Newspaper Page Text
4
\
If
: IT
t
Y
rf
I
t
e
Will Power Means That Determination to Spen d $5 for a Gift and Not Spend $ 10
©
i
t
4-
Tabloid Tales
The Cold Witch
\ j
•:tt rHAT, Mother Mine. Is meant by
\\/ “be omlng philosophical?"
It mfiina, Little On*, th* ra-
** ration that we are Jogging along
v» r r comfortably and happily wlth-
■' it that to-day which yesterday we
'ere convinced we could not live
without.
No. 6—Dreams of the Past and Future.
BY STELLA FI.OHF.S |
Copyright. 1R18. International N«*« '>
Why Mother, do you think it la such
a p-ood thing for every man to marry?
Recs.ua*. My Chid. moat men
would swell up and burst with ron-
• It If they did not marry and have
«ome of the conceit taken out of
hem
■ - ,
-r r! * ' * i
>i « 'pj'i;; ilfpk’V VFfVW't
4-/'//• m vi 'r-am M
Who. Mother, la your Ideal of
Happy Man?
The crazy man. Daughter, with the
state taking care of him. and unlim
ited time to talk and handle big en
terprise* He la the happy man; It
la hla sane kin who are the miser
able onea.
1 LA &ZitSlW
■\\ r 1/^1 y>4
2
What, Mother, la the difference he-
•w^sn a woman’s conscience and a
man’s?
A woman’* eoneolence, Little One.
hurt* her when she fella a lie A
man’s hurts him when lie had a
nance to tell a He and didn’t.
Who Invented 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
himself, “What a good cook I am!”
Wny, Mother. 1» a man always
railed a woman’s protestor**
For the reason, TJttls One. that It
is hla natural Inclination to protect
her from other men Imposing on her. 1
preferring to do all the Imposing
himself.
Waa ever a compliment entirely
satisfactory. Dearest Mother?
Never, never. Child, for If the word
ing cave satisfaction there la always
the complaint that those who pay ua J
ompllment* don’t talk loud enough.
The man who has mean thing# to say
always makes himself heard.
What, Mother, la a genlua’
There ms many kinds, Little One.
but In one particular they are all
alike. A genius la one who makes
life uncomfortable for all around him.
la It true. Mother, as the men
■laim. that the Ink bottle at home la
always empty and the pen never to
oe found?
Not alwav*, Child. When a man s
fool streak la In control, and he wants
to write something he* shouldn’t, the
Ink pot la never empty and the pen
* always lying beside It and in per
fect repair.
FRANCES L. GARSIDE.
WearingKimono
to Breakfast
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
1 3 It proper to wear a kimono to
breakfast In a boarding house?
What do you mean by “proper”
— what sort of a 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
was eury 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
wv>rfd to look pretty In a kfraono-
lt Is almost as bad ae a bathing volt
when It comes to shewing up *vwr>
defect, that a gfad baa and ought not
to have.
Besides. It really *a a bit neglige#
for a boarding-house table—ffon’t you
think so, Morene?
It Is all very well to read about the
charmer* In aatin peignoir* and
dainty gold heeled slippers—that*a In
a book where a girl can cry and look
pretty at the aame time.
Out of a book a peignoir or a ki
mono, or a dressing Jacket, are ft for
Just exactly one place in the world,
and that Is in your own room.
■VO USE.
You won't faaclnate the young book
keeper who sits opposite with that
kimono—you’ll Juat make him wish
you would take time to dress youiueif
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. You can And
them In the wash frock department
of any of the big shops.
the wash dress.
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
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.
Blue and pink and lavender and
flowered—all colors, all styles, all
prices—i have seen very neat, pretty
little blue wash dresses for sale at a
dollar and a half—get one of those,
do your hair in a pretty simple knot
and you’ll look as sweet as a peach
and feel sure that you are doing the
right thing at the aame 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 New York
Adapted from the Big Broadway Success byOwenDavis
Novelized byl
I tom Owen Davis’ play now being pre
empted at the Flay house. New York, by
WlHiam 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 liis 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
he felt.
“Say!” he cried a bit huskily, at last.
You 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 PLACE, BOY!
YOU’LL. KNOW IT WHEN YOU GET
>LD LIKE ME AM' AIN'T GOT
JNE!”
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 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- j
ture of helpless# hopeless weakness and ;
despqlr. The sunlight streamed in his j
window—the golden sunlight of the high '
meridian—of noon and the high tide of j
life ami day that follows it
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
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. 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!
He came back and picked up the
phone.
”1171 Plaza,” he said—the Alpine
Apartments his lather. His mind
worked on remorselessly while the op
erator was calling.
“No! No! Wait! 1 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--
'
face from his hands, lie looked curl- |
ously—Inquiringly—at the sunlight. Ills
own life lay in gray shadow—in black
There was a knock at the door to
ward which he was advancing with slow ,
haunted footsteps He stopped with a
despair -and regret but the sun went | frightened gasp, and stood tense and
on shining.
Deserted!
The dull curiosity and question re
mained a moment longer on Ills face.
Then he looked about him. Deserted!
4iiiet— listening
| The knock was repeated. lie made
no noi^e—he scarcely dared breathe.
A look of cunning crossed his face.
There was a side door—he could go down
1 the back corridor and reach—and reach
How tawdry the room In which he sat |^ ltt} . s room WO uld do it that way;
on tiptoe, nolsel^sly he crept toward the
how tawdry the causes that had
brought him here. His face hardened
What was the use of thinking about H I cn0 Rtep out into the corridor ,
all? •
I door, lie reached it, turned the handle,
| The other door opened—and his moth-
“The moving Angei writes—and having er stood Just within his room She hes
itated. frozen with a nameless forebod
writ—■
Moves on. Nor all your piety and wit i . c| , .
Shall lure it back to cancel half a I ln *. a "
line —
Nor ail \our tears wash out a word
of It!”
the
The boy turned, looked at his motl:
er with a sort of wild shrewdness, and
came back a* if nothing unusual had
Id quatrain from the happened
“Did sou knock?” he said idly.
“Kenneth! Mary pleaded so with me
that 1 felt I must come at onoe!”
She stooped and looked around the
Bordered room tearfully. This and his
s no concern with j manucL What could it mean
it# lxtUWHuI .Wh.
i rxf Omar the Tentmaker sang Its
* f ul cadence through his brain.
• was the use? he thought again,
jeadly determination came over his
His e> es took on a faraway look
f one who has no concern with
4 tvmu
Vby do you
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 hoy’s voice seemed to come hack
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 at her heart.
She wondered if it were something she
could light
“I can’t let you go. I could not re
main away any longer. 1 scarcely
needed Mary to tell me to come to come
at once. Kenneth, I am a foolish wom
an. I know, but 1 need you. Mary and I
will love you love you like mother anti
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 you, Ken!”
His Determination.
"I’m sorry but 1 can’t help you. Sor-
r> but I can’t! 1 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
more In the papers to humiliate father
after l hav« gone away. yHE ft AS
11 \1» BNOl OH OF Hi MU.I ATI - '\ 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. 1 have all that l
shall need,” answered Kenneth quietly.
He spoke with a slow dignity Per
haps Socrates, with his cup of hemlock
in his band, looked like that. Perhaps
j the young martyrs tied in the arena
1 wore such a look of far-away exultation
the end could only mean peace—and
i rest.
I The mother spoke anxiously
“Let me wait here until you ate
through”"
“Why?”
‘I^et me!" she*pleaded,
j “Ver\ well!” conceded the boy. al
most impatiently. <
“You will come back,” she insisted,
j "Yes.”
“You promise me.
AT BAY A Thrilling Story of Society Blackmailers
terror seemed to fill the room with a
chill mist through which she could Just I
see her son—but through which the j
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 bactc—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 tlie 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 us 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 sne called
again.
•’Hello! The Engineers' Club! 1 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 walling -and stood listen
ing for signs of life from her son’s
room. Then she went back to the phone,
waiting in an agony V>f impatience,
sinking weakly at last into the chair as
the faint ring she must muffle from
Ken s ears came to her own strained
hearing.
“The Engineers' Club? Mr. Charles
Nelson is lunching there. Please call
him—it is of great importance ’*
(Novtllzefl by>
George Scar-
nlav
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 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 know what
‘pickings’ is. Let me illustrate”—and
the air suddenly had a large chunk of
itself removed between a rapacious
thumb and forefingA*.
“Have a cigar, Donnell.’’
Slowly a scarlet banded perfecto was
switched from a pocket artd 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 1 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.
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 can tell
when it will—maybe l could help \you
get a start in the BIG town”
“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.
“Xo—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 lie 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 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 his fearful victims a danger
ous and powerful man lay undisturbed
across the table where he bad 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 that'
the poisoned and venomous life that had
just been taken from him. And the
rich trappings and comforts of the great
GET
A
KODAK
I t3 to $65 B'owoloa $! to $12. S#nd for
•ompleto catalog ?#-da\ SPF.CtAL ENLARG
ING OFFER—«‘Ax*'a, mouotod. tram any
kodak noeatlve. 30c
A K HAWKES CO. “Vi
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 hat 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-
To Be Continued Monday.
WANTED. 1DEA5 ;
. ■-ar..l>r-r ■ —■
An Opportunity
ToMakeMonev
.1 ... . . . . r
. o! *» <! .btlrtr. ,h<mU wtt. K>-
n ~ d ' j .■«***-*.«
—»* -wv
CHICHESTER S PILLS
THE DIAMOND RRAND jT
The nameless
To Be Contir^ed Monday. '**
O01D By DRUGGISTS EVIRYMHUS
Ask ronrdmrr^Hor
It. If he caanot sup
ply the MARVKL,
ecc*pt no other, but
send stamp (or bonk
titude of reticence had changed. What
influence had this ”w r orld man” whom
Aline loved and her father hated ove*
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 was It some power
stronger than h1s very self working
through Law’rence 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.”
HU