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" A'Ri^hto^, r* r
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Faust Spaghetti it ver? nutritious—-it is rich
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Will Ty oWcr Means That Determination tc Stiend $5 for a Gift and Not Spend $10
Tabloid Tales
AT. Mother Mine \% meant by !
becoming philosophical?"
Jr mean*. Little One. the re-
lion that we are Jogging along I
comfortably and happll wlth-
that to-day which y**t*rday we
■ convinced we could rot live
Why Mother, do you th'.nk It I*
r good thing for every man fo marry? i
Fe^ause. Mv Chl'd moat men •
•>uld a* ell up and Curat with con
• *S? If they did no* marrv and have ,
s ime of the conceit , taker* out of I
y. o. Mother, fa your ideal of a
.lappy Man?
The crazy man. Daughter, with the
* ala taking caro of him. ai d unilm-
‘ M time to talk and handle big en-
• rpriiea He in tlie happy man: it
le hta sane kin who are the miser
able OTIC*
WUm-t. Mother, i* the 6iffeiei.ee ba
te een a woman's conscience and a
can’*?
A woman’s conscience. Little One.
hurt* her when «he tells a lie A
matt’* hurts him When he had a
.‘.anee t© tell a lie and didn't.
invented the cooking stove.
Mother Dear?
A roan. My Child, and ever af:er
that when he saw something good
< ©tnlnfr out of the oven he eald to
h’rree!f. "What a good cook T am'”
Why, Mother. Is a man always
a’.lari a woman’s protector"
Vmr the reason. Little One, that .It
ia Ida natural Inclination to protect
her from other men Imposing on her.
preferring to do all the Imposing
himself.
Waa ever r compliment entirely
satisfactory, Lea rest Mother?
Never never. Child, for if the word
ing gave satisfaction there Is always
the complaint that those who pay us
• ompliments don’t tslk loud enough.
The man who has mean things to aay
• ’ways makes himself heard.
What. Mother, is a genius?
There are many kinds. .Little One.
t» t lii one particular they are all
alike A genius is one who makes
'• uncomfortable for all around him
» it true. Mother, as tue men
- in. that the ink bottle at home in
- ways empty and the pen never to
>« found*"
Not always. Child. When a men's
tout streak Is in control.and lie wants
• write something he shouldn't, the
i.jv pot is never empty and the pen
always lying beside it and in per- •
PHAXC&H 1 i.ARStUP.
T y it proper to wear a kimono t. .
} breakfast in a boarding house
What do you mean by "proper"
j —what sort of a boarding house do
you live in?
] have seen girls come down to
breakfast in a mob cap and a bov
doir jacket, and by the way the
j crooked their little finger and bad
such a time tipping their coffee, it
*a* easy to see that they Imagined
themselves the most charming and
fascinating of creatures—but the,
j weren't.
They really were not—at all.
U takes the prettiest woman In th*
world to look pretty in a kimono —
it Is almost as bad a? a bathing sui’
when it • ■©me* to showing up every
; defect that a girl ha« and ought uoi
! to have.
Besides, it really ia a bit neglige#
for a boarding-house table—ffon’t you
j think so, Morerie?
it la ail very well to read about the
charmer* in aatin peignoir* aao
dainty gold heeled slippers—that’s l;
a. book where a girl can cry and loo*
1 pretty at the same time.
! Out of a book a peignoir or a 1..
mono, or a dressing jacket, are fit fo
just exactly one place in the worlc,
and that is in your own room.
j NO ISK.
You won’t fascinate the young boo»
| keeper who sits opposite with that
■ kimono—you’ll juat make him wis
j you would take time to dress yourse.
I before you come to breakfast.
Don’t make any mistake, my dea
the one thing a man really admire*
in a real girl is modesty—if he ever
^els It into his head that you are
i lacking in that, nothing in the worlc
| that you can do will make him really
* respect you again.
Get yourself » couple of neat pretty
little house dresses. Ton cart find
i them in the wash frock departmet
of any of the big shops.
THE M ASH DRESS.
ami
The Gold 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
Ids father steal in to listen. As the exquisite notes throb out, shadowy pictures form in past—of his ward’s mother, whom he loved bnt did not marry.
Blue and pink and lavender an<
‘ Powered—all colors, alt styles, ai.
: prices—I have «een very neat, prett
i little bine wash dresses for sale at a
dollar and a half—get one of thos*
■ do your hair in a pretty simple knot
! and you 11 look as sweet ae a peep-
! ftnd feel sure that you are doing the
j right thing at the same time.
Hang the kimono up on the la*
; nail in your closet and never think o'
J wearing it outside your own roo.\
That’s a nice, sweet, sensible, modes,
girl.
The Gold Witch
The Adventures of
\ o. 6—Dreams of the Past and future.
- ; \
(iolden-Haired Heiress |
j
Copyright, 1*1 \ International New* Aax»‘.««.
WearingKimono
to Breakfast
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX
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A Dramatic Story of High Society Life in New York
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Adapted from the Big roadway Success by Owen Davis
AT BAY A Thrilling Story o f Society Blackmailers
[Novelized byl
‘ From Owen l>avie’ play now being pre
sented at the Playhouse, New York, by
Wtfciani .A. Brady Copyright, lfj.3, by
Internationa! News Service )
TO-DAY'S INSTALLMENT
"Twenty-live dollar*’ Why! You ain’t
•< bad sort! Thank you.” He went
«iowly toward the door, revolving the
whole matter in hi* sodden old mind
Suddenly he stopped, took off the old
gray cap ho had donned preparatory to
exit, and stood a moment twirling it
In hie hand* —seeking for some ade
quate expression of a strange gratitude
tie f«Jt
"gay!” he erfed a bit huskily, ut last.
"You ain’t a bad sort—you sure ain’t!
Go home, Kid!”
"No! No!” cried tue tx» fn»ui behind
ois barrier of tremb’ing hands
"HOMfiT A SWELL PLACE. BOY!
roiruu know pr vhkn ^ < *i get
OLD UKi: ME. AND \1N’T GOT
ONE!"
.And so good-bye to Jim! And so
good-bye to all the flotsam and jetsam
of life—the men and women who, hav
ing no ideal* have none to give their
children—-who, making no home for their
children in their youth, arc g.veu none
by their children In old age.
Kenneth sat alone, sunk in hi*- pos-
vure of helples*. 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 foi'ows It
i^r At last the boy raised his gra> young
• . ftt e front his hands. He looked curi
ously—inquiringly—at the surdighl. Hi*
own life lay in gray shadow—in black
despair—and regret--but the sun event
on shining.
Deserted!
The dull curioail.t aou question re-
qaim* :» moment longer on his face.
Then he looked about liln* Deserted!
How tawdry the room in which he sat
how tawdry tlu» causes that Lad
wrought hire, here His face hardened
What was the use ><f thinking about it
of it! *
o-a i h the old quatra. * fror V *
re of Omar tie Tent maker .-ytif .«
urr-ful cadence '.firougi! hie brain,
.ct was* the use? he thought ugaii
v dc-foily oeLermitiatiqn » *utr over 1 '
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. *>n his face
the deadly determination deepened so
that the shadow 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, anil came back at la«t with a
writing case. Jle sat at the table and
began a letter. Hi* pen trembled across
ti>e juiper for a lew 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 ws*
sunshine down there on the cold white
stone—he could almost see—a black
thing ly»ng huddled there—a stream of
red oezing. oozing—tl*e boy shuddered
back from the window and his own hor
rible vision as If seme power to impel
him lay In the frame of the window.
Not that way*
He came back ami picked up the
phone.
"1171 Plaza." he said—the Alpine
Apartments—hi* father. Hi* mind
worked «*n remorselessly while the op
erator was calling.
"No! No! Wail! I don't want It—
, it i^ a mistake -I don't want It!”
lie put the phone down—atnl crossed
| slowly toward the door at the other
j side of the corridor ia> Kitty’s room—
I perhaps that was the place—the place -
; for doing it!
i There was u knock at the «.oor to-
* ward which he was advan< ing with slow
haunted footsteps, lie stopped with a
j frightened gasp, and st«*od tense an*.
) quiet listening.
The knock was repeated. He tnad*
r o noise—tie scarcely dared breathe.
1 A lock of cunning crossed hi* fare.
There was a si ie o<A»r he could go d»wt
the bacu corridor and reach and reach
i Kitty's j. on.. He would do it that way.
on tiptoe, noiselessly he * r» pt toward the
! door, lie reached it. turned the handle,
took one step out into the corridor.
The other door opened—and his moth
er ht’KMl just within his room. fc>he hes
itated. frozen with a nameless toreljo*!
j ing ae she saw him.
The boy turned, looked at his moth
er will a sort of wIkl shrewdness, and
ofttne hack as if -nuttjir.g unusual i.a<.
look like that" Where U—the woman?”
“Gone! You--will—be—glad of that!”
Something in h1s 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, addiug softness t.o her gentle
voice. Emily Nelson wpoke tenderly
now.
"Ken’ Come, home!
The boy’s voice seemed to coice 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—
GOODBYE.”
“Going where
“Cjuite a Journey, mother- -and 1 have
a lot to do—so ”
Emily Nelson came closer; that name-
lehs terror waa clutching at her heart.
She wondered if li were eometMng she
could fight
“I can’t let you go. 1 could not re
main away any longer. 1 •earcety
i needed Mary to tell me to come—to come
at Alice. Kenneth. 1 am a foolish wom
an. I know, but I need you. Mary and I
will love you—love you like mother ami
sister we’ll make a home lor you."
“Mary—love me' I’m not fit! And
I ke a ulster!’*
'Hie bo\ laughed as one who sees a
vision of treasure he may never own—
of ’the promised land he may never en
ter
”1 need you, Ken!
His Determination.
’Tin sorry—but I can’t help jou.* Sor
ry—but 1 can’t! I must go. 1 must
make *ur« that Kitty ha* n<»l left arty
of try letters. She wa^-fw always
careless and I don’t want anything
more in t’oe papers to humiliate father
’after I have £•••'*» away. XlK HAS
i HAD ENOUGH <>P HUMILIATION. I
l !>’l *EUSTANI.> ALL oF THAT NOW!"
H»- turned arui walked to warn] hi* bed
room there was a sort cf strength in
l'.i< weakness. There was implacable «>-
j lerminaih in his step,
j "1 brought you some money, dear."
i v.-mured the mother .hopefully .
i "Thank you. no. J Jiun* 1 all that I
<luall reed,” *: swered Kenneil) quietly.
I He spoke with a ak*w dignity. i’et*-
I haps Kc -era tea. with Lis cup of beniiot k
' in his hand, looked like that. Perhaps
We young martyrs tied iv th** arena
wore such a look <*f far-away exuluvtion
.he end could only mean peace ar.d
terror seemed to fill tlie room with a
chill rniat through which she could ju«i
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—l will come back for a moment.
Then J must go."
But would he come bacK—ever7
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 fee! a* she did.
Tlie Letter.
Finally she *at in fie great chair
drawn to the table—slie 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! 8he looked around.
On the floor Iny the crumpled letter.
She stooped and picked it up Smooth
ing it out. she read the few Hoes 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 souno
j 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! Qu.ckij! wuickly. 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 t for power
to meet thi* torture.
“Hello, Mr. Nelson Air. < iiarles Nel
son' Oh. are y ou sure Whefe? Yes.
i yes. thank you."
She rang off then at once she called
j again.
“Hello! The Engineers' flub! I don't
j know the number -hut it is*so Import-
I ant. Thank you!"
\ She put the phone down—then crept
j across the room, with few am! treiu-
| biing and horror marking every step
| for ag-nized waiting and atood listen -
j ing for sign* of life from her son’s
j room. Then she went back to tlye phone-
waiting in an agony of impatience,
sinking weakly at Iasi into tlie chair a*
, the faint ring she must muffle from
Ken’s eat' came :•> her own strained
• a earing.
"The l.'Lg..: ecr* Oub' .Mr t.'!:arl*t*
" him- ' i-' • J K -r: importance-
7 o Pe Continued Vc r n:*; .
{Novelized by>
(From the play by George Scar
borough, row being presented at the
Thirty-ninth Street Theater. New York.
Serial right* 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—guin’ on five." re
plied Donnell precisely.
“Like it?”
“It’s a meal ticket, replied the po
liceman. grinning confidentially.
"Which i* the best on the average—
the salary or the picking*7” asked
Larry.
Saved!
Donnell grinned.
“Pickings. What's that.’” >n a lone
of great innocence.
“A policeman who doesn’t know what
‘pickings' ie. 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
1 very stiff and awkward and the cigar
■ slipped to the floor. Still clutching the
j camera with his left hand Donnell
j stooped after his "pickings"—and that
i was Holorook’s moment. By the time
Donnell had acquired his cigar, the tell
tale plateholder had tone to join the
booty in the pocket of the Captain’s
dinner coat.
As he * looped Donnell managed to
articulate: "Ye*, but ye know thi*
} ain’t New York."
j And as he slipped the plate holder!
j into hi* pocket Larry answered with j
j knowledge: "Ye*—but a policeman |
| a policeman the world over."
"1 guess that ain’t no lie." replied j
, Donnell.
J Larry v*. < fairly bursting with ;ub -
. hint friendliness now.
j "You’re all right, Donnell—and if «
j anything ever happens to you nere •
j your foot slips -and you never can U.T !
when ii vyi-1 inayiw* i could help y«
i get a start in the BIG town"
QHIUHE37ER S P!LL$
, i *F. SB4MI G*
1 * *•"- < <•** r\ • \5p*
*VOhfiiiisisr\TRuf«ir
“Think you could, sir?”
“Indeed—and I do.”
And Larry *ajs ready to welcome back
to the room even *uch once dangerous
foes as the chief and the inspector.
“Chief, 1 don’t suppose we can get
back to the filibustering matter to-
light?” be queried.
“No—captain—this has put a crimp
in it.”
“Well, any time 1 can assist you ”
said the victor with large generosity.
“Net to-night. .
“Sure*.’”
“Oh, I guess we have th* matter fair
ly well in hand,” answered Dempster.
For one moment that gave Holbrook
painvN But he thought of the pockets
of his dinner jacket and the sleeve of
his topcoat and took heart of grace.
He looped his <*»at over hi* arm and
set his gray fedora on his head after
a comprehensive sweep and salute.
“AYell—-if you’re sure there is nothing
I can do—good night.”
And he thought tlie battle won. But
the battle had not yet begun.
Over the table in his den sprawled
the deai' spider—poisonous, dangerous
even in death. And in a dainty bedroom
not l’ar away a girl was staring out
into the night with eye* that were
learning to look on horror.
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 had once been
called by hi* 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 letter* that might wreck, for fair
women a possession more precious tha^
ihe poisoned and venomous life thru had
ittpt been taken from him. A no the
rich trappings and comforts of the great
aen were masterless until the law
shouVi 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 Jiuman 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.
Tummy 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. Wha;
influence had this "world man” whom
Aline loved and her father hated eve
the boy Tommy? Was it the strengt
of a man who had learned in far and
strange lands to control weak nature-
to his own uses—or was it some pow : et
stronger than his very self working
through Lawrence Holbrook for the pro
tection of a cowering victim turned de
strover when at bay?
"What box?” asked the inspector.
"A tin box, sir, with my uncle's m
vate papers.”
“What kind of papers?”
“Why papers, sir—letters."
To Be Continued Monday.
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