Newspaper Page Text
8 E
HEARST’S SUNDAY AMERICAN, ATLANTA, GA„
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 30. 1913.
The Thousandth Woman' in Harper’s Bazar
E ^VBRY man may think he known
the "one woman In a thou- j
sand,” but E. W. Homunjr, the
famous creator of "Raffles,” has his
own conception of her He portrays
her 1n the currect Installment of that
most fascinating of mystery stories,
"The Thousandth Woman," In the cur
rent number of Harper's Hazar
(laatUot, an Englishman, golnq
home after many years spent In Aus
tralia, returns to his ship at Genov
having been left behind at Naples. II?
tells his cabin mate, Hilton Toye, an
American, of a dream in which he
has seen an old enemy. Henry (.’raven,
lying dead In his library at Kingston,
a suburb of London. When they ar
rive at Southampton, tbev discover
that (’raven has been murdered and
ail England Is excited over the search
for the murderer, to whom there la
no clew. Only the old gardener at
Craven s home has seen the bearded
man, who escaped bareheaded, though
no hat or cap was found. The butlsr
had answered a telephone call from a
otranger. Toye suspects Seruton, n
business associate of (’raven’s, who
has Just finished a fourteen years
term In Jail for a crime really In
spired by Craven. Cazalet defends
Seruton because the older man had
been kind to him.
Cazalet’s first thought Is to ren *\v
acquaintance with Blanche Macnalr
his childhood friend, with whom h<
has kept up a desultory correspond
enee, and who Is to prove herself “Thr
Thousandth Woman." He runs out
In a taxi and finds her In a new llttl?
home. She, too. Is depressed by th«
murder of the old neighbor. He tells
her that Toye has spoken of knowin.
her Blanche’s old nurse. Mart h i
welcomes Cazalet and rejoices that n»
has removed the beard that she ha?
disliked In a photograph sent to
Blanche.
Hornung thus describes Blanch-
and her first real step Into the gre *
mystery.
(Reprinted from the Deoember num
b«r of Harper's Bazar b psrmissioi
of Harper’s Bazar.)
B LANCHE really was a girl still;
for In these days it Is an elas
tic term, and In hor case there
was no apparent reason why It should
ever cease to apoly, or to be applied
by every decent tongue except her
own. If, however. It be conceded
that she herself had reached the pure
ly mental stage of some self conscious
ness on the point of girlhood, It can
not be too clearly stated that It wat
the only point on which Blanche Mac.
nalr had ever been self-conscious In
her life.
Much the best tennis player among
the Indies of the neighborhood, she
drove an almost unbecomingly long
ball at golf, and never looked better
than when paddling her old canoe or
punting In the old punt. And yet
this wonderful September afternoon
she did somehow look even better
than at either or any of those con
genial pursuits, and that long before
they reached the river; in the empty
house, which had known her as a
baby, child and grown-up girl, to the
companion of some part of all three
stages, she looked u more lustrous
and lovelier Blanche than he remem
bered even of old.
But she was not really lovely In
the least; that also must be put be
yond the pale of misconception. Her
hair was beautiful, and perhaps her
skin, and. In some lights, her eyes,
the rest was not. It was yellow hair,
not golden, and Cazalet would have
given all he had about him to sec
it down again as In the oldest of old
days; but there was more gold in
her skin, for so the sun had treated
it; and there was even hint or glint
(in certain lights, be it repeated) of
gold mingling with the pure hazel
of her eyes. But in the duty shad
ows of the empty house, moving like
a sunbeam across Its hare boards,
standing out against the discolored
walls In the place of the discolored
standing out against the discolored
walls in the place of remembered
pictures not to be compared with
her. it was there that she was all
goledn and still a girl.
• • •
“And why do you think he can’t
have done it?”
“Blansh* was hardly paddling in thr glassy strip alongside the weir.”
of A. B. Wenzell’s Charming Illustration* for E. W. Hornung’* Great Mystery Story in
HARPER’S BAZAR.
Cazalet had hauled the old canoe
over the rollers, and Blanche was
hardly paddling in the glassy strip
alongside the weir. Big drops clus
tered on her idle blades, and made
tiny circles as they met themselves
in the shining mirror. But below
the lock there had been something
to do, and Blanche had done it deftly
and silently, with almost equal ca
pacity and grace. It had given her
a charming flush and sparkle; and.
what with the sun’s bare hand on
her yellow hair, she now looked even
bonnier than indoors, yet not quite
such a girl. But then every bit of
the boy had gone out of Cazalet. So
that hour after hour stolen from the
past was up forever.
"Why do the police think the other
thing?” he retorted. "What have
they got to go on? That’s what I
want to know. 1 agree with Toye in
one thing.’’ Blanche looked up quick
ly. "I wouldn’t trust old Savage an
Inch. I’ve been thinking about him
and his previous evidence. Do you
realize that it’s dark now soon after
7? It was pretty thick saying
his man was bareheaded, with nei
ther hut nor cap left behind to prove
it! Yet now it seems he’s put a
heard to him, and next we shall have
the color of his eyes!”
Blanche laughed at his vigor of
phrase; this was more like the old
hot-tempered, sometimes rather over
bearing "Sweep." Something had
made him Jump to the conclusion
that Seruton could not possibly have
killed Mr. Craven, whatever else he
might have done in days gone by.
So it simply was Impossible, ami
anybody who took the other side, or
had a word to say for the police, as
a force not unknown to look before
it leaped, would have to reckon
henceforth with Sweep Cazalet.
It had been his wish to start up
stream. But she could see the wist
ful pain in his eyes as they fell once
more upon the red turrets and the
smooth green lawn of Uplands. And
she neither spoke nor looked at him
again until lie spoke to her.
"I see they've got the blinds down
still," he said detachedly. "What’s
happened to Mrs. Craven?”
"1 hear she went Into a nursing
home before the funeral.”
"Then there’s nobody there?”
"It doesn’t look as if there was.
does It?” said poor Blanche.
"I expect we should find Savage
somewhere. Would you very much
mind, Blanche? I should rather like
Vz * ‘even if it as Just seting foot
* * * with you!”
But even that effective final pro
noun failed to bring any buoyancy
back into his voice; for it was not
in the least effective as he said it,
and he no longer looked her in the
face. But this all seemed natural to
Blanche, In all the manifold and
overlapping circumstances of the
case.
• • •
But for the fact that these win
dows were wide open, the whole
place seemed as deserted as Little-
ford. but just past the windows, and
flush with them, was the tradesmen’s
door; and the two tresspassers were
barely abreast of it when this door
opened and disgorged a man.
The man was at first a most in
congruous figure for the back prem
ises of any house, especially in the
country. He was tall and portly,
very powerfully built, and rather
handsome in his way; his top hat
shone like his patent leather boots,
and his gray cutaway suit hung well
in front and was duly creased as
to the trousers; yet not for one mo
ment was this personage ia the pic
ture, in the sense in which Hilton
Toye had stepped into ilie Littleford
picture.
"May I ask what you’re doing
hero?’ he demanded bluntly of the.
male intruder.
"No harm, I hope." replied Cazalet,
smiling, much to his companion’s re
lief. She had done him an injustice,
however, in dreading an explosion
when they were both obviously in
the wrong, and she greatly admired
the tone he took so readily. "I know
we’ve no business here whatever;
but it happens to be my old home,
and I only landed from Australia last
’ night. I’m on the river for the firs* !
time, and simply couldn’t help com
ing ashore to have a look around.”
The Man From Scotland Yard.
The other big man had appeared ;
*ar from propitiated by the earlier of |
hese remarks, but the closing sen- j
cnees had worked a change.
"Are you young, Mr. Cazalet?” he
ried.
"I am, or rather I was,” laughed
’azalet, still on his mettle.
‘ You’ve read all about the case,
hen, I don’t mind betting!” ex
claimed the other with a jerk of his
topper toward the house behind him.
■’I've read all I found in the papers
last night and this morning, and
such arrears as I’ve been able to lay
my hands on," said Cazalet. s ' But, as
I tell you, my ship only got in from
Australia last night, and I came round
all the way in her. There was noth
ing in the English papers when we
left Genoa."
"I see, I see.” The man was st 13
looking him up and down. "Well, Mr
Cazalet, my name’s Drinkwater, and
I’m from Scotland Yard. I happen
to be In charge of the case.”
"I guessed as much,” said Cazalet,
and this surprised Blanche more than
anything else from him Yet noth
ing about him was any longer like the
Sweep of other days, or of any pre
vious part of that very afternoon. And
this also was easy to understand on
reflection; for if he meant to stand
by the hapless Seruton, guilty or not
guilty, he could not perhaps begin
better than by getting on good terms
with the police. But his ready tact,
and in that case cunning, was cer
tainly a revelation to one who had
known him marvelously as a boy and
youth.
‘We’ve Got the Man.”
"I mustn’t ask questions," he con
tinued, "but I see you’re still search-
; ing for things, Mr. Drinkwater.”
"Still minding our own Job,” said
! Mr. Drinkwater, genially. They had
• sauntered on with him to the corner
of the house, and seen a bowler hat
bobbing in the shrubbery down the
. drive. Cazalet laughed like a man.
“Well, I needn’t tell you I know
j every inch of the old place,” he said;
"that is, barring alterations," as
Blanche caught his eye. "But I ex
pect this search is narrowed, rather?”
"Rather,” said Mr. Drinkwater,
standing still in the drive. He had
also taken out a presentation gold
hunter, suitably inscribed in memory
of one of his more bloodless victories.
But Cazalet could always be obtuse,
and now he refused to look an Inch
lower than the Detective-Inspector’s
bright brown eyes.
"There’s Just one place that’s oc-
. curred to me, Mr. Drinwater, that
perhaps might not have occurred to
you.”
' "Where’s that, Mr. Cazalet?”
' "In the room where—the room it
self!”
Mr. Drlnkwater’s long stare ended
In an indulgent smile. "You can show
me, if you like,” said he, indiffer
ently. "But I suppose you know
we’ve got the man?”
(Th® full installment of this most
gripping of mystery stories will bo
found in the current December num
ber of HARPER'S BAZAR.)
PREMIUM
Offered to New and Old Subscribers to
PREMIUM OFFER No. 12
A Beautiful Seven-Piece Glass Berry Set
LOOKS LIKE CUT GLASS
This glass Berry
Set consists of
one large eight-
inch bowl and six
small four - inch
bowls.
1 Large 8-Inch Bowl
AND
Made of selected
glass, and will be
an ornament to
any household.
====== 6 Small Dishes =====
Cash 25 Cents—Worth $1
On an agreement to take the HEARST’S SUNDAY AMERICAN and
ATLANTA GEORGIAN for a period of six months, paying the regular
subscription price for same. Send in your subscription at once.
WHEN PREMIUM IS TO BE SENT OUT OF TOWN 15 CENTS
EXTRA TO COVER CX>ST O* SKIPPING
CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT
20 East Alabama St.
Atlanta, Ga
BOOK REVIEWS
By JUNE T RE MONT
A Yuletide Tale.
"In the Heart of the Christmas
Pines,” by Leona Dalrymple, has all
the "heart api*»al” one could wish
in a Yuletide tale.
Mother and son reunited, estranged
lovers the same, and a rich relative
supplied for a poor lad—that makes
the story. There are pretty passages
through the pages. It’s a book which
leaves one warm around the heart.
McBride, Nast * Co. are publishers.
Price, 50 cents net.
A Tender Story.
If you are one of those Scrooge-
l!k«‘ persons, tired of Christmas and
thi> things it brings, here’s a chance
to become human again. The way
lies through "The Man Who Found
Christmas.” by Walter Prichard Ea
ton. published by McBride, Nast &
Co. It’s a simple little tale of how a
world-weary New Yorker found
Christmas joy and a life's happiness
•In rural New England. And it’s well
worth the reading.
By EDWIN MARKHAM
A Story of Arizona Wilds.
An Indian carrying a white girl to
captivity—nothing new about that
plot says the critic in his haste. But
hold. Honoro Willsle, in his novel.
“The Heart of the Desert" (The Fred
erick A. Stokes Co., $1.25). has caught
a new angle. Kut-le, the Indian
hero of the story, is a handsome
young man of breeding. Although a
full-blood he Is a Yale graduate, and
the peer of any white in courtesy.
The young woman he steals from
a ranch In Arizona is a beautiful,
hvper-sensitive girl, who has come
to the desert to die. Every one
spoils her and adds to her useless
ness.
Kut-le abducts her to teach her
how to be human, hoping incidentally
to win her affection. The long
raarenas. eluding the pursuers, the
strange new world, the perils and
escapes, the knightly reverence of the
Indian, the homely wisdom of the
wilderness, these add to pages of
good reading, surprise and suspense.
You will not soon find a more ex
citing tale.
The White Thread.
Sympathetic and pulsing with the
red blood of real life Is "The White
Thread," by Robert Halifax (The
Frederick A. Stokes Co., $1.25). Here
is a novel dealing with the seamy
side of London, the side where mar
riage too often means lack of work
and “xcurs!one to the public house
Now to be able to construct out of
f.<* short and simple annals of the
•or such a story as Mr. Halifax has
produced argue.-, real talent, v good
uiany reader* will find tins fault with
his narrative they will say It is
painted on too drab a background
and contains too many heartaches.
Of Its realism there can be no
question. On that, indeed, rests its
claim to consideration. The little
slavey, Tillie Westaway, who forms
the pivotal character of the book, Is
a typical product of a discouraged
father and a beer-drinking mother.
Her brother, Jimmie, is in the
"Overflow." which is to say, the asy
lum. and as Tillie g*>< » to visit him
she hears one of the attendants say:
"But. worse still, when their children,
and THEIR children come in.”
This child, with a soul brimming
with an affection she can not stifle
nor yet understand, tries hard to re
generate her mireable home, but the
task is too great for even that one
heart full of love.
To sum up the story. It is a tribute
to its sincerity that it holds the at
tention through nearly four hundred
pmes. without dramatic action, with
out stirring climax, but with Just the
uneventful happenings of uneventful
lives.
"The White Thread” is as a mighty
hempen hawser in strength as com
pared with the ordinary built-to-sell
novel.
The Broken Halo.
When an author’s books sell after
the accumulative fashion of Mrs.
Barclay's, it Is <afe to say that the
judgment passed by the many must
i be something more than mere ca
price.
In "The Rosary" we have had a
' story of compelling love written so
since,e t y that it uppealed to tho im
agination of everyone who had ever
known what honest affection means.
It may be said that Mrs. Barclay
knows how in a popular Way to play
on the heart strings, so as to get
from them the fullest resonance. For
Instance, her latest hook. "The Bro
ken Halo” (G. P. Putnam’s Sons,
$1.85), has for a setting as simple a
story as one could well imagine.
Starting with the meeting of Dick
Cameron with The Little White Lady
in the vestibule of a stuffy English
church, It carries on to the end a
romance thus begun.
• The young doctor who, during a
pathetic boyhood, smashed the halo in
the village church learns to love his
patient and in the end marries her
His devotion to this woman so much
older lifts him out of his lack of rev
erence and her death brings to him a
lasting faith.
One of the books which appeal to
that great majority of readers which
does not care to be troubled with
problems, but does like to feel its
sympathy called into use.
No doubt "The Broken Halo” will
duplicate the success of Mrs. Bar
clay’s other works.
The Way of Ambition.
A novel by Robert Hlchens is al-
ways an intellectual and artistic
treat. In his latest book, "The Way
oC Ambition” (Frederick A. Stokes
Company, publishers, New York:
$1.25 net), he takes us from London
to Africa and thence to New York.
The theme is more introspective
and less dependent upon romantic sit
uation than have been some of Mr.
Hichens’ former stories. Indeed,
most of Its action is that which takes
place in the quiet of the spirit rather
than in the rush of the world.
A very modern young English girl,
desirous of being a personage of im
portance, contrives to marry a shrink
ing musical genius, whom she has re
solved to make famous. She subtly
deflects him from his own grave, re
ligious bent, and forces him into
commercialized opera writing.
The psychology of this compulsory
musical composition, the intrigues of
rival social schemers and operatic as
pirants. the huge activity of the blus
terous Impresario—these carry us
with a feeling of vivid life, which has j
tlio smack of drawing room, stage 1
and studio.
Mr. Hichens has an abiding sense
of the real values of life, a deep sense
of the virtue of tranquillity of spirit
above the loud clamor for fame and
fortune, a deep sense of the necessi
ty of sinking the mere personal that
perishes into the larger humanities
that endure. The Are of this fine spir
it lights all his pages.
The Main Road.
Maude Radford Warren, as author
and pilot, has laid the career of her
latest novel, "The Main Road" (Har
per & Bros., $1.35), along the devious
byways of sentimentalism and love.
Her heroine, Janet Bellamy, man
ages to avoid the pitfalls of life and
arrives at last to a safe anchor after
steering dangerously close to the
rocks.
The story is the everyday one of
any girl who plunges into existence
with the advantage of birth and
education and rich friends.
There are dozens of paths open to
her. In this case Janet was an
idealist. She longed for love with
out knowing why. And having re
ceived the outward expression of it
was shocked to discover that it
counted for nothing as opposed to
money with some men. It was her
first misfortune to bestow her affec
tions on one of this kind. The awak
ening left her with a wounded soul.
The author writes at great length,
carrying on the careers of a good
many persons with a proneness to
analysis that wearies at times. There
is no new keynote to her plot, yet
it is evident she has worked with
sincerity and care through close to
400 pages.
It is to be hoped that the solitary
picture in the book is not of Janet,
for if it is she is far from an inter
esting personality. Better no illus
tration than an unsatisfactory one.
Whistler Stories.
Don C. Seitz, who, besides being an
important figure in the newspaper
world, finds times to travel, to write
poetry and even to put his impres
sions into prose, has collected a num
ber of stories and anecdotes of
Whistler, the artist.
In & neat volume these are issued
b> Harper Bros. (75c). making the
fifth volume sent forth by the same
house from the same autlioA
BALL
AT
£
Special Price
0
With 1 Heading of
The American
or The Georgian
Postage Extra
Weight 30 Ounces
NOT a
TOY but
a GAME
Every
Move a
Play
SOME FEATURES OF THE GAME
Call to-day at The
American and Geor
gian office. If you
can't call, ascertain
from postmaster the
postage on a thirty-
ounce game by par
cel post from Atlan
ta. Send it with 50c
and one American
or Georgian heading
EALLS.
A batter may ‘‘get on” by draw
ing four balls. Some of the provi
sions in connection with a ‘‘ball’’
cover a “wild pitch and passed
ball; ’ ’ runner out attempting to steal
second; runner safe stealing seoond
or third. <
STRIKE3.
A strike either may be called or a
foul. In conjunction with a strike, a
runner may be enabled to steal home
or be put out in the effort to steal
third.
OUTS.
Put-out3 are indicated, such as
‘‘third to first;” ‘‘fly to center;”
“double play, second to first,” etc.
A groan or a cheer, according to
one’s sympathies, often accompanies
a double play with one out.
HITS.
Singles, two-baggers, three-base
hits and home runs are all provided
for. Just as in the regular game,
three-base hits are scarcer than two-
baggers, and home runs are not at all
common. Frequently a game is
played with very little hitting, the
batters going out ‘‘one, two, three.”
SCORING.
Indicators are provided to register
the runs and hits of the visiting team.
Indicators for strikes, balls and outs
also are provided and also an in
nings indicator for each team. Run
ners on bases are also shown and the
team at bat is not overlooked. All
these devices are self-contained and
neither pencil nor paper is required
to score the game.
HEARST’S
Sunday American and Atlanta Georgian
CIRCULATION DEPT, 20 EAST ALABAMA STREET. ATLANTA, GA.