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■**we^g5!
You can make a satisfying luncheon of
Faust Soatihetti alone—delicious, too. As a
side dish for the evening dinner it adds zest
and savor.
Faust Spaghetti is very nutritious—it is rich
in gluten, the food content that makes mus
cle. bone and flesh. A 10c package of
SPAGHETTI
contains as much nutrition as 4 lbs. of beef
—ask your doctor. Comes in air-tight, mois
ture-proof packages. Write for free recipe
book.
At all Grocers’—Sc and 10c Packages
MAULL BROS. St. Louis, Mo.
Red, White and
Blue
By LOUISE HEILGERS
I T was a rod. white and blue world |
which he saw. All about him
poppies, cornflowers and mar
guerites yielded their quivering: stems
for the passage of his lurching limbs.
Bound around his wounded breast. |
from which dripped blots of blood j
redder than any poppy, were the tat
tered colors of his regiment—red, |
white and blue—the Hag of France.
He had saved the colors from the
Prussians. He would save them still.
His comrades lay dead on the battle
field; behind, the blaek eagles of
Prussia rode rampant, victorious. But
the colors of France were still his.
Never, living, would he yield them.
He remembered the captain’s las*
words, the merry-eyed, handsome
captain who now lay cold as wax
upon the blood-sodden earth: “The
colors, Gustave, mon vleux, save the
colors.”
And he had seized them from the
stiffening hand of the standard hear
er, wrenched them free from the lance
that held them, and bound them about
his bleeding body.
Save the Flag.
Then, turning, he had run blindly
away from the field of red, white and
blue dead into green fields full of red,
white and blue flowers.
It was early mornihg, but the sun
beat warm unon the uncovered fields.
He ran, crouching crookedly among
the swaying grasses, as run drunken
and wounded men. and the long flow
ering things opened and let him pass,
then hid him again. It was as if they
knew w'hat he carried.
Of a sudden, as he ran. he came
upon a hedgerow that bounded the
end of the field. In the patch beyond
a girl, slim and brown and young,
dug potatoes.
He eyed her longingly as a thirsty
man eyes the water.
“P-s-st," he called, quaverlngly.
She raised her head wonderinglj,
one wooden-shod foot upon the eartin
filled spade.
"Who calls?" she cried.
"France,” he said in a husky whis-
per.
It w-as as if a spark from the flame
of his soul set hers afire.
She came running to his call. Over
the hedge he handed the tattered re
mains of the colors to her. His wound
opened afresh as he tore them from
his side
“The Prussians are coming,” he
said. "Save these!”
Obedient, her sun-burnt hands
reached out and clutched across the
flowering hedge at what he held.
"And you—what of you?” she
asked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
■ Run.” he bade her. “Quick, be
fore they come. They will not sus-
pert if they do not see you. '
She eyed him gravely, without sur
prise or remonstrance. One grows
used to meeting men over open
graves in war time.
“God be with you,” was all she said.
“Amen,” he answered, "and with
France.”
For a moment he waited, watching
her speed across the garden, first
casting aside her wooden shoes to
run the swifter, and holding fast to
her brown breast what looked, as she
receded Into the distance, like a bunco
of parti-colored tlowers. Only when
the door of the thatched roof farm
house had closed upon her did he turn
away and crawl, stumhlingly, the
length of another field.
Saved!
At the end he fell prone and lay
quite still.
When presently a detachment of
Prussians came uoon him, they foun 1
only a dead and useless man lying
face downward upon the sun-warmed
earth, a cloud of gossamer midgets
dancing about his head, while all
around him. red white and blue,
stretched the colors of Free France.
But they were merely flowers.
The regiment's flag lay safely hid
den in the brown breast of a peasant
girl-
1^1
Daysey Mayme
And Her F oiks
By FRANCES L. GARSIDE.
F
OR six weeks sympathizing friends
had been asking Lysander John
Appleton if he had the rheuma-
iPmm the Oarnmn of Bernhard K'-'lerrnann—
Berman vruion Copyrighted. IttlH by
lecher VtrUi. Berlin Lnglbih trenelatlnn and
r. nunlat i n by
(Copyrighted, 101 a. by International News Herein* j
TO DAY’S INSTALLMENT
Up-to-Date Jokes
A lad. whose age might have been
guessed as 13. went up to a booking
office on the Southeastern and Chatham
Railway and said to the clerk:
“Two halves to the Elephant and Cas
tle. please "
"How old are you?" asked the clerk.
“Eleven years,” replied the lad
“For whom is the other half?”
“For my brother."
“And how old is your brother?"
“Just a month younger than 1 am,
Bir "
• * •
“Ami the name is to be?” asked the
suave minister, as he approached the
font with the precious armful of fat and
flounces,
“Augustus Philip Ferdinand Codring
ton Chesterfield Livingstone Snooks "
"Pear, dear!” Turning to the sexton:
“A little more water, Mr Perkins,
please."
• * •
Mr Borem: ‘I am opposed to Intoxi
cating liquors as a beverage, yet 1 be
lieve that liquor, rightly used, is a ben
efit to humanity. I am fully convinced
that whisky was once the means of sav
ing my life.”
Miss Cutting: "Perhaps It did. but 1
don't qute see how that proves it is a
benefit to humanity."
KODAKS
Th* Bast FtfttaMng *•# fntnro-
1*9 That Can B« Prsiom4 "
La.* Us* Li Etlrae aad f no-
plete stock amateur supcillea.
Ire for out at to %m oust enter*
for Catalog and Pries LlH.
Sand
A.K.
14 Whlt»h«ll St., Atlanta
HAWHES CO. k “°p # t k
Every Woman
ts interested and should
know about the wonderful
Marvel S'*'**’*’"
Douche
^ourdruggistfor
f ’ " <- .inn .! sup*
f the M A J
¥■ ept no or: • r but
send stamp for book.
Marvel C.„ 4<1.
23i St.. N.T,
I "I 7 ( ’L as are our mod-
^\/ ern means of communica
tion, there is an indefinable
older one that is more wonderful still.
Or how was it that less than twenty
minutes after Harriman had been
roused by a telephone message from
Baermann—the last before the serv
ice was broken—hundreds of men and
women In Tunnel City sensed that
something was wrong with their
mates In the lower workings?
Long before 5 o'clock a crowd had
gathered in front of the administra
tion building, and at the entrance to
th" tubes, and messengers began rac
ing back and forth from one to the
other gathering with the latest news.
H ARRIMAN had had had news
from his son a few flays before.
The boy was dying in China of
some mysterious tropic fever, and he
had taken some drug to make him
sleep. He jotted down Baermann's
brief message, and it was many min
utes before he was even partially
master of himself. By the time, he
was ready for definite action an im
mense crowd, mostly women, had
gathered and were demanding new's.
The first of the trains had reached
the surface; but the workmen knew
nothing beyond the fact that some
thing was wrong—that every one had
dropped work and headed for the
trains.
They began calling to him in shrill,
angry voices. In Rives’ absence he
was in supreme command, as he was
Rives’ chief of staff. He told a new
ly roused clerk to go out and tell the
crowd that nothing definite had been
learned. They jeered at the young
man and ho retired in angry dignity;
whereupon the crowd began shouting
for his chief again.
The Dread News.
Harriman went out. There were
ignorant and excitable hordes of a
dozen different races in the city, and
he knew the necessity for keeping |
them calm. When he stepped out
onto the veranda in the gray dawn
a respectful silence greeted him.
Those people had grown to look oil
the lords of the workings as their
actual rulers, but every second’s de
lay was making them uglier, and their
quick suspicions were spurring them
on.
He looked them over and saw that
they were almost without exception
the wives of the workers.
"I am sorry to have to tell you.”
he said quietly in English, “that there
has been a small explosion in the
south gallery. Something went wrong
with the drilling machine and it blew
up. This is all we know at present,
but it Is not serious.”
There was a low murmur from the
crowd as this short speech was swift
ly translated Into a half st ore tongues
“You mean that’s all you want
tell!” cried a woman, shrilly. “1 wan
na know ‘bout my husband! Is any
of ’em dead?”
The cry was taken up on every
hand. Harriman flushed.
"Don’t act like a lot of fools.” he
barked angrily. “We don’t know any
more about it than you do. Probably
there are a few hurt—possibly some
dead, but we will do everything we
can.”
This little show of temper had a
quieting influence for a time, and the
throng gradually drifted over to the
tunnel entrance. And then Harriman
began to got messages from along the
line that gave him some idea of the
frightful character of th«* disaster and
the appalling confusion in the tunnel.
But the trains were coming out. He
stopped some of the ingoing trains
as long as he dared, for he knew the
swelling mob at the entrance would
recognize the stoppage of the inbound
traffic as a bad sign. All of the tracks
were open for 35 miles in. One of
them all the way. By shooting trains
in to the seventh crossover and bring
ing them back he kept up an appear
ance of uninterrupted activity that
was highly reassuring.
Every man that dropped off of the
outbound trains—the real ones and
the fake ones—was eagerly sur
rounded, but they could tell nothing
—the early arrivals. They had been
on their way out when the explosion
occurred—they were working in the
first two hundred miles and knew
nothing but what they had heard.
Still the crowd waited, storing into
the two dark, round openings of the
tubes that stared bark like two men
acing eyes. And about 9 o’clock came
the first train from the panic district
of the boring. Gray-faced, wild-eyed
men flung themselves from the cars
before the train had come to a stop.
"The tunnel is burning! All hell’s
loose. The tunnel’s burning!”
The thousands took up the terri
ble cry. and in ten minutes Tunnel
City echoed with it from end to end.
Pandemonjum broke loose at the en
trance. Frantic women dashed hither
and yon. screaming the names of their
husbands and fathers and sons. M« i.
I cursed ami shook their fists and
I reached for hidden weapons Several
! women fainted, and here and there
I were bursts of hysterical laughter.
Every man that cam** off the train was
I wedged into the center of a close-
packed circle, to which he told, in
broken, tremulous phrases, the story
I of the terrible panic. Non* knew any
of the details of the explosion.
In the midst of this chaos Harri
man drove up in his car. waving his
hand and shouting. A few hundred
gathered around him. and he bel
lowed at tl\ top of his lungs in a
vain effort to make his words carry.
“Cut this out and don’t act like—
fina’ly decided that she would take
her to Mr*. Mordock, who lived only a
few hundred yards from the hospital
and who e little girl was Edith’s chum.
She had utterly forgotten Harri
man’?* warning, which was not very
impressive and elected to walk
through the fine rain, to prepare her
self for the long day indoors amid
the odor of anesthetics and other
smells suggestive of merciless clean
liness which make a man shiver when
he enters a hospital.
The streets for a time were quiet
and deserted, and there was nothing
to remind Maud of Harriman’s warn
ing. At last she was conscious that
for some time she had been aware of
a far-off murmur wnich was steadily
growing louder and nearer.
They were still on the ocean sid°
driveway, but when they turned off
into the broad avenue that led down
past the hospital to the tunnel en
trance the murmur suddenly swelled
into a roar.
To Be Continued Monday,
Snap-
Shots
1
fools!” he howled. “Haven’t you got
sense enough to know that concrete
and steel can’t burn? There has been
a small explosion and a few timbers at
the far end of the tunnel have burned
and a lot of cowards ran and started
all of this. The fire will be out in a
short time and you need not ”
A heavy atom* struck the floor of the
tonneau just below where he was
standing. Th** next instant another
whizzed past his head, lit* crouched
down, spoke to the chauffeur and th*
car dashed out tin* press and purred
down the roadway in a shower of
stones. He drove madly to Allan's
house to see if, by any chance, Mrs.
Allan had received anything Ilk* a
reply to a telegram he had sent as
soon as he realized what the accident
might develop in the way of compli
cations.
A mob is a great beast. It is with
out moral courage. Being cowardly
it is harmless until it is feared. Be
ing primitive turns to man's primi
tive weapon- tin* stone. This is one j
of the reasons that the streets of
modern cities are paved with asphalt.
Warped and Stunted.
When the distraught Harriman tied
at the first missile the panic and rage
of the horde of mon and women—
especially women—which the habit
of respect for the ruling powers had
held in check, broke loose. A de
tachment of a few thousand pro
ceeded with a rush to the adminis
tration building, where they smashed
* very window in a dozen seconds. A
couple of young engineers appeared
at a window above the entrance with
a revolver in each tyind, and this
cooled the desire to enter and seek
further vengeance. Another assistant
phoned to Toms River for troops,
which were always there in antici
pation of just such an outbreak as
seemed now certain to occur.
Roaring thnats and curses the
fragment of the mob returned to the
great seething horde at the tunnel en
trance, wrecking the homes of a few
of “the bosses” on the way.
Allan’s chief of police hastily gath
ered as many of his men as he could
and rushed the mob. but his handful
were scattered by the first volley of
stones, and knowing how heavily they
were outnumbered he was afraid to
give orders to shoot. An unsuccess-
* ful attempt to break up a mob i-
much worse than no attempt at all,
and the flames of destruction roared
higher.
Behind these men and women there
was no tradition of patriotism, no
conception of justice. For genera
tions they had been bred in social in
justice of the most terrible kind.
Their forefathers had come to Amer
ica as to a land of promise and lib -
| erty, only to find that they had ex
changed a comparatively light politi
cal slavery for an inhuman industrial
one.
' Of this generation that was digging
I the tunnel the fathers and grand
fathers had worked in factories and
mills and mines as children. Only
! the very strong had survived. They
J had produced a race of iron-muscled,
tireless men and women, out utterly
warped and stunted morally and
mentally. For years they had toiled
in the dust and darkness. In a dim
way they understood that what they
were working in would one clay be a
means of transportation under th*'
seas to a mysterious "Europe " But
they worked because only by the
A Heavy Stone Struck the Door of the Tonneau.
WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE
The story opens with Rives, who Is in charge of the technical work
ings of the gnat tunnel from America to Germany, on one of the tunnel
trains with Baermann, an engineer, in charge of Main Station No. 4. They
are travelitaft. at the rate of 11*8 miles an hour. Rives is in love with
Mam!*' A llaw' wife of Mackendrick Allan, whose mind first conceived the
great tunnel scheme. After going about 350 miles under the Atlantic Ocean
Rives 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.
Ho staggers through the blinding smoke, realizing ihat about 3.000 men
have probabl> perished. He and oher survivors get to Station No. 4
Rives finds Baermann holding at bay a wild mob of frantic men who want
t<> . limb on a work train, wmit body 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.
Lined. "The Monev King." John Rives addresses them, and introduces Al
lan.' Mrs A Li a 11 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 back him. Allan, and Rives want him to take charge
of th** actual work. Rives accepts. Rives goes to the Park Club to meet Wit-
tersteinor. a financier. \t Columbus Circle news of the great project is being
flashed on a s tven. Thousands are watching it. Mrs. Allan becomes a lonely
and neglected woman and is much thrown in thtf company of Rives. Sydney
Wolf, the money power of two continents, plots against Allan and Rives.
Now Go On With the Story.
direst toil could they live, and they
worked not for an impersonal corpo
ration, but for a man the whole world
knew ns "Mac." He was the father
of their well-being and their meager
pay envelopes, and by tin* simple ex
tension of this primitive logic he was
just surely the author of.their mis
fortunes. If he had deliberately
planned the execution of their mates
they oq,u Id not have been more clam
orous for his blood.
They stood In close-packed thou
sands in th** rain and waited and
waited with yells and threats for the
last w ord from underground. Thor *
was a long delay in which no trains
ittsued from the staring darkness of
the tubes, but at last the train that
Baermann had tiled to hold at the
cost of his life roared out into the
light. "We’re the lavt— no more!” the
laborers sobbed and yelled as they
piled out of tilt cars in a mad rus ; . a«j
if fearing they might be taken back
into the hell which they had escaped.
For a moment there was stunned si
lence. as the dulled wits of the mob
strove to grasp the magnitude of the
blow that had wiped out 3,000 hus
bands and fathers and sons.
Then it was broken by the shrill,
hysterical screaming ot a woman un
der the lee of one of the cars. She
was standing or crouching over the
last man to leave the train. He had
been carried off, dead, stabbed to
death in a tight for place on that
"last train.’’
‘Vesare! Ce^are!” -'he shrieked,
again and again.
And then there was bedlam.
Telling Mrs. Allan.
No word from Allan at the office.
Harriman dashed at top speed
through the streets to the chief’s
house. He passed scores and hun
dreds of shawled women and coatless
men hastening all in one direction—
toward the tunnel. He closed his eyes
and tried to rally his mind, still par
tialis numb* d from the effect of the
narcotic and the suddenness ot the
disaster. Leaving his car at the curb,
he ran lip the steps of the oceanside
home and asked to see Mrs. Allan at
once.
"She'.*-* just rising, I think,” the
maid told him.
"Please tell her it is very impor
tant. Do you know if she has heard
from Mr. Allan?” <
"A telegram just came a moment
ago. I don't know w hom it was from. ’
"Please tell her I would like to se^
her at once.”
Maud came down in a dressing
gown with the telegram in her hand.
"What is it, Mr. Harriman?” she
asked pleasantly, but with a shade of
anxiety. “Has anything happened?
Can you explain this?”
She* handed him the telegram. It
read: “Will be home to-night. Don’t
worry.”
"Do you know what's happened ill
the tunnel?” he asked abruptly.
"No; my maid said she had heard
there’d been an accident.” She was
regarding the usually composed engi
neer with some wonder. “Is it very
serious?”
A Terrible Shock.
"T am afraid it is." he replied,
gravely but quietly. There was no
sense in alarming a woman.
“What is it?” she demanded
quickly.
“There’s been an explosion at the
extreme end of the boring on this
side,” he told her. “We don’t know
yet how serious it.is. but I am afraid
that a lot of men have been hurt—
perhaps killed.”
Maud suddenly went deathly white
i and unconsciously crushed the little
I Yellow paper in her small fingers*.
"Where is Ja—Mr. Rives?” she
i asked, forcing herself w ith tremen
dous effort to'spea-N steadily.
The gray-haired man passed his
hand across his closed eyes and shud
dered.
“I wish to God I knew!” he ex
claimed. “1”
“He was—down there?” Her lips
were white, but her manner w as cairn.
"I’m sorry, but he was. It isn’t any
use. Mrs. Allan.” he said desperately,
“I can’t conceal it from you. I’m
afraid the accident is just about as
bad as it can be. That’s why I’m
crazy to get Mr. Allan here as quick
ly as possible. I’ve got to get along
now. and—by the way, there is likely
to be a good deal of excitement, and I
wouldn’t roam around much if I were
you.”
“I won’t," said the woman, dully.
And he was gone
Maud groped her way back up
stairs to her dressing room, where
she locked herself in and sank into a
chair, stunned. So this was the
quick end of all of it! Minute after
minute slipped away, and she tried in
vain to rally her whirling thoughts
and think clearly while that one sen
tence rang over and over again in her
ears—“this i< the end of it all.”
It was characteristic of her that she
did not weep as the full realization
came to her. In spite of the fact of
her marriage and her child, some
thing had come to her of which she
had long ceased to dream—the stain
less love of a knightly hearted man.
She had hardly slept in the night for
the wonder of it. She had felt that
she was not worthy, that this was not
for her, and here was the proof. She
knew* enough of the tunnel workings
to know that if there had been an ac-
I eident. and Rives had not been heard
from, it was because he was incapable
of action—dead or dying.
Then came a swift rush of rage and
bitter rebellion against the tunnel and
all who wrought in Its name. What
had it brought her but misery? It
had cost her her husband first, and
now the one man who was of fiber
fine enough to place her love beyond
all else had been swallowed up in its
maw in the twinkling of an eye. About
her were thousands who were toiling
swiftly toward the grave in pain and
weariness. Probably thousands ot
these had been wiped out with Rives,
and as many thousands of women
found themselves that day as desolate
as she.
She would leave that day and go
somewhere where she would nevei
hear the accursed word “tunnel”
again, and—then came a timid knock
at the door, and little Edith’s vdice
calling.
A poet who knew women—as poets
are likely to—once told in graceful
little lines of a woman whose lord
| w as slain, and who could not be in-
| duced to weep until a wise nurse put
I her child in her arms. Five minutes
; after Edith had snuggled into her lap
i the mother had given the woman a
i new and cleaner vision.
“You run along now, darling, and
I get dressed,” she told her with a kiss.
I “You’re going out with mother.”
The Mob.
The anger and bitterness had
| passed. She was no longer the lover
j robbed of her love. She was a w om-
l an, and all about her was the call to
| which a woman is never deaf—the
cry of suffering and grief and misery,
j Hundreds would be injured and they
| would be brought out and taken to
the hospital. There would be wives
; and mothers to console and comfort,
i The hospital forces and supplies
| would probably have to be reinforced
‘ from other cities. All this was part
! of her chosen work, and this was the
I one time that she must not fail.
When they w ere about to leave she
i reflected that the hospital of all
places would be the last one for Edith
; to spend the day. But to-day. more
i than any other, she felt reluctant to
I leave the child with the servants. She
-> HE bitter wound set to our
keenest pain
Time soothes;
| The furrow in our brow will go
again—
Time soothes.
If memory wakens suffering at last,
We feel;
Life moves in struggle to forget
the past.
Hearts heal.
But still the wound a little scar
has left—
Dream days
Arise in thought—of sing hey are
bereft.
There stays
tout memory that stiss the old re
frain.
A little sob sounds in the heart
and brain,
And then “to-day” is here again.
Time soothes.
• • •
What a grim thing it is! that you
and I
So intimate, so bound by every tie,
Can never read each other’s secret
thought—.
Must be contented with the glimpse
we’ve caught!
Can face each other calmly, eye to
eye,
And. with our souls protesting, speak
a lie—
That while you wound me with in
difference,
Or cruel Words, or meager recom
pense, your heart with love for
me may be aglow’.
Y r et looking in your eyes—I can not
KNOW.
A FICTION LESS FABLE.
There was once a woman whom Life
hurt. It drained her heart of joy, and
left it empty and throbbing with sor
row. She bore it moahing for a time
and then she set about filling the empty
shell. She seized upon all the things
that lay near at hand and packed them
tightly into the throbbing loneliness of
her barren heart.
There were Cards and Song and
Dancing and Wine and Gay Compan
ions and Loud Merrymaking, and she
forced them all—a motley company—
into the cold emptiness of her desola
tion. Oblivion and the forgetfulness she
sought did not come, but fever and ex
citement kept her brain whirling far
away from the sadness of reality.
It chanced one day that True Love
passed by, and he stopped at the door
of her heart. He knocked, but the ears
of her Soul were dulled with minstrelsy
and its eyes were blinded by the glare
and glitter of revelry, so heither Heart
nor Soul could tell the woman that he
who stood without w r as True Love.
At last—and timidly—Love opened the
door of the Heart that offered him no
welcome. but when he saw how crowd
ed that heart was with tinsel and paste
Jewels, he sighed. "Alas! there is nu
room for me." and went his way.
And the woman went on playing that
she was happy and content.
But Love—hurt and slighted—would
not pass that way again forevermore.
—LILIAN LAV FF ERTY.
tism.
"No," he w’ould reply sadly, trying to
make his legs, which were twisted like
Harry Lauder’s walking stick, stay on
the same sidewalk—"I am sleeping in
the hammock.”
“Your face.” the boys had been-saying
to Chauncey Devere alT summer, “looks
as if you had the smallpox.”
‘ Mark's of the buttons on the parlor
lounge,” was his reply.
Women stafid martyrdom better,
thriving on it in a measure, and Mrs.
Appleton and Daysey Mayme bore no
marks of trying to curve their forms
over the trunk top and around the flour
and sugar boxes on the pantry shelf.
No war cry such as “Remember the
Maine!” ever Incited soldiers to greater 4
deeds of frenzy and devotion than the
words "Remember, we have guests,"
have incited women.
"Where," asked Lysander Johtn one
morning, trying in vain to straighten out
his legs in such a way he could have
both in the kitchen at the same time,
"are my gray hat and gray suit?”
“Your hat,” replied his wife, “is on
the top shelf of the closet of the room 4
occupied by Mrs. A.; your coat is under *
three rows of dresses in the closet of
the room occupied by Mrs. B., and your
trousers are being pressed under the
mattress of the bed on which Mrs. C. is
sleeping They left word last night they
didn’t want to be wakened before ten
to-day, so go back to your hammock till
they leave their rooms.”
The Solution.
Half an hour later, forgetting*his di
lemma, she carried off the suit lie had
been wearing to the cleaner's.
A few minutes later the telephone
rang, and Lysander John, realizing that
his wife had gone out and his daughter
was still asleep on the pantry shelf, fell
6ut of his hammock to answer it.
The offTce is on fire,” called hds as
sistant. “Better get a taxi and. come
at once.”
He couldn’t find his brown suit, and,
remembering his wife’s directians of
where he would find the gray, burst
into the room occupied TTy Mis. A.
Fire!” he managed to stammer, trying
to make the closet door shield hdm, as
he threw out layer after layer of skirts,
petticoats, waists, kimonos, jackets,
dresses and coats. "Fire!” he screamed,
growing so excited he threw the gar
ments out of the window in trying to
dig his way down to his coat.
"Fire!” he howled a moment later,
pulling down twenty hat boxes from
the shelves of the closet of the room
where slept Mrs. B. and pitching them 1
out the window.
“Fire!*’ he howled in greater despera
tion in the third room, upsetting the
guest out of bed in an effort to get his
trousers from under the mattress, and
“Flre!“ “Fire!” "Fire!" began all the
guests at once, thinking the house was
ablaze.
In the excitement Lysander John *
failed to find what he wanted and rushed
out of the house with a pale pink pic
ture hat on his head, a blue silk ki
mono over his shoulders, and his Harry
Lauder walking-stick legs concealed in
a petticoat.
“I refuse to be bailed out,” he said
defiantly next day to a friend. "I am a
guest here, ^nd it is the first chance
I’ve had to sleep on a bed all summer.’*
Fiction.
In Aiken they tell this story as having
happened in Augusta, but in Augusta
they tell the same story on a clergyman
of Aiken:
“A very devout clergyman decided to
take up golf as a means of outdoor
exercise.
"Buying a kit of tools and hiring a
caddy, the good man hit the trail for
the links and teed up for a drive-off.
At the first swing he missed the hall by
about six yards. At the next swat he
got a little nearer, but was still too far
away to cause the ball any great in
convenience.
"Several more swings that racked his
ribs, and finally the clergyman hit the
little sphere. Instead of beautifully sail
ing away over the scheduled route, how
ever, it took a side road at the right an
gles, ricocheted down over in the box
cars and semaphores.
“ ‘That settles it,’ exclaimed the dis- y
appointed clergyman In a decisive voice,
‘I have got to give it up!’
" ‘What!’ exclaimed the caddy, won*
deringly. ‘Give up golf?’
“ ‘No,’ was the quick response of the
clergyman, ‘the ministry.’ ”
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