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1 r. H E Tl U N N El Greatest Story of Its L Kind Since Jules Verne (From ths Herman of Bernhard KeMermam Scrman version Copyrighted. 1913. by ruiher V'srlag, Berliu. English translation i compilat'cn b> TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT Allan was sentenced to the peniten tiary’ for not more than six years and not lens than three years and nine months. It was the heaviest sentence possible, and Allan’s lawyers were dumfounded, though they understood that it had been given under the pres sure of a tremendous hostile public opinion. They at once served notice of Appeal, and then there was a by play that was of the greatest import ance. for it injected a sort of humor into the situation. And this was what the situation needed Ethel Lloyd was in court when sen tence was pronounced. She was sit ting with a friend, and when the judge’s words reached them the girl lifted up her voice and spoke with ail the emphasis and conviction that characterized her more spirited inter views with her redoubtable father. "It’s an outrage—a miscarriage of justice!” she declared. “The courts are afraid of public opinion, and I guess the steamship companies haven’t been asleep." She made no effort to lower her voice especially, out of consideration for the august presence, and her words were overheard by a court of ficer. The next instant she was haled before the bar and fined $500 for con tempt of court. Accompanying the fine W’as a bitter lecture from the judge, which did not improve the lady’s temper. At the instance of an attorney of Allan’s she was allowed until the fol lowing morning to pay the fine, as she represented that she had no money and could not communicate with her father. Furthermore, she added, th.it she was not certain that she would not rather go to jail than pay the fine. Whereupon the court warned against the perils of a second offense in the wav of contempt. The young woman decided over night that she would not pay the fine and sent an insolent messagV to the judge. He promptly ordered her ar rest. When the officers reached th9 Lloyd mansion, they were told that she w T as. not at home. After some hours they learned that this was true. The girl had gone on board her fa ther’s yacht and put out to sea. Mr. Lloyd tried to appease the outraged jurist. He paid the fine and offered every apology, but the irate Judge re fused to unbend until finally the pa pers began to poke fun at him. Then he agreed to accept an apology from the young woman, and with some difficulty her father persuaded her to write one. Out on Bail. Months went by. Allan yielded to the urging of his friends, was admit ted to ball and accepted it. The Ap pellate Division sustained the ver dict of the lower court, although a minority of one strongly dissented. Public opinion grew calmer and calm- er. Industrial conditions began show ing a marked improvement. Banks were reopened and the business of the woHd began to resume its old- time aspect. So there was hardly eve*n surprise and no indignation when the highest court of the State r v rsed the lower courts and ordered i new trial. TVo new’ trial was hardly more n a farce. Allan was acquitted hout ditiiculty. The tide w'as once setting in his fa^or. New’spa- that had bitterly attacked him now’ found some reason for *ulating him on his acquittal, oyd was nearly wild with en- in Allan’s mind there was at me only one thought—solitude, "nt to Tunnel City. QM.AN DISPOSES. E Tunnel was dead. \ The sound of the footsteps of an occasional inspector echoed with a hollow, mournful sound up and down the long and empty gal leries. The big electric locomotives stood in silent row’s in the engine houses, tended by a few gloomy and taciturn engineers. Occasionally a train ran in and out in a leisurely, indifferent fashion. Only in the great ravine which had caused the ter rible explosion was there any sign of real activity. Here the laborers of the Pittsburg company toiled to get out the rich submarine deposits. Tunnel City w-as deserted. The streets w r ere silent and the dust of months lay on the sidew’alks, un marred for miles by a footprint. The air that had quivered and trembled tp the clamor of mighty industry was still. The ground no longer trembled under the pound and jar of monster machinery. Along the wonderful waterfront lay row’s of dead steamers. Allan occupied the fifth floor of the Administration Building. His win dows looked out on a criss-crossed maze of tracks, now rusty and de serted. During the first few weeks of his stay he did not leave the building at all, but busied himself going over his plans. Then he spent weeks in the galleries far down under the bed of the Atlantic. He saw only a very few of his old staff. He talked to practically no one but O'Malley, the young man who had won his spurs that terrible morning when the blast of flame swept through the galleries and all but snuffed Allan’s great en terprise. Rives was gone long since. He had bought a farm in Maine and settled there to spend the remainder of his days. When he had all of the facts at his finger ends; w’hen he had made a complete and minute survey of the w’hole situation, he went to New York and had a final interview with Lloyd. He had had only a minute or two talk w’ith him the day of his acquit tal, and on that occasion the great financier was hopeful, but non-com mittal. The great man received him in the library of his New York home. Ethel was away at the time, a matter which caused her father some regret, he said. “She shares with me a great ad miration for you, Mr. Allan,” he said, kindly. A LLAN flushed slightly and mum bled some embarrassed reply. There is a saying among law yers which is to the effect that when the Court is unusually complimentary and considerate it is because His Honor wants to ease the sting of the decision which he has already men tally formed against you. Allan sensed something of the same sort in Mr. Lloyd's studied kindness. He insisted that Allan come to din ner, and would not hear a word of business until they were sitting over the coffee and cigars in the library. The strain of the past year had told on even Lloyd’s nerves—or, rather, on a man who was popularly supposed to be entirely without nerves. His manner was not quite so phlegmatic and he looked older. “I have spent several months going over the situation at Tunnel City,” Allan began. Lloyd nodded encour- glngly. “We understood that you were very busy.” he said. “I believe Ethel tried *o communicate with you once or twice and did not succeed." “I’m sorry,” apologized the en gineer, “but I left positive orders that I was to be ‘incommunicado’ so long as I remained at the works." “Quite right—quite right," approved Mr. Lloyd, who could appreciate sin gle-minded devotion to work. “I have been doing a lot of figur ing,” Allan went on. “and I think we can go ahead and make a consider able showing at about one-third of our former operating cost." The financier carefully fitted the tips of his fingers together and leaned back in his chair. “Yes?” he said. “Yes,” declared Allan, with a little more enthusiasm. “By that I mean we can give the appearance of activ ity that we had before the smash, do fully half as much actual work, and all for about one-third of our previous monthly budget.” “And we have no money at all," re marked Mr. Lloyd. “True," returned Allan . warmly, “but surely we can raise some money now or we will be able to in a few months.” The man of money shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t want to take too black a view of the situation," he said slowly, “but I’m afraid that you do not quite appreciate where we stand.” Black Words. “But surely," objected Allan, “there has been every sign for months and months that public confidence was re turning.” "That is very true,” conceded Lloyd. “I am very thankful to be able to see it. I have managed to retrieve most of my personal losses that is one of the best indications. Public confidence is returning. Confidence is returning to great business enter prises. It is even returning to us, who were at the head of affairs—but I do not think that confidence in the tunnel is returning.’’ To Be Continued To-morrow. »§ # The Manicure Lady © © By WILLIAM F. KIRK. / z T HAD a funny dream last night,” * * I said the Head Barber. "I don't A usually dream about anything ex cept a horse race, hut last night I dreamed that I was in a swell room with a lot of the Four Hundred, and that I was doing the turkey trot with you. I was wondering how either one of us got into such a swell company when I woke up.” “That was one dream that will never come true,” said the Manicure Lady. *You couldn’t get me to get up and dance one of them idiot dances like the turkey trot if you held a loaded musket right at my head. I would rather have my head full of bird shot than empty rooms. ' “The only good thing about them new dances, George, is that the folks in the izylums has got some real joy out of them They have dances in all the asylums every week, sometimes of- fe ner and they let all the Inmates dance. I was reading the other day that the crazy folks takes to the new dance u just as natural as a duck takes >o water and I think anything that pleases a poor lunatic is worth some notice, anyhow." •■Do all the nuts like the turkey trot? > Head Barber. th0 v do," said the Manicure ,Yhy shouldn’t they? They are just right for that kind of Wilfred tvent to a dance the ? ht that was gave by some e0 ple In Hapevllle, and one of wouldn't dance with him be- 1 he could do was the old- waltz. He kind of burned up I guess, because when the is over and he had went home a poem about the crowd anc dances. 1 don’t remember all of It, but I was reading it over after he got it back from the magazine he sent it to, and part of it went like this: “On with the dance, but it ain’t the dance Our grandfathers used to dance. For now the folks do not two-step or waltz. All they do is to foolishly prance. I could learn to turkey trot In a minute. But I can not see where there is any thing in it. “When I saw them people dancing it, This crowd of so-called society, I blushed because at once I seen They didn’t have no sense of pro priety. Rather than dance them dances new I would die on the ballroom floor And pass up through them skies so blue, To the blessed golden shore.” "It is a good thing that didn’t get into print, or them society people would sure have felt pretty cheap,” said the Head Barber. “I know it would, but that’s the trou ble with Wilfred.” said the Manicure* Lady. “He writes a lot of good ser mons like that, but none of them ever gets into print, where the world can see them. I think if he was on one of the big newspapers he would do a world of good. He would fire the people to a sense of right, George.” “He would get fired before the peo ple," declared the Head Barber. —WILL/AM F. KIRK. Generous. Grandma—Johnnie. I have discov ered that you have taken more barley sugar than I gave you. Johnnie—Yes, grandma, I've been making believe there was another 11’ - tie boy spending the day with me. On Her Way d .* s n y null bkixklky W HEN the soft, tender months of Indian Summer have slip ped by—so stealthily, so dreamily—that, drinking deep of their wine, you find the bottom of the cup before you have scarce be gun, Autumn harkens to a stealthy sound—a breath from the North! At the gate of her rustling golden w’oods she cries. “Who goes there?” And back comes the answer in a frosty, ringing voice, “It is I—the SPIRIT of WINTER!” And the gold woods turn to bronze—and they rustle dryer and dryer, and soor, the ground is a rout of flying leaves, and the trees are naked. And then the wool of snow’ blankets the meadows and city streets and. the far Rockies. And the Winter girl comes "bobbing." skating, Alelghing. snowshoeing. skiing, If she Is lucky enough to be In Canada or the Alps! Out In my own Rockies, where the snow packs in the deep valleys, where It glazes Into Ice on the uttermost slopes, whore It sweeps from the home of the whirlwind and the snowsllde, in mighty toboggan ways fit for a god or a giant, they do not ski. Some day they will. Perhaps when that day comes the Winter girls here will sport the same fetching, sensible, easy rig they wear in Switzerland. Bobsledding would be a better thing than it already is if we could do it in this—a sweater of a brilliant rolor. woollen gloves knitted and elbow high, a knitted woollen "toque,'’ a scarf for neck or waist, one pair of woollen stock Ings to the knee, and another pair that folds In a roll above the ankle boots of waterproof leather, and the best of all, knickers of waterproof cloth. When Winter comes howling across the hills, even If you have to forego the knickers, the rest of it Is a rig worth trying. Winter Is no fun If you aren't comfy and don't know that you look pretty. —NELL RrtlXKLEY Do You Know— Oysters can not live in the Baltic Sea. The reason is that it is not salt enough.* They can only live in water that contains at least 37 parts of salt in every 1,000 parts of water. Heads of colleges in British univer sities are variously known as “war dens,” “masters,” "principals,” ‘‘rec tors,’’ “provosts,” “presidents," “deans" and “censors.” Hundreds of seabirds killed by the concussion produced by the firing of big guns on warships during practice have recently been washed up on the shores of Argyll. The difference between the tallest and shortest races in the world is 1 foot 8 1-8 inches, and the average height h of the world s peoples is 5 feet 5 1-2 inches. Deaths in England and Walts due to consumption have decreased in number during the past half century by nearly 60 per cent. Advice to the Lovelorn By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. Spidersrprefer ivy to any other I abode. Their eggs ar e hidden safelv 1 during winter be hi nd the- thick ! leaves. Tlie a\ e*ragc streng th of a woman i Compared with a man is ixs 6. to 100. 1 SOMETIMES MOTHERS DON’T KNOW. D ear miss Fairfax: I am 19 years of age and in love with a young man 22 years old. We are both Swed ish. Can you tell me how I can find out if he loves me, as my mother says he doesn’t? GERDA. I am satisfied that Love is a little secret mothers sometimes are the last to suspect. For this reason your mo ther’s opinion should not distress you If he loves you, he will teil -you. Don’t try to force the avowal; don’t even put yourself in an expectant at titude. Just go on being his sympa thetic friend, and some time s on, I i am sure, he w ill awaken to the real' j ization that life is not worth while j without you. CERTAINLY NOT. i )oa r M i«s Fai rfa x: I am a young man 29 • s old and am deeply in love vita a young girl 17 years old, and I know rr.y love is returned. I am earning a good ‘alary and have no uxu habits. i have asked this girl to mfirry me and she has ac cepted, but do you think the dif ference in our ages is too great 9 S. VV. M. You are not a duy too old for her. There is just enough difference to make you more considerate of her and to give her a greater respect for you. HAVE YOU TOLD YOUR FATHER? Dear Miss Fairfax: I am 18 and kept company with a man about six months. I found that he was not the sort of a tri'in I would like, so I did not no th * him any more. We did not have i quarrel. 1 keep company with another young man now. nnd if I am with him, my girl friend-, or alone, he follows me wheiever 1 go. , S. B. U. I. A Bad Actor. “So you want to Join our com pany?” said the theatrical manager to the aeedy-looking applicant. “In | what pieces have you ever appeared?” "Well,” replied he. “my last en gagement was with ‘The Blot on the Scutcheon.’ ” “What character did you act?” “I was the Blot.” HOW ARE YOU FEEDING YOUR CHILDREN? Are you giving them nourishing food—food that will develop their muscles, bones and flesh—food that is easily digested and cheap? Ever thought about Spaghetti— Faust Spaghetti? Do you know that a 10c package of Faust Spaghetti contains as much nutrition aa 4 lb3. of beef? Your doctor will tell you it does. And Faust Spaghetti costs one- tenth the price of meat. Doesn’t that j solve a big item in the high cost of i living? You probably haven’t served Faust Spaghetti as often as you should bo- ause you don't know how f many dif - * n * * * position to put r n end • insulting ft rent ways it can be cooked—write for free recipe book to-day and 1 attentions like t i sc. If both urn you’ll be urprised at the big variety powerless. m not r appeal to the police. You of dishes you can make from this ;>er- -nal safety by nutritious food. In 5c and 10c pack- lotting him manner. follow you around in thL ages. MAULL BROS., &t. Louis. Mo. J M BEHIND CLOSED DOORS One of the Greatest Mystery Stories Ever Written By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. (Copyright, 1913, by Anna Katharine Green.) TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. **\ made a move. I am sure I made a move toward the door, but she cried out so earnestly, ‘The roll in my bag— the roll, the roll,’ that I turned and rushed for it, and was going to hand it to her when she said: ‘It's for him— Molesworth. Hide it, and, when you can, give it to him.’ • “I thrust it between the cushions of the lounge near which I stood. I was all In a daze. The room whirled about me. and I was almost mad. But I man aged to reach her side Just as she fell. “ ‘Cover me up,’ she murmured. ‘Go down, and let nothing stand In the way of your marriage. One—of—us—must- be—happy.’ “I thought all was over, and stood petrified, but she managed to speak again. “ ‘Tell him—Julius—that my last— w’ords w’ere—that he should—leave you —alone In your—happiness. That he should—help ’ “The poison had done its work. While I was thlnging what folks did In such awful straits, she had suffered her last, and was quite still. “I seemed to grow calm in an Instant She was dead, and she had said with her last breath that I was to go down at the summons, and be married. Could I? I seemed to think I could, but O, the horror of leaving her there with her tell-tale face and open, accusing eyes! That was too dreadful. I must hide this awful picture of myself some where, but where? Glancing toward the alcove my eyes fell on a heap of cloth ing I had torn down from the closet pegs in my hurry In dressing I would bury her under those, and I did. Where I got the strength to do it I do not know. But in a few minutes it was done, and I stood up. seemingly alone, in that great chambe* of never-to-be- forgotten horrors. “My first act was to listen: my next to look in the mirror. The face I met was colorless and my veil was so dis arranged I had to take It oft and put it on again. While I was doing this a knock sounded on the door; the sum mons from my bridegroom had come. “The next thing you will care to hear were my thoughts when that scream was heard. 1 did not have any. Other wise I should have screamed myself. I was being married to Dr. Cameron, and nothing must interfere with the comple tion of the ceremony. Afterward—but you w’ill let me pass over that. I was In the grasp of terror and only looked for an opportunity to escape and solve the mystery of that scream. For I was sure I heard steps above me, and if this were true, then Genevieve had come to life again, for no one else could be there since I had locked the doer when I came out, and had the key concealed in my bosom. “So intent was I upon leaving my post that I had turned partly around hen 1 saw crosing the doorway from the front vestibule, the form and face of a man whose presence at once awokt in my terrified heart a distinct feeling of hope. They were those of Julius Molesworth. “He was heavily muffled, and his coat collar was drawn up about his ears, but I knew him at once, and with out stopping to ask what errand had brought him to this fatal spot, I hur ried away from my bridegroom, and accosted the Intruder Just as he was about to enter where I was. “ ‘Dr. Molesworth ’ I began. “But he had his own word to say. “ ‘Which of you two Is It? Answer at once, for if It Is Genevieve ' “But here I stopped him. “ ‘It is not; It is Mildred. Genevieve is upstairs—in the front room—here is the key—take it and go In—I will come Im mediately.' “I forced the key upon him, I pushed him through the crowd; I saw him step his foot upon the stairs, and paused, that we might not be seen going up to gether. When he was at the top I tore myself away from the throngh who had seized upon me the minute I stood still, and with laughter and badinage ran up after him. and Joined him Just as ha was stepping forth again from the fatal room. “ ‘She* is not here,’ he commenced, angrily, but seeing my face he ceased, and I readily drew him back with me into the room. “ ‘Oh, Dr. Molesworth,’ I shrieked, as the door shut, ‘save me!’ “He threw hack his coat, stared at me, and said again in a fierce, fiery way: “ 'Where is Genevieve?' “I almost sank on the ground at hia feet. If I had really murdered her I could not have felt more guilty than I did at that minute. “ ‘Do not ask me,' I murmured, ‘ask yourself. You are the man who killed her. She trusted your love ’ “He had me by the arm in a terrible grip “ 'Show her to me!’ w’ere his words, 'unless you yourself are she. Are you? he reiterated, looking in my face with something almost like frenzy in his air. ‘You have on the bride's dress, and you are I suppose by this time Mrs. Camer on. but if you are also the woman who promised to marry me ’ ‘I am not. r am the woman who loves Walter Cameron. The woman who loves you lies there.’ And I tore aside the clothing that hid her and showed her poor face to his horrified gaze. “ ‘She preferred death to robbing m« of my hopes,’ I said. Though she came back expecting to take my place and marry Dr. Cameron as she had agreed, such despair seized her when she saw me dressed and eager for the ceremony that she seized a bottle of poison which she had concealed in her Jewel casket and emptied it at a draught.’ “He had by this time felt her pulse and smelt the poison still lingering on her lips. “ 'Prussic acid,’ he asserted, and rose up in a certain awful self-possession which filled me full of a new horror even while It gave me hope. ” ’She died very quickly.’ I now hast ened to say. ‘I could not have procured help, even if she had given me the op portunity of doing so. But she did not. She was too anxious that I should bene fit by the sacrifice she had made. One of us must be hairpy,' she insisted, and her last words were ‘Tell Dr. Moles worth he is not to stand tn the way of your happiness, but help you.’ “Ah!’’ came from his lips at this, and he gave me an unfathomable look. Did he doubt me? Did any supicion such as you have felt cross his mind? I do not think so; if it ever came—and from some hints my hlisband haH given me concerning his after conduct I fear that it ultimately did—it was after he had time to think of the whole matter; otherwise he could scarcely have en- ered into the situation as he did, or of fered me so freely his aid In the awful emergency in which I found myself. For. with but the shortest moment given to grief he turned upon me and asked If my secret was still safe and when I told him It was, he said, shortly: To Be Continued To-morrow. May and June. Obadiah Binks was one of thosq sentimental idiots who had allowed his passions to capitulate to the ever- increasing wiles of the misethief- maker Cupid. To put it more con cisely, he had fallen In love. Unfortunately for Obadiah, how ever. it was a case of unrequited af fection. for the ladv >f his choice had made it plainly visible from time to time that his attentions were posi tively objectionable. One day Obadiah turned up at her abode, nothing daunted by his previ ous experience. He was ushered into the drawing room by her 10-year-old brother. Billy. “Is your sister in?” asked Binks, nervously. “No,” replied the other, promptly, “she’s just gone out.” “Ah!” sighed the love-stricken Binkn romantically. “So ^ am like the man who went to the cage when the bird had flown.” “No, you ain’t,” responded Billy. '‘You’re like the month of June.” “Why, how that?” "Because,” was the reply, “every time you come May goes out." When Run Down in physical condition it is usually becauBe. the action of the organs of digestion has become irregular or defective. 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