nicked off
and fell and stuck here bv the Pa
cific. Of a morning the far snow is
a glow of rose. At noon the poppies
lie in the fields like yellow banners
across the hills, and morning and
noon and forever. And forever the
mermaids rinse out their lace petti
coats on the coast—in indigo water
and suds. It’s a long line I want. At
lanta town! Prom the blue sea to
the gray. My heart's a-erving for
her so, she surely can hear it there,
rt’s the prettiest girl in town I want.
The sweetest little fellow in town.
She’s using new thought on my pile
and keeping a warm heart for me.”
Hollo—Danny—hello—hello!
Give me long distance, please.
Is this the girl who’s so just ‘‘plum-
sweet ’ ’
That she’s a snare for the honey
bees?
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
One of the Greatest Mystery Stories
Ever Written
Mr. Gryce now remarked,
the reply, “and how
By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN.
(Copyright, 1913, by Anna Katharine
Green.)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
“Very likely.
"I want time.”
"Good!” was
much T’
"Well, that I can not tell. Maybe
hours will answer, and maybe I shall
want days. There Is all her past his
tory to learn, and where she was on
that short vacation to which the land
lady alludes. If you want to get at
the truth, postpone your Inquest a lit
tle. I won’t let the matter drag.”
"I see; Gryce is awake, and all be
cause of a look.”
“Less things than that have sent a
man to the gallows before now. Intri
cate locks have small keys.”
"And you hope to open this one?”
Mr. Gryce’s cuff-button flashed It
had received a glance which recalled
the days when Mr. Gryce’s glance meant
something.
A CLEVER MAN’S CHOICE IN WOMEN 3
“1
Do You Know-—
Queen Wllhelmtna is immensely
wealthy in her own right, and has
settled upon her husband $'*,000 000.
The interest of this sum, about $150,-
000 a year, will be strictly his ow n.
A railway servant at Tivoli, Italy,
who earns $30 a month, has received
j information that by the death of an
| uncle In Buenos Ayres he becomes
the inheritor of a fortune of $5,000,-
! 000.
The record for brevity In wills is
surely held by F. C. Thorn, who, be
ing suddenly struck down with ill
ness in 1906. was just able to scrib
ble the words. “All for mother." ani
add his initials. This will was held
to be valid.
Although in his eighty-fifth year,
Mark All, well known as a pedestrain,
has just cocmpleted a 5,000-mile walk
in ninety-one davs. He did it for a
wager *i $500, which he lost, as lie
took oru^kiay too long to accomplisn
his task/
AM going to marry a beautiful
woman,” said the clever man,
“and a good woman, and 1 don’t
care whether she can spell c-a-t, cat,
or d-o-g. dog. or not.
“The stupider she is the better;
women are so comfy when they are
stupid—they are like nice soft cush
ions, always so pretty to see, and so
nice to lean against.
"I’m tired of clever people, tired of
bright women, tired of intelligent
companionship. I want to be com-
| forted; I don’t want to be stimulated.
“Marry now? No; not just quite
yet. I’m not ready just now, but In a
few years, when I’m through with
things. I’ll marry—somebody pretty,
somebody dull, somebody sweet tem
pered. and then I shall have a fami
ly—tall sons and pretty daughters—
clever boys and good girls—and 1
shall sit back and watch them grow
up. and tell my wife what to do, and
what not to do. and my sons and 1
will have a good time laughing at the
pretty sisters and the kind, sweet-
tempered mother, and life will be just
as it should be.”
And the clever man did what so
few clever men ever do—he kept his
word.
He knew clever women and pretty
j women and good women, and rich
women and poor women and young
women, and middle-aged women and
old women, and women as slim as wil
lows and women who thought of
themselves as “Junoesques.”
Five years ago he married, just as
he said he. would, a beautiful, amia
ble fool. Yesterday I saw the clever
man and his beautiful wife. There
were two children—a very ugly, very
lively, very interesting, very clever
little girl, with her fatner’s high fore
head and her father’s stubborn mouth
and her father’s awkward gait. And
there was a very handsome, very dull,
very slow-witted, very timid little
boy, with his mother’s weak mouth
and his mother’s almost silly smile.
And the clever man was madly in
love with his ugly daughter, and was
doing his best to spoil her, and the
stupid woman was desperately devot
ed to her stupid son. and they were
all four very happy, much to the dis
gust of several very* much interested
INI FRED BLACK
people who had been hoping all along
that the clever man would see what a
mistake he had made, and would be
very, very miserable.
All of which goes to show what fun
it must be to be a novelist and have
people happy when they ought to be
instead of when they are.
The man’s theories about women?
They haven’t changed a particle. “I’m
glad my daughter is clever,” says the
clever man. "I don’t have to marry
her.” Wouldn't you like to shake
him?
Facts and Surmises.
M RS. OLNEY’s indignation against
the detective, Harrison, did not
last long. Once relieved from
the constraint of his superior’s presence,
he showed himself so respectful and
considerate that her prejudices were
soon vanquished and he had more than
one opportunity to approach that quar
ter of the room over which she had
promised to hold such a Jealous w’atch.
But as It was, he had no sooner be
guiled her into conversation, than some
movement of the doctor attracted the
good woman’s attention and stopped the
how of speech into which she had been
betrayed. And once when he thought he
was really on the point of learning some
| important fact, that same grave and
determined individual boldly interfered
with the remark that Mrs. Olney had
better not tire herself, as she would
; need all her strength to answer the cor
oner's questions on the morrow.
It was, therefore, with something like
relief that In the early morning he heard
the bell ring and saw the coroner enter,
followed by a woman whose kind, moth
erly face did not deceive him as to the
part she was to play In this drama. The
long struggle with the severe, gloomy-
browed doctor, who had the faculty of
malting his presence felt In a heavy, op
pressive kind of way, even when he did
not speak or appear to hear, was over
at last, and he would now have the op
portunity to gather such fragments of
information, as he knew would be ac
ceptable to Mr. Gryce.
But for some reason or other It was
destined that he should not shine In
this affair. Though he had a merry
time downstairs and went in his search
for knowledge as high as the room In
which the unhappy girl had lodged, he
gleaned but little of interest; so that
when Mr. Gryce came, he had really
nothing to report beyond the slight fact
of which I have already made mention.
When, therefore, the elder detective
announced to the coroner that he had
all the girl's past history to learn, he
was stating nothing but the simple fact,
and it was to this task he addressed
himself as soon after leaving that offi
cial as circumstances would permit.
His first attempt succeeded as well as
could be expected, Mrs. Olney receiving
him in real character with as good a
grace, and telling him all she knew in
as candid a spirit as If he had not so
basely played upon her credulity the
evening before.
I The Story.
Her story as volunteered to him and
doubtless to the coroner before him, was
as follows:
Mildred Farley was an orphan, her
widowed mother having died about a
month before in the very house and In
the very room which she herself was oc
cupying at the time of her own untimely
end.
This mother was a very attractive
woman of the gentle, retiring type,
whose melancholy eyes told of a life of
mingled love and sorrow. Her daugh
ter, who had appeared to Idolize her,
sacrificed everything to her comfort,
and it was mainly on account of this
mother’s til health that Mildred worked
so hard at a trade manifestly beneath
her capacity and breeding. For Mrs.
Farley had been brought up in luxury
and had many wants which could only
be satisfied by means greater than those
usually acquired by a young girl in Mil
dred’s position. But work and self-de
nial will do much, and Mrs. Farley
never had any reason to complain. Nor
with her death had Mildred’s exertions
ceased. Though the necessity for such
severe labor seemed to be past, she had
shown no disposition to indulge her
self. From early morning till late at
night she had sat at her work, finish
ing one beautiful dress after another, till
Mrs. Olney was fain to believe that she
had some new object in view and would
ere long unite her fortunes with those
of her fellow-boarder, the doctor.
But though the 3 T oung people were to j
all appearance very good friends, meet
ing constantly at table and frequently j
In the parlors as well, the anxious land 1
lady was soon assured by the physician's j
abstracted and reticent air. and. as she !
thought, by Mildred’s uniform look of
indifference, that her fond desire -was
not to be realized. When, therefore,
Mildred informed her one morning that
she was going away for a little visit,
the good woman never thought of the
doctor In connection with her departure,
nor did she then or afterward harbor
any suspicion that her bright young
boarder was contemplating marriage
with any one—least of all with him.
If this busy girl had broken in upon
her usual habits, he had not; nor was
there anything in his bearing or con
versation to lead her to suppose that
he meditated any change in his mode
of life.
The news of their proposed marriage,
with the tragic developments which had
immediately ensued, had therefore
awakened in the whole household the
greatest feeling of surprise; nor could
Mrs. Olney, for one, realize that the
young and blooming girl upon whom the
labor and sorrows of the last few months
had left scarcely a trace, had suc
cumbed in a moment to the tempta
tion of suicide, no matter by what sick
ness she had been seized.
“I know that folks are taken dreadful
sudden sometimes,” the old lady re
marked at this juncture. “But I can
rot reconcile such an end with what I
knew of Mildred. It isn’t In keeping
with her character. If she had loved the
doctor more or hated him more I could
perhaps have understood It. But she
was healthy In body and soul, a frank
young, hopeful girl, and I don’t see ”
She said no more, but her lips took a
grim line and Mr. Gryce perceived that
his suspicions, vague as they were, were
not altogether unshared by this warm
hearted woman and true friend of Mil
dred Farley.
The Examination.
He therefore started with good hope
upon a line of questions by which he ex
pected to reach some clew that would
help him to the end he felt rather than
saw before him. But though his skill
was great, the result was meager, and
after a lengthened conversation the
only facts he thought worth recording
in his mind were these:
That there had certainly been some
thing peculiar lu the young girl’s ac
tions of late; a certain reticence about
her work for instance, such as she had
never before displayed. Though she
had made several handsome dresses
during the last month (as the scraps
lying about her room sufficiently testi
fied), she had nqver shown them to her
landlady as she had previously been ac
customed to do, but kept herself and
them locked up in her room till the
time came for takln* them home. And
yet these dresses were certainly for
other people and not for herself, she
having been seen carrying them out in
a great box many times during the four
weeks she had kept herself such a pris
oner.
That the person for whom they were
destined was rich, for she came several
times to be fitted, and always In a car
riage.
That the place to which Mildred had
gone on a visit was not known to her
landlady, nor as far as could be learned
to any one else In the house.
That Mildred was Invariably well and
had never to all appearance stood in
need of a doctor’s prescription.
That Dr. Molesworth had been Mrs.
Farley’s physician and In this way seen
much of the daughter. But that he had
never appeared to take advantage of
this fact, nor could Mrs. Olney recall
the least token of an existing affection
between them. If lovers, they had been
very circumspect, too circumspect as It
now appeared; such seeming indiffer
ence could cover nothing good.
That contrary to their usual open re
lations they had been seen just once
whispering together on the stairs. But
even then it was not as lovers whisper,
rather like persons who have some busi
ness to settle.
That no one In the house ever linked
their names together in speaking of
them; nor were they ever the subject !
of jokes among the boarders.
A poor array of seemingly unpro- j
ductive facts. It is true; but Mr. Gryce i
was not discouraged. It was from some I
chance word or petty revelation he ex
pected his clew, not from the open de
tails which every one knew'.
His next interview’ was with the wom
an who had come with the Coroner and
whom he, as well as Harrison, recog
nized for an expert female detective.
She had taken Mrs. Olney’s place beside
the dead girl, and from her he hoped to
gather a fact about which he was very
anxious.
“Well, Mrs. Roberts,” he exclaimed
upon seeing her* "did you get the line I
sent you?”
“I did, sir.”
“And what have you to say?”
“That you are all right. There is a
mark of fresh paint on the back of her
gown between the shoulder blades.”
Mr. Gryce drew a deep breath ex
pressive of ’ great satisfaction. "I
thought so,” he cried. “And what was
its color, Mrs. Roberts; to a shade,
mind?”
“As near as I could Judge in the light
I had, It w r as brown, but of a very bright
and peculiar tint.”
"Right again. I am much obliged to
you. very much obliged to you. Does
any one else know about this spot?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Very good; It is Immaterial. ’Twill
take more than one of us to discover
where the paint came from I Imagine.”
From Mrs. Roberts he passed to the
servants and from them to Mildred’s
room. All these investigations had been
made by Harrison, but In a mysterious
matter like this Mr. Gryce trusted to no
one’s inspection but his own. As a re
sult he added the following paragraph
to his list of facts:
That this young dressmaker’s time
was not entirely devoted to sewing.
On her table were various books of
study, all bearing the marks of use, and
in the desk, which contained nothing
else of Interest, was a copybook full of
French phrases, evidently writ’en by
her hand.
He confiscated a leaf of this book.
A
Late Evidence.
WEEK had passed and Mr. Gryce
is again closeted with the Coro
ner. From his appearance he
had not met with the success which he
had anticipated in this matter; but Then
who could tell anything from Gryce’s
appearance!
“You have finished your inquiries.”
observed the coroner. “Weil, who uie
your witnesses?”
“Rather, who are yours? I have done
nothing.”
“Nothing?"
“Nothing that will be of any assist
ance to you. Either I am getting o'd or
this Is a particularly unproductive af
fair. I can make nothing out of it ”
The Coroner looked disappointed.
“What, with all those points you sug
gested?”
“What were they? There was a veil
found clinging to her garments which
was a different one from that she wore
out. But wnat is a veil? A piece of
gauze cut from a length of similar
material. Nothing traceable there. All
I could do w r as to make certain that she
did not buy It during that evening at
any of the stores. Where she did get it
I can not say. It was impossible to
find out.”
“Well, well!”
“The refuge which she sought after
leaving the hotel is a mystery; conse
quently the place of poisoning, and the
circumstances under which the poison
was taken or administered. The most
careful investigations have been made.
Every spot known to the police where
a girl In her condition of mind might
seek to hide herseLf has been examined,
but to no effect. The house, if house
she entered, was a private one, and,
being such, we can only locate it by
open measures. The inquest will have
to take place.”
To Be Continued To-morrow.
)
KODAKSSvs
First Class Finishing and En
larging A complete stock films,
plates, papers, chemicals, etc.
Special Mail Order Department for
out-of-town customers.
Send for Catalogue and Prloe List.
4. K. HAWKES CO. Kodak Department
| 14 Whitehall St. ATLANTA. GA.
CHICHESTER S PILLS
TI1C DIAMOND BRAND. A
IN DIGESTION?
Stop It quickly; Have your grocer send
you one do* bottles of
S H 8 V A R
GIN GER ALE
Drink with meal*,
and if not prompt-
| ly relieved, get
, your money back
at our expense.
! Wholesome. deli
cious. refreshing.
the
nd
■k —— jmmr - • ir.g materials.
ul>r» A i!ra\i» 1 i < >n J SHIVAR SPRING, Manufacturers
^rKjwnts B«t. Safest. Always RrLahla SHELTON S C
SOLD BV DRUGGISTS EYERVWHFRT E l. aoams co., Atunt*
Agnes Scott College
DECATUR (‘T',* »°“) GEORGIA
Session Opens Sept. 17th
For Catalogue and Bulletin of
Views Address the President,
F. H. GAINES, D. D., LL. D.
TAKE A TRIP BY RAIL AND SHIP
Through trains, large, easy and well-ventilated coaches,
parlor and sleeping cars, via
Central of Georgia Railway
to the port of Savannah, Ga., thence a joyous sea voyage on large
pa atial ships to the big cities and cool summer resorts in the East.
ROUND-TRIP FARES FROM ATLANTA
Including meals and berth on ship
New York $38.25 Baltimore... $29.25
Boston 42.25 Philadelphia.. 34.05
Proportionately low fares from other point*.
For all details, berth reservations, etc., ask the nearest Ticket Agent.
Warren H. Fogg, District Passenger Agent,
Cor. Peachtree and Marietta Sts.. Atlanta, Ga.