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Will Power Means That Determination to Spend $5 for a Gift and Not Spend $10
NIL
Tabloid Tales
W HAT, Mother Mine, Is'meant by
“becoming philosophical?"
v It means, Little One. the te-
n ilzatlon that we are Jogging along
°ry comfortably and happily with
out that to-day which yesterday we
irere convinced we could not live
without.
WTir. Mother, do you think It Is such
■ good thing fog every, min, to marry?
Because. My Child, most men
vould swell up and burst with con-
•»it If they did not marry and have
some of the conceit taken out of
Who, Mother, Is vonr Ideal of a
lappy Man?
The crazy man. Daughter, with the
State taking care of him. and unlim
ited time to talk and handle big en-
'^rprlses. He Is the happy man; It
his wn« kin who are the miser
able ones.
■ ■ • ’ * t
WT>*r' Mother, ii tSe AtiTerenej be-
w«en a woman’s conscience and a
•nan’s?
A woman’s conscience. Little One,
nrts her- when she tells a lie- A
•nan’s hurts him when he had a
nance to tell a lie and didn’t
Who invented -.the cooking- sto.ye.
Mother Dear? ■ |^-
A man, M^. # (Milld, and ever after
that when he daw something good
coming out of the oven he said
Gold Witch
The Adventures of a Golden-Haired Heiress
BY‘STELLA FLORES
Why. Mother, is a man
ailed a woman’s protector
For the reason. Little On
• his natural Inplingtlon to protect
her from other men imposing on her,
preferring to do all the imposing
imself.
Was ever a compliment entirely
satisfactory. Dearest Mother?
Never, never. Child, for if the word-
:n E gave satisfaction there is always
the complaint that those who pay us
compliments don't talk loud enough
The man whq, ha£ mean tilings to say
a ways makes himself heard.
WhAt. Mother, is a genius?
There are many kinds. Little One.
bwt In one particular they are all
eUka A genius is one who makes
life unoomfortaYle fer all ardund him.
Is it true. Mother, as the men
l&Im. that the ink bottle at heme Is
always empty and the pen never to
be found?
Not always. Child. When- a man's
fool streak Is In control, and he wunts,
to writ;e something he shouldn't, the i
ink pot Is never empty and the pen
•s always lying beside It and 1n per- j
feet repair.
r-FRAN^ES L. GAR SIDE. ‘
uu : b i • ::: ui;«.
t n i\ <
v* Rlways> [ \
n«. th»t tt'l fi f'J
to nrnfprt L al. KM r, L,"-
The Gold Witch finds an old harp—an instrument she loves In th<* dimming, twilight Tom 1 the dusk. To Tom they are visions of a happy future; to his father bitter-sweet memories of the
and his father steal in to listen. As the exquisite notes throb out, shadowy pictures form in past—-of his ward's mother, whom he loved but did not marry.
W earingKimono
to Breakfast
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
1 3 It proper to wear a kimono to
breakfast In a hoarding ho-;*»e?
What do you mean by “proper*
--what sort of & boarding house do
you live in’*
I have seen girls come down to
breakfast In a mob cap and a bou
doir Jacket, and by the way they
crooked their little Anger and had
such a time tipping their coffee, it
j was eaay to see that they imagined
themselves the most charming and
fascinating of creatures but they
weren’t.
They really were not—at all.
It takes the prettiest woman in the
world to look pretty In a kimono—
It In almost an bad as a bathing suit
, when It comes to showing up every’
defect that a girl has and ought not
to hev*
Besides. It really In a bit negligee
for a boarding-house table don’t you
think no, Morene?
Tt In all very well to read about the
• charmers In stutln peignoirs and
dainty gold heeled slippers—that’s in
a book where a girl can cry and look
1 pretty at the same time.
^ Out of a book a peignoir or a kl
; mono, or a dreaming Jacket, are At for
just exactly one place In the world.
I and that la in your own room.
HO USE.
You won't fajsclnate the young book
keeper who site opposite with that
kUnono—you'll Just make him wish
I 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, nothing In the world
that you can do will make him really
respect you again.
Get yourself a couple of neat pretty
little house dresses Tou can And
them in the wash frock department
of any of the big shops.
THE WA!»H DRESS.
Blue and pink and lavender and
(lowered—all colors, all styles, all
prices—I have seen very neat, pretty
little bluo wash dresses for sale at a
dollar and a half—get one of thone,
do your hak in a pretty simple knot
and you'll look us sweet as a peach
and feel sure that you are doing the
right thing at the same time
Hang the kimono up on the last
nail In your closet and never think of
wearing it outside you: own room.
That’s a nico, sweet, sensible, modest
glrL
THE FAMILY CUPBOARD
A Dramatic Story of High Society Life in New York
Adapted from the Big roadway Success byOwenDavis
AT BAY A Thrilling Story of Society Blackmailers
[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
“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
?ray cap he had donned preparatory to
exit, and stood a moment twirling it
n his handB -seeking for some ade-
iiiate expression of a strange gratitude
felt.
•'Say!'' he cried a bit huskily, at last.
You ain't a had sort—you sure ain’t!
So home. Kid!”
“No! No!’.’ cried the boy from bellind
his barrier of trembling hands.
“HOME’S A SWELL PLACE, BOY!
YOU'LL KNOW IT WHEN YOU GET
OLD LIKE ME. AND AIN’T GOT
ONE!”
And so good-bye to Jim! And so
codd-bye fo 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
hildren in their youth, are given none
by their children in old age.
Kenneth flat alone, sunk in his pos-
jr'e of helpless, hopeless weakness and
despair. The sunlight streamed in his
window—the golden sunlight of the high
neridian—of noon and the high tide of
life and da>’ that follows It.
At last the boy raised his gray young
lace from his hands. He looked curi-
uflly—Inquiringly—at the sunlight His
wn life lay in gray shadow—in bladk
despair—and regret—but the sun went
on shining.
Deserted!
The dull 'curiosity and question re
mained a moment longer on his face.
Th*n he looked about him Deserted!
How tawdry the room In which he sat
how tawdry the causes that had
brought him here. His face hardened.
What was the use of thinking about it
all?
'The moving finger writes—and having
writ—
Moves on. Nor all your piety and wn
Shall lure it back to cancel half a
line-*- . . .
Nor all vour tears wash out a *ora
of ft!"
Quaintly, the old quatrain from the
werse of Omar the Ten 1 maker sang its
mournful cadence through his brain.
What, wds the use? he thought again.
\ deadly determination came over his
facp. ; -Hi* eyes |bo)c on a faraway loph,
* k)b*k of one wlu$ has no concern wim .... ,
life—who sees some goal—beyond - be-I ""'bat *s It, Kenneth. " hj do juu
yond. And unless some one who loved
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
oven 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 sha/iow of it must fall 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 la^t with a
writing case. He sat at 'the table and
began a letter. His pen trembled across
the paper for- a few lines. He could
pot 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 his 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. Plaza. ' he said—the Alpine
Apartments—his father. His mind
worked ■’on remorselessly while the op
erator was calling.
“No! No! Wait! I don't want It—
it is a mistake—I 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. Pie stopped with a
frightened gasp, and stood tense and
quiet—listening.
The. knock was repeated. He mads
no noise—he scarcely dared breathe.
A look of cunning crossed his 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 his room, She hes
itated. frozen with a nameless forebod
ing as. she saw him.
The boy turned, looked at his moth
er v h a sort of wild shrewdness, and
•came hack as If nothing unususl had
happened.
••[>ki you knock?” he said idly.
“Kenneth! Mary pleaded so with ins
- that I feft I must come at once!”
i- stooped and looked aroqnd the I
,, ..r r/ujl CO Opr,.lea sf I ULy. J Ms and his
Yv.DO!’’ vfaiAUcould ft mean?
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 her 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 -and I have
a lot to do—so- -
Emily Nelson came closer: that name
less terror was clutching a! her heart.
She wondered if it were something she
could light
“I can’t let you go. 1 could not re
main away any longer. . I scarcely
needed Mary to tell me to come—to -come
at once. Kenneth, I am a foolish wom
an, I know, but I 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 he may never own—
of the promised land hp may never en
ter.
“I need you, Ken!”
His Determination.
“I’m 9orry—but I can't help you. Sor-
ry—but I can’t! I must go. 1 must
make sure, that Kitty has not left any
of my letters. She was—was always
careless—and I don’t want anything
more In the papers to humiliate father
after—I have gone away. HE HAS
HAD ENOUGH OF HUMILIATION. I
UNDERSTAND ALL OF THAT NOW!”
He turned and walked toward his bed
room—there was a sort of strength in
his,weakness. There was implacable de
termination in his step.
“I 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. Per
haps Socrates, with his cup of hemlock
in his hand, looked like that. Perhaps
the young martyrs tied in the arena
wore such a look of far-away exultation
—the end could only mean peae<- - and
rest.
The mother spoke anxiously
“Let me wait ii*-re until you are
through ?”
“Why?”
'Let me!" slu pleaded.
“\ cry n >
.impatiently. ,
"V.'-'t* tWU .< '»n - hack,'’ ;• . tt.il •!• '* .-
”lVa P*«
terror seemed to fill the room 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
3tood 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 caJled
again.
“Ilfello! 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 she went back to the phone,
waiting in an agony of impatience,
sinking weakly at last into the chair as
the faint ring she must muffle from
Ken's ears came to her own strained
liea ring.
"The Engineers' Club? Mr. Charles'
Nelspn is lunching there. Please call
U V* of nrrcat Importance »”
The nun .> - j 1 * r< '
(Novelized by)
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.
“Yes—flne fellow, too, Mike—how long
you been on the force?”
“About five years—goln’ 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.
I Saved!
Donnell grinned.
“Pickings. What’s that?” in a tone
of great Innocence.
“A policeman who doesn’t know what
‘pickings’ is. Let 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 Donnell
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 hr 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 He," replied
Donnell.
l>arry 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 will maybe I could help you
get a start in the BIG town”
“Think you could, sir?”
“Indeed—and I do.”
And I^arry 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 10-night. . . .”
“Sure 7”
“Oh, I guess we have the matter fair
ly w’ell in hand." answered Dempster.
For one moment that gave Holbrook
pause. But he thought of the pockets
of hlfl dinner jacket and the sleeve of
his topcoat and rook b** rt of fU^ce.
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 de.ad 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 Holbrook left behind him 1n
the spider's den went 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 the
rich trappings and comforts of the great
den wore masterless until the law
should give them to the frightened hoy
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—greod.
The sleuth hounds of the law went
on with their work.
"Have you looked over that safe?”
said Inspector MacIntyre.
“Not thoroughly—no,” answered the
chief.
Tommy volunteered a bit of infor
mation now. “Oh, there's a box there
— that will help you, I am sure.” Now
that Holbrook had gone the boy’s at
titude of reticence had changed. What
Influence had this "world man” whom
Aline loved and her father hated over
the boy Tommy? Was it the strength
of a man w’ho had learned in far and
strange lands to control weak natures
to his own uses—or was It some power
stronger than his very self working
through Iawrence 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.
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