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MtAGAZINit
One Woman’s
Story
By Virginia T. Van Dp Water.
A LL during that dreary winter in
**“ painfully conscious of her hus-
bwnd's increasing love for liquor. Hut
he never came home really drunk until
one stormy night in late March a week
before the baby was born. His wife
and her mother waited until some time
after the arrival of his usual train, then
took their dinner so that the older wo
man might go to l>ed. This was the
daughter’s suggestion for she feared —
without cause, she told htrself—the con
dition in which the master of the house
might appear, if he came in later. Her
mother did not suspect the truth with
regard to Bert's weakness. She must
not. Ho Mary hurried her up to her
room, and chatted with her nervously as
the preparations were made for the
night. Then, kiRslng her mother, she
put out the light, closing the bedroom
door tightly that any sounds from be
low stairs might not penetrate to the
sleeper's ears
She Remembered.
As Mary washed the dishes and put
them away, she remembered one night,
months ago, when she had sent her
mother to bed and awaited the coming
of her suitor—the man who was now
her husband. She seemed to have lived
a lifetime since then. The dinner dishes
put in the closet and the table set for
breakfast, the anxious wife seated her
self by the lamp In the parlor, and
tried to put the finishing touches «>n
the tiny wrapper she waH making. Hhe
had fashioned all her baby’s dot lies
herself, and this was the last gar
ment. She was sorry that the bit of
dainty work should be done when she
was nervous, for the stitches were
slightly uneven.
“But.” she whispered, with an at
tempt to be humorous with herself,
“baby will not mind."
The whistle of the 10 o’clock train
sounded through the quid village. The
wife folded the little wrapper, then,
with a sudden motion pressed It to her j
lips. "My baby! my baby!” she whis
pered. For his sake she must keep her
self calm. But even this thought fallen
to quiet the wild beating of her heart
as the time drew near when sho might
expect her husband. She began to pace
the door, pausing often to listen. At
last she heard stumbling, uneven foot
steps on the walk, and she hurried to
the front door and fl*ng it open, peering
out Into the darkness.
“Bert,” she called softly, “is that
you?”
“Who the devil were you expectin’
this time o’ night?” queried the man
thickly, as he staggered up the steps
toward her Hhe pal-*d and shrank from
him as he uttered the coarse Joke then,
as he reeled on the top step, she sprang
forward and caught him by the arm.
"Softly, Bert,” she cautioned, ”or
you'll wake mother!"
"And what if I do?” he demanded
angrily. “I expect a man’s got u right
to make all the noise he chooses in his
own house ain’t he? I’m boss here,
remember! She ain’t even a boarder.”
“Yes, Bert. 1 know,” assented his
wife. She recollected that she had
beard one should never argue with an
intoxicated man. Anything’ now to keep
hint quiet. The smell of his breath
made her feel faint, and she shuddered
as she. saw the blurred eyes, the droop
ing jaw and the stained clothes. Her
bert Fletcher had fallen down, and his
trousers were caked with mud. Drunk
as he was. he saw her recoil as she
g’anced at his coat.
"Yes." he said roughly, “It’s pretty
dirty, I know, but you needn’t take on
any o’ your fine lady airs about It!
Many a better woman than you has
had to tend her husband when he was
under the weather. You oughter be
pltyln’ me ’stead o’ lookin' like a white
saint despisin' a sinner Here, help me
off with this coat!"
She took hold of the garment with
trembling hands. But for the thought
of the unsuspecting woman upstairs she
was sure she would have refused to
touch It. He might do his worst What
if he did fly into a rage and kill her—
his wife—what difference would that
make? It would be a blessing If he did
kill her now before her baby came.
Then her common sense reasserted it
self. and, setting her teeth, she obeyed
her husband's commands. When, with
much coaxing, she had gotten him safe
ly upstairs and past her mother's door,
she undressed him and helped him into
bed. Then, when his heavy breathing
assured her that he was sleeping, she
took the stained clothes into the bath
room, locked herself In and scoured the
soiled garments, opening the windows
wide that the cold outer air might less
en the attack of deathly nausea that
seized her. Carrying the clothes down
to the kitchen, she hung them to dry
on the backs of chairs near the range
in which she had already banked the
tire for the night It would not do for
her mother to see these garments dry
ing upstairs in the morning, for she
might suspect the truth. Then the worn
woman crept down into the caller, and,
with as little noise as possible, deposit
ed several heaping shovelfuls of coal on
the furnace If this task were neglected,
the fire would he out in the morning,
ami she would have to make a fresh
blaze before the family were astir.
Her Excuse for Him.
The furnace attended to, Mary Fletch
er got as far as the little parlor where
the lamp was still burning Here she
dropped down exhausted on the glaring
blue sofa. For a while she did not
move, but as she became conscious that
she was growing chilly she pulled over
her the hideous greon-and-yellow slum
ber robe that had been Bert’s Christmas
present to her. and arranged under her
head the hard but gorgeous sofa cush
ion which had been her mother-in-law's
holiday gift to th^ household The wife
felt that she had endured a 1 she could
that to-night she could not bear to sleep
In the room that she and Bert shared
in common. The wind rattled the win
dows. and the rain dashed against the
panes. The listener was so tired that
she could not think, but could only be
aware of her misery
Yet. so drunk was her husband that
he did not know the next morning that
his wife had not lain by his side all
night His bead ached furiously and he
growled to Mary, when she told him It
was nearly breakfast time, that he
would "cut business to-day.”
To her mother the wife said calmly
that "Bert had come home late with
one of his bad headaches, and was so
far from wel' to-day that she would not
disturb Mm, even to have him go to
business.
Nell Brinkley Says
T HE best little swimmer in the seaside colony drags herself out on a wet
rook and sits happy and salty, swinging her silken-clad feet in the fly
ing spray. Her lashes are wet and cling together in little starry pointa.
Her hair hugs her back in sprays of wet gold, close as ivy to a young tree. Her
brown arms glisten. Salt drops bead her cheeks. Every wave that shivers into
arms glisten. Salt drops bead her eh ‘eks. Every wave that shivers into
suds on the rocks sends its reaching spu ue against her face and knees. Her
feet are sometimes, as the sea draws b ck, high above the water—then they
ire hidden in the welter of white and g on. Over and around the rocks it
nours and foams, waving the long bear Is of seaweed on their grim gray sides.
The best little swimmer lifts her chin a id smiles. For the sea and she are in
close allegiance. She is not afraid of him. Her strong brown shoulders and
her deep breast never fail—they carry her far, and when she clambers out of the
sea’s green arms she is as little tired as when she slipped into them. She
stretches her hard little arm and inspects it proudly. She is also very proud
when she remembers the stunts she can do. She swings her feet in the froth
and exults! Suddenly out of the swirling deep water below her a sleek head
lifts and iridescent, flsh-like, lovely eyes regard her mockingly. The hair of
its head is green as jade—and big pink shells lie against its ears. She lifts
one arm from the water and the wet hand is webbed. Far behind her—to
the amazed eyes of the wet girl on ths rock a finned tail lifts from the surf.
She rears her body far out and the seal's that dimly begin at the pale flesh of
her waist are as red gold as the Japanese fish in a lily pond. And then and
there the creature of the sea begins, with mocking laughter, a string of mar
velous exhibitions. She does all the wonderful stunts that the land-girl can
do—and all of those she could do if she had gills instead of lungs in her deep
chest
The land-girl’s pride falls. When she has done, the mermaid circles seal
like below her, leaping high as she faces her, like a wet jewel in green and gold
-—triumphant—and speaks.
“Ho, land-maiden! I saw you showing off this day—showing your little
valor in the sea. What can you do thot stands beside all this’ In your chest
you have lungs that must breathe air or you die. The seals and I are blood-
brothers. You are an alien—a pitiful swimmer and the sea is your enemy!”
The sea creature laughs and dives deep. The flicker of her gold scales—the
jade of her writhing hair are vanished.
The land-girl’s cheeks were hot with envy.
”1 wish I were a LUNG-FISH!” she declares.
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
One of the Greatest Mystery Stories Ever Written
By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN.
(Copyright, 1913. by Anna Katharln*
Green.)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
“Can not you tell me?" pursued Cam
eron, wildly, “or w’ill you not? You
say you love me, show It now. Your
right hand, Molesworth, or your left,
Genevieve or Mildred, which is it?”
But though a strange yearning look
came into the dying man’s face, he
did not stir, and the doctor seeing it
desisted from his efforts and put as it
were all selfish thoughts away from be
tween them, and bending down, rever
ently kissed the forehead, damp now
with the dews of death.
A thrill that seemed to have nothing
but happiness in it passed through the
outstretched form. The hand he had re
fused to move passed slowly toward
Walter, and gave It one earnest pres
sure, then the deep, unrtsadable eyes
closed as It were forever, when Dr.
Cameron, stooping nearer, murmured in
his ear:
“Bridget Halloran walked the length
of the ward for the first time to-day,
and you have received the credit.”
Instantly a smile shone out on those
pale lips and the eyes opened again
with a look that Dr. Cameron was Irt
vain trying to read, W’hen a well-
known voice murmured slowly and sol
emnly in his ear.
“It is all over, doctor; we must find
some other way of getting at the truth
you want.”
The Great Question.
f/r^OME other way? What other
way?” A little time had pass-
ed, and Dr. Cameron stood in
the parlor alone with Mr. Gryce.
The detective meditated. He had
passed his prime, but he was the great
Gryce yet. How should he find his way
out of this difficulty?
“I can not wait,” pursued the doctor,
"for the slow process of comparison and
investigation. I must know at once and
without a doubt whom I have been
cherishing in my bosom.”
“And we.” subjoined the other, "must
certainly know.” And his tone became
curt and businesslike. "What was the
lasrt word from your home?" he asked.
“That my wife had moved again, but
slightly."
An expression passed over the detec
tive's face, which, if it had been seen
by those who knew him best, would cer
tainly have aroused great curiosity and
interest. For he only looked thus when
he had made some famous discovery or
originated some deep-laid plan calcu
lated to settle a vexed question.
“You want to know,” he cried, “how
we can all be satisfied as to which of
the sisters you "have under your roof in
the person of Mrs. Cameron?”
“Yes."
“I will tell you."
And, leaning forward, he whispered
some earnest and impressive words Into
the doctor’s ear.
knick-knacks upon It, and close by. with
her plain, benevolent face turned to
ward the silent form still stretched in
its old quietude on the changed bed, the
figure of Mrs. Olney herself, gazing with
watchful eye and eager interest at the
countenance which to all glances bu*
her own looks out of place upon these
coarse pillows, and amid belongings so
poor and common.
For in the dimness made by the cur
tains and the fast-approaching night
fall, two other forms can be faintly seen
waiting, as all things in the world seem
to wait at such a moment, for the re
newed stir in those quiescent limbs and
fallen eyelids, which would tell of life
returned to this long: unconscious body.
They were those of Dr. Cameron and
Mr. Gryce, and it would be hard to tel 1
which countenance betrayed the most
intent interest though there would have
been no diff'culty in determining which
had the husband’s anxiety at heart and
which the detective’s. The hour was 6.
and the silence something appalling. In
It you could hear but one sound; the
beating of the doctor’s heart.
“You said that the powder you gave
her would lose its effect in forty min
utes,” whispered Mr. Gryce in the ear
of his companion, as he quietly replaced
the watch he had Just closed. “Those
minutes are up. sir.”
A long drawn sigh answered him. Tt
came not from the doctor, who had sim
ply shivered, but from the bed. Mrs.
Olney leaned forward till her lips al
most touched the sick woman’s fore
head, and the word she uttered was:
“Mildred!”
The beating of Dr. Cameron’s heart
stopped, he strained his ears for the
answer or exclamation which was to
tell so much.
"Mildred?" Mrs. Olney again breathed.
“Oh!” came in a soft, lingering note
from the bed; then two dark eyes‘Sud
denly unclosed, and fixing themselves
upon the face bent over them, slowlj
smiled as much as to say, “I am here.”
But in another instant a shudder went
through that exhausted frame and those
two eyes, wild now, and unutterably
searching, flew from object to object
about her, then back to Mrs. Olney,
who, perfect in her lesson, gave her an
affectionate look and remarked quietly,
"You have been ill, dear, very ill."
At which Mrs. Cameron looked again
at the bed, then at the little faded
shawl which had been pinned about her
shoulders and lastly at her hands from
which all her rings had been Taken,
and cried in sudden anguish:
“Is it a dream then? Is there no Gen
evieve, no Walter, and am I only Mil
dred Farley?”
The sound of a step, the smell of
some pungent odor about the bedhead
and Mrs. Olney found it unnecessary
to answer; unconsciousness had set
tied again upon the partially awakened
woman.
One lighted gas Jet consumes as much
air as four adults.
The Jews of New York number about
900.000. one-thirteenth of the entire race.
St. Martin's Church. Canterbury, is
said to be th** oldest church In England
in use to-day.
In China and Japan railway sign
boards bear the names of plat es in both
English and the native language.
The twelve million pounds’ worth of
linen which is the average yearly out
put of the United Kingdom would wrap
the earth at the equator seven times
round.
Portugal is the most illiterate coun
try in Europe 6? per cent of its popu
lation cun not write, in Italy the pro
portion of illiterates is 53 per cent, in
Russia 3ti, in Spain 9. in England 3V*.
A poultry rearer at Domremj France,
has discovered that by mixing cayenne
pepper with tne food of fowls their plu
mage turns pink, which changes to a
vivid scarlet about an hour before a
coming tlAinUerstorm.
THE HEAD WAITRESS
By HANK.
He Had Felt It.
“Electricity in the atmospnere af-
j fects your system,” said the doctor.
“Yes,” said the patient, who had paid
j two guineas for two visits. “There are
j times when one feels overcharged.”
Gryce Redeems Himself.
W HAT is this? Have we not left
Mrs. Olney’s and have we not
returned to Dr. Cameron’s
room? Yes. but something has occur
red here—changes have taken place,
unaccountable changes to one who has
not the clew to the situation. For while
the walls, the ceiling, the fireplace and
doors are those we have been accus
tomed to see in Mrs. Cameron’s apart
ment, the carpet, which has been laid
between the window and the bed, the
curtains which shut off the light and
make a semi-darkness in the room, even
the bed with its coverlets and pillows
are not only different from those In use
here before, but are so strangely out
of keeping with the general furnishing
of this house of dainty appointments
that we are dazed and do not know
what to make of it till we suddenly rec
ognize a picture that has displaced an
exquisite Madonna on the wall opposite
the bed and perceive that we have the
surroundings and almost the look of
that room in Mrs. Olney’s house which
we have been told was the one which
had formerly held Mrs. Farley and her
daughter.
The illusion Is so complete, owing to
the use of a screen which has been
placed at the side of the bed in a way
to cut off a view of the fireplace and
such portions of the room as were out
of harmony with this idea, that we are
not at all astonished to see Mildred's
little stand, with her favorite books and
“I:
The Question Settled.
DO not care for the compliments,
sir.” And yet the detective look
ed decidedly gratified notwith
standing. “I merely wished to satisfy
you and satisfy myself that it was not
the adopted daughter of Mr. Gretorex
whom you had made your wife. The
experiment was satisfactory? You are
thoroughly convinced?”
To Be Continued To-morrow.
Musical.
It was at a musical given in an
old-fashioned country house, and the
soprano was screeching her loudest.
"The room is cold,” complained one
of the guests, "and I would like to
stir the fire in the grate, but I don’t
know’ how to do it without interrupt
ing the music.”
"That’s easy,” suggested his com
panion; "stir it between the bars.”
After
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‘W
J HERE’S Mr. Flakes?” asked
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"He’s on his vacation,” she replied.
"Pretty soft for some guys. You Just
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cheerful word with him. Who's the
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“That's Mr. Governor.” said tha
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ton. That's one thing 1 like About Mr*
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I’m surprised at you. This way out."
No Wonder.
"Do you play any instrument. Mr.
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"Yes; I’m a cornetist.”
"And your sister?"
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“Does your mother play?”
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"And your father?”
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Marie, the cashier. ’{she tried to say j
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