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4 One Woman’s Story Jt Envy S> Oaprrl^t, 1H8, Intwnatlo»*l I»*w« fterrta*. MtAGAZIHL S> By Nell Brinkley J> By Virginia T, Van De Water. \ LL during that dreary winter In Middlebrook, Mary Fletcher was **■ painfully conscious of her hus band’s increasing love for liquor. But he never came home really drunk until one stormy night in late March, a week before the baby was born. His wife and her mother waited until some time after the arrival of his usual train, then took their dinner so that the older wo man might go to bed. This was the daughter’s suggestion, for she feared — without cause, she told herself—the con dition In which the master of the house might appear, If he came In later. Her mother did not suspect the truth with regard to Bert’s weakness. She must not. So Mary hurried her up to her room, and chatted with her nervously as the preparations were made for the night. Then, kissing her mother, she put out the light, closing the bedroom door tightly that any sounds from be low stairs might not penetrate to the sleeper's ears. She Remembered. As Mary washed the dishes and put them away, she remembered one night, months ago, when she had sent her mother to bed and awaited the coming of her suitor—the man who was now her husband. She seemed to have lived a lifetime since then. The dinner dishes put In the closet and the table set for breakfast, the anxious wife seated her self by the lamp In the parlor, and tried to put the finishing touches on the tiny wrapper she was making She had fashioned ail her baby’s clothes herself, and this was the last gar ment. She was sorry that the bit of dainty work should be done when she was nervous, for the stitches were slightly uneven. “But," she whispered, with an at tempt to be humorous with herself, "baby will not mind." The whistle of the 10 o'clock train sounded through the quiet village. The wife folded the little wrapper, then, with a sudden motion pressed It to her lips “My baby! my baby!" she whis pered For his sake she must keep her self calm. But even this thought failed to quiet the wild beating of her heart as the time drew near when she might expect her husband. She began to pace the floor, pausing often to listen. At last she heard stumbling, uneven foot steps on the walk, and she hurried to the front door and fl*mg it open, peering out Into the darkness. “Bert,” she called softly, “is that you?” “Who the devil were you expectin' this time o’ night?” queried the man thickly, as he staggered up the steps toward her She paled and shrank from h'm as he uttered the coarse Joke then. ! as he reeled on the top step, she sprang forward and caught him by the arm. “Softly, Bert," she cautioned, “or you’ll wake mother!" "And what if I do?" he demanded angrily. "I expect a man’s got a right to make all the noise he chooses In his own house, ain’t he? I'm boss here, remember! She ain’t even a boarder." "Yes, Bert, I know," assented his wife. She recollected that she had heard one should never argue with an Intoxicated man. Anything now to keep him quiet. The smell of his breath made her feel faint, and she shuddered as she saw the blurred eyes, the droop ing jaw and the stained clothes. Her bert Fletcher had fallen down, and his trousers were caked with mud. Drunk as he was, he saw her recoil as she glanced at his coat. “Yes," he said roughly, "it’s pretty dirty, I know, but you needn’t take on any o’ your fine lady airs about it! Many a better woman than you has had to tend her husband when he was under the weather. You oughter be pltyin’ me ’stead o’ lookin’ like a white saint despisin' a sinner. Here, help me off with this coat!" She took hold of the garment with trembling hands. But for the thought of the unsuspecting woman upstairs she was sure she would have refused to touch it. He might do his worst. What !f he did fly into a rage and kill her— his wife—what difference would that make? It would be a blessing if he did kill her now before her baby came. Then her common sense reasserted It self, and, setting her teeth, she obeyed her husband's commands When, with much coax • g ■ had gotten him . ly upstairs and past her mother’s door, she undressed him and helped him into bed. Then, when his heavy breathing assured her that he was sleeping, she took the stained clothes into the bath room, locked herself in and scoured the soiled garments, opening the windows wide that the cold outer air might less en the attack of deathly nausea that seized her. Carrying the clothes down to the kitchen, she hung them to dry on the backs of chairs near the range in which she had already banked the fire for the night It would not do for her mother to see these garments dry ing upstairs in the morning, for she might suspect the truth. Then the worn woman crept down into the caller, and, with as little noise as possible, deposit ed several heaping shovelfuls of coal on the furnace If this lask were neglected, the fire would be out in the morning, and she would have to make a fresh blaze before the family were astir. Her Excuse for Him. The furnace attended to, Mary Fletch er got as far as the little parlor where the lamp was still burning. Here she dropped down exhausted on the glaring blue sofa. For a while she did not move, but as she became conscious that she was growing chilly she pulled over her the hideous gr**en-and-yellow slum ber robe that had been Bert’s Christmas present to her, and arranged under her nead the hard but gorgeous sofa cush ion which had been her mother-in-law's holiday gift to the household The wife felt that she had endured all she could, that to-night she could not bear to sleep in the room that she and Bert shared In common. The wind rattled the win dows, and the rain dashed against the panes The listener was so tired that she could not think, but could only be aware of her misery. Yet. so drunk was her husband that he did not know the next morning that his wife had not lain by his side all night His head ached furiously and he growled to Mary, when she told him it was nearly breakfast time, that he would “cut business to-day." To her mother the wife said calmly that “Bert had come home late, with one of his bad headaches, and was so far fron* *vel! to-day that she would not (i^t'irb him, even to have him go to .itnesfc.’ WL12L \ v h r A c.> V V! sv J, \C, n me* P C m l •'hmm • A- /.-*-£*< - j§ ibcrf-# M m J W V* 1jA v<, 4 SSI toA v* m Nell Brinkley Says T HE best little swimmer in the seaside colony drags herself ont on a wet rock and sits happy and salty, swinging her silken-clad feet in the fly ing spray. Her lashes are wet and cling together in little starry points. Her hair hugs her back in sprays of wet gold, close as ivy to a young tree. Her brown arms glisten. Salt drops bead her cheeks. Every wave that shivers into arms glisten. Salt drops bead her cheeks. Every wave that shivers into suds on the rocks sends its reaching spume against her face and kneea Her feet are sometimes, as the sea draws b tek, high above the water—then they ire hidden in the welter of white and g ’on. Over and around the rocks it pours and foams, waving the long beards of seaweed on their grim gray sides. The best little swimmer lifts her chin and smiles. For the sea and she are in close allegiance. She is not afraid of him. Her strong brown shoulders and her deep breast never fail—they carry her far, and when she clambers ont of the sea’s green arms she is a« little tired as when she slipped into them. She stretches her hard little arm and inspects it proudly. She is also very prond when she remembers the stunts she can do. She swings her feet in the froth and exult*! Suddenly out of the swirling deep water below her a sleek head lifts and iridescent., fish-like, lovely eyes regard her mockingly. The hair of its head is green as jade- and big pink shells lie against its ears. She lifts one arm from the water and the wet hand is webbed. Far behind her—to the amazed eyes of the wet girl on the rock a tinned tail lifts from the surf. She rears her body far out and the scales that dimly begin at the pale flesh of her waist are as red gold as the Japanese fish in a lily pond. And then and there the creature of the sea begins, with mocking laughter, a string of mar velous exhibitions. She does all the wonderful stunts that the land-girl can do—and all of those she could do if she had gills instead of lungs in her deep chest. • The land-girl’s pride falls. When she has done, the mermaid circles seal like below her, leaping high as she faces her, like a wet jewel in green and gold —triumphant—and speaks. “Ho, land-maiden! I saw you showing off this day—showing your little valor in the sea. What can you do that stands beside all this! In your chest you have lungs that must breathe air or you die. The seals and I are blood- brothers. Yon are an alien—a pitiful swimmer and the sea is your enemy!” The sea creature laughs and dives deep. The flicker of her gold scales—-the jade of her writhing hair are vanished. The land-girl’s cheeks were hot with envy. “I wish I were a LUNG-FISH!” she declares. Do You Know Thai— :: :: THE HEAD WAITRESS :: :: By HANK. / , \ THERE’S Mr. Flakes?” asked ing about Mr. Flakes in the paper One perspicacity just now and even the One lighted gas Jet consumes as much air as four adults. The Jews of New York number about '.*00,000. one-thirteenth of the entire race. St Martin’s Church. Canterbury, is said to be the oldest church in England in use to-day. In China and Japan railway sign boards bear the names of places in both English and the native language. The twelve million pounds' worth of linen which is the average yearly out put of the United Kingdom would wrap the earth at the equator seven times round. Portugal is the most illiterate coun try in Europe; 67 per cent of its popu lation can not write. In Italy the pro portion of illiterates is 53 per cent, in Russia 36. in Spain 9. in England 3 Vi. A poultry rearer at Domremy France, has discoverer that bv mixing cayenne pepper with tne food of fowls their plu mage turtus pink, which changes to a vivid sc let about an hour before a coming • ..iunderstorm. BEHIND CLOSED DOORS One o) the Greatest Mystery Stories Ever Written By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. (Copyright, 1913. by Anna Katharine Green.) TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. “Can not you tell me?" pursued Cam eron, wildly, "or will you not? You say you love me, show It now Your right hand, Molesworth, or your left. Genevieve or Mildred, which is It?" But though a strange yearning look came Into the dying man’s face, he did not stir, and the doctor seeing it desisted from his efforts and put as it were all selfish thoughts away from be tween them, and bending down, rever ently kissed the forehead, damp now with the dews of death. A thrill that seemed to have nothing but happiness In It passed through the outstretched form. The hand he had re fused to move passed slowly toward Walter, and gave it one earnest pres sure, then the deep, unreadable eyes closed as It were forever, when Dr. Cameron, stooping nearer, murmured In his ear: "Bridget Halloran walked the length of the ward for the first time today, and you have received the credit. Instantly a smile shone out on those pale lips and the eyes opened again with a look that Dr. Cameron was In vain trying to read, when a well- known voice murmured slowly and sol emnly In his ear. "It Is all over, doctor: we must find some other way of getting at the truth you want.” “S' The Great Question. fYOME other way? What other way?*’ A little time had pass ed. and Dr. Cameron stood in the parlor alone with Mr. Gryce. The detective meditated He had passed his prime, but he was the great Gryce yet. How should he find his way out of this difficulty? “I can not wait,” pursued the doctor, "for the slow process of comparison and investigation. T must know at once and without a doubt whom I have been cherishing in my bosom." "And we," subjoined the other, “must certainly know." And his tone became curt and businesslike. “What was the last word from your home?" he asked. "That my wife had moved again, but slightly." An expression passed over the detec tive’s face, which, if it had been seen by those who knew him best, would cer tainly have aroused great curiosity and interest. For he only looked thus when he had made some famous discovery or originated some deep-laid plan calcu lated to settle a vexed question. "You want to know," he cried, “how we can all be satisfied *s to which of the sisters you have under your roof in the person of Mrs. Cameron?" “Yes." “I will tell you.” And, leaning forward, he whispered some earnest and impressive words into the doctor’s ear. Gryce Redeems Himself. W HAT is this? Have we not left Mrs. Olney’s and have we not returned to Dr. Cameron’s room? Yes, but something has occur red here—changes have taken place, unaccountable changes to one who has not the clew to the situation. For while the walls, the ceiling, the fireplace and doors are those we have been accus tomed to see tn Mrs. Cameron’s apart ment, the carpet, which has been laid between the window and the bed, the curtains which shut off the light and make a semi-darkness in the room, even the bed with its coverlets and pillows are not only different from those in use here before, but are so strangely out of keeping with the general furnishing of this house of dainty appointments that we are dazed and do not know what to make of it till we suddenly rec ognize a picture that has displaced an exquisite Madonna on the wall opposite the bed. and perceive that we have the surroundings and almost the look of that room In Mrs. Olney’s house which we have been told was the one which had formerly held Mrs. Farley and her daughter. The Illusion is so complete, owing to the use of a screen which has been placed at the side of the bed in a way to cut off a view of the fireplace and such portions of the room as were out of harmony with this idea, that we are not at all astonished to see Mildred’s little stand, with her favorite books and knick-knacks upon it, and close by, with her plain, benevolent face turned to ward the silent form still stretched in its old quietude on the changed bed, the figure of Mrs. Olney herself, gazing with watchful eye and eager interest at the countenance which to all glances hut her own looks ouf of place upon these coarse pillows, and amid belongings sd poor and common. For in the dimness made by the cur tains and the fast-approaching night fall, two other forms can be faintly seen, waiting, as all things in the world seem to wait at such a moment, for the re newed stir in those quiescent limbs and fallen eyelids, which would tell of life returned to this lone unconscious body. They were those of Dr. Cameron and Mr. Gryce, and It would be hard to tell which countenance betrayed the most intent interest, though there would have been no difficulty in determining which had the husband’s anxiety at heart and which the detective’s. The hour was 6 and the silence something appalling. In it you could hear hut one sound; the beating of the doctor’s heart. "You said that the powder you gave her would lose its effect in forty min utes,” whispered Mr. Gryce in the ear of h!s companion, as he quietly replaced the watch he had Just closed. “Thoee ml routes are up, sir." A long drawn sigh answered him. It came not from the doctor, who had sim ply shivered, but from the bed. Mrs. Olney leaned forward tfll her lips al most touched the sick woman's fore head, and the word she uttered waei "Mildred!” The heating of Dr. Cameron's heart stopped, he strained his ears for the answer or exclamation which was to tell so much. “Mildred?" Mrs. Olney again breathed. “Oh!" came in a soft, lingering note , from the bed; then two dark eyes sud denly unclosed, and fixing themselves upon the face bent over them, slowly smiled as much as to say, *T am here." But in another instant a shudder went through that exhausted frame and those two eyes, wild now, and unutterably searching, flew from object to object about her, then hack to Mrs. Olney, who, perfect In her lesson, gave her an affectionate look and remarked quietly, "You have been ill, dear, very Ill." At which Mrs. Cameron looked again at the bed, then at the little faded shawl which had been pinned about her shoulders and lastly at her hands from which all her rings had been taken, and cried in sudden anguish: “Is it a dream then? Is there no Gen evieve, no Walter, and am I only Mil dred Farley?” The sound of a step, the smell of some pungent odor about the bedhead and Mrs. Olney found It unnecessary to answer; unconsciousness had set tled again upon the partially awakened woman. The Question Settled. ^tDO not care for the compliments, I sir.” And yet the detective look- ed decidedly gratified notwith standing “I merely wished to satisfy you and satisfy myself that It was not the adopted daughter of Mr. Gretorex whom you had made your wife. The experiment was satisfactory? You are thoroughly convinced?" To Be Continued To-morrow. Musical. It was at a musical given In an old-fashioned country house, and the soprano was screeching her loudest. “The room is cold,” complained one of the guests, “and I would like to stir the fire in the grate, but I don’t know how to do it without interrupt ing the music." “That’s easy," suggested his com panion; "stir it between the bars." After Shaving AIR-FLOAT Talcum re- moves the shiny redness and gives that smooth, natural, wholesome effect that men covet. TALCUM PUFF CO. Mln«TH and Manufacturer* Buth Terminal Building Brooklyn, N. Y. He Had Felt It. “Electricity in the atmosphere af fects your system,” said the doctor. | “Yes,” said the patient, who had paid two guineas for two visits. “There are times when one feels overcharged.” w * Head Waitress in the Caf* d’Enfant as he noticed the absence «• the genial manager. ’’He’s on his vacation," she replied. “Pretty soft for some guys You Just come back from your, didn't you?" “Yes, Louise," said the Steady Cus tomer. “For one beautiful week I trav eled on the water in a motor boat with my friend Jimmy." "Did it always mote?" asked the Head Waitress. "Most always," replied the Steady Customer "You see we had a good en gineer on board. You needn’t ask who he was Modesty would prevent my replying." "Sure, you always did hate yourself," said the Head Waitress. “I was in a motor boat once myself The engine behaved as if it had chronic presump tion. and hesitated every now and then like you do when you’re figuring on whether you can afford creamed cnick- j en on toast or browned hash. But. say, 1 all joking aside, you want to stop writ- it the other day, and said it looked as if he was getting too familiar with the customers." "That’s too bad,’’ said the Steady Customer. "If they had more manag ers like Mr. Flakes they'd have to turn away the crowds. There’s nothing that cheers anyone up like walking into a place like this and seeing somebody wearing a genial expression. Why I often take an extra piece of pie just to be able to exchange a few more cheerful word with him. Who’s the new manager?” "That’s Mr. Governor," said th® Had Waitress. "He’s a very nice man, too. That’s one thing I like about Mr* d’Enfant, she always picks out real gents for managers. That's what I call having perspicatity.” "That’s too n. ich fo* me," groaned the Steady Customer. "I suppose you mean perspicacity, but give me my check quick. I feel faint " "Louise Is getting too high brow for me," said the Stea<lw Customer to 'Tshe tried to say "Perspicacity in Indiana, where I come from, is a very ordinary word," replied Marie loftily. "Very ordinary. I'm surprised at you. This way out." No Wonder. “Do you play any instrument, Jimp?” “Yes; I’m a cornetist." "And your sister?” “She’s a pianist.” “Does your mother play?" “She's a zitherist." “And your father?” "He’s a pessimist.” Mr. Marie, the cashier. SEEING THINGS Whether it’s through a field glass, j opera glass, telescope or a pair of \ Kryptok eyeglasses—be sure they j are from "Moore’s.” “Moore” qual- < ity is our watchword. "We sell S everything to see with.” Jno. L. J Moore Sons, expert opticians, 42 J North Broad street. 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