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i Advice to the Lovelorn The Mistakes of Jennie .:. B y HAL coffman j Being a Series of Chapters in the Life of a Southern Girl in the Big City ... One Woman’s Story .:. By VIRGINIA TERHUNE VAN DE WATER CHAPTER XXII. So he must b e something of a gentle- ,, _ , .. . man himself. I am ready to like him if 0«> agitated had Mrs. Danforth been he ,, vn „ , mv ...... • 1 1 * AM.* YOU MUST DECIDE. Dear Miss Fairfax: I am in love with a young: man who lives in the same neighbor hood and is of a very high stand ard. He has told me he loves me and would like me to become his wife, but as he is a Hebrew and I am a Christian would like your advice, for I can not live without him. Q. M. S. This is a matter too serious for 1 third party to determine. Marriages of this nature are sometimes happy, but the risk is great. When it means an estrangement from one’s family and friends, 1 would throw my influ ence against it. BE PERSISTENT. Dear Miss Fairfax: I am 19 and deeply in love with a young lady one year my senior. One day 1 proposed to her and she sqid her parents would not permit the marriage because of the dif ference in nationality. Please let me know w’hat to do, for I love her. HEARTBROKEN. You are too young to marry even (hough you had their consent, so do j not feel discouraged. Go on loving her; attend to your business duties faithfully; develop yourself mentally, and don't despair or worry. Mak<* yourself such a desirable suitor the’r objections will vanish. DON'T MAKE THE EFFORT. Dear Miss Fairfax: 1 am a girl of 18 and in love with a man one year my senior. We have never k^"* company. He tells everyone he loves me, but while he is in my presence I fall to see it. How may l find out if he is true to me? 1- H. The man who tells “everyone” he loves a girl, and gives her no evidence, floesn’t love her very much. Unless you have made mutual vows of love, he can not be untrue to you. A man must make vows before he can break them. Do not fret yourself about him. Time for that when you are engaged. YOU ARE A LITTLE EXACTING. Dear Miss Fairfax: I am 18, and for the past four months have been keeping steady company with a young man of 20 When I first became acquainted with this young man he was making a nice salary, but I told him that If he wanted to go with me he must change hia profession, which he did, therefore starting at the bottom of I the ladder again. It is also under ] stood that he will not care to be married before three years, to which my parents and myself agree, pro vkJed we become engaged in about a month from now. which he abso lutely refuses to do, claiming that he does not want to become engaged before next year. My parents have therefore forbidden my going with him under any other conditions. Now, do you think that if he real ly loves me, as he claims he does, he would allow a matter of a few months to break our keeping com pany? The only reason he gives for not wanting to be engaged is that he is making a small salary, but if I and my folks are satisfied, I don’t see why he should object. IN DOUBT. He gave up his profession for you, Starting at the bottom of the ladder again I think he has conceded his share, and, under the circumstances, you should not nag him Into an engage ment until he is ready. Dove la w»*. too much to risk It by the exacting at titude which I am afraid you are tak ing. Two Birds—One Stone. Norah had arrived from Erin’s Isle a wevk before, and was with difficulty being “broken in” to the routine of an English household. Cleanliness was not a very strong point with her, and her cooking, apart from “spuds." was hardly all that could be desired. "If you are not quite sure on any point, come and ask me at once," said her mistress. Dinner was just about to be served when there was a clatter along the hall, and the breathless Norah poked her head around the dining room door. “Please, ma'am," she asked, “an' how will I be know in’ when the puddln’ is done enough?' “Stick a knife into it.” said her mis tress. with a resigned air. ’If the knife comes out clean, the pudding is ready i to serve " “Yes, ma'am." said Norah; “and I'll j be after that crathur that’s boilin’ over " “And. oh. Norah"—the mistress had i an after-thought- “if the knife does not come out clean, you might stick all the rest of the knives into the pudding." . “No, no, my boy; I could not be so selfish.’’ CHAPTER XXV. A KTKK the row Jennie had with the install ment man. she still owed $28 for her clothes. The man hail come for his weekly payment on the clothes, which Tom had to pay to keep the man from literally tearing them off Jennie's back, for Jennie didn’t have the money to pay him, and If Tom hadn't been there at the time Jennie would probably have had to do like other girls have done In such an emergency— gone out and (JOT the money, never mind IiOW. When Jennie told Tom she still owed $28 for her clothes- that she foolishly bought and did not need Tom left Jennie In the front room, saying he wanted to go in and talk to her mother a while. Jennie's mother was lying in bed, and, sick as she was, managed a cheery smile at seeing Tom A VERY NEAR THING and told him she always regarded him as her boy. and that she had always hoped that some day he would marry Jennie. Tom did not tell Jennie's mother how much Jennie still owed on her clothes, for he knew that she had trouble enough without worrying any more. Instead, lit* told her that he had a little money saved up—for the time that Jennie would consent to marry 1dm—and that he wanted her to take it and to go down to the beach somewhere, take a good rest, get well again and take Jennie with her. At this the good woman cried and said over and over, as she pat ted Tom's hand: "No, no, my hoy. I could not be so selfish as to take your money that was meant for yours and Jennie's happiness.” 1 —//If, COFFMAN. (To Be Continued.) A Complete Short Story X In a Nutshell By MINNA IRVING. T TE heard with equanimity That coal was soaring high. We bore it when the price of meat Went kiting to th e sky; When eggs and butter followed suit We stood it like a sport. But, lo, the worst has come at last— The peanut crop is short. Oh, what is summer time with out The tuber of delight? We ought to bust the peanut trust. We ought to make a fight; We ought to put our woe in print. We ought to go to court. We ought to take the warpath when The^peanut crop Is short. T ANSITTAKT was going to smash. ' At least, it looked ominously like It. Nobody said it openly. Nominally, nobody was supposed to even suspect that It was likely. But men whispered It to one another in the city; and when men whisper about a thing it is oftener far more serious than if they talked about it in their loudest voices. “There's about one chance in a million for me!’’ he told himself. “If the Orien tal Bank floats, I’m safe; If It closes down, I’m finished And It will close down unless a miracle happens, and— Lily will know that the gods have given ^ her her revenge!" Vansittart’s world would have been astonished, perhaps cynically amused, had it seen him now After locking »he door of his room from the Inside, to render intrusion impossible, he opened a secret drawer in hia desk by touching a spring, and took from It a hurdle of letters and a photograph. The letters were love letters, and the photograph that of a girl. A fair-haired girl, with a pretty face, without Vansittart’s pitiless power, but brave and patient, with love ami faith In her eyes. And the letters had been written by a girl to the man to whom she had given her heart, whose wife she expected to be. “By jove!” muttered Vanslttart. as he put the letters down, “she’s had to wait for her revenge, hut it looks as if Fate is going to give It to her at last “ It bad been an ordinary, common place story of a man’s selfishness and falstty and a girl's outraged trust and love. Vanslttart had boon engaged to Lily Gordon, a girl clerk in the city, be fore he had begun to rise, and had left her without a word to fight life's battle for herself as soon as lie began to grow rich. Too Late. "I whs a cur, a mean cur!" he mut tered. "But it's too late to think of It now. If I go down she'll know Will she be glad. I wonder?" He tried to laugh, but there was a harsh discordance in the sound. Re placing the latters and the photograph in the desk, he went out. He felt he could not sit there waiting for ruin to come. There was a man in the city, an other speculator, named James Harper, whom Athol Vanslttart had helped many times, by whose side he had stood in more than one threatening crisis. Har per had not the power to save htm iVi his turn, but Vansittart felt that he must talk to someone If something In his brain were not to snap. So he went to him now. Harper was a keen-featured man. with a trick of half curving his Ups in what promised to be a smile and never became one. He was alone In his office when Vansittart entered and grasped his hand cordially. “You’ve come to talk over things, old chap?” he said. "I'm glad of It. I’d like to cheer you up. But wait a min ute.” He closed the inner door. “Anything wrong?" "Oh, no; only a new girl I've got to* help with my letters, and I don’t want her to hear too much of our talk. Busi ness is one thing, but a confidential chat between friends is another. I hope It’s not so bad with you as some fools are making out?" "I’m afraid some fools are rather wise," returned Vansittart. grimly. “It is no use blinking things. I'm done for if the Oriental closes down." Harper’s tone was sympathetic, but he was pretending to pick up some thing he had dropped on the floor and his eyes were very eager. "Look here, Harper," Vansittard said with an effort; "I’ve come to you be cause I believe you’re the only true friend I've got. As 1 said, I shall pull through if the bank stands firm. But I don’t think it can. It’s in a bad way itself, and If it can’t raise a big loan practically at once It will close its doors. And if it does that I can’t face the music.” "Surely, It’s not so bad as that?" Very Desperate. “I tell you It is!” Vansittard an swered, fiercely. "I shall ow f e more than I can pay. I shall be disgraced as well as ruined. But I’m not going to stop to face it. Harper, if—if anything happens to me. do your best to prevent too much mud being thrown on my name It's all you can do." There was a threat of self-destruction in his tense * expression, if not on his lips. Harper knew it, but he did not endeavor to stop him or to argue with him. He only gripped his hand once more, with a few conventional words of sympathy. And when Vansittart had gone Harper laughed Laughed, and then sat considering and frowning, until he suddenly struck his hand on his desk with a low, triumphant exclamation, as though he had hit on a way of accomplishing something that had seemed impossible before. He left his office hastily, and when he had gone the inner door opened and there came out a girl, with love and terror on her colorless face. It was late before Vansittart went home. He had gone back to his olTice and waited for news, but none had come He left the place at last with a morbid ^nvlction strong on him thaj he wouH never return to it. He hailed a hansom, but the man hu« t o ask him twice before he was told where to drive him. It seemed to Vansittart a matter of in difference where he went. It was not that he had abandoned all hope. He clung to the gambler’s belief that there is always a last chance. But he was too restless and excited to fix his mind on anything except the news he was waiting for. Ah, what was that? The Crash. The street was quiet, all but 'de serted There was a gas lamp oppo site Vansittart’s door, and the illumina tion was gleaming on a pink some thing. It was the placard of an even ing newspaper which a hawker was of fering for sale. He hastened toward It. In bold, merciless letters, the words stared at him: “FAILURE OF THE ORIENTAL BANK." He bought a paper. obliTious thai he gave a sovereign for it. In the space reserved for late news were two smudg ed lines, stating that the Oriental Bank had closod its doors that evening and posted a notice outside that they would not reopen on the morrow. So it was all over. It was useless to hope against hope any longer. His ca reer was finished. He was a ruined man, with disgrace awaiting him if he lived. He let himself into his house with a latch key, and went straight to the library, where he had been in the habit of working. At first he switched the electric light on full, but at once low ered it to a tiny shimmer. No need of much light for what he was going to do' A revolver was ready to hand when he opened a drawer. There was noth ing else for him to do. •*•*♦*** "No, no! Listen to me, Athol. I’ve come to tell you—I’ve come to tell you it's a lie.” Idly was beside him. struggling with him to get the revolver away. He star ed at her stupidly. “A lie?" "The placard. The bank was not stopped. MY. Harper had the false pla card and the two lines of false news put in one copy of the paper. I have proof of it; 1 have found the man who printed it!” The Plot. He was hard to convince. But she told him how she had been in the inner office while he was talking to Harper, and how, after he was gone. Harper’s manner had been so suspicious that she had followed him to see what he meant to do. He had gone to a printer. It was not for a long time after he had left the shop, however, that she half forced and half frightened the printer to confess that Harper had paid him handsomely to turn out the sham placard and insert the two lines in the paper. He had said it was for a joke, but the girl had not believed It. She had guessed that he intended to use the placard and doctored newspaper to drive Vansittart to des peration by leading him to believe that all was lost. “So I came here to tell you,” she said. “I saw you come in. but you did not see me. So I had to knock, and when the servant opened the door I ran past her. I had seen the light flash from the win dow into the street, and that hefped me to find my way to you. The placard is a lie!" Vansittart looked at her; there was Feor for the Loser. Two costers were in the British Museum, looking at the statue of a Roman gladiator. One of his arms was broken ofT, his left leg ended at the knee, his helmet was battered, and there were several chips from the face of the warrior. Underneath the statue was an inscription, “Victory.” “Lor’ lumme. Bill," said the gen tleman in pearlies, “if that there blekc won the victory, what must ’a’ bean the state of the bloke what lost?” at the news of Mary’s break with Gordon Uralg that she lay down on the couch in the tiny parlor until the dishes were washed and put away, i This task the daughter performed quick- 1 ly and noiselessly. She was thankful that her mother had asked no more j questions just then, for she felt that j she had not the courage to reply to them. Her work done, she glanced nervously at the clock. It was now a quarter past aight. Bert Fletcher would he here soon. She must prepaTe her mother for the call. She went into the parlor and, drawing a chair close to the couch, took the pale and worn woman's hand in hers. She Started Nervously. Mother, dear." she said. “I think you ought to go to bed now. for you do not feel well enough to see company.’’ Mrs. Danforth started nervously. “Company!" she exclaimed. “Why, what company could you be expect ing?” Mary smiled bitterly at the sugges tion implied by the question. “That’s true, mother," she said, a ' hard ring in her voice. "I am not trou- . bled with friends or guests, am 1? But this evening will be an exception, for I am expecting a caller—Mr. Fletch- | er." Her mother sat up and eyed her : keenly. "Mr. Fletcher?" she asked. "Is he the man who was so nice to ' you on* evening last winter?” There was eagerness in the tone, and as she noted this the girl appreciated that her loving, gentle mother was actually anxious to have her marry if it would mean freedom from care for herself and the girl. "Mary, why don’t you answer me?” demanded Mrs. Danforth. Mary started guiltily. “I beg your pardon, mother,” she said. “Did you ask me a question? I must have been absorbed in my own thoughts. What | did you ask. dear?” “Only if this Mr. Fletcher is the man who brought you home one night in a cab when it was stormy?” "Yes," assented Mary, “that is the man.” “Well. I remember that you once said *he was very kind,” remarked her moth er, watching the girl's face. * “Yes,” said Mary, “he Is kind—even if he is not a cultured gentleman anfl does murder the king’s English. But, after all, truth and fidelity are more than education and manners. I have had enough of men of culture and of nothing else." She tried to change her sharp speech Into a laugh that her mother might not suspect how sore her heart was. Mary Remembered. The widow replied with one of her sighs, but this time the sound was in dicative of hope and satisfaction. "He evidently knows that you are a lady, and he treats you as if you were. ing one of her daughter’s hands to her pale lips and holding it there, “nobody, not even you, knows what I have gone through in seeing you overworked and in trying to save and manage here at home. There have been times when but for you I would have prayed to die." Mary remembered how, less than two hours ago, she had said to herself: “If it were not for mother I would want to die." But she smiled reassurance into her mother’s face. “Since we need each other, mother,” she said, jestingly, “let us both de termine to live for each other. And there’s a better time coming for us both.” The mother looked at her anxiously. "You mean that, Mary? You are not keeping the truth from me or trying to pacify me by seeming hopeful when you are not, are you, dear?” “No, mother.” replied the girl. “I am speaking the truth when I say that l believe there is a better time coming for you.” She did not add “and for me." Per haps she did not think of it. “I do not like to seem inquisitive,” Mrs. Danforth went on. “but I am won dering how long ago you broke your en gagement to Gordon—Mr. Craig, I mean.”. The girl hesitated a moment before replying, and she avoided her mother’s gaze. “Not so long ago,” she said indiffer ently. “You know I alwdys think that when people find they are not suited to each other it is best for them to agree to disagree with as little fuss and talk as possible.” There was so much finality in her manner that the elderly woman ven tured to say no more about the Tex an. Yet she was not satisfied, and soon asked timidly: “This—this Mr. Fletcher—do you like him very much, Mary, my dear?” “I have told you, mother,” said the girl, “that he is a kind man, and has been good to me—so why should I not like him?” Her mother began another question, but a ring at the bell checked it. “Good Night, Dear.” “Good night, dear,” she said, rising hastily and hurrying into her own room. When the door had closed behind her mother. Mary stood, her hands over her eyes. Perhaps she was praying, perhaps trying to collect her thoughts. But as the bell sounded forth a second sum mons she went slowly into the kitchen and pressed the button releasing the catch of the lower front door. For an other minute she stood poised as if now, at this last moment before her guest’s arrival, she would escape him, would avoid receiving him. Then, recovering her self-control and courage, she passed out into the narrow hall, opened her front door and stood waiting for the man whose footsteps she heard on the stairs ascending toward her. The‘Ten Commandments of the Summer Wife By DOROTHY DIX. A RISE, sister, gird up thy straight front, put glad raiment upon thyself and take thy vacation; vea. take it though thou hast to fight for it with tooth and nail, for she that hath wrestled with the robber that lleth In wait in the butcher shop and the despoller who abldeth in the grocery store, and who hath provided the wherewithal her family is fed three times a day for three hundred and sixty-five days, needeth to slip the yoke for a space while the galled place healeth. 2. When thou takest thy vacation, go it alone. Be not as those foolish wives who say, “I have never been parted from my husband, and lo, where he goeth there will I go also,” for belike thou hast gotten on thy husband’s nerves and he would fain have a rest from thee. 3. Reflect that nine months of the year can a man rejoice and be ex ceeding glad to be married. Ten months can he steel his heart with fortitude to endure It, but on the twelfth month he notlceth that his wife’s nose Is crooked, and he knock- eth her cooking. Therefore get thee hence on the twelfth month, and when thou shalt return to him he will make a feast at thy com ing. 4. Stay not too long, though, on thy vacation, for it Is not good that a husband should be left alone to his «own devices until he can find the se cret spot wherein the clean shirt hideth Itself and the fresh collars are secreted. Ver ily It was written in the Book of the Prophets that & little absence mak. eth the heart grow fonder, but too much absence In- cllneth It to an- They shall other skirt. 5. When thou rockest In the chair that swayeth back and forth on the Summer hotel gallery, boast not thy self of thine automobile, and thy but ter. and thy social prestige, and the Jiamonds thou hast left behind thee in thy husband’s safe; for the wjmen thou braggest to art the Daughters of Missouri, that even require to be Daysey Mayme and Her hoiks By FRANCES L. GARSIDE. Ga It alone. He is as a phonograph. shown, and they shall mock thee be hind thy back as a liar. 6. Tell not the secret of thy life. Reveal not the weaknesses of thy husband, and pull not forth from thy closet the skeleton where It is hidden because thju happenest to stroll In the twilight with a sympathetic sis-* ter. for lo she shall tell the tale t k another, and she shall repeat it to still another, and scandal shall be heaped upon thy name. 7. When thou pla.vest bridge, get thee a strangle hold upon thy purse, for perad- venture the society dames with whom thou sportest shall shear thee even as a lamb is sheared on Wall ' Street, and thou shalt have to write home for more money. 8. Take not the lone Summer man away from the maidens when he fleest to thee as to a temple of refuge, because thou al- ' a **? ready hast a hus band and cannot mock thee. expect him to mar ry thee. Flirt not w’ith such an one. but stand thou to one side and give the virgins their chance, for lo in those days a husband is scarce and hard to come at. 9. Listen not to the man who wan- dereth on the beach with thee in the moonlight and who sayeth, “Would God 1 htd met thee In time," for be hold he is but as a phon3grapli with one record, and hath already said the same thing to 9S1.735 other women. Also he draweth but twenty-five bon> s per in a department store, whilst thy husband hath skill with the shekels, so that thou adornest thyself In pur ple and fine linen and split skirts therewithal. 10. Forget not that gossip stalketh through the halls 3f a Summer hotel, seeking whom it may destrjy: there fore bear thyself as though thou posest In a moving picture film and j converse as though thou consortest I with a dictagraph. So shait thoiV. | meet thy husband with a glad smll^ | when he cometh down on the Satur day afternoon train, and thy heart shall not quake with fear when thou thinkest of what one of the old cats | who knit pink sweaters in the hotel j lobby may reveal unto him. ' Selah. T HE most restful way for spending one’s vacation is to watch one’s neighbors. If they are idle, it makes the one on a vacation just in dignant enough to make his blood cir culate, and if they are working, the sight of their labors makes his own idleness soothing in contrast. The man who lived next door inter ested himself with the Lysander John Appleton family, who were occupying their summer home. He watched them the day they moved in: Two women of regal bearing a boy with a forehead like a Mansard roof, and a meek-looking man who might be a servant, the Appleton family being an ideal American family. It was the women who interested the idle man the most. They were of such queenly bearing an<j had such perfect figures he longed for the fingers and skill of a Rodin. "I never." he murmured, “saw more perfectly-formed women.” They entered the house, closed the door, and for a half hour there was no outward evidence of occupancy, and then the man on the side porch saw a woman emerge^ from the back door the sight of whom made him throw back his head and laugh. She had a figure like that of a feather bed, and if she bad ever had a waist line it had long ago moved up and become ; lost in the foothills of her mountainous j bosom. She shook and quivered as she j walked like a bowl of calves’-foot jelly, and while he gazed at her in bewilder ment th'e door opened again and there emerged a younger woman so thin that she looked the same coming as going. For a week he saw two women with perfect figures enter and emerge at the front door, and a feather bed and a bean pole from which garments drooped like a flag at half mast emerge and enter at the back door. Then one evening when he saw Lysander John sitting alone on the porch in fr-/nt he walked across the lawn and asked for an explanation. "They are the same women,” said Ly sander John sadly. “If you are inter ested, I will show you the means of the transformation." He led the way upstairs to a dress ing room where two long, vise-like gar ments hung over the back of a chair. “The modern magician’s wand,” he said, pointing to two corsets." ’Tain’t No Use. The tramp approached the proud cit izen and asked for alms. " 'Go to the ant, thou sluggard.’ ’’ “ ‘Tain’t no use, mister. Me aunt’s jist as tight-fisted as me uncle an’ all de rest uv me relashuns. I fear I’ll have to go to work at last.” Childlife. “Come, Willie,” said his mother, “don’t be so selfish. Let your little brother play with your marbles a while." “But,” protested Willie, "he means to keep them always." “Oh, I think not." “I say. ‘Yes,’ ’cause he’s swallowed two of them already." COLLEGE-CONSERVATORY Imbued with the spirit of the Old South, alive with the progress of the New South, Brenau offers unsur passed advantages for advanced study in Literature, Art, Expression, Music and Domestic Science. Its equipment is the most elegant and extensive in the South. The faculty is com posed of specialists and its patronage is drawn from 28 states and abroad. The cost is most moderate when the advantages offered are con sidered. Is the Old Typewriter About Played Out? Does it write the letters out of line? Does it blur? 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