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^ © Tlie Manicure Lady # § By WILLIAM F. KIRK. “I: rWENT 10 some trottfng races up i to th © county fair last week,’’ L said the Manicure Lady. “I had a awful good time, George. It didn’t seem 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.” es, 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 their week’s pay and hands it over to buy shoes for the baby instead of losing it the wa v 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. “1 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 the long run,” declared the Manicure Lady. "Gambling money ain’t no good, 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 ain jght of respectful by you. You won it easy and easy it goes. When a man works hard all day chop ping wood for $2 he Is liable to look at the $2 a long time before he buys a pint of wine with it. But when he wins $2 on a horse or ifl a game of dice, the first things he thinks of i9 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 wiimiug,” 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 was sorry to take that four dollars, because 1 was afraid your wife might need It. I made up my mind then that 1 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 I 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 opinion of me, and then I know my mother and father would worry about me if I were to run away. When he came in the office one day he caught me talking to his son. Who is £3 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 T do not love him—but like him. I think, as he says, that after we are married I shall learn to love him. Do you think 1 will? He is very good to me and says he will always love me. He is nice looking and dresses nicely. He said I should tell my mother, and if she says yes, why, then we’ll have a church wedding, but If not. that we will be, married anyhow, but not have a wedding. Please, Miss Fairfax, what should 1 do? SUE. S O he is very good to you and says that he will always love you— little 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 least little bit in the world do I mean that—but whisper—the MOTHER SO POORLY Could Hardly Care for Children. Finds Health in Lydia E. Pinkham ’» Vegetable Compound. Bovina Center, N. T.—“Tor «!* ars I have not had ae 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 pains in my back and was so poorly that T could hardly take care J of my two chll- dren. I doctored v r y" -with several doc- — — tors, but got no etter. They told me there was no elp without an operation. I have aed Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable fompound and U has helped me won- erfully. I do most of my own work ow and take care of my children 1 ecommend your remedies to all suf- srlng women."—MRS. WILLARD A. 1 RAH AM, care of ELSWORTH 17TTLE, Bovina Center, X. Y. Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com ound, made from native roots and erbs, contains no narcotics or haxm- ul drugo, and to-day holds the record f being the most successful remedy re know for woman’s ilia. If you eed such a medicine why don't you ry H? If you have the slightest doubt hat Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable .ompound will help you, write to .ydia E. Pinkham Medicine Co. (corv dentlal) Lynn, Meet., for advice, ’our letter will be opened, road and newered by a woman, and held In tricx confiaenct. 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 flaky, and, dear me, who made those delicious little cakes, all sugar and spice—that was before luncheon. After luncheon you were thirsty— awful thirsty, 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—you 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— just 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 son—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 son before you marry him what would he be to see you talking to anybody’s son on earth after you are married? What sort of a girl are you, any how? The time has gone by when girls marry just to be married—-it doesn’t pay any more—it never did pay. 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 you 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’ visit? 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 then? Sense—prudence—principle, oh. yes. these things all ought to count—In such a case—but are you sure they would count—in your own particular one? Cleverer womfcn than you have thrown their lives away in just such a bargain as this. Don’t you do it little Sun—dont’ you think of doing it. , , Money and position and fine clothes seem to count a whole lot more than they do—old Mother Nature doesn’t listen to them one minute. Wait till you fall in love. Sue. and they marry—and be happy—if it s only for a month or so—be happy for once — and laugh at the grim old world. You’ve found the secret of it all 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 found on the top most round Is the booster every time.” In Baltimore. Justice Mandanzehl’s commitment of Jim Roye. colored, to the house of cor rection may be lacking in legal essen tials. but his spelling is* not open to criticism by those who admire pictur- esqueness and originalty. When he com- mtted Roye on the charge of “Passing bad money Vargrence and hahiteral 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 wouid have created envy in the mind of Dogberry. A NEWPORT STYLE Fully^Described by Olivette — • • • • The Caged Bird By LOUISE HEILGERS • • • • 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, aiki then you talk for hours. The Newport craze in bathing suits is for the silt skirtgarment, 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 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. For late bathing days. THE TUNNEL GREATEST STORY OF ITS KIND SINCE JULES VERNE (From tko 0*rm*A of Famhard KHlermann—■ f»«rr»sn version Copyrighted. 1&IH. by a. F\«rh«r V*rl*g. Berlin. English translation and compilation by S HE had never thought to own any thing so beautiful. For s»o long had her cage hung empty on 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 sapphiras 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 her began to think about her as quite good looking. It was. by the way, shortly after the advent of the young man over the way that the empty cage in the house 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 young man from over the 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 least a fortnight lo become thoroughly acquainted. She not only dimly noted that It was whenever they were together, she and the young man over the way that the bird teemed to sing the loud est. the notes thrilling from its throat as the golden fire flowers fall from the (Copyright*!, 1913, by Interaction*! N«n>n Hervlc*.)c TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. There was not a sound now but the faint 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 w ith 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 of trousers. Allan quickly flashed the light in hi.s face. It was not Rives. With Lefevre’s help taey 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 blow ing across hi.s face. He had tried to get out of the tunnel and found that the smoke was too thick. Ho was trying to work his way back to the fresh air when they had found him. He did not understand that in tile 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 chance for some of the others! Ask him if he heard anything of any others.” “Yes,” replied the rescued, eagerly; 1 heard somebody laughing several 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 that.” Push on in Smoke. But Lefevre was not wholly inclined 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 ahd 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 fragments of rock. Someone was falling con stantly, for the smoke was like a heavy yellow wall against the glasses of the hairnets. Once, after a stum ble, Allan felt a terrific pain ’shoot 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 peal of shrill, unearthly laughter For a space no man breathed and one of the doctors swiftly crossed himself. As suddenly as it began ic ended, and to tiie four It seemed for a few mo ments that no human lips could have made the ghastlv sounds that echoed and rattled up and down the smoko- filled galleries Then Allan began pushing swiftly on and others stumbled after him as if afraid to be left alone. In another minute or tw’o 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 toil! men were writhing and squirming and occasionally from one of the smitten came a shriek of fhe horrible laughter that had startled them In the gallery- The whistling sound that came to the ears of the rescuers told them that the ventilating plant wan working with increased power and this had kept the four alive. In th station, so close that they bumped Into it in their contortions, was a:i oxygen generator, unused. A1 Ifour were foreign laborers. When they saw the smoke helmets of the rescue party, they screamed with terror and crouched in a far corner of the room One of the doctors managed ti 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 WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE > The story opens with Rives, who Is in charge of the technical work- < Ings of the great tunnel from America to Germany, on one of the tunnel S train®, 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 Maekendrick Allan, whose mind first conceived the great tunnel scheme After going about 250 miles under the Atlantic Ocean Rivfts gets out of the train. Suddenly tlie tunnel seems to burst. There is a fright ful explosion. Men are flung to death and Rives is badly wounded. Me staggers through the blinding smoke, realizing that about 3.0(H) men have probably perished. He and other survivors get t» Station No. 4. Rives finds Baermann holding at bay a wild mob of frantic men who want to climb on a work train, rtoniebody shoots Baermann, and the train slides out. The scene is then changed to the roof of the Hotel Atlantic. The greatest financiers of the country are gathered there at a summons from C. H. Lloyd, “The Money King.” John Rives addresses them, and introduces Al lan. Mrs. Allan and Maude Lloyd, daughter of the financier, are also pres ent. Allan tells the company of his project for a tunnel 3.100 miles long. The financiers agree to back him. Allan and Rives waul him to take charge of the actual work. Rives accepts. Rives goes to the Park (Mub to meet Wit- tersteiner, a financier. At Columbus Circle news of the great project is being 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, plots against Allan and Rives. Mrs. Allan has her suspicions aroused as to ihe friendship between her husband and Ethel Lloyd Rives and Mrs. Allan let the wine of love get to their beads and, before they know it, they confess their love for each other. Tun nel City’s inhabitants learn something has gone wrong In the lower workings of the great, bore. An explosion and fire 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 t«> lease 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 Allan, his wife, child, dearest friend and 5,000 other lives gone, gave in despair. But he resolves to conquor, not be subdued, by the great project. • Gathering a relief train together he hurries into the tunnel. Near the end he comes to a pile of dead bodies. Now Go On With the Story. broken timbers. And the dead were everywhere. They were some two miles past the little sub-station when Allan stopped suddenly and hold up his hand. “Listen!” he exclaimed in n low voice. “I think I heard a call.” The others stopped as they wers bidden. For more than a minute ‘stoned intently, 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 hallooed up to the tunnel and his voice died away In the distance. Then faint, but clear, as a voice sounds 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 seemed 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! ” They scrambled back through the darkness ami began searching the cross galleries. At the second one back they were greeted with a per fect storm of fresh air. Into this they 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 oxygen. By the side of it sat a bald-headed old man. A few lock® of white hair still streamed from his bare, white scalp. His face was yellowed and seamed into the dim lantern light. He seemed terribly emaciated and with ered, but he looked up with a smile that showed remarkably young and sound, white teeth. Lying with hi.s head in his lap was the body of a gigantic negro, his blue lips drawn back 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 you’d come.” And then Allan knew him. “Rives—Rives!” he gasped, between a shout and sob The next instant his arms were around the pitiful bundle and lie 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 Rives, clung to Allan’s r*oat with one hand, and with the other he pointed down, while Allan held him close in a strong grip. “I’m all right. Mac, old man.” he said, feebly, and smiled again# “Rut that nigger—that nigger took a lot out of me, and—he died after all Too bad!” The Strike. sky through rockets. And whenever the bird sang, she forgot the four white-washed walls (on which hung cheap-colored prints from illustrated 8pranR at them in the ma dnoB* papers and a few faded portraits of fof , em)r ;ind fought until they WPr( . the landlady's relations) which framed i.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 white 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 only her lover’s kises 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 hie mind to move. Girls 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 of ins 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 might almost tntnk that she ex pected him cu marry her. * * * It was just after he moved that the scarlet and orange and green bird with sapphire eyes flew away. She had 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 had flown away. overpowered and bound. Allan gav an order and they were hurried back to the train as swiftly as possible. One was dead before that goal was reached and none of the other three ever recovered his reason. Allan Collapses. As he staggered into the car with the last of the four. Allan collapsed in the aisle He had been thlrty-sh hours' without sleep and under a strain such as no man had ever borne before. The doctors quickly revived him, but wTien he insisted ihat he must push on again, in spit* 6f 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 passed 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 hi.s smoke hel met, and with the indefatigable Le fevre and a 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 yards 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 Rives lay between life and death in the hospital, and for Ihe first time In years Allan himself was in direct charge at Tunnel City. The work of rescue war over, the bodies of the dead had been recovered. The hist train had come out of the tun nel, but the far galleries were still choked with debris; but in all the great maelstrom of industry scarcely a w'heel stirred. Allan and his staff of engineers wrought like maniacs and strove bv example and heroic endurance to stem the tide that w r as setting In against them It was vain. The armies of toilers stood idle and numb and looked on. They and their wives stood 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 vide 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- I 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 wqs no sign from the laborers. At last the final spark of the fire had been quenched, the smoke disappeared 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 w#re 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 its length the chamber 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 seriously bestirred him self. He sent for the leaders of the unions and h^d 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 t he 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 pay of ordinary labor, because they run this very risR —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, ami at last an American delegate leaned forward In his chair. “I’ll tell you wffiat 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 wo could. We can tell w'hen we are approaching known gases and other known dangers. You men know that w r e trapped a bigger gas pocket than this before we came up to Main Sta tion 3, but no one even got a whiff of gas. Now what are the chances of there being two such pockets of un known gas in the path of the boring?” The leaders looked at each othe*’ ami at th# floor and Shrugged th*-ir shoulders. "Well?” snapped Allan, impatiently The American took up the reply again. “O’ course, we know what you say Is right, boss,” he said, “but it’s dif ferent w ith a lot o' Jhe men. You I know- It’s just the. idea of being caught down there under the ocean with no way out—that’s what gets ’em.” Joy of a Bachelor Son By FRANCES L. GARSIDE. rnpMlEY were flustered and flurried, ^ and looked, in spite of their wrinkled fares and gray hairs, like 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 quiet,” 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 be 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 the little old woman in gray, “and he lets me do as 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 1 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 it 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 wistfully 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 tninistering 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 • i- 4 :ng son stand between a mother and her overly-solicitous 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 qut of the room. And it was well For, a moment later, the voices of many daughters arose on the air: “I wonder where mother is so long She is too old to stay away like this.” —FRANCES L. GARSIDE. Loss of Power gj» *nd vital force follow loas of flesh tm 5 emaciation. The** come from Jmsov* j; embed bipod. Dr. Pierce’* | Golden Medical Discovery enliven* a torpid liver enrich— thn blood -etop* the wute of etrvngth and “J tissue arid builds up henlthy flesh—ta ~ the proper body weight. As An appe- 2? Using, restorative ionic, it i«U ta 2 work ail tbe procaine* of digestion ~ and nutrition, routes every organ into ~ natural action, and hrinflB back health 3 and strength. To Be Continued To-morrow. « Can anything ehe ha “fat a9 C £ood” to takel 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 I heating. You will find Faust Spaghetti more I nourishing than meat, and it Is also ! a light, cooling food. By analysis j you will find that a 10c package of j 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 | recipe book. Sold in 5c and 10c pack ages. MAULL BROS. St. Louis, Mo. E. H. Cone Brown & Allen SOLD BY Inman Park Pharmacy Palmer’* Drug Store Lamar & Rankl n, Distributors Chamberlln-Jo hnson-DuBose And Other "Live” Deale r* In Toilet Article*. INSIST ON ODOR-O-NO—THERE’S NOTHING "JUST AS GOOD A. G. Dunwody Bost’s Pharmacy