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I T was a small millinery shop In the Rue Daunou. There were only three hats In the window. In Paris the fewer the hats displayed In the window the higher the prices In the shop. Helen had paused to look at one of the three hats. It was small, extreme ly simple, and the same shade of blue as her traveling suit. Another mo ment's hesitation, an<j she entered the awning shaded door. Inside there was Just one hat on a tall slender brass stem. Except for this solitary evidence of millinery the place might have been an undertaking estab lishment, so severely plain and austere were Its dark green velvet hangings and polished brass rods. Helen was beginning to fear that the simple hat In fhe window might not be so inexpensive after all. From behind a velvet screen, which shielded many shelves of bandboxes, *swept an Impres sive French woman In a clinging, trail ing black satin gown. She gave Helen just one swift glance and then asked In English. "Good afternoon, madame^ Is there anything I can show you?” "I should like to see the small blue hat In the window,” answered Helen, somewhat disconcerted at so instantly being recognized as ah American, but re lieved at not having to depend on the sign language and her half dozen words of French. "With pleasure, madam,” sweeping over to the window, the trailing point of her skirt wriggling snake-like over the green velvet carpet. "It’s a smart little model, is it not?” as she took it out and held It up for Helen’s inspection. Won’t you try it on?” Drawing out her hatpins, Helen sat down before the long mirror. The French woman stood back of her with the hat carefully poised. Watching the effect in the mirror, with the air of performing some difficult and delicate operation, she slowly lowered the hat on Helen’s head. "Voila, madame!” lapsing into French with an expressive gesture. Helen liked the hat. It suited her, and it fitted her head without the need of an annoying bando. "The side view is perfect,” purred the French woman, giving her a hand mir ror. A Big Price. The hat was covered with lus trous blue moire silk, and the only trimming was a single uncurled feather beneath the rim at the side. When Helen first glanced at it in the window she had thought seventy-five fiancs—fifteen dollars. When she en tered, that estimate rose to twenty dollars. Now she feared it might be nearer twenty-five. "And the price?” She tried to ask it carelessly. "Pardon, madam. I will just see, glancing at the little ticket inside the hat. "Four hundred francs, madam. That is about eighty dollars In your money, is it not?” After the first second of blank amaze- ment Helen was furiously indignant. Did this woman think all Americans were either fools of-millionaires? With out comment she took off her hat and reached for her own. Her silence was far more disconcert ing to this supercilious French woman than would have been any criticism of the price. "I can show you some other models —some very smart models that p.re not quite so expensive.” hurriedly, as Helen started to leave the shop "No, thank you," coldly. "I don t care to see anything else.” Outside the indignant color still flamed in Helen's cheeks. I'iiglity dol lars for a hat for which even the most expehsive New York shops would not ask over thirty! It was almost an in sult to her intelligence. Suddenly she stopped. For a moment she stood transfixed is she gazed across the street at a familiar figure with a familiar swinging stride. It was War ren! Heedless of cabs and motors, she started to rush across the street. He had now paused on the corner as though to take a bus. Fearlessly Helen darted through the maze of traffic, the drivers shouting at her. She Tells Warlen. Warren had raised his cane at an approaching bus and was just about to jump on when she rushed up and caught his arm with a panting: “Oh, Warren, Warren!” "Hello! Where’d you come from?” unemotionally. "Oh, I was so afraid I wouldn't catch you. Oh, dear, isn’t it wonderful to meet this way on the street? It’s the first time we ever have,” incoherently. "Well, that’s no reason for your get ting run over.” as a cab wheel brushed her dress, and he drew her baqfc to the sidewalk. "What do you want? It’s almost 5 now. I’ve got Horse Versus Horseman Drink- Maxwell House Blend ••The QeaSty C*0msT More sold and more enjoyed than any other high grade cof fee in the South. SmmUd mm mt groomr* Cheek-Meal Coffee Co., Nashville, lantsi. JaAiiavflla. to send a cable and then I’m through. Want to go with me?” "Oh, yes, yes,” eagerly. "Where’v© you been, anyway?” When Helen caught her breath she told him about the millinery shop she had Just come from, about the hat and the exorbitant price. "And it wasn’t worth a cent more than $20,” she finished, resentfully, “though I wanted It so much I "-fight have paid $26.” "Did you offer her that?” “■Why, no, not when she asked $80! What would have been the use?” "You’re easy. There’s a mighty big difference between what they ask and what they’ll take over here. If you want the hat go back and tell her that you’ll give her $25. I’ll wager you’ll get it." "Why, dear, that’s absurd. She might come down $10 or $15, but she’ll never $25 when she asks $80.” "I’d be afraid to try her if I didn't want the hat.” Warren Is Obdurate. “Couldn't you come with me?” ex citedly. "It’s very near here.” “All right; I’m game. We'll call her bluff.” But as Warren walked back with her toward the shop Helen's elation was mingled with misgivings. She felt sure the woman would not consider $25, ary] she did not want Warren to pay more. "One of those ‘smart’ little shops where they soak Americans, eh?” com mented Warren, as they approached the window to which the three hats and the green velvet curtain gave an air of exclusiveness. I The Frenchwoman could hardly re- I s train a jimile of satisfaction whef «he ; saw Helen re-enter, for she felt sure of i the sale now. “I believe my wife vas lolling at a i hat here a few minutes ago." “Yes, sir." beamingly, as she took the j hat from the window. “It was excep- | tionally becoming to madame—wouldn’t i ! you like to see it on her?” "That’s not necessary. My wife likes ’ the hat. Now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll give you one hundred and twenty- flte francs—$25—not a cent more.” The beaming smile froze on the wom an's face. “Why. sir. you’re—madame must have misunderstood me. I told her the hai was $80.” “Yes, and I’m offering you $25, which j is aoout $5 more than It’s worth. Bui that’s all right.” generously, "since my j wife wants the hat.” The woman almost spluttered in ' her vehemence. .She excitedly ex plained that the feather alone cost her more than that. But Warren was unmoved. He wrote the hotel address on his card and gave it to her with a brief: . ' “There's my address. We ll be at the hotel at 6 o'clock. If you want to have the hat there at that time C. O. D., all right.” "But that’s impossible, sir! To ac commodate madame, I might lake off the feather and let her have it for $50— that’s the very best I can do.’ ”Xo, we re buying it as it is. If you decide before 6 o’clock that you'd rather have the $25 than that hat, send it around and you’ll get the ifioney. Good afternoon." "Oh, you know she’ll never send it.” exc'aimed Helen, when they reached the street. “Why, she was furious—she was insulted at the otter.” "Don’t be too sure about that. These French shop people aren’t so easily in sulted by offers as you think.” "But, dear, you know she won't come down THAT much!" "She may and she may not. But she’s mulling over that offer, all right. Show these people the money and give ’em a ladder—they’ll usually come across. Now where are we? I’ve got to send that cable.” It was five minutes of six when they reached the hotel. Helen glanced ea gerly around the lobby for a messenger with a handbox. “Not six yet,” suggested Warren, noting her glance as he turned from the desk with the key and their mail. They had just entered their rooms. Helen had not even taken off her hat when t{iere was a loud knock at the door. It was a boy with a large, white bandbox and a C. O. D. bill for 125 francs—$25. The next moment Helen was taking the hat from its tissue wrappings. “Is it all right?” Warren demanded, drawing out his wallet. "Oh, yes—yes. Ifs PERFECT!” try ing it on before the mirror. "Well, she wasn’t so very much in sulted,” grinned Warren as the door closed after the messenger. "It fits my head so well,” exclaimed Helen, Irrelevantly. "And it’s just right to wear a veil with. I didn’t DREAM she’d send it! * "She found out we weren’t so easy and thought she might as well nail that $25. That’s the way to handle these French tradespeople. They think ail Americans have more money than brains. It’s just as well to let ’em know there are some they can't bluff.” This picture illustrates an in genious device used in the training of horses and men at the famous cavalry school at Saumur. The horse is fixed between padded posts and taught to buck at its best. The man learns not to be thrown when his mount does buck. If he is thrown he must learn to “fall well.’’ The photograph show's a sol dier hurled from the saddle, but although presented with a situation that would cause the average man to “lose his head’’ entirely, is apparently perfectly cool and collected and ready to land on the ground in an upright position. Some of the soldiers are said to become so expert that when they allow themselves to be thrown they can safely turn a somersault in the air before alighting on their feet unhurt and smiling. (Tram tit* Oemti wf Bernhard KeMermam*— Herman version Oopyrlahtod. 1918. try a Pia.hor V or lag. Berlin. kngliah translation and com pi lit! on by Advice to the Lovelorn By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. LEARN SELF-CONTROL. Dear Miss Fairfax: Four months ago I accidentally became acquainted with a young man, one or two years my senior, with whom 1 immediately fell in love. On another oecasio’n I again met him accidentally on the street and we took a walk, on which occasion he. was very at tentive to me. Since then he has assumed a very cold attitude to ward me. His religion is differ ent from mine. Do you think that is the reason? Will you kindly advise me as to what course to pursue, as I am madly in love with him? O. Your acquaintance with him is lim ited to two walks on the streets, and you really know nothing of him. To give your love so desperately on such slight pretext indicates dangerous lack of self-control. I am quite sure t?:e question of re ligion does not intrude. He simply does not love you. He does not know you well enough. 1 want you to love and be. ioved, but T insist for your own sake that you exercise some re straint. " YOU CERTAINLY WERE. Dear Miss Fairfax: 1 have known a young man for the past five years and we were to be engaged in a few’ mbnths. We very seldom had any quar rels, but some time ago he made an appointment to call to see me which he did not keep. He wanted to write me. and through a friend I sent word that I did not want any explanation. Here it is almost five weeks and I have not heard from him yet. Do you think that I w’as hasty? D. D. D. You showed a most unreasonable temper, and he did right in resent ing it. Naturally, he did not call after such a message. Write and tell him you are sorry. A man who has been a faithful lover five years is too rare to be lost through a whim. MARRY HER FIRST. Dear Miss Fairfax: 1 am in business with my father, who is wealthy. I am also In love with a girl of w hom my par ents d'sapprove because of the poverty of her family. They have no other objections. My father says he will disinherit me if I marry her. I have $500 of my own and want to go somewhere else and start in business for my self. for I will not give up the girl. She wants to g with me and help make our fortune. Shall we mar ry now’ and go together, or shall I leave her till my fortune is made? QUANDARY. First get some definite notion of where you Intend to go and what you intend to do when you get there. You! present business prominence will as sist you in this. Then marry the girl and take her with you, making up your mind when you do it that love w ill recompense you for all the priva tions you are facing. Tam sure you will find the extreme West a good place for a beginning, but you will have very little of that $500 left when you get there. Irate Father—Here, I’ve paid you no telling how much money to teach my daughter music, and she can’t play any better than she did before. Whose faujt is it? Professor Von Note—Ze fault of ze Instrument. I haf von instrument in my shop vlch she learn to blay soon. "Huh! Is it like this?” "It looks like zis piano, but it goes mit a handle.” Grafton—Aw, what’s the matter, dear boy? Spwained your w’ist? “Naw; rheumatism. Left one of me rings off the other day, ye know, and caught cold in me flngaw.” One day a gentleman asked a blue jacket w hy the Government dealt out trousers to them about two feet wider than they ought to be. "For the same reason,” said Jack, "that your hatter sells you a stove pipe hat about a foot higher than it has need to be.” A stock broker, whose mind was always full of busiinets, was asked a few'days ago how’ old his father wa 9. "Well,” said he, abstractedly, "he’s quoted at 80. but there is every pros pect that he will reach par and pos sibly be at a premium." “How is your friend doing out West ?” “Oh, he’s carrying everything be fore him.” “What business is he in?” "He’s a waiter in a restaurant.” (Copyright**. It 18. by International Naw* Service.} TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. O’Malley met her eyes without a quiver. "In the tunnel.” he replied. "Good evening," she said coldly; and swept ouL She Is Angry. When Miss Lloyd returned to her New York home that night she was hurt and angry. She was the type in which anger hardens resolution. She knew that Allan needed her— needed her help and counsel and in fluence—and she was determined to make him acknowledge it in word or deed. She felt that It w’as a game that he was playing. He was stub bornly avoiding her after her father had declined to rise to his suggestion as to the private financing of the tunnel. For a day or two she took counsel with herself and tried to devise ways and means of meeting Allan without running the risk of further humilia tion. She was above feelina humilia tion in the fact that she wjfffc seeking him and that he was avoiding her. She did not care that Allan was cer tain to know she had sought him. She merely did not want anyone else to know. Even letting the chief of her fa ther’s detectives further into her plans were repugnant. Also, Hhe dis missed any plan that included a sec ond interview with O’Malley on the subject. Consequently her father was a neglected old man for several eve nings, while she took mysterious fly ing trips to Tunnel City in the after noon, returning late in the evening. She was doing her own scouting, and she discovered that Allan made it a rule never to leave or enter the Ad ministration building by daylight. If he went to the tunnel, he went in the black cold of the early morning and returned after dark, when the scat tered are lights threw blinding shadows up the long glistening cor don of tracks and the entrance to the building was deserted. She was anxious to see and talk with him, and she waited for several weeks in the belief that he would call on her fattier. Yet she was cer tain that he would come eventually He had WTitten to Lloyd from Eu rope In a time of black despair, and In a guarded way suggested the pos sibility of private financial backing. Lloyd had taken his daughter into his confidence on the receipt of this let ter and he had followed her advice Then, one night, about ten days after her encounter with O’Malley, she placed herself in her limousine about 60 feet from the building en trance. It was a bitter cold night, but the car was warm as a kitchen, and the frost on the windows formed a perfect blind. She had not long to w’alt. She had when she saw Allan’s figure coming been there less than a half-hour across the tracks. She recognized him by his walk. But she bit her lip with vexation, for another man was with him. As they drew near she recognized O’Malley, and her heart beat quickly, for she was afraid he might guess who w’as In the big car. Face to Face. If he did, he gave no sign other than a curious glance as he 'walked by in step w r ith his chief. Allan did not even glance toward the auto, and Ethel could not catch a glimpse of his face. She was bitterly disap- © © The Manicure Lady © © By WILLIAM F KIRK. But He Takes an Interest. ('ommercial—If a man has an in* come of two millions a year, what is his principal? Cynic—A man with such an income usually has no principle. CHICHESTER S PILLS THK 1)UM«NI) BRASH. A Uranlit. DIAMOND IIBAND PILLS, foe tb yeanknowu at Best, Safest, Always Reliable SOLD BY DRUGGISTS EVERYWHFIT Woman It interested end *bo«ld know about the wonderful Wfctrisg Sprwt Douche — ap ply the MARVEL, acoept no other, but send stamp lor book few! Ct.. 44 g. Md 61.1.1 ^ t SEE a story in the paper yester- I day.” said the Manicure Lady, "that told about one of the brightest men in this country coming home and finding his wife had went away and left him. The story said that he gave her everything in the world except all of his time, because part of that he was supposed to devote to his business, and he said to the reporters that he couldn’t understand why she would run away with a struggling poet and take a chance on starving. It all goes to show’, George, that men ain’t 'so smart as they think they are. Think of one of the brightest men in the world getting fooled that way by a weak woman.” "1 guess the woman is the one that is getting fooled,” said the Head Barber. "There isn’t anything very wise in leav ing a good home and a good husband to take a chance with a struggling poet I would just as soon take a chance on a crippled horse in a race. Look at that brother of yours that you are ali the time talking about. How could he support anybody on his poetry?” “He can’t support himself,” admitted the Manicure Lady. "But that ain’t what I am getting at. If this wonder ful bright man was so bright, why didn’t he see that his wife didn’t care as much for him as she did for somebody else?’ "Bright men don’t watch their wives much,” explained the Head Barber. "The brighter a man is, the less he watches a woman. Look at this o*d leaguer they call Socrates, the wise Greek, that lots of great men have called the wisest man that ever lived. You would think that a gent with his gray matter would pick out a wife to make him happy, but instead of that he draws a pest, who nags at him until he don’t know whether he is afoot or on a horse. I guess it is us common ginks that gets the good wives.” "I don’t see why that is. though,” said the Manicure Lady. "Anybody would think a girl would want the best look ing and the grandest man she could land. It is hard enough for a girl to get the man of her choice, George, so you would think while she was trying she wouldn’t be atiy piker and try for a lemon. "All the old gent said last night when I w’as telling about this fine, bright fel low that got stung was that it was to be expected. You see George, every thing has always broke so fine for fa ther that he thinks everything is map- j ped out, the sweet things of life for the I deserving, arqj the sour for them that j has sour coming to them. Some of these days the Fate that he talks about is going to give him an awful kick in the shins, and then he W’on’t feel quite so displacent and calm about things. You see, George, he married the dear est lady that was ever born, my mother, and instead of figuring that he is the luckiest man in the world he figures that he was a wise guy and a good picker. I wish I was married to a man like that. Maybe I wouldn’t have him guess ing. I would be so cranky and hard to get along with that he w’ould com mence to think maybe there was some thing wrong with his own system, and if that didn’t make him sit up and take notice I would try something else to make him know that he wasn’t the candy kid. If a husband lias got a good wife he ought to appreciate it.” "Yes,” said the Head Barber, "but not half so much as a wife ought to appreciate a good husband. Good hus bands is like the l€*ter *x.’ You don’t run across many of them. I hope that woman you are talking about will be happy with her struggling poet.” "No,” said the Manicure I.<ady. sol emnly, "she can't never be really hap py no more.” Musical. It was at a musical given in an old-fashioned country house, and’th'j soprano was screeching her loudest. "The foom is cold,” complained one of the guests, "and I would like tj stir the fire in the grate, but I don’t know how to do it without interrupt ing the music ‘That’s easy,” suggested his com panion; ' stir it between the bars.” Give Your Boys Muscle Food Give that growing boy and girl of yours food that will nourisn and build up their bodies, food that makes sound bone, strong muscle and healthy flesh. FAUST SPAGHETTI is just that kind of food. It is made from Durum wheat — a cereal extremely rich in gluten—a bone, muscle and flesh builder. SPAGHETTI can be served in many tempting ways. It always makes a savory, relishable dish and is very easily digested. You have no idea how many delicious ways you can serve FAUST SPAGHETTI until you read our free recipe book —write for it. At all grocers’— 5c and 10c packages. MAULL BROS. St. Louis, Mo. pointed, but decided that she would try again next night. This time she had better luck. Allan came across the tracks alone, and just as he was turning into the big archway, he heard his name soft ly calling in a vaguely familiar voice. He turned to see a woman partly leaning out of the open door of a big limousine. Slowly, almost reluctant ly, he approached. He was thinking of everything but women at that mo ment, and was so abstracted that he did not even guess w ho It might be. "Mr. Allan, don’t you know’ your old friends?” asked the woman, with a smile. And then he recognized her. "Miss Lloyd I" he exclaimed blankly. She laughed, but the laugh was a little unsteady. "Yes—Miss Lloyd!” she mimicked. ’Is that all you have to say when ladles call on you?” He continued to stare at her with an almost vacant expression. "Why, I don’t know," he stammered. She gave him a keen look in the half- light and then said abruptly: “I wish you would get in the car and take a' little drive with me. It’s very cold this way and—I yiust -talk to you a few minutes. It is very im portant.” "Oh—certainly!” he replied in the same half-dazed manner. "I—why— how* on earth did you get here?” "I drove down,” was the laconic re sponse. “Please hurry, Mr. Allan. You’re keeping me waiting.” With something that was almost a start he seemed to receive the power of locomotion and stepped into the car. She slammed the door and the car moved off. She had given her chauffeur instructions. j , yM very busy,” he began, apolo- I getically and a little uneasily, as the big car purred along the smooth roadway. "I know,” she cut In swiftly. “I am, too. That’s why I wanted you to hurry. I have to get back home.” There was a silence of a minute or so. She was studying his face. Just visible In the dim light of the car. She had carefully planned what she would say and how she would say It. She was now shocked to see the necessity for completely altering her tactics on the spur of the moment. She had at tributed Allan’s conduct to pride. She now saw that it was something more serious than that. Despair, like some dred, numbing disease, had fastened Itself upon him. His face was thin and hard, the features motionless and without expression, save for a hint of sullen defiance. Hla eyes had lost that ever-present dancing sparkle. They were cold and lifeless. She had intended to engare him in light conversation and gradually lead up to the real purpose of the inter view. She now saw that this was impossible. ”1 wrot© you at little note, Mr Allan, she said, with a kindly smile that took the edge off the implied reproach. "Yes—yes, I know,” he stumbled. "At the time I—I was ” His voice trailed off into unintelligible sounds. Hhe put her hand impulsively on his arm and for the first time he looked directly at her. "I understand—I understand," she said quickly, her voice vibrant with sympathy. “Don’t make any apology; I understand. But I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you again.” She saw his stone-like features quiver for an instant, uncertainly, as if they were unused to move. He opened his lips as if to reply in kind, and then suddenly turned his head and gazed out of the window. This time she understood, too, but she did not say so. She waited to see if she had broken the ice of his reserve, and she thrilled when he asked in a new tone—one of quiet interest: "How is your father?” "He’s quite well, thank you. He was hoping to see you before this time!” “Was he?” was the enigmatic com ment. The girl ignored the faint suggestion of irony. “We both hoped you'd come and see us,” she said, "but I didn’t come all the way down here to invite you to come to tea. I wanted to see you and now I want to talk to you as I would want you to talk to me If you had the same—the same Interest in me that I have In you.” Straight Talk. He slowly turned his head and look ed at her. She looked full into his eyes as she went on. "The kind of life you are leading now —this life down here—is the. worst thing In the world for you. Your are break Ing yourself internally. I understand that you felt the need of solitude and seclusion for a while. All of us do. But there comes a* time when we cease to rest and begin to mope—or worse.” Allan stared at her. If sh© had been reading hla heart for months he knew she could not have more surely told the truth. He knew that he was not doing himself or his Interests any good, but he had reached the point where he lacked the Initiative, the energy, to change. It was a hopeful sign that he resented somewhat the freedom the girl had taken, but he did not interrupt “You haven't been near ua—you haven’t been near any of your old friends,” ah© went on. "Ymi have -sim ply buried yourself down here and you might as well be dead as living th© way you are. Apparently, you’re so' afraid that some one will find you and remind you of your duties tHat you have in structed Mr. O'Malley to be rude to every one who wants to see you.” He half-interrupted her with a ges ture of apology, but she gave It no heed. “What do you expect to gain by this, Mr. Allan? I don’t think that I wrjong you when I give you credit for the am bition to wish to finish the work to which you have dedicated your “Ire. How did you think you can finish it when you are hiding from every one who might help you? And if you don’t finish it, who will? And if you don't try to finish It you won’t live! I know that, if you don’t! To Be Continued To-morrow. iKODAKS£„’. 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