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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 Smoothest, 10^ Softest \ 3- T alcum Powder \DQX Made,** 3 §, TALC ; Borjted. Deli htfully Perfumed. 'Vhlte or j Flesh Tirt. Guaranteed pure by TALCUM PL FT CO., ^ ntrg and I^Iatnfartareri E' Ter ' : aal liloV . Brooklyn, N. Y. { 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 Funeral Designs anti Flowers FOR ALL OCCASIONS. Atlanta Floral Company 455 CAST FAIR STREET. Palmer’s Skin Whitener Bleaches Dark Skin Removes Freckles Tans, Sallowness and Skin Eruptions. Postpaid^ 5 £ A nywhiire 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 have been in my grave. “I was sick all of the time for 10 years, and took medicines constantly. 1 suffered terribly. At last, I decided I would just try Cardul on my own hook, and kept lt a secret. It was certainly a God-send to me. Slnoe taking it, I have no pain whatever, feeling good, and can wrestle with my 16-year-old son. In fact, I don’t feel over 16 myself. Am as happy as a lark. When I begun taking Cardui I only weighed 101 lbs. Now I weigh 117 1-2 lbs., and am going to continue taking Cardul until I weigh 136. “I Just can’t say enough for Cardui, and I belive if all women who suf fer from womanly troubles would take it, there would be more happy homes." Using Cardui is no experiment. It has stood the most severe of all tests —the test of time. Cardui has been In use for over half a century, and in this time has benefited more than a million women. It is composed of purely vegetable ingredients, which have been found to build up the vi tality, tone up the nerves, and strengthen the womanly constitution. That it has helped others is the best of proof that it will help you. Try Cardui. N. B.—Write to: .Chattanooga Med icine Co., Ladles’ Advisory Dept., Chat tanooga. Tenn.. for Special Instructions on your case and 64-page book, “Home Treatment for Women,” sent In plain wrapper.—ad v. FO STOP HAIR LOSSANORID YOUR SCALP OF IDE Do you have dandruff? Does your hair all out? Is It getting thinner and the ■artlng more pronounced every day? If . we advise you to begin right away r before lt Is loo late. We are not trying to scare you. We e simply telling you the truth. If you ould ward off impending baldness you ust check that hair loss and. rid your alp of dandruff. 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