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Beauty Secrets of Beautiful Women
Perfect Arms and Shoulders, and Other Valuable Hints From Cecelia San ton
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
One of the Greatest Mystery Stories Ever Written
A BiplaneThat Will Carry Ten Passengers—A New and
Terrible War Machine, Reviewed by Garrett P. Serviss
outdoors and I believe in fresh air
and sunshine for all growing things,
but I have to guard my akin against
the aunanine I love so dearly. On hot
summer days I always wear a big
shade hat, for though summer tan
may look attractive while it lasts. It
leaves a ooarses and slightly less
white skin in its wake. Burn and
tan every s'ummer for five or s!x
years and gradually your skin will
lose its fine, white texture. 1 am a
firm believer in good cold cream; if
I suspect a little tan of having won
its way to my face or throat or hands
I immediately dose the offending
member in cold cream. At night 1
always cleanse my skin thoroughly
according to the following method:
First I apply a generous coating of
cold cream, which I rub in thorough
ly; next comes a washing in a thick
lather made of hot water, castile soap
and a few drops of benzoin to make
the water soft and plensing to the
skin. A bit of massage with the fin
ger tips and a dash of cold water or
a rubbing with ice to make the tis-
tues firm and healthy, and my face,
neck, arms and shoulders are cleansed
for the night.
“Then I take a few simple exer
Miss Stanton’s Beautiful Arms and Shoulders.
By LILIAN LAUFERTY.
C > SCELIA STANTON and I met
in a manager’s office. All about
us were quartered oak and
eavy carpets, and all the unatractive
; ra phernalia of utility and business.
Little atmosphere or charm for tne
beautification of a dainty girl—and
vet from the dull work-a-day en
vironment little Miss Cecelia shone
with the aplendior of youth and
heal h and the clean sweetness of
modest girlhood.
Miss Stanton was the little prima
donna of B. A. Rolfe’s “Arcadia” last
spring, but now she is intrepidly ven-
lur'ng out on the B. F. Keith cir
cuit alone, with full faith in her
voice. h?r public and her manager.
Fred Ward. “Don’t you think,” s»he
asked, “that if a g’rl is ready to give
affection to the world, it must like
her a little bit too?”
“You open a field for our discus
sion,’’ answered the always-readv-
for-business interviewer, “we can
discuss the beauty of being in sym
pathy with the world—of being in
tune with life.”
“Perhaps I have not thought about
It very philosophically. ' But I think
you have to keep yourself well and
in good condition and free from tired
ness or nervousness or brain fag. It
docs not do to be forever making ex
cuses for not being quite at your best
—you have to make it your business
to be at your best. I think a young
girl who Is trying to accomplish any
thing in the world, whether it is in
the line of work dr just winning a
reputation as a beauty, has to keep
right at the thing she is striving for
and never lose sight of what she
wants. I guess earnestness of pur
pose would be mv rule of success.”
Arms and Shoulders.
“Now you can answer your own
question. Earnestness of purpose
means giving the world the best you
have—and as the poem says, 'the best
shall come back to you.’ But now
won’t you tell me about your best in
the line of beauty? Suppose you tell
all your anxious readers how to gain
or keep beautiful white arms and
shoulders.”
••I sacrifice a lot to keep white
skin,” said Miss Cecelia. “I love the
cises for arms and shoulders and
throat. With the fingers straight and
together, I raise the arms straight up
above my head, then sink them to
the shoulder height, and then turn
ing the writ* so that the palms are
outward and lead. I stretch the arms
wide apart at shoulder height. Count
ten for each part of the exercise and
alternately inhale and exhale. Swing
ing very light Indian clubs is a good
arm and shoulder exercise, but the
best one I know for burning off sur
plus fat from the regions of the shoul
ders and making shapely the arm is
this: Grasp the shoulder lightly with
finger tips and thumu in this posi
tion swing the arms around in cir
cles, increasing gradually to 100
counts, and stretching the neck from
side to side with ea *n ten counts.
“Simple food, and not too much of
it—fresh vegetable* and fruits ana
salads and light meat, with no rich
sauces—aid and ibet me in keeping
my shoulders shapely and free from
an accumulation of fat. It isn’t easy
to keep in trim—but that quotation
of yours expfresaes it—‘give to the
world the best you have and the best
shall come back to you.’”
LILIAN LAUFERTY.
Advice to the Lovelorn
BETTER NOT.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am seventeen years old, and
am in love with a boy eighteen
years of age. I see him nearly
every night. Although we don’t
know each other, he always
speak9 to me (calling me by my
name). I have no girl friends or
gentlemen friends whom I know
who would give me an introduc
tion. I know he Is anxious to
meet me. Every time he speaks
to me I feel like answering him
back, but I never do. Do you
think it would be improper for
me to speak to him, as I am very
anxious to get acquainted with
him? E. D.
You are both so young that I think
you had better not. You do not
say where you see him, leaving the
inference that it is on the street, and
that is reason in itself why you
should not include him among your
CHEAP EXCURSION TO
FLORIDA
Via G. S. & F. Railway.
Fare from Macon to
Jacksonville $4.00, Palatka
$4.50, St. Augustine $4.50,
and Tampa $6.00. Propor
tionately low rates from in
termediate stations. Spe
cial trains leave Macon
10:30 a. m. and 11:30 a. m.
September 9. Tickets lim
ited five days.
C. B. RHODES, G. P. A.
Macon, Ga.
friends with no one to stand sponsor
for him. Wait, my dear. If he is
the right one, the opportunity will be
given you for knowing him.
YOUR MOTHER KNOWS BEST.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
We are two chums, both nine
teen years of age, considered at
tractive and good dancers. The
young men of our set are very
slow about asking girls to affairs,
and we have been in the habit of
going without male escorts. Now
our parents have told us we can
not do this any more, as they
think it isn’t nice for girls to at
tend dances alone. Please tell us
if they are right in their attitude.
We have been told that the reason
the young men do not offer to take
girls to dances is that their sala
ries are so small they can not af
ford to. Also please advise us
whether it is proper for a young
man who escorts a girl tc a dance
to stay with her throughout the
evening, or to provide other part
ners for her?
PEACHTKEE.
Two young girls should not go to
i.iuiiiuiiiiiimiitmiiiiiiimfiimmmii)
Qf D*P*i*d* largely
.it J1 A upon one'. phy«-
^ ^ ical condition.
No man or woman can do their test
Work if troubb d with » weak Btomacfe
or h torpid 1 ver Don’t be carclw»a.
Don’t procrab unate.
Dr. Pierce’s
Golden Medical Discovery
f iromotee the flow of digestive juices,
nvirorates the liver and purifies and
enriches the blood. It makes men
and women strong in body and
active in mind
Ask Your Druggist
aii!iiiiiiiiiiiiiumiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiin:i
dances alone, but this does not
mean they must deny themselves the
pleasure because no men escort ihem.
A mother or father should be willing
to act as escort, or if a number of girl
chums can get an elderly lady to
chaperon all of them, the trouble will
be mastered. When a man tscorts a
girl to a dance, it is his duty to see
that she has a partner for every
dance.
Books and Bacon.
A miner who was proud of hl9 boy’s
attainments at school pne evening picked
up a home-lesson book and read from
it a quotation which ran like this:
“Some books should be tasted, some
^wallowed and some chewed and di
gested.—Bacon.” Turning to his boy. he
said:
“What’s this, sonnie? Thou doesn’t
eat books at school, does tha? I know
you are very clever, but you can not
do those nanny-goat tricks, I’m sure.
I’ll warrant that’ll be one of those
printer’s errors, sonnie.”
“Oh, no, father,’’ said the boy. “Met
aphorically speaking, ‘we eat books.’ ”
"Now. you can’t diddle me like that,”
said the father. "I didn’t go to school
very long, but I ken that’s one of those
printer’s errors Why, sonnie. can thou
not see? lie’s put the word ’Bacon’ in
the wrong place. It should be: ‘Some
bacon should be tasted, some swallowed
and some chewed and digested.—
Books.’ M
Not Slow.
A reverend gentleman was address
ing a school class recently, and was
trying to enforce the doctrine that
the hearts of the little ones were sin
ful and needed regulating. Taking out
his watch and holding it up, he said:
“Now, here is my watch; suppose It
doesn’t keep good time—now goes too
fast and now too slow. What shall I
do with it?”
“Sell It!” shouted a small young-
s ter, .
By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN.
(Copyright, 1913, by Anna Katharine
Green.)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT
•
“I will sit here," asserted the doctor,
going up to the nurse and motioning
her to one side. Then taking her place,
he drew his wife's right hand in his,
and, pressing it slightly, watched the
effect with a steady look from which he
had suppressed every expression save
that of gentleness and love.
The touch seemed to awaken the
slumbering life within her. Opening her
eyes, she fixed them with a wild stare
on hJs face that preserved its loving
look, though his heart was in a turmoil
of wild and contradictory emotions.
“Oh!” came from her lips in a long,
low and rapturous sigh. “It was not
then, a dream. I am your wife; you
are my husband, and ” Realization
came to her; there were terrors in her
soul as well as pleasures; life was not
simply love; she shuddered, and the
color which had crept warmly into her
cheeks vanished, as If the breath mln-
g ing with hers had been of ice.
The doctor, watching, held her gaze
fascinated by his. •
“Are you better, Mildred?” he asked.
At that name, uttered by him, a cry,
sharp as despair, rang startlingly out
from her Ups. and she half rose, but in
her weakness fell back. Dr. Cameron
stole a look at the detective, standing
still and attentive in the deepest shad
ow on the other side of the bed.
“You know, then?” she muttered,
feebly.
“Yes,” was his answer, “I know that
you were never Genevieve Gretorex;
that you are, instead, her sister, Mil
dred Farley; and though t blame you
for the deception, and wonder at the
ambition which prompted it, I love you
still, and am ready to forgive you.”
A smile, a flash, a look of Joy, un
mixed and unmistakable, brought the
old splendor for a moment to her face.
“Then have I nothing more to ask in
this world,” she cried: “my troubles
are all over. And O, how I have trem
bled lest you should hate and repudiate
me when you found that I had gained
your name by a fraud.” And two great
tears crept from between her closing
eyelids and rolled slowly down her
cheeks. “Let me thank God!” she
breathed, and tried to put her two
hands together but was too weak, so
only smiled.
As for the doctor, he crushed back
the tears that were rising to his own
eyes, and looking at her tenderly, said:
“And is this the only trouble you
have had? Was there no other anxiety
or fear on your mind?”
"Why, no. What other could I have?
Was not that enough? To lose your
love—Oh. Walter, you do not know what
that love it to me! But I will show
you, if I live; I will show you yet.”
And raising her heavy lids, she looked
at him with so much frankness, earnest
ness and truth that the doctor rose, tri
umphant, and glanced across at the
place where Mr. Gryce had stood.
But that gentleman had shifted his
position and now stood at the door, hat
in hand.
“I beg leave to bid you good even
ing," he observed, as he felt the doctor’s
eyes fall on him “If you have any fur
ther business with me let me know. 1
feel that ^have no more with you, and
now let me offer you my congratula
tions.”
And with the most benevolent of nods
e turned his broad back upon the hap
py husband and wife and silently slip
ped from the house.
The Doors Swung Back.
S OME six weeks later, Mr. Gryce re
ceived the following communica
tion;
"During the last few days I have been
told by my husband of the fearful
suspicion which my conduct had given
rise to in the minds of the police.
Though I liave done much that was
blameworthy, and am in no degree
worthy of the happiness which has
fallen to my lot. I did no wrong to my
sister, nor could I have done any,
though coflsequences worse than any 1
anticipated had followed the disappoint
ment of her return. To convince you
of this I w’rite these explanations, for
though I can have no hope of regain
ing your regard, I certainly expect from
you that Just estimate of my character
which is due to the wife of so noble a
man as Walter Cameron.
“I was never happy as a girl. Born
with an ambitious spirit, and a strong
taste for all that Is elegant and inspir
ing in life, I not only was preventel
by poverty from Indulging in any of my
numerous aspirations, but was kept
back from that culture of my own pow
ers, which* is torture to one who feels
her capabilities, but is denied all oppor
tunity of exercising them. Then, I had
to work, and work hard, and though It
was a labor of love, I could not rid my
self of the feeling that I ought not to
be subjected to so many sacrifices; that
I was fitted for better things and was
in a measure trod upon.
“For I knew that a sister so like my
self that our mother could see no physi
cal difference between us. was In V©
direct possession of ihose very things for
which my whole soul longed. {She had
wealth, she had leisure, she had accom
plishments. she had love. She ode in
a carriage, while I walked dismally o*
foot. She entered, as a welcome guest,
houses which were palaces of romance
to me, as remote and inaccessible us
though they were »he habitations j( the
gods. And yet uer look was my look,
her figure my figure; or so my mother
had Informed me In a moment of con
fidence that seemed to change my whole
nature . For she told me something
more,
“How, In that hour which robbed her
of one of her darlings, it had been my
little form she had laid nearest to the
grasp of the rich lady, and how that
lady, instead of taking me, had leaned
over and picked up my sister, though
that sister was no prettier, no larger
and no more promising than myself.
And thinking of this and brooding over
it at my work, I grew to feel that my
sister was a usurper; that she had no
right to the place she held; that It was
mine, and that if my mother's inten
tions had been carried out it would be
I, and not she, w’ho would be In pos
session of the heiress’ place, enjoying all
those pleasures that to my girlish under
standing were magnified into ecstasies
by the contrast they afforded to my
daily occupations and tasks.
“But though I suffered from these
longings and experienced this envy, you
must not think I neglected my mother
or dreamed of any change as regarded
my sister or myself. I did not even
try to see that sister, though T wasted
many hours that should have been spent
In sleep In dreaming over her Joys, and
mentally comparing her situation with
my own. The truth is, I could not
have found her except by means from
which naturally shrank, for though
my mother had told me she lived in
town, and was one of the elegant la
dles I sometimes saw crowding into ths
theaters or opera houses she had never
told me her name or given me any hint
as to what part of the city held her
home. *
“I was therefore greatly surprised and
very much dazzled w’hen one day she
said to me that she could not die with
out embracing both her children; that
though seh had taken an oath never to
intrude upon the child she had given
away, that her longing was so great
that she was determined not only to
see her child, but to reveal to her the
relationship in which they stood.
“ ‘But,’ I exclaimed, dimly conscious
that such an act would entail conse
quences of whose Importance we could
not at that moment Judge, 'If she does
not know her true history, you will give
her a great shock. She probably loves
the lady whom she regards as her
mother.’
“ ‘I am her mother,' was the answer
I received. 'She must love me; I will
no longer allow her to lavish upon that
other woman the feelings that are my
right.' And being weak, she went into
wild hysterics and would not be paci
fied until I had promised to assist her
to an interview with her lost child.
“Then it was that I learned for the
first time my sister’s name and where
she lived; and the knowledge being sup
plemented by the Information that she
was on the verge of being married, I
thought I saw my way clear to an in
terview. I told my mother how I pro
posed to Introduce myself to my sis
ter’s presence. She approved of my
plan and did not allow’ much time to
elapse before sending me to St. Nich
olas place.
“I went in my own proper char
acter as a dressmaker, but I wore
! a thick veil which completely hid
my features, being w r ell aware what a
disturbance my appearance would cause
at her doors if the resemblance between
us was as great as my mother had told
! me. Asking to see Miss Gretorex, I was
J taken in at once to her room, and, with
no true conception of the shock which
the sight of its occupant would neces
sarily occasion me, knocked and was
admitted.
“Shall I ever forget that moment?
The beauty, the brlllance, the cheer of
that dainty room, and before me stand
ing In an attitude that betrayed a per
fect familiarity with all these gorgeous
surroundings, myelf, in all but costume
and a certain delicacy of breeding which
in that one instant of deep emotion,
went like a dagger to my heart, so ar
dently that I longer for Just such an air
and just such a culture! The words of
my mother had prepared be for a like
ness, but not for such an absolute one.
Or rather no one’s words could prepare
a woman for seeing unmoved a repro
duction of herself in living flesh and
blood. And when after the first agita
tion which w’as happily hid by my veil,
I had an oportunity for studying her
closer, 1 was yet more astonished if
less shocked, to notice how her very
tricks of manner were familiar, and how
often she used her hands in just such
a way as I have seen myself do a thou
sand times. Yet she w f as a lady, high
bred to her very finger-ends, while I
was simply well-bred and full of ambi
tion to be what I in that moment saw
exemplified before me. Our heights
were the same, but when afterward I
came to measure her. I perceived that
I was just an inch larger about the
waist.
“Seeing me. as she thought, embar
rassed she spoke first. The voice dum-
founded me. There was a cadence In it
which was lacking in my own. and yet
It was like catching the notes of some
of those speeches I used frequently
to make to myself In the long hours of
solitary sewing. It impressed me so, I
hesitated to answer.
“ 'You have some request to make,'
she now said. 'What is it? I am in a
mood to be gracious;’ and she smiled,
but so coldly I asked myself if my face
lighted up no more w’hen I was happy.
Alas! I did not know then that she was
only indifferently so, and that the joys
I supposed made her heart beat with
rapture from ‘day to day, had grown
more stale and uninteresting to her en
ervated mind than ever my work had
done to me, notwithstanding I hated it
and was. perhaps, as far as disposition
goes, above it and Its perpetual grind.
“But this Is telMng what I felt, not
what I replied. For I answered this
question, making her start a little at
my first tones, and Informing her I was
a dressmaker. 1 asked for some of her
work, 1 have before related this scene,
but I did not at that time cling abso
lutely to the truth. I had a tremendous
secret to conceal and knew no other wa>
of doing it than by assuming Gene
vieve's past aa I had already assumed
her present. But at this hour there no
longer remains the least motive for con
cealing or misinterpreting anything con
nected with this matter, and I beg you
to consider what I say as truth, not-
wi-th landing the blur that lies over my
honesty, from the falst tales I told be
fore 1 realized how I was shaking my
husband’s confidence In me by such
methods.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
A Bad Case.
“Did you hear about the dreadful mis
take I)r. Sawbones made? That man
he operated on for appendicitis didn’t
have what the doctor thought he had.”
“Didn’t have appendicitis at all, eh?”
“Oh, he had appendicitis, all right,
but h* didn't havtj any money."
li
By GARRETT P. SERVTSS.
T HERE is rejoicing in France over
the success of a yoifng Russian
engineer. Igor S'korsky, who
has constructed and successfully tried.
In actual flight, a giant biplane, which
has a “cabin" for ten passengers, who
are not compelled to remain in fixed
positions, but can move freely about
while the machine is cleaving the air.
The French rejoice because they say
that now the German “Zeppelins," or
huge dirigible war balloons will be put
out of commission by this new form
of aeroplane, which Is swifter than they
are, equally well balanced and capable
of carrying weights comparable with
those that have hitherto been confined
to the balloon type of airship.
The first reports of the success of
Sikorsky’s apparatus were received with
Incredulity, but they have now been
confirmed It looks as If the dream of
the aeroplanlsts of a “heavler-than-alr”
machine capable of carrying a consid
erable crew, and an outfit of war weap
ons fend supplies, had been realized.
400 Horse Power.
The large cabin for passengers 1s stt-
whose upper supporting surface is larg
er than the lower. The span of Its
wings is nearly 90 feet, and the total
supporting surface is about 1.400 square
feet. Its weight is 6,600 pounds, and It
The New Biplane.
can carry, in addition to two pilots and
a mechanician, ten persons, with pro
visions and fuel for twenty hours, with
an extra allowance of 880 pounds for
emergencies.
It has lour motors of the automobile
type, of 100 horsepower each, and four
Independent screws. During an experi
mental flight two of the motors were
arrested, but the machine continued to
fly without difficulty.
The lurge eablne for passengers Is sit
uated behind the glass-enclosed pilot
house, and during a flight the passen
gers can not only move about in their
cubln, but can even go out upon the
front balcony. There is another cabin
containing a divan for repose and sleep,
and a passageway running around the
outer part of the ship. In short. It ap
pears to be a genuine Jules Verne ma
chine, fit for a “Captain Nemo" of the
air.
Several flights have been made with
this machine, the longest of which oc
cupied two hours, and was effected at
an average elevation of about 1,500
feet. It has flown over the city of St.
Petersburg, to the great wonder and ad
miration of the Inhabitants.
An editor of the Russian newspaper
Vetcherneie Vremia, who with four
other pussengers accompanied the huge
biplane in one of its flights, thus de
scribes his experience:
“During the flight I took notice of
the perfect equilibrium of the machine.
The passengers and the pilots passed
from one end to the other of the large
cabin, more than 10 feet long, and made
brusque movements, without in any man
ner disturbing the steady progress of
the biplane.”
M. Langovoi, writing in The Novoie
Vremia, says that, in view of the suc
cess of Sikorsky’s airship, the vaunted
German Zeppelin must see its end, for
It must hereafter give place to the Rus
sian Sikorsky.
A Terrible Machine.
It la evident that it la only neces
sary to replace the “passengers” with
armed men in order to turn this air
ship Into a terrible machine of war.
and this, It is said, was the. primary in
tention of the Inventor as it is the first
thought of those who are aiding him in
his enterprise. Furnished with bombs
and quick-firing guns, the Sikorsky
would be able to hold a city at its mer
cy, or to render a fort untenable, or to
put «n army corps to flight. The pos
session of a fleet ,of Sikorskys by a
nation would be a powerful argument
for peace, although it is an argument
which, it Is probable, would first be
tried out in a fight.
The rejoicings in france are somewhat
tempered by chagrin at the thought that
it is a Russian who has first achieved
the ideal aeroplane, for hitherto France
has distinctly held the lead in the de
velopment of the great American in
vention of self-supporting airships.
One Woman’s Story
Bu VIRGINIA TERHUNE VAN DE WATER
' CHAPTER XXXI.
M \RY FLETCHER’S little son was
born one morning in early ApriL
When the young mother awoke
from the ether sleep and heard the
baby’s cry, she smiled wanly, then a
frightened look crossed her face. The
village nurse, bending over her. mo
tioned to the doctor to step nearer the j
bed. She feared that the patient’s mind
was not quite clear, else why should she
look alarmed now that her trouble
was over and her child safe and well?
“What is the matter, Mrs. Fletcher?”
the doctor asked gently.
“Is my baby a girl?” queried Mary
anxiously.
“Why, no,” replied the doctor, with a
smile, “you have a splendid boy. Why
did you think it was a girl?”
“Because it cried so piteously,” she
whispered. “T do not want my child
to be a girl.”
Perhaps the physician, seeing daily—
as even a country physician must—
some of the tragedies of life, under
stood the feeling that prompted the
young mother’s question, for he spoke
kindly and reassuringly.
“Well, well,” he soothed, “you want
ed a boy and you have one. As soon as
you have seen him, he shall be laid here
by you and then you must try to sleep.”
Asleep With Baby.
When at last Mary fell asleep it was
with her treasure close beside her and
her head turned toward the tiny mite
asif listening Tor the faintest motion
from the flannels In which it was
swathed. She was glad that the doc
tor and nurse did not allow her to see
anyone Just now. She wanted to lie
still and try to appreciate that here
after her life need not be solitary and
lonely, for she had her child who would
be with her until he wus u grown man
—such a man as her father had been.
She would pray dally that he might
grow like him. With the thought came
the determination to call him by her
father’s name. Surely, even Bert could
not object to granting her this favor
just now But she would say nothing
about It yet, for she was tired.
So weak was the young mother that
Mrs. Danforth and Bert were not al
lowed to go Into her room until toward
the close of the day on which the baby
was born. Then the two—father and
grandmother—came into the quiet
chamber. In his soul Bert resented the
fact that he was not given precedence
above his mother-in-law at this time,
yet he did not mention this grievance,
for the doctor had warned him that
Mary must not be agitated. He looked
curiously at his small son aa the nurse
displayed him proudly. j
“Lord!” he exclaimed, “but he’s lit
tle!”
Then he kissed his wife and, as she
did not speak, stood about awkwardly
for a moment and tiptoed from the
room, his creaking boots refusing to be
silenced. Mrs. Danforth kissed the
baby, then kissed Mary, and, with her
handkerchief to her eyes, crept away.
But her teurs were those of gratitude.
About Baby’s Name.
The baby was a week old before Mary
felt strong enough to talk to her hus
band of the matter of the baby’s name.
Strange to say, Bert himself had not
asked what his wife wished to call
her son. Her mother had inquired
“what nam§ the darling was to have,”
and Mary replied tremulously. “There
Is only one name 1 want to call him
by, mother, and that is the dearest
name in the world to you, 1 know. I
must noi talk about It until I am a
little stronger.” But on the seventh day
after the child’s birth, Herbert Fletcher
came home from business and, learn
ing from his mother ln-Iaw that Mary
was feeling bright and comfortable, went
straight to her room.
“Well,” he asked as he entered, "and
how is Fletcher Junior to nignt?”
Mary smiled faintly. “He is doing
nicely', Bert," she answered. “Do you
know,’’ she w’ent on after u pause, “that
you and J have never said a word about
what we are going to call him? Yet 1
know we have both thought of it.”
“Of course we have,” laughed Ben
good-naturedly. “To my way of thlmc-
mg, there is only one name to call your
first boy by."
Mary drew a sigh of relief. “Oh, I
am so glad that you th'nk so too!” she
said. She was so certain that her
hopes and expectations were to be real
ized that she mistook her husband’s
smile of satisfaction for a glow of grati
fication at her pleasure. She held out
ii*r hand to him impulsively
“Oh, Bert,’’ she exclaimed, “I was
afraid that you would not want him
called by that name—the dearest In the
world to rne! Thank you. dear!”
Quick tears sprang to her eyes and
she closed her lids to hide them. When
she lifted them her husband was look
ing at her in perplexity.
"Why, Mamie,” he said, “I didn’t sup
pose you cared so much for my name
as that! And I don’t see why you were
afraid I’d object to having the kid
mimed for rne. Every man qught to
have his oldest son named for him.”
The woman paled suddenly and she
caught herself with pained surprise.
“Oh!” she gasped. "I thought you
meant you would name the boy after
—after—father!”
It was evident that this idea had
never occurred to Flether, for his Jaw
dropped and he flushed crimson.
“Well, I’ll be durned!” he ejaculoted.
Noting his wife's pallor, he checkeo the
words that rose to his lips. But he set
his jt^w stubbornly.
“His name's Herbert Fletcher,” he
said solemnly. “That's settled. He
ought to be a ‘Junior,’ and he’s going
to be. You can caJl him ‘Bertie’ for
short.’’
Mary did not tell him that while she
disliked the name of “Bert,” she dis
liked still more heartily that cognomen
with an “le“ tacked on it When she
uttered no protest her husband patted
her hand.
“Never mind." he ls.n*4i*>* “You can
call the next one for your father if
you want to. There’ll be lots more, I
hope, to pick and choose names for.”
Again the wife closed her eyes. She
felt that, if her life depended upon it,
she could not reply.
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