Newspaper Page Text
1
r
%
e
Will Power Means That Determination to Spend $5 for a Gift and Not Spend $10
Tabloid Tales
W HAT, Mother Mine, is meant by
“becoming philosophical?”
It means. Little One. the re
alization that we are jogging along
very comfortably and happily with-
out that to-day which yesterday wp
were convinced we could not live
without. »
Why. Mother, do you think it Is such
a good thing for every man to marry?
Because. My Child, mobt men
would swell up and burst with con
ceit if they did not marry and have
some of the conceit taken out of
hem.
Who. Mother. Is your ideal of a
Happy Man?
The orazy man. Daughter, with the
Slate taking care of him. and unlim
ited time to talk and handle big en
terprises. He Is the happy man; It
s hls sane kin who are the miser
able enes.
What. Mother. Is the difference be
tween a woman’s conscience and a
man’s?
A woman’s conscience. Little One.
:urts her when she tells a lie. A
•tan’s hurts him when he had a
chance to tell a He and didn’t
Who Invented the cooking stove.
Mother Dear?
A man. My Child, and ever after 1
that when he saw something good
coming out of the oven he said to j
hlmaelf. "What a good cook I am!”
Why. Mother, is a man always j
'riled a woman’s protector?
For the reason. Little One, that It
is his natural Inclination to protect
her from other men Imposing on her,
preferring to do all the imposing
himself.
Was ever a compliment entirely !
• atisfaetory, Dearest Mother?
Never never. Child, for If the word
ing gave satisfaction there Is always
0»r complaint that those who pay us
compliments don’t talk loud enough
The man who has mean things to say
always makes himself heard.
What, Mother, is a genius?
There vre many kinds, Little One,
but In one particular they are all
alike. A genius is one who make.?
life uncomfortable for all around him
Is It true. Mother, as the men I
claim, that the Ink bottle at home Is j
always empty and the pen never to j
be found?
Not always. Child. When a man’s |
fool streak Is In control, and he wants)
to write something he shouldn’t, the j
ink pot Is never empty and the pen j
is always lying beside it and in per- j
i'vct repair
—FRANCES L. GARSIDE. 1
The Gold Witch
The Adventures of a Golden-Haired Heiress |
BY STLLLA FLO HLS
The Goid Witch finds an old harp—an instrument she loves. In the dimming twilight Tom i 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.
WearingKimono
to Breakfast
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
I U It proper to wear , k!mono to
brealcfMt In a boarilln, hoaee’
What do you mean by "proper"
-what sort of a boarding house do
j you live in?
I have seen jjlrls come down to
breakfast In a mob cap and R bou
doir . acket. and by the way they
crooked their little finger and had
onrh , time tipping their coffee, It
ivas eaav to eee that they Imagined
themselves the moat chmrmlnr and
fasolratlns of creatures—but they
weren't
They really were not—at all.
It takes the prettieet woman In the
world to look pretty In e. ltlmon#—
It Is almost as bad as a bathlnc »ult
when It comes to showlne up every
defect that a rtrl has and ouafet net
to have.
Beeides. it really la a bit necllgee
for a boarding-house table—iTen't yeu
tblnk eo. Morene?
It te all very well to read abeut th.
| oharmer* la sc-tln palgi olre actd
■ dainty gold heeled allrpers— that'e In
a book where a girl can cry and look
_ pretty at the earn# time.
Out of a book a peignoir er a W-
trvoiio, or a dressing Jacked, a re fit fer
Just exactly one pleoe In the wet?*,
and that Is !n your ova roote.
| no ns*.
Ton won't faeclnate tlteyouagbeek-
keeper who site opposite with that
lchmotio—you’ll Juat nab* him via*
you would take time to dress yeutaeif
before you come to breakfast.
Don't inalce any mistake, my dear,
the one thing a man really admire.
a real girl !■ modesty—If ho ovar
gets It Into hls hoed that yon ar.
lacking In that, nothing in tho world
that you can do will malso him really
respect you again.
Get yourself e coup!* ef r.eat pretty
little houee dreeses. You can find
them In the waeh frock departmsiu
of any of the big ehops.
the wash dhess.
Blue and pink and la\ ender and
flowered—all color,, all styles, all
I prices—I have 3B*n very neat, pretty
I little blue wash dresses for sale at a
| dollar and a half—get one of those.
Ido your hadr In * pretty simple knot
j end you'll look as eweet as a poach
land feel sure that you are doing the
I right thing at the eatne time.
Hang the kimono up on tho laet
I nail In your closet and never think of
| wearing It outside yenr own room.
That's a nke, sweet, sensible, modest
girl. ,
1
r
u
u
pr Al
vri
FT \
j
n
[T
p
pAAl
Dl
r\ A Dramatic Story of High Society Life in New York
J
lx
n
il
rAJ
LVU
ILI
LI
u
1
dUAJ
KJ
L/ Adapted from the Big ^roadway Success by Owen Davis
AT BAY a Thrilling Story of Society Blackmailers
[Novelized byJ
(Krom 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
gray cap he had donned preparatory to
exit, and stood ’ ft moment twirling it
in his hands—seeking for some ade-
luate expression of a strange gratitude
ue felt.
“Say!” he cried a bit huskily, at last.
• V.uu ain’t a bad sort—you sure ain't!
Go home, Kid!”
“No! No!” cried the boy from behind
his barrier of trembling hands.
“HOME'S A SWELL PUCE, BOY!
VOU’JjL know it when totJ.oet
OLD LIKE ME, AND AIN’T GOT
ONE!”
And so good-bye to Jim! And so
good-bye to all the flotsam and jetsam
of life—tile men and women who, hav
ing no ideals, have none to give their
children—who, making no home for their
children in their youth, are given none
by their children In old age.
Kenneth sat alone, sunk in his pos
ture of helpless, hopeless weakness and
despair. Tho sunlight streamed in his
window—the golden sunlight of the high
meridian—of noon and the high tide of
life and day that follows It.
At last the'boy raised hls gray young
face from hls hands. He looked curl-
msly— Inquiringly at ihe sunlight, lie
own life las in gray shadow—in black
despair—and regret—but the sun went
on shining.
Deserted!
The dull curiosity and uuestion re-
inaiiied a. moment longer on His face.
Then he looked aboftt him. Deserted!
How tawdry the room in which He sat
-how tawdry the causes that, had
brought him here. Uis face hardened
What was the use of thinking about it
-ill?
“The moving linger writes—and having
writ—
Moves on. Nor all our piety and w it
Shall lure it back to cancel half a
Nor all your tears wash out a word
of it!”
i Quaintly Hie old quatrain from the
'erse of Omar the Tentmaker sang its
nournful cadence through h - brain.
What was the use? lie thought again
\ deadly determination came ovet i '-
1 His «•> es took on a fa raw ■ \ 1
1 look of ..Ttf Who lms « mn-rr: w M
—**——>*,»..** ’ -a■no -uJU*
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
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 fall across
the mind of whoever beheld him. But
wouid any one come—in time?
lie crossed ever into his unkempt bed
room, and came back at last with a
writing case, fie sat at the table and
begun a letter. His 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 his own hor
rible vision as if some power to Impel
him lay in the frame of the window.
Not that way!
lie came back and picked up the
phone.
”1171 Plaza,” lie 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 In
ward which he was advancing with slow,
haunted footsteps. Hr stopped with a
frigid' d gasp, and stood tense and
quiet-—listening.
The knock was repeated. Up made
no noise—he scarcely dared breathe.
A look of cunning crossed his face.
There was a side door—he could go down
tho back corridor and reach- and reach
Kitty’s room. Tie would do it that way;
on tiptoe, noiselessly he crept toward the
<lonr lie reached it, turned the handle,
took one step out into the corridor.
The other door opened—and his moth-
f r nid jus: wiihin hi room. She h* -
iia'- U. frozen wiiii a nanicli ■% forebod
ing as she saw' him.
The boy turned, looked at his moth
er with a sort of wild shrewducst and
came back as if nothing unusual had
happened.
you kno'-K< sa.u 4i!>.
‘•Kennel : Mu pleaded v '*
look like that? Where is—the woman?”
“Gone! You—w’ill—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! 1
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—avd 1 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 fight
“f can’t let you go. J could not re
main away- any longer. I scarcely
needed Mary to tell me to come to come
at once. Kenneth, 1 am a foolish wom
an, I 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 he may never own—
of the promised land he may never en
ter.
"I need y ou, Ken!”
His Determination.
“I’m sorry—but I can t help you. Sor
ry - but T can’t! T must go. I must
make sure that Kitty has not left any
of nr> letters. She was was always
careless nd I don’t want anything
more in tho papers to humiliate father
after I have gone away. HE.- HAS
HAD ENOUGH OF HUMILIATION. I
UNDERSTAND ALL OF THAT NOW!”
Ho 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 H:c mother hopefully.
“Thank you, no. I have all that T
.-had 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 peace -and
sp<
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 be come back—ever?
Emily Nelson walked over to the ta
bic 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
draw’n 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 3aid 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! strongi
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
j tense and low and as she waited her
tortured nerves telegraphed for energy
to- her brain which was being drained
by Hie steady demands on it for power
to meet this torture.
“Hello, Mr. Nelson? Mr. Charles Nel
son! Oh, arc you sure? Where? Yes,
yes, thank you."
Bho rang off--then dt once she called
again. §
"Hello! The Engineers’ Club! I don’t
know' the number—but it is so import
ant. Thunk 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,
j sinking weakly a- last into the chair as
the faint ring she must muffle from
! Ken's ears came to her own strainer!
(Novelized by)
Tin
Mr
(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.
“Yes—fine fellow, 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 bent 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 know what
‘pickings’ is. Let me illustrate” and
the air suddenly had a largo 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 nis gift to the
waiting recipient, his fincers 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 rone to ioln the
booty In the pocket of the Captain’s
dinner coat.
As he stooped Donnell managed to
articulate: “Yo# but ye know tills
ain’t New York.”
And as ho slipped the plate holder
into Ills pocket Larry answered with
knowledge: “Yes—but a policeman is
a policeman the world over.”
"I guess th;u ain’t no He,” replied
Donnell.
Larry was fairly bursting with jubi
lant friendliness now.
“You’re al! right, Donnell and if
anything ever happens to you here
your foot slips—and you never • an tell
when i will maybe l. could help you
ge d etas in tho BIG town”
CHICHESTER S PILLS
, ’BR, UUlllOM. a
A,Tk- V. ■•‘IIm. 4»t y*nr llra»i,i t*.
i■'— / so?oryffjioGfiLLsmmhh:
“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 wo can get
hack 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. ...”
“SureY”
“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 tho sleeve of
hls topcoat and took heart of grace.
He looped bis coat over his arm and
set his gray fedora on hls 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
tbe dead spider poisonous, dangerous
even In death. And in a dainty bedroom
not far away a girl was staring out
into the night with eves that were
learning to look on l orror.
The men Holbrook left behind him in
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 bad once been
called by his fearful victims a danger
ous and powerful man lay undisturbed
across tho table where he had fallen.
In one dead hand lie still clutched
the file on which ho bad 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 gre at
den were masteries* until the law
should give them to the frightened boy
to whom Flagg had left a dangerous
heritage—‘he 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.
“Not thoroughly--no,” answered the
chief.
Tommy volunteered a bit of infor
mation now. “Oh, there's » box there
— that will help you, 1 am sure. Now
that Holbrook had gone tho 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 who bad learned In far and
stmnge lands to contrcl weak natures
to his own uses—or w:n it some power
stronger than hls very self working
through T*awrenee Holbrook for the pro-
tcetion of a cowering victim turned de
stroycr 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.
TKODAK
*nipiet« oatolof tti-dav
1*0 OFFER—4 ,*•
.•dak dCMtlva. 30c
..... infill
SPECIAL l NIARG
mounted, from any I
A K HAWKES CO • ATLANTA
Woman
Is Interested an J thorn’ !
know about the wondenui I
Wh.diag Jpraj
Douche
A {.if voordrag j: s t f or
it ffbeciosot aac-
p!y th- K.
? - *p* no other !v.;f
serd stamp Cor boo*
MnttiC».OL t A3dSt X T.
fl An Opportunity
To Make Money
inventors. «uen ot d.-aa sad inroative ebiiity, alioetJ write |a-
■ for eur hat at igveacroas needed, and pole# offered by laedinj
tufachirera
u,c< * wr sur returaed “Wkv tareatar*
1 a-1, i lov. to Get Your Patent aad Y eer N^eaer. ’ *11^ otlui
vaEaoi' Ixioxiets seat free to aev acidreee.
tfS&a RANDOLPH & CO.
'xkK*-’- ywwi mnmiMimrm
T?*- y r.y -P-sr
street. N. W„