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BEHIND CLOSED DOORS Beauty Secrets of Beautiful Women One of the Greatest Mystery Stories Ever Written Hair and Complexion Secrets Jrom One of the Stage's Prettiest Girls By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. (Copyright, 1913. by Anna Green.) TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT Hhe was all smiles and her dimples came and went with every breath "Kiss me"' she suddenly cried, lifting up her face, so bewitching in its mix ture of appeal and audacity, that he could scarcely be blamed for forgetting all that had gone before in his satis faction at the present. "That antidote I am willing to admin ister ad infinitum," he smiled; "only you must promise me "Not to ask any more questions?" she finished. "1 will, and if trouble comga— 1 ” She stopped with a start The door bell had rung The doctor woke as from a dream. "Visitors or patients?" he queried. It evidently was the latter, for just then the front door was opened, and a gentleman came in. followed by a de cently dressed woman, who no sooner found herself in the luxurious hall than she seemed to shrink together and al most cower past the doors she had to pass on her way to the office. The doc tor. wondering at this, moved to fol low. But before doing so he gave his wife one look and found her so smiling and so radiant that he did not speak, but passed on with lifted brow and a totally satisfied air. As for her. she preserved her smile without seeming ef fort till the curtain had fallen across the doorway leading into the office. But once left entirely alone, she sank back in the seat she had occupied and for one wild moment seemed to give way to a despair that was none the less deep that it was silent. But she speedily controlled even this token of weakness, and rising. looked again at herself In the glass, and adjuring the enchanting fig ure that confronted her. said: **If you are beautiful, use that beauty to preserve your happiness It can he done, and the incentive given you is great enough for anything His peace of mind rests upon your success Be successful, then, at all hazards save that of untruth .” She was still glowing with the excite ment of the moment when the doctor’s returning step was heard falling heavily on the carpet. Turning, her ardent col or faded rapidly away. The gentleman who accompanied Dr. Cameron was Mr. Gryce. On the Rack. H ER husband’s first action did not tend to reasure her. While the detective was making his bow. Dr. Cameron had advanced to the bell, rung it. and informed the servant who came that he was not at home to any one, visitors or patients. After which he had closed all the doors and drawn all the curtains. Not till these precau tions were taken did l.e turn to his wife and observe In vihat he meant to be his natural tone "1 am informed by Mr Gryce that some strange facts have come to light In the case of the girl whose name has so often been mentioned in our hearing lately. As they seem to he such as you alone can explain, I have asked him to address himself to you, as I am confident you can have hut one desire, and that is to help forward the cause of justice to the full extent of your ability ” The bow she gave her husband in ac quiescence to this suggestion was ad mirably free from embarrassment. But when she turned to the detective a slight flush was observable on her cheek, which he was not slow in Interpreting as a mingled appeal and apology. It seemed to make It a little difficult for him to speak. She saw this and drew her figure up to its full height "What are the new facts?" she in k quired. "First, allow me one question," said he. "You told me at my last inter view that when you went downstairs to be married you left Mildred Farley be hind you in your room Was she well at that time and in good physical con dition? It Is an important fact for us to know." Whatever Genevieve had expected, she had not expected this. It required a readjustment of her ideas and It took a moment to do this. "You do not wish to answer?" said he *T was wondering what your question imported." wiys the slow reply "Before urging this question," said he. "let me impress upon you that I am here not on an errand of accusation, but of search. I want to know if Miss Farley committed suicide or was mur dered. Whichever way she died, the deed took place In your room. Mrs. Cam eron. and while you were downstairs being married." "How do you know that?" she asked, with a note of Incredulity in her voice "Because ft scream was heard at the time ?’’ "Not exactly. If you will excuse me a minute. 1 will show you how 1 came to know it." And Mr Gryce. stepping quickly across the flooi raised the cur tain that communicated with the office and beckoned toward him the woman who had come with him to the house. Genevieve watched him as if fasei nated. forgetting even to bestow a look upon her husband, though she must have felt that the surprise and sus pense into which she had been plunged must have seised upon him, too. and with even superior force "What is this man about to do*’" her fiance seemed to inquire What wom en is this he is going to bring for ward ?” Nor did her expression alter vhen the girl crossed the threshold ind she saw her face to face. All was wonderment with her as vet, and in- ense question. The detective noted 'his and made haste to remark "You know this girl?" Genevieve at once assumed her most (isdalnful air. "What is she doing here?" she in quired. "I—I don't know," came in a con- *used stammer from the woman's own ips "This gentleman tells me to come, tnd says you will he good to me. I enow, ma'am, you did not like me 1 didn't want to tell anything to anybody. But what I see, I see. and the gentle mans ask me more and more and then I ted him everything ” "What is she talking about'.’" cried Genevieve, dropping her air of wonder and assuming that of cold severity "Let her speak plainer If she has any thing to say. I do not understand these allusions." The detective looked at the woman. "Tell your story," he commanded, with a quick gesture "Whereupon the woman glanced around her a little sheepishly. "I am sure I didn't think what It would come all to,” Hhe began, lifting her eyes for a moment to Genevieve « face and instantly dropping them "It s wrong. I know, hut I was always look ing in through keyholes and listening Most of all, I wanted to find out about the girl you let come so often to your room when you let nobody else come. I wanted to know so much that I used to stay longer in the room than you wanted me to just to see if she would take off her veil. And when you caught me that time looking over your shoulder, 1 was only trying to find out if you was waiting to this girl. It didn't seem right, but none of It was right She was a dressmaker, and ladies Ilk* you don’t put up with dressmakers' girls, keeping them in their room all alone for hours. I can’t tell why 1 did what I did I only want to say how It was I came back after you sent me away, ma’am. Just to see If you was married all right, and if that girl was let com- Into your room at the last, as she was all along " "All of which means," the detective here dryly interposed, "that she was in the house unknown to any one but the servants on the evening and at the time you were married.” "Ah!” Genevieve’s cold, curling lip seemed to say. "She did come, ma’am, that you know, and when 1 saw her go up, l got so mad I sat down on the ha< k stairs and cried. Then f got awful mad"—Ce lia was not looking at her old mistress, or she might huve found it difficult , to proceed —"and when I heard you all go down I Just ran up to see if she was left to look over the rail at the people below, because I didn’t see why you wouldn't let her do that when you have done so much for her before." "You mean.” again broke In Mr. Gryce’s cool voice, "that you thought it a good opportunity to steal a sight of her face." A red flush answered him. "I thought so, but I didn't see it, for she wasn't in the hall, and then I won dered whut she could he doing shut up In that big room when she could he see ing ail the people downstairs. Then I felt I must go in. You see, I tell the truth, ma’am, for all you'll not like me again any more. And when I found the door locked 1 couldn’t think of any thing but how to seo Into that room and what the girl was doing all by her self. So I went to the room next by yours I got out of the window on the roof and tried to look into the win dow what is in the alcove " "Why do you stop?" Was it Genevieve speaking? Even her husband did not know her voice. As Celia had only stopped for breath, the looked at the lady with eyes of wonder; then w*ent on as If no inter ruption had occurred. "For I saw from the street that your shade was a little up. so that I could look In. When I tried to look I could not see the girl, and I got mad and then, because th* window was not locked, I pushed it up and looked In, and couldn’t see her yet an^l I couldn’t hear her, too. Then I got in the win dow and walked In the room. Sho wasn't there." • Celia paused Did she realize that she had reached a dramatic climax? I think not. She was only feeling a little un comfortable. for Mrs. Cameron’s eyes were fairly burning now- upon her face and In a way the most cai?t>us cf mortals must have felt "Not there," she repeated, shifting her gaze, and leaking somewhat uncomfort able "And I was so much afraid I felt faint-like and ran to get out of the room. But the door was locked. Then I went to the alcove window, und there I got an awful fright—O, awful! For right there by me on the floor, where a lot of dresses lay, there was a hand sticking out, and it was white and cold and—O-oh!" She gave a little scream and turned pale at the recollection, while Mrs. Cameron half rose to her feet and then sat down, inert and stricken, finding It difficult for a moment to breathe, such terror seemed to pass over her at the picture and circumstance thus presented to her. Her husband, who had been seized with a shudder too, walked straight up to the detective. "This is an incredible tale," cried he. "Have you reason to believe it a true one?" "Let us hear It out,” was the calm response. "Afterward we will talk." And he motioned to tho woman to fin ish her story "I hear that some people pay that an awful, dreadful scream was heard when I the wedding was downstairs. It must have been a dreadful scream. I was I alone with that dead hand pointing at me. I was so much afraid that 1 got stiff and I did not know what I must do. All I think then was that I must go away and say nothing to somebody about the hand. For a 1 know I had no right in your room and if 1 got into trouble nobody in the house W'ould help me out. But I was awful afraid be cause I got to step over that body if I got out of the window. When I was (again in the hall I was fainting right by your door. But I didn’t. I went downstairs, got out of the house and no- J body saw me. And I ran all the way I home and didn't say a word for a long time And how that gentleman found out that 1 have seen the dead woman In your room ” "That will do,” quietly put In the de tective. "You have heard this girl’s story." he now declared, turning to Mrs. Cameron with a polite bow. "Are there any questions you would like to ask her?” The great lady stirred, looked as if she had awakened from some terible nightmare and murmured "No." "She can be dismissed then?" "Yes." To 3e Continued To-morrow. / ' ( Ca-'\ \ f *■* V s 0 * 'S <1 t hij a I V'-v.,. "t m ; v- m: ? ' Si* 1 A VAUNT ye marcel waves, sleep dispelling hair-curlers, and all grief oyer hair that is straight and dank as seaweed! A way out has been found, and now from hearing "water-waves” talked about with pleasing generality, I have seen C\-- "how" and the pleasing results there of demonstrated. My teacher was pretty Ethel Amorita Kelley, and I am going to pass on her method plus the personal guarantee that 1 have tried it, and it works! Time. 9 o’clock of a warm August evening, place, brightly lighted dress ing room of the New Amsterdam Theater. New York, whore “The Fol lies of 1913" hold the stage; and girl, Ethel Kelley of the soft brown tresses. "Is your hair really and truly for sure perfectly straight?” 1 asked with earnest skepticism. "Absolutely! Ab-so-lute-ly! ” said the teacher with equal earnestness. “Now, watch me very closely. I pa.t my hair way *ver by my left eye, but, of course, everyone must comb n r hair in its most becoming lines -onlv the first step is to arrange the front hair about as you dross it when it is all combed. Then dampen it with hot water, which will evaporate more quickly than cold, and in its rapid drying, bring the hair more quickly into shape. Next take a comb witii close, fine teeth, and with this pull the hair loos(* on the forehead and push it forward into two or three waves. Actually push it into place with the fingers of one hand, and th >n holding the waves firmly ip place, pin The Manicure Ladv One Woman’s Story . By VIRGINIA TERHUNE VAN DE WATER Miss Ethel Amorita Kelley. them down with long wire hairpins. A soft veil or a wide ribbon tied over the waves will hold them firm, and through their pressure help urge ths waves to come. "Now to method you must add pa tience and perseverance, for the first week’s efforts are likely to be crowned with failure; blit if you see the faint est mark that looks like a wave going across your tresses, encourage it hv pinning the wave in the same place is often as you can. After a while your hair gets so well trained that you can dispense with water and hairpins ill making th«* wave, and can just comb it into place and coax a bit with your fingers, and there is a soft, pretty wave that has come to he perfectly natural in straight hair. Honestly, ’t will work without fail,” concluded Miss Kelley. To which I add the stamp of ap proval as having tried it myself. "Honestlv it will.” Next I watched Miss Kelley twist back the left side of her hair loosely, separate a generous lock on the right "f the side parting and droop it low over her forehead. Then she fast ened that lock high on the crown of her head just above the right ear, then the hair at the right was drawn loosely over the right ear and coaxed into its near-natural wave, as each other part had been. The three sec tions were then combed into one thick strand and caught in a big coil at the nape of the neck. "It is so much cooler close to my head than all Huffed out around it," Miss Kelley assured me. "That is how T happen to wear it this way, hut I rather imagine that simple hair dressing is most becoming. It is just like getting your lines in dressing of any sort -simple, graceful ones—that bring out your own natural line in stead of distorting it into something I else. "You see, T don’t wear corsets, and j my figure has molded itself instead of being molded out of all proportion. Dancing will help the figure—if you j don’t always dance the same steps, as : a professional has to do. It is wise | to bring all possible muscles into play, so as to secure uniform devel- | opment. And I think dancing will : make you fat or thin as you ought to he. I think dancing makes you nor- ! mal. Goodness, though. I have danced , quite a distance away from hair, about which you wanted me to talk!" "All beauty hints thankfully ac- i cepted,” said I. "only how to arrange j her hair is ‘Woman’s Eternal Ques tion.’ and if you have helped to set tle the problem of how vo have wav- ! ing locks I think you will have as many grateful friends as you have i hairs on your head.” LILLI Ay LAl'FERTY. By WILLIAM F KIRK. was a brilliant young I man for you, George,” said the Manicure Lady, “that young fellow that, was just in here having his nails did. He has just came back from the country, and all the time I was working on his paddles he was telling me about his summer flirtations at the lake. The way he talked about thVowing his spell over the fair sex, he must be a kind of modern Lord Byron, though he don’t shape up much for looks or brains if you compare him with that cham pion.” “I got no time : for them young warts lik« him,” declared the Head Barber. “Neither have I,” agreed the Mani- ! cure Lady, "but 1 always like to listen to Joes like him, because it is about all the amusement I get outside of talking to a intellectual gent like you. This young fellow told me, in per fect confidence, of course, that a mar ried lady in the boarding house where he got his eggs was kind of interest ed in him, and that she admired him because he rowed her three times around the lake without getting tired. A Strong Arm. "He was showing me what strong forearms he had. and I suppose they was fairly strong arms for a book keeper. but not up to the village blacksmith brand. He said that she had invited him to call some time when he got back to the city, and that was why he was nn having his nails did. "I feel kind of sorry for the poor young simp, at that. I know just about what the game was, because I seen it played more than once at the summer resorts at which I have been at. Some middle-aged married lady gets tired of setting on the porch, and when she sees that all the gig gling girlies gets chances to go row ing on the lake, she looks kind of languishing at some husky young swimmer that she knows can row and swim well enough to get her back safe to shore. Then he begins to thihk that he has won somebody’s fluttering heart with his fatal beauty,' and hires a rowboat by the wedk, which saves the married lady quite a little pin money, and guarantees her an escort that she can boss around. Of course, there is always a litle scandal, but she doesn’t care for that as long as she can be out on the water, and the young man. of course, just glories in the scandal. That kind of fellow always does. When his vacation is over he finds that he is out quite a little for boat hire, but his arms is tanned fine, and he has a invitation to call some time and meet the family. "Brother Wilfred got stung that way once. He was up to a lake in the Blue Ridge, and a beautiful married woman that was there with her two children seemed kind of alone, so she beamed on Wilfred. You know them poets. George. Every time a good- looker beams on them the beans is spilled. My poor brother wrote about ten poems to her eyes, and rowed her and the two kids around the lake until his hands was all puffed up and his pocketbook all flat. “Crushed” on Her. He had a awful crush on her, and some of Jhe lines he wrote to her was almost real literature, she said. 1 remember four of them lines: ‘The moonlight nestles in you* glorious hair; Where could if find a more en chanting lair l The bee easts longing glances at your lip Where could it find more sweetly saccharine sipsV "That fall he called on her in thp city, and her husband was awful nice to Wilfred. Her husband was a big prince of a fellow, and Wilfred seen at a glance that she loved her hus band only.” "But it ain’t always that way!” said the Head Barber. CKAFTER XXVI. I T took Mary Fletcher some months to become accustomed to keeping house in the country cottage. The five-room flat did not contain enougn furniture to supply the seven- room house, and Bert insisted that h** n-inted something newer than the old pieces that had been part of his wife’si mother’s wedding outfit. He and his mother evidently succeeded in driv ing a satisfactory bargain, for they secured the bright blue sofa for which the man yearned. From the Four teenth street shop were also selected two upholstered chairs "to match the sofa.” After these had been put in place in her new home, Mary would half clos»e her eyes in passing through the “parlor.” But she uttered no word of distaste. She also denied herself the intro spection that would be fatal if she w oil Id live calmly the life she had chosen on an hour’s impulse. Al though she closed the eyes of her. mind to the glaring details—as she closed her actual eyes to the blue fur niture—the truth that she had mar ried in pique, because the man she loved had jilted her. stood there an unalterable fact. She had taken the .••'top hastily, yet determinedly, telling herself that Herbert Fletcher loved her and that she could change his language and manners io suit her taste. When sue had first met his mother she had appreciated with a shock that, to change Bert. s>he would have to overcome the effects of hered ity and early training, and Mrs Fletcher. Senior, soon showed her shrinking daughter-in-law that she disapproved of her son’s choice of a wife. The girl regretted this and suggested to her husband that she was afraid that his mother "did not approve of his marriage.” "I am sorry,” she confessed, "for 1 would be glad to have her like me.” The big man laughed. “Never you mind, little girl." he said, "if you wasn’t so unsuspicious you’d have guessed that the reason mother does not care for you is because she’*' found it pretty nice to be the only person to share afty money I made. Not but what she’s got enough of her own to live on comfortably, but she’d like all she can get besides. More over, she thinks I might better have married a girl with some cash of her own and no relative for me to look after. Mother is a good woman and has been a kind mother to me, an I’ve often told you, but she’s got a long that she can’t understand that any one else has a right to have a finger in nef job. But," pounding the table with his big fist. “I’m a man who does as he pleases, and I guess I had a right to choose my own wife—and I did. Just wait till I complain before you commence to worry." He rose, and. going over to his wife, gave her a resounding kiss on the cheek, that reddened under the salute. The bristles on his chin scratched the woman's soft skin, for Bert did not shave oftener than once a week now that he was mar ried. His wife tried not to remem ber that his shave and bath came on the same day each week and were omitfed on all the other days of the seven, and she did not shrink under the noisy osculation with which her husband now emphasized his remarks. He loved her, she re minded herself, and she was his wife, and the thought made her act the wifely part with the best grace she could summon to her aid. Yet. in spite of the fact that Her bert Fletcher had proclaimed in dependence of his mother, her view's of housekeeping and economy were also his. His wife had been prepared for suggestions that she should cook certain dishes according to his moth er’s recipes, and even la ughed sweet- temperedly over th* timeworn joke with regard to "pies like mother used to make.” But she found it hard to hold her peace when her husband told her that his mother thought it extravagance for her to pay more than twelve dollars a month fur a ser vant. "Twelve dollars!” Mary exclaimed. "Why, Bert, that is absolutely ridicu lous. For years maids’ wages have been higher than that. I know that in my own home ” Her husband interrupted her. "Don't talk to me about your own home. Mamie!” he protested. “Your father spent money like water and lost all he had besides. Ma reminded me of that when 1 told her you wanted a girl. Still, what she said don’t carry any weight, except when I know she’s right w’hen she says that a strong houseworker ought to be hired for $12 a month. If not, why, she just won't be hired—that’s all!” Mary started to speak, then check ed herself. She w T ould not resent this slur upon her father’s man agement of his affairs. His memory was too sacred for her to be willing to discuss him with this man wn'u was so unlike him. Yet, she remem bered this was the man whom she had defrauded of the love that some woman might have given him—the man she had married through spite against another man and through the desire to make a comfortable home for her mother. She certainly had not accepted Fletcher's love and protection through any desire to make him happy. She must submit to whatever her rash act brought upon her in the way of suffering. She, and she alone, would bear her punishment. This thought comforted her. No matter what her husband might lack in the way of refinement, he w r as kind to her mother. Indeed, so gen tle and deprecatory was Mrs. Dan- forth that a man must be hard hearted who could be harsh with her. The widow had a comfortable room on the sunny side of the house, and on such mornings as she was not well enough to come downstairs to the early breakfast which her son- ip-law must take to catch his train to the city he would call out a cheery "good-morning” to her from the foot of the stairs before starting for the train. "She’s a mighty nice old lady,” he said again and again to his wife. "I suppose she’s not as strong natured as my own mother is, but she is sure easy to get along with.” Mary, watching her parent anxr iously, agreed with him. She knew better than did her husband that it was not natural for the elderly wo man to be so apathetic as she now was. She was not ill. but had lost the snap and vigor which had once been hers. Had her sorrows broken her spirit. Mary wondered, or was it that her health was failing? If so, how could the daughter live without her? And, thinking this, the woman found it possible to excuse much in her husband because of his goodness to the only person in all the world now* whom she really loved. Well Informed. Scene—A village postofllce. Caller—"Anything for me?” Postmaster—“I don’t see nothin*.'* Caller—“I was expectin’ a letter or post card from Aunt Meggs. teilin’ what day she was coming’.” Postmaster (calling to his wife) — “Did you see a post card from Mm Metcalfs aunt?” Wife—“Yes, she’s coming on Thurs day!” Advice to the Lovelorn By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.' THEY ARE RIGHT. Dear Miss Fairfax: I am deeply In love with a young man two years my senior, and up until recently he has taken me to many places of amusement, but never called on me regularly. Of late he has been seen with an other girl, and has not f^vp : -> to any place with him. Now, Miss Fn’ifix l am so tie. ply in leie with this young man that it seems as if I can never give him up. Every day seems to get worse. My friends advise to give him up entirely. Will you please tell me the best thing to do? FL( >REN OK. Love can’t be retained against its will, my dear. You are only piling up future humiliation for yourself by your attitude of despair, and b> letting evei'v one see how your pool heart aches. Muster up some pride. Never men tion his name, and try to forget him. The faithlessness of one Inver by no means wrecks your future. WRITE AGAIN. Dear Miss Fairfax 1 am seventeen and am deeply in love with a man two years my senior. Some time ago 1 left the city. He asked me to write, which I did, and have not received an answer yet. I tried to forget him, but it is in vain. A CONSTANT READER. There is a chance he did not re ceive your letter. Be sure that you have the correct address and write again—just a friendly letter; nothing mor<. If he does not reply to that, I hope you wiil try so hard to forget him the effort will not he in vain. THEY ARE RIGHT. Dear Miss Fairfax: I am deeply in love with a young man two years my senior, and up until recently he has taken me to many nlaces of amusement, but never called on me regularly. Of late he has been seen with an other clrl. and has not invited me any place with him. Now, Miss Fairfax. 1 am so deeply in love with this young man that it seems as if I can never give him up. Every day seems to grt worse. Mv friends aclv me *o giv. im up entirely. Will * ou y lease tell me the best thing to do? FT a ‘RENTE. Love can’t bo retained against ts will, my dear. You are only piling up * future humiliation for yourself by your attitude^of despair, and by let ting everyone see how your poor heart aches. Muster up some pride. Never men tion his name, and try to forget him The faithlessness of one lover by no means wrecks your future. TELL HIM YOUR DECISION. Dear Miss Fairfax: A young gentleman friend of mine asked to take me to the the ater. I told him I would think it over. As yet he has not asked me about it. What shall I do? LOVESICK. 1 am afraid that your reply offenc- j ed him. as no man likes his invita- j tions accepted that way. However, you told him to wait. Write him a note explaining that you have at last decided, and will he please call to learn your decision. If he fails to call, you may know he doesn't care to renew the invitation In that case, save yourself further humiliation by leting the matter drop. Pennsylvania Lines Didn’t Count. Two Irishmen arrargpd to fight duel with pistols. One of them was distinctly stout, and when he saw his lean adversary facing him he raise ! an objection. “Redad," he said. “I'm twice as big a target as he is. so I ought to stand twice as far away from him as he is from me." “Be aisy now." replied his second. “I'll soon put that right.” Taking a piece of chalk from his pocket, he drew two lines down the stout man's coat, leaving a space be tween them. “Now,” he said, turning to the oth er man, "Are away. '' snalpeen, and remember that any hits outside that chalk line don't count.” LIVE CHEAPER—CUT YOUR MEAT BILL DOWN You can cut down your meat bill two-thirds and get more nutritious food by eating Faust Macaroni. A 10c package of Faust Macaroni con tains as much nutrition as 4 lbs. of beef—ask your doctor. Faust Macaroni is extremely rich in gluten, the bone, muscle and flesh builder. It is made from Durum Wbe^t. the high protein cereal. Delicious, too. You can serve Faust Macaroni a hundred different ways to delight the palate. Write for free recipe book showing how. In air-tight, moisture-proof packages, 6 and 10 cents. MAULL BROS., St. Louis, Mo. For further information Inquire at ATLANTA OFFICE 705 Candler Building Chicago Daylight Express Lvs. Cincinnati 9:15 a. m. Ars. Chicago 5:45 p. m. Chicago Express Lvs. Cincinnati 9:20 p. m. Ars. Chicago 7:10 a.m. Chicago Midnight Express Lvs. Cincinnati 11:45 p.m. Ars. Chicago 7:45 a. m. Pennsylvania Service goes far, means much-makes right the trip b> day or night. C. R. CARLTON Traveling Passenger Agent ATLANTA. GEORGIA Every Woman Is Interested and should know about the wonderful Marvel V” 1 Douche Funeral Designs and Flowers FOR ALL OCCASIONS. Atlanta Floral Company 455 EAST FAIR STREET. Ask yourdrufircist for It. If he cannot sup ply the MARVEL, accept no other, but send stamp for book. Hand Co., 44 E. 23d St..K.T. TWO FAST TRAINS Lv. 7:12AM., 530 PM,