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A Woman Never Eats When She Has Anything Else To Do
a
NE
©
The Last of This Great Series
The Seven Mistakes
of Matrimony
—NO. 7—
AT BAY a Thrilling Story of Society Blackmailers
(Novelized by)
play by George Scar-
0( '
T
By DOROTHY DIX.
■ oventh deadly mistake of
mfrimony Is:
\OT TO MAKE MATRIMONY
PROFESSION.
p. the greatest mistake of
1 the one that Rums all the
■ . iup. consists In regarding suc-
marrlage as an accident in-
f ,f a premeditated result,
pv.. r ,. 0 st mischievous idea that has
, v.p rtn promulgated Is that mar-
i lottery. In which everything
rmined by blind chance, and
h it is a mere matter o£ luck
• u get a desirable life pa’rt-
an undesirable one. or are
ipr or miserable.
\o»h k on earth is further from
truth than this. Nowhere else
, inevitable logic of cause and
• t • *i k out so relentlessly as in
,’lo n ,.qtic relationship. Nowhere
,ln we so absolutely reap as we
, V .,s in the family circle, and, given
pie and certain conditions, i
■ s t as demonstrable that a
"ill work out well, or badly
that two and two make four,
h. trouble with us is that we have
. yet elevated matrimony to the
■ ,f ;i profession, for which we
thought it worth while to pre-
r. That is why w* fail in the
u important thing In life. No
ig man would expect to mr.ke a
,wling success as a surgeon or a
er if he had' never even contem-
,U(1 seriously medicine or the law,
• a poor deluded woman marries
i under the. impression that she is
•isng i first-class husband, and he
self has no doubt of his quallflca-
ms on that score.
A young woman who wants to he
opera singer devotes years of
iluous labor to fitting herself to sing
the stage, but she does not spend
hour preparing herself to fill the
r more difficult and complicated
le of a wife and mother.
WRONG ASSUMPTION.
People seem to think that a knowl-
ige of how to he good husbands and
, ives comes by nature, as Dogberry
hought the knowledge of how to
ead and write did. Roth assump- j
ioj*s are equally false. It takes!
ffort and perspiration, as well as in-*
piration. to succeed in any calling,
nd especially the domestic calling.
Undoubte-dly the matrimonial situa-
<*u would b enormously eased if
would begin married
uY hv a thorough understanding of
r the elementary things. If every
in knew how to keep house and
• a comfortable home when she
ies instead of having to learn
trade on her husband, and if
i could be brought to real-
■ - fme marriage just how much
i ' • it costs to support a family, a
1 «-■ ouple \tfotild start out with an
better chance for happiness
t'l-y have where the wife gets
rival over her inability to cook
i that isn't a menace to life it-
and where the husband is in a
crp-tual grouch when it dawns on
t .at matrimony is conducted on
■-h basis, instead of the" hot air
urrency of Courtship.
The hope of the future is for In-
ii-'.-nt people to regard marriage
s a profession that is worthy of
ref und study, and in which it is as
inch a disgrace to fail as It is in the
raetise of any other profession.
‘ SECRET.
■ 1 is literally true that almost any
<-;>• could be made happy, or at
! < ndurable,. if either husband or
1 would pursue the method .that
‘ or she.would la trying to attain
“ s in any profession or business,
j o.l that would be necessary to
’ a would be to use the same tac-
a that are used in the practise of
• in< ss or the professions.
I o th,» matter of the husbands
i wife's relationship. That is merely
partnership, and all that any mar-
'I ouple need to achieve ideal
•appiness is just to rise to the point
* they can treat each other as
two men in business together do.
Find a husband and wife who work
together with the same interest In
view, who are climbing up together,
who chare equally in the profits of
their joint labpr, who talk things ove?
together .and have an equal voice in
deciding things, yet who allow each
other in their Individual capacity per
sonal liberty, and you have got a
husband and wife whose domestic
felicity is atrong enough to draw
money on at the bank.
Furthermore, a man who has any
intelligence tries to get along with
the people with whom he deals. If
he was always quarrelling with his
partner he would know that the
house was hound to oome to disaster.
He would'be aware that if he did not
exercise tact and diplomacy toward
his clients that it was a mere matter
nf time until the sheriff sold him out.
Women know these things too. and
there is nobody who is more long suf
fering. and patient, and filled with
forbearance than the business or
professional woman who has to ca
jole the men above her in order to
hold down her job.
JUST SI PPOSE.
Suppose these men and women, who
are so plausible and suave In order
to succeed in their business should
apply an equal amount of diplomacy
at home: suppose these men and
women, who are so careful to side
step the little peculiarities of their
customers, would be as nimble in
sidestepping the little peculiarities of
their husbands and wives, wouldn’t
they make matrimony as great a suc
cess as they do law, or medicine, or
the grocery business?
Yea, verily. We quarrel with those
with whom we live because we do
not think it worth while to keep the
peace. We say brutal things to them
because there is no money in our
pocket for being polite. We wound
them in their tender sensibilities be
cause they can’t get away from us,
anyway. We make marriage a fail
ure because we are too ignorant and
lazy and careless to make it a success.
And the shame is on our own heads.
It ought to be just as much a reflec
tion upon any man’s or woman’s abil
ity to be a bankrupt in domestic hap
piness as a bankrupt in business. And
it will be when we take marriage out
of the amateur class and put it in
the professional.
(From the
borough, now being presented at the
Thirty-ninth Street Theater, New York.
Serial rights held and copyrighted by
International News Service.)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
H E started toward her—he wpuld
execute a flank maneuver and
drive the wounded creature into
a corner.
“Give it to me!E ordered Flagg.
Flagg, with murder and
for place in his evil eyes.
The wounded animal—at
• to the wall—fights hard.
“You’re choking me!’’ the
aged to articulate.
Tighter, tighter closed the fingers.
"You’ll be unconscious soon," gloated
her captor, “and then I’ll have my way
and my pay, my fine lady."
Frenzied, desperate, the girl reversed
the paper file and plunged the long,
sharp end Into Flagg's breast. He stag
gered back—and In the suddenneas of
her release Aline fell across the table.
L
Up-to-Date Jokes
,Vr irascible elderly gentleman or-
r e<1 a bdttle-of hock with his lunch,
sir?” said the waiter. “Yes,
’ock,” said the customer;
-hie, hac, hoc. D’you under-
0 waiter disappeared, and some
,f>r ty minutes elapsed, while the
jer] y one sat nursing* his wrath to
warm. At last, catching the
v a iter’s eye. he yelled, furi-
^ here’s that hock?”
'' sir?” said'the waiter, in a
;| nd surprised tone, “I thought
11 declined it.”
* ♦ *
Doctor,” said the caller, “I’m a vic-
insomnia. Can you cure me?”
'n,’ replied the physician. “But
I take the case I want to ask
■’ one question. Are you in busi-
o «, r . Yourself, or do you work for
' m employed as an assistant at a
V 1 ’ • answered the patient,
nen you’ll have to pay in ad-
said the doctor. "I’m not
ting your honesty, but after I
■ cough with you the chances are
i h s * ee P PO soundly you’ll lose
Job. Then you can't pay me."
* * «
’ Jong ago a North-county vicar
1 I ft® olderty coup!© at . ii
in the morning. At 3 in the
./I 001 ? duties took him to the
'boring cemetery, where he met
’ne couple seated loving on one
uie benches.
, sir,” the husband ex-
' I; qd, “my wife is a real ’un for
jf". 1 " anted to goo kirk, to me
k --arternoon. but th’ missus
’ d better enjoy ourselves to th’
- 4-na mak' a day on t,”
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
DEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I haven’t been married quite
a year, and my husband and I are
very' much In love with each oth
er—but the worst of it is he just
wants me to be one of his family
—and npt myself at all.
He has cousins and uncles and
aunts, and he thinks it’s terrible,
and they all seem to think so.
too, if I want to go anywhere
with people who are no relation
to any of us.
I think they’re queer about it—
but my husband says I’m the one
that’s queer. Is he or am I?
KINFOLKS.
V\
tBLL, the chances are. Kinfolks,
' that you’re both queer—most
people are when you come
right down to it.
But, from my point of view, your
husband is the queerest of the two.
Kinfolks are all very well in their
way, hut what’s the use of limiting
your life to them—and to them alone?
Why riot broaden out your circle
of friends and learn something differ
ent while you are about the business
of living?
I know some people—let’s call them
fcmith—well, the Smiths never talk
about a thing on earth but their “in
laws” and the queer things their “in
laws” are always doing, or saying, or
looking, or being, and the only queer
thing that I can see about most of
the “in-laws” is that they weren’t
born by the name of Hmith and
haven’t the Smith nose or the Smith
haven't the Smith nose or the Smith
faculty of putting up jam. or the
Smith memory for figures—that's all.
Now, don’t you "be like the Smiths,
little sister, and don’t you let your
husband he like them, either. Maite
your own circle of friends—don’t say
mean things about your “in-laws”—
don’t even think them—just be so
busy with your own friends and the
friends you hope to make for that nicy
husband of yours that you haven’t
time to think very much about it one
way or the other. It is the woman’s
place to make the friends of the fami
ly—it is your business to have pleas
ant friends and acquaintances—if not
for your own sake, for your hus
band's.
Choose them—ask them to your M%
tle flat—have some simple little re
freshment—a cup of really good cof
fee and some thin slices of bread and
butter are not to he sneezed at, let
me tell you. Be friendly and unaf
fected and kind and you’ll soon have
so many friends that you won’t know
what to do.
Then hang on to them—for they’re
about all there is in tke world that
makes life worth living.
Misunderstood.
It was at a country ball at which
the regular printed hall program, with
the dainty little pencil attached, was
being used for the first time. A young
fellow from the city, noting that a
stout and not very attractive young
woman was being a good deal of a
wall flower, took pity on her and said:
“Is your program full?”
“My what?”
“Your program.’’
After ft . moment's reflection site
said:
"T.a, no! I ain't et but one dough
nut!” ;
At last Aline roused herself from her shrouding leth
argy. Fear impelled her. The instinct to escape claimed
her—and she turned to escape. Then as she faced the door
and safety—just as she stood under the full glare of the cen
ter chandelier and was face to face (if she had lifted her tired
eyes) with Flagg’s masterpiecce of art, the painting of Justice
—just then, there was a blinding flash!
"What the h—1 do you think I am?”
She thrust the infamous yet precious
pink paper into the bosom of her gown,
caught back the clinging, impeding
soft draperies—and fled in wild effort
to escape her pitiless hunter—fled to
the great door—toward the outside
world—toward sanctuary—and Home!
In His Hand.
She reached the threshold, her fingers
fumbled against the wood—touched the
knob—and Judson Flagg reached ber in
an evil, spiderlike leap and caught her
white wrist in a quick, twisting grasp
Innocence can not bear the physical
horror of the clammy touch of evil.
“Don’t put your hand on me!”
screamed Aline, shrill with horror and
degrading fear. That this creature of
slime and crime should touch her!
“I'll put both hands on you—you vix
en!’’ cried the man. This was a game
fish, thought he—it struggled—well,
more Joy when he landed It—In his arms
and at his feet.
He caught the girl in his arms. He
drew her roughly and violently into an
evil embrace and set his Ups on hers
with the menace of his tainted life for
her sweet youth.
“That letter! That—or my days by
the sea!’’ he said. “Give up—my girl
t have you!”
“I won’t! I won’t!” cried Aline.
Her desperate resistance taxed his
wasted and disipated strength, he
dragged her from the door, over to his
heavy table, he forced her slender body
back against his edge Dully she felt
the bruising pain of the wood.
In the grim light of the room they
struggled, untaxed youth with clean
longings and aspirations against wary
age, with evil desire and overtaxed and
outworn energy.
To which the victory, and would vic
tory not mean defeat, too?
The girl was a creature at bay Life,
honor, happiness, a chance for existence
were being hunted by a merciless crea
ture who would scarcely enjoy the fruit
of his victory. To Aline that fight was
for more than life, to the man it was
less than dust, and there was a price
both must pay.
Aline freed her arm. She groped
wildly for a weapon. She must have
aid. Her woman's strength was going.
She was fighting in a struggle for which
life had offered her no training Her
blindly, groping hand knocked papers
and books to the floor; wild disarray
claimed the desk and room. Flagg’s
heel ground deep into one of the cap
tain's roses.
Suddenly he pinioned ber free arm
back of her. The pain was excruciating
—but she could bear it—for her fingers
had closed on cold heavy metal -a great
iron bill — file. She shrieked hysterically,
and he loosed her arm to draw her
whole form closer—to kiss her again.
“Let me go! Let me go! '
She struck him on the shoulder with
the flat base of the bill-holder.
“Put that down! I’ll break your
arm!”
She gave a sob of pain and stuck at
his forehead. In a fury he laid his long
rapa^ous fingers on her white throat.
“And your d n neck, too!'' hissed
Horror marked her face. What had
she done?
She had been at bay—she had fought
—and now grim struggle was to be fol
lowed by grimmer quiet.
“Ah—ah—try,” gasped Flagg, ‘‘to
murder me!”
He staggered to his feet from the
chair into which he had fallen in utter
collapse.
“I didn’t want to hurt you!” breathed
Aline, in a whisper of horror.
WHAT, WHAT HAD SHE DONE?
she questioned her fast beating heart.
WHAT HAD SHE DONE?
“I didn't want to hurt you!” she
moaned. Tall and slim and white, like
a withering lily, she stood by the mas
sive desk. Her brown gold hair had
fallen in disarray from its coronal on
her head. Her eyes were wide with
terror—her lips were bleached.
WHAT HAD SHE DON®?
"Tommy!” oalled Judson Flagg.
He sank Into the chair again, his face
distorted with pain, his hand fumbling,
fumbling to pull the long needlelike file
from his breast.
Paralyzed by fright and fascinated by
horror, Aline stood and watched him.
Strangely enough, he had become the
victim now.
Suddenly there was a wrench, a spurt
of blood, and Flagg pulled the needle
point from his breast. He staggered
toward the desk and Aline shrank
away at his approach. Flagg seized the
edge of the desk for support—and. too
late, the girl, who had moved away,
divined his purpose, for he caught her
emerald brooch in his left hand. Then,
still clutching th© weapon of doom as
he had pulled it from his breast, he be
gan groping—groping——
At last Aline roueed herself from
her shrouding lethargy. Fear Impelled
her. The Inatlnct to escape claimed her
—and she turned to escape. Then as
she faced the door and safety—Just as
she stood under the full glare of the
center chandelier and was face to face
(If she had lifted her tired eyes) with
Flagg’s masterpiece of art, the paint
ing of Justice—Just then, there was a
blinding flash!
Flagg's groping hand had found the
electric button!
He gasped for breath—and then, with
a final chuckle, Judson Flagg spoke his
epilogue to life.
“1 got your brooch—and I got your
picture for the police!”
The noise of the explosion died—the
light faded again.
“Tommy!" screamted Judson Flagg—
gurgling the death agony But he
voiced his cry to the one human being
who loved him.
“Coming—Uncle Judson!'' came a
far-off voice.
The girl fled hack into the shrouding
night. She made her way to the home
she had left that fear might he de
stroyed -and. instead, fear triumphed.
What had she done?
Across the table in a grim den of
gloom sprawled Judson Flagg—dark,
saturnine, like a giant spider, and in
his hand was the emerald brooch Gor
don Graham had given his wife when
their baby girl was born. But across
the table, a tiny stream of blood was
trickling toward the bills—the $U00 that
had been too small a price for honor—
or life.
Silence and darkness!
Then a boy’s anguished cry—“Uncle
Ju/3! Uncle Jud! Speak to me! T'ncle
Jud! DEAD! MURDERED!”
The flash of light from every corner
of the gloomy chamber, the jar of an
opening window, a quick glance up and
down the empty steeet, and then a boy's
trembling voice ste*i lied t * a wbd
sc-cam. Police P e '*
* * *
The Secret Service.
In the office of the Chief of the Se
cret Service of the Fnited States three
men sat talking. They were Captain
Larry Holbrook, Chief Dempsey and
Father Shannon
“Larry,” said the chief, “you have
been arrested once by this Govern
ment.” There was a bit of quiet in
sinuation in his tone.
“Yes, Chief, once in New Orleans.
You arrested me for trying to get some
rifles over to General Garcia. But re
member this, six months later the Uni
ted States sent the whole army over on
the same job.”
“But the Government regarded you as
an offender then,” went on the insinu
atlng voice.
“Not too much to make me a cap
tain in the Philippine constabulary a
year later.’’
“Why did you quit—your GOVERN
MENT job?" went on Dempster
“Somethine in the blood.”
“Fever ?’
“Born there—I couldn’t ride herd on
a people fighting for their own liberty.
You see, Chief If I were two years old
er I*d been born In Ireland As it was
I was born on Second avenue. Oppres
sion drove my father from home. I
think it was the stories 1 heard at my
mother's knee that made me ready to
take filibustering Jaunts UNDER A
FLAG FOR FREEDOM. THAT MADE
ME A PERPETUAL MEMBER OF
THE MINORITY."
“He Is that,” said Father Shannon,
warmly, “the rascal saved my life in
Manila. I was in the minority and the
flames were a vast majority!”
“What nonsense. I made him get
out of bed when a house was on fire.”
“He carried rne unconscious ” be
gan Father Shannon.
“Some friend is apt to do as much
for me any Saturday night,” laughed
the merrv Irish lad of 38.
“Chief, he touches no drop!" said
Father Shannon, and a twinkle came to
the chief’s eye.
“Holbrook!** said he, “there’s a big
expedition on foot for Nicaragua.
What can you tell me about It?” There
was a steady gleam In his eye—he
would not be denied.
"Dutch Dugan busy again!” exclaimed
the captain.
“That's the man, but we can t get
our hands on him, captain.”
“I’d tell you, Bob, if I knew, but ”
The two men eyed each other, and the
steady twinkle never faded from Larry
Holbrook’s eyes.
"But tell your men to go easy with
Dugan. He’s not a bad chap!”
The chief smiled, and a glint of steel
came into his eyes and over the settled
lines of his mouth.
In the further office a telephone
sounded Its insistent call.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said the
chief with grave courtesy.
Holbrook turned to the father. "Well
now. I’ll tell you something in confi
dence, as a man to his priest, mind
ye. in the most sacred confidence. You
will give it?’’
Father Shanon smiled. “Y’ou know
well you can trust me. Larry.”
“Well-then—I AM DUGAN’S expedi
tion!”
"You. me lad?”
To Be Continued Monday.
CHICHESTER S PILLS
TliK IMA Mo\(> Kir a Mi c
Hut of ▼
Ask forf'lf |.< nt h tfb*
DIAMOND BRAND PILLMorl!
years known as Baat. Safaat. Always Reliable
SOID BY DRUGGISTS EVERYWHFM
Woman
la inter«Mterl and should
know about the wonderful
Marvel 5 T - ’
Douche
Aak yoor druggist for
it. If he cannot sup
ply the MARVEL,
accept no other, but
send stamp for book.
U, <U,23I St.. *.».
THE FAMILY CUPBOARD
A Dramatic Story of High Society Life in New York
(Novelized byl
(From Owen Davis’ play now being pre
sented at the Playhouse. New York, by
William A Brady Copyright, 1913, by
International News Service.)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT
“Ken!” she said in her sweet ca-
denced voice the music inherited from
the far off isle of Erin, the Gaelic tones
that come down through long genera
tions to the daughters of Ireland.
“Mary!”
The boy leaped to his feet. His shoul
ders straightened to manhood, his eves
filled with purpose, with some dim emo
tion he scarcely sensed as be faced his
boyhood sweetheart, the only loyal
friend of his whole wasted young life
•Mary!"
ft was as If sunshine and the breath
of springtime had come with Mary Burk
to his garish, gloomy and tobacco poi
soned rooms
“Thank you, Mary, for just -coming
here,” said the boy in a dumb misery
that was brightened with perfume and
sunshine that he felt were across a high
wall he might never climb. * There were
roses in the garden spot that was
Mary’s life well, he thought, he might
inhale the perfume for one more min
ute and then good-bye to Mary Burk.
But a love like Mary Burk’s never dies
—and perhaps, perhaps “quien sahe?"
—who knows what it was yet to mean
to Kenneth Nelson?
The boy stood staring at as at
some wonderful vision. Mary laughed a
bit—and softly and kindly to relieve the
tension.
“Ken, I read your letter to your
mother." ^
“Did you?” said the boy, nervously—
Ill at ease before this girl who breathed
the purity and fine sweetness that he
had unconsciously been missing from
his life.
“Did you the last one you mean it
—It was funny—wasn't it, Mary?”
“It was very sad. Ken—It almost
broke her heart abd mine,” added Mary
in a frightened little hushed under
tone.
“She did not even answer it,” said
the boy. 'But you cared, you sympa
thized, Mary!” He concluded his sen
tence with an abrupt self-consciousness
that a tender tone was creeping 'from
his hungry heart to his voice. And
what right had he to talk tenderly to a
girl like Mary Burk?
“She could not! She just could not!
She Is very proud. Kennetlw and very
unhappy. She could not send you mon
ey to spend on something of which she
did not approve—and your father haa
written asking her not to help you.”
“My father has written to her? Why,
they are getting together over the prod-
igal,” exclaimed Kenneth, cynically.
"No!” said Mary, sadly, “I had to
read that letter to> her and we did not
answer it. And ft only said not to
help you under the—circumstances. He
is proud, too!"
And Mary, who had the fine pride that
is ashamed only of a wrong intention
and an evil deed, sighed at the tangle
of life that held the people she loved
as If they were lost in a noisome jun
gle.
Kenneth’s pride flared anew.
“I won’t ask again!” he declared,
stubbornly.
"I felt that—so T came. I am not
proud, you see. Ken. I have some mon
ey here Not much—but it !■ quite—
quite my own. I’ll leave It, Ken.”
The girl took a little roll of bills
from her bag and dropped it on the
able.
"NO!” There was surprise mingled
with horror of what he had become in
his tone. But Kenneth Nelson knew
that Mary Burk was offering him the
kindest, truest friendship his life was
over to know.
“Why not? We have hen friends al
ways. You can* pay me big interest.
It will be a good investment,” coaxed
the girl, trying to make her love offer
ing appear only a business transaction
“as man to man.”
“NO!”
"How silly! I would not hesitate to ■
ask a favor of you! I—I will never
hesitate to come to you if T am in need
of a true friend, Ken. Why. you are
more than that—you are. almost like my
brother!”
When a. woman wants to serve the
man she loves with that peerless devo
tion that can come only once In a life
time with that love that most men,
worthy or unworthy, miss—she will de
ny her love- she will call him “friend”
and “brother” so that he may the more
willingly accept the sacrifice that puts
his love beyond her claiming, and gives
It to the woman he has chosen.
The door to the side corridor opened.
With a little air of being perfectly at
home. Kitty May entered the room.
The Two Girls.
At sight of Mary she affected pretty
confusion.
“Hello!” she began—"Oh! I ’
trailed off.
Mary turned and looked at her. Then
with a friendly little gesture she step
ped forward.
“This is Kitty?” she asked.
Kenneth hung his head in the most
genuine shame he had ever felt, at the
thought of what he had done with his
life for love—if love it could be called
of Kitty May.
“You’d better go,” he said.
“Why?” asked Mary genuinely.
Kitty braced herself against the table
and spoke with a hard little show of
bravado.
“Because all his fine friends are too
proud to know me.”
Mary smiled gently. Some of the
sweetness of that old-fashioned flower
garden was wafted to Kenneth’s Imagi
nation again. The two girls faced each
other. The boyhood sweetheart—the
girl he might have loved, except that
the son of Mrs. Charles Nelson, leader
of society, could not marry his mother’s
social secretary, was smiling with gen
tle kindness on Kitty Claire. And the
girl whose evil spell, like a fog from the
sea. had hidden shoals and rocks from
the eyes of that same boy, was staring
back at Mary with insolent hardness
Kenneth had a queer little vision of a
thin alley cat, eyes aflame, back up,
spitting and snarling and scratching at
the little child who was stooping with
friendly hand to smooth ruffled fur. He
dashed his hand across his eyes—what
a fool he. was. thought he—seeing gar
dens and fogs and eats and smiling chil
dren with trusting eyes! This was Just
Mary and Kitty! Just Mary and Kitty—■
but the good and the bad angels of his
life would war for him to-day. Mary
and Kitty! Which would win?
To Be Continued Monday.
KODAK
OCT
A
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I RANDOLPH & CO.
Patent Atforoe/a,
618 “F” Street, N. W„
WASHINGTON, D. C.
Schedules Change
Dec. 7,1913
ON AND AFTER SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7TTT,
CENTRAL OF GEORGIA RAILWAY
TRAINS WILL LEAVE ATLANTA, FROM TERMINAL
STATION, AS FOLLOWS, EXCEPT AS NOTED:
No. 2, 8:00 a. m.—DAY EXPRESS, for Macon, Savannah, Al
bany, Americas, Jacksonville and intermediate points. Parlor-Car
to Albany, Ga.
No. 98, 9:47 a. ra.—DIXIE LIMITED, first train December 8,
for Macon, Cordele, Tifton, Wayeross and Jacksonville. Observa
tion Library Car, Pullman Sleeping Cars, Dining Car and Coaches
to Jacksonville, Fla.
No. 10, 12:30 p. m.—For Macon, Milledgeville, Millen, Valdosta,
Americas, Albany and intermediate points. Parlor Car to Macon,
Ga
No. 12, 4:00 p. m.—For Griffin, Macon and intermediate paints.
Parlor Car to Macon, Ga.
No. 94, 8:30 p. m.—DIXIE FLYER -E'er Macon. Cordate, TIP-
ton, Wayeross and Jacksonville. Observation Library Car, Pullman
Sleeping Cars and Coaches.
No. 4, 9:00 p. m.—NIGHT EXPRESS-—For Maoon and Savan
nah. Connects at Macon with G. S. & F. for Corde.le, Tifton, Val
dosta and Palatka. Sleeping Car to Savannah, Ga., and Palatka,
Fla.
No. 32, 10:10 p. m.—SOUTH ATLANTIC LIMITED- -For Ma
con, Cordele, Tifton, Wayeross and Jacksonville. Sleeping Cars
and Coaches to Jacksonville. Broiler Buffet Car<8erves breakfast
Tifton to Jacksonville.
No. 8, 11:45 p. m.—MIDNIGHT EXPRESS—For Macon,
Americus, Albany, Thomasville, Dawson, Cuthbert, Eufaula and
Southwest Georgia and East Alabama points. Pullman Sleeper toi
Thomasville, Central Sleeper to Montgomery.
NOTE.—All trains will arrive in Atlanta at Terminal Station,
as at present, except No. 15 from Macon, Southwest Georgia and
East Alabama points will arrive at 7 :55 p. m. instead of 8:10 p. m.,
and No. 99, DIXIE LIMITED, from Jaeksonville, Wayeross, Tifton,
Cordele and Macon, will arrive (first train December 9th) 8 :03 p. m.
NOTE.—No. 4, NIGHT EXPRESS, for Macon and Savannah,
carrying Savannah and Palatka Sleepers, will leave at 9 :00 p. m.,
instead of 9:35 p. ni. No. 98, DIXIE LIMITED, first train South,
will leave Atlanta Monday, December 8th.
For additional information, ask the TICKET AGENT, comert
Peachtree and Marietta streets, and at Terminal Station.
W. H. FOGG, District Passenger Agent, Atlanta, Ga.
CENTRAL OF GEORGIA
RAILWAY