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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