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said the Manicure Lady. “I had a
awful good time. George. It didn’t
seerr. like going to them running races
where the betting ring is the whole
thing, and where a lot of foxy book
makers used to take away the money
of a unrespecting public. The kind of
racing I seen was the cleanest I have
saw for a good many years.”
‘‘I like the runners,” said the Head
Barber. “There Is more action every
way to a running race. And there is the
chance to win a few dollars, kiddo.”
“Yes, and there is the chance to lose
a few dollars, too,” said the Mani
cure Lady. “I am awful glad that kind
of racing is stopped. I know that It
made an honest bookmaker or tout go
out and do some real work for a living,
but think of the blessing that the stop
ping of races was to thousands of fam
ilies. Think of all the heads of fami
lies that comes home now with iheir
week’s pay and hands It over to buy
shdes for the baby Instead of losing It
the way they used to. I tell you, George,
you will never know how much misery
was caused by racing the way It was
ran the last few years it lasted In the
city.”
“There was a lot of money won, too,”
argued the Head Barber. “I remember
one time I had $2 on Sailor Boy, one
of Father Bill Daly’s horses. 1 won
two hundred dollars, and gave the wife
half. of it. The bettors didn’t always
lose, kiddo.”
“None of them ever won anything in
George I know lots of men that makes
bets wins money, because somebody has
got to win the same as a lot has got
to lose. But the money that you win
gambling aln’t # thought of respectful by
you. You won It easy and easy It goes.
When a n an works hard all day chop
ping wood for $2 he Is liable to look at
the $2 a long time before he buys
pint of wine with it. But when he wins
$2 on a horse or in a game of dice, the
first things he thinks of is wine and
women, and goodness knows that
much money won’t go far in a swell
cafe except for a tip to the hat boy. No,
George, gambling ain't lawful, and It
ain’t good no matter how you figure it!”
“You sure have got a awful moral
streak on this morning,” said the Head
Barber. *‘I never thought you would
get so sour on a little gambling. You
won four dollars from me last week
when I bet you on the Crackers, and
I notice you took It without giving me
no lecture on the evils of gambling."
“I wasn’t speaking about the pleasure
of gambling and winni »g,” said the
Manicure Lady. “I was thinking about
the awful misery that Is caused when
folks loses their money. And I want
to tell you, George, I wan sorry to take
that four dollars, because I was afraid
your wife might need It. I made up my
mind then that I would never gamble
again, George, unless you want to bet
four more on Mobile against Atlanta.
I’ll take the Crackers, so as to give you
a chance to get your money back.”
The Question of Winter and Spring
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
DEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
In the office where I am em
ployed 1 come in contact with
quite a few men, and one of them,
a widower, has asked me to mar
ry him. I am a young girl
eighteen years of age and have a
very nice home, good parents,
and belong to a nice, respectable
family. I know my parents would
not like me to marry this man,
as he is 45 years of age. I told
him that, and he wants me to
elope with him. Now, I think
if I did that the neighbors would
have a very bad opin 5 on of me,
and then I know my mother and
father would worry about me if
I were to run a way. When he
came In the office one day he
caught me talking to his son, who
is 23 years of age. and he was
furious and said I should marry
him at once.
He has plenty of money and
can give me everything I like, but
I do not love him—but Tike him.
I think, ns he ^avs. that after we
are married I shall learn to love
him. Do you think I will?
He is very good to me and says
he will always love me. He is
nice looking and dresses rrrelv
He said I should tell my mother,
and if she says ves. why, then
we’ll have a church wedding, but
if not. that we will be married
anyhow, but not have a wedding.
Please, Mis'3 Fairfax, what should
I do? SUE.
S o he is very good to you and says
that he will always love you—
1‘ttle Sue—of the wistful heart?
Well, what do you suppose he would
be and what would you expect him to
say—when he is trying to get you to
marry him, pray tell?
He certainly Isn’t going to be bad
to you and tell you that he is only
going to love you while the honey
moon lasts, is he?
At That Picnic.
Not if he’s* really trying to get you
for a wife.
Deceitful—do I mean that he is
that?
Not the leastt little bit in the world
do I mean that—but whisper—the
101 HER
SO POORLY
Could Hardly Care for Children.
Finds Health in Lydia E.
Pinkham's Veget able
Compound.
Bovina Center, N. T.—fix
years I have not had as good health
as I have now. 1
was very young
when my first
baby was bom
and my health
was very bad aft
er that. I was
not regular and
I had pain? in my
back and was so
poorly that I could
hardly take care
of my two chil
dren. I doctored
with several doc
tors, but got no
better. They told me there was no
help without an operation. I have
used Lydia F Plnkham’s Vegetable
Compound and It has helped me won
derfully. I do most of my own work
now and take care of my chi dren. 1
recommend your remedies to all suf
fering women.”—MRS. WILLARD A.
GRAHAM. care of ELSWORTH
TUTTI.E. Povina Center, N. Y.
Lydia E. Plnkham’s Vegetable Com-
.pound, made from native roots and
herbs, contains no narcotics or harm-
|ful druga, and to-day holds the record
of being the most successful remedy
we know for woman’s ills. If you
need such a medicine why don’t you
try it 7
If you have the slightest doubt
that Lydia E. Plnkham’s Vegetable
Compound will help you, write to
Lydia E. Pinkham Medicine Co. (con
fidential) Lynn, Mass., for advice.
Your letter will be opened, read and
answered by a woman, and held in
iBtrict confidence.
other day at the picnic do you re
member how very, very hungry you
were, and how you wished that the
chocolate cake had five layers instead
of three—when you saw old Aunt Su
san take it out of the basket?
The chicken looked so good, too—
didn’t it?—all nice and brown and
ilaky, and, dear me, who made those
delicious little cakes, all sugar and
spice—that was before luncheon.
After luncheon you were thirsty—
awful thir • - and you wouldn’t have
traded a good cold glass of lemonade
for all the chocolate cakes , in the
world and ten dozen frosted cookies,
would you?
You weren’t deceitful about It at all,
were you—von were just hungry —
before luncheon. That’s the way with
a nice, amiable looking man—some
times.
Before marriage he’s hungry—and
he talks like a hungry man; perhaps
after the honeymoon he may not quite
agree with his own opinion of you—
lust now. Did you never stop to think
of that?
You’re 18 and he’s 45—a bad bal
ance in the bank of years. I’m
afraid. It would be all right if you
loved the man, but you say you do
not.
And then that little affair of the
«on—it looks as if the gentleman was
a bit disposed to be jealous—If he’s so
furious to see you talking to his own
sen before you marry him what would
he be to see you talking to anybodv ,s »
son on earth after vou are married?
What sort of a girl are you, any
how? The time has gone by when
g’rls marry just to be married—it
doesn’t pav any more—it never did
nay, for that matter. Only women,
are just beginning to find that out.
You are not in love with this man
—the only thing you can find to say
in his favor is that he has plenty of
money and can give you everything
vou want—can he? Will he?
Is everything you want to be
bought at a shop, like a pound of
steak and paid for—like a doctors’
v'eit ? I don’t believe it—I can’t be
lieve it .
Ought to Count.
Why. the very day after you mar
ried this man you might meet the
one you could really love—what
than?
Sense—prudence—principle, oh, yes,
these thioes all ought to count—In
such a case—hut are you sure they
would count—In your own particular
one?
Cleverer women than you have
thrown their lives awav in Just such
a bargain as this. Don't you do it
tittle Sun—dont’ you think of doing
Manev and position and fine clothe?
seem to count a whole lot more than
t^ev do—old Mother Nature doesn't
ID-ten to them one minute,
Walt till you fall in love. Sue, and
they marrv—and be happv—if it's
only for a month or so—be hanpv for
once _ and laugh at the grim old
world. You’ve found the secret of
it ail in that one month—after all.
Boost.
An Atlanta lawyer Is held respon
sible for this:
"Boost, and the world boosts with you,
Knock and you're on the shelf.
For the world gets sick of the one
who’ll kick.
And wishes he'd kick himself.
"Boost when the sun is shining,
Boost when it starts to rain;
If you happen to fall, don’t lie there
and bawl,
But get up and boost again.
"Boost for your own advancement,
Boost for the things sublime,
For the chap that's foifnd on the top
most round
Is the booster every time."
KjP-vS
Ji
j
§
i&j-"
For late bathing days.
craze In bathing
suits Is for the
silt skirt garment,
and If you see
some excuse for
the split skirt
of the hobble
type, where the
cut comes at the
ankle in order to
enable the wearer
to walk, perhaps
you can also
figure out a cut
In a knee-length
skirt that the
wearer may swim.
Here we picture
the prettiest
example of the
new fashion
freak we have
seen.
Black mohair
v
forms the
bloomers that are
banded In at the
knee andfastened
at the side with
round white
buttons.
The same materi
al is used for the
one-piece top
garment, which
Is caught
around the waist
In a fashion
borrowed from
the bathrobe.
For this belt
and bow and
for the trimming
of the suit
hercules braid
two Inches wide
Is used, and
to outline neck,
sleeves and skirt
cut high at the
sides a half-inch
braid Is used.
Bands of this
narrow braid
hold the two
apron-like parts
of the skirt
together and
strap the sleeves,
which are cut
In a bishop's mitre
line to match
the skirt.
The home dress
maker may copy
this suit for
about two dollars.
© © The Manicure Lady © §
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
A NEWPORT STYLE |
Fully Described by Olivette
^TTJT? "PT T\T\TT7 t greatest story of its
InL 1 UlNlNlCJLf KIND SINCE JULES VERNE
Joy of a Bachelor
Son
14 T vv * lo 80010 trotting races up the long run,” declared the Manicure
i"?^^ 1 WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE
•
• • •
The Caged Bird
By LOUISE^ HEILGERS.
•
• • •
•
In Baltimore.
Justice Mandanzehl’s commitment of
Jim Roye colored, to the house of cor
rection may be Iackftig In legal essen
tials, but his spelling Is not open to
criticism by those who admire pictur-
esqueness and orlginalty. When he com-
mtted Roye on the charge of “Passing
bad money Vargrence and hablteral des-
tervence of the peace and not insaen.”
he may have offended against the prin
ciples of law. but he performed a liter
ary feat that would have created envy
In the mind of Dogberry.
Won’t Stop.
Prattle (to his wife)—You don’t seem
to have the courage of your convictions.
Mrs. Prattle—I should like to know
how you come to that conclusion?
Prattle—You say it’s no use talking,
an<i then you talk for hours.
S HE had never thought to own any
thing so beautiful.
For so long had her/cage hung
empty or. the wall that she had given
up all hope of ever finding a tenant
for it; and then, suddenly, one morn
ing, this beautiful bird had dashed
Into her life, with plumage of scar
let and orange and green, and with
sapphires for eyes The sunlight upon
its feathers dazzled her. When it
poured out its* heart in song it was
all the sunlight dancing upon the
earth. Never before had she been
so happy.
Color in Her Cheeks.
A little color crept into her pale
cheeks; she took pains over her hair,
she sewed lace frills or. to the collar
and cuffs of her plain blue gown.
The young man over the way who
had at first taken little interest in
i her began to tnink about her as quite
good looking.
I It was, by the way, shortly after
the advent of the young man over the
way that the empty cage In the hous j
opposite had found its brilliant ten
ant.
But so simple was the little owner
that she never connected the rainbow
bird with the way the voung man
from over 'he way looked at her, or
the way in which he held her hand,
nor yet the way in which (presently,
not just at first, of course) he kissed
her. Love that has been properly in
troduced takes at lea?t a for.night to
become thorougnly acquainted.
She not only dimly noted that it was
whenever they were togetner, .she
and the young man over the way
that the bird teeme^ to sing the loud
est. the notes thrilling from its throat
as the golden fire flowers fall from the
I Copyrighted. lil». by lBt*m»tlon*l New* ttarrtc*)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
There was not a sound now but the
fatnt ticking of the valves on their
oxygen generators in the helmets Al
lan groaned as he picked his way
over the field of the dead staring up
at him In the lantern light with hor
ribly distorted faces. These were the
vanguard of that awful army of de
spair that had staggered through the
smoking ruin with Rives.
Rives was not among them, but
suddenly out of the dense smoke a
man appeared and dropped at Allan's
feet. He wore only a tattered pair ot
trousers. Allan qulcxly flashed the
light in his face. It wa s not Rives.
With Lefevre’s heip iuey carried him
still breathing feebly, back to the
train.
Two doctors took him in hand, and
in a few minutes they had brought
him to a consciousness of his sur
roundings. Under the further stimu
lus of a drink of brandy he was able
to talk a little. His first statement.
In broken English, which showed that
he was a French Canadian, was that
the Virgin had saved him. Lefevre
began questioning him, gently but
swiftly, in his own tongue.
He said that he had been uncon
scious at least once before. He had
been revived by a current of fresh air
blowing across his face. He had tried
to get out of the tunnel and found
that the smoke was too thick. He
was trying to work his way back to
the fresh air when they liad found
him. He did not understand that In
the smoke he had turned completely
around again.
Allan muttered an eager exclama
tion.
"That means that the ventilating
plant is making headway against the
smoke," he cried. "There’s a "hanee
for some of the others! Ask him if he
heard anything of any others."
"Yes," replied the rescued, eagerly;
"I heard somebody laughing severa.
times.”
"What! Laughing?" exclaimed Le
fevre.
“Yes," was the solemn reply.
"Poor chap!" murmured Allan,
when this was translated. "It's a
wonder he didn't hear more than
thrft.”
Push on in Smoke.
But Lefevre was not wholly Incline 1
to accept this explanation. He ques
tioned Renard—that is the man’s
name—in detail and finally told Allan
that he was convinced that the Ca
nadian had heard human voices.
“Then let us go in, in God’s name! ’
cried Allan. “Volunteers from the
doctors!”
There was a unanimous response.
Allan chose the first two and with Le
fevre set out Into the smoke again. It
was a terrible march, picking their
way along the corpse-strewn track
over blocked timbers and fragmems
of rock. Someone was falling con
stantly, for the smoke was like a
heavy yellow wall against the glasses
of the helmets. Once, after a stum
ble, Allan felt a terrific pain sho^t
from his right ankle up his leg. but
paid no heed.
Suddenly they were stopped dead
in their tracks. From somewhere
ahead of them out of the thick yel
low-black vapor came peal upon peil
of shrill, uneartb’v laughter. For a
space no man breathed and one of
the doctors swiftly crosped himself.
As suddenly as it began it ended, and
to the four it seemed for a few mo
ments that no human lips could have
made the ghaptlv sounds that echoed
and rattled up and down the smoke-
filled galleries
Then Allan bpgan pushing swiftly
on and others stumbled after him as
if afraid to be left alone. In another
minute or two they came upon a small
substation, and the terrible laughter
pealed forth again. Allan put his
shoulder to the door and pushed It in
and entered, Lefevre and the doctors
at his heels.
A ventilating tube entered the sta
tion, and around the opening four
men were writhing and squirming
and occasionally from one of the
smitten came a shriek of the horrible
laughter that had startled them In
the pallery. The whistling sound that
came to the ears of the rescuers told
them that the ventilating plunt wan
working with Increased power and
this had kept the f our alive. In the
station, so close that they bumped
into it in their contortions, was a i
I oxygen generator, unused. Al lfour
were foreign laborers. When they
] saw the smoke helmets of the rescue
-arty, they screamed with terror and
crouched In a far comer of the room.
One of the doctors managed to
make some sense out of the gib
berish, and gathered that they be
lieved themselves In hell and had
taken the rescuers for demons. When
Allan and the others approached
... they sprang at them In the madnese
ew /of terror and fought until they were
overpowered and bound. Allan gav*
n order and they were hurried hack
to the train as swiftly as possible.
One was dead before that goal wap
reached and none of the other
three ever recovered his reason.
Allan Collapses.
As he staggered into the oar with
the last of the four, Allan collapsed
In the aisle. He had been thirty-six
hours without sleep and under a
strain such as no man had ever
borne before. The doctors quickly
revived him, hut when he insisted
*hat he must push on again, in spit*
f.f their protests, one gray haired
physician persuaded him to take a
“stimulant and rest for a few min
utes.” Inside of a minute he had
jass^d into a deep sleep that lasted
several hours.
Lefevre and two of the doctors,
made two sorties in the meantime
and got past the station where the
crazy men had been found, but they
were driven back by smoke.
When Allan woke he was under the
Impression that he had not been
asleep, and no one disillusioned him
He immediately donned his smoke hei
met, and. with the indefatigable Le
fevre and ^ fresh doctor another at
tempt was made.
The smoke still moved down on
them like a living foe, groping Its
way along the walls, creeping through
cross-galleries filling the stations,
silent, opaque, and resistless. But
the ventilator had been sucking it
out and forcing in millions of cubic
vards of fresh pure air, and it seemed
to grow thinner, little by little, as
they advanced.
It was slow and terrible work.
They climed over and through
wrecked trains, ripped up ties and
The story op#»ns with Rives, who Is in charge of the technical work
ings of the great tunnel from America to Germany, on one of the tunnel
trains, with Baermann, an engineer, In charge of Main Station No. 4, They
are traveling at the rate of 118 miles an hour. Rives is in love with
Maude Allan, wife of Mackendrick Allan, whose mind first conceived the
great tunnel scheme. After going about 2f»0 miles under the Atlantic Ocean
Hives gets out of the train. Huddenly the tunnel seems to burst There
is a frlghtfuhexploston Men are flung to death and Rives Is badly wounded.
He staggers through the bdndlng smoke, realizing that about 3,(K»0 men
have probably perished He and other survivors get to Station No. 4
Rives finds Baermann holding at hay 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.
IJoyd, “The Money King ” John Rives addresses them, and Introduces Al
lan. Mrs Allan and Mnude Lloyd, daughter of the financier, are also pres
ent. Allan tells the company of hia 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. Hives accepts. Rives goes to the Park Glut) to meet Wit-
teratelner, a financier. At Columbus Ci cle news of the great project Is be ng
flashed on a screen. Thousands are watching it Mrs Allan becomes a lonely
and neglected woman and is much thrown In the company of Rives. Sydney
Wolf, the money power of two continents, plot.? against Allan and Hives. Mrs
Allan has her suspicions aroused a_s to t^e frlemlsship between her husband
and Ethel Lloyd. Rives and Mrs. Allan let the wine of love get to their
heads and. before they know it, they confess their Jove for each other Tun
nel City’s inhabitants learn something has gone wrong in the lower workings
of the great bore. An explosion and Are have occurred in the tunnel, and
when the workers hear of it definitely they become a raging mob, surging
about the entrance of the bore. Mrs Allan is warned not to leave her home
while the excitement is at its height. But she and her child go forth They
meet a mob of women, frenzied* by the disaster, who stone them to death.
Rives was missing in the tunnel and A Ian, his wife, child, dearest friend and
5.000 other lives gone, gave in despal-. But he resolves to eonquor not he
subdued, by the great project. Gathering a relief train together he hurries
Into the tunnel. Near the end he co nes to a pile of dead bodies.
Now Go On With the Story.
sky through rockets. And whenever
the bird sang, she forgot the four
white-washed walls (on which hung
cheap-colored prints from illustrated
papers and a U
the landlady’s relations) which
framed r.er life, and was transported
straightway Into a tropical forest,
full of magic sights and sounds,
where of nights a big white moon
floated over feathery tree tops, and
where by days gorgeous butterflies
rested on flowers w’hite as snow and
scented as are orange groves.
She forgot the lonely lot of the
unloved that had been hers for so
long. She remembered o.nly her
lover's kise* upon her lips.
This foolish love of ours. How it
spring-cleans this old gray world
making it a garden of evergreens
where Adam and his mate may for
ever meet.
The young man over the way had
lived there for about six months when
he suddenly made up his mind to
move.
Gills-Plentiful.
Girls are plentiful, and he had no
mind to tie himself legally to one:
besides, he had never cared much for
brown hair. And there was a dash
ing-looking blonde in the boarding
house where a friend ot ais lived. He
might as well go there for a time. H
was tired of living in diggings any
way, besides Laura was beginning to
be a bit of a nuisance. Dash it, one
n lght almost think that she ex
pected hin. to marry her.
broken timbers. And the dead were
everywhere.
They were some two miles past the
little sub-station when Allan stopped
suddenly and held up his hand.
“Listen!” he exclaimed in a low
voice. “I think I heard a call.”
The others stopped as they wer9
bidden. For more than a minute
‘ ^ed Intentlv, but there was
no sound but the faint whirr of some
distant ventilator and the drip-drip
of water.
“I’m sure I heard It,” insisted the
chief as Lefevre shook his head. “I’ll
give a yell now and everybody listen.”
He hal’ooed up to the tunnel and
Ms voice died away in the distance.
Then faint, hut clear, as a voice
pounds from far away over the water
at night, came an answering hall.
Found.
“By God, there’s someone up the
gallery!” exclaimed Lefevre and
plunged on. The three dashed ahead,
slipping and stumbling, and occasion
ally stopping to shout again. Nearly
always they heard the answering
shout and nearer each time. It was
close at hand, but they «eemed unable
to get closer, and finally it % began to
die away.
“We’ve gone past him!” cried Allan
suddenly.
“But we couldn’t,” protested his
aide.
“We must have.” Allan insisted. “I
know—he was in one of the cross
galleries! ”
Thev scrambled back through the
darkness and began searching the
cross galleries. At the second one
hack thev were gree f ed with a per
fect storm of fre^h air. Into this thev
turned, and halfway up they came
upon a strange spectacle.
A ventilator opened In the little
gallery, and against the wall was a
generator still pouring out oxvgen
By the side of it sat a bald-headed
old man. A few lock« of white hair
still streamed from his bare, white
scalp. HLs face was yellowed and
seamed Into the dim lantern light He
seemed terribly emaciated and with
ered, but he looked up wMth a smile
that showed remarkably young and
sound, white teeth. Lying with his
head in his lap was the body of a
gigantic negro, his blue lips drawn
hack in a sardonic grin.
“I knew' you’d come, old man,”
wheezed the withered one, reaching
up a hand as if for help to rise. “I
knew r you’d come.”
And then Allan knew him.
“Rlvea—Rives!” he gasped, between
a shout and sob.
The next instant his arms were
around the pitiful bundle and he had
lifted It to its feet. The negro’s head
slid off and struck a flat stone with a
hollow thump
Rives, or what had been Rlvep.
clung to Allan’s coat with one hand,
and with the other he pointed down,
whllo Allan held him close in a strong
grip.
“I’m all right, Mac, old man,” he
said, feebb,. and smiled again. “But
that nigger—that n'ggor took a lot
out of me, and—he died after all Too
had!”
The Strike.
Rives lay hetween life and death
In the hospital, and for the first time
In years Allan himself was In direct
charge at Tunnel City. The work
of rescue wan over, the bodies of
the dead had been recovered. The
Inst train had come out of the tun
nel, but the far galleries were still
choked with debris; hut in all the
great maelstrom of industry scarcely
a wheel stirred.
Allan and his staff of engineers
wrought like maniacs and strove by
example and heroic endurance to stem
the tide that was setting In against
them. It was vain. The armies of
toilers stood idle and numb and
looked on. They and their wives
«tood In long rows on the terraced
descent, sullen and still. The great
lighting plants, the pumps and ven
tilator system were all operated by
engineers, who dropped by the Fide
of their work and slept in broken
naps.
Hordes of curiosity seekers from
New York and Philadelphia added to
the confusion and the difficulty of
the problem. Allan doubled the rail
road fare, but even this did not head
them off. For four weeks Allan and
his staff strove night and day, and
at last they began to make headway,
but still there wan no sign from the
laborers. At last the final spark of
the fire had been quenched, the smoke
d'sappeared and the fragments of
the shattered driller were removed.
Then the heart of the explosion was
exposed. The theory that a pocket
of highly explosive gas had been dis
charged by a blast was proved cor
rect.
They found a chamber some hun
dred and fifty feet in depth, about a
thousand feet wide and more than
half a mile long. It was perfectly
dry, and its sides, ceilings and floor
were composed of a new mineral
called “submarium.” of which they
had found traces in the boring. It
was light and crumbly, not unlike
chalk, and had been discovered to
be rich in radium
In !ts length the chlmber followed
roughly the line of the tunel and
meant a saving of a half-mile of
boring; but the work was at a stand
still.
More than that, the disaffection
spread to other tunnel cities, and at
the end of the first month after the
explosion the tunnel work was com
pletely paralyzed.
The Conference.
Then Allan nerlously bestirred him
self. He sent for the leaders of the
unions and held a conference with
them In the famous room at the ad
ministration building.
“What do you men want?” he de
manded.
Nobody seemed able to answer him
to the point.
“We never had a strike before,” he
went on, half angrily. “What's the
matter now? You know, and most of
your men have sense enough to know,
that we didn’t try to kill their mates.
They know that they are getting
double and triple the pav of ordinary
labor, because they run this very risk
—and this Is the first time the risk
has become a reality. The first time
—and the work is nearly half fin
ished!”
No one said anything for a moment,
and at last an American delegate
leaned forward In his chair.
“I’ll tell you what It Is, Mac,” he
said slowly ‘They’re scared.”
“Scared!” echoed the chief, con
temptuously. “There Is not one
chance In a million that anything like
this can happen again. It was the
one thing that we could not guard
against, and we never pretended that
we could. We can tell when we ar»
approaching known gases and other
known dangers. You men know that
we trapped a bigger gas pocket than
this before we came up to Main Sta
tion 3, but no one even got a whlfT of
gas. Now what are the chances :>f
there being two such pockets of un
known gas in the path of the boring?”
The leaders looked at each othe”
and at the floor shrugged their
shoulders.
“Well?” jmapped Allan, impatient!/
The American took up the reply
again.
“O’ course, we know what you say
1 a r'glit, boss,” he said, “but It’s dif
ferent with a lot o’ the men. You
know' it’s Just the idea of being
caught down there under the ocean
with no way out—that’s what gets
'em.”
To Be Continued To-morrow.
By FRANCES L. OARSIDE.
r~p>HEY were flustered and flurried,
I and looked, in spite of their
wrinkled faces and gray hairs,
tike so many little girls who had es
caped from their nurses, and had met
to make confessions of their griefs.
So great was the resemblance to lit
tle girls, it seemed Incongruous when
one lifted a grandchild to her lap and
another adjusted her glasses and got
out her knitting.
“This,’’ said the one with the grand
child, “was brought to me last week.
My daughter sent four children to me
while she went on a trip. She said
they would keep me from getting lone
some.”
“I never have a moment's qtilet,**
said the weak voice of another old
woman. “I have four married daugh
ters and they are always sending their
children to me, sometimes six at a
time, to keep me from getting lone
some.”
“It would he nice,” she added pa
thetically, “to have a chance to get
lonesome sometimes.”
There was a silence. All the little
old women were thinking of the
.Susies, Billies. Johnnies and Lizzies
that were always being unloaded on
dear grandmother, giving her no chance
to rest.
A timid woman who felt that unless
they were careful they would show dis
loyalty to their daughters, tried to
change the subject by asking the oth
ers if they liked her dress. It was a
soft, delicate gray.
“I wanted one that color,” sputtered
another little woman who rocked vio
lently to express her Indignation, “but
my daughter made me get black. She
said it would make over better for her
when I was gone.”
“I live with a bachelor son,” from tha
little old woman In gray, “and he lets
me do an I like.”
Old women do not cry. They have
learned the futility of tears. But they
sighed, and several who lived with
daughters paused in their knitting to
wipe the moisture from their glasses.
“When I take up a broom,” resumed
the woman who lives with a bachelor
son, “no one says 'Don’t do that; you
are too old for such work!’ No one
screams to me to let the maid do it
when I want to beat up a cake, and
when I want to stay at home my son
never tells me I will become an old fogy
unless I go out more, and when I want
to go out no one tells me a Is too hot
or cold for one of my age, or that one
of my years should never go alone.
“I never hear anything about my age
from my bachelor son. He lets me do
as I please. My daughters complain
because I work, and they say I am too
old to keep house and should live with
one of them, but he doesn’t think I am
too old. He just keeps still, and lets
me wait on him, and that is what I
enjoy.”
The little old women looked wistfu'ly
at the little woman in gray. None of
them had bachelor sons to fuss over,
and knew none of the feeling of a sec
ond honeymoon that comes to a little
old woman in fluttering around and
ministering to a son who never suggests
nor rebukes nor interferes as long as
he Is made comfortable.
They sighed. It must be nice to have
an easy-going son stand between a
mother and her overly-sollcltous daugh
ters.
They sighed again. And the sigh
grew in intensity and volume till it
swept the little old women like so many
withered autumn leaves before a gust
of wind, fluttering and skurrying right
out of the room
And It was well. For, a moment later,
the voices of many daughters arose on
the air: “I wonder where mother la so
long She is too old to stay away like
this.” —FRANCES L GARSIDE.
Loss of Power
and vital force follow lots of droll ot
emaciation. Thos* coma from Impov*
«rl*b«d blood.
Dr. Pierce*,
Golden Medical Discovery
s
c
mllrtn. • Hrw—«nHeh„ th,
blood —stop* the out, of atrenrth and
tt.aua and build, up haalthy fleah—to
tbo proper body weight. A, an .ppr-
tizinjt. rMtorativ, tonic. It art. to
work all th. procoio of dlges Ion
and nutrition, rou.e. cry organ tntn
natural action, and bring, back health
and otrength.
Con anything cite bo "Jut u
good'' tv Utko I
It was Just after he moved that the
scarlet and orange and green bird
with aairp.tire eyes flew away.
•Site hau no knowledge that she had
left the cage door open the night be
fore. But when she crept, wan faced,
to the wicker bars the next morning
the cage was empty; the bird bad
flown away.
EAT MEAT SPARINGLY
DURING SUMMER.
Meat heats the blood—eat very
little of it during hot weather. That
doesn’t mean that you have to sac
rifice nourishing food because it is
heating.
You will find Faust Spaghetti more
nourishing than meat, and it Is also
a light, cooling food. By analysis
you will find that a 10c package of
Faust Spaghetti contains as much
nutrition as 4 lbs. of beef. It is a
rich, glutinous food made from
Durum Wheat, the cereal extremely
high in protein.
Faust Spaghetti can be served in
many different ways—write for free i
recipe book. Sold in 5c and 10c pack
ages.
MAULL BROS.
St. Louis, Mo.
Keeps the armpits fresh,
dry and natural. No
more faded and spoiled
dresses and no more
odor. Eliminates exces
sive perspiration from
any part of the body.
Applied externally. Harm
less, and guaranteed. 25c
and 50c sizes. Atall‘'live”
dealers in toilet articles.
Manufactured exclusively by the
ODOR-O-NO CO.
Cincinnati, O.
E. H. Con©
Brown & Alien
A. Q. Dunwody
Boat’s Pharmacy
SOLD BY
Inman Park Pharmacy
Palmer’s Drug Store
Lamar & Rankl n, Distributors
Chamberlln-Jo hnson-DuBoae
And Other “Live” Deale ra In Toilet Articles.
INSIST ON ODOR-O-NO—THERE’S NOT HI NO “JUST AS GOOD." i