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Will Power Means That Determination to Spen d $5 for a Gift and Not Spend $10
MAGAZINE
TF*
Tabloid Tales
Gold Witch
Adventures of a Golden-Haired Heiress
BY STELLA FLORES
• XT rfl NT. Mother Vine is meant by
\\/ becoming philosophical?"
It mean*, kittle One. the re
alisation that we are Jogging along
very comfortably and happily with
out that to-day which yesterday we
were convinced we could not live
without.
Why Mother, do you think It la such
a good thing for every man to marry'’
Recsuse. My Uhild. moat men |
could awell up and buret with con-
elt If they did not marry and have
«ome of the conceit taken out of
i hem
Who. Mother, la your Ideal of a
Happy Man?
The crazy man. Daughter, with the
State taking care of him. and unlim
ited time to talk and handle big en
terprises. Re la the happy man; It
■ hla aane kin who are the miser
able ones
- v ^ gW A*'- 1 ■
>. t- 'dWd : i
d iaK&asfcws
wty v
What. Mother. 1a the difference be
tween a woman’a conacience and a
man's?
A woman’a conscience. Little One.
’rts her when she tells a lie A
tan’s hurts him when he had a
enhance to tell a lie and didn’t.
Who indented the cooking stove
Mother Dear?
A man. My Child, and ever after
that when he saw something good
coming out of the oven he said to
hlmaslf. "What a good cook I ami"
Why. Mother, la a man always
tailed a woman’s protertorT
Dor the reason. Little One. that It
is hla natural Inclination to protect
her from other men Imposing on her,
preferring to do all the imposing
hlmaslf.
Was ever a compliment entirely .
satiafactory. Dearest Mother?
Never never. Child, for If the word
ing gave satisfaction there Is always
the complaint that those who pay us
complimsnts don’t talk loud enough
The man who has mean things to say I
always makes himself heard
What, Mother. Is a genius?
There s,re many kinds. Little One.
but In one particular they are all
alike. A genius is one who makes
Ufa uncomfortable for all around him
Is It true. Mother, as the men
Naim, that the Ink bottle at home is
always empty and the pen never to ;
■»e found?
Not always. Child When a mans
fool streak Is In control, and he wants
to write something he shouldn’t, the |
ink pot Is never empty and the pen
ir always lying beside It and In per-
t repair
FRA XCES GA RSI I) F
CnpvTight. ltM?. Intern.
WearingKimono
to Breakfast
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX
j
Let >- -u' "Ho-
**s
Jm0.b T
,f. \ Li V 1 ; >t
A 11
1 3 it proper to wear a kimono *n
breakfast in a hoarding house’
What do you mean by “prop-
— what sort of a boarding house do
I you live in?
I have seen girls come down' o
breakfast in a mob cap and a ho-
doir Jacket, and by the way they
I crooked their little finger and had
such a time tipping their coffee, it
was easy to see that they imaglr^d
i themselves the moat charming aort
fascinating of creatures—but they
j weren't.
They really were not—at all?
It takes the prettiest woman In the
world to look pretty in a kimono—
it is almost as bad as a bathing suit
when It comes to showing up everv
defect that a girl'ha* and ought r.ot
to have.
Bceldes, it really is a bit negligee
for a boarding-house table—don’t you
think so, Morene?
It is all very well to read about the
charmers in satin peignoirs and
dainty gold heeled slippers—that's ,n
i a book where a girl can cry and look
1 pretty at the same time.
Out of a book a peignoir or a ki
mono, or a dressing jacket, are fit for
i just exactly one place in the worid,
and that is in your own room.
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NO l SE.
You won't fascinate the young book
keeper w^ho sits opposite with that
kimono—you'll just make him wish
you would take time to dress yourself
before you come to breakfast.
Don’t make any mistake, my dear,
the one thing a man really admires
In a real girl Is modesty—if he ever
gets it Into his head that you are
| lacking in that, nothifig in th.e world
| that you can do will make him really
! respect you again.
Get yourself a couple of neat pretty
i little house dresses. You can find
j them in the wash frock department
J of any of the big shops.
the wash dress.
lie Gold
and his fathe
Witch finds an old harp an instrument she loves. In the dimming twilight Tom the dusk. To Tom they are visions of a happy future; to his father bitter-sweet memories of the
r steal in to listen. As the exquisite notes throb out, shadowy pictures form in j past—of his ward's mother, whom he loved but did not marry.
Blue and pink and lavender and.
flowered—all colors, all styles, all
pr j ces —i have seen very neat, pretty
little blue wash dresses for sale at a
dollar and a half—get one of those,
d-o your hair in ^ pretty simple knot
and you 11 look as sweet as a peach
and feel sure that you are doing th«
right thing at the same time.
Hang the kimono up on the last
nail in your closet and never think of
wearing it outside your own room.
That’s a nice, sweet, sensible, modest
girl.
THE FAMILY CUPBOARD
A Dramatic Story of High Society Life in Ne<iv York
Adapted from the Big Broadway Success, by Owen Davis
[Novelized byl
(From Owen Davis’ play now being pre-
-rrited at the Playhouse, New York, hy
WiHlam A Bradv Copyright, 1913, by
International News Service.)
TO DAY’S INSTALLMENT
"Twenty five dollars! Why! You ain’t
a bad sort’ Thank you.” He went
slowly toward the door, revolving the
whole matter in his sodden old mind.
Suddenly he stopped, took off the old
gray cap he had donned preparatory to
exit, and stood a moment twirling it
in his hands—seeking for some ade
quate expression of a strange gratitude
nc felt.
"Say!" he cried a bit huskily, at last.
‘You ain’t a had sort—you sure ain’t!
Glo home. Kid!”
"No! No!” cried the boy from behind
s harrier of tretnbMng hands.
"HC>M ITS A SWELL PLACE. BOY!
YOC’LL KNOW IT WHEN YOU GET
OLD LIKE ME, AND AIN’T GOT
ONE!"
And so good-bye to .!im! And so
good-bye to all the flotsam and jetsam
of life the men and women who, hav
ing no Ideals, have none to give their
hildren who, making no home for their
children in t^ieii youth, are given none
by their children in old age
Kenneth sat alone, sunk in his pos
ture of helpless, hopeless weakness and
despair. The sunlight streamed in his
window the golden sunlight of the high
meridian—of noon and the high tide of
life and day that fol’ows it
At last the boy raised his gray young
face from his hands. He looked curi
ously ihquir ngiy at the sunlight HI?
own life lay In gray shadow In black
despair and regret—but the sun went
on shining
Deserted!
The dull curiosity and question re
mained a moment longer on his face.
Then he looked about him. Deserted!
lH w tawdry the room In which he sat
-how tawdry the causes that had
brought him here. His face hardened.
What was the use f thinking about it
ill?
‘The mo\<ng finger writes—and having
writ— *
Moves on Nor all your piety and wit
Shall lure It back to cancel half a
line- -
Nor all your tears wash out a word
of It!"
yond. And unless some one who loved 1
him truly and wisely and well could
banish that look-and banish that look
SOON, Kitty May’s revenge on the
house of Nelson must be so horrible that
even she would look on it in sorrow
and terror and remorse.
At last the boy got up. On his face
the deadly determination deepened so
that the shadow* of it must full across
the mind of whoever beheld him. But
would any one come In time?
He crossed over Into his unkempt bed
room, and came back at last with a
writing case. He sat at the table and
began a letter, ills pen trembled across
the paper for a few lines. He could
not summon the strength or the co*
herent thought to go on. He crumpled
the sheet and threw it on the floor.
The Mother's Appeal.
He walked over to the window and
looked down—eleven flights there was
sunshine down there on the cold white
stone—he could almost see—-a black
thing lying huddled there—a stream of
red oozing, oozing—the boy shuddered
back from the window and bis own hor
rible vision as if some power to impel
him lay In the frame of the window.
Not that way!
He came back and picked up the
phone.
*' 1171 IMaza. he said the Alpine
Apartments his father. His mind
worked on remorselessly while the op
erator was calling.
"No! No! Wait! 1 don’t want it—
it is a mistake l don’t want it!"
He put the phone down and crossed
slowly toward the door—at the other
side of the corridor lay Kitty's room -
perhaps that was the place the place •
for doing it!
There was a knock at the door to
ward which he was advancing with slow
haunted footsteps. He stopped with a
frightened g.i»i and stoud ten-**- and
quiet listening
The knock was repeated. He made
no noise he scarcely dared breathe.
A look of cunning crossed ids face.
There was a side door he could go down
the back corridor and reach and reach
Kitty's room. He would do it that way.
on tiptoe, noiselessly he crept toward the
door. He reached it. turned the handle,
took one step out into the corridor.
The other door opened—and his moth
er stood just within ills room She hes
itated, frozen with a nameless forebod
ing as she saw him.
The boy turned, looked at his moth
Quaintly the old quatrain from the
verse of Omar the Tent maker sang its
mournful cadence through his brain.
VGiat was the use? he thought again.
a deadly determination came over his
fare. His eyes took on a faraway look
a 1o k of one who has no concern with
life—who tees some goal—beyond—be*
ort of wild shrewdness,
as if nothing unusual
idly.
> wit!
er with a s
came back
happened.
‘‘Did you knock?" he said
“Kenneth! Mary pleaded s
- that J felt I must come at once!"
She stopped and looked around
disordered room fearfully This ant
n ' Whet v uld it mean?
"What is it, Kenneth?* Why uo
a nd
had
look like that? Where is the woman?"
‘‘Gone! You will—be—glad of that!"
Something in his voice impelled her—
frightened her—drew' her! She came
forward toward him toward the way
ward son for whom sweet Mary Burke
had pleaded with the eloquence born of
her love, adding softness to her gentle
voice. Emily Nelson spoke tenderly
now
"Ken! Come home!”
The boy's voice seemed to come back
to lier from far away.
"HAVE YOU A HOME? I DON'T
THINK SO! IF YOU’D EVER HAD A
HOME—THINGS MIGHT HAVE BEEN
DIFFERENT! I’M GOING NOW-
GOOD BYE."
“Going where?"
‘‘Quite a journey, mother anti l have
a lot to do so ”
Emily Nelson came closer; that name
less terror was clutching at her heart.
She wondered If It were something she
could tight
"1 can't let you go. 1 could not r<v
main away any longer. I scarcely
j needed Mary to tell me to come to come
at once. Kenneth, I am a foolish wom
an. 1 know , but l need you. Mary and I
will love you -love you like mother and
-sister—we'll make a home for you.”
"Mary love me! I’m not fit! And
like a sister!"
The boy laughed as one who sees a
vision of treasure lie may never own
of the promised land he may never en
ter
"l need you, Ken!"
His Determination.
"I’m sorry but I can’t help you Sor
ry but I can’t! I must go. I must
make sure that Kitty has not left any
of my letters. She was—was always
careless and I don’t want anything
pii re in the papers to humiliate father
after 1 liuve gone away. HE HAS
HAD ENOUGH OF HUMILIATION. I
UNDERSTAND ALL OF THAT NOW!”
lie turned and walked toward his bed
room* there was a sort of strength in
his weakness. There was Implacable de
termination in his step.
”1 brought you some money, dear,”
ventured the mother hopefully.
“Thank you. no. I have all that I
shall need," answered Kenneth quietly.
He spoke with a slow dignity. F’er-
haps Soerates, with his cup of hemlock
In his hand, looked like that. Perhaps
i the young martyrs tied in the arena
' wore such a look of far-away exultation
the end could only mean peace-and
rest.
The mother spoke anxiously.
'Let me wait here until you are
I through""
••Why?”
‘Let me!" she pleaded.
"Very well!" conceded the boy. al
' nn st Impatiently.
Ill come back,” she insisted.
"You
terror seemed to fill the roont with a
chill mist through which she could Just
see her son but through which the
warmth of her love could not penetrate
to reach him. He stood far aloof—
wrapped In cold dignity.
“Yes I will come back for a moment.
Then I must go.”
But would he come back—ever?
Emily Nelson walked over to the ta
ble and looked about anxiously—there
must be some clew—some alien presence
in the room to make her feel as she did.
The Letter.
Finally she sat in the great chair
drawn to the table—she picked up Ken
neth's pen idly enough There was ink
on it. It marked her white glove. Fresh
ink' But no letter—no scrap of writ
ing on the table! She looked around.
On the floor lay the crumpled letter.
She stooped and picked It up Smooth
ing it out, she read the few lines Ken
neth had traced there. As she read her
face balnched with fear—and horror
She looked fearfully toward the Inner
room—Ken’s bedroom. She heard noth
ing. She could scarcely rise from her
chair to walk toward the room. At
last she trembled to her feet. Then she
heard Ken moving about—heard a sound
of tearing paper. A moment’s respite!
He had said he would come back. She
must keep him—from that long jour
ney—that journey that knows no re
turn—she must keep him somehow. She
stood thinking—a mother's love—was
that strong enough? Strong! strong;
A father's strength! For one second
only she hesitated—then she seized the
telephone. •
"Plaza 1171! Quickly! Quickly!” Her
accents were agonized. Her voice was
tense and low and as she waited her
tortured nerves telegraphed for energy
to her brain which was being drained
by the steady demands on it for power
to meet this torture.
"Hello. Mr. Nelson? Mr. Charles Nel
son! Oh. are you sure? Where? Yes,
yes, thank you.” .
She rang off—then at once she called
again.
"Hello! The Engineers' Club! I don't
know the number—but it is so import
ant. Thank you!”
She put the phone down then crept
across the room, with fear and trem
bling and horror marking every step
for agonized waiting—and stood listen
ing for signs of life from her son’s
room. Then sh#» went back to the phone,
waiting In an agony of impatience,
sinking weakly at last into the chair ns
the faint ring she must muffle from
Ken s ears came to her own strained
j hearing
"The Engineers' Club? Mr. Charles
Nelson is lunching there. Please call
him it is of great importance-*—”
AT BAY A Thrilling Story of Society Blackmailers
(Novelized by>
(From the play by George Scar-
w beini
g<
borough, now being presented at the
Thirty-ninth Street Theater, New York.
Serial rights held and copyrighted hy
International News Service.)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
"Yes— fine feTIow, too, Mike—how long
you been on the force?”
"About five years—goin’ on five." re
plied Donnell precisely.
“Like it?"
"It’s a meal ticket." replied the po
liceman, grinning confidentially.
“Which is the best on the average—
the salary or the pickings?” asked
Larry.
Saved!
Donnell grinned.
•'Pickings. What’s that?" in a tone
of great innocence.
"A policeman who doesn’t kpow what
‘picking* is. I^et me illustrate" and
the air suddenly had a large chunk of
Itself removed between a rapacious
thumb and forefinger.
“Have a cigar. Donnell."
Slowly a scarlet banded perfecto was
switched from a pocket and carried
through the air to just where Dodnell
could get its full fine aroma. Then, as
the Captain tried to hand his gift to the
waiting recipient, his fingers became
very stiff and awkward and the cigar
slipped to the floor. Still clutching the
camera with his left hand Donnell
stooped after his "pickings”—and that
was Holbrook’s moment. By the time
Donnell had acquired his cigar, the tell
tale plateholder had gone to join the
booty in the pocket of the Captain’s
dinner coat.
As he stooped Donnell managed to
articulate: "Yes. but ye know this
ain't New York."
And as he slipped the plate holder
into his pocket Larry answered with
knowledge "Yes—but a policeman is
a policeman the world over.”
"I guess that ain’t no lie," replied
Donnell.
Larrv was fairly bursting with jubi
lant friendliness now.
"You're all right, Donnell—and if
anything ever happens to you here—
your foot slips—and you never ran tell
when it wi'l maybe I could help you
"Think you could, sir?”
“Indeed— and I do.”
And Larry was ready to welcome back
to the room even such once dangerous
foes as the chief and the inspector.
“Chief, I don’t suppose we can get
back to the filibustering matter to
night?” he queried
“No—captain—this has put a crimp
in it.”
"Well, any time I can assist you ’’
said the victor with large 'generosity.
“Not to-night. . .
"Sure?”
"Oh, I guess we have the matter fair
ly well in hand,” answered Dempster.
For one moment that gave Holbrook
pause. But he thought of the pockets
of his dinner Jacket and the sleeve of
his topcoat and took heart of grace.
He looped his coat over his arm and
set his gray fedora on his head after
a comprehensive sweep and salute.
"Well—if you’re sure there is nothing
I can do—good night."
And he thought the battle won. But
the battle had not yet begun.
Over the table in his den sprawled
the dead spider—poisonous, dangerous
even in death. And in a dainty bedroom
not far away a girl was staring out
into the night with eyes that were
learning to look on horror.
The men Holbfook left behind him in
the spider’s den w r ent on with their
grim business of tracking every possible
clew that led to the destroyer of the-
poison creature before them. And the
sprawling thing that had once been
called by his fearful victims a danger
ous and powerful man lay undisturbed
across the table where he had fallen.
In one dead hand he still clutched
the file on which he had carefully
pinned letters that might wreck for fair
women a possession more precious tha^
the poisoned and venomous life that had
just been taken from him. And tin-
rich trappings and comforts of the great
den were masterless until the law
should give them to the frightened boy
to whom Flagg had left a dangerous
heritage—the knowledge that human
weakness may be preyed upon by that
most despicable of all human weak
nesses— greed.
The sleuth- hounds of the law went
on with their work.
"Have you looked over that safe?”
said Inspector MacIntyre.
"N<>t thoroughly—no,” answered the
chief.
Tommy volunteered a bit of infor
mation, now. "Oh, there’s a box there
that will help voy, I am sure.” Notv
that Holbrook had gdne the boy’s at
titude of reticence bad chan god. What
influence - had this “world man” whom
Aline loved and her father hated over
the boy Tommy? Was it the strength
of a man who had learned in far and
strange lands to control weak natures
to his own uses or wa§ it some power
stronger than his very self working
through Lawrence Holbrook for the pro
tection of a cowering victim turned de
stroyer when at bay?
"What box?” asked the inspector.
"A tin box. sir, with my uncle’s pri
vate papers.”
“What kind of papers?"
“Why papers, sir—letters.”
To Be Continued Monday.
You can make a satisfying luncheon ol
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side dish for the evening dinner it adds zest
and savor.
Faust Spaghetti is very nutritious—it is rich
in gluten, the food content that makes mus
cle. bone and flesh. A lftc package of
FAUST
SPAGHETTI
ontains as much nutrition as 4 lbs. ol beef
ask your doctor. Conies in air-tight, mois
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book.
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