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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. INOI G ESTION? 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