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Copyright, 191*, International News Sarric*.
.» BY NELL B1UNKLEY
(Novelized by>
(From the play by George Scar
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.
‘‘Honest, sir,” said Tommy in grow
ing fear of this big, firm man.
‘‘Who’s been here to-night?” thun
dered the interlocutor.
For the briefest second the boy hes
itated, and Holbrook caught his eye.
' A man,” said Tommy.
‘‘What’s his name?”
Again the boy hesitated.
'I don’t know,” he said at last in a
breathless tone.
The Chief looked for a flickering mo
ment from the soldier to the boy.
‘‘Did he come before or after 1 was
here?” asked Holbrook in the matter-
of-fact tone of a seeker after knowledge.
The Chief betrayed surprise. HOL
BROOK HAD BEEN HERE—WHY, he
wondered. Aloud he said:
‘‘You were here to-night, Captain?”
‘‘Oh, yes, Chief, but the boy said
J^lagg wasn’t at home.” Then address
ing Tommy, he continued in a per
fectly pleasant tone: ‘‘And I’ll bet you
lied to me when you said it—didn’t
, you?”
“He—he didn’t want to see you
again,” murmured poor Tommy.
The Chief looked thoughtfully at Hol
brook. Later they would both remem
ber Tommy’s admission.
The Captain continued his question
ing: “But who was the other man who
tame after 1 did?”
‘T don’t know, sir.”
“Ah. yes you do! Out with it! His
name!” thundered the Chief.
‘‘.Jones,” whimpered Tommy.
“What did he want?” Tommy hesi
tated. “Got any handcuffs, Donnell?”
“Bure. Chief.”
“Please don’t!” cried Tommy in hor
ror. “He sold my uncle a letter! It's
in the drawer, there!”
On the Rack.
Chief Dempster opened the letter and
smiled with an ironical twist of his
grim lips. Now' that it was too late for
Hie court of law—now that Jutson Flagg
was claimed by the higher law—the
proof of his despicable blackmailing lay
in his hunter’s hand.
“Who killed your uncle?” he shot at
'Pommy with disarming suddenness.
“I don’t know’, sir. He called me—I
wag in bed and ”
“What time?”
"About eleven, I think—I opened the
door and answered ”
"And then?” went on the inquisitor.
“I hurried do\tn—and uncle was
dead.” The boy sobbed out some of
his forlorn aloneness. "Then I opened
the window and caUed ‘police.’ ”
Donnell grinned: "You could have
heard him across the Potomac.”
The third degree continued.
‘“How long after you heard your uncle
Availing did you get here?”
"About half a minute.”
"And you’re sure there was nobody
here at all?”
"No, sir,” asserted the frightened boy
with certainty. He wondered dully if
they would try to fasten the crime on
him—why, he had loved his Uncle Jud—
and he was alone now—surely they
could not intend taking him off to the
prison.
“Only one answer, Chief,” broke in
Holbrook, with calm assurance. The
more bitterly certain he became of the
true answer, the more desperately he
wondered if he could make the trail
lead away from the girl whb must not
be hunted, hounded by the death of
the blackmailer as she had been by his
life.
"This rose! Where did this come
from?” went on the inexorable ques
tioner.
Breathless stillness for a moment.
Larry wondered if his heart was likely
to ruffle the tucks on his frilled shirt.
"I don’t know. sir. My uncle didn’t
have any roses.” As if in sooth a
spider would have a pretty taste in pink
roses!
"He might have bought out a florist
after you went upstairs,” declared
Larry.
A Danger Line.
The chief chose to isnore him. That
worried our Irishman a bit. Never a
bit did he mind being disputed, refuted
even—but to be ignored, that showed
that the chief was doing his own think
ing along a line of his own a danger
line.
"You didn't hear the outside door be
fore or after you came in here?
"No, sir.”
"You opened the window right away?”
“Yes, sir.”
"And you stayed at the window until
you saw the police coming?
"Yes, sir.”
"And you didn’t, Donnell?”
"No, sor ”
The chief spoke with quiet certainty
that fell on Holbrook’s heart with dead,
ip force. "BEFORE THE BOY GOT
THE WINDOW OPEN SHE MADE
THE CORNER.”
"SHE Chief?” inquired the captain,
with elaborate unconcern and the while
he wondered that nobody heard his
heart doing a reel that would be fittest
for a wake.
"IT WAS A WOMAN! YOU
THOUGHT SO YOURSELF WHEN
YOU FIRST CAME IN!”
* I thought so? Oh, Chief, you’re
jesting. I thought ”
"You caught perfume in the air!”
Holbrook countered easily. "Perfume
isn’t confined to women.” He sniffed
at that.
“I think a woman called my uncle on
the phone,” ventured Tommy.
\\h, the arrant young cub, now,”
thought Captain Larry. "If I couldn’t
discipline him for that volunteer serv
ice!"
"Who was she?” snapped the chief
I quickly.
I Holbrook's knuckles whitened—but he
did not flinch. Now—now was the mo
ment when he must decide—and decide
quickly, what to DO.
The Telephone Call.
But Tommy shook his head vaguely.
The chief tried another tack.
"When did she call?”
"While the man was here, about half
past 10.”
"Was she to come here?”
"I think so.”
Chief Dempster allowed himself the
relaxation of a full smile.
‘‘Now will you be good, Captain?”
He crossed to the telephone while Hol
brook turned the battery of his ques
tion marks on Tommy. But mercifully
enough, the lad had no more to tell;
and "central” seemed a hit uncertain
about tracing the call that had been
received on Flagg’s phone at 10:30.
But now there entered a new sleuth
hound to ferret out the scent of the
trail. Inspector McIntyre to join
forces with Chief Dempster.
And at the chief’s answer to McIn
tyre’s, "Well, what have we here?” Hol
brook winced anew. For the word that
followed was so hopelessly' ugly and
the trail he had tried to confuse lay so
hopelessly plain. Would the Govern
ment’s hunting dogs give tongue soon
—would the pitiless pack of the law fol
low the scent? For this is what Demp
ster said:
"Murder—and a tough proposition,
too.”
To add to the danger—there was a
plain clothes man detailed to give the
whole house his careful inspection.
And now* Tommy’s examination was
resumed. Even the reflection that
Tommy probably liked it no better than
he did was of small cheer to Aline’s
self-appointed protector.
"Tommy, is this a flashlight for that
camera?”
"Yes, sir.”
"Where do those wires run?”
“The desk.”
"Oh—did he take pictures?”
Tommy nodded.
"Himself?”
Tommy nodded again
"What for?”
"I—I don’t know, sir."
"Take any to-night?"
"I—I—think so.”
"Out with it, kid,” thundered the
chief.
"The man's picture” . . . stumbled
off Tommy’s gray and twitching lips.
"Tell us about It quick, or you’ll
get a free ride,” said the inspector, tak
ing a hand in the game.
“The camera stayed up there—on the
top of the bookcase—with a plate in it
—and the flashlight ready—my uncle al
ways took anybody’s picture when they
first came to see him.”
"Did he get mine?” asked Holbrook
with a flash of the wit that no diffi
culties could ever quite restrain.
“No. sir.”
"Go on.” said the Inspector, who did
not consider this the time for jesting.
"My uncle just pushed the button
and the camera opened and the flash
exploded. When my uncle called me,
I heard the flash—and I heard my un
cle say: *1 get your picture for the
police!”
And at the awful possibilities of the
single sentence, Holbrook’s staunch
heart went dizzy and faint.
Whose picture would that all-reveal
ing camera contain? Whose picture had
Flagg, devilishly resourceful and re
vengeful even In death, taken for the
police? Who would be given over by
that picture to the police?
The Chief was blazing his trail now.
Or, as Holbrook pictured it, the blood
ed dog was nosing out the scent—and
he would follow it to the death.
"That’s the stuff—there was your
powder-smoke, Captain. ‘Get your pic
ture for the police’—don’t sound like
suicide, does it, Larfy, me boy?” He
laughed In triumph.
“No—It sounds like a pipe dream to
me.’’ said Larry the daifntless.
"Take charge of that camera. Don
nell,” ordered the Inspector. "And don't
let it out of your hands a second.”
"Yes sir,” said Donnell, taking the
camera carefully in his left hand and
keeping the right arm ready for at
tack or defense. For absolute safety’
he rested the camera on a high chair
back and held It full in the range of
his unwavering eyes.
Holbrook wondered idly how many
men an ex-soldler could handle. And
then he decided that the diplomat’s
waiting game must be his.
"What’s in that room?” asked the In
spector in a curt tone. Then, still more
curtly, he pushed Tommy before him
into the darker inner den of the dead
spider. The plain clothes men and Chief
Dempster followed on £he tour of in
spection, leaving the room to the grim,
sprawling, dead form—the guardian of
the camera, and the hopeful fighter for
a lost cause.
I^arry Holbrook came and stood by
the side of this other Irishman. On
his face was a cordial smile that was
just matched by the unctuous one on
Donnell's countenance. Larry’s fingers
were twitching to be at that camera.
Donnell’s fingers were firm on it.
“Didn’t ye have a brother named Mike
Donnell in the Fifth Cavalry?” began
Captain Holbrook, in a pleasantly con
versational tone.
"No, Captain," replied the guardian of
the place, smiling.
Holbrook took a judicial survey of
the other man.
“Indeed? Well, ye favor each other
very much.” The bit of a brogue was
very much in evidence for its brotherly'
effect.
Quite casually now' he began to ex
amine the camera. "Old fashioned sort
of a contrivance that—eh, Donnell?”
"Looks like a good one, though,” re
turned Donnell with due Importance.
“ ’TIs—German lens.” And now, hav
ing seen just enough for his purpose.
Captain Holbrook changed the subject
w'ith disarming purposelessness.
"This Donnell I knew In the army
used to be on the New York police
force.” the figures twitched toward the
camera again But Donnell’s eyes W’ere
twin w'atch dogs.
To 3o Continued To-morrow*
THE FAMILY CUPBOARD
A Dramatic Story of Hiqh 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
‘‘She’s just the same with mo quits
me cold, like this -then bimeby, she’ll
come back and give me all she’s got.”
Kenneth looked up, his attention sud
denly arrested, his mind focussing on
"James.”
"Why should she give you anything?”
"I’M HER FATHER,” answered Jtm
very quietly and simply.
Kenneth looked at him for n mo
ment in sheer horror. So, this maudlin
old driver of cabs—this servant with
his vapid old face was—Kitty’s father!
He laughed bitterly. He had sacrificed
so much for so little He had judged
his values with such youthful cocksure
ness. He had turned his back on the
old life he knew—he had driven away
at last even a fine old friend like Pot
ter and*all for the faithless daughter
of old Jim Garrity.
But Jim was inured to insult. He had
no personal pride to take arms for of
fense or defense. He went on with a
sort of meek resignation that, if either
of them had known it. was own human
brother to Kens attitude of hopeless
helplessness.
"Sure! I’m her father. She’s
ashamed to have the gentlemen know
it. so she takes me as a servant when
she’s keepin’ house with one of ’em.”
Who He Really Was.
“One of them? Good God! One of
them! lias there been more than one?’’
Ken sprang up he stood facing the
old cab driver.
"Began when she was about six
teen.” »
“I know!” said Ken full bitterly.
"Workln’ in a store on ”
"Yes!” exclaimed the tortured boy.
"He weren’t a bad sort. He’d a
married her, I think—only he died.”
Kenneth had turned his back on the
narrator of Kitty’s story, and was gaz
ing out of the window out where there
was sunshine and clean air a man might
breathe without polluting and choking
his lungs to the point of anguished suf
focation.
Now he whirled about, and came
quickly almost menacingly toward Jim.
"NO! NO! HE DIDN’T DIE!” he
cried with his bitter certainty.
"Sure he did*. Su-re!” said Jim pa
tiently "I was to his funeral. Fine
Mg feller- name of Sam Livingstone.
Big Sam Livingstone
Completely overcome with wave
after wave of horror sweeping over
him—with the cruel vision of his blow
In defense of this girl—with the awful
phantasmagoria of his misspent days
and nights—for this—woman—with bit
terness clouding his eyes and wrenching
at the foundations of his mind, Ken
sank—spent, weary, baffled and beaten
into the only refuge he could hope for
now—the relaxation of his deep old
chair! THE TRUTH AT LAST. And
truth was a two-edged sword to smite
him 1
His Only Thought.
"Then there was ” went on Jim,
with the shameless relish of the scan
dalmonger who finds an audience to
whom his tale of horror Is new.
"Don’t! Ha, ha, ha, ha, hal Don’t!
It’s too funny! It’s too funny! Ha, ha,
ha! Don’t tell me any more!” There
was no mirth in Ken’s laughter. But
to him it seemed that he was a suc
cessful raconteur—and with delight, in
the success of his story telling he went
on. How could he tell a mind was
breaking before him?
“She’s drifted around, sort of. for the
last ten years. She's a bit older than
she lets on, but she never says any
thing—she’s smart, but she’s always on
the move. I think a lot of Kitty. But
—she ain’t—always very good to me!”
The maudlin old weakling knew no
shame for what his daughter w’as. No
horror of how she came by the means
for being "good" to him—he only felt
terror and resentment at being desert
ed. left in the lurch t ow. Perhaps-
perhaps that she had such a father was
th*- reason why Kitty was Kitty!
"She never struck you—aid she? She
never struck you?”
Jim was quite shocked at the thought.
"No! She wouldn't do that!”
Kenneth laughed again hysterically.
"Well, 1 got to go look for a job, I
guess, till she drifts back again," said
Jim. with resigned patience. ' Jobs is
hard to get nowadays—all I know is
drivin’ a cab—an’ these here darned
taxis ” He had almost a philosophic
tone of resignation and meekness.
Ken interrupted. "Here! ’ He stooped
and picked up the money he had got
ten for this man’s daughter the bills
he had dropped to the floor in the emo
tion learning that she was Jim's
daughter. He picked up the roll of
bills and he’d It out.
Jim took it wondering—and slowly
counted it.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
Y OUTH is thankful that it has YOUTH; thankful for the faery
things that go with it; for the dreams that are; for the things
that are to be; for the daring that swells its heart and takes
Old Time by the beard; for the stir and the strife of life; for red blood
and love; for the colors and flowers and gems that go with this decorat
Ing-time of life; for the mighty joy of TO-DAY and most of all for the
high, delicate hopes of what IS TO COME! Age is thankful that its
feet and body are warm—that a soft chair closes it round; thankful for
the things that it has known; for the dreams that came true and that
it can forget those that never did; thankful for the wisdom that keeps
its heart from hurting and loving too deeply; for the peace that it has
found; for the youth that sometimes surrounds it; for a fine old book
and the crackling hearth and, most of all, for the end of strife— for
the warm, even heart-beat that finds pleasure in meditation and teels
no more the tormenting, bitter-sweet flame that distracts the heart of
youth. Youth and old age; wild birds and dozing pussies each thank
ful for so widely different things!
The Manicure Lady S
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am a young widow, l!8 years
of age, and for the past three
years a man has been trying to
induce me ot marry him. 1 re
fused him repeatedly, telling him
that I did not intend to marry j
anyone. He induced me to prom
ise that if I ever married 1 would
marry him. Some time ago 1 met
a man whom I love very much, ,
and married him. Since then the
other ban has become a wreck and
says he can not live w'ithout me.
I love my husband very much,
and he loves me, but I can not
be happy knowing that the other
man is unhappy on account of
me. He says that if I would let
him see me sometimes it would
make it easier for him. Please
advise me if it would be light if I
should let him see me.
S O if you should see him some
times it w'ould make it easier
for him—would it?
Well, how about making it easier
for you?
And then the man you’ve married—
what about him?
You’ve promised to love and honor
him. Do you think you would be
honoring him if you saw this other
man just because the other man wants
you to do so?
When you married your husband
you gave up every sentimental obli
gation you ever owed or might, could,
would or should owe to any other
man on earth—as long as that hus
band is alive and you live with him.
This man who is anxious to have
you think about him when he knows
you are married and ought to forget
him isn’t worth anybody’s thought—
for a single minute.
If he was, he would try to help you
—not try to harm you. He knows
perfectly well that he is asking you to
do something you have no right to
do at all—something which will get
you into trouble just so sere as you
even consider it for a minute.
Who is he that he dares presume
so far?
When you married your husband
you were through once and for all
with this man—don’t see him again
at all—if you can help it.
Don’t risk a good home and a good
husband for the sake of a vain fool
w’ho wants to make you appear as
silly as R> is.
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
^4|F that wart ever comes in here
I again and gets into my chair
L he will think he is gettinf
shaved at Fish’s Eddy by the oldest
inhabitant,” said the Head Barber,
glaring after a retreating figure.
"This 1* the fourth time he has been
in here and I have caught him every
time. He wants more waiting on
than Caruso, and he ain’t kicked in
with the sign of a tip one of the four
times. Wait till I catch him in this
chair again!"
‘‘You should be more patient and
gentle, George,” said the Manicure
Lady, soothingly. “As we journey
through life, we ran into a lot of
queer nuts, and you must treat them
kln-d of forbearing, the way you
would treat a lost child. That’s tho
way I go along, and I find that It
makes me more happy than putting
the bee to folks that is a thorn In my
side.”
"I ain’t never noticed that you have
any patience to sell,” declared the
Hoad Barber. “I have heard you
recent enough telling some guy where
to get off.”
‘‘Never unless I have plenty of vo
cation, George,” said the Manicure
Lady. "It takes a awful lot to gel
me. When I ain't got perfect control
of my temper of course there is
times when I burn up a little, but as
a rale I try to be kind and gentle tc
all which comes into my dally life. I
believe I will live longer that way.
ai*d as Robert Moore, tne Scotch
poet, once wrote: ‘An we Journey
through life, let us live quite a
while.’ ”
"I don’t expect tips from every
one,” said the Head Barber, "but
when a man wants a lot of extra
service he ought to dig down and pay
for it That’s what gets my goat—
a man wanting the whole barber
shop and then sneaking out without
paying me nothing extra for my
trouble.”
"There is folks in this world that
the more they get the more they ex
pect,” observed the Manicure Lady.
"The old gent was telling mother and
me last night about a fellow that
worked for him. It seems that the
old gent was going through his fac
tory one day and he saw a old fel
low there that used to work beside
him when they was boys together.
That w’as when father was poor and
the factory was small. He asked the
old fellow if he was still working at
the same Job. and the old fellow said
he was. ‘Well,’ says father, ‘you
have worked long enough. Go home
and rest from now on, and you will
get your check just the same every
week.’
"That's the kind of a sport my
father is, George, but that ain't the
end of the story. For about six
months he didn't see no more of the
old fellow, and kept sending his check
regular, but at the end of the six
months the old fellow actually had
the nerve to come to him and 9ay
that he thought he ought to have a
raise! Father thought he was joking
at first, but the old fellow explained
that on account of the high cost of
living he had to have a raise. Now
if he had kept on slaving In the fac
tory he wouldn’t have ever asked for
a raise Can you beat that?”
*T suppose your father gave him a
raise," said the Head Barber.
"He did not," said the Manicure
Lady. "Father tied a can to him and
ain't never saw him since You
wouldn't think any man would be
hoggish enough to ask for a raise
when he was pensioned, would you?"
“I'd think anything, ’ said the Head
Barber, gloomily. "Maybe he is the
father of that guy I Just shaved.”
Going Cheap.
Some time ago a man was awak
ened in the night to find his wife
weeping uncontrollably.
"My darling!" he exclaimed, "what
Is the matter?”
"A dream!' she gasped "I have had
such a horrible dream.”
Her husband begged her to tell it
to him in order that he might com
fort her. After long persuasion she
was Induced to say this
"I thought I was walking down the
street, and I came to a warehouse
where there was a large placard
'Husbands for sale.' You could get
beautiful ones for fifteen hundred dol
lars or even for twelve hundred, and
very nice looking ones for as low as
a hundred.”
The husband asked Innocently;
"Did you see any that looked like
me?”
The sobs became strangling.
"Dozens of them.” gasped the w'ife,
‘‘(lone up in bunches like asparagus,
and sold for ten cents a bunch.”
Up-to-Date
Jokes
".Speaking of hens,” said an Ameri
can traveler, "reminds me of an old
hen my dad had on a farm in Da
kota. She would hatch out anything
from a tennis ball to a lemon. Why,
one day she sat on a piece of iee and
hatched out two quarts of hot water. ’
“That doesn’t come up to a club
footed hen my old mother once had,”
said one of his hearers. "They had
been feeding her by mistake on saw
dust instead of oatmeal. Well, she
laid twelve eggs and sat on them,
and when they were hatched eleven
of the chickens had wooden legs and
the twelfth was a woodpecker.”
* * *
A clever lawyer succeeded in win
ning his client's case and getting the
better of a rather bumptious barris
ter. The latter couldn’t conceal hiS
chagrin, and, meeting his victorious
opponent In the smoke-room of the
hotel at which they were staying, he
remarked, in a loud and spiteful tone:
"Sir, is there any case too dirty for
you, or any criminal so much dyed
in crime that you won’t defend?”
"No,” said the other, in a quiet
tone. “What have you been doing
now f ?”
71 12 WHITEHALL ST.
(Upstairs.)
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OUR PRICES. STYLES AND EASY
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Special Showing of
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Ladies, you’ll find distinctive styles
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see the new arrivals—you’ll find
many a holiday gift suggestion here.
M
A witty judge declared recently
that “a patriot was a man who re- •
fused to button his wife’s blouse. A
martyr,” he went on. ‘Ms one who at
tempts and fails, while a hero tries
and succeeds.”
“Then, what is a coward?” asked a I
curious bystander.
"Oh, a coward." replied the Judge,
"is a man who remains single so that |
he won’t have to try.”
• * *
"I am thinking of touring in South
Africa next season,” remarked the co
median.
"Take my advice and don’t,” replied '
the villain. "An ostrich egg weighs j j
from two to three pounds.”
Certain Relief
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Men's Shoes $2.75 to $4.50
Men’s Hats $1 to $3
THE MENTER CO. Credit
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