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Little Bobbie’s Pa By WILLIAM F. KIRK. V m vu. MU AYED up late with Ma last nite beekaus Pa went to a lodge bank- wet & Ma sed she wud feel lone- up In the country If I dtdent stay keep her cumpany. I guess Ma kind of scared, beokaus wen we the city thare Is always ihe to call up & up in the country isent any poleece. So I stayed Ki It, ' lr <i In ^•/ece Tf was awful good, for him. He Ma & me was up waiting for J. so he dident stay vary long at \ bank wet. He was hoam at 11 | ?ek, but he brought a man with & the man had drank too much ^opane & Pa had enuff too. [later Hathaway, sed Pa, here is >t. waiting for me. Wife, sed hta is Mister Hathaway of Oali- Bobbie, this is Mister Hath- *.y of the Golden West. He is a -»ller & a gen tel man. It does my hart good to run into a Westerner «ffConn, sed Pa & I was telling Mister Hathaway he wud have to stay here tonlte insted of going to a hotel. You have a wonderful fambly. sed Mister Hathaway, wen he was taking off his overcoat, a wonderful fambly. He hadent saw us at all, he was look ing on the floor for a peg on wich to hang his overcoat on. Yes, I think thay are wonderful, sed Pa. “It is a wonderful thing to have a wonderful fambly, sed Mister Hath away. I u.‘«ed to have a wonderful £ambly too, a wife & son, but that was long ago. Thay are sleeping thare last sleep now, out ware the blue Pacific rolls endlessly in upon ti»e golden strand. Then Mister Hath away beegan to cry. Thare, thare, sed Ma. doant feel so badly. Let me hang up your coat & tu|k this chare. These teers are unmanly, sed Mister Hathaway, but wen I think how happy I once was. & see how happy yu-e husband is now, I must weep. Thu workings of Fate are inskru- tabil, he sed. Then he tried to set dow n on the back of the chair & Ma belted him into his seet. T\ll me all about the bankwet, sed Ma. Did you have a nice time? How cud 1 have a nice time, sed Mbner Hathaway. The guests were cmil/ng & the wine was sparkling, hut . cuddent touch it. It wud have chokt d me. he sed. beekaus my hart was iway out in the West, ware the blue Pacific thunders aggenst the Seal RockThen he began to cry sum moar I was out thare three years ago with By husband sed Ma, & we saw all ths >-ieals on the rocks. Thay was very ninning. I thought, thay played around so happy. Of <»urse thay played around hap py, se e Mister Hathaway. Why shud- dent twiy be happy. Did them seals have a«y wunderful fa^nbly lying un der th* ,:green sod of my native state? No, th.fy did not. Who dares to say that they did? he hollered. Nobody, my deer .Mister Hathaway, sed Ma. Plees calm your self. You »huld at leent have sipped sum of the wine, sed Ma. It wud have cheered you up. The wine, the sparkling, mocking ■wine, sed Mister Hathaway. Take it away from me! Why shud I drink it, sed Mister Hathaway Then he went to sleep in the chair & Ma wiped the teers off his cheeks & sed Poor man, I haven’t the hart to skold now. Ma is a deer Ma. Then Pa put his friend to bed. Snap- ■-* ■-* Shots MAIDEN MEDITATIONS. N Fate’s menu most of us have to be satisfied with a half-portion of love and a demi-tasse of happi ness. Don’t be sure that a man is in love with you just because he runs after you; reserve judgment until he gets so I agitated about his cherished "freedom” | and "independence" that he runs away j from the little girl who is threatening j them. The Three of ’Em—Betty and Danny and Billy By NELL BRINKLEY _ ^ . u-1_|— ... _ ^ — - - H ERE they are—the three of ’em. They sing through all my days. Nobody' seems ever to get tired of the sentimental tale of a Man and a Girl and Love 1 Sometimes I think I do—when I’m stumped for an idea and I lean nfy head on my hand and my brain goes round and round—yet always comes back to the three that seem to flicker behind all my days—a Betty, a Billy, and Danny. I appeal for an idea to my mother, or the Gentle Cynic. My mother smiles and puts her brown head to one side. “Why, make a picture of a Man, a Girl—and Love!” And she ends up triumphantly as though she had thought of something new. And the Cynic gives me an amused look from the bachelor face of him and says, “Oh, make a picture of a Man, Love— and a Girl!” He thinks he HASN’T thought of anything new. And they’re both right. It’s new and it’s old. And there 1 go—making a picture that holds the darling three of them— Nell Brinkley Says: Betty and Billy and Danny.—whatever the idea. Here they are—with no idea behind—just the three actors, making their little bow. She is sometimes blond, sometimes gypsy-dark. Always her mouth is full and luring. She walks with the grace of the wind in the grasses. There are always little lines that make her fairy-like on her high-instepped feet. And she is always in love. Danny is a “wishtful, ” warm-bodied slip of a boy—some times called cherub. He has a slow and melting eye and a taking way with him. He is greedy of hearts. He is the big actor in the drama—and even when he is in only a moving picture—where he’ll never hear their praise—-the people clap and whistle. And if you’ve once had his rose-leaf, steel-strong hand around your heart, you’ll remember it, I swear! He looks a jolly outlaw. Billy is—why, he’s the Man. Lots of men don’t like him—but the gifts all do. I wonder what that means. A blond man wondered to me, roughing up his Viking, goldy mop, “Why, you make his hair forever BLACK I” Maybe I have a tender spot for black hair because my own is blond. But that isn’t the whole reason—the why of it is most practical and earthy—I make it black because I need a black spot in the picture so many times—and his head often is the only place for it. x And when the picture cries aloud for BLACK, why Billy’s blond head must go. He is the acto/ with the yearning eyes, the eagle nose, the tender mouth. And he follows Betty with wide arms the world around, crying, “Come to me, picture girl—lift up your lips to me 1” He’s always in love, too. It’s a mutual admiration affair—“arms all ’round!” Here they are, the three of them—the pawns that I move about in different figures day by day BEHIND CLOSED DOORS By ANNA KATHARINE jGREEN One of the Greatest Mystery Stories Ever Written ; The Cure for Jealousy By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. Y OUR husband's sister is jealous of you and wants to get him away from you. does she, little woman? You've been married two years and every time ydu’ve quar reled, it’s been about that sister or something: she tried to get your hus band to do. She makes fun of you and he can’t see it. She gets you into false positions and he can’t re alize it. She makes you believe your husband wishes he’d marry the girl he was so sweet or> before he met you and you cry and tell him you wish he’d married his old sweet heart, ->so there! Doesn’t Do Any Good. And then he's cross and won*t speak for a day and you wish you were dead and she always happens in to see you Just at that time and gets you to say things you don’t mean and, oh dear, what shall you do, and was ever a human being so afflicted before? There, there, little girl, don't cry. It doesn’t do a bit of good, the cry ing. It does harm—-lots of harm— that’s why the Jealous sister Is al ways making you do it, she wants to do you harm, poor silly, small- minded thing, and you are playing right into her foolish hands, you funny little woman, you. Turn right around in those tracks of yours and turn to-day—this very hour. She wants to make you quar rel with your husband—well, don’t you do it. Be sweet to him, sweeter than sugar ever dared to be. Tell him how nice he Is and hosv good to look at, and how clever, and tell him you are sorry for the old sweet heart. She must feel dreadfully at having to give him up—and say you don’t blame her at all for loving him, and tell him you think his sister is sweet and tell sister so, too. Every time sister tries to hurt your feelings, act* as if you thought she loved you sincerely and was trying to help you and be, oh so grateful and so good and so loving. Tell siister how much brother loves her, and how you admire him for It. Tell sister how you love brother and how anxious you are fo^ brother to love you. Tell brother that you want sister to like you—and never, never let her dream that you think she is mean, or scheming, or jealous, or anything that she should not be. Don’t understand, don’t see, don’t realize—don’t you know that a soft bran wall is the beMt thing in the world to keep out a bullet? They’ve found that out In the army. Don’t let a lot of fool tacticians know more than you do. Be soft, be sw’eet, be yielding—and she can’t even touch you. | Don’t Fight Back. Fight back and she’s got you beaten before she begins. That’s what she wants—to make you flgh f . Don’t satisfy her. You won brother from all the re^t of the world full of girln. He must have liked something about you to make him do that. Find out what that something is— and practice it day and night and all the time—sister couldn’t keep him away from you when he was just a sweetheart. * Why, she hasn't even * chance now that you are his wife. Make his home the sweetest, pleas antest place on earth for him. Let her do all the quarreling, all the fighting, all the disagreeable things. AMSOciatc yourself in his mind with all the pleasant things—a low voice, a light laugh, a happy smile, a good dinner, quiet peace; love and laugh ter Sister can never fight that eorar- bintion in 'all the world. Try it and see—you’ll be amazed to And how it will work. Nearly. "Dear Mabel,” he began, "do you love me?" "O-h, George!" "Don't you, Mabel? Just a little tiny bit?" "Well, y-e-s, George." "And if I married you would your father give us a separate establish ment?" "Yes, George." "And take me into partnership?" "Yes, George." "And would your mother ktiep away from us except wher. I Invited her?” "Seh would, George." “And your brothers and sisters, too?" "She would, George." “And, of course, the old gent would settle my debts?" “Of course, George." "And buy an automobile and provide Now that ships that fly in the air and pictures that talk have come true, some genius may discover a way to make platonic friendship work. Be careful about your "innocent flirtations”—it is easy to start some thing, but not quite so simple to stop it when you have had enough. The party of the second part may want to keep on going. gist*. Write the Lehman F-aboratory. Phiia- .klphia. I’*.. for booklet telling of reeo?eriea and additional evidence. (Copyright, 1913, by Anna Katharine Green.) TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. The packet might have been removed from the table before that gentleman took his place at the curtain; and, if so, the probabilities were that he did not even know of its existence. As he asked himself this question, he raised his head and unconsciously glanced about. As he did so his eyes fell on a certain chintz-covered sofa that filled one corner of the apartment in which he sat; and remembering that it was the one article which Genevieve had requested to have brought over from her old home, he rose hurriedly and approached it. It was old, it was ugly, it was uncomfortable; he had never seen her lie or even sit on it, and yet she had not been easy till it was brought into the house and established in this bijou room, where each and every object surrounding it was a work of the highest art and greatest expense. There must be a reason for this inter est in so incongruous an article. Could it be—he did not complete his thought but rapidly stooped and ran his hand around the seat. He stopped suddenly. He had touched something smooth and firm and round. It was a roll of paper, and, the moment he drew it ut he recognized it for the one he was In search of by the looks of the writing upon it and the small thread of blue ribbon that surrounded it. But before pursuing the matter fur ther; before even V undoing the roll he held in his hand, he went in to look at his wife again, for he was not easy long away from her side, and though the minutes had been few since he had seen her, an occurrence of such impor tance had taken place that it seemed a# if hours instead of minutes had elapsed. When he returned, he closed the doors between and took up the roll. About to pierce the secrets of another soul, he had a moment of recoil. But an in stant memory of his purpose gave him tiie hardihood he required, and, tear ing off the simple blue ribbon that held the sheets together, he smoothed them out before him, and took his first glance. Great heaven! this was no man’s writ ing; nor was it such as he would ex pect from the woman he believed Mil dred Farley to be. It was—he stoped wth a gasp, looked around him to see that he had not lost control of his reas on, and then glanced hack. The effect upon him was the same, it Tt was noi his own wife’s writing, it was so like it. Jumping up, h# procured the two or three notes she had written him before they were married and compared them with the lines lying before him. The chirography was identical. The words he was destined to read were Gene vieve’s! written to whom, and for what? This was the secret it had now become his duty to unravel. Glimpses of a Buried History. Meanwhile Mr. Gryce was engaged upon quite a different search. Con vinced by Mrs. Cameron’s evasions and by the ravaging effects of his* examina tion upon her that a murder and not a suicide had taken place in Genevieve Gretorex’s room, he found it had become his duty to discover what motive this petted child of fortune could have had for desiring the death of so humble a person as her dressmaker, as it had become that of the doctor to establish the sufficiency of Mildren Farley’s own despair for the tragedy which termi nated her existence. He went, therefore, to work upon this matter with his usual vigor and pre cision, his method of procedure having 0*1 e point in similarity with that of Dr. Cameron. This was that it started with a fact of which he had spoken to no one and which dated back to the moment when Mrs. Gretorex first heard from his lips that her daughter had been inter ested in a person by the name of Farley. That name—he was sure of it—had awakened memories in the elder wom an’s breast which were connected with some secret she sought to hide and which it disturbed her to think had been discovered by her daughter. . Whatever k the secret was. whether of honor or dis honor. happiness or unhapplnen, it was evidently one that he ought to make his own; for upon these old family secrets present crimes often hang like the final link upon the end of a rusty chain. To Mrs. Olney’s house he therefore repaired, and after some talk with that lady, sat down before the trunk which held the effects of Mildred Farley. But he did not remain there long, for the letters he found were such as he had seen before, and consisted of school girl notes, interesting enough to the writer perhaps, but of no value to one on the search for tiny kind of knowledge. Be sides it was not in the letters written to Mildred that he expected to find the clew he was seeking, if the secret he was after was an old on^, he would be more likely to discover tokens of it in the correspondence of the mother. So he sought out Mrs. Olney again with the question as to where he should look for souvenirs of Mrs. Farley. Whereupon he was directed to an old chest in the attic, which, being emptied, produced more than one packet of just such letters as he desired to see, old letters with discolored writin, some of them bearing the date of ten years back and some of them of twenty. With these in his hand he felt that he held the key to the widow’s history, and going back Into the room provided for his use by the accomim>datlng landlady, he set about perusing them with all the care and circumspection of which he was capable. They were from various persons, must of them women, and il was not long be fore he discovered that those signed with the name of Annie showed the most familiarity with the widow’s af fairs, as well as expressed the most af fectionate interest In her. To these therefore he paid the most heed, and was soon rewarded for his efforts by gaining a very good idea of Mrs. Far ley's early life and circumstances. They were such as are very apt to follow a runaway match such as hers had evidently been; six months of ex treme Joy, followed by sickness, want and growing neglect on the part of him who led her Into this trouble A few months later and the sickness had In creased and the poverty deepened; then some blow, dreadful but keen, called out the hurried line, "O, my poor darling, bear up till I come; you shall not en dure this fearful grief alone!" after which there was a lapse of letter writ ing on the part of this person for months, and when it was taken up again the frequent expressions of sym pathy for her correspondent’s widow hood, showed what this grief had prob ably been; though there were other and less comprehensible allusions to some great sacrifice she had made, which threw an air of mystery over this por tion of the correspondence that for some time the detective found It Impossible to penetrate. Not till he read in a much later let ter. "I hope your sweet little Mildred Is well; I wonder if the other one has flourished as rapidly and looks as well," did the light he was seeking break Tn upon this seemingly commonplace his tory. Then indeed he appeared to catch a glimpse of something tnat might lead him out of the maze ills imagination had’wrought for itself, and he ad dressed his attention to the remaining letters of the packet with renewed in terest. But beyond a sympathetic word here and there, and some expressions of relief that }lrs. Farley had had the courage to resign a part of her bur den In order that the rest might be sustained, he found nothing to corrob orate his suspicions till he suddenly stumbled upon these words at the be ginning of a letter dated from New Y ork: "I have news for you. T have seen her. and she is as much like Mildred as any little lady brought up in the lap of luxury could be like a child who has not always had two pairs of shoes for her feet. I met her as she was going to school. I was on the sidewalk In front of the house, and she passed so near me I could have caught her in my arms. Why didn’t I? "She would only have thought me crazy, and that wouldn’t have done me any harm, while the letting her go by me as if her sweet body did not con tain a drop of my blood did. But her rich dress and the haughty way in which she held up her head overawed me, and I did not even follow her down the street, though I own my heart went after her almost as much as if she had been my own child. What grief, what longing must be yours! I appreciate it now that I have seen with my eyes this facsimile of the darling you have re tained for your own solace.” And this letter was signed Annie like the rest, and bore a date only ten years back. After this Mr. Gryce was not aston ished to fin<^ a change In the direction of the epistles addressed to Mrs. Far ley. From being sent to a small town in Ohio, th^y were .now Inscribed to a certain number in Bleecker street. New York. The widow had moved herself and her child to the great metropolis, and henceforth the letters recognized the fact that a stern conflict was going on in her breast, that, added to her daily struggle for bread, was fast undermin ing what little health she had. At last, words of condolence took the place of words of hope, as the two struggles culminated; followed by sud den congratulations that she had found strength in her weakness, £Tnd had not only been saved from breaking a most solemn oath, but had found in the child who shared her life fortunes a help and comfort that would yet compensate her for all she had lost and suffered. And then a sudden failure on the part of Annie to write; with hurried lines, manifestly from some other member of this same Annie’s household in which hojie was expressed that Mrs Farley was well and news given of the Invalid, as Annie was henceforth called; winding up with this single injunction In the old handwriting, "Do lie careful; Mildred's happiness as well as that of the other depends upon keeping things as they are. Remember your oath." And the packet was exhausted. But what had he not learned? Or, at least, what was lip not at liberty to surmise? Procuring the date at which the first mention of Mildred was made, and stor- irfg up In his deep memory the name of the tow’ll from which came these letters signed Annie, he left Mrs. Olney with a sense of great professional compla cency, notwithstanding the secret dread which sprang upon the track of a crime destined to plunge a beautiful woman and a noble man into a pit of shame and dishonor. What he did with the facts hp now gleaned and what result followed his pursuit of the unknown Annie to her place of residence, 1 leave film to tell for himself in the ensuing chapter. To Be Continued To-morrow. KODAKS "The Beit FlnleMne end €»Uro- Inrj That Cr.n Be ProSu**d." Kutinsii Film* an d con- pletc stock amateur auppllea. Ice for mit-nf-t'wn njatomera. Send for Catalog and Price List A. K. HAWKES CO. K D 0 E D A K 14 Whitehall St,, Atlanta, Ga, you with a handsome dowry?" "Yes, George." "Darling, will you marry me? "No, George!" FRECKLES Now Is the Time to Get Rid of Theae Ugly Spots. There's no longer the slightest need of feeling aahained of your freckles, as the prescription othlne—double strength—Is guaranteed to remove these homely spots. Simply get an ounce of othlne-—dou ble strength—from Jacobs’ Pharmacy and apply a littie of it night and morning and you should soon see that oven the worst freckles have begun to disappear, while the lighter ones have vanished entirely. It is seldom that more than an ounce is needed to completely clear the skin and gain a beautiful clear complexion. Be sure to ask for the double strength othlne as this is 3 °‘d u nd? r guarantee of money back if it fails to remove freckles. 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 Shivar Mineral Water and the purest flavoring materials. SHIVAR SPRING, Manufacturer* SHELTON. S. C. > E- L. ADAMS CO., Distributors, Atlanta,