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Name..
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Teeth Cutting
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BABY EDUCATOR
Is a Food Teething Ring made from pulver
ized honey-sweetened cereals baked so hard
that just a little is eaten at a time as it becomes
moistened by the saliva.
It will pacify your teething baby and at the same time
nourish teeth and gums. Takes the place of tasteless
rubber or ivory teething ring.
At your dealer’s 23c a tin, or two tins (six rings each)
by mail for 50c.
JOHNSON EDUCATOR FOOD CO.
31 Batterymarch Street, Boston
American Sunday Monthly Magazine Section
A Song of Sixpence
live here
You
see
tit
The "Baby Grand’
A Lifetime’s Play
-A Year to Pay
When you buy a Brunswick “Baby
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billiard tabic.
You really endow your home, with a perpetual,
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The more you draw upon its resources the
greater they become.
The genuine BRUNSWICK Home Bil
liard Tables are sold on small monthly pay
ments, extending over a year.
“BABY GRAND”
Billiard Tables
The “Baby Grand” is furnished either as a Carom,
Pocket or Combination Carom and Pocket-Billiard
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Vermont Slate Bed, the celebrated Monarch Cush
ions and concealed Accessory Drawer to hold entire
playing equipment.
Equal in playing qualities to Brunswick Regula
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The “Baby Grand" is the supreme attraction in
hundreds of the most exclusive homes.
Our “Convertible” Styles, which serve also as
Library Tables, Dining Tables and Davenports, meet
the requirements where space is at a premium.
A Fine Xmas Gift for Man or Boy
Put the “Baby Grand" on your Christmas List.
It's sure to please “that boy of yours.”
May We Mail You This
Famous Book -Free?
A new edition of our famous book, “Billiards—The
Home Magnet,” is now ready. Describes and illus
trates in actual colors all styles of Brunswick Home
Billiard Tables. Gives Special Factory Prices, Easy
Terms and other valuable information. (Mb)
1 The Brunswick-Balke-Collender Co. 1
* Dept. L K. 623-633 S. Wabash Ave., Chicago 1
, 1
Please send the free color-illustrated book— (
\ “Billiards—The Home Magnet’
Quilt Patterns
Every Quilter should have our book
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LADIES’ ART CO.,
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“ I I expect to
looking for work.”
“Work?”
“Yes. I’m a—a stenographer. I want
a position where I can make a living.”
Norton glanced at her with added interest.
“Phew!” he whistled. “Why didn’t you
tell me? I'd have spoken to C'hanler about
it. He was here last night. You see,” he
explained, “he’s looking for someone to
take dictation—stories and a new novel
he’s just beginning. I pound out all my
copy myself”—he jerked his hand toward
the typewriter on the chair—“but Chanler
won’t bother with it. Says it cramps his
style. I don’t know whether he’s got any
body yet or not. He didn’t have last night.
I’ll ask him.” He looked at his watch.
“Tell you what we’ll do. I’m free to-night.
I’ll get hold of him and we’ll all take dinner
together.” He looked at Mrs. Moran.
“Is it all right, Mrs. Moran? I’ll take
good care of her.”
“If Emmy thinks—” began Mrs. Moran,
weakly.
“I’ll be glad to go. It’s very kind of
you to ask me, Mr. Norton.” She flashed
a gratified glance at him, which made even
that seasoned young man’s head swim for
the fraction of a second.
“We’ll go from here together—about six.
I’ll tell Chanler to meet us at the restaurant.
Colatti’s. That’ll suit him—his place is
right near there. Tenth Street. You’ll
be ready at six, Miss Moran?” lie fished
his hat out of a mass of objects on the foot
of the bed. “Got to beat it now. Engage
ment at twelve. Sorry.” lie held open
the door as Emmy and her mother passed
into the hall. “Sec you later.” With a
bright smile, lie dashed out and a moment
later they heard him clatter noisily down
the front steps.
Mrs. Moran at once began to discuss the
propriety of allowing Emmy to go out alone
with two men whom she scarcely knew, but
the latter paid but scant* attention. “It’s
business, mother,” she said, shortly. ‘‘It
may get me a position. If I’m going to be
a business woman I’ve got to learn to take
care of myself. That Mr. Chanler is aw
fully good-looking, isn’t he?”
Colatti’s restaurant is a survival of the
' New York of 1890, when the Chat Noir, on
South Fifth Avenue, with its fifty-cent
table d'hote, including wine, and Maria’s,
I on-Twelfth Street, famous for its Italian
cooking,were regarded as centres of Bohemia
and were accordingly patronized extensively
by young and budding artists and writers.
Alas! Their day is no more. The Chat Noir,
a dismal, deserted shell, no longer echoes
with care-free laughter. Only its solemn
black cat, with the yellow eyes, remains to
look mournfully out on a dirty street given
over to the ways of commerce. Maria’s, with
its Friday nights, its card game in the back
room, is now a modern apartment house.
The budding artists and authors live in
large apartment hotels and eat at expensive
restaurants. In New York, even Bohemia
has become too prosperous to dine at fifty-
cent tables d'hote.
Here and there arc a few survivors that
struggle along at seventy-five cents, with
wine—of a sort, but ribbon-counter clerks
and desperate Bohemians from the suburbs
are their chief patrons.
The place was crowded as Emmy and
Norton entered the hallway, but the diners
made merry, consciously—heavily, as
though they felt it was expected of them—
not because of any inward lightness of
heart. To Emmy, however, it all seemed
very gay—very enticing. She looked about
and drew a deep breath. “So this is Bo
hemia?” she asked, smiling.
Norton gave a short laugh. “Bohemia
isn’t a place,” he said, “it’s an attitude. I
come here because it’s cheap. The food’s
rotten, but the music—there’s a woman
here who sings—really sings—and that
makes one forget how thin the soup is.”
1 le looked about. “ Chanler isn’t here yet,”
then turned as a tall man, whom Emmy
at once recognized as the original of the
photograph she had seen that morning,
clapped him on the back. “Hello, Char
lie!” he said. “Guess I’m late.”
Norton looked up. “Why, hello, little
one!” he said. “Glad to see you,” then
turned to Emmy. “Miss Moran, let me
present Mr. Grant Chanler, America’s
foremost catch-as-catch-can novelist. One
of our best little authors.”
Emmy murmured her pleasure and shook
Chanler.’s extended hand. “Miss Moran is
seeing Bohemia for the first time, personally
conducted by yours truly,” went on Norton.
{Continued from page 5)
On the right
e right we see Harold llandycash,
the famous tonsorial artist, feeding his face
with filet of sole a la codfish. On the
left- ” ‘
Chanler put a stop to his nonsense.
“ Better get a table, Charlie; there’s quite
a crowd here to-night.”
Norton went up to an approaching head
waiter, who evidently knew him. He held
up three fingers. The waiter nodded and
bowed. “This way,” he said, and started
toward the rear of the room, followed by
the others. Emmy was conscious only of
a confused babel of talk, a rattling of dishes,
a smell of strange cooking, and, above all,
the blare of a dimutive orchestra and piano,
playing, with crashing effect, the sextette
from “Lucia di Lammermoor.” It all
seemed very new and wonderful to her—
Chanler, behind her, touched her arm and
guided her safely between the close-set
tables. Many of the men looked up at her
in undisguised admiration as she passed;
the trim black suit set off her fine figure, her
exquisite face, to wonderful advantage.
The women looked at Chanler, their eyes
flashing wireless messages.
Grant Chanler was tall and thin, with
the thinness of sinew and muscle. His
face, in spite of its dark coloring, seemed
careworn—there were lines upon it that
bespoke much suffering—unrest—the scars
accorded by circumstance to ambition.
11 is eyes Emmy thought the tiredest eyes
she had ever seen—somehow they made her
feel a great sympathy for the man—a desire
to help, to comfort him, rose in her heart.
Norton had told her something of Chanler’s
life as they came along—how he had begun
as a business man, in obedience to his
father’s wishes, and had later taken up
Avrit ing and gradually fought his way, during
eight bitter years, to a position of at least
comparative success in the literary world.
He no longer dreaded the advent of his
board bill, nor cooked his own meals in a
chilly hall bedroom, but for what little way
he had won along the road to fame and for
tune he had paid a heavy price.
“It must be Avonderful to live in Ncav
\ ork and write, Mr. Chanler,” Emmy
ventured, timidly, after they had been
seated. “I should think you Avould be
very happy.”
Chanler smiled at her—a rather Aveary
smile. “The Avriting game,” he said, sloAvly,
“is hard and full of disappointments. Nat
urally, I love it, or I should not do it, but
I sometimes wonder Avhcther success is
Avorth the cost.” He passed his hand OA r er
his eyes.
“Ila\ r e a cocktail, old man. It’ll buck
you up,” laughed Norton, as he signaled
the waiter. “Don’t pay any attention to
him, Miss Moran. He always says that
Avhen he’s tired. You’re working too hard,
Grant,” he said, earnestly. “Why don’t
you take a rest? ”
“Can’t, Charlie. You know that series
I’m doing for the Review. Five thousand
Avords a Aveck—and it means bread and but
ter.” He turned to Emmy. “You see,
Miss Moran, Avriting is a business nowa-
days. They measure our Avork with a yard
stick and pay accordingly.”
“Why, I thought all you authors did Avas
just Avrite—when you felt like it, and get
thousands of dollars for your things. I’ve
read about”—she mentioned the names of
two or three popular writers.
Norton and Chanler smiled at each other.
“Oh, yes, those fellows get big prices now,”
said the latter, “but they didn’t always.
They had their lean years, too. And then
some of them have struck popular veins—
neglected wives, or Jew clothing-makers, or
joyous crooks. They work on a formula and
the public can’t get enough of it. I don’t
blame them, either. They’re clever. It’s
just what Ave’d all like to do, if avc could,
from the money standpoint at least. Of
course, any man Avould rather Avrite Avhat
be feels, irrespective of its popularity, if he
could, but it isn’t business.”
Emmy looked at the two men in wonder.
“You don’t seem to take it very seriously,”
she said.
“Chanler does. Look at him,” laughed
Norton. “I don’t. Some day I’m going to
get a job Avriting advertisements for Bus
ter’s Baby Food and be a real lit’r’y man,
and dine at the Plaza.”
“He’s the cleverest newspaper man in
New York, Miss Moran,” said Chanler, in
spite of Norton’s jeers. “He could write
circles around me if he’d only Avork, but he
Avon’t. Nothing short of actual starvation
will make him Avrite a line of real stuff, and
{Continued on page 14)
n ta H"‘ir nr n a
■
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GOOD TEETHKEEPING
That was nearly fifty years ago. In the pass
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PERFECT
ToothPowder
Its formula was scientifically right at the beginning.
It is scientifically right today. Three
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Dr. Lyon's is safe. It cleanses
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It is a pleasant, velvety, gritless,
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Teach your children to use it
night and morning—but above
all at night.
What Dr. Lyon’s does -“L*/
not do only your dentist
is competent to do.
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PERFECT 99 &
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Advice lor a Sick Canary
If vlnwilUll a ,a<ly a . SkS WHat t0 d ° f0r a Sick
If you Will allow me to suggest, tell her to get ‘Bird
Manna for 15 cents, and the P. B. F. Co.’s directions
foi !™ ak ‘£8 canaries sing from your druggist.
q t 1)\ U / hiladelphia Bird Food Company, 400 N. 3d
\no* h de P r ia ‘ l a “ publish a booklet which anv-
the hhtl^hird^fl’ by ?T' tlng for il - Jt tells all about
the little bird s ills and how to treat them.’’