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J 4 ■ft MAGAZINE C2 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. f / ' k V IK £ p r\ VJ V nrr tu, \ V rV U! V y sV 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.