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] ■ #■ e 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. I i .A ! ... ,....■ i (■., 1 . i - -N t i£ I :■ ;-A % y ■.,.£;: •:i!> l vo j.' • '■ t A ' • *•■■■-' '■ T 1 - .... A:- ' . - -3 i j' y.'.-ni'L'.'S-'' a ^ JK Vi** Aj A'Alj;!ib / > W $ #|1 T L|§§f ! \ V.W 1 t-S#' ■' • SV ‘ \S*~ zw'.rmairHiIr'l 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 Faust Spaghetti alone—delicious, too. As a 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 ture-proof packages. Write lor free recipe book. At all Grocer#'—5c and 10c Pachas** MAULL BROS. St. Loui*, Mo. TKODAK FOR XMAS CtfOTTLOr,— 69w 15 to $65. Brownie* $1 to $12 Send for complete catalog to-day. SPECIAL ENLARG- I ING OFFER—fi'/axS 1 /*, mounted, from any | i.odak negative. 30e. A K HAWKES CO. Atlanta gt-t a start in the BIG town” Every Woman CHICHESTER S PILLS THE IMAMONII brand, is Interested and should know about the wonderful "You promise me. 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