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A VA TER ore this havJ was low bul her go anJ assailed by it her by thil to him?” ho eyes glared ones lifted to rembllng with ugh pale, an- dded fuel to he shook he# " he roared. >w erfuj L gile woman roe that sho ! floor. With-* the husband itil after micU fe, bruised in listened and lonely hours. ie village tavs . from which hoi elessly ins jght home by or for hef nion, ahN 9 hers na norrow all .rmed that often take ao be able to ea ful words with ianager?” said the Head nice man. toa )Ut Mrs. D’Etw out real genti* it I call having me." groaned 'I suppose yoil give me m' 1 nt. o high brow fo Customer to Ma le tried to sa? and even th ; I coir repilei ['m sur Time. It. * In the house ■-«« a pair of very other looked at and said: ■ hands as dirty d the child, “but have you unoer-* man.” e out a patent oil MAGAZINE Thoroughbreds—-East and West NELL BRINKLEY By MAX. A ugust as —Being a copy of my letter to Sally Spencer, who Is away off In Paris, while 1 am confined to the house by illness up here in the northernmost woods of the most unspellable name: My Dear Sally; Richards tells me that you are solicitous about me. I wonder if you are. It is hard to believe a woman is solicitous about a man when she enjoys herself shopping in Paris, while he lies sick and suffering up in the northernmost woods of the United States, unprotected from wild Indians and pretty nurses. 1 am sure if you could realize what weird mysterious sounds there are up here in the night, and which can mean nothing else but hobgoblins, ghosts and Indians, you would realize my peril. For when I call out for some one to shut out their demoniacal shrieks arid wails and comfort me, there comes a very pretty nurse, warm and sweet and rosy from the nap she is trying to snatch some where in the dim recesses of my room, and puts her arms around me and is most soothing and tender So you see. when I turn for help in' one peril, I am confronted by a greater one, and there is no Book of Warnings you could send that would help me. for this stiffly starched person wouldn’t let me see it if you sent one. She is a most domineering person. Small, oh, very much smaller than you. I am anxious to grow strong enough to stand on my feet to see if she reaches my heart. I mean, of course, in stature. If she has reached it or not, otherwise, is a matter of no con cern to you, away off there in Paris enjoying yourself matching ribbons and laces, while I am so sick here. She has beautiful eyes, and the soft est hair, and it Is her own. for I have seen her comb. A sick man is privi leged to see a great deal which is oth erwise forbidden. I suppose it is to make up for the calomel, being the compensation found in every sting And when I call her, she comes promptly, though she hasn't had time to put on her top layer of starched things. When I rebuke her and tell her It is not nice to be so heedless of my innate modesty, she says 1 am get ting well fast. That is one sign a man is out of danger when he begins to notice what his nurse hasn't on. So you see, dear, my peril. Indians without, for I hear strange noises in the night, and a pretty nurse within. The doctor says I am improving, but very, very slowly. The pretty nurse s a ys If I continue to mend so rapidly she will be compelled to demand a chaperon. And there you are. One says one thing and one afiother. I think there is something wrong with my spine, for when I try to move it is to learn how very limited is my vocabulary of swear words 1 have grown so dependent on the help of the prettv nurse that sometimes I can i feed 'myself unless one arm Is around her neck. Isn’t it distressing rr* hslp- less a sick man is when mere is a pretty nurse around? But then of course you are a ,nan an< ^ * UI \ de [hink J in my next incarnation I would like to be a tree. A ree lives so much more sturdily and ales so much more srraeefully than a man. 1 sa.d Something to this effect to the nurse, and ah? replied that If 1 were a tree in my next incarnation, she supposed it would v,p of the lemon family. August f t.- I am writing this letter on the installment plan, not that I writing, as i did when first injuitd. hut the nurse won t let me write, and "ben she came home yesterday and caught me at it she scolded me._. wriMen Little Bobbie’s Pa By WILLIAM T. KLRX. M ISSUS SMITH is going to bring her husband up to see us to- . hUe. sed Ma. You ought to meet her husband, beekaus he is varj brllyunt. That is nice, sed 1-a. I always like to meet brllyunt peeple. It maiks me feel at hoam to And a other brll yunt man with wich to talk with. What Is he, a actor? No, sed Ma, he Is a lawyer, but he Is the gratest con-ver-sashunallai that I ever ltssend to. The art of plesant conversashun is rapidly bee euming a thing of the past, sed Ma, the salm as the art of polite letter riteing. That is vary true, sed Pa, In the old days a young man wud rite a bu tlful letter to a yung lady, telling how he was drawn toward her by sum mystlek spell ft nowadays. Pa sed. It a yung man rites to a vung ladv at all, he rites like this: Say, klddo youse have sure got me winging. I’m so strong for you I feel like Sandou yours to a crisp. Jack. That is Un kind of polite letters that gurls gt; nowadays, Pa sed. I know you will like Mister Smith. Ma sed. He has traveled far and wide. He knows grate men In every land, ft he tells It all so Interesting You think you are in a trance all the time he is telling about his adven tures. I bet he hasent had anv moar ad ventures than 1 have sed Pa. Oh, yen he has, sed Ma. his is reel adventures. You maik up a lot of yure adventures. Walt till you lieei | his conversashun. Jest then Missus Smith & her hus band calm. He was a tall, thin man ft he looked like a skool teecher. He talked like one. too. I never herd so | many big words. lam vary pleesed to meet you. seel T HE horsewoman of the West (you meet her on a bend of a high mountain road—you ask your way of her on the prairie trail in New Mexico and Arizona, across sage and pine, over mild farm land of the Middle West, over the placid rivers and the mild, gentle hills of the far East—over all that lies between them)—the horsewoman of. the West looks into the eyes of the horsewoman of the East. And they smile! For they are the pick o! their kind a-d thoroughbreds, and can afford to be gracious, as beauty can afford to be sweet to beauty. In the East and the West alike the nondescript rider fills the bridle paths, rigged out more or less alike, though perhaps you will not believe that. You caa scarcely tell one from the other save in their degrees of bad riding. But the thoroughbreds, horse and rider. East and West, the crack players of the riding game, stand as wide apart in looks and manner as the poles. Only in these things are they “blood"—their perfect “form'’ of so different a kind, their oneness— the girl and the animal between her knees, the fear they never know and the hearts that beat beneath shirts and chestnut hides! East has her short-backed pony with his three-quarter bobbed tall; her slippery little eggshell of a saddle, her short stirrup almost as - rlicate and clean-cut as an engagement ring, her thorough mouthful of bits, reins held taut but with fine feeling, and give to her hand and the cruel curb a trifle more lax than the kinder snaffle. Over her shoulder she carries her mallet, pointing to the misty blue heaven of the East. She wears outing shirt, gloves, Jockey-like cap with Its •bird beak, white breeches, a short sleeveless coat, dull finished boots. She is a perfect picture, shorn of useless ornament, a clean silhouette fitted to the bald, green lawns and white balustrades of the Eastern country, whose coloring is quiet, rich and cultured. Her hair is close and sleek like the lawns and as the mane and foretop of her brainy pony are shaven. West has her long-headed, slim-legged pinto with his hint of the Arab-Spanish horse who turned wild, bred i the Far West when It was new. Foretop and mane are long as banners and wind-whipped. The girl's hair whips in the wind to match. Her bridle Is as simple a thing as the Indians, with a trace of the silver and jingle about it that the red man loved. She has one bit—a curb—that, under a hand fine in feel ing. is a double one—tender snaffle and subduing curb. Sometimes you will find her with bridle hung to saddle horn, the pony’s mouth free, traveling in halter and single rein. Her saddle is the “chair saddle” of knighthood. There is much leather and comfort about it and she hugs it like a cavalryman. She wears soft hat with wide britn and three dimples In the crown; soft skirt, gloves, broad belt of leather, skirt short and divided, and the tan of the desert, sturdy boots, heavy of sole and broad of toe. Her stirrup is a broad, safe thing that half swallows her little foe... Her rope swings like a coiled Hnake against her Knee and she doesn’t like It new! Beside her the tall blossom of the Spanish bayonet points to the vivid b.u< of the Western sky. Her tans and golds, flowing mane and tail of hair match the brilliant yet thinly lovely coloring of the West—the sage, the singing hills, the ethereal distances. Far apart they look—both thoroughbreds, crack players, harmoni ous, in perfect form with the lands they are the flowers of. On the polo field, wild mane and tail, loose hair and soft gray hat and much siddle leather, would violate your eyes. In the vasty mountain and prairie land, wrappe pony legs, shaven foretop and tail, rip stirrup and polo coat would smash the picture into bits. Each in the others domain would seem flapping with useless trappings. In their own they are fit and trim. Only in these things are they of one blood—their perfect “form” of so different a kind, their oneness—the girl and the animal between her knees .and the hearts that bet beneath shirts and chestnut hides. EELL BR/NKEEY This second installment is wr ... . i yt.iticlla havp gone 10 whilt* she and Maiiftte have hunt wild blackberries, and Richards will mail it to you before she return. • She says she is jealous of my un | known correspondent.’ HouseholdSuggestions The Tide A Thrilling Shjrt S ory, Complete 1°suppose'’?’should have reminded her j V you happen to break a glass or that she had no right to be jealous^of valuable glass* ornament, it can ef anvbodv but 1 am afraid if I offended fectually and easily be mended in her she’ wouldn’t come t0 the following way: Melt a little isin- apprehension when I imagine I pi aas in spirits of wine; add a small Li nrBnnnine around the door . .u.. wild Indians whooping around the quantity of water; warm the mix- at night. She sa J s _ rn nie- that it : Lure gently over a moderate fire. When ’but" a t’rifgM^wh erf everyone *jif \ h e mixed, by thoroughly melting. It will E. I S asleep but the nurse and my- ! form a perfectly transparent glue. aelMt is quite natural and manlike 'hat which will unite glass so nicely and I should grow more afraid firmly that the joint will scarcely be I hope, Sally dear, that I have writ- pp rce ptible to the most citical eye. ten nothing that will excite your appro- hension or cause you to cut short jour childish enjoyment of matching nuuons j Iron mold stains spread in any and laces In* Paris. It is just as wen f ahr j c they come in contact with in that the ocean rolls between us, to waB h.‘ To remove them stretch you were here the pretty nu « i stained part over a basin nearly not let you see who full of boiling water, so that the conies over 1 from^the hem- I steam may penetrate the fabric, and ouets of yellow flowers and soothing | , lpl ,i v with a feather a teaspoonful literature on “That Monster Man” get j o( ]emon juice. When the marks dis- inside the gate. "Are you jealous of her. 1 askefi one day, and she said no, she wasn t, that when a man was sick, the last woman who could ever interest him was a suffragette. Sometimes, when 1 de clare the noises of the. night .are P ar ' ticularly weird, she says it is the suffra gette haranguing outside. I repeat. Sally Pear, that I hope I have written nothing that will disquiet you. Some days I think 1 am going t die. and then I know you will be sor ry you didn’t come to save me and tn • Thought always makes me feel better. Like all the men. Sally, I find comfort in the picture of a string of women weeping over my grave. But the pretty nurse says I—Here i go again talking about the nurse wren T intended to write nothing more than good-bye. .. Your—How shall 1 sign myself? Po you insist on "friend,” Little ”oman appear dip the material well into the hot water; afterward rinse very thor oughly in cold water. Make a paste the thickness of cream with whitening and water, and rub back over the top. sides, shelves, door and back of the oven when cleaning. Leave the door open for a few m'nutes to dry. If this is done once a week it will prevent burning. Before scraping new potatoes, let them soak for a little while in water to which a piece of common washing soda lias been added. This will make them scrape easily, and they will not stain the fingers. Always put a piece of muslin round Perhaps that would he better, for some th( , t)a f, d underneath the ribbon or one might see It—the nurse, I mean, w hen trimming a hat. This saves not^Tack.^ ^ ^ MAX j the hatpins from breaking the straw. The Best Food-Orink Lunch at Fountains ORIGINAL GENUINE Insist Upon HORLICK’S T’ r 4 void Imitations—Take No Substitute O- l -II i J • rvw.lcr form More healthful than tea or coffee. SCS2SEE**'* A l "“ h “ HE little woman with the thin, reddish gray hair threw a peb ble into the water and said, “Ah, me!” because she knew that n half an hour the tide would turn and she must go back to the convalescent home on the cliff. ‘‘The matron gave me till then,' she said to the man at her side, ‘‘and she’s been so good to me while I’ve been there that I wouldn’t upset her for the world. If I told her that I’d bet you—after all these years! If 1 told her of what’s happened ” ‘‘She wouldn’t believe it,” said the man sighing. "I can hardly believe it myself. But I knew it was you when I looked down from the prom enade." "I'm changed, Joe?” she suggested, wistfully. ‘Thirty years would change any body.” ‘‘Fifty-one next birthday—if it comes. Sometimes—only sometimes, Joe- I hope that it won’t come.” Different Thoughts. "I’m fifty-six,’’ he said, encourag ingly, ‘‘but I never hope like that. ’ "They say that you’re very—very rich ?” "Plenty of money,” he said, quietly, "but not rich. It's when I look at you that I feel poor, and miserable, and helpless.” She laughed feebly. ‘‘Thirty years!" she said again. “And in all that time I’ve not heard from you once.” ‘‘Why did you go away? In tho beginning. 1 mean." “When vou came back from India?" "Yes. Thirty years ago." "I left a letter for you.” "T have it iow. You didn’t want to see me again. Said there was some body else. Said you were going abroad." She was silent for a moment Then: "You didn’t guess that it was a lie? You heard about fatheT?" An Honest Man. "That would have made no differ ence to me." "But he was a clergyman. That | made his sin the greater in the eyes ! of the world. He never meant to anything that was wrone. I’m cer- | tain of that. There was no fraud n j his heart; he believed there was i money at the bank to meet the check." He died?” "Heart failure—just before the in spector came to the house.” “And you?” "Ah! You’d have married me in spite of it all. But was it fair to you? Always they would have re- ' minded you of it. and someone—I forget who it was—said to me, ‘He may be the greatest engineer the world has ever known, lie may como back with a fortune, but Society’— what did she mean by Society? -‘has a long memory, and It’ll pity him and you.’ You married soon after ward. didn’t you, Joe?" ‘Three months. I was mad with disappointment. I went out of the house, after reading your letter, and swore that I’d marry the first woman who would accept me.” “Steady, Joe! She w’as a good wife to you." ‘‘Nobler than 1. But she knew, I think. Many a time I found her in tears.” “I've never cried.” said the little woman, “never cried for 30 years. 1 was past crying." The man said in a low. faraway voice: "I cried when she went; I cried when the two boys were cut up in South Africa; when the girl slipped from me. I believe—I believe that 1 cursed* ” "Joe!” "And when the last one I had was lost here—here In this very bay—1 gave up entirely. The hand was against me! That’s how I felt.” "I read of it In the newspaper. He was trying to save two children.” ‘‘He got them on to the end of the groyne before he was carried away by the current." "And they never found him?” ‘‘That’s why I’m here—looking for him. I’m always here—watching and waiting. The tide’s cruel. Margot." "Just like life, Joe," she whispered. Again a long silence. The sun wan going down behind the Heads; a trail of gold and amber and mauve lay across the water, like a glorious path way to the distant horizon. On the promenade behind tr»e little woman with the reddish-gray hair and the man who was rich, yet poor, the crowds of holidaymakers paced to and fro; the band on the pier away to the right played melody after mel ody. as though it knew the hearts of two old children were beating in har mony. A boy of four ran down the beach in defiance of a hysterical nurse who called to him from the prome nade. He was throwing pebbles In the water, when a wave came surging in. The. little woman with the red dish-gray hair ran toward the child and caught him by the arm. She spoke to him very tenderly, and he turned obediently, and went back with her to his nurse. The watching man saw her kiss the child. When she came back to his side her eyes were glistening. "Thirty years!” she murmured. "I can hardly believe it. * • 9 I‘m glad that T haven't changed so much after all." "You'll never change,” he paid. He touched her hand, She looked down. He was holding a letter. “Yours," he said, in a whisper. "Pve kept it all these years." "And If you hadn’t met me you’d have gone on keeping It?" "Right to the very end.” She took the letter from him, and read It again and again. A Hard Task. Pa wen he was interduced to Mister Smith. My wife was telling me thai you have traveled far T have been contiguous to sum varv reernoat parts of the earth, sed Mister Smith. I think I may say without feer of successful con-tradlckshun that I have been adjacent to or di- rectlv In many of the moavt unpene trated parts of the wrtild. The fact , that I am a Nomad is in-dub-Ital, h<^ sed to Pa. So it wuld seem, sed Pa. I used to nomad a lot, too. until I got sick of roaming Sr settled down. But your travel has been infinites- mal compared to the roaming I have dbl. sed Mister Smith. Why.’ beefoar I was twentv T had been thru all of Uraguav & Paraguay, wich I supooay j you mite be sed to be in Juxta- poeishun. Sr to deeskrlbe mv peregrinashuns j thru Africa wuld talk a w'eek of at eddy conversashun sed Mister Smith. Africa is a somber continent. & to attempt to deeskribe its brood- ! ing misterj were futil. he sed. It ! wud be too copious for vure limited i comprehenshun. Even if I were t > I reelate these things succinctly, sed i Matter Smith. A even if vou & I agreed that I shud talk that length of time, I feer that you wud wish to ! abrogate that agreement beefoar my ! be-vildering flow of words was half | finished. Then doant peregrinate, sed Pa. T*et us talk about baseball. T was hoaplng Huggins wud win the Nash- unal Leeg pennant for St. I^oum Pa .*»ed. but I see he got kind of left at the post. Baseball does not interest me. sed Mister Smith. I wud fain converse of other things, things ]e«g of the soli and moar etbeeHal. So he con versed of other things Sr at la?* all of us except h’m wud fain go to bed. I am glad Pa lsent brilyunt, he talks enuff now. "Alfred, have you got everything?” tenderly inquired Baron Southmont’a wife, as he started off on a Journey. The billionaire burst into tears. ‘There you go!” he exclaimed. "Al ways saving things to give me pain. You know very well, In apite of all my efforts. I haven’t yet succeeded in getting everything.” SNAP SHOTS By LILLIAN LAUFERTY. "It was the hardest thing T ever did,” she said, and there was a break In her voice "It took hpurs and hours to write that letter, but some thing told me It was the right thing to do." “You should have waited—you should have had more confidence In me.” "Ah, me!" she sighed. "Most tragedies grow out of little mistakes, misunderstandings." He nodded listlessly. "That sewing machine,” he said, f abruptly. "What did you mean by that?" "There was nothing else that I 1 could do. I don’t think I could live 1 without the noise of the machine, i The sea’s like it sometimes—when it | comes over the stones. Makes you j feel lonely, doesn’t It? And yet It I i .soothes." ‘‘The tide’s turning," he said, and j ! he drew her closer to him. "Turning," he whispered, and he 1 r\ l,.t t ... ft*/. . v. k Retired Haberdasher (late of Lon don)—Now, then, ’Enery, I’m goin’ to have a large party ’ere next week, and I shall expect an unlimited quan tity of milk, cream and butter. After that the cows can ’ave a rest till me an’ Mrs. P. return from the Tonte- nong. Strangers Yet. A negro woman in Savarna h was preparing to get married. For four weeks before the ceremonv she saved up her wages, and immediately after the wedding she hunted up her mis tress and asked her to take charge of the fund. "I’ll take Jt. of course,” said the puzzled lady; "but, Mandy, won’t you be needing your money to spend on your honeymoon?" "Miss May," paid the bride, "does you think I’se goln’ to trust myself wid a strange nigger and all chkr money on me?” "That's a fine-looking old gentle man! Bleater» father, isn’t he?” asked a collegian of a friend. "Yes.” was the answer, "but he Ik a. champion at breaking his word!" "You don’t May so?" "Yes—he stutters!” Nurse (taking his temperature) — Sir, you are in danger; your tempera ture 1h 104. Businesa Man—When it reaches 105 aell. "Yes. it took me three months to learn all about this motorcycle." "And what have you got for your pains?” "Liniment.” D EAR love, a little column here To you I am erecting . A shrine, at least, from custom old. I fear you are expecting. Be grateful, please, O! Love, for I Find raising columns rather hard. For shrines, or temples there’s no hope. I’m not an architect—but bard. To-day folk* worship other gods. The love of Love Is now called gam. mon, Be thankful for your column. Ivove— Temples to-day belong to Mam mon. MAIDEN MUSINGS — WHEN L^VE IS DONE When a man get tired of her. the wise woman says. "Amen." To lose friendship is sorrow, to lose love is bitterness—but true trngedy never dawns till both are gone. The fragrance of a rose’s fallen petalM, the sweetness of a kiss of yesterday may linger in memory--but an unwithered geranium has more- perfume. In order to be part of life, we must exhale love—for when the sun’s heat and light fail, we will not know there is a sun. Love stumbles often when the path is smooth, and leaps gayly, on winged feet, over great obstacles. Friendship may grow to love—but life does not offer a perfect circle— Leve can not forget its flowers and veil and be nun-like friendship. I took the 30-year-dld letter from h*»r, tore It. and threw the pieces on the 1 receding waters. Tlie wind that waa taking the tide ‘ out caught fragments of the music as I it drifted from the pier, and carried , them out and away. The reddish-gray hair was half hid - I den by the man’s right arm. The oell ceased to ring. The little woman said: "God, Joe!" as though all the happiness taken from 30 years had been brought back to her in that mo ment I did not keep the rose he brought After its day; Although it lived a longer time Than other roses may "I hope you pray for all your brothers and sisters, Dorothy?” "Oh, no, auntie. I only pray for baby; the others can pray for them- selvea" FRECKLE-FACE Sue and Wind Bring Out Laly Spots. ' ‘ “ sally. L How to Ramove Eaal Here's a chance. Miss Freckle-Face, to try a remedy for freckles with the guarantee of a reliable dealer that it will not cost you a penny unless It removes the freckles, while If it does give you a clear complexion the ex pense is trifling Simply get an ounce of othine— double strength -from Jacobs’ Phar macy and a few applications should show you how easy it Is to rid your, self of the homely freckles and get a beautiful complexion Rarely Is more than one ounce needed for the worst case. Be sure to ask the druggist for the double strength othine, as this Is the prescription sold under guarantee of money back if It falls to remove freckles. Certain Relief I let it go the way of all For this one fear, Because it might persuade my heart That he was growing dear. But now my heart is well assured. And still I fring. And no one here could ever know. That I miss anything. —Josephine Preston Peabody. from headaches, dull feelings, and ! fatigue of biliousness, comes quickly ! —and permanent improvement in bodily condition follows—after vour stomach, liver and bowels nave been toned and regulated by Accommodating. "Waiter, this knife is dull, ano steak is like leather.” "Yes, sir. You can sharpen knife on the steals sir ” BEECHAM’S PIUS 1*14 n**rrwlit»*- 10«., Good teeth Good health with COLGATE’S RIBBON DENTAL CREftM Delicious /v / Efficient COMES OUT A RIBBON LIES FLAT ON THE BRUSH