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BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
One of the Greatest Mystery Stories Ever Written
By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN.
(Copyright, 1913, by Ann* Katharine
Green.)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
She 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. "I will, .and If trouble comes—”
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 be
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.
Qryce.
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 he turn to his
wdfe and observe in what he meant to
be his natural tone:
‘7 am informed by Mr. Gryce that
«*ome 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 be such as
^you alone can explain, I have asked
him to address himself to you, as I am
confident you can have but 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
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 w f ell
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.
“I was wondering what your question
* imported,” was 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 a scream was heard at the
time?”
“Not exactly. If you will excuse me
a minute, I will show you how I came
* to know it.” And Mr. Gryce, stepping
quickly across the floor 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 fasci
nated. forgetting even to bestow a look
upon her husband, though she must
have felt thr.t the surprise and sus
pense into which she had been plunged
must have seized upon him, too, and
with even superior force.
“What is this man about to do?” her
glance seemed to inquire. "What wom
an is this he is going to bring for
ward?” Nor did her expression alter
when the girl crossed the threshold
and she saw her fare to face. All was
wonderment with her as yet, and in
tense question. The detective noted
this and made haste to remark:
“You know this girl?”
Genevieve at once assumed her most
disdainful air.
“What Is she doing hera?" she in
quired.
“I—I don’t know,” came in a con
fused stammer from the woman’s own
lips. "This gentleman tells me to come,
and says you will be good to me. I
know, ma’am, you did not like me. I
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 tell him everything."
“What is she talking about? ” cried
Beauty Secrets of Beautiful Women
Hair and Complexion Secrets from One of the Stage's Prettiest Girls
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," she began, lifting
he# eyes for a moment to Genevieve’s
face and instantly dropping them. "It’s
wrong, I know, but 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. I was only trying to find out
if you was writing to this girl. It didn’t
seem right, but none of it was right.
She was a dressmaker, and ladies lik<
you don’t put up with dressmakers'
girls, keeping them in their room all
alone for hours. I can’t tell why I 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 come info 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.
"Bhe did come, ma’am, that you know,
and when I saw her go up, I got so
mad I sat down on the back stairs and
cried. Then I got awful mad”—Ce
lia was not looking at her old mistress,
or she might have 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 w’asn’t in the hall, and then I won
dered what she could be doing shut up
in that big room when she could be see
ing all 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 I couldn’t think of any
thing but how to see into that room
and what the girl was doing all by her
self. So I w’ent 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?"
Waa it Genevieve speaking? Even
her husband did not know her voice.
As Celia had only stopped for breath,
she looked at the lady with eyes of
wonder; then went 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 the window was not
locked, I pushed it up and looked in,
and couldn’t see her yet and I couldn’t
hear her, too. Then I got in the win
dow and w’alked in the room. She
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*)ub of mortals
njust have felt.
"Not there,” she repeated, shifting her
gaze, and looking somewhat uncomfort
able. “And I was so much afraid I
felt falnt-like and ran to get out of the
room. But the door was locked. Then
I went to the alcove window, and 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 dow’n, 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 the woman to fin
ish her story.
“I hear that some people say that an |
awful, dreadful scream was heard when |
the wedding was downstairs. It must
have been a dreadful scream. I was
alone with that dead hand pointing at
me. I was so much afraid that I 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 I know I had no
right in your room and If I got into
trouble nobody in the house would 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
body saw me. And I ran all the way
home and didn’t say a word for a long
time. And how that gentleman found
out that I 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.
(fameron 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.
The Manicure
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By WILLIAM F KIRK.
“T
One Woman’s Story .
By VIRGINIA TERHUNE VAN DE WATER
A VAUNT ye marcel waves, sleep
dispelling hair-curlers, and all
grief over 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 the
“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 I 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, where “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?" I asked with
earnest skepticism.
“Absolutely! Ab-so-lute-ly!" said
the teacher with equal earnestness.
“Now, watch me very closely. I part
my hair way over by my left eye, but,
of course, everyone must comb her
hair in its most becoming lines—only
the first step is to arrange the front
hair about as you drosrf it when it is
all combed. Then dampen it with ho*
water, which will evaporate more
quickly than cold, and in its rapid
drying, bring the hair more quickly
into shape. Next take a comb with
close, fine teeth, and with this pull
the hair loose on the forehead and
push it forward into two or three
waves. Actually push it into place
wMth the fingers of one hand, and thea
holding the waves firmly in place, pin
Miss Ethel Amorita Kelley.
them down with long wire hairpins.
A soft veil or a w ide ribbon tied over
the waves will hold them firm, and
through their pressure help urge the
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; but if you spe the faint
est mark that looks like a wave going
across your tresses, encourage it by
pinning the wave in the same place is
often as you can. After h while your
hair gets so well trained that you can
dispense with water and hairpins »n
making the 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 be perfectly
natural in straight hair. Honestly, U
will work without fail,” concluded
Miss Kelley.
To w'hich I add the stamp of ap
prove.! 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
of the side parting and droop it low
lover her forehead. Then she fast-
! ened that lock high on the crown of
her head JusJ: above the right ear,
then the hair’at the right w as drawn
loosely over the right ear and coaxed
Into its near-natural wave, as each
other part had been. The three sec
tions were therr 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 flrffed out around It,”
Miss Kelley assured me. "That Is
how I ha.ppen to wear it this way,
but 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
else.
“You see, I don’t wear corsets, and
my figure has molded itself Instead of
being molded out of all proportion.
Dancing wMll help the figure—if you
don’t alw’ays 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
| be. I think dancing makes you nor-
| mal. Goodness, though. I have danced
j quite a distance away from hair, about
| which you wanted me to talk!”
“All beauty hints thankfully ac
cepted,” said I. “only how to arrange
her hair is ’Woman’s Eternal Ques
tion.’ and if you have helped to set
tle the problem of how cn have wav-
1 ing locks I think you will have as
, many grateful friends as you have
J hairs on your head."
LILLIAN LAVFERTY.
t rfMIAT was a brilliant young
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 w r as working on his paddles
he was telling me about his summer
flirtations at the lake. The way he
talked about throwing 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
like him,” declared the Head Barber.
“Neither have I," agreed the Mani
cure Lady, “but'l alw'ays 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 hoarding 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 Rtrong
forearms he had. and I suppose they
was fairly strong arms for a book-
keeper, but not up to the vlllace
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 in 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. Borne middle-aged married lady
gets tired of setting on the porch,
and when she sees that all th e 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
think that he has won somebody’s
fluttering heart with his fatal beauty,
and hires a rowboat by the w r eek,
w'hich saves the married lady quite
a little pin money, and guarantees
her an escort that she can boss
around. Of course, there is alw’ays
a litle scandal, hut she doesn’t care
for that as long as she can he nut on
the water, and the youru^ man, of
course. Just glories in the scandal.
That kind of fellow' alw’ays does.
When his vacation is over he finds
that he is out quite a little for boat
hire, hut 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
splijed. My poor brother wrote abou
ten poems to her eyes* and rowed her
and the two kids around the lake until
his hands was all puffed up and his
pocket book all flat.
“Crushed” on Her.
He had a awful crush on her. and
some of the 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 it find a more en
chanting lairt
The hoc easts longing glanees at
your Upi
Where could it find, more sxccctly
saccharine sipsf*
“That fall he called on her In the
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.
CHAPTER 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 he
wanted something newer than the old
pieces that had been part of his wife's
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 clOMe her eyes in passing through
the “parlor.” But she uttered no
word of distaste.
She also denied herself the Intro
spection that would he fatal if she
would 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
Htop hastily, yet determinedly, telling
herself that Herbert Fletcher loved
her and that she could change his
language and manners to suit her
taste. When she hdd first met his
mother she had appreciated with a
shock that, to change Bert, *ihe would
have to overcome the effects of hered
ity and early training, and Mrs.
Fietcher. 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
wa’s afraid that his mother “did not
approve of hie marriage."
“I am sorry,” she confessed, “for I
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’s
found it pretty nice to be the only
person to share any money I made.
Not but what she’s got enough of her
own to live on comfortably, but she’d
like nil she can get besides. More-
over aha thinks I might batter 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, a* I’ve
often told you, but she’s go-t a long
that she can't understand that any
one else has a right to have a finger
in her 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 omitted 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 views
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 laughed sweet-
temperedly over the timeworn jok«
with regard to “pies like mothei
used to make.” But she found it hard
to hold her peace when her husband
told her that his mother thought i!
extravagance for her to pay mors
than twelve dollars a month for 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 ull he had besides. Ma reminded
r11«• of that whan I told her you
wanted a girl. Still, what she said
don’t carry any weight, except when
I know she's right when she says that
a strong houseworker ought to ba
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 would 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 who
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 was
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 synny side of the house,
and on such mornings as she was not
well enough to come downstairs to
the early breakfast which her son-
in-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 anx
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
w’as. She w r as 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. ^ v
Scene—A village postoffice.
Caller—“Anything for me?"
Postmaster—“I don’t see nothin’.”
Caller—"I was expectin’ a letter
or post card from Aunt Meggs. tellin*
what dny she was coming’.”
Postmaster (calling to his wife) —
“Did you see a post card from Mrs,
Metcalf’s 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 wMth an
other girl, and ha* noi invit d
to any place with him Now, Miss
Fairfax. I am so deeply in love
with this young man that it seems
as if I can never give him up.
Every day seems to get worse.
My friends advise me t<» give him
up entirely. Will you please tell
me the best thing to do?
FLORENCE.
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 by
letting every one 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.
WRITE AGAIN.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am seventeen and am deeply
ir^love with a man two years my
H-+ior. Some lime ugo I 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
more.
If he does not reply to that, I hope
you will try so hard to forget him the
effort will not be in vain
THEY ARE RIGHT.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am deeply in love with a .
young man tw'o years mv senior,
and up until recently he has taken !
me to many nlaces of amusement, j
hut never called on me regularly.
Of late he has been seen with an
other girl, and has not invited me-
any place with him. Now, Miss
Fairfax, I am so deeply in love
with this young man that it seems
as if I can never give him up.
Every day seems’ to g< ‘ worse.
Mv fri* nds ad • mi. to gif*- ‘ im
up entirely. Will you please tell
me the best thing to do?
FLORENCE.
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 by let
ting everyone see how your poor
heart aches.
MuRter 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.
I am afraid that your reply offend
ed him, as no man likes his invita
tions accepted that way.
However, you told him to wait,
Write him a note explaining that you
have at last decided, and w'ill he
please call to learn your decision. If j
he fulls to call, you may know' he
doesn’t care to renew the invitation.
In that case, save yourself further i
humiliation by leting the matter ; I
drop.
Pennsylvania Lines
Didn’t Count.
Two Irishmen arranged to fight a
duel with pistols One of them w-as
distinctly stout, and when he saw’ his
lean adversary facing him he raised
an objection.
“Bedad," he snid, ‘Tm twice as big
a target as he is, so T ought to stand
twice as far away from him nn he i3
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, “fire away, ye 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
Wheat, the high protein cereal.
Delicious, too. You can serve
Faust Macaroni a hundred different
w'ays to delight the palate. Write
for free recipe book showing how.
In air-tight, moisture-proof packages,
5 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
by day or
night.
C. R. CARLTON
Traveling Passenger Agent
ATLANTA. GEORGIA
Every Woman
Funeral Designs and Flowers
FOR ALL OCCASIONS.
Atlanta Floral Company
455 EAST AIR STREET.
NNATI
Askyourdrufcgistfor
it. If he cannot sup-
i ply the MARVEL,
j accept no other, but
•end stamp for book
i ..
TWO FAST TRAINS
Lv. 7:32AM., 5:11PM.