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S
Beauty Secrets of Beautiful Women
Dunk Buttermilk, and Don't Cry, Says Smiling Dorothy Brenner
CWYxrm th« (IriBu of RtrehsrO ff tHirmin (
Herman vonrioa. r^pyrtehtod. 19UI. by a
PWher Verltf, Berlin. EnglUh transition ao4
tampliation by
(Oopjrlahtad. 1913, by International Nona Berrien. V
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
Something: gripped Allan’s heart
like a steel band.
"You do not mean to say that the
public opinion of the world would tol
erate the utter abandonment of the
enterprise af er all the money and ef
fort that has gone into It?" he cried.
Lloyd nod ed slowly.
"What I m ean to say is something
very much to that effect," he replied,
gravely. "I do not know—I do not
think that 1 will always be so; but
that is undoubtedly the feeling to
day."
“But I can’t believe It!" Allan in
sisted.
• "Yet, the c xplanatlon is simple and
clear,’’ said Mr. Lloyd. "Until the tun
nel is actually completed and in op
eration it is a money-devouring lia
bility and ir no sense an asset. We
have had st oke after stroke of bad
luck. There is a sort of superstition
in many minds that the tunnel will
never be finished, no matter how
much is put in or how much money
is sunk."
“But I don t see how we can be ®uro
of-'this without at least making the
effort! ”
"There is some justice in that,” con
ceded the fir incier, "but T can assuie
you that yo can take my word for
what I say. Here is one of the best
indications—'here is no trading at all
in Tunnel s? curi,ties.”
The expre sion of Allan’s face in
dicated that he did not understand
, how this pro ved anything.
“You see, Mr. Allan, there are a
number of ir. n who make a good liv
ing on the S ock Exchange—fortune*
often—by letermining accurately
what public opinion is on a given
matter. No- *. if there were any re
mote possibi Lty that the public wouii
demand a r sumption of the tunnel
digging or that the public could be
induced to fii ance it, these men would
be quietly buying up securities, which
have practlc lly no market value to
day.
The Keasoi.
■‘Men who
are for the
speculators,
to the spec’
the speculal
price. To g(
literally hav*
there is no
at all.”
"But if we
smaller sea
among the
Taise the mo
-wouldn't it t
opinion in ou
ed Allan.
"On the
other, ‘if th
build the tu
must do it.
matter how
have the securities nov
nost part investors, not
They have not sold them
lators, simply because
>rs won’t buy at any
rid of them they woutd
to give them away. So
trading in tunnel stock
began operations on thr
e , that I suggested-—if
'g. financiers we could
ay necessary for a star*,
irn the current of public
r favor again?" demand-
*ontrarv,” returned the
e people’s money is to
inel the people’s money
To raise a sum—no
large—for limited work
would be a transnarent blufT, a con
fession of weakness. We must eith r
go ahead at full blast—or stand still."
“And it is not possible to go ahead
at full blast?"
“I am sorry to say that it is quite
impossible," declared Lloyd.
Allan was silent for a full minute
trying to rally his line of attack,
hopelessly shattered by this blow.
"What do you think of it yourself,
Mr. Lloyd?” he asked at last. "D)
you believe in the tunnel?"
"Absolutely," was the Instant re
ply. "I more than believe in the tun
nel, Mr. Allan—I believe in you. Rut
the public, unfortunately, does not.
And we must wait—wait.”
It was on the tip of Allan’s tongue
to say something about faith with
out works, but he wisely held him
self in. He knew Lloyd and his as
sociates could finance the whole of
the w'ork that remained to be done, if
they were willing to risk their pri
vate fortunes; but he could not sug
gest this plan; the offer must come
voluntarily from their side.
*****
The conference with Lloyd was
held on a November evening. Two
days later Allan went quietly to
Europe, despair in his heart. His
goings and comings were unnoted
save for an occasional line or two in
a metropolitan paper. New names
and new enterprises were before the
world. MacKendree Allan was as
dead as his tunnel. In the spring he
returned to Tunnel City, but no one
paid anv attention to the fact. This
is a little less than the truth. One
person noted the Tact with much in
terest. »She was Ethel Lloyd.
Her father hac spoken to Allan of
his daughter’s aclm'ration for him.
This strange, beautiful and powerful-
minded young woman did not think
of her feeling for Allan as admira
tion. It was characteristic that she
WTts honest with herself, though hon
est w ith others, sometimes, only when
it suited her convenience. She knew'
that she loved him. She also knew\
with the sublime egoism of the truly
great, that the man she loved could
not have in him the elements of fail
ure. She was certain that Allan
would build the tunnel as she was of
the tides and the sunrise. If he need
ed her help, that was only a part of
the plan. The big thing #vas that
somehow, some way, he would win.
T HERE was much of the primi
tive in Ethel Lloyd. She did
not rise to the heights of all-
sacrificing love In her love for Aflan.
She loved him and sh€ wanted him;
she played accordingly. At the sam^
time she knew that he did not love
her. She felt that he cared more for
her than any living woman, but she
knew it was not love.
No Reply.
She waited e few weeks longer for
him to call, but he gave no sign that
he was even alive. Then she wrote
him a cordial note, saying that she
knew he had returned, hoped that ne
would have called on them by this
time and asked him to come to see
them.
There was no reply. She was at
first shocked, then angry and th^n
amused. Then she ordered her fa
ther’s private detective aaenoy to find
out positively if Allan was in- Tun
nel City and what he was doing
there.
The report was that Allan was
working every day in the tunnel. He
lived in absolute seclusion and did
not receive a single visitor of any
sort or for any purpose. He could
not be reached only through O s Mal-
ley, and ;is O’Malley had orders that
he was not to be reached at all. this
was not much nelp. A love of adven
ture stirred In her. Allan had made
up his mind not to see her. Very well
—she would see him in spite of him
self.
From the detectives she learned
the hour when Allan was always 10
be found in the administration build
ing—that is to say. he was there, but
not to be found. She motored down
to Tunnel City and timed her visit
carefully, so as to reach the admin-
istraHon building when Allan wouid
certainly be in.
Dressed in a magnificent motoring
costume, she presented herself before
the impassive O'Malley. She had seen
him at the time of Allan’s trial and
knew him by reputation, but he had
never been presented. He, of course,
knew her by sight, and when sh*
came into his office he rose and
bowed with the greatest courtesy.
"You are Mr. O’Malley?” she smiled
sweetly upon him. "I am Ethel Lloyd.
I feel that 1 know you—have known
you for a long time.” And she held
out her hand.
O’Malley, who, though an Irishman,
did not pride himself on his ease with
women, mumbled some reply to the
compliment and asked with some un
easiness:
"Is there anything I can do for you.
Miss Lloyd?"
"Indeed, you can!” she assured him,
with a bubbling laugh. “I am very
anxious to see Mr. Allan.”
A Fib.
O’Malley looked more uncomfort
able than ever.
"I am very sorry. Miss Lloyd, but
Mr. Allan is not here just now,” he
said.
The young woman expressed a sur
prise that was not all feigned.
"I think you must be mistaken, Mr.
O’Malley. I had definite assurance
that Mr. Allan would be here at this
hour.”
It was very cleverly worded. It im
plied that she had an appointment with
Allan, but did.not say so in as many
words. For an instant she believed
that O’Malley would fall into the trap,
but he did not.
"I'm very sorry,” he said again,
“but there must be some mistake
about it. Mr. Allan isn’t here.”
He did not know that the visitor
knew he was lying, but the expres
sion of her great eyes was enough to
add to his embarrassment without
that knowledge.
‘‘But I am certain.” she said slowly
and with sudden coldness. "I am cer
tain that he must be her .”
"I can not compel you to believe
me. Miss Lloyd,” he said, with some
coldness on his side. “But I can not
i produce Mr. Allan when he is not
' here."
“Where is he?” she demanded sud
denly.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
CHINESE DREAMS
TO-DAY’S COMPLETE SHORT STORY
11 T ITAIPE, the poet, has fallen a
victim to the moon!”
When the mandarin had
pronounced these strange words, he
rested his chin in his hand.
A victim of the moon? In India,
I have heard, moonstrokes are con
sidered worse than sunstrokes, and
that when you walk in the garden in
the evening you always carry a
moanshade. Was this what the man
darin meant? I was waiting to hear.
But my august friend, the man
darin, began to sway back and forth
rhythmically while he sang these
verses:
“The moon ascends to the heart of
the nocturnal sky and rests there
filled with love.
"Across the shining sea glides the
soft evening breeze and kisses the
delighted waves.
"Oh. what beautiful harmonies
arise from th* meeting of elements
created to unite!
"But the things created to unite so
very seldom do unite.”
How? Has not the music of poetry
been forgotten in China? Has not
the lyre of the Chinese Orpheus been
broken? Alas! it Is only too true.
Even in China nobody dreams anv
more. The bacchantes of progress
rush by and disturb the careless
dreamer who looks behind him in the
moonlight.
"There is a way of reaching even
the moon," he murmured.
"Who ever reached there?”
The Legend.
A wizard, or rather a saint, had
long been dwelling at court. One
beautiful summer night, when the
full moon was bathing the landscape
In its silvery light, the Emperor, who
was walking with the saintly man,
admired the bewitching light which
fell on the Laves glittering with the
diamonds of the dew and on the rush
ing river and the foaming cascades.
Then he looked up at the twinkling
stars and sighed because they were
so far away, so beautiful and still so
unattainable. His companion, who
guessed hts thoughts, said to him.
"Do you want to rise with me to the
moon?”
T.he Emperor looked at him for a
moment in surprise and then said: "I
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understand what you want to say.
Your intellect, which is superior to
my common mind, is able to fiy ahead
of me on the paths of thought, but to
lengthen the fetters is not the same
as to set the prisoner free, and we
shall not get very far.”
“Oh, Lord, you do not understand
me at all,” the wizard exclaimed; I
mean that we are to fiy up to the
moon fully conscious ^ of everything
that we meet and see.”
•‘I will not permit even a saint to
mock me,” said the Son of Heaven.
But the saint slowly opened his fan.
threw it up into the v air and salt*.
‘‘Look that way."
The fan remained suspended, in the
air and the creases of the paper
formed a stairway which reached all
the way up to the moon. The Em-*
peror threw up his hands in amaze
ment.
The Ascent.
"Have you the courage to accom
pany me now? A ruler must be de
void of fear, and, besides, the stairs
are broad and comfortable."
The saint already 1^1 •■'limbed over
the railings of the pavilion: he held
out his hand to the Son of Heaven,
who followed him. and almost with
out any effort they began to ascend.
Soon they had passed the palace
walls, the three glittering streams,
the eight branches of the river which
surrounded the walls the city.
Shortly afterward the city disap
peared in the distance. More and
more indistinct mountains, plains and
cities passed bv the wanderers, who
kept on ascending, bathed in light.
“What part of the country is under
neath us now?” asked the Emperor,
looking down. ... ,
“We are passing the frontier of
Tlentschi,” said the saint; “the moun
tains of the west are disappearing,
and now we are above another prov
ince.”
”1 know very well that I am dream
ing,” said the Emperor, “and still it
seems to me that I am awake. ^ hat
I see is only a dream picture, but to
morrow you will try to persuade me
it was real and that I did not dream
at all. But how will you prove it to
me?”
“Have you anything with you, O
Lord, the like of which nobody else
possesses?*’
“In my belt I have two gold coins;
they were coined at the mint this
morning, and there are no others like
them in the world.”
The Coins.
“Now I know exactly above which
part of your empire we are. We will
throw the two gold coins down the
stairs, and we will surely find them
again.”
The next morning when the Em
peror awoke in his palace
•What! Does the story end thus?
What about his arrival in the moon
and the wonderful things he saw ?”
‘Alas, I did not accompany them
on the voyage,” said the mandarin.
“All I can tel! is that the gold coins
were found more than 100 Chinese
miles fnm the city, but I am told
that in the moon all the dreams of
the poets have been realized and that
their beauty surpasses all understand
ing."
• Rut can not you tell at least how
Litaipe was destroyed by the moon?”
“Oh, everybody knows that. One
evening ' poet ate his evening meal
on the r * r The air was unusually
clear and the water so transparent
that you could not see it at all. Far
down in its depths the moon was
glistening just as the sky, and there
were as many stars below as above.
Litaipe leaned over the edge of the
boat and stared longingly down into
the depth. ‘In the unknown,’ he said,
‘there is neither height nor depth.
The moon is calling me, and tells me
that when I reach it, it does not mat
ter whether I go up or down.’ At
this moment a wonderful harmony
filled the air. a breeze floated across
the river and two young gods carry
ing silken banners stood before the
poet. They had been sent from the
ruler of the Heaven to conduct him
to his place in the heavenly regions.
A dolphin came swimming up to the
boat, and Litaipe mounted its back
and, preceded by the diving youths,
he slowly vanished in the deep.”
"Perhaps your great poet was sim
ply intoxicated and fell into the
river.”
The august mandarin shook his
head as if he did not hear, and a fur
row of sorrow came upon his fore
head. The airy foam of the cham
pagne had vanished, and with it the
images of a beautiful past.
A cloud passed across the moon.
Will it open? Will the fan of the
wizard once more form a broad stair
way to the luminous disc? The moon
which science now brings within a
few meters distance is no longer the
moon of the poets, the dreams of
imagination fly before the dissecting
knife of the scientist. And with Li
taipe we must in the depths of the
river look for all the beautiful images
which found their tomb there with
the youth of the world.
Do You Know—
A shark’s egg is one of the oddest-
looking things imaginable. It is un
provided with shell, but the contents
are protected by a thick, leathery
covering, almost as elastic us india
rubber. The average size fs two
inces by two and three-quarter
inches, and it is almost jet black.
The average height of the heavy
rain cloud is 1.680 yards; of the delin
eate, fleecy cloud, 9,760 yards.
Only 73 in 1,000 letters delivered
in the United Kingdom come from
abroad.
Clippings from heads of
hair are used for making /(trainers
through which syrups are cl/ rifled.
"Buttermilk
is my very pet
panacea for what
ever aits me—~
and buttermilk
never fails me!
I never let my
self get very fat--
but when I find
myself plus about
eight or ten un
desirable pounds
I proceed to go
on the buttermilk
treatment. Two
quarts a day suf
fice to feed me
and supply me
with drinkables,
and never a drop
or a crumb of
any other re
freshment do I
permit myself.
For two weeks I
live on my
allowance of two
quarts of but
termilk per day.
I have no stated
time for drlnklna
It—Just when
ever I am thirsty
I Indulge in a
glass—also when
ever I am hun
gry. After the
first day or two
it Is not hard
to deny yourself
food, and at the
end of two weeks
I am eight pounds
thinner and much
clearer as to com
plexion than when
I started on the
‘cure.’ "
At the Mercy of the Air
By CONSTANCE BURLEIGH.
4 i r y
Wine is sometimes
potatoes.
ma«fj from
*r ”
By LILIAN LAUFERTY.
W REN Dorothy Brenner smiles
and golden hair glints to an ac
companiment of dimples and j
white teeth and bubbling joy you do l)ot j
analyze Beauty—you just enjoy it. But
merry-hearted Dorothy Brenner can an
alyze and tabulate for you just how to
be cheerful and keep cheerful, and to
keep watchful eye on skin and figure—
on digestion and disposition alike.
Miss Brenner and Harry Carroll are
playing “The Little Song Shop” on the
Klein circuit under the management of
Max Hart, and of course we all like
to know just how our favorite enter
tainers keep their figures and maintain
a high average of complexion and of
cheerfulness, come rain or come sun
shine. ••Buttermilk,” says Miss Bren
ner. "and cry when you feel like if.”
Worth investigating and particular
izing a bit when you come to lactic fer
ment and lachrymal glands In such
cheerful proximity! To particularize—
said Miss Brenner:
Her Very Pet.
“Buttermilk is my very pet pana
cea for whatever ails me—and butter
milk never fails me! I never let myself
get very fat—but when I find myself
plus about eight or ten undesirable
pounds I proceed to go on a buttermilk
treatment. Two quarts a day suffice
to feed nje and supply me with drinka
bles, and'never a drop or a crumb of
any other refreshment do I permit my
self. For two weeks I live on my
allowance of two quarts of buttermilk
per day. I have no stated time for
drinkink it—Jqst whenever I am thirsty
I indulge in a glass—also whenever I
am hungry. After the first day or two I
It is not hard to deny yourself food, \
Miss Dorothy Brenner.
zles and curdles and ravels at the ends
—if any one article in the wortd can
do all three things! Anyway, even a
perfectly good disposition will go back
on the owner now and then! And a girl
generally feels called upon to keep her
self above par; to smile however she
feels—to smile so earnestly that ‘her
noble expression aches;’ to smile until
she wonders If she can ever untangle
her real feelings from the expression-
garment she has put on her poor, tired
face.
“Does that help her disposition and
character? IT DOES NOT It curdles
all the milk-and-honey sweetness in her
nature. I say—express your feelings; if
you are blue and <lon’t know why, or
discouraged and do know why, go off
by yourself where you can’t annoy the
neighbors or worry your mother over
what ails you. and just cry It out. Cry
it out once for all, and then forget It.
Cry It out and have It over with. Don’t
be sorry for yourself—notice what a fine
old world it is—how' it lets you go off
and have a little April shower ocular
demonstration, and then how glad every
thing looks when you look at It through
a smile. Allow yourself two or three
good cries a year if you need them—
and never exceed your allowance, or for- gcream ' for lt aee med as if the breath
get that the sun has to shine a little wag belng forced out G f her body and
HERE you are, Sis, that is
Ronald Clavering, the tall
chap with the bronzed face
talking to aunt.”
Cecelia Travers looked across the
room, and at that moment the deep gray
eyes belonging to the bronzed face’met
hers. Cecil, as she was familiarly
called. Mushed and turned away, and
her usually well-regulated heart beat
violently.
“Isn't he a fine looking chap?" pur
sued Jack Travers. "And he is Just as
splendid as he looks, the bravest and
most daring aviator in England. And
he won the "
"I know everything he has done.” In
terrupted his sister eagerly. “He is
Just grand, and I've always longed to
see him.”
This was Cecil’s twenty-first birth
day. and Mrs. Denton. Cecil's aunt, was
giving a dinner party In her honor
She now came over to them.
“Jack, will you take Miss Marsh in
to dinner? Cecil, dear. I have paired
you off with Mr Clavering. I know
you are crazy about aviation, though
I don’t suppose you will get him to say
much about his own exploits. He is so
terribly modest!”
Cecil looked up rather resentfully at
her companion. She told herself she
hated him, and felt angry that his voice
and a glance from his eyes had power
to set her heart beating furiously and
make her blush like a flapper. And
Ronald Clavering, the woman hater,
found himself watching her sweet face
with more than ordinary interest. Find
ing how enthusiastic she was about the
navigation of the air, he patiently an
swered her many questions, and ex
plained all he could to her.
A few days later Cecil sat sketching,
and, as she worked, one face would come
between her and her drawing board—a
bronzed face, with deep, gray eyes. An
angry little frown puckered her fore
head..
“I hate him—I do!” she said to her
self.
“What Is It, Jack?”
At last she pushed her work impa
tiently away, and sat staring dreamily
before her. A sudden exclamation from
Jack, who was reading the paper, made
her look up..
“What Is It. Jack!"
“You remember Mr Clavering who
took you in to dinner on your birth
day?"
Cecil’s cheeks burned at the mention
of the man who had been filling her
thoughts.
“Yes, I remember him. Well, what
about him?”
"Oh, it only says here that he is going
to take passengers for flights at $50
each from Reaham aerodrome this aft
ernoon, and each day this week, the
money to go to a fund for the widows
and children of the heroes of that ter
rible mine disaster" Cecil glanced up,
her heart beating rapidly. ‘‘Then I’m
going up with him," she said firmly.
* * •
The afternoon proved dull and rather
rough, and not many people seemed
anxious for aerial honors, though very
large crowds had assembled when Jack
and Cecil appeared
On account of the contrariness of the
wind it was late before they made a
start. Cecil’s heart throbbed with a
wild excitement as she took her place
In the machine with seeming calmness.
There was a deafening noise from the
engine, and then the monoplane rose
with the grace ond swiftness of a bird
At first Cecil felt as though she must
harder always after a shower. Ro after
you have had your cry out all by your
self, remember that you owe yourself
and the world a lot of smiles to make
up for those weak weeps!”
There is a lot of philosophy In that
if you will think lt over, and Just ex
actly follow directions—but following
•directions means that you weep In pri
vate and turn to the world and Its peo
ple a smiling face. Can you do lt?
A Talk to the Engaged Girl
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
W'
HAT shall a girl say when she
receives an engagement ring?
Well, now, what do you
think of a question like that?
Who gave you the ring, little sis
ter. and what did you think when he
gave it to you? Do you love him,
were you so happy you could scarcely
breathe?
Well, then, why didn’t you say so,
and at the end of two weeks I am 8| an< -j done with it?
pounds thinner ami much clearer as to j you say » }*? w you
, , , T * # a I act; is this proper, is that right?
complexion than when I started on the, The hoart P l8 V be8t judg f when
‘cure.’ When I go off the buttermilk it comes to things like this,
diet, I do not plunge into heavy eat- • What have you done to your heart
ing and overtax my digestion, but then j —frozen it up solid, reading a lot of
I don’t believe in very hearty eating,
anyway. For breakfast, fruit, coffee and
a roll; for lunch, a glass of buttermilk
and a sandwich, and dinner, a simple
repast of the supepr variety. That is a
good all-the-whlle custom .for the eat
ing department.
About Crying.
“My next use of buttermilk is exter
nal application I use it on my face and
throat. First, I wash very thoroughly
with hot water and pure castile soap.
Next comes a careful drying process and
then I take a hit of cotton or soft cloth
stuff about what is “the proper thing”
and "what isn’t done.” and who ought
to speak first and who must never,
never say a word though the whole
world be hanging in the balance?
Etiquette—what etiquette la there
about being engaged?
What do you think you’ll do when
you come to die—ask some one to
read an etiquette book to tell you
how to abut your eyes and bid fare
well to this vain world?
When they put your first baby In
your arms, how In the world will you
know how to act unless some Mrs.
Grundy is there to tell you? i
What! Shocking! Oh, yes, of
course, babies are dreadfully shock-
and read him something to send hijn
to sleep?
What must you say when you and
he stay up all night watching for the
dawn to tell you whether she’s going
to live or not?—the little girl you
both love sio dearly.
What muse you do when somebody
tries to take him away from you and
your heart is breaking and you don't
really know whether he cares or not?
Wnat are you, little sister, any
how; a girl—a real live girl—or jusi
a make-believe, cut out of some fas.:
ion paper with bits of feet tha*
couldn’t walk an honest step to mv*
anybody’s life and tiny hands tha
couldn’t put a biscuit into shape il
th»» fate of a nation depended on it
What must you say?—why, sa>
what you think, say what you feel
say what you* mean—and stop think
ing about it, that’s all.
Consolation.
“Doctor,” said tihe lady patient,
suffer a great deal with my eyes.”
“Everybody dors, madam,” replie
the fussy old M.D., “but you woul
probably suffer a great deal mor
without ’em.”
_ ,,, , . . ing, aren’t they, and fo is life and so
and put buttermilk over my face 1 is death and so is love and so are
throat; as soon as one aplicatlon has | ot9 and lot8 of things, but they are
dried I go over the surface again. Ten
or fifteen minutes are allowed to pass
and then I give my face a liberal wash
ing and splashing in cold water. At
the end of that time I feel as well as
I look and look as well as I feel—and
both effects are very satisfactory. But- j
real just the same. And so, why
don’t you meet them like a real worn-
man and not like some little, painted,
jointed doll that has to wait till you
pinch her even to sav "Mama” or
“Papa” In her squeaky little artificial
{ voice.
What must you sav when he gives
termilk is cheap, easy to get at any you the ring dear heart, what must
neighboring milk depot, and as it is a | you say when he’s sick and wants
foe to fat and to digestive troubles and I y°ti to hold his hand and make hirn
a friend to skin and complexion, work
ing from the inside and the outside for
the mutual benefit of both—I feel safe
in saying: ’No family should be with
out it.’
“And now about crying: I don’t care
how wonderful a disposition a girl is
heir to, there are times when it fraz-
something good to
pull down
the shade and make the room comfy
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All Jacobs’ Stores
And Druggist. Generally.
she must surely die.
But that feelinjt soon passed off. and
a senBe of (florlous exhilaration took Its
place as they rose higher and higher,
till the cheering waving crowds became
mere specks below them. Poon they
had risen sufficiently high, the wind
dropped and they went out over the
water.
"All right?” shouted Clavering. And
Cecil called hack:
"Yes, It's fine,”
On they went, skimming through the
air. high above the tossing waters;
then suddenly.they seemed to get caught
tn a wind eddy, and the plane swung
right around.
"Keep calm—hold tight!” roared
Clavering; and Cecil saw that the
bronzed face was set and anxious.
For some time they fought a grtm
hattle with the blustering wind: then
came a short, sharp exclamation from
Konald, a Jarring of the machinery,
and the aeroplane rocked violently.
Something was evidently very wrong,
hut a oalm. cool courage took pos-
<ession of Cecil. Now was the time to
<how that women have grit as well as
men!
"The steering gear's gone wrong!”
diouted Clavering, wondering how
nuch he should tell his passenger.
"I thought something was up,” re-
died Cecil calmly. "Is It serious?"
drifting.
The aviator looked at her admiringly.
A midden downward swerve stopped
my further conversation, and for a
ong time Clavering was busily en
gaged doing his best to control the
ieroplane, which tossed about at the
:iercy of the winff. Cecil was getting
cold and cramped. She knew they
must have been In the air a long tlmo,
for darkness was threatening to set in;
yet, strangely enough, she felt no fear,
though she was sure they were drifting
to death, but she did not care what
happened so long as that stern, brave
figure was with her.
Ah, how little she had thought her adr
venture would turn out like this! She
had intended to get home quickly, un
observed, directly she found herself back
in the aerodrome grounds; and now——
"We are nearing the land!” Claver
ing’s voice broke in on her reverie.
“There Is a chance after all M
The rest of his sentence wa* carried
away by a violent gust of wind which
tossed them about; then Cecil saw the
long, low line of the shore. The plane
made a swift, vicious swoop. They were
falling!
“Look out!” she heard Ronald’s short,
sharp words. Then came a terrific
crash. She struggled hard ndt to lose
consciousness as she saw Clavering
standing over her and heard his voice:
"Saved by a miracle! I came down
as gently as I could- Are you hurt?”
he asked anxiously, as she did not
speak, and he helped her gently to her
feet. ‘'You're a brick, Miss Travers! If
you had not kept up your courage so
splendidly I might have lost my own
nerve.”
Cecil blushed deeply, as she recovered
consciousness, to find herseif In Claver
ing's arms.
"Ah, that’s better! What a fright you
have given me!” he exclaimed. She
tried to sit up, but he still held her.
"Take lt easy—you’d best keep quiet
a bit. The shock has been too much
for you. And I will get you homo di
rectly you are able."
His clasp of her tightened, and there
was no mistaking the emotion In his
voice. Cecil looked up Into the gray
eyes, no longer stern, but with an ex
pression of wonderful tenderness in their
depths, and suddenly, she scarcely knew
why, she burst Into a passion of tears.
And Clavering felt that he loved her for
her weakness, even as he had admired
her for her courage.
"Dear little girl, what is the matter?"
he whispered gently.
"I—I had no right to do it,** sha
sobbed. “What must you think of mo?"
But it was nearly a fortnight later
when he told her what he really
thought. And now the famous aviator’s
charming wife accompanies him on most
of his wonderful flights, but he often
teases her about the first one.
MRS. RIVERS
DISCLOSES SEGRE1
Matter Didn’t Prove Ex
pel iment After All,
and She Now
Makes It
Public.
Mineral Springs, Ark.—In a letter
from this place, Mrs. J. M. Rivera
says: "If it had not been for Cardul,
the woman’s tonic, no doubt, I would
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“I was sick all of the time for 10
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1 suffered terribly. At last, I decided
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Using Cardui is no experiment. It
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In use for over half a century, and
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That it has helped others is the
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Try Cardui.
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