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® ^ Evert You Old Scrooges Must Admit There Is Nothing in 1 his World as Ernpti/ as an Empty Stocking
A np n A A Thrilling Story of'
\ i I Society Blackmailers
(Novelized by>
(From (he 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.)
TODAY’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.
“DM he come before or after I 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
Flagg 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
Fou?”
“Tie—he didn’t want to see you
Again,” murmured poor Tommy.
The Chief looked thoughtfully at Hol-
trrook. Later they would both remem
ber Tommy’s admission.
The Captain continued his question
ing: “But who was the other man who
came after I did?”
'T don’t know, sir.”
“Ah, yes you do! Out with it! His
tutme!” thundered the Chief
“Jones,” whimpered Tommy.
“What did he want?”'Tommy hesl-
t&Tfed. “Got any handcuffs. Donnell?”
“Sure, 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
the court of law’—now that Jutson Flagg
was claimed by the higher law—the
proof of his despicable blackmailing las
tn his hunter's hand.
“Who killed your uncle?” he shot at
Tommy with disarming suddenness.
“I don’t know, sir. He called me—I
was in bed and ”
“What time?”
“About eleven, I think—I opened the
door and answered r *
“And then?” w’ent on the Inquisitor.
“I hurried down—and imoie was
dead.” The boy sobbed out some of
his forlorn aloneness. “Then I opened
the window and called ‘police.’ ”
Donnell grinned: “You could havs
heard him across the Potomac .”
The third degree continued.
‘ flow long after you heard your uncle
calling did you get here?”
• \bout half a minute.”
“And you’re sure there was nobody
here at all?”
“No. sir,” asserted the frightened boy
with certainty He w'ondered dully If
they would try to fasten the crime on
him why, he had loved his Uncle Jinl
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 who 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.
“F don't know, sir. My uncle didn't
have any roses.” As If In sooth a
spider wouldNhave a pretty taste In pink
roses!
“He might have bought out a florist
after you went upstairs,” declared
J^arry
A Danger Line.
The chief chose to ignore 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 h<“ar the outside door be
fore or after you came in here?”
"So, 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
tli it fell on Holbrook’s heart with dead.
]y ‘ force. FORE THE BOY GOT
n-jjj’ WINDOW OPEN SHE MADE
THE CORNER.”
“SHE Chief?” inquired the captain,
v. ■ i elaborate unconcern—and the while
he wondered that nobody heard his
V . : < ><ng a reel that would he fittest
u •• a wake. . rT
WAS A W()M AN' ^ ( 'I
'I'UOlpHT SO YOURSELF WHEN
YOU FIRST CAME IN!”
•f thought so? Oh. Chief, you're
j, inj I thought-
"*v,i caught perfume in the air
Mcuprook countered easily. Perfume
isn't confined to women.'
at that.
“1 thil l a. woman called my uncle on
the phone,” ventured Tommy.
•Ah, the arrant young cub. now.”
thought Captain Larry. “If l couldn t
discipline him for that volunteer serv
ile!”
“Who was she?” snapped the chief
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 he 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 bit uncertain
about tracing the. call that had been i
received on Flaggs phone at 10:30.
But now there entered a new sleuth
hound to ferret out the scent of the
trail. Inspector McIntyre came 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- j
ment’s hunting dogs give tongue soon !
—would the pitiless park 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 be take pictures?”
Tommy nodded.
“Himself?”
Tommy nodded again
“What for?”
“I—I don’t know, sir “
“Take any to-night 0 '’
“I—I—think so.”
"Out with it, kid.” thundered the
chief. v
“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 miner* asked Holbrook
with a flash of the wit that no diffi
culties ooiua 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: ‘I 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, Larry, me boy?” He
laughed in triumph.
“No—It sounds like a pipe dream to
me.’’ said Larry the dauntless.
“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 unw’avering eyes.
Holbrook w’ondered 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 follow’ed on the tour of in
spection. leaving the room to the grim,
sprawling, dead form—the guardian of
the camera, and the hopeful tightei* for
a lost cause.
Larry 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 tw’itchlng to be at that camera.
Donnell’s fingers w’ere firm on it.
“Didn’t ye have a brother named Alike
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 ri^vv he began to ex
amine the camera. ^‘Oid 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
with disarming purpost-iessness.
“This Donnell 1 knew in the army
used to be on the New York police
force,” the figures twitched toward the
camera again. But Donnell's eyes were
twin watch dogs.
quickly.
Holbrook's knuckles whitened but he
To Be Continued Tomorrow.
Youth and Age
Copyright, lftlfl. International flerde*.
BY NELL BRINKLEY
Y OUTH is thankful that it has YOUTH; thankful for the faery
things that go with it; for t.be 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 COMB! 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 loo deeply; for the peace that it has
found; for the youth that sometimes surrounds it; for a flue 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 feels
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!
A Widow in
Distress
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
X am a young widow, 28 years
of ago, and for the past three
years a man has been trying to
induce me ot marry him. I re
fused him repeatedly, telling him
that I did not intend to' marry
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 lias become a wreck and
says he can not live without me.
j 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 right if T
should let him see me
"a O tf you should see him some-
^ times 1t would make it easier
for him—would it?
Well, how about making It easier
>r you ?
And then the man you've married -
hat about him?
You've promised to love and honor
im. Do you think you would be
nnoring him if you saw this other
ian just because the other man wants
>u to do so?
When you married your husband
m gave up every sentimental obli-
ition you ever owed or might, could,
ould or should owe to any other
ian on earth—as long as that hus-
ind is alive and you live with him.
This man who is anxious to have
au think about him when be knows
vu are married and ought to forget
im isn’t worth anybody's thought—
ir a single minute.
If lie was, iie would try to help you
-not try to harm you. He knows
srfectly well that he is asking you to
v something you have no right to
v at all—something which will get
iu into trouble just so sure as you
yen consider it for a minute.
Who is he that he dares presume
i far?
When you married your husband
du were through once and for ail
itli this man ... s' see him again
, .ill—if you can help it.
Don’t risk a good home and a good
usband for the sake of a vain fool
ho wants to make you appear as
ily as he is.
The Manicure Lady ,«.t
‘T
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
F that wart ever comes in here
agatn and gets into my chair
he will think he is getting
shared at Fish’s Eddy by the oldest
Inhabitant,” said the Head Barber,
glaring after a retreating figure.
“This is 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
kind of forbearing, the way you
would treat a lost child Tha s the
way T go along, and I find that it
makes me more happy than putting
the bee to folks that is a thor n in m>
side.'
“I ain't never notired that you have
any patience to sell,” declared the
Hoad Barber T have heard you
recent enough telling some guy where
to get off ”
“Never unless T have plenty of vo
cation. George” said the Manicure
Lady. "It takes awful !<• ■•
me. When I ain’t got perfect control
of my tempe*- of course there is
times when I burn up a h i nut a..s
a rale 1 try to be kind and get, tie tc
all which comes into my daily life. I
believe I will live longer that way.
and a* Robert Moore, the Scotch
poet, once wrote 'As 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 want* !ot of extra
service he ought to dig down and pay
for It | That’s what ts nr goa*
h man wanting the whole barber
shop and th*n sneaking on* without
paying me nothing ext*a fo**
•Double ”
'There Is folks • this world that
the more they get the more they
pect.” observed the \F.i ,: .re Lady
“The old gent \vr.« el':, >• » oH,< md
me last night about a fellow that
worked for him. sc. is i
old gent was *****■****«>
tory one day and he saw a old fel
low there that used to work beside
him when they was boys together.
That was 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 stor? 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 th* old fellow* actually had
the nerve to corfie to him and say
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 fao-
| tory he wouldn't have ever asked for
i a raise Can you beat that?”
' I suppose your 'ather gave him a
j raise. said the Head Barber.
No Url not, said the Manicure
l ad .. "Father tied a can to him and
; ain't never saw him since. You
wouldn't think any man would be
hi.gglsh enougl in ask for A raise
I vvhen ho was pensioned, would you7'
”! d think anything.” said the Head
Barber, gloomil 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
j 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 tel! It
j to him in older that he might com-
: tort her. After long persuasion she
was induced to say this:
"1 thought I ijvas walking down the
street, and I carne to a warehouse
w ic.e ' »ere was a large placard
'Husbands for sale' You could get
i beautiful ones for fifteen hundred dol
lars or even for twelve hundred, and
very nice looking ones for as low as
I a hundred.”
The husband asked innocently;
• >'d you S'"- any that looked .ike
7 e sobs beanie strangling
Dozens <>*' :he”\” gasped the wife,
done up ir. hunches like aspat.igu.
» —w iui. un cttiUa 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
I from a tennis ball to a lemon. Why,
one day she sat on a piece of ice and
I hatched out two quarts of hot water. ’
“That doesn’t come up to a club-
j footed hen my old mother once had.”
'.iid one <»f hfs hearers. "They had
! been feeding her by mistake on saw-
dus$ instead of oatmeal. Well, she
laid twelve eggs and sat on them,
. and when they were hatched eleven
»f the chickens had wooden legs and
j the twelfth was a woodpecker.”
* • •
V clever lawyer succeeded in wln-
| ning his client’s case and getting the
better of a rather bumptious barrls-
I ter The latter couldn't conceal his
chagrin, and, meeting his victorious
j opponent In the smoke-room of the
i hotel at which they were staying, he
j remarked, i:i a loud and spiteful tone:
‘ Sir, Is there any case too dirty for
I you. or any criminal so much dyed
in crime that you won’t defend?”
"No.” said the other, In a quiet
•one “What have you been doing
I now?”
1 • • •
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. “Is one who at
tempts and falls, while a hero tries
and succeeds.”
“Then, what is a coward?” asked a
curious bystander
’Oh, a coward.” replied the Judge,
“is a man who remains single so that
1 he won’t have to try.”
* * *
“T am thinking of touring in South
Africa next season,” remarked the co
median.
“Take my advice and don’t.” replied
*he villain. ' \n ostrich egg weighs
'r<*m two to thre® points.”
Certain Relief
from headaches, dull feelings, and
fatigue of biliousness, comes quickly
—and permanent improvement in
bodily condition follows—after your
stomach, liver and bowels have
been toned and regulated by
•Id everywhere.
In botM, 10c., 25«,
THE FAMILY CUPBOARD
A Dramatic Story of High Society Life in New York
[Novelized by!
(From Owen Davis’ play now being pre
sent eri 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 me—quits
me cold, like this—then bimeby, she’ll
come buck 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 Jim
very quietly and simply.
Kenneth looked dt him for a mo
ment in sheer horror. So. this maudlin
eld driver of cabs -this servant with
his vapid old face was-Kitty’s father!
He laughed bitterly. Tie 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 Garrlty.
But Jim was inured to insult He had
no personal pride to take arms for of
fense or defense. lie went on with a
sort of meek resignation that. If either
of them had known it. was own human
brother to Ken’s 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 keepln’ house with one of ’em.”
Who He Really Was.
“One of them? Good God* One of
them! TIas there been more than one ’’’
Ken sprang up he stood faring tlie
old cab driver.
"Began when she was about six
teen.”
"I know!” said Ken full bitterly
“Workin’ 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 carne
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 wns to his funeral. Fine
big 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 day'
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 smlt*
i him!
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 cf 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
! lie 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 was. 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 now. Perhaps—
perhaps that she had such a father was
the reason why Kitty was—Kitty!
“She never struck you—did she? She
never struck you?”
Urn was quite shocked nr the thought.
“No! She (^Wouldn’t do that!”
Kenneth laughed again hysterically
“Well. I got to go look for a job. I
guess, fill she drifts back again.’’ said
.Urn. 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 of learning that she was Jim’s
daughter. He picked up the roll of
bills and held it out.
Jim took It wondering and slowly
counted it.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
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Fur Sets $10 to $35
Warm Sweaters .... $2 to $5
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Cirls’ Coats 4 to $7
Petticoats $2 to $5
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jlji Boys’ Suits $3 to $8
■IF Men’s Shoes $2.75 to $4.50
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