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list Opportunity HgJ|j SP’ToMakeM oney I' ^^5 RANDOLPH a CO WWM 618 “F” Street, N. W.. *V4SH|\otoS, D. C. You can make a satisfying funcheon of Faust Spaghetti alone—delicious, too. As a side dish for the evening dinner it adds zest and savor. Faust Spaghetti is very nutritious—it is rich in gluten, the food content that makes mus cle. bone and flesh. A 10c package of SPAGHETTI contains as much nutrition as 4 lbs. of beef —ask your doctor. Comes in air-tight, mois ture-proof packages. Write for free recipe book. At all Grocery’—Sc and 10c Package* MAULL BROS. St. Louis, Mo. Will Power Means That Determination to Spend $5 for a Gift and Not Spend -NO NIL Tabloid Tales 'ITT THAT. Mother Mine. !a meant by "becoming philosophical?” It mean*. Little One, the re- - zatlon that we are Jogging along very comfortably and happily with out that to-day which yeeterday we > *re convinced we could not live Why Mother, do you think It la such a good thing for every man to marry? Because. My Chl’d. moat men would ewe'l up and hurst with con- • !t If they did not marry and have «nme of the conceit taken out of • hem Who. Mother, la your Ideal of • j r ?anpy Man? The rrazy man. Daughter, with the j State taking care of him, and unlim ited time to talk and handle big en terprises He la tha happy man; it it hla aane kin whe ara tha mlaer- sble one* What. Mother, la the difference be tween a woman’s conscience and a ! mane? A woman’a conscience. Little One. ! hurta her when she telle a He- A j man’s hurts him wlien he had a hance to tell a lie and didn't. Who Invented the cooking stove. Mother Dear? A man. My Child, and ever after thst when he saw something good coming out of the over* he said to himself. "What a good cook I am’" W^y, Mother. Is a man always • ailed a woman’s protector? For the reason. Little One, that It | Is his natural Inclination to protect I her from other men Imposing on her, preferring to do all the Imposing himself. Was ever a compliment entirely i satisfactory. Dearest Mother? Never, never. Child, for if the word Ing gave satisfaction there is always | the complaint that those who pay us , compliments don’t talk loud enough. 1 The man who has mean things to say i 1 ways makes himself heard. What, Mother, is a genius’ There aro many kinds. Little One. but in one particular they are all j alike. A genius la one who makes life uncomfortable for all around him. Is It true. Mother, as the men Malm, that the Ink bottle at home la ilways empty and the pen never to >e found? Not always. Child. When a man's fool streak Is In control, and he wants te wrlle something he shouldn’t, the Ink pot Is never empty and the pen s always lying beside It and In per- The Gold Witch The Adventures of a Golden-Haired Heiress — - ■ , > No. 6—Dreams of the Past and Future. Copyright, 1®13. International S*r»*°*. WearmgKimono to Breakfast By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. 1 2 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 wav they crooked their little Anger and had such a time tipping their coffee, it was easy to see that they Imagine 1 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 w’orld to look pretty In a kfmono- it Is almost as bad as a bathing *ptt when It comes to showing up every defect that a girt has and ought net to have. Besides. It really Is a bit neg!!**a for a boarding-house table—ffon’t you j think *o, Morsns? It Is all very well to read about tha Thar mere In satin peignoirs and da.inty gold heeled allppem—that's In a book where a girl can cry and look pretty at the same 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 roera. feet repair. FRANCES L. GARS1DE. The Gold Witch finds an old harp an instrument she loves, in the dimming twilight Tom and his father steal in to listen. As the exquisite notes throb out, shadowy pictures form in p* n [I r CAl Ml [T V i n [T D DA A1 PI A Dramatic Story of High Society Life in New York 1 Li LI £ rAJ IVU [LI i u U i DU A. KJ IS Adapted from the Big Broadway Success by Owen Davis tlie dusk. To Tom they are visions of a happy future; to his father bitter-sweet memories of the past—of his ward’s mother, whom he loved but did not marry. | jro r»K. You won't fascinate the ypung book keeper who Bits opposite with that kknono—you’ll Just make him wish | you would take time to dress youreelf 1 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 find them In the w’ash frock department of any of the big shops. the wash dress. 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 1n 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 same 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 AT BAY .1 Thrilling Story of Society Blackmailers [Novelized byl 1 1-ront Owen Davis’ play now being pre sented at the Playhouse, New York, by William A. Brady.—Copyright, 1913, by piternational News Service.) TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT "Twenty five dollars! Why! You ain’t <-4 bad sort! Thank you.” lie 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 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 K SWELL PLACE, BOY! YOU'LL KNOW IT WHEN YOU GET >LD LIKE ME, AND AIN’T GOT >NE!” And so good-bye to Jim! And so good-bye to all the flotsam and jetsam of life—the men and women w 7 ho, 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. The 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 bo> raised Ills giav young face from his hands. He looked curi ously—inquiringly—at the sunlight. His own life lay in gray shadow—in black despair and regret—but the sun went on shining Deserted! The dull curiosity and question re mained a moment longer on Ills face. Then he looked about him. Deserted! How tawdry the room In which he sat how lawdry the causes that had brought him here. His face hardened. What was the use of thinking about K all? 'The moving flrger writes—and having writ— Moves on Nor all your piety and wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a line — Nor all vour tears wash out a word of it!” Quaintly the old quatrain from the verse of i imar the Tentmaker sang fis mournful cadence through his brain. A "at was the use? he thought again. ' deadly determination came over his ” c. His eyes took on a faraway look !ook of one .who has no concern with jjj# sets «agA»4iejre»4-.be- 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 come 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 oorlng, 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 w r ant 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-^ I perhaps that was the place—the place— j for doing It! | There was a knock at the door to- ! ward w hich he was advancing with slow. I haunte* footsteps He stopped with a frightened gasp, and stood tense and i quiet—listening. Tho knock was repeated. He mads I no noise—he scarcely dared breathe. A look of cunning crossed his face. There was a aide door—he could go down i the back corridor and reach—and reach Kitty’s room. He would do it that way, on tiptoe, noiselessly he crept toward the door, lie reached it. turned the handle, j took one step out into the corridor. The other door opened—and his moth- er stood just within his room She hes- j itated. frozen with a nameless forebod | ing as she saw him. ! The boy turned, looked at his moth- , er w ith a sort of wild shrewdness, and came back as ifenothing unusual had j happened “Did you knock?” lie said Idly. “Kenneth! Mary pleaded so with me —that 1 felt 1 must conje at once!" | She stopped and looked around the ' disordered room fearfully. This and his j manner! What could it mean? 1 •'.VViiiti. ia iveauaiu'; Why tlu 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 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 at her heart. She wondered If it were something she could tight “I can’t let you go. I 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 worn an, I know, but I need you. Mary and I will love you—love you like mother and —sister—W’e’ll make a home for you.’ “Mary—love me! I’m not fit! And like a sister!” The boy laughed as one w ho sees a vision of treasure lie may never own— of the promised land he may never en ter. “I need you, Ken!" His Determination. “I’m sorry—but I can't help you. Sor ry—but I can’t! I must go. I must make si^re that Kitty has not left* any of try letters. She was—was always careless and I don't want anything more In the papers to humiliate father after- ! have gone away. HE HAS HAD ENOUGH OF' HUMILIATION. I UNDERSTAND ALL OP THAT NOW!'* He turned and walked toward his bed room -there was a sort of strength in his weakness There way implacable de termination in his step. “T 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 tho young martyrs tied in the arena ! wore such a look of far-away exultation the end could only mean peace—afcd rest. The mother spoke anxiously. l«et me wait here until you ate • through - ?” j “Why?” 'Let, me!" she pleaded. "Very well!" <onceded the boy, al most impatiently. “You will come back,” she insisted. "‘Yes." “You promise me.” The nameless terror seemed to fill the room with a 1 chill mist through which she could just i see her son—but through which tlie I warmth of her love could not penetrate to reach him. He stood far aloof— I wrapped in cold dignity. “Yes—I will come back^for a moment. Then 1 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 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 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 sne cabled again. “Hello! 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, waning 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 hearing. “The Engineers" Club? Mr. Charles Nelson is lunching there. Please call him—it is 'of great importance ” To Be Continued Monday, —> (Novelized by> (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 7 , 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 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 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’fe all right, Donnell—and if anything ever happens to you here— your foot slips—and you never ('an tell when it will—maybe T could help you get a start in the BIG town” "Think you could, sir?” “Indeed—and I do.” And l^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. "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 w’ell 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. • —if you’re sure there is nothing I can do—good night.” And he thought the battle w’on. 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 7 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 7 » the poisoned and venomous life that had just been taken from him. And the rich trappings and comforts of the great den were masterless until the law should give them to the frightened boy to whom F'lagg had left ty 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 that safe?” said Inspector MacIntyre. “Not thoroughly—no,” answered the chief. Tommy volunteered a bit of infor mation now 7 . “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 ”w 7 orld man” whom Aline loved and her father hated over 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 his very self working through Lawrence Holbrook for the pro tection of a cowering victim turned de stroyer w'hen 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. CHICHESTER S PILLS rfjv THE l)lAMO\B BRAND. a A'. r»rnYl.rtffV.TFtK l>IA?ONf» BRAND PILLS. £ yezn known •> B«»t. Safaat, Alwavs Reliable 7S-:£.S01D BV BRIOGiSIS EVERVHflBS Every Woman is interested and should know about the wonderful Marvel Douche Askroardrugflatfor it. If he cannot sup ply the MARVEL, accept no other, but send stamp for book