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Their Married Life
By MABEL HERBERT URNER.
H ELEN was tired — tired and
warm, and Just a little Irri
table. There 1s nothin* more
trying than continuous shopping: and
sight-seeing:.
By the large gilt clock over a Jew
eler's window on the Rue de la Pal* 1
it was now half-past four. Helen
paused undecidedly. She was too
re Ft leas to go back to the hotel and
wait two long hours before Warren
would come.
She would go somewhere and have
tea —that would give her a chance to
rest. The Rita! Why not go there?
She knew that to have tea on the
terrace at the Ritz was one of the
things "todo” while In Parle.
When she reached the Imposing en
trance of this smart hotel. Helen
wondered if her simple traveling suit
might not be rather plain for tea at
■o pretentious a place. But at least,
no one would know her
Helen was always Impressed by the
atmosphere of appointments of a
great hotel. When she was with
Warren, his assured "man of the
world” air gave her confidence, but
now as she passed alone through the
luxurious foyer nnd lounging rooms
she felt both timid and self-con
scious.
The terrace, an Inner court garden,
was gay with flowers and the red and
white parasol-shaped awnings that
shaded each table. It looked like a
garden party on the stage, and a
concealed orchestra, playing noftly,
heightened this Inspiration.
There was a small vacant table
near the entrance and Helen took it
hurriedly She wished now she had
waited to come sime afternoon when
she was more appropriately gowned,
for her dark, tailored suit seemed
conspicuous among all those light
summer dresses of silks and chiffons.
To Helen’s surprise, a waiter now
hurried up to her and began talking
very fa*t In French. Seeing that she
did not understand, he rushed off and
returned with an arrogant head
waiter who spoke English.
A Rebuff.
"I’m sorry, madnme, hut you can
not sit here. This table Is reserved."
Helen flunhel. There was a subtle
note of condescension in his voice
which she sensed was due to her
plain gown.
"That Is also reserved," ss she
gathered up her purse and gloves and
turned to another table, "but I can
seat you inside.”
Intuitively Helen knew the tables
were NOT reserved, but that he did
not wish to give to her a desirable
table that would seat four. For a
moment she forgot her shyness and
self-consciousness and turned to the
pompous head waiter with blazing
eyes.
“Do you mean that every vacant
table on this terrace is taken?”
"Yes, madame; but I will give you
a table Inside.”
With flaming cheeks Helen turned
to leave the place. She felt that
everyone wa? looking at her. Oh
why bad she come here? Why had
she subjected hereelf to his embar
rassment ?
"I AM unfortunate! This Is one of
the ‘unexpected pleasures' that don’t
often happen "
Startled, Helen turned to And be
side her the man she had met In the
Ivouvre.. He* looked even taller and I
more distinguished than *he had re
membered him. With increased con
tusion she murmured some almost in
audible greeting.
"Please don’t say that you’ve al-
readv had your tea?”
"No, I—I—” Helen’s eyes were still
ablass. "the waiter just told me all
the^o tables were engaged.”
"Which waiter said that?” he de
manded quickly. I
"The head waiter—the one that’s
coming now," for that pompoun indi
vidual was hastening toward them
with a look of anxious concern.
"Pierre, did you tell this ladv that
all these tables were engaged?"
"The lady did not say that she was
having tea with anyone. Mr. Ford-
ham, and 1 — you see. we are so
crowded this afternoon,” apologeti
cally. "and these tables neat four. If
the lady had onh’ said—’’
Rut Mr Fordham cut him short
with an imnatient. "Let us have serv
ice here AT ONCE!”
Before Helen realized It, thev were
seated at the same table which she
had been asked to leave a few mo
ments ago. Put now both the waiter
and head waiter were most solicitous
in their attentions.
Helen was still no furiously indig
nant over the incident that she could
think of nothing else. it was not
until they had been served that she
was really conscious that she was
having tea with a stranger.
Should she have made some ex
cuse? Was It a very unconventional
thing to do? Yet nhe could not help
feeling grateful for having been re
lieved from so embarrassing a posi
tion.
Just then a brass-buttoned bell
r/ime up to their table.
"You’re wanted on the phone, Mr.
Fordham.”
"Will you excuse me a moment?”
turning to Helen.
Her glance followed his tall, gray
figure through the terrace and into
the corridor. So he was staying here!
That accounted for his being so well-
known. and for his being treated with
such solicitous courtesy — and his
name was Fordham.
Helen’s thoughts were in a whirl.
Not since she was married had she
dined or lunched or had tea with any
man except Warren. Her glance fell
on the straw hat .Aid stick on the
chair beside her How like Warren’s.
The same plain wood, crooked-handle
stick, and even the maker’s name in
the upturned hat was the Marne.
She could hardly believe that it was
not Warren who had been called to
the phone. And the crumpled nap-
Beauty Secrets of Beautiful Women
Cor set less, Co/larless Comfort as a Real Aid to Beauty Discussed by Louise Dresser
kin beside his plate—the very way
Warren alw'ayg threw down his nap
kin.
I m sorry to have had to leave
hi itldt m lie inin took his
place at the table, and laid the nap
kin over his knee with Warren’s very
gesture.
Helen Anxious.
"Won’t you have some fresh tea?
I’m afraid that is cold.”
"No—no," hastily. "I’ll not. hav*
time. I only ramo in here to re*t for
a few moments.”
"Do you know,” again that per
sonal note in his voice, "this Is the
first time I’ve ever been on this ter
race? I never take tea. I had Just
come in and was going up to my room
when something inado me come out
here. What form of mental teleg
raphy would you call that?”
’1 hardly think you can dignify it
by so pretentious a name," flushed
Helen. ”1 would call it merely a
chance meeting.”
With nervous Angers Helen was
crumbling a bit of tea cake by her
plate. The conversation was growing
much too personal. Hhe was trying
desperately to think of something to
snv about her “husband” or "Mr Cur
tis,” but she could think of noth
ing that would sound natural.
"It’s almost half-past five,” nerv
ously taking up her gloves. "And
I—” groping for an excuse, "I’ve an
early dinner engagement."
When tho waiter brought the check
he signed It, and took up the hat and
stick that looked so much like War
ren’s.
In a Hlcnce that was conscious and
slightly strained they left the terrace
and walked slowly through the now-
crowded lounge rooms that led to the
street.
Helen felt the moment of parting
was going to be an awkward one.
She was trying to think how she
could thank him in a very impersonal
way.
"My car Is outside,” ne aaid, quiet
ly, "and I’m going to ask you
to let me send you home. It will be
quicker and more comfortable than
a taxi.”
"Oh. thank you." she said in hur
ried confusion, "but I shouldn’t want I
to trouble you to do that.”
They were at the door now, he
nodded to a liveried doorman, who
blew a whistle, called out something
in French, and the next moment a
flittering private car har ked out from
the line of waiting vehicles in the
street and purred up to the door.
Helen drew back protestingly. "Oh
no—no. really I—”
“Are you going to refuse me so
slight a favor?”
The doorman had run down the
steps and was expectantly holding
open the car door. Helen hesitated.
To persist in refusing might seem
more marked — as though she was
making too much of a slight courtesy.
"Of course. I shall he very glad—’’
she stammered, "only I don’t want to
inconvenience you.”
Gave Her Address.
The next moment she was in the
car. For an instant he held her hand,
then gave her address to his chauf
feur. nnd the car glided off.
For the second time Helen bad the
picture of this man standing back
with raised hat, as she drove away.
Rut the ride to her hotel in the big,
luxurious touring car was anything
but a pleasure. She could think only
of her confusion nnd the awkward
ness of the last few moments.
How could she have refused th"
car without being rude? Yet. sup
pose she should meet Warren rh ahe
drove up to the hotel—what would
he think?
Helen had not thought it necessary,
when she had merely walked through
a few picture galleries with a
stranger, to mention tt. Rut to have
tea with that same stranger and to
be brought home In his car — that
was different. Yet, after all. Mr.
Fordham had simply been courteous
as might any American to another in
a foreign country.
When they drew up to the bote!,
Helen was conscious of a sense of
relief that Warren was not in sight.
Rut as she ran up the steps she de
cided that she would tell him about
the tea.
He certainly would not misunder
stand so trivial an incident, and sho
would feel more comfortable If ho
knew.
I ' USED to wonder 1f the man who
wrote ”Oh, You Great Big Beau
tiful Doll” had visions of Louise
Dresser the while the Muse burned—•
but that was before I had talked 'O
Louise Dresser. For no great big
beautiful doll is the stunning blonde
Louise, but a sane, thoughtful and
altogether very womanly woman.
"Beauty is a somewhat overrated
asset of the feminine bank account,,’*
said MIrk Dresser in answer to my
plea for "secrets." "Whenever any
one starts a discussion of it, I think
of a friend from the West, went
abroad to feast h£r eyes on the beau
ties of Westminster Abbey and the
Italian lakes, and all the eager little
knowledge seekers in her home town
kept writing to her to be sure to And
out the latest methods of flesh reduc
tion and hair retention and complex
ion beautification! Well, I believe ih
comfort — C-O-M-F-O-R-T — and
health and calmness and living one
day at a time and charm of manner;
nnd if out of that combination beauty
does not Just naturally evolve, some
thing is radfcally wrong with tho
woman who is practicing my five car
dinal virtues.’’
Miss Dresser w-as donning the Ar-
verne Hack of Ruth Snyder, the
charming stenographer, who delighrs
"Potash and Perlmutter" and the au
diences up at Cohan's Theater—and
with a Anal settling flirt of tho big
butterfly black hat, she herself set
tled down to pay strict attention to
me—and Beauty!
Her Pet Hobby.
"Let’s discuss your flve cardinal
points—one extra for that compass,
but it seems to have a magnetic
South of loveliness."
"All right,” said obliging Miss
Dresser. "YYY begin with my very pet
hobby — comfort—C-O-M-F-O-R-T.
Please have that put In the biggest
type there is—for it is so important.
Comfortable shoes—no more strained
expressions that say as plainly as
possible, ‘Oh. if I only last till I get
home and into comfortable slippers! ’
Now, why not wear comfortable sho-^s
all the time—your feet will only
bulge out somewhere If ,fiey are
compressed into triple A when thev
yearn for the sanctuary of a C? Com
fortable clothes--no choking collar
bands or waist bands—or stiff, strait-
jacket corsets, when a pliable ‘tricot’
will so much better keep the natural
line of the figure with the somewhat
sloppy look the average woman ge’s
when she tries to appear absolutely
uncorseted. Your disposition will be
sweeter if you have not the achingly
painful Irritation of clothes that bind
and too strongly remind you of their
existence. Your expression will be
more charming, your general healtn
will reach a higher standard—and you
win be so much better able to enjov
life and meet trouble with a smile if
you will Just do away with the handi
cap of physical discomfort.
"The clothes of to-day may be im
modest when they fall into the power
of the woman who used to make th»
tailor-made suit suggestive, but prop
erly designed and worn they areJove-
ly. graceful, modest and COMFORT
ABLE.
Miss Dresser in a charming ^ose.
"From comfort to health is a sim
ple step, with outdoor life and sensi
bly chosen food to aid and abet in
the search for preservation of health.
If you are comfortable and healthy,
you can easily cultivate calmness,
and if you are calm, you won’t let
yourself get flustered and flurried
about what happened yesterday or
may happen to-morrow. You will
learn to Just live one day at a time
and to get all the Joy and work and
sweetness possible in and out of tho
day.
“Then, with the first four points
mastered, you will feel so young and
happy and ‘springy’—instead of all
shaken down into a rut—that it won’t
be a very difficult task to cultivate
charm of manner. And that is the
greatest aid to beauty I know. You
never realize that a plain looking
woman is almost homely if she is
charmingly courteous and sympa
thetic and sweet-manneredly uncon
scious of herself and interested in
you. Charm of manner and becoming
clothes that bring out a clear com
plexion or cast a merciful glow over
a dull one—and a homely woman
sometimes manages to look more at
tractive than her pretty sister who is
wearing the particular color that
made some other girl she knows lo >k
smart, but that is guaranteed to
make her look her worst.”
Try the three “C’s”—COMFORT.
Color-study and Charm—for the ac
quisition of the one big B—that is,
for Beauty. It will really pay you to
try, for Louise Dresser, lecturer,
practices exactly what she preaches.
. —LILIAN LAUFERTY.
© COLLEAGUES ®
A COMPLETE SHORT STORY
AN IDEAL TRIP FOR
SEPTEMBER.
The Warm Springs Hotel
will remain open until Sep
tember 15, and those who
are acquainted with this
famous watering place will
find it ready and anxious to
serve them with the best
the country affords. This
is just the season to enjoy
the baths and the beautiful
country surroundings.
greater effort to behave, ono
man in ten rejoice* and the remain
der regard him with suspicion.
When a man has sat on a keg of
powder for a time, and nothing lias
happened, he grows bold and lights
a pipe.
There are many men whose re
ligion doesn’t fool the most credulous
on earth, but they expect the Lord
to swallow it.
When a man runs for office, every
one in town gets in on some treat j
but his wife, and *he is the only one
who hears his grumbles when he is ;
defeated.
A man is pleased wfien he learns i
a prety woman admires him. never 1
surprised.
Don’t interrupt a man when he is
telling his troubles. If you do, he
will start all over at the beginning.
Tf a man site in the same room
with a baby that is soynd asleep in
its crib, he thinks he should have
credit for taking care of it.
Pay a man over fifty a compliment,
and when he walks away he carries
himself as if he were ten years
younger.
All that being prominent gets a j
man ie» the certainty that all the book
agents will call on him.
A man's idea of religious liberty is
the privilege of staying home from
church.
A man can never understand why
one girl’s party clothes shouldn't fit
another girl; they are made Jusrt loose
enough to cause alarm, and Just tight
enough to hang on.
After a man 1* married he doesn’t
have to be a humorist to make his
friends smile. All he need do is to
remark that he is free to do as he
pleases.
—PjUyCZS L. GJJxSIDE.
A N early summer morning an old
man was walking along the
road between Brussels and Na
mur. He was waiting for the stage
coach, and. as it did not come in time,
he had set out to meet it.
As he had plenty of time, he care
fully observed anything that met nls
eyes. At last he stopped to look at a
painter who was standing on a ladder
painting an appropriate sign for the
inn of "The Rising Sun.”
"I am sure,” the old man thought,
"that fellow' considers himself the
equal of Rubens, though he probably
knows no more about perspective than
a field mouse. Good Lord, how he
puts on the skyblue paint!"
He began to walk up and down in
front of the inn, as he might as well
wait for the stage there as anywhere
else. In the meantime the painter
continued to put on blue paint, which
irritated the old man awfully.
When the painter once more dipped
his brush in the blue paint, be could
stand it no longer and growled quite
aloud. "Too much blue."
The painter stared at him from the
top of his ladder and said very calm
ly:
"I suppose you don’t see I am paint
ing a sky."
"Of course. I see that you are trying
to paint a sky, but you use too much
blue, anyway.”
"Did you ever see a sky?”
"Yes, but never a sky like that, I am
sure."
"But this is supposed to be a clear
blue sky at sunrise.”
“And I tell you that nobody but a
fool would think of painting a sky
blue at sunrise.”
"I suppose you know all about It
and you would paint a sky without
any blue.”
"I never said I was a past master
in the art of painting skies, but I
would certainly never use as much
blue ae jou -do.”
"Oh, you JuFt keep your remarks to
yourself, you old fool. I have painted
signs for ‘The Red Horse,’ ‘The
Green Bear’ and ‘Charlemagne,’ so I
should think I know my business.”
"I don’t care anything about your
‘Green Bear’ and ‘Red Horse’ ani
‘Charlemagne.’ ”
With these words the old man ran
up the ladder as nimbly as if he had
been 40 years younger and began to
wipe off the painting.
The painter shook the ladder and
shouted to him to come down at once,
but the man continued his work of de
struction. Havin~ destroyed the won
derful blue sky. he used his index fin
ger and painted thxed peasants raising
their glasses to a rising sun on a
gray sky. One of the peasants was
a vicious caricature of the painter at
the foot of the ladder.
Another Interferes.
A number of people had come out
from the inn. among these the inn
keeper. and when Uiey saw the pic
ture they laughed ;noyd. The painter
suddenly changed tune, took the old
man’s hand, and said;
"1 see you are a professional, and
I am very glad to make your ac
quaintance.”
Just then a man who looked like an
English tourist came up, looked at
the sign, and said: "I want that
sign: name your own price.”
"It is not for sale." said the painter,
in a tone as if he had painted it him
self.
"That is right,” said the innkeeper;
“it is not for sale, for it is already sold
and partly paid for. It is my prop
erty.”
“You are very much mistaken,” said
the sign painter. "My comrade has
helped me to paint it and I may sell it
to anybody I please.”
"Nonsense," said the innkeeper; "it
hangs on my house, so it is my prop
erty.”
"You will have to P5pv« that in
court,” f
"I will sue you for breach of con
tract.”
“YValt a moment,” said a strong
voice.
It was the old man.
“It seems to me I ought to have a
w’ord in this matter.”
"Right you are, comrade,” said the
sign painter.
They continued quarreling, and the
Englishman repeated his offer to cov
er the painting with $5 bills.
"But suppose I don’t want to sell
it,” said the real painter.
"You must,” said the innkeeper. "1
am a poor man. You must let me
have the profit.”
"Don’t you believe him.” cried the
sign painter "He is an old miser,
while I am the father of a family and
you and I are colleagues.”
"He is an old loafer who spends
every cent he makes, so he has not a
copper for his daughter’s dowry."
“That L-* a lie. My daughter Su-
zette is engaged to an honest carpen
ter who is to marry her in Septem
ber.”
"A daughter that needs a dowry,"
cried the old man. "That is some
thing for me. I sell the sign and you
get the money for your daughter’s
dowry.”
“I will pay any amount you say.”
said the Englishman, "if you will paint
two words on the picture."
"And what are those words?"
"Pierre David.”
Everybody arose and the sign paint
er bowed his head to the great artist.
"Forgive my impudence,” he said.
"I did not know yo6.”
Pierre David shook his head and
laughed heartily. The news of his
presence spread quickly and Pierre
David drank a glass with all of them.
At last the sign painter’s daughter
came, threw her arms around the fa
mous artist's neck, and kised him
squarelj on the mouth.
"You have paid me more than full
value for my work." Pierre David said
a* he returned her klso.
THE TUNNEL
GREATEST STORY OF ITS
KIND SINCE JULES VERNE
fTtrm th« Herman
grrmn *emion Copyrighted 1913. \
Fisrher Ver'.ag, Berlin. English tr^alAtlon tn4
compilation by
(Copyrighted. 1*13. by International News BrrScm-)-
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
I N Canada Allan found peace. No
one knew where he was. He had
dropped completely out of sight.
This naturally gave rise to the re
port that he had gone the way of
Wolf and Ranson, and as he never
denied it, thousands believed that he
had killed himself.
But those who worked In more or
less contact with the great chief of
the tunnel laughed at the rumors.
They declared he would turn up again
when he thought the right time had
come. And, indeed, he turned up very
much sooner than was expected.
Miss Lloyd was not entirely cor
rect In her statement that New York
had calmed down. It had not
calmed—it had concentrated. Tho
failure of the syndicate did not have
the far-reaching effect that Lloyd and
the others had predicted. This was
due largely to the fact that condi
tions were so bad at the time that
nothing mattered much. Allan had
not been the sole factor in bringing
these conditions about. Nor had the
tunnel been the sole factor But. as
is always the case, the most shining
mark was picked for the weight of
the blame.
The newspapers, anxious to clear
the tunnel enterprise itself of the
load of discredit under w'hich it was
buried, concentrated their attack cn
Allan.
Daily they declared that Allan, and
Allan alone, was responsible for the
failure—that he had given out mis
leading figures—that he had made
miscalculations—that he had delib
erately deluded Investors. In seven
years the tunnel w-as not one-third
complete, and he had promised the
finished work in fifteen.
They continued the merciless ham
mering until finally Allan wag indict
ed for obtaining money under false
pretenses.
Three days later Allan arrived in
New York and walked into the Dis
trict Attorney’s olfice and surren
dered himself.
This was the first sensation. The
second, to those who understood the
tunnel situation, was even more im
portant. The first offer of bail came
from Lloyd, personally. The fact had
hardly become known when the re
ceiver of the syndicate also offered
to become a bondsman. The public
was amazed. It was a right about
face for the tunnel masters. They
had for months given every indica
tion that they intended throwing Al
lan to the wolves, and the moment he
was about to be crushed they were
first to come to his aid.
To do them justice, or injustice,
they had fully intended to adhere to
the original course and let Allan sink.
Even Lloyd felt that it would be
best to eliminate him. He never al
lowed personal likings or obligations
to weigh against a business necessi
ty. But the great financier reck
oned without his daughter, now' a
woman of past 30, and the one
human being that he feared. In one
evening’s talk she had forced her
father into his reversal of position on
the tunnel builder, and, of course, the
others had to follow' his lead.
But Allan declined bail. He ex
plained that he was not ungrateful,
but that he would find more rest and
quiet in the city prison than any-
w'here else in the State; and he had
<a lot of work to do, he said. All the
time he was awaiting trial he worked
on his plan to drive a single gallery
as a pathfinder for the completed
tunnel.
The Trial.
The trial lasted three weeks, and it
was followed in detail all over the
world. Lloyd retained the best crim
inal lawyers he could find to defend
the accused man, and six of the most
powerful legal intellects in the world
w’ere ranged behind him in the battle
against the machinery of Justice.
Much of the testimony was too
highly technical to be understood by
the casual newspaper reader, but ail
of it was printed. Ethel Lloyd’s pic
ture appeared in the papers dozens of
times. She did not miss an hour of
the trial and followed every move
with keen understanding.
The prosecution maintained that
Allan had wilfully and knowingly in
duced investors to part with their
money on the assurance that the tun
nel would be in successful and profit
able operation within fifteen years.
It was now conceded that this w’as
impossible. The State contended that
Allan had known from the beginning
that this was impossible, and it in
troduced plenty of expert and cir
cumstantial evidence to back up its
case.
The defense was that Allan had
planned to finish the tunnel in all
good faith within the time limit set,
but he had been thwarted by acts of
God, which could not be foreseen by
man.
In spite of the tremendous pres
sure of public opinion it is likely that
Allan would have been acquitted but
for hie uncompromising frankness.
This was his undoing on cross-
examinatiofl.
The courtroom was jammed to the
doors when Allan took the stand in
his own defense. The direct exami
nation was quiet but impressive and
brought out the almost superhuman
efforts of Allan and his field officers
to overcome tremendous and unex
pected difficulties. Many in the audi
ence were beginning to look at him
with new sympathy when the District
Attorney began his questions.
"Mr. Allan," he said, "you pledged
yourself to have the tunnel running
In fifteen years, did you not?”
“It would amount to that—a pledge.
I mean.” conceded the witness, with
out the slightest hesitation. His law
yers frowned.
"That meant that you were to have
regular trains running through the
tunnel at the expiration of the fif
teenth year?”
“Yes.”
"You were convinced that you
would be able to finish the construc
tion Inside of that period of time?”
Instead of replying with a simple
affirmative, Allan amazed his law
yers and the audience w’ith this re
ply:
"I was not exactly convinced. That
is too strong a word. I hoped that
under favorable circumstances we
w'ould be able to complete the work
In that time, or possibly even a little
less.”
"Then In making this pledge you
depended upon favorable circum
stances ?’’
Instantly a short, round man who
sat at the head of Allan’s counsel
thrust in an objection. It had taken
him these few' seconds to rally him
self after the shock of Allan’s pre
vious answer. He was John Sands,
the most celebrated trial lawyer in
the world.
"I object," he snapped. "The wit
ness has answered the question.”
"Overruled,” declared the court.
Impassively.
Another Objection.
The District Attorney repeated his
question. Allan hesitated an instant,
as if to frame his answer.
"I was, of course, aware that un
foreseen difficulties might arise," he
said, slowly. "I knew that under cer
tain circumstances that construction
work might take two or possibly
three years longer."
"You were, then, as a matter of
fact, convinced that the work would
I probably take tw r o or three years
longer?" concluded the prosecutor.
Mr. Sands w'as on his feet in an in
stant, his little stubby white beard
thrust out.
"Your honor," he almost snarled, "I
object to this line of questioning. The
witness has already said that he be
lieved the work could be done in fif
teen years."
"That’s just exactly w’hat he hasn’t
said,” retorted the District Attorney.
"The objection is overruled; pro
ceed," said the judge. He ordered
the question read from the notes and
courteously requested Allan to an
swer it.
"I didn’t say that I was convinced
that it could not be done in that time.
On the contrary, I hoped to be able to
do It—if all went well.”
"If you were certain that you could
finish the tunnel ” began the pros
ecutor. Then he stopped and began
again: "I am sure from your testi
mony here, Mr. Allan, and from all
that we have heard of you, you pride
yourself on being a man of your
word ?’’
"I do."
L tha
IEN, if you w'ere not certain
that you could not finish the
tunnel in fifteen years—if you
knew that you could not finish it in
that time unless all the circumstances
were favorable, w'hy did you make
the positive statement that you cou.d
do it?’’
“I object,” shouted Mr. Sands, and
Allen’s entire array of counsel ro39
en masse behind him.
The court listened patiently while
Mr. Sands argued for ten minutes and
fenced and snapped at the District
Attorney. Then:
"The question Is perfectly proper,”
he ruled.
More Admissions.
"Grumbling angrily. Allan’s counsel
retired to their table, w'hile the sea-
ographer read the question again.
For the first time Allan looked Just a
trifle uncomfortable. The anxiety of
hie lawyers probably caused this ajs
much as his own realization of the
direction in which the question was
leading.
He stumbled and hesitated and the
District Attorney cut In sharply.
"A 8 a mattef* of fact, Mr. Allan," ho
cried, "you named fifteen years be
cause you thought it would be easier
:o start your project if you fixed a
comparatively short time-limit, didn’t
you ?"
Again there w'as a chorus of ob
jection*, and again Allan was ordered,
to answer.
"I suppose that had something to
do with it,” he admitted, in a low,
even voice.
The District Attorney threw a quick
look of triumph about the court.
"You knew that people would in
vest more readily If you gave your
pledge that the work would be com
pleted In fifteen years than if you
said it might take eighteen or twenty
or twenty-five—that you couldn't tell
how long it would take? lent that
so?"
"I suppose It Is.”
The District Attorney turned to the
court in triumph.
“The people rest,” he said.
Mr. Sands instantly swept into a
loud-voiced re-direct examination of
the witness, but he could not get
past the stumbling block of that
first damaging admission that Allan
had not been convinced that he coud
finish the tunnel within tfc* time
limit set; and the case went to the
Jury.
The jury was out three hours. It
returned a verdict of guilty.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
“I
THINK we’ll have to move out
into the country, away from
these rough neighbors!” sigh
ed Sammy’s mother. "I thought when
we moved out into this really nice
suburb we’d be able to live in peace,
but truly, the children are w'orse than
ever! Sammy’s language is painful,
at times!”
Sammy’s mother hurried to the
window as a shriek of anger rent the
air.
“Yes, there It is again! There’s
poor little Sammy, who never knew
what fighting meant, right In the thick
of it! And just look—all those boys
attacking my poor child!” She ran
downstairs.
"Boys," she cafied, breathlessly.
"You stop that this minute! Sammy,
come here to mother!’’ She ran out
into the street to meet her offspring,
who slow’ly came toward her, walk
ing backward, making grimaces at his
enemies.
“He slapped my brother!" declared
one boy to Sammy’s mother.
"Don’t talk to me!” Indignation
rang In Sammy's mother’s tone. "I
saw you—a lot of young cowards—
actually pitching upon one little
boy!”
"Aw, he’s older than all of us!" re
turned the champion of his brother.
Sammy and his mother returned
triumphantly to the caller. “They
were fighting—a lot of them attack
ing Sammy,’’ explained Sammy’s
mother. "And he’s not been brought
up to that sort of thing—poor child!
‘Til just have to go out where
Sammy will be away from them!
City children are all alike—you don’t
know' w'hat to think of their parents!
Now, I’ve always tried to bring Sam
my up with a thought to his future.
The Remedy.
"Sammy, dear.” She turned to her
r son. "Run out, now. It’s not good
for little boys to listen to people
praising them.”
"Aw. I’m tired, and my leg hurts,”
responded Sammy, pulling dow'n his
stocking to examine the trouble.
"Sammy, dear, it’s not polite to do
that before company,’’ expostulated
his mother, gently, casting a smiling
side glance at her caller.
"It don’t hurt her none,” returned
Sammy, earnestly searching for the
wound. "Those darn kids, anyway—
they kick!” He found the spot that
felt sore.
“Feel that, ma!" he urged, putting
his shoe on her lap.
"Yes, dear, mother’ll dress It for
you soon. She spoke soothingly.
“Gee. the kids are a bunch of
softies,” disgustedly remarked Sammy
to the caller. "They’re afraid to meet
me alone, but they go get all their
brothers and friends to help—and no
w'onder the bunch can lick me. But
I could do up any one of them single
handed! They"
"Sammy!” His mother spoke in a
shocked tone. "Why will you repeat
all those awful things you learn on
the streets!"
Sammy laughed, glancing apprecia
tively at the caller. "Why, ma,” he
said, "the bunch in this neighborhood
don’t know what I mean when I talk
plain English, they’re so flossy! They
teach me! Huh, I could teach their
father’s a few things!”
"You see, we’ll have to move!" al
most wept Sammy’s mother. "Sammy
always was so good—until he began
going to school and meeting other
children. He’s so unselfish, and they
take advantage of it, until he has to
take a stand, poor child! He ought
to be out with the flowers and birds
—his sensitive nature is being ruined
here!” She sighed again.
"Yes,” agreed the caller, taking her
purse from Sammy, who held It sug
gestively. “It would be splendid if
one could isolate such children!"
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