Newspaper Page Text
1
E-
By Virginia T. Van De Water.
CHAPTER XXVII.
O BEDIENT to her husband's sug
gestion, Mary Fletcher tried to
Ket a maid from the city. First
of all she visited many employment
agencies. At each she was received
with a smile of welcome by the person
In charge, bnt that smile was replaced
by a look of incredulous surprise when.
In reply to the question: "What wages
do you pay?" Mary responded: "Twelve
dollars.'
"My dear madam!" exclaimed one
such agent "Excuse ine, but you can
not get any girl, white or colored, to
do general housework for that price."
"But." said Mary tentatively, "sup
pose I get a green and Inexperienced
girl, and teach her everything, and help
her with the work—what wages would
ahe come for?"
Might Advertise.
"Certainly for not less than eighteen
dollars at the lowest," replied the
agent. "And if you wish one to go to
a lonely place in the country, you will
have to pay more "
After many such fruitless efforts,
Mary ceased visiting intelligence offices
"You might advertise," her mother
suggested when Mary recounted her ex
perience to her. "I used to get good
maids In that way. But. then, I paid
very good wages. tout dear father
always insisted, you know, on having
me get the best of everything- servants
included. ’
Mary winced at the unintentional
thrust, then forgot her own .discom
fiture as she saw the tears in her
mother's eyes.
"I know, dear," she said hastily,
"and he was right for you deserved
the best of everything But you must
remember, mother, that father had
more money than Bert has."
"Oh, I know, 1 know," the widow
responded quickly. "Dear child, don’t
fancy for a moment that 1 meant to
criticise your husband. He has, of
course, derived many of his Ideas from
his mother, and pardon me. Mary—
but she has not lived as we have, so
she Is to he excused if she has taught
her son to feel that women ought to do
their own work. Naturally, as Bert is
a good son, he takes her tone. I do
not blame him."
"Of course not," her daughter as
sented. In her own heart she was won
dering if she. this man’s wife, could
say as much
"Your husband is very kind to me,"
remarked Mrs Dan forth, somewhat ir
relevantly. "I ought to be happy."
But was she? Mary pondered. Did
she not think that perhaps her daugh
ter was not as content as she would
like her to be? Did she not suspect
that Mary did not love the man to
whom she wag married? And, if so,
could she he happy—she, the mother
who had taught her child that a love
less marriage was a sin?
Her Cheerful Voice.
As if reading the unspoken thought,
Mrs. Danforth took her daughter’s hand
tenderly in hers. "Tell me, darling,"
she said, wistfully, "are you satisfied?
Are you worried about anything'’
Sometimes T almost fear that you are a
little disappointed—about something."
The young wife put her arms around
her mother and drew the gray head
down to her shoulder.
"Little mother," she said, her voice
determinedly cheerful, "what notions
you do get! Why should I not be happy
here in this coxy little cottage, with the
best mother that ever lived, and the
man I have chosen out of all the world?
Dear mother," with a light laugh, "why
should 1 have married Bert if I did not
want to?"
The mother laughed, too, and there
was a ring of relief in th£ sound.
"Of course, dear! Why, Indeed? For
give your silly old mother but I love
you so much that if you were not hap
py why, I just could not stand it!"
She ended with a little sob, and the
daughter held tier closer.
"You believe now that I am happy,
don't you, dear?" Mary asked.
"Oh, yes, 1 believe U now," said the
widow tremulously, "and you don’t know
what a comfort it is to be sure of it.*’
With her head still on Mary's shoul
der she did not look up at the sad eyes
gazing out of the window, nor did she
see the hitter smile that twisted the
young lips. In a moment the wife’s face
was again placid, and she smiled on
leaving her mother, making the pretext
that she had "some work to do down
stairs."
She did not go downstairs at once.
Instead, she turned into her own room
and closed the door. But she did not.
as she would have done In her girlhood
days, fling herself upon the bed and
give way to her misery Instead, she
went to the window and looked out into
the July sunshine But she was looking
into her heart, not into the summer
noon.
"Good Lord!" she whispered, "what a
liar I have become! A liar both in
speech and life!"
She stood motionless a moment longer,
then lifted her heat! with a gesture of
decision—almost of defiance.
"But f. won’t look back." she mut
tered. "I have made my bed and must
lie on it—even if it Is made of thorns.
At all events, mother is comfortable
and cared for."
She Had Learned.
Advertisements for domestics at the
price named by Herbert Fletcher and his
mother proved useless. As a final re
sort, Mary engaged one so-called “help
er" after another from the village, but
each was so inefficient that this trial
was abandoned. The young housewife
had learned that to secure good service
one must pay an adequate price for it—
and that even then one might fail to
obtain it.
So It came about that at last Mary
Fletcher did the work of her own house,
hiring a woman from the village for
two days a week to 'wash. Iron and
scrub, and even then she had to sup
plement her at every turn It was
taken as a matter of course that the
wife should help hang out the clothes
and assist with the ironing She told
her mother that she "enjoyed the* novel
task:" in fact, that she thought the ex
ercise ar-1 fresh air good for her Her
■^usband did not protest Why should
H ~ • vv: :» •••-.er ha-i aiwu> *, ■ ne
kind of work.
Lady Constance Stewart Richardson THE TUNNEL
How to Acquire a Beautiful Figure Through Dancing
The two exercises
pictured to-day show
classic dancing steps
intended to produce
suppleness of limbs
and waist.
GREATEST STORY OF ITS
KIND SINCE JULES VERNE
WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE
The story* opens with Rives, who is in charge of the technical work
ings of the great tunnel from America to Germany, on one of the tunnel
trains, with Baermann, an engineer, in charge of Main Station No. 4 They
are traveling at the rate of 118 miles an hour. Rives is in love with
Maude Allan, wife of Mackendrick Allan, whose mind first conceived the
great tunnel scheme After going about 250 miles under the Atlantic Ocean
Hives gets out of the train Suddenly the tunnebseems to burst There
is a frightful explosion Men are flung to death and Rives is badly wounded.
He staggers through the blinding smoke, realizing that about 3,000^ men
have probably perished. He and oher survivors get to Station No 4.
Rives finds Baermann holding at bay a wild mob of frantic men who want
to climb on a work train, rtomebody shoots Baermann, and the train slides out.
The scene Is then changed to the roof of the Hotel Atlantic. The greatest
financiers of the country are gathered there at a summons from C. H.
Lloyd, "The Money King " John Rives addresses them, and introduces Al
lan Mrs Allan and Maude Lloyd, daughter of the financier, are also pres
ent. Allan tells the company of his project for a tunnel 3,100 miles long.
The financiers agree to hack him. Allan and Rives want him to take charge
of the actual work. Rives accepts. Rives goes to the Park Club to meet Wit-
tersteiner, a financier. At Columbus Circle news of the great project is being
flashed on a screen. Thousands are watching it.
Now Go On With the Story.
(From the German of Bernhard Kellertnann—
German *»r*ion Copyright ad. 191S. by a
Pitrher Vrrlag. Berlin. English translation and
compilation by
These Pictures
Were Espe
cially Posed
for this
Page.
By LADY CONSTANCE STEWART
RICHARDSON.
(Copyright, 1913, by International
News Service.)
O NE of your great Americans sang
in an exquisite little poem of
"The glory that was Greece;
the grandeur that was Rome.” The
glory and grandeur of these nations
were founded not only on their art
and culture and prowess as warriors,
but on a basic condition that male
brains and power reach a great height
of perfection—on the sublimity and
healthy beauty of the human body.
When laziness and high living
weakened the bodies of the Greeks
and Romans, decline and fall were
near. Hut in the flower of their na
tional health and youth the bodies of
the Greeks and Latins were physi
cally splendid, and the endowment of
mental power followed physical
health.
In these simple facts there lies a
great lesson for us of to-day. In
bodily health and strength lie the
power of the Individual and the health
of the nation as well. 1 have said so
often and am always glad to say
again that in the beautiful classic
dance* that have come clown to us
from the ancients lies the 1 simplest se
cret of bodily grace. But to-day I
want to add a few principles of bodliv
health and care that are practiced of
necessity hv the professional dancer,
and that the bodily beauty-seeker
would do well to emulate.
Begin by training children so that
their muscles will fall naturally, in
motion or repose, into graceful lines.
Teach them that food is very im
portant in one way and of no conse
quence In another. Food must nourish
the body and give it strength, hut be
ware the pleasureful-overeating of
the well-nourished. Ill-proportioned
gourmet.
Food and Mood.
Now. you could danc a cancan or
a breakdown however you hated the
world—and indigestion surely pro
duces misanthropy—but you have to
be in harmony with life to express
poetry in danctne So, since moo-l
affects dancing and food affect* mood,
this little cycle will make the classi
cal dancer careful of the dower of
health that spare, sane, sensible eat
ing produces.
For breakfast 1 have coffee and hot
milk, for lunch fruit and one nourish
ing solid and my simple dinner is
guiltless of sweets. Clothes 1 regard
as covering and not as trammeling
ornaments that interfere with free
dom of movement or deep breathing.
Perehaps If 1 convert a few of mv
readers to a love for and a belief in
the graceful movements of the clas
sic dance, 1 shall at the same time
make* converts to the healthful joys of
simple living, of deep breathing and
of high thinking.
To-day I will tell you about two
little movements of the (lance that
may be done at home without music
and to the slower tempo of the walk.
Try them for general bodily grace
and ease of motion.
The first picture shows a very sim
ple equally pretty figure, and for sup
pleness of arms and leg* and waist
it counts as strongly as It does for
lightly" poised and carried head and
body’. Advance with the head carried
high above the column of the throat
and the lifted chin. Sway slightly
from the waist as you swing the arms
in the arc of a circle; left arm is for
ward slightly above the shoulder
height as the weight advances for
ward to the light foot, and at the
same time the right arm is stretched
hack in a straight line and lowered
from shoulder to wrist until the. hand
is just at the line of the hip. Do this
with gradually increasing tempo, un
til the springy walking motion has
become a light dancing step. Fifteen
minutes of this night and morning
will give great grace and resiliency
to your ordinary gait.
The second picture brings the back
and shoulder muscles into play and
exercises the throat. In other essen
tials it has the basic principles and
advantages of the first exercise. Ad
vance as before. This time the for
ward motion Is first on the left and
then on the right side of the body
and thus great muscular co-ordination
is assured ofr the devotee of this ex-
is assured for the devotee of this ex
elbows close to the waist line and the
hands relaxed in easy lines from the
wrist. Sway head and arm from sid?
to side as the body pivots slightly
from the waist muscles and the feet
advance in the lifted prancing step of
the dance.
“More power to ye,” says my neigh
bors of Erin’s Isle, In kindly greet
ing. To you—my neighbors across
the sea—I say it, too, "More power to
you;” and may the principles of the
classical dancing I have so earnestly
studied and so earnestly love, bring
you beauty ahd grace and .power to
live gloriously and well.
A TALE OF LOST CHERUBS
“T
*\KE Gudgeon children are
lost!" panted Mrs. Sprinkle
as she flung open the screen
door unceremoniously and hurst in
upon the Liftlck family, variously dis
posed in hammocks and sprawly
chairs.
*'YVh-where?” demanded Llfllck in
telligently as he awoke from a peace
ful dream.
"My goodness!” cried Mrs. Llfllck.
"Again ?”
"They’re truly lost.” explained Mrs.
Sprinkle, excitedly "And we want
you to come and help find them. They
are sending parties in every direct! >n
through the woods and they’re going
to telephone the life-saving crew to
drag the lake ”
"Did the boat tip over?” asked
Liftlck, now entirely awakened, as K e
reached for his cap.
Mrs Sprinkle heaved an exasper
ated sigh. "If they're lost." she said,
succinctly, "they might possibly oe
drowned, mightn't they? We don't
want to leave any stone unturned.
Dire Thoughts.
"Mrs. Gudgeon left Imogene and
Harry playing Just as nicely under
the trees beside their cottage while
she walked down to the pier to fish,”
related Mrs. Sprinkle, "and they were
gone when she came back in an hour
She has called and called for them,
and they are nowhere within a mile!
Imogene had such beautiful eye*. toM
Maybe gypsies ”
"I: will break their mother’s heart*”
said Mrs. Liftlck. "How perfectly ter
rible! I’m sorry I scolded Harry for
breaking off all my geraniums' And
the time he scalded our cat—I might
have made loss harsh remarks to him.
Suppose they've fallen down that old
quarry pit! Arthur, you go right over
in that direction and see! It’s only
four miles!*
Li flick, starting off, ran into sev
eral other men from the various cot
tages bound on the same errand.
"It looks serious,” said Tilton with
a shake of his head. "Kids like that
and so venturesome! There’s a dozen
things that might have happened to
them! I’m bound tor the creek bank,
where it is so marshy! There's quick
sand there.”
The whole summer colony was soon
deserted. Everybody bad gone to
hunt for the Gudgeon children, whose
various sins of commission were now
tenderly covered by* the veil of charit
able anxiety Mrs. Gudgeon alter
nately wept at home and darted out
on spasmodic hunts. Again she would
wander around the cottage making
the air rnig with the names of the
missing ones. There was no answer.
"Harry might have grown up to be
President some day!" said Mrs. Ltf-
flck mournfully. "They say these
mischievous little children always
turn out so well. Dear little Imo-
gene"
"You said she was a hateful child,
mother, when she cut holes in your
new embroidered waist,” put in Sally
Lifflck, who was tagging around that
she might miss none of the excite
ment.
"Sally, you go straight home!”
commanded her mother "Haven’t you
any sympathy at all? The idea?"
One by one the searchers staggered
In toward dusk. Each had the same
tale of disappointment and each was
dusty and thirsty and hungry and de
spairing.
"Something per-perfectly awful
must have happened to them, because
every inch of the woods has been
searched!" said Mrs. Sprinkle. "Poor
Mrs. Gudgeon! Harry was such a
brilliant child!”
"I always said Imogene would turn
out a beauty, too,” put in Mrs. Tilton.
"It’s hard!”
"There never were such darling
children in the whole world!” their
mother informed everybody be:ween
sobs. "Oh, where are my babies?
Just to get my arms around them”—
Harry Found.
There was a shriek and a scuffle
from the little cellar under the Gud
geon house and everybody rushed to
see.
The Gudgeon cook was dragging
Harry out from the depths of the po
tato bin, while Imogene was unroll
ing herself from a pile of old carpet
ing. The assembled searchers and
their parents stared, voiceless.
"We wuz playing hiding from the
Indians,” vouchsafed Harry. "You
made awful good Indians—you yelled
ao! ”
As Gudgeon reached for Harry with
an arm motion that promised a lay
ing over his knee, while Mrs. Gudgeon
did likewise with her darling daugh
ter. the searchers melted away.
"Wow!” said Lifflck as juvenile
wails rent the air. "That sounds good
to me! Four miles to the stone quar
ry and back!”
(Copyright*!, 1913. by International New# Berries.)
Before daylight two thousand more
men arrived, and with them began
the endless stream of freight. Rives
began to feel like a swimmer who has
been bucking a tide-rip. But he asked
that the pace be increased, and he
shut his teeth and Jumped in. Twen
ty lieutenants worked on his imme
diate staff, all of them young men,|
but all of them chosen for the cut of
their Jaws and the cleanness of their
records in stress and storm and strife.
And Rives worked them as hard as he
worked himself. He gave no instruc
tions. There was not time for that.
He told each man what was to be
done in a few curt sentences and left
the doing of it to him.
That third night a terrific thunder
storm broke up the heat wave. It
came down in a terrific gale, and the
first thunderbolt fired a freight shed
where BOO cots were stacked to the
roof, as there had been no time to un
pack them that night. Before the
tire got well under way, the wind
ripped the burning roof off. and then
came the deluge. When day broke,
Rives found that about a third of his
jerry-built houses had collapsed—
and the flood of materials and men
from Toms River set in as before.
It was a terrible setback, but he
shook his head and went at it as If
nothing had happened, and his men
backed him with the easy energy and
resource of men long accustomed to
uneven warfare with Nature. That
day Tunnel City looked like a storm-
swept mining camp. Two days later
it was like the temporary camp of
the great army. At the end of ten
days it was a city with concrete
houses and streets and electric lights
and sewerage—a city of 20,000 men
with a postoffice, a telephone system,
two railroad depots, bakeries, dairies,
abattoirs, stores, saloons and a hos
pital.
And over everything, the discour
aged and drooping trees and the few
.scattered clumps of bushes, the win
dow sills and the roofs, was the
thick white dust of the cement that
had made the miracle possible.
Pages of this and many succeed
ing issues of this paper might be
filled with the details of the wonders
of energy and the mighty toil of
those summed months on the Jersey
coast. And In four other spots on
the face of the earth similar scenes
were being enacted. But terrific as
were the results, grandiose the scale,
the details must needs be tiresome,
for after all they were only digging
a hole in the earth. In this, as in all
other matters of great moment, it is
well to trust to the trained and not
the technical observer. Edgar Hark-
ness, the star man of The New York
Evening Journal staff, was at the
works from the day the first man
reached there. Looking over the files
of the paper for that summer I came
upon a special article he wrote de
scribing the progress of the work.
You can gather some idea of the
tremendous undertaking from his
picturesque but vigorous English:
"This place of bedlam,” he wrote,
iif part, under date of September 11,
of that year, "looks as if it were go
ing up in smoke. To-day the cloud
above it is so dense that electric
discharges like heat lightning flash
across it and there is always a mut
tering like distant thunder, while be
neath its .edges a deep blue horizon
tells that elsewhere the sun is shin
ing. Beneath the Tunnel City roars
and shouts explodes, whistles, thun
ders and yells.
"From the midst of the pandemo
nium and settling over everything
like a white sea-fog rises a mon
strous white column of dust to join
1 the black smoke canopy overhead.
Meeting the heavy blackness It seems
! to spread and mingle with It, form-
j ing a cloud such as observed at the
eruptions of volcanoes. Pressed down
by the colder air above It spreads like
a gigantic umbrella, and little shreds
are whirled away by puffs of the sea
ward breeze.
“S’
Yield to Baby.
One afternoon not long ago in the
vicinity of Grant Park there might have
been seen a young man industriously
pushing up and down a baby carriage,
intently reading a book the while.
‘‘Henry! Henry!" called a young
woman from the second story of a
house opposite.
Henry heard it, but continued to push
the baby carriage and to read his book
In about an hour the cries for "Hen
ry" were repeated.
"Well, what do you want?” he de
manded. rather impatiently.
"Nothing, dear." was the irritating
response, "except to inform you that
you’ve been wheeling Harriet's doll all
the afternoon. I think it's time for
the baby to have a turn now.”
long incline into the bowels of the
earth these puffs that tell of terrific
blasts are shooting up. Great dredges,
attacking the quicksand, shriek and
whine aa they suck up liquid death.
The chain pumps groan and rattle.
Derricks and steam shovels whirr and
dip. Aerial carts whizz past you on
trolleys. Swarms of tiny locomo
tives hustle and fuss around, shriek
ing at each other with shrill voices.
"Sand and gravel flies back to the
town where mountains of bagged ce
ment are stacked, for there must be
housing for 40,000 men before the
cold weather reaches. Here another
army is toiling at break-neck speed
about this gigantic task.
“And all of this is but preliminary
to the real work of the great project.” |
Then there follows a wonderful de
scription of the workings of the great
tidal basins, Allan’s improvement on
the designs of Schlich and Lippman,
the famous German engineers, to
whom we owe the harnessing of the
incalculable power of the tides.
Through his ingenious arrangement
of reservoirs thousands of tons of
water were dumped on gigantic tur
bines every hour of the twenty-four,
and the lift and fall of the tides gave
him all of this power for simply the
cost of original work—less than $5,-
000.000.
The scene, indeed, recalled the
Tower of Babel—a project so vast
that its very conception seemed im
pious.
And this was only one of five such
scenes. In Bermuda, Fayal, at Fin-
isterre and on a great plain beyond
London similar mighty panoramas of
daring were being unrolled. And
Allan, the genius who had provoked
these upheavals, was the motive spirit
of each. He was tireless and unrest
ing. Rives and Mrs. Allan heard from
him in one camp or another, and be
fore they had finished his short dis
patches—so it seemed to them—an
other from some other tunnel city was
laid in their hands or he himself
dropped off a construction train from
Toms River, clear-eyed, smooth-
shaven, and fresh and energetic as
ever.
Rives had built a beautiful little
house for the chief engineer and his
wife on the seaside of the tunnel city,
and Allan encouraged Mrs. Allan to
spend much of her time there, even
when he was in this country. Rives
was the one warm personal friend he
had made in his lonely life, and know
ing how much pleasure Mrs. Allan
found in his society, he was glad to
have her as nearly contented as pos
sible while he darted back and forth
across half the Northern Hemisphere.
They had one child—a little girl,
Edith—and she grew to be almost a
stranger to her father.
Even when Allan was in New York
he saw but little of his wife and
child. His business affairs usually
took him a great deal to the house of
the great Lloyd, w’here he held long
conferences with the old financier or
his daughter, who had the details of
the tunnel at her finger ends.
A Neglected Wife.
Thus Mrs. Allan, a lonely and neg
lected woman, was thrown constant
ly with Rives, an impressionable and
high-strung man, who already held
for her at least a deep admiration.
“Mac is in New York—I got a wire
from him late this afternoon,” re
marked Rives one evening as they
were taking a horseback ride along
one of the wide level roads that led 1
northward from Tunnel City.
"‘Yes, he called me up.” said the
w’oman, with a faintly w r eary note in
her voice. "He said that he would be
busy about the real estate deal for
the next day or so and would have to
go to France within a few days. He
called up from the Lloyds,” she added,
without conscious meaning.
Rives was silent for a few moments
as the horses pounded along the
gravel road, side by side.
"Did he say anything about run
ning down here or ?” he stopped
off short. He had tried to make the
tone nonchalant, but she understood
and bit her lip.
"I know w’hat you are thinking
about, Jack,” she said soberly, and her
voice trembled slightly. “And I wish
you wouldn’t—pity me.”
Rives swore at himself in an un
dertone and tried to stammer out
something light and reassuring.
“You’re too old a friend,” she cut
in, quietly. "It would be just like
you to go and talk to Mac, and that
would be worse than anything else.
He is doing the best he can. and I
know I ought to be happy.”
"Aren’t you?” asked Rives.
"No, I’m not, and you know it per
fectly well, my friend. I am as proud
of Mac as a woman could be of a
man, but I want to be married to a
man, not to a—a—an institution.”
Rives looked at the lightly poised
body and the delicate brown head
and soft eyes that shone like amber
in the moonlight. And he laughed
uncertainly to check the something
that rushed to his lips.
“Oh, well." he said lightly and kind- ;
ly, “it w’on’t be so bad in a little
while. Mac is trying to do eight 1
men’s work and everything is just |
starting now, but when —”
“I know*,” she interrupted grimly. 1
"Everything has been just starting
for months and months. I went over
all this with him a few’ weeks ago
and he told me just what you are
trying to tell me. I only know’ that
1 have been under the same roof with
my husband for 24 consecutive hours
in six months.”
"But, little girl, don’t you see ”
“Oh, yes! I know I am unreason
able. I have cut out about a bale of
newspaper clippings about Mac and
pictures of me, and I ought to be as
vain and pleased as—as—as a wom
an. I am proud of him. I even ad
mit that it gratifies the woman in me
to be pointed out in department stores
and at the theater as the w’ife of Mac
Allan—but that isn’t all that a nor
mal woman wants the man she loves
to give her.”
Rives wisely held his tongue and
there was another little silence. At
last he asked:
"Did you ever—have you ever let
Mac know exactly how you feel about
—about this?”
The woman did not reply at once.
“I went down to Hi* office about a
month ago,” she said at last in a low
voice. “I couldn’t help it, Jack. I
was so lonely ancf miserable. He sent
out word that he was very busy, but
would be out in a little while. I told
the boy to tell him that I wanted to
see him at once. I was mad by that
time. He came out perfectly good
humored, as he always is, and I told
him I wanted him to come home for
dinner and spend the evening with
me. He said he couldn’t and I—I
cried, and I'm afraid I made a scene
—but there was nobody there.”
I
S HE paused, and Rives made no
comment. He was looking
straight over his horse’s head up
the moonlit road, and his face was in
the shade of his broad-brimmed hat.
She looked at him and put her hand
on his arm.
“You don’t blame me, do you.
Jack?”
She felt the muscles stiffen under
her hand.
“No,” he replied, almost gruffly, “I
don’t.”
She sighed. "He told me he would
have more time in a few months, it
would be different, and I said I didn’t
want to wait any longer. I told him
I was going to take up nursing and go
to work in the hospital here—and
that’s why I’ve done it. If I couldn’t
have my husband I had to have some
thing else to occupy my mind. I can’t
bear to be useless, Jack.”
"What did he say when you told
him that?” asked Rives, quietly.
‘He laughed—and told me to go
ahead.”
Again they rode on in silence for a
brief time.
"I suppose I am foolish,” she said
at last, in a wistful tone, “but some
times I wish that Mao had never suc
ceeded in getting this tunnel plan
through. He doesn’t belong to me
any more; he belongs to the world. I
have to live in the light of his halo—
and I’d rather live in the light of a
fireside.”
Rives abruptly pulled up his horse
and turned.
"Let’s go home,” he said.
“I
“’M glad you could get up here,
old man. The storm Is about
to break. Listen!”
Up to them from the street, w’here
hundreds of real estate brokers were
gathered, came a steady roar. Al
lan and Rives listened and smiled.
“You certainly did some smooth
work in a publicity line,” said the
latter.
"It wasn’t smooth,” disclaimed Al
lan. a little resentfully, “and I didn’t
do it. It just did itself. You know—
but maybe you haven’t had time to
see their stunts—but the vlograph
people have been among my best lit
tle advertisers, and they have paid
for the privilege. They have been
showing pictures with miles and miles I
of beautiful houses and department ‘
stores and all the trimmings of a great I
city along with their regular films j
showing the progress of the work—all '
labeled ‘The Tunnel City of the Fu
ture’ and ‘Tunnel City Ten Years
From To-day.’ ”
To Be Continued To-morrow.
By WILLIAM F. KIRK
WAS reading an awful interest
ing short story last night,*
said the Manicure Lady. “It
was about them Aatecs, that used to
have splendid palaces and everything
fixed up in big league style down in
Mexico. The story said that was
many centuries ago, long before there
was even any Irish came to this
country, and it said they was a splen
did race, the men all tall and fair
and handsome and the women regular
cuties. The hero of the story must
have been about eight feet tall, be
cause it said that ho loomed head
find shoulders above the tallest war
riors of their army, and they wasn’t
none of them shorties.”
"I never seen any very tall M<*xi-
cans,” said the Head Barber. “That
Mexican porter we had here wasn’t
any taller than Frank Daniels, and,
he w'asn’t fair, either.”
"Oh, but these people was long be*
fore the Mexicans we see nowadays,"
said the Manicure Lady. “They was
a superior race of people, like us,
only bigger and I guess brainier.
They used to worship the sun, and I
think that showed they was a fine
race, because anybody that worships,
•the sun ain’t worshiping no minor
league Idol.
"I always thought if I had to wor
ship anything except my family and '
my future husband I would worship
the sun. The sun is so big and nice
and warm. But I must tell you tho
story. The name of the hero was Io.
It Is a jerky sort of a name. Io, but
all you have to do to remember it is*
to think of Iowa or an I. O. U.
“Well, this Io is in love with the
niece of a Aztec priest. Her name
is Ilia, which you can remember by
thinking of Illinois. That’s how I
keep the two names so plain. The
priest is a crusty old piece of work,
and he doesn’t want Io to get Ilia
because she has a lot of gold and
precious stones which he has his eyes
on. He says that the gell belongs to
the sun and that he is the sun’s
agent, w'hich the sun doesn’t deny.
"There is some beautiful lines In
the story. When the priest tells Ilia
that she cannot marry Io she says to
him:
.“‘Know this, oh priest of the sun!
Before you there were many priests,
and when thou passest beyond tha
purple horizon there will be many
more priests to worship that orb of
fire and beauty upon which we now
fix our puny mortal gaze. My Io is
my all, so handsome and so strong.
No man like him in all this country
dwells. When in the morn he kneels
before the shrine, still is h© taller
than the puny warriors at thy beck
and call. It is written upon the
waves that roll eternally, written
with the rays of the sun Itself, thati
I be lo’s bride.’
“‘But To like not.’ the priest an
swers. T owe Io a lot of money, and
he presses me sore. Tell him to can
cel that debt, and his bride you shall
be upon the day when I owe Io
nothing.’
"The way the story ends, Io makes
the sacrifice, and he lives happily
with Ilia until they both croak. Gee,
George, I wish I had been living then.
It was all so romantic and different
then. Imagine the average young
Atlantan passing up a lot of money
to get the girl he loves. Not a
chance! He is too busy finding out
if his bride’s father is there with the
fat bankroll. They didn’t think of
money in them days, George.”
"That young guy that just went out
doesn’t think much of money, either.”
said the Head Barger. "He didn’t!
think to give me a tip.”
KODAKS
“Th« Bast f rnfshln* sad Cnlaro-
Ino That Gao B« Produced.
Eastman PIItbs cod com
plete stock amateur supplies..
Act for out-of-town auBtomera.
Sard for Catalog and Pries Lift.
A. K. HAWKES CO.
14 Whltahall SL, Atlanta, Ga.
HIP captains report that when
there is a steady off-shore
wind this dust forms white
scum on the ocean for miles, and
New Yorkers know the source of the
i nuisance that turns their blue serge
' suits gray.”
Here Mr. Harkness drifts off tem
porarily to little things that were im
portant for the day only, and then
goes on to report tip# progress of the
actual work.
“The place of construction, follow
ing its fixed width of twelve hundred
feet, is now nearly the finishing of a
straight inland cut of three miles. It
is laid out in long terraces so that
the construction trains can hold to
easy grades until they reach the last
level, which will be 600 feet below
the level of the sea. Here the actual
sinking of the tunnel itself will begin.
“But the day before yesterdav this
place was a sandy heath, half re
claimed from barrenness. Swiftly it
became a gravel pit, a quarry, and at
last a monster chasm that swarms
seemingly with insect life. Queer Ut
ile busy beings covered with white
| dust that dig and growl and grovel
and toil, gray-faced and dusty-haired.
"Twenty thousand of them hurl
themselves into this mighty ravine
every day. Their drills and picks and
shovels glitter like the sunlight on a
ake. A whistle shrieks a warning, a at our expanse,
column of dust rises to Join the vast Wholesome. dell-
cloud overhead, a colossus of stone, clous, refreshing
wrenched by dynamite from its grip Prepared with the
Of earth: swerves outward and falls StSe^l *w«tfr h a^d
aith a thundering roar. Another puff j the purest flavoring materials.
imoTt PS UP Insects swarm S HIVAR SPRING, Manufacturer.
BINGHAM SCHOOL’S central purpose for 120 years has been
’ , Mt 3 t0 makB Men «f Boys. Asheville climate
world renowned. Organization Military. Two details from U. S. Army al-
lowed to N. C. The A. & M. College has one. Bingham the other. Target and
Gallery practice, with latest U. S. Army Rifles. Lake for Swimming Sum-
mer Camp during July and August. Tuition and Board S160 per Half Term.
$300 a year. Address Col. R. Bingham, Box 6, Asheville. N. C.
THE STATE NORMAL SCHOOL, ATHENS, GA.
Named by a United States Commissioner of Education as being among
the best fitted State Normal Schools in the United States Flfty-slx officer*
and teachers, ten buildings, eighteen departments of instruction, full certifi
cate courses »n Psychology, Pedagogy, English, Expression. Oratory, Math®,
matics. Science. History, Latin, German, Greek, French, Spanish, Correspond
ence.
The Home-Llfo courses are among the strongest in the South. Domes*
tic Arte and Sciences. Manual Arts, Agriculture, Gardening, Home Nursing.
Physical Culture. Vocal ami Instrumental Music. Bight Singing. Diploma a
license to teach. Two Practice Schools. Education for fitness and happi
ness In the home. Total expenses for a year less than $150.00. Write tot
Catalogue. JERE M. POUND. President.
SOUTHERN UNIVERSITY OF MUSIC
GERARD-THIERS, KURT MUELLER, Directors
353 PEACHTREE STREET I-: ATLANTA. GEORGIA
TELEPHONES—Office: Ivy 6490; Dormitory: Ivy 4416.
Among the Faculty—Knrt Mueller. Gerard-Tliiers, Michael Banner
Theo Saul. Allen G. Loehr, W. P. Woolf, Clara Mueller, Eda Bar!
tholomew, Anna Hunt, Julie Banner, Dorothy Scott, Margherlta Carter
Patricia Threadgllle.
INDIGESTION?
Stop it qulokly; Have your grocer send
you one do* bottles of
SHIVA R
GINGER ALE
Drink with meals,
and If not prompt
ly relieved, get
your money back
“As far as eye can reach down that I
SHELTON. S. C.
9L L, APAMS CO., Distributors, Atlanta
WASHINGTON SEMINARY
1874 PEACHTREE ROAD » - - ATLANTA
SCHOOL
THE SOUTHS MOST BEAUTIFUL
DISTINCTIVE FEATURES.
1. Boarding Department limited. $100,000.00 In Grounds and Buildings.
$. New School Building, modern In equipment, with provision far apt
ciaas rooms.
$. Courses in Domestic Science end Physical Training a part of regular cur
riculum.
4. Departments: Kindergarten, Prlmarv,
Music, Art, Expression.
Thirty-sixth Session begins SEPTEMBER 11th, 191S
open-air
Academic, College Preparatory,
'