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— By Virginia T Van De Water. CHAPTER XXVII O BEDIENT to her husband’s sug gestion, Mary Fletcher tried to get 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 but 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 me, 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 she 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 1 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 eour 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, I know," the widow j responded quickly. “Pear child, don't fancy for a moment that I 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 be excused if she has taught her son to feel that women ought to do their own work. Naturally, as Bert la a good »on, he takes her tone. 1 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 Panforth. somewhat ir relevantly. "I ought to be happy." But was she° Mary pondered. Pld she not think that perhaps her daugh ter was not as content as she would like her to he? Did she not suspect that Mary did not love the man to whom she was married? And, if so, could she be happ> 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. Panforth took her daughter's hand tenderly In hers. "Tell me, darling," she said, wistfully, “are you satisfied? Are you worried about anything? Sometimes 1 almost fear that you are a tittle 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 1 not he happy here in this cozy little cottage, with the best mother that ever lived, and the man I have chosen out of all the world? Pear- mother,” with a light laugh, "why *hould 1 have married Bert if I did not want to?” The mother laughed, too, and there was a ring of relief in the 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 her closer. "You believe now tiiat I am happy, don’t you, dear?” Mary asked. "Oh, yes, 1 believe It 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, an<1 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 ami 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 head with a gesture of decision- almost of defiance "Rut X 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 ‘ask;“ In fact, that she thought the ex- ar 4 3 fresh air good for her Her lusb&nd did not protest Why should le? His own mother had always done Lady Constance Stewart Richardson on 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 THE TUNNEL KIND SINCE JULES VERNE These Pictures Were Espe cially Posed for this Page. By LADY CONSTANCE STEWART RICHARDSON. (Copyright, 1913, by International News Service.) O NE of your groat Americans sang In an exquisite little poem of “The glory that was Greece; the grandeur that was Home." 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 heignt 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. But in the flower of their na tional health and youth the bodies if the Greeks and Latins were physi cally splendid, and the endowment ■ f mental power followed physical health. In these simple facts ther* lies a great lesson for iu of to-day. In bodily health and strength lie the power of the Individual and the health of the nation as well. I have said so often and am always glad to say again that In the beautiful classic dances that have come down to us from the ancients lies the simplest se cret of bodily grace. Rut to-day I want to add n few principles of bodhv health and care that are practiced of necessity by the professional dancer, and that the bodlh beauty-seeker would do well to emulate. Begin by training children so that their muscles will fall naturally, In motion or repose, into graceful linrs. Tench thorn that food Is very, im portant in rfne way and of no conse quence in another. Food must nourish the body and give it strength, but be ware the plea sureful-overeating of the well-nourished, lU-proportkmed gourmet. Food and Mood. Now, you could danc ■ a cancan a breakdown however you hated th-5 world—*and indigestion surely pro duces misanthropy but you have to be in harmony with life to express poetry in dancin* r . So, since mood affects dancing and food affects 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 I have coffee and hot milk, for lunch fruit and one nourish ing solid and my simple dinner is guiltless of sweets. Clothes I regard as covering ami not as trammeling ornaments that interfere with free dom of movement or deep breathins r . Perehaps if 1 convert a few of rav readers to a love for and a belief in the graceful movements of the clas sic dance, I 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 dance 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 legs 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 right 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 w ith 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 thtn 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 w rist. Sway head and arm from aid* 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 j classical dancing 1 have so earnestly : studied and so earnestly love, bring I you beauty and grace and power to I live gloriously and well. A TALE OF LOST CHERUBS “T "afTE Gudgeon children are lost!” panted Mrs, Sprinkle as she flung open the screen door unceremoniously and burst in upon the Li flick family, variously dis posed in hammocks and sprawly chairs. "Wh-where?" demanded Lifflck in telligently as he awoke from a peace ful dream. "My goodness!" cried Mrs. Lifflck. "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 tije boat tip over?** asked Lifflck, now entirely awakened, as be 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 eyes, too’ Maybe gypsies *’ “It will break their mother’s heart!” said Mrs. Lifflck. "How perfectly ter rible! I’m sorry I scolded Harry for breaking off all my geraniums! Ani the time he scalded our cat—I might have made loss hai >'i 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 mih »' eral other men from the various cot tages bound on the same errand. "It looks serious," said Tilton with a shake tvf his head. “Kids like that and so venturesome! There’s a dozen things that might have happened to them! I'm bound -or the creek bank, where it is so marshy! There’s quick sand there." The whole summer colony w as soon deserted. Everybody had gone to hunt for the Gudgeon children, w hose various sins <»f 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 rnlg with the names of the missing ones. There was no answer. “Harry might have grown up to be President some day!" said Mrs. Lif 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 Rhe 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 w as 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 Mis. Sprinkle. “Poor Mrs. Gudgeon! Harry was such a brilliant child!” "I always said Imogene would turn out a beauty, too," put in Mrs. Tilton. children in the whole world!” their mother informed everybody between sobs. "Oh, where are my babies? Just to get my arms around them”— Harry Found. (Cc^yrixlitad, 1813, toy International 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, r.nd 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 500 cots were stacked to the roof, as there had been no time to un pack them that night. Before the fire 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 post office, 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 sill« 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 he 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 >yew York Evening Journal staff, was at the works from the clay 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, In 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 the black smoke canopy overhead. Meeting the heavy blackness it seems to sprea 1 and mingle with it, form 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. 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- I ing. The assembled searchers and I their parents stared, voiceless. “We wuz playing hiding from the j Indians,” vouchsafed Harry. “You ' made awful good Indians—you veiled j so! ’’ 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!’’ 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 rn!!"« 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 tunnel seems to burst. There ( is a frightful explosion Men are flung to death and. Rives is badly wounded, j 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, somebody 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, ami 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 Bark Club to meat Wit- tersteiner. a financier. At Columbus Circle news of the great project Is being hashed on a screen. Thousands are watching it. Now Go On With the Story. (From the Oerm.n of Remh.rd Ketw.nn— 1 long in- line into the bowels (A - the r.fHon *enrino CopyriKhted. 1913. toy *. earth these puffs that tell of terYmC Fisher v«ri*g, Berlin. English translation and blasts are shooting up. Great dredges. attacking the quicksand, shriek aj\d j whine as 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, far there must be housing for 40,000 men before the cold weather reaches. Here another arr*y 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 be 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 h e saw but little of his wife and child. His business affairs usually took him a great deal to the house of the great Lloyd, where 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 northward from Tunnel City. ‘“Yes, he called me up,” said the woman, with a faintly weary 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 what 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 won’t be so bad in a little while. Mac is trying to do eight men’s .work and everything is just starting now’, but when ” “I know,” she interrupted grimly. “S' Yield to Baby. One afternoon not long ago in the j vicinity of Grant Park there might have i been seen a young man industriously : pushing up and down a baby carriages ; intently reading a book the while. "Henry! Henry!” called a young I 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 d«* 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. 1 think It’s time for the baby to have a turn now.” 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 ■nuisance, that turns their blue serge suits gray." Here Mr. Harkness drifts off tem porarily to little things that were im portant for fhe day only, and then goes on to report the 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 yesterday 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 lit tle 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 lake. A whistle shrieks a warning, a column of dust rises to join the vast cloud overhead, a colossus of stone, wrenched by dynamite from its grip of earth, swerves outward and falls with a thundering roar. Another puff of dust leaps up and the insects swarm into it. “As far as eye can reach down that “Everything has been just starting for months and months. 1 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 I 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 ha\> 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 wife of Mac Allan—but that isn’t all that a nor mal woman wants the man she loves to give her." Hives 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 his office about a month ago,” she said at last in a low voice. "I couldn't help it, Jack. I was so lonely and miserable. He sent out word that he was very busy, but would be out in a little while. I told boy to tell him that I wanted to sck' 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 «nd spend the evening with me. H.e said he couldn’t and I—I cried, anJ I’m afraid I made a scene —but ther\e was nobody there.” S' HE paused, and Rives made no comment* He was looking straight ov er his horse’s head up the moonlit road, and his face was in the shade of his lbroad-brimmed hat. She looked at him* and put her hand on his arm. “You don't blame rne, do you, Jack?” She felt the musetetf stiffen under her hand. “No,” he replied, almost gruffly, “I don’t.” She sighed. “He told mo he would have mpre time in a few yionths, it would be different, and I saia 1 I didn’t want to wait ffny longer. I told him I was going to take up nursing and go to work in the hospital hew—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 to&d 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 Mac had never suc ceeded !n 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. 'M glad you could get up here, old man. The storm is about to break. Listen!” Up to them from the street, where 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 viograph people have been among my best lit tle advertisers, and they have paid for the privilege. They have been I showing pictures with miles and miles of beautiful houses and department 1 stores and all the trimmings of a great I city along with their regular films 1 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. The Manicure Lady I “I By WILLIAM F. KIRK. WAS reading an awful interest ing short story last night,” said the Manicure Lady. “It was about them Aztecs, 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 he loomed head and shoulders above the tallest war riors of their army, and they wasn't none of them shorties.” “I never seen any very tall Mexi cans,” said the Head Barber. “That Mexican porter we had here wasn't any taller than Frank Daniels, and he wasn’t fair, either.” “Oh, but these people xfraa 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 tun 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 the 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 hag his eyes on. He says that the gell belongs to the sun and that he is the sun’s agent, which 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 the purple horizon there will be i many more priests to worship that orb of .fire and beauty upon which we now fix our puny mortal gaze. My Io is rrt*v 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 he taller than the puny warriors at thy beck and -call. It is written upon the waves that roll eternally, written with tbe rays of the sun itself, that I be lefts bride.’ ‘“But Io like not,’ the priest an swers. T iowe Io a lot of money, and he pressesyne sore. Tell him to can cel that dety. and his bride you shall be upon thw' day when I owe Io nothing.’ "The way tlv* story ends, Io makes the sacrifice, and he lives happily with Ilia until 5,hev both croak. Gee, George, I wish I irad been living then. It was all so romantic and different then. Imagine t&ie average young Atlantan passing np a lot of money to get the girl he loves. Not a chance! He is too Jbusy 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 h*oney, either." said the Head Barger. “He didn’t think to give me a tip." KODAKS Th« Bast Finish in a and Cnlaro- Ina That Can 8* Pro4\i®ed. E&otman Films mu} com plete stock amateur SUppHea. ice for out-of-town custinjter*. Send for Catalog and Price LlWt. A. K. HAWKES CO. K D ° E ^ K 14 Whitehall St., Atlanta, Go. BINGHAM SCHOOL’S centraI Purpose for 120 years has been .0°^ m ^ M ^l a B ?r y 0 8 m ««« Tor S300 vXfr Jul r> i ai o ^ugust. Tuition and Board $150 par Half Term. $300 a year. Address Col. R. Bingham, Box 6, Ashevillo, N. C. THE STATE NORMAL SCHOOL, ATHENS, GA. .. state ® Commissioner of Education as being amon| the best fitted State Norma! Schools in the United States. Fifty-six officers and teachers ten buildings, eighteen departments of instruction, full oertifi- P »y cho,0 *>'- Pedagogy. English, Expression, oratory. Math©- en^e 08 * ence ’ History, Latin, German, Greek, French, Spanish, Correspond- HS n S^!i 9 courses are among the strongest In the South. Domes Sciences. Manual Arts, Agriculture, Gardening, Home Nursing, Physical Culture, Vocal and Instrumental Music, Sight Singing. Diploma a a f„ *?**■“*• Practice Schools Education for fitness and happi ness in the home. Total expense# for a year less than $150.00. Write for Catalogue. JERE M. POUND. President. SOUTHERN UNIVERSITY OF MUSIC GERARD-THIERS, KURT MUELLER, Directors 3S3 PEACHTREE STREET w ATLANTA. GEORGIA TELEPHONES—Office: Ivy 6490; Dormitory: Ivy 4416. Among the Faculty—Kurt Mueller, Oerard-Thlers, Michael Banner, Theo Saul. Allen G. Loehr, W. P. Woolf, Clara Mueller, Eda Bar! tholomew. Anna Hunt, Julie Banner, Dorothy Scott, Margherita Carter Patricia ThreadglUe. INDIGESTION? Stop It quickly; Have your grocer send you one doz. bottles of SHIVA. R GINGER ALE Drink with meals, and if not prompt ly relieved. get your money back at our expense. Wholesome, deli cious, refreshing. Prepared with the celebrated Shlvar Mineral Water and the purest flavoring materials. SHIVAR SPRING, Manufacturers SHELTON, S. C. K- L. ADAMS CO„ Distributors, Atlanta. WASHINGTON SEMINARY t»74 PEACHTREE ROAD • ATLANTA THE SOUTHS MOST BEAUTIFUL SCHOOL DaSTLsCTIVE ¥ uaI UKES. L Boarding Department limited. $100,000.00 in Grounds and Buildings. 2. New School Building, modern in equipment, with provision for open-air cI&sh rooms. 3 Courses in Domestic Scienae and Physical Training a part of regular cur riculum. 4. Departments Kindergarten. Primary, Academic, College Preparatory. Music, Art. Expression. Thlrtv-Rlxtb Session begins SEPTEMBER 11th, 1013 '■v.- ;.v • i.lu.-u.-ated ivtaiDgae. P 1-. D. ai.J EMMA B, SCOTT, Principals