Newspaper Page Text
*
1 © © The Manicure Lad
y © ©
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
4 i T WENT to some trotting races up
I to the county fair last week,”
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.”
“ r like 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 xhts 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 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 th<e Head Barber. "I remember
one time I had $2 on Sailor Boy, one
of Father Bill Daly’s horses. I 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’t thought 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 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 winning,” said the
Manicure Lady. "I was thinking about
the awful misery that is caused when
folks losee their money. And I want
to tell you, George, I was 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.
A
i 'i t.
h
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, *
end 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 23 years of age, and he w’as
furious and said I should marry
him at once.
He has plenty of money and
can give me everything I like, hut
I do not love him—but like him.
I think, as he says, that after we
are married I shall learn to love
k 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 nicely.
He said I should tell my mother,
S and if she says yes, why, then
# we’ll have a church wedding, but
I if not, that we will be married
* anyhow', but not have a wedding.
J Please, Mb's Fairfax, what should
I I 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 w hat would you expect him to
say—when he is trying to get you to
marry httn, 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 wor 1 ?
do I mean that—but whisper—the
*
MOTHER
SO POORLY
Dould Hardly Care for Children.
Finds Health in Lydia E.
Pinkham’i Vegetable
Compound.
)
<• I U
Bovina Cent.r, N. T.—Tor «tx
fears I have not had as good health
as I have now. 1
was very young
when my first
baby was bom
and my health
w r as very bad aft
er that. I was
not regular and
I had pains in my
back and was so
poorly that I could
hardly take care
of my two chil
dren. I doctored
w’ith several doc
tors, but got no
better. They told me there w’as no
jelp without an operation. I have
teed Lydia E. Ptnkham’B Vegetable
Pompound and It has helped me won
derfully. I do most of my own work
low and take care of my children. 1
fecommend your remedies to all suf
fering women."—MRS. WILLARD A.
BRA HAM, care of ELS WORTH
TUTTLE, Bovina Center, N. Y.
Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Corn-
found, made from native roots and
ierbs, contains no narcotics or harm
ful drugs, and to-day holds the record
if being the most successful remedy
d'e know for woman's ills. If you
teed such a medicine why don’t you
fry it?
If you have the slightest doubt
hat Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable
Compound will help you, write to
iydla E. Plnkham Medicine Co. (con-
Identlal) Lynn, Mass., for advice,
fo ur letter will be opened, read and
Jnswered by a woman, and held In
Itfjut confluence.
other day at the picnic do you re
member how r very, very hungry you
were, and how you wished that the
chocolate cake had five layers instead
of three—w’hen 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
w’orld 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 7
S en9e —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 women 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
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 1* 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 Mandansehl’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-
esquenesB and origlnalty. When he com-
mtted Roye on the charge of “Passing
bad money Vargrence and habiteral des-
tervence of the peace and not lnsaen,”
he may have ofTended 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—Yau say it’s no use talking,
aikl then you talk for hours.
A NEWPORT STYLE
Fully"Described by Olivette
WJ
Jl
m
YY
m>Y
The Newport
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 mayswlm.
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-llke 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 th« of Bernhard Rf-Hermann—-
Herman rrratwn Copyrighted. 1918. by
Fii^htr Vorlag. Berlin. fcnglwh trajialatlon And
compilation by
•
• • •
The Caged Bird
By LOUISE HEILOERS.
•
• • •
S HE had never thought to own any
thing so beautiful.
For so 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
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
her began to ti^nk 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 voung 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 to
become thorougnly acquainted.
She not only dimly noted that it was
whenever they were together, she
and the young man over the way
that the bird seemed to sing the loud
est. the notes thrilling from its throat
as the golden tire tlpwei'a fall from the
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 few faded portraits of
the landlady’s relations) which
framed her life, and was transported
/'traightway 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. Hnw 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.
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 weH go there for a time. Hj
was tired of living in diggings any
way. besides Laura was beginning to
be a bit of a nuisance. Dash it, one
might almost think that she ex
pected him co marry htu - .
* •' • ^
It was just after he moved that the
scarlet and orange and green bird
with sapp.nre eyes flew away.
She hau no Knowledge that she hari
left the cage door open the night be
fore. But when she crept, wan faced,
to the wicker liars the next morning
th** cage was empty; the bird had
flown away,
(Copy nth ted. 1918, by Intoraationsl News Sertlo*.)
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 with Rives.
Rives was not among them, hut
suddenly out of the dense smoke a
man appeared and dropped at Allan’s
feet. He wore only a tattered pair ot
trousers. Allan quickly flashed the
light in his face. It wag not Rives.
With Lefevre’s help they carried him
still breathing feeb/y, 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 had 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 chance
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
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 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 fragments
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 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
spare no man breathed and one of
the doctors swiftly crossed 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 began 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
nealed 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 gallery. The whistling sound that
curne to the ears of the rescuers told
them that the ventilating plant wan
working with increased power and
tills had kept the four alive. In the
station, so close that they bumped
into It in their eontortlbns, was a'i
oxygen generator, unused! A1 lfour
were foreign laborers. When they
saw the smoke helmets of the rescue
party, 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 madness
/of terror and fought until they were
overpowered and bound. Allan guv?
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 thirty-six
hours' without sleep and under a
strain such as no man had ever
borne before. The doctors quickly
revived him, but when He insisted
ihat he must push on again, in spite
bf 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 * hot been
asleep, and no one disilKisioned him.
He immediately donned his smoke he!
met, and with the indefatigable Le
fevre and a fresh doctor another at
tempt was made.
The smoke still ' tnbV6d 'flo'tVn 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 arid terrible work.
I They climed over and through
Afclbcktd trains, ripped up ties and
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
j 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
5 Maude Allan, wife of Mackendrick Allan, whose mind first conceived the
great tunnel, scheme. After going about 250 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.
He staggers through the blinding smoke, realizing that about 3.000 men
have probably perished. He arid other survivors get to Station No. 4.
Rives finds Baermann holding at bay a wild mob of frantic men who want
to climb on a work train, ftoinebody 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 want him to take charge
of the actual work. Rives accepts. Rives goes to the Park Club to meet Wit-
terstelner. a financier. At Columbus Circle news of the great project is being
Hashed 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 the friendsship 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 love for each other. Tun
nel City’s Inhabitants leaVn 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 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 Allan, his wife, child, dearest friend and
5,000 other lives gone, gave in despair. But he resolves to conquer, not he
subdued, by the groat project. Gathering a relief train together he hurries
into the tunnel. Near the end he conies 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 held up his hand.
“Listen!” he exclaimed in a lot*
voice. "I think I heard a call.”
The others stopped as they were
bidden. For more than a minute
"' nod intently, but there was
bo sound but the faint whirr of some
distant ventilator and the drip-drip
of water.
“I’m sure T heard it,” Insisted the
chief as Lefevre shook h1s 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.
"Fv 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. a
“We must have,” Allan In^sted. *T
know—he was In one of the cross
galleries! ”
They scrambled back through the
darkness and 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 stl'l pouring out oxygen.
By the side of it sat a bald-headed
old man. A few locks 0 f 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 his
head in his lap was the bpdy 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
know 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 he had
lifted It to its freet. The negro's head
slid off and struck a fiat stone with a
hollow thump.
Rives, or what had been Rives,
clung to Allan’s coat 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, feeblv, and smiled again. "But
that nigger—that nigger took a lot
out of me. and—he died after all. Too
bad!"
his staff strove night and day, and
at last they began to. make headway;
but still there was 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
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 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 9ent 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
do'uble and triple the pay of ordinary
labor, because they run this very risK
—and this is the first time the frisk
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.
“1*11 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 w'e 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
Joy of a Bachelor
Son
By FRANCES L. GARSIDE.
T HEY were flustered and flurried,
and looked. In spite of their
wrinkled faces 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 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 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 w'hat 1
enjoy.”
The little old women looked wistfully
at the little woman In gray. None of
them had )>achelor 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.
Thpy sighed. It must be nice to have
an easy-going 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 skurrylng 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.
The Strike.
Rive* lay between life and death
in the hospital, and for the first time
In years Allan himself was in .Wreot
charge at Tunnel City. The work
of rescue was over, the bodies of
the dead had been recovered. The
last 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 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 w’as 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- |
tllator system were all operated by
engineers, who dropped by the side
of their work and slept In broken
naps.
Hordes of curiosity seekers from
New York and Philadelphia added to I
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
this before we came up to Main Sta- * __
tlon 3, but no one even got n whiff of I f\T r HIArPY*
gas. Now what are the chances it UI a V WUI
there being two such pockets of un- |
known gas in Hie path of the boring?”
The leaders looked at each othe’*
and at the floor and shrugged their
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 with a lot o’ the 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.”
and vital fare* follow Iom of flesh a»
emaciation. Thaaa coma from impov
erished blood.
Dr. Pierce’s
Golden Medical Discovery
To Be Continued To-morrow.
enlivens a torpid liver—enriches tha
blood -stops the waate of strength and
tissua and builds up healthy fleah—to
the proper body- weight. As an appe«
tizing, restorative tonic, it sets to
work all the proceesea of digestion
and nutrition, rouses every organ Into
natural action, and brings back health
and strength.
Cab anything else be "Jut an
load” to taket
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 j
a light, cooling food. By analysis J
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 foe free
recipe book. Sold in 5c and 10c pack
ages.
MAULL BROS.
St.. Louis, Mo.
A. G. Dunwody
Bogt’s Pharmacy
SOLD BY
E. H. Cone Inman Park Pharmacy
Brown A Allen Palmer’s Drug Store
Lamar & Rankl n, Distributor#
Chamberlin-Jo hnson-DuBose
And Other *‘Llve" Deale rs In Toilet Articles.
INSIST ON ODOR-Q-NO—^THERE’S NOTHING "JUST A3 GOOD. 1 *