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# Don't Charge So Much to Father, He Will Be Sorry Santa Claus Didn't Bring Flim a New Wife * @
y y ~ /a\ im ^
/;/ the Web of a Woman's Smile
or* right, HM3. loTernitiona: News Keme*.
in’ NELL BRINKLEY
Adapted from the B<g Broadway Succeaa j
By Owen Davit.
(Novelized by!
I rnm Owen Davis’ play now i*einn pre-
«en*od at the Playhouae, New York, by
William A. Brady. Copyright, 1913, by
International News Service )
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT
"She will be ail right She wouM
he all right anywhere Mary Is strong
and fine and clean Tha Nelsons never
dhi anything for her She Is no waster
she. knows how to stick. I wlah I
could see her again before I go Rut
I can't I've no right Kay good bye
to Mary for me. mtoher "
He turned toward the door
“I kissed her that day. Perhraps I
meant it. after all Tell her—tell her
T'm glad I knew her and good-bye!"
“Ken. Pear!"
"No!”
"KEN!” Her cry stopped him In it
wan all of a mother's agonized love
"One minute, Ken."
He turned reluctantly "What is it?"
"M.v business affairs They are In a
dreadful state"'
• "Pamton Is a good lawyer.”
"Yes oh. ves hut after all
"Surely, you don't want my advice!
After the way I have muddled my own
affairs'’'’
"Why not**"
Emily Nelson stepped to her son s
side. She must dare all now physical
force, demonstration even. If need he.
she must confess openly that she knew
where he was going
"You are my boy, my son s rnan now*
A grown man Who should help me If
not you. Ken? Come!"
She threw her arms around him
"All of us have made mistakes Ken.
dear, all of u»! Mine has been the
greatest—let’s forget them—All! l^et’s
try again! We. all of us. have skeletons
in our cupboards, dear. Rut as Sarah
Harding says, we can. at least, shut
the door on them left's do It and for
get!"
"I can’t, you sec.' said Ken. patiently
He must explain He must ma'ke his
mother understand t*he grim impossibil
ity of doing what ahe asked ‘"I can’t
forget! I have only |ust begun to re
member—to think; as he said I should.
I HAVE SO MUCH TO REMEMBER
You can’t forget—that’s the worst of It!
Not until you have paid!”
"But don’t you see "
"I don’t want you to thirtk 1 am rude,
mother," said Kenneth, stepping away
from her with a pitiful show of grave
courtesy, "but I must go"
"Walt!** implored Emily Nelson.
"No!"
"Kennefh!’' she caught at him. clutch
ing wildly for the physical assurance
of the mere feel of the texture of his
rough tweed sleeve.
"I can’t let you go. Ken’ One minute.
Juat one
Wild sobs were struggling in her
throat. Her eyes burned. The contest
was so pitifully uneven! She had only
words—words—and agonized love that
could make no Impression on this tor
tured young mind to whom love was
only a snare—a vision—a mirage—a
Fata Morgana.
"Why—one minute?” asked Ken with
cold Impatience.
She felt bow helpless she was to
bridge the gulf between and reach her
son. She could not penetrate the mist
of suffering and touch his heart
"I- I want to ask you something
"Forgive me! I am sorry—and If if
you ever see him father tell him
The boy’s voice broke Here was an
emotion at last !
"Yes?” cried the mother's heart ea
gerly.
"That I know 1 am not worth another
chance! Just tell him that 1 love him —
that’s all—just as I used to when I was
little He will understand!"
Would the father be In time** Could
he save the boy. whose only living emo
tion seemed to be love for his father”
Emily Nelson’s tortured brain could only
ponder— and pray.
The mother frantic with fear ami
hope— stispense and longing, seized the
boy in her clasp at Inst With trem
bling arms she enfolded him and held
him close, close to her pulsing heart
Xl^et me go, mother! I’lea-se!
*N®t yet. dear boy Wall!”
"1 must! Mother! 1 cant stand it.
I must!"
He struggled frantically against the
pitiless, pitiful soft clasp of those en
folding arms. Tighter, lighter. Emily
Nelson drew her boy. Could she hold
him? Or would he use his man’s
strength and break from the soft fet
ters?
"Dear’ Dear boy! lam your mother
—holding you my arms about you, just
as they were when you were a baby."
Her voice broke. "When he was a
baby.” And the pitiful years between’
The burning tears would no longer be
forbidden they flooded her eyes.
•'My boy! My Ken! I am holding you
safe. You can’t go’ I was a good
mother then. 1 never let you get hurt.
If all my strength could hold you. I
guarded you, just as l am doing now."
He stirred in her arms Her voice—
love’* magnet ism had held hint for a
moment, but he must go now!
■*. v Ken! No! No! You can’t go!"
To Ba Continued To-morrow.
Every Woman
/
Advice to the
Lovelorn
|V
§43
•'--s
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5
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m
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
)
\
1NJ. <
V^X
V
L
A**-
r
ACT AS IF YOU DIDN’T CARE TO.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am 20. and though I know
several young men. have never
met a young man who aeqms to
care enough to propose to me.
What shall I do in order to win
someone? SORROWFUL.
If you let the men know you are on
husband hunt they will carefully
avoid you.
Be a little independent; And such
happiness in the society of women
the men will be interested in know
ing what you are happy about. And
don't worry* because no lover comes
your way! He will bring sorrow as
well as joy when he does come.
• q o>.
-m
N ~r\ \
\ Y" ,
X o&'d/
V- \
NO SIGN HE DOESN’T.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I have been keeping company
for several months with a young
man two years my senior, and
love him dearly. One night last
week when walking along the
street I met him with a young
girl to whom he introduced me as
his friend. Do you think he cares
for me? HEARTBROKEN.
He is not engaged to you, and hi*
appearance with another girl is noth
ing to cause your heart to break.
Have a little more pride, my dear. I^et
him see you don’t care how many
girls he goes with and he will think
all the more of you.
//
PURELY FRIENDLY.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
I am very much in love with a
young man five years my senior.
He has gone away to college and
writes to me twice a week. We
are not engaged, but he tells me
how much he cares for me in
every letter. Now, I am unde
cided how to answ r er his letters.
A. C.
Be friendly, keeping a careful guard
on your pen. Write nothing you
would be ashamed to see in print. If
he still loves you when his school
days are ended, there will be many
opportunities for telling him that
which it Is wiser never to write.
x
A
-- T'
MOST DECIDEDLY NOT.
Dpar Miss Fairfax:
I have been keeplns company
with a young gentleman for the
past year. He insulted me in
company,* and we had a quarrel,
and he has not apologized and
said he wouldn’t. Should I make
up with him or not? LOUISE.
Do you want to be Insulted again?
That is what a reconciliation will
amount to. Have nothing more to
do with him.
1 KNOW a girl with a smile. From her crisp metallic hair to the
straps of her slippers the is what folks call “comely.” But it
Isn't the erinltle In Iter hair, nor the white column of iter neck,
nor any of these fortunate things small ears and a beautifully turned
wrist and a head with real Ideas in it and a warm heart—that calls
men to her like yellow jackets to a honey jar! “She has such blue
eyes.” offered one chap. But there are miles of girls with blue-bluer
eyes' "Her hair is so gold.” Hut the girls with “golder” hair who
are prettier than she would make a glittering girdle around the world!
Only one chap confesses: "1 don't know what It is. but WHATEVER
IT IS. and whatever you are man, woniun or little kid you answer
right up to It and bring your heart on a platter!”
it's her smile! She Is one of those women with a SMILE. All
tlie angels in Baradise get out ihtdr song-books ami begin when site
does smile. The sullen little kid can't hold o it against it to save his
slim little stem of a neck. The woman who is over-fond of masculine
camaraderie and sniffs at the friendship of her own soft sex. who is
tinctured with the bitterness of envy of all fair women, flops right
over into the choir that sings her praises after ’bout half a dozen
smiles. All childhood wreaths its arms ’round her waist and its
heart about her image when she stops and smiles. But MAX—the
grouchiest one of them all—glows like a kitten in the sunshine when
her eves crinkle and the red of her mouth curls away from the snow
of her teeth; the bashfuiest one spreads the gay wings of his fancy
under the warmth of her laugh like a grateful butterfly under the sun;
it’s her smile! It’s as real as the color on the cheek of a peach—tt’s
as soft as a sigh—as luring as the last-plucked string of a harp—as
tender as a California valley in blossom-time! Sometimes when I look
straight into the amazing marvel of her soft, soft smile the world
grows dim and fades, and before the dearness of her face a web grows
—a golden rainbowed web—and it rays out from the smiie of her
mouth in a thousand gossamer threads. And, caught by the wings
and toes, and tummy and nose, are countless little pink LOVES—
struggling and thrashing, caught coming for honey—blinded by tb6
great light of her smile—giddy with its beauty!
Thin isn't like it. I must "scratch for a living" aeons longer to be
able to put it on plain white Bristol-board. If it wan like it you'd be
tangled up in this web also, my friend. How do you smile? Have you
ever thought to look? Maybe you have a great one if you'd 1st it
come oftener. Everybody can’t entangle the world with the smiles
of tjieir mouth—but they draw closer all human kind—smiles do.
—NELL BRINKLEY.
Better Kept Quite.
§ © TTie Manicure Lady # ©
By WILLIAM F KIRK.
“I
I’SED to think that I knew
about all the different types
of men." said the Manicure
Lady "1 don't think so no more.
George. Honest to goodness, there is
some new form of a nut comes In al
most every day to have his nails did
1 guess there ain't no end to them
Did you notice that fellow that Just
went out ? He Is about as near a
plain bug as was ever around with
out no keeper lie told me that he
wouldn’t never have his nails did
only it soothed him when he got
nervous. He said he got nervous
every time he felt the longing for a
spree stealing on him. and that when
he felt as if he wanted to go out and
mop up all the spare drinks in our
beautiful city he always went instead
and had his nails did If the old
gent had his nails did every lime he
wanted a drink, they would be all
cut off long ago. and this young fel
ls to tar* s tad and ehonld
know About the wonderful
Marvel ’
Douche
Att mr 4mm* to
ll : Hh*cinno laJy
tt Ithe canno* fcarv
the Hakve!
h!:.
.tamj-lorbooV
“"Hi M. SL. L L
low looked as if he could trot in
father's class at that He ha*d one of
them big necks and a kindly but de
termined face, and any time you show
me a man like that 1 will show you
a sincere drinker.
"If I was nervous I wouldn't want
nobody fussing around m> nails,
said the Head Barber.
"That Is what I was thinking."
said the Manicure Lady, "though 1
didn't have the heart to tell hint that,
and besides l was afraid he would
change his mind and do me out of a
job. so I just went along and pinked
up his little nails as if he was a lead
ing man in a society stock company.
It did seem to kind of soothe him. too.
though he gave i kind <*f convulsive
twitch when be heard a fellow in your
chair saying that he had just drank
two fizzes before breakfast.
“He said bis little times usually
cost him a lot of dough, and 1 guess
he was right, because he had an
awful roll with him when he paid
me. and he gave me a dollar tip as
though it was a nickel. Ain't it too
bad, George, that the kind of men
that drinks the most is usually fel
lows that you would be real fond of
if they didn't drink at all?
"1 have known a lot «»f men that
the drink habit got the best of. and.
as I remember them, George, they w as
all regular fellows N >w you take .t
chap like my brother Wilfred. No
body ever heard of a harmless little
fellow like him getting stung by the
high-proof stufT. because that kind
of men seem* to slide along through
life without doing nothing hard
enough to hurt them."
Most of the hard drinkers I know
is men that would be big men in the
world if they didn’t hit it up.” said
the Head Barber, "and that's why I'm
against whisky. It' it killed off a lot
of warts and left the good fellows
safe it would be a kind of a blessing
in disguise, but it is just the other
way, and I wish the stuff had never
been invented.”
"That is just what 1 was saying to
father up to the house the other
night,' said the Manicure Ixidy. "The
old, gent agreed with me for polite
ness. but it made him gulp kind of
hard, and I know it cut him to the
heart to say a unkind word about
bourbon But it is a shame to see
what it dors to a fine-looking, smart
acting chap like that fellow that Just
went out. It lias turned him into a
nut. because nobod> except a nut
would have his nails did iu soothe
him You wait till us women has a
vote, and you wjll see where the
demon rum gets a awful kick in the
shins. And that ain't the only grand
work us women is going to do at the
polls either And that time is com
ing. too. George."
Maybe. ' muI the Head Barber, but
when that time comes you will be
too old to vote and l will be too old
to care."
AT BAY
A Thrilling Story of
Society Blackmailers
(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.)
The origin of the saying "as clean as
a whistle" is ascribed to the ' whistle-
tankard” of olden times in which the
whistle came into play when the tan
kard was emptied, or "cleared out." to
announce to the waiter that more liquor
w as required.
the
eker
Perhaps the only word that :s the
•bum in all languages la the 'HalloS**
in response to the telephone call.
Wherever there Is a telephone line the
word is In use. and means just what
It does in English.
The butchers fo Berlin have a curi
ous way -if informing their customers
<»f the days on which fresh sausages are
made, by placing a chair, covered w:th a
large, clean apron, at the side of the
shop door.
A medical expert contends that out
of 1.000 girls studying the piano before
the age or twelve, about six hundred are
afflicted with nervous troubles in later
life.
TODAY’S INSTALLMENT.
” 'Elio—is Docker Kll-yut? I s Cat
tain 'Olbrook, boy! Yis. sir. (’attain
'("*1 brook is very seeck. You pliss come
quick Is life and dee-ath 1
don’t know. sir. Is very seeck!
I ask him!''
He marched over to the door that
the Captain had so emphatically closed
against all comers. He sheered off a
bit and then knock*d in a businesslike
manner.
"Don’t open that." commanded
Captain In a roar of emphasis.
No. sir please (.’attain -the d
sa>s what is your seeck trubble."
"Appendicitis "
An inquiring silence on the part of
Barnadlno- strange were the things he
was hearing from behind that door
"Appendicitis!" shouted the Captain
with slow emphasis
“Ben sldis?” ventured Barney timidly.
"Yes—appendicitis,"
"Yis. sir." sighed Barnadino his net
to question why and the malady that
drove the Captain to making pictures
at an hour when every good Christian,
or heathen for that matter, should he
abed, wore a strange title why. it was
a strange skk-troublos too!
Harney addressed the phone again.
"’Elio! Is Docker EU-yut? Cattain
says Is Ben-sidis yis. sir. Ben-sidis—
his room, sir I don't know, sir- maybe
one bah-tle Hypo ■-Etch-Y-P-AW That
the sign on bah-tle. Yis, sir—Kighte-
weh. Thank you. Docker Kll-yut
"Cattain." he called past that im
movable barrier of woi*d. "Docker h«
say he come righteweh."
"Good.”
Barnadino waited for further orders.
He gazed about the room with roving
and furtive eye. Still no orders.
“1 get tea pliss." he called. and
marched out of the room.
Thai roving and furtive eye was the
heritage from a race that had developed
that expression in looking behind each
stone or twig for an ambuscade by
an enemy that might rush out with the
bolo or kriss and cut beyond recogni
tion or hope of life. Because his an
cestors for long ages had known the
fear of poison-tipped arrows—and had
narrowed their eyes that a modified
share of light might enter and far
horizons be clear. Barnadino must look
like a sly and shifty creature to the
peoples of our Occidental world—but
Barnadino was the loyal slave of the
man who had dressed him In white and
brought him to a land where he found
no stealthy assassins at work Barney
did not know the high art of blackmail
He guessed nothing of the civilized bolo
and kriss that can cut a reputation to
pieces with words the victim had forged
into a weapon against himself
And the ignorant Filipino boy could
not dream that words may be poisoned
arrows to torture a woman to death in
the slo\wag»>ny that makes her a doomed
creature. And, of course, he had never
heard of a bill flic as a death-dealing
weapon. So lie was very grateful, in
deed. to the captain who had brought
him to the land of free women and
brave men. and Alines pin was quite
safe from him as it lay in the pocket
of Captain Holbrook’s dinner coat.
The uoor opened and Captain Hoi
brook entered, holding In his hand the
plate that might send a woman to her
death as it pictured how a man had
gone to his doom.
The great Chinese lamp on his table
cast its glow on the glass plate. Fear
grew to certainty in Holbrook's eyes.
\nd would certainty erase forever the
soft glow of love ‘ Can a man still
love a woman when he knows the
worst? And Larr> Holbrook was to
leant all the worst—-here to-night
"Ah there it Is . . ." he breathed
In a quiet voice.
“Poor little lady—there's the whole
story. With that cursed villain
leaning over her—and the file in her
hand
He looked about In slow pain. But
action must be quick—for who could
tell when interruption would come?
That japanned box' He took it frotr
Daysey Mayme and Her Folks
By FRANCES L. OARSIDE.
the table and crouching by the fender;
tried vainly to open it with the poker. !
It resisted ... he went over to the I
buffet and selected a steel knife. . j
He pried it slowly under the edge of the I
box and the lock yielded. . . . Then '
he came hack to the table and spread |
the pitiful story of the box's contents
before him.
"letters! Honorable George
Rowland' . House of Representa
tives lady's hand. Blackmail —
blackmail'. Oh—all the poor little la
dies!"
To Be Continued To-morrow.
I T was just before Christmas, and
the Children’s Congress had con
vened in session’extraordinary.
The little fat chubby delegates were
In various and advanced stages of ante-
Christmas dilapidation: their clothes
were without buttons, there were holes
In their stockings, and had any one
been looking for a clean, germless spot
to kiss he couldn't have found it in
front of their ears.
Mother as President Chauncey De«
vere Appleton declared with the dignity
of his 4even years, is too busy just
before Christmas to think about such
unreasonable subjects as wash rags or
buttons.
"I ha\. called you together." he
thundered at his little unwashed au
dience. "to ask for suggestions for
helping Mother. In this annual season
by trying to fool us. make Father mad.
and give her friends just what they
don't want Mother has so much to do
I am quite sure if the Lord had been
a woman He would have given her ten
pairs of hands."
Then, having rebuked the Lord, as Is
customary with Great Thinkers, he sat
(lown.
“If fathers had to dress the dolls,”
piped a little girl of 3. “the fig leaf
fashion would see a glorious revival."
President Appleton frowned. This
spirit of sex antagonism always an
noyed him. It was not germane to
the subject, though he had found that
every meeting called to help the wom
en resulted In resolutions against the
men.
After much discussion, the following
resolutions were adopted:
To keep a school eraser handy. Moth
er wants one for rubbing the price mark
off what she has bought and the name [
of the dortor on last year's gift that she
is passing on;
Keep the scissors in sight. The pic
ture of Mother going around with a big
package in her arms, and gnawing the
wrapping cord while looking for the
scissors is not one to treasure in Mem
ory Fond:
Never ask her a question about San
ta Claus when she is trying to make
a piece of wrapping paper 8 inches
square go around a 3 foot box.
Never show her a hole in one’s stock
ing. but become so imbued with the
Christmas spirit that one cheerfully
mends holes with the Christmas stick
ers lying around. One sticker makes a
fine patch for a hole, and six if applied
with enough moisture will mend a
3-inch rent.
Keep mother and father apart as
much as possible these days. Mother
is finding it hard enough to address
forty postcards breathing peace and
good will and get them off on time,
without being asked if dinner is ready.
And lastly:
If mother returns from her Christ
mas shopping looking as neat and
pretty as when she left home it is safe
to approach her. but if her hat is on one
ear, her hair down, and her dress torn,
the children should crawl under the
lounge when they see her coming, and
make room for father to crawl under
there, too.
Good At the Work.
He—You know if women get the
vote they would have to serve on
Juries.
She—Well, suppose we did. T gues3
it wouldn't take us as long to dis
agree as some of the men.
Lord Boots, who was famous for
his long and flowing beard, was dis
turbed one evening, when he thought
all the servants were in bed, by
shouts of laughter and much cheer
ing. Summoning his valet, he de
manded angrily what all the noise
was about.
"We were only having a. little game
among ourselves, my lord,” the man
answered, looking rather worried.
"What was the game?” demanded
the noble gentleman.
“T should prefer not to say, my
lord!”
“Kindly answer my question, Wil
son! I desire to know what could
have caused ®n much coarse laugh
ter.”
“Well, my lord, if you insist. I have
no choice. We had blindfolded the
cook and were taking it in turns to
kiss her and she had to guess who it
was each time. The under-housemaid
held up the mop to her face, and—
this is what we were laughing at. my
lord—cook called out, ‘Oh, how r dare
you. your lordship!’”
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