Newspaper Page Text
August Days at the Seashore
Copyright, 1913, by International News
Service.
By Nell Brinkley
When Love Is Faithless
BY DOROTHY DIX.
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
T HE Sisters of Song raitn up to
the house aggenn last nite.
Wen thay calm in the front door
Pa got kind of pale, like a man wioh is
see-sick, but he tried to be nice to them
beekaus thay are Ma s fiends.
Oh, thare is that darling husband
of yures sed Missufe Jenkins. She w’as
a awful fat, hoamly woman, A I doant
think she was van' yung. but she kep j
all the time giggling. Dear me, she sed i
to Ma. I wish I cud have a husband like |
that, a deer, noabel man that is all the
time rite ware you know ware he Is. I
newer know ware my husband Is wen
he goes out, she sed.
Lots Like That.
I know lots of husbands like that,
sed Pa. Thare wifes newer know ware
they are wen thay go out, & thay newer
know ware thay are at wen thay stay
hoam with thare wifes. Well, gurls, I
•uppo&s you calm oaver tonite to spill
a few new songs. Go on & warble, lit-
tel wrens, Pa sed. I am going out in
the library & reed sumthing about the
Dark Ages.
Oh, bless yure deer hart, sed Missus
Jenkins, you need not leeve us alone
We wud rather you & yure deef Httel
eon stayed rite here with us, beekaus
I have rote a new luv song wleh our
club is going to print next month. I
am going to sing it now, «e<i Missus
Jenkins. & it you will turn oaver the
leeves of musick I will git a chanst
to sing it rite at you.
Then Pa looked eeven i»aler than
beefoar, & it took him quite a while
to git up, but he went oaver to the
piano & turned the musick for Misses
Jenklri*. I took down all the words.
1 though thay was awful poor A so did
Pa, this Is the words:
The shades of nite in softly falling,
O'er you, luv, if me, luv.
It almost maiks me feel like bawling !
To think our lives must be apart,
Deer hart.
To thmk our lives must be apart. ,
The day brake rums, but brings moar
sorrow,
To you, luv, if me, luv,
/ only fen' another morrow
With you across the way from me,
It should not be
That you're across the way from |
me!
Missus Jenkins sang the first part j
of the bong kind of loud so all of us
cud heer plain, but she sang the last j
line low A soft A looked at Pa so
tender that for a mlnnit she looked al
most pritty.
Some Song!
That Is sum Bong sad Fa. You sing
It with grate feeling. I low did It ever
happen that we got so far apart on
life's way? sed Pa
I doant like' thut number vary well,
deer, sed Ma to Missus Jenkins. It Is
butlful In Its wording. Ma sed. hut
thare is no use of a woman feeling
bad Jes beekaus she can't he fortunate .
enuff to marry a noabel man like my i
husband
Then all of the Sisters of Song sed 1
at oust: We wuddent marry yure hus-
These delightfully warm, sunshiny days find T.vbee, Cumberland Island and
Atlantic Beach full of pleasure-hungry folk who are relishing the sea tang that
fills the air at t hese famous seaside resorts. Soon vacation days will be over and
the Harry.s and Richards and Melvins will be hurrying back to the ledger and the
other office work, while the Pollvs and Ruths and Ethels will he hack under the
home roof with father and mother and the rest of the family, planning theater
parties and dances and motor trips, which are to fill in the time of the Indian
summer and fall months before the regular winter social season- swings into
line. Meantime, the ocean is warm and inviting and these mermaids and mere
men rollick in the breakers from morn till night.
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
One of the Greatest Mystery Stories Ever Written
band If he was the last man In this
wurld. A then thay all went hoam.
A sign of politeness In Tibet on
meeting h person It* to hold up the
clasped hand and stick out the tongue.
People of melancholy temperament
rarely have clear blue eyes.
Progs and toads are gifted with a
remarkably acute sense of hearing.
Oriental physicians have practiced
vaccination for over a thousand years.
_ Hubbles made of filtered Castile
soapsuds and glycerin will last for
days.
As many as 4.000 dates have been
gathered from a .-ingle palm.
There are 3.000 English words that
are not found in moat dictionaries.
It has been estimated that steamers
are 20 per cent safer than sailing ves
sels.
Owing to the cold, dry atmosphere
not a single infectious disease is
known in Greenland.
(Copyright, 1913, by Anna Kutharlns
Green.)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
Meanwhile, Mr. Gryce was smiling on
a girl who had just come into the
kitchen.
"And who do you think It was?" he
asked.
"I don’t know, sir." was the reply,
with a half fearful look over her
shoulder. "Nobody knows. Pome of us
suspect it was nothing else than the—
If any one should die - "
"Now howld yer whist.” broke in
Peter. "Do yes mol nil me, it was a
woman’s scream, and a woman in a
mighty state o’ fear. But what there
was to put fear into the heart of any
one that night it isn’t in me power to
tell.”
And so on for five minutes more,
while Mr. Gryce whs asking himself
what this scream, say It had been ut
tered by Mildred Farley, signified, and
whether It pointed to the minute of
her death at was occasioned by some
fatal discovery which led her to future
violence and self-destruction. That it
was more the cry of fear than agony
his own memory told him: death at
that time and and in the bride’s apart
ment were facts that could scarcely
have been hidden, and that for her to
have taken the dose of poison in the
house at all raised the question of how
she could have come some time later
under the protection of Dr. Molesworth
and been carried by him through the
streets about Madison Square to the
drug store and tlienee to her home. No.
Mildred Farley had not perished in this
house. unless his very thoughts
paused, his eye had fallen again upon
the gravel walk that ran by that very
piazza against the ‘railing of which she
had leaned, living or dead. There had
been gravel under the shoe of Dr.
Molesworth’s horse. Was the mystery
deeper than he supposed, and had Dr.
Molesw’orth also been a visitor in this
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house on the fatal evening of his In
tended bride’s death? It began to look
as if he had. With the thought, light
began to break upon the horizon and
something of the darkness which had
veiled this impenetrable mystery to
dlsa ppear.
And yet, how great were the diffi
culties in the way of proving this fact.
None of the persons he was talking
w’ith had seen any such person as the
doctor among the guests, nor hail his
appearance at the inquest called oift
any such witness from the public at
large. And then, say he had been
here, how fast he must have driven to
have been down at Twenty-second
street at the time he was But then,
Mr. Gryce remembered that his horse
looked as if it had traveled far that
night, and when a man has a purpose
before him he does not spare his ani
mal. But what had his purpose been?
To save Mildred Farley or to destroy
her?
Manifestly it was not to save her, or
why had he lied about the place where
he had found her and the way in which
the bottle had been broken on the side
walk in Twenty-second street? Book
at it whichever way the detective
would, reason and experience still point
ed toward the doctor as the possible
author of her death. And so the affair
was still full of mysteries, and he felt
gs if he had but crossed the threshold
of his discoveries
His last effort before leaving the
kitchen was to determine the location
of the back stairs. He found them situ
ated in the most favorable manner for
such a secret and unobserved departure
us this young girl hail taken. For. ow
ing to the fact that they descended
immediately into a hall opening upon
the driveway which ran about the
house, it followed that upon such a
night as this, when every one was busy,
j and the kitchen door communicating
with this hall was in all probability
closed or blocked up with strangers,
she might slide down the stairs and so
regain the street without any one
noting her presence or detecting her
departure.
More than this, she could, if she so
wished, have stepped upon the piazza,
and not knowing its condition, sat down
in one corner to wait—what for? Why
—for the doctor, perhaps. She had writ
ten him a note and why not in that
note have told him where he could find
her. There was no evidence yet forth
coming which made any of this impos
sible.
Two Duties.
To determine then without all perad-
venture whether Molesworth’s phaeton
drove up to this house on that night or
not, and then to ascertain the cause and
meaning of Mrs. Cameron’s silence in
regard to her connection with this girl.
beqame his two first leading duties. The
immediate manner in which he set about
fulfilling them, showed that his youth-
: ful vigor bail not yet entirely deserted
j him.
j Bklding farewell to his friends In the
kitchen, he passed out of the back door
j and round the house. The next minute
| the front door bell rang, and Jean, the
| butler, upon opening that door, was as
tounded at seeing before him the sol
emn and unmoved countenance of his
late visitor, who. looking at him as if
he had never seen him before, asked if
Mrs. Gretorex was in, and being assured
she was by the dumfounded servant,
stepped in and took his seat in the par
lor as if he hail never crossed the thres-
nold of a. kitchen in his life.
“He want to see Mrs. Gretorex? Why
he want to see Mrs. Gretorex?" cried
Jean, descending the back stairs three
steps at a time.
Very Perplexing.
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"Shure I don’t know," returned Pe
ter, laying a sly finger against his nose,
“but what I do know is this, I’ve busi
ness in the front hall and It won’t kape
a minute; so good day to ye.”
And he was off before Jean’s slower
witB took in the situation.
Mr. Gryce was laboring under Mrs.
Gretorex’s displeasure and hs knew it.
Ills first words, therefore, were uttered
with that simple dignity which always
Inspires respect.
“You have consented to see me," was
da opening remark. "You are very
kind, for I feel that you have some rea
son not only to distrust my good Judg
ment, but tlie fairness of my conduct,
let I but made a mistake which nine
men out of ten would have made In my
place. 1 was going to say ten men, but
l do not wish to appear egotisticaJ."
His smile was honest, his bearing re
spectful yet not subservient, his tone
j .11 that could be desired But Mrs.
Gretorex’s pride was not easily subdued.
She looked at him with cold severity,
and observed in anything but a gracious
tone:
“I do not understand to what you
allude. I know of no mistake you made
except that of taking Dr. Cameron Into
your confidence against my express
wishes "
"Then he has not explained to you
the meaning of our conduct that
night?"
"I did not require It.”
Mr. Gryce allowed a faint expression
of surprise to escape him.
"You could not have known how in
teresting the subject was.” he remarked.
Then before she could speak, asked im
pressive^. "Did you know that Miss
Gretorex had & double In town that
night?"
“A double?"
"Some one who looked like her—looked
like her so much that even her best
friend was deceived? I allude to Dr.
Cameron."
The perplexity of Mrs. Gretorex was
unmistakable.
"I have no idea what you mean," she
declared, “and I can not believe In any
such likeness. Mrs. Cameron’s expres
sion Is not a common one."
"So much the more excuse for me.”
he suggested. ”1 thought I was com
pletely justified in giving to this per-
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son the name of your daughter, es
pecially as she wore a dress not ifn-
llke thftit in which Miss Gretorex was
said to have disappeared.”
Incredulity, mixed with a little anx
iety, still held its own in the expres
sion of Mrs. Gretorex’s face.
"Still I do not understand you. Where
was this person, and who did she turn
out to be? You excite my curiosity,
Mr. Gryce."
The detective glanced at the door and
slightly changed his seat.
"Some things are best discussed in
private,” he suggested. "I thought I
heard a step in the hall."
She arose and led the way into the li
brary.
"Say what you have to say," she ex
claimed. "Who w’as the lady? I am
eager to hear."
He took a position which enabled him
to W’atch her face.
"Her name you must already know,"
said he. "It has been in the papers
enough lately. Mildred Farley, the girl
who died of poison that same night,"
"Farley?” trembled slowly from her
lips. "Farley?”
"I thought the name would have a
familiar sound," he murmured, noting
carefully her look of startled amaze
ment.
But she Instantly disclaimed this as
sumption with calm composure.
"You mistake," she assured him. "I
know nobody of that name. Why should
you think I did?"
“Because she visited your house so
often, was so well known to your daugh
ter, and was, if I do not greatly mistake,
in this very building and in Miss Gret
orex’s room the evening Miss Gretorex
was married and she herself met her
fearful doom.”
It was all news, and, as it seemeij, un
welcome and astounding news, to the
lady before him. She forgot his pres
ence and her own reserve and spoke as
if he had not been in the room.
“A person by the name of Farley."
she repeated, "known to Genevieve and
like her enough to be called her dou
ble. What does It mean?"
He w’atched her. and made no an
swer. All the detective was alert in
him.
"I believe you said she died." Mrs
Gretorex suddenly cried, arousing as if
out of a dream. "Is it the same girl
that was picked up from the sidewalk by
somebody and carried away in a gig?"
Not Seen.
"The same, madam. A young dress
maker, you remember, who was to have
been married that same night. But she
preferred to assist your daughter at her
wedding to taking part In one herself."
Mrs Gretorex looked at him with wide
open eyes, from which all the haughti
ness had fled.
"You seem to know a great deal about
Mrs. Cameron.” she asserted; "more
than her mother does or her best
friends. I was not aware that any one
was here to assist my daughter—least
of all a person who bore her looks and
answered to the name of Farley. And
yet. It was a circumstance that would
not be likely to escape attention. Some
of the servants must have seen her. If
l did not. But none of them have spoken
of it.”
"They were too accustomed to her vis
its here.”
"Too accustomed "
“And then they did hot see her face.
She was always veiled."
"Do you mean," she demanded, "that
the person who brought home my
daughter's dresses an^ whom my daugh
ter received when she would see no one
eltee, was a Far—was this girl w’ho you
say died on her wedding night so sud
denly and mysteriously?"
"I do. It has not been made pbblic,
nor am I sure that Mrs. Cameron her
self knows of this identity. But certain
evidences difficult to explain under any
any other theory, make It a positive fact
to me. It Is my reason for being here;
e cause of our present conversation. I
want to discover the truth about this
girl."
Did Mrs. Gretorex suddenly change
color, or was it only his imagination
that made him think so? She was a
dignified worldly-wise woman, whom it
would have taken much to shake out of
her social calm. Was this much hidden
in his words and had it disturbed her
equanimity? lie could not tell.
A Common Affair.
"That is very natural,” she conceded,
with a slight change of position. "In
your profession such inquiries become
duties; but I do not think you can find
iit much about her here.”
"Certainly not, if you never met her
nor spoke to her; and I believe you as
sured me you never had.”
"Never, sir.”
There was truth in her accents, as
w’eil as much hauteur; he found
himself obliged to shift his ground.
"Then," said he, ”1 have only to bid
you good day. And yet”—he added,
“there is one thing you can do for me
and the cause of law and Justice which
I represent. Miss Farley, if here that
night, w-ent directly to your daughter’s
room. She wore a brown veil, and If as
resumably happened, she took off that
veil, there is reason to believe she left
it behind her. For when the body was
brought home to her boarding place.
:his article of apparel was not only
missing, but another veil of different
color and apparently quite new, was
found clinging to her garments. Now
f in the arrangement of the room after
your daughter’s departure a brown veil
was found, there is provided one other
small link toward making our chain of
evidence complete.
"A brow r n veil is a very common af
fair; my daughter may have had a dozen
for aught I know.”
“Lying loose about the room?”
"How can I tell!"
"And you can not accommodate me?”
“Oh, I can not refuse you a look at the
room. It is^just as my daughter left it,"
she declared somewhat bitterly. "She
has not found leisure to attend to it. and
1 certainly was not going to arrange and
dispose of her effects without her assist
ance. But you speak of a chain of
evidence. Evidence of what and evid
ence against whom? It is surely not
ndiscreet for me to inaulre."
To Be Continued To-morrow.
A YOUNG girl who has loved not
wisely but too well, and who
has been cast aside like a
l^roken plaything by the man who
has done her so terrible a wrong,
asks me what she should do under
the tragical circumstances.
My answer is, forget it all. Put
the past behind you, and refuse even
to let your thoughts enter the door
that vou have locked upon your dark
secret. Never let a word concern
ing what has happened pass your lips
to anybody, but climb back into the
straight and narrow path off of which
you have taken a .single step, and let
your bitter experience be a lamp
to guide your feet in the future.
Above all have nothing to do with
the unprincipled scoundrel who has
taken such a shameful advantage of
your youth and innocence and ig
norance. Do not .humiliate yourself
by beseeching him to come back to
you, or entreat him to marry you.
He will not do it, and if ho did do it.
it would bring you nothing but life
long misery. Such a man is a brute.
He is lacking alike in heart and hon
or, and all considerations for a wom
an, and he would use his knowledge
of the indiscretion into which he
lured you to torture you as long as
you live.
One Fatal Error.
It is a terrible thing—a thing so
pita®us that it must make the very
angels weep, for a girl to have
wrecked her life when she is only 17
years old, but the only thing th^t she
can do that really helps is to gather
up the fragments in silence and as
secretly as possible.
Under such circumstances there are
parents who sometimes force a man
to marry the girl, to do what they
call "right the wrong he has done
her." This is a fatal mistake. It
only makes a bad matter worse, and
dooms the girl to certain misery, as
it puts her completely in the power
of the dastard who has already shown
how little regard he has for her hap
piness and honor.
Sometimes the girl wreaks a bloody
reprisal on the man who betrayed
her, but what a price she pays foi
that one mad minute of satisfied ven
geance! The horrors of a murder
trial, even when a sentimental jury
acquits a woman, are not to be told.
They belong to the inferno, and
the soul that passes through it comes
out maimed and seared beyond all
power of healing. The woman whose
hands are stained with blood is a
creature apart, a thing accursed, one
who goes shuddering through the
world and from whom all other wom
en draw away their skirts as from
a leper. The woman who kills to
avenge her wrong kills also her every
chance of ever being happy.
Sometimes the woman takes her
wrongs into the court and soeks to
soothe the hurt of her honor feels
with money. It takes a woman of
coarse fiber to do this and to blazon
her shame to the public for the sake
of a few dollars. There are many
times when money comes too dearly,
and this is one. One would think
that every' penny so gained would
blister the fingers of her who
touched it.
The Dilemma.
Of course, no punishment that hu
man ingenuity can devise is adequate
for the man who wins a young girl’s
heart and then takes advantage of
her trusting affection to lead her Into
wrongdoing. He knows, as she can
not, the enormity and significance of
the step he beguiles her Into taking,
and In what bitter tears and repent
ance the plmrose path along whioh he
lures her must end for her.
To strip him of his money Is no
thing. Killing is too good for him.
He deserves a dog’s death, but the
trouble Is that you can not punish
him without punishing the girl a
thousand times more.
It Is the practical side of the trag
edy that we are now considering,
what the girl under such circum
stances had best do, and It Is cyni
cally true that she had best do
nothing to the man, nothing to avenge
her wrong. Just to accept It as quiet
ly and secretly as possible.
To make any fuss about It is to
cry out aloud her misfortune to the
world, whereas If she says nothing
and goes her way as If nothing had
happened there may be a few whis
pers, a few surmises, a little gossip
that no one can substantiate, and that
dies down and is forgotten In a short
time.
Possibilities.
After all, the only things that are
absolutely known about our private
affairs is what we tell oureelvee.
Probably there i* never a scandal
about any one that the person didn’t
start himstelf or heraelf. It’s the
thing we confide to our deareet
friends that com-es back to haunt ui,
and hence any secret that we flhut
our teeth upon is reasonably aafe.
Fortunately, in this enlightened
age a woman is not bound down for- <
ever by the mistake »*h« made in her
past. She has her present full of
opportunity, and her future overflow
ing with hope. She can All her life
with work, with kindness and service
to others and win for herself a high
and honorabe place in the community
and be esteemed and admired in so
ciety.
To this girl, who so far has kept ,
the secret of her one false step, I say
keep it still until it is locked in the
silence of the grave. Confession is a
weakness and a temptation in cases
where it can do no possible good and
no reparation to another is to be
made. Let the dead past bury its
dead, and do you go forward and
live a life so pure and white, and bo
fragrant with good deeds, that the
recording angel will drop a tear upon
your one poor little sin and blot it
out.
“Queer thing about my wife. When
we have an argument she never wants
the last word.
“Why, how’s that?”
"She always gives it to me."
A long-suffering husband passed
into the great beyond and found
peace. His wife promptly erected a
tombstone with the inscription;
"Rest in peace until I Join you.”
Masher (entering a restaurant hur
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dwink here?
Walter (dryly)—Yes, fetch your
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Gentlemen:—I am Interested In a Typewriter for
General Correspondence Card Writing
Billing Tabulating Label Writing
Name
Address
To L. C. SMITH Sl BROS. TYPEWRITER COMPANY
121 N. Pryor 8t., Atlanta, Qa.
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