Newspaper Page Text
<n>
There Seems to Be Quite a Difference Between a Friend in Need and a Needy Friend
<s>
Romance, Thrill, Mystery in
Zoe—The Story of
Hopeless Love
'CopTtlfbt. Aj*oel*t*d Kew*p«p«a. Ltd. Re-
fUl richtB in U. 8. A. held by International N*w*
Barelro.)
(By CORALIE STANTON and
HEATH HOSKEN.)
“When can I ae# you—where? 1
must! Don't you understand?"
"To-night,” she said; "later on,
when he is asleep.”
"No, no,” exclaimed Crawler, “I
won't run any such foolish risk."
"He would never know,” she plead
ed. "I must see you to-night. Oh,
why didn't? you let me do It? Why—
why? I would have been at peace
now, and ”
"You are mad! I tell you I will
not run any risk of compromising you
or myself.”
"Then to-morrow," she said, quick
ly-
"Where?"
"I will be at Grosvenor road at 4.
We shall all be going up in the morn
ing. Godfrey has an appointment in
the city in the afternoon. It will be
easy.”
Crawley hesitated.
"It is horribly dangerous,” he said.
"Can’t we meie< somewhere else?
Can’t I see you here?”
"Oh, you are a coward, Noel!” Her
voice quivered with scorn.
"I tell you,” ihe retorted, fiercely,
"one thing I am determined on;
Brooke shall never know."
"He never shall—if you do not wish
ft.”
"Can't you see how horribly you
have wronged hirh? Can t you see
that he loves you beyond anything on
earth, that you 3T<e all his world to
him? Why, If he knew, if—why,
woman alive, It would kill him!"
"Well, I believe it would kill him,"
she said, solemnly. "But quick, Noel,
tell me. We shan’t have another
chance. Shall it be 4, there, or
Hush!" She dabbed her handkerchief
to her eyes and braced herself There
were footsteps in the hall. Brooke
was returning. Crawley looked anx
iously at the woman. "Remember,"
he whispered; "he must never know!”
"You can trust me," she answered.
"And It Is 4 to-morsrow?”
"Yes,” breatherd the man.
The door opened, and Brooke en
tered the drawing room.
“Hullo!" he exclaimed, in his
brusque, breezy way, ’’I thought you'd
be having a drink!”
’’I have been showing Mr. Crawley
these sixteenth century Italian draw
ings I bought the other day,” said Di
ana Brooke, bending over a port
folio. “He says he thinks that some
of them are really valuable.”
“I'm sure they aTe!" exclaimed
Crawley, rather wildly.
Brooke Keeps Dilating
On His Happiness.
“Oh. well; they're beyond me."
laughed Brooke. "I'm no artist, am I,
Crawley? Give me nature and—inci
dentally—a whlsky-and-soda. Come
on, Dl, let's go to the smoking room
end have a nightcap." He put his
arm around his wife's waist. "Craw
ley. my son,” he exclaimed, "do vou
wonder that I'm the happiest man in
all the world, eh?"
"Not a bit." said Crawley, forcing
a smile into his face and sbme sort
of expression into his hollow voice,
though in his soul all the fiends of
hell made pandemonium,
“There’s nothing like marriage,
Crawley. Take my tip. By the way,
“G
Greatest Event
In Woman's Lite
All human experience looks back to
motherhood as the wonder of wonders.
The patience, the fortitude, the sub
lime faith during the period of expec
tancy are second only to the mother
love bestowed upon the most helpless
but most marvelous creation—a baby.
Women are quick to learn from each
other those helpful agencies that aid to
comfort, that conserve their nervous en
ergy and yet are perfectly safe to use
and among these they recommend
“Mother's Friend."
It is entirely an external application,
designed to lubricate the broad, flat
muscles and skin that protect the ab
domen. It has been in favorable use
for nearly a half century and Is known
to mothers tn almost every settled com
munity in the United States, who highly
recommend it. You will find it on sale
in drug stores. "Mother's Friend" is ut
terly harmless, contain* no deadening
drugs, and yet its influence on the skin
and muscles beneath, as also upon the
network of nerves beneath the skin, is
very beneficial, very soothing, and a
wonderful help. The muscles expand
naturally and are not subjected to un
necessary surface strain and pain
Get a bottle of "Mother's Friend" to
day at any drug store and write to us
for our instructive little book to moth
ers. Address Bradfleld Regulator Com
pany. 413 Lamar Building. Atlanta, Ga.
Carefully Treat
Children's Colds
Neglect of children’s colds often lays
ihe foundation of serious lung trouble.
Dn the other hand. It is harmful to con
tinually dose delicate little stomachs
Irith internal medicines or to keep the
Shildren always Indoors.
Plenty of fresh air in the bedroom
And a good application of Vick's ,# Vap-
O-Rub” Salve over the throat and chest
at the first sign of trouble will keep
the little chaps free from colds without
Injuring their digestions. 26c, 60c and $1.
'ZBE SSHUINC HAS TH/S ISADS MARK
“VSpohuij”
Dl, little girl, I didn't tell you, did I,
that Crawley’s contemplating enter
ing upon the marriage state?”
The woman turned and gave the
artist a look of smiling Inquiry. That
look was a triumph of art.
"Indeed, Mr. Crawley!” she ex
claimed. “Who is the fortunate lady?”
"Eva Warren," said Brooke,
"daughter of Sir Squire Warren. Isn't
that so, Crawley?”
The artist bowed his assent. He
could not trust himself td speak.
'When Is the happy event to take
place?” asked Diana Brooke, as they
walked across the hall to the smoking
room; but Crawley was silent.
"It isn't officially announced yet,"
said Brooke
"I see,” said Diana Brooke; and
Crawley detected a change in her
voice—a hard, almost defiant note. He
gave her a furtive sidelong glance.
For a moment their eyes met, and he
saw In hers what he had seen In the
rooms in London earlier that night,
and he heard her parting words:
“I swear by all I hold sacred that
on the day you marry Eva Warren I
will kill myself!”
Mad, wild. Irresponsible words of
an overwrought and hysterical wom
an; but they Impressed him deeply.
He could not get them out of his
mind.
"I shouldn’t he surprised," laughed
Brooke, "that we shall see the en
gagement announced in to-morrow's
Times, eh, Crawley? Didn't you say
so?"
Crawley did not breathe freely until
after 1 o'clock the next day. when he
parted from Mr. and Mrs. Brooke on
the platform of Waterloo Station.
Brooke used his best endeavors to
persuade his friend to Join them at
lunch. They were lunching at the
Savoy; afterward Brooke had a busi
ness appointment tn the city concern
ing some African gold concessions he
was negotiating, and then Mrs. Brooke
was going shopping They were to
meet at Waterloo at 7 <o go down to
Hatchlngton In time for an 8 o’clock
dinner.
But Crawley resisted his friend's
Invitation to lunch, pleading an Im
portant appointment at his studio. He
thanked them both warmly for thcjfr
hospitality and promised to go down
to The laurels and stay for a few
days at an early date. He said he liad
immensely enjoyed his flying visit,
and would have loved to have lunched
with them, and all manner of proper
and conventional things.
OOD-BYE, my son!" laughed
Brooke. “You look consid
erably better than when I
came in upon you last night. Cheer
up. old man!" He lowered his voice.
"She isn't worth thinking about, A
woman like that will say anything.
Put her out of your mind, and go and
see your Eva."
"Shut up!” said Crawley, frowning.
"I wish you would keep that to your
self, Brooke. I was mad last night.
Forget all about it.”
The two men had been alone for a
few moments. Diana Brooke was dis
patching a telegram to her dress
maker. She came up at this moment.
"So you can’t persuade him to come
with us, Godfrey?” she Inquired,
archly.
"No, my dear; he's obdurate.”
“Well, good-bye, then, Mr. Crawley,'
I am so glad to have met you. Do
come down again soon," she smiled,
bewitchingly.
“It is awfully good of you,” the man
murmured.
"Four o’clock." she whispered as
they shook hands. He nodded. Brooke's
back was turned for the moment.
At last Crawley escaped in a taxi,
and told the cabman to drive -him to
40-A Grosvenor road, and sank back
in the cab and literally gasped w4th
relief. The strain had been fearful.
He had barely slept an hour all last
night. The position had been Intol
erable. The very fact of being under
Godfrey Brooke’s roof was unbeara
ble.
He had sat up until about half-past
1 talking to Brooke after Diana had
left them together In the cozy smok
ing room of The Laurels, and had lis
tened to Brooke's eulogies of his wife.
What a wonderful woman she was
in Brooke's eyes, and what a pearl
among women! How he loved her!
How blindly he worshiped her! With
what doglike devotion he regarded
her! And, withal, with what sublime
trust! Every word and look of Brooke
concerning her went to Crawley's
heart like a knife thrust in an old
wound. He was a man of very highly
strung imagination, and the midnight
talk with his old *friend had causqd
him almost physical pain as well as
mental torture. Brooke was full of
plans for the future, and In every plan
Diana had her place and share.
“Ah, Crawley, old man," he said,
emotion trembling in his voice, “it's a
great thing to have a home. I'm a
born wanderer—a gypsy. I don't sup
pose I shall ever settle down anywhere
for long. But. for all that, I like to feel
I’ve got a little place somewhere on
the face of the earth to come back
to when I’m tired.
“How I used to long for It last sum
mer when I was out there in the Con
go sweltering under that precious
sun! Yes, Crawley, there's something
in every man's heart that responds to
the idea of home. *My ain fireside,’
with a good, pure woman waiting
there for you. That's what's kept me
going, and what will again, I haven't
any doubt.”
These words repeated themselves In
Crawley’s mind with a peculiar In
sistence.
<JD
Paris Supreme in Fashion
Republished by Special Arrangement with HARPER’S BAZAR, the Oldest and
Greatest Woman’s Magazine.
From the April Number
of Harper's Bazar
* .4 ■" I .-H •*.
4k
to
Jm.
1 F- l. '■ (W-' *0*
i ‘ ' y ? ' \
T' a A
[/■! f'|l !
LJ ^
W.- ^ )• U;
. .1
* 4 A .
Hnd W
tllu^ ' i? "*1 \
He Tries to Think
Of a Way Out.
What a hopeless muddle it all was!
All last night he had tried to And a
way out of it—a way that was hon
orable and right. He blamed himself
far more than he blamed the woman,
and yet, at the same time, he realized
that he was not altogether fair to
himself.
How could he possibly have known?
Even now the thing seemed incredi
ble and unreal, and there were mo
ments when the sense of unreality
was so forcible that he expected to
awake and find himself sitting before
his fire in his Grosvenor road rooms.
It was about half-past 1 when he
let himself into his flat, and Hutton,
his fnan, met him in the hall and gave
him some letters and telegrams, which
R OSES are used by Worth to give the touch of
summer to his corkscrew model of mole-colored
faille, the bands of blue velvet at the neck and wrists
supplying the color note. The straw brim of the
toque extends into a peak in the front, forming a sup
port for the soft, falling Paradise plue. m
VVTORTH defines the waiseline at the natural posi-
" tion as in this tight-fitting bodice of gold em
broidery which he veils with chiffen. To the yoke Is
attached a very full skirt of black faille striped in sat
in. There are also the inevitable organdie points.
The double brimmed hat has ostrich tripiming.
he tossed onto a table, and told Hut
ton to get him something to eat. Then
he went into his study and flung him
self dejectedly into his armchair be
fore the newly lighted fire.
It was a brilliant spring day—a day
of clouds and sunlight, a day to re
joice a painter’s heart. Crawley had
much work to do; but there was to be
no painting to-day. He had much
more serious business in hand.
He looked angrily at the clock—a
beautiful seventeenth century grand
fathers clock of exquisite manufac
ture. He had only recently bought It
at Christie’s.
"Nearly two and a half hours before
she will be here," ha muttered to him
self. “What, in the name of goodness,
am I to do in the meantime?"
He rose impatiently and paced the
room. He stopped every now and
then at the window and looked out
across the Thames- to the great pot
tery works opposite. Then he went
into his studio. He was restless, irri
table, and altogether upset. He start
ed absently picking up sketches from
a bulky portfolio lying open on the
lounge seat in a great bay window at
the corner.
Nearly every other sketch was a
study of Zoe—Zoe head and shoulders;
Zoe, full length; Zoe in hat and furs;
Zoe in ball dress; Zoe's arms, back,
bust—Zoe In every conceivable pose
and posture. Zoe draped and un--
draped; Zoe as herself; Zoe as "Aph
rodite," as "Circe;" Zoe as "Sin,” as
"Madonna”—beautiful little studies,
some of them; some finished, others
but rough impressionist sketches, or
careful studies of anatomical detail.
"If Brooke were to see those!" he
groaned.
Crawley's eye fell on a large can
vas leaning against the wall.
It was his first study in oils of his
famous “Circe." It was a moot point
in his mind whether this one were not
indeed a superior picture of the one
Leveredge and Maberley had bought
of him for a thousand guineas dbwn.
As he stared at it Brooke’s words
rang in his ears. That was Brooke’s
wife, the Idol of his heart and life—
that woman there, who sat shameless
ly surrounded by swine—the swine
that had once been men.
(To Be Continued.)
Garrett P. Serviss Writes on
The Romance of the
Redman 2
<G>
Its Drawbacks.
A certain Londdn auctioneer, In ad
dition to a fine personal appearance and
splendid elocutionary talents, is pos
sessed of consideranie culture and
knowledge of human nature.
At a book sale this gentleman would
read, with exquisite teste passages from
the books he was selling, with brief
biographies and criticisms of their au
thors, reciting hexameters from Greek
and Roman classics, and rendering
passages from humorous writers with a
tone and air so ludicrous as to set the
room in a roar of laughter. Thus he
often won higher prices for books than
those gtft at the shops.
An amusing example of his clever
ness in extolling an estate is the lan
guage with which he once closed a
highly colored description of the prop
erty he was selling. For a few moments
he paused, and then said:
“And now, gentlemen, having given a
truthful description of this magnificent
estate, candor compels me to admit that
it has two drawbacks—the litter of the
rose leaves and the noise of the night-
ingalea.”
By GARRETT P. SERVISS.
T HE recent trouble with the In
dians in the Southwest serves to
remind us that our continent is
the scene of one of the most puzzling
racial apparitions that history records.
To-day ir. Europe there Is a livelier cu
riosity concerning the American Indian
than concerning American inventions
They still read Cooper's “Heatherstock
ing Tales.” which they think are closely
related to contemporary life here. The
Red Man has left an atmosphere of ro
mance hanging over the Western world
which was once his that can not be
blown away. We have conquered him,
driven him from his lands, violated his
ideals, abased his character, corraled
him on reservations, but we can not
loosen his hold on the imagination of
mankind. With the Moors of Spain, he
dwells forever in the gilded afternoon of
history.
Whence came the Indian? Who were
his ancestors? Was he an Indigenous
product of American soil, or did his
forefathers emigrate from another con
tinent, as did ours?
An ethnologist would probably tell
you, now. that the place of origin of
the American aborigines was Eastern
Asia. That is the latest opinion. It
may be correct, but, If so, it tells us
very little. It goes back beyond the
boundaries of certain history, to a far-
qff, hypothetical time, when there was
a natural bridge across the Behring
Sea.
Still a Mystery.
For our purposes it is better to begin
with things 'is the earliest white set
tlers found them, and try to work no
farther than the relics and monuments
left by the red men themselves will car
ry us. That is not very far; only a
few hundred years beyond the date of
the Spanish conquests and settlements.
The relation of the various “native tribes
and nations to each other is still a mys
tery. The Mohawk of New York had
never heard of the Aztec of Mexico.
Was there any racial connection be
tween them? The Indians found in the
Ohio Valley could tell nothing of the
builders of the strange burial mounds
that scar the face of that country with
the forms of huge circles, and ovals,
and writhing serpents. But the skele
tons in the mounds were found sitting
upright, with their weapons and bowls
aboiit them, after the burial custom of
the Indians that William Penn met. So
Philip Freneau, in his poem on "The
Indian Burial Ground” (from which
Thomas Campbell filched its most beau
tiful line to adorn a poem of his own):
“In spite of all the learned have said,
I still my old opinion keep:
The posture that we give the dead
Points out the soul’s eternal sleep.
"Not so the ancients of these lands.
The Indian, when from life released,
Again is seated with his friends.
And shares again the Joyous feast.”
The very lack of history among the
Indians made them snore Interesting and
more mysterious tp the white men.
Their traditions, such as that pi Hia
watha, derive an epic grandeur from
their indeflniteness. Whatever the In
dian of the Western plains may have
become, his Eastern predecessors im
pressed Europeans with a deep sense of
personal gravity and dignity. His nature
was full of poetry. His language was as
imaginative as that of the Arab. He
was a natural orator. No man ever
spoke more eloquently than did “Red
Jacket.” the Iroquois chief, the friend
of Washington and Lafayette. He was
aware of his power. When he lay dying
he said:
“When I am dead It will be noised
abroad through the world. They will
hear it across the great waters, and
say, ‘Red Jacket, the great orator, is
dead!’ ”
Traits like this render it impossible
not to respect any man who could ex
hibit them. New England history would
lose half Its charm if the part played
by the red men were eliminated. Wit
ness old Samoset, with his grave and
courteous “Welcome, Englishmen.” Wit
ness King Philip and his woes. Wit
ness. even, the midnight attacks on
stockade settlements, and war whoops,
the painted countenances, the toma
hawks, the scalp-locks, the long, weary
marches of captives through endless for
ests. the hairbreadth escapes, the coun
cil fires, the stake, the running of the
gantlet, the strange adoptions—these
things are the red tragic touches which
give color to history.
Let Us Be Charitable.
Let us not be hypocritical. Let us
remember that we were the Invaders!
Major Powell, who knew as much of
the nature of the Indians as any white
man could learn, said that the primi
tive savage idea that one’s own tribe,
or nation, or people, is the best in the
world and superior to all others, w'as
deep planted in the Indian. Well, then,
what was to be expected of him? Are
the hands of white men clean in that
regard?
Major Powell also called attention
to the fact that the Indian tribes, when
the white man came here, were in the
main, sedentary, and not nomadic. They
were living in fixed habitations Agri
culture was general among them, yet
not so far developed but that thev were
compelled to eke out their supplies by
hunting In common, which, as Major
Powell remarks, encouraged the Idle
hut. on the other hand, they gave honor
and place to the industrious. They did
not become nomadic until they had been
driven to the western plains, had been
supplied with firearms and had supplied
themselves with horses, which they
found running wild there.
A Natural Wish.
To have idea* of your own at five Is
truly prodigious, but Harry was only
four and he had more than a few Ideas.
One day a rather inquisitive aunt be
gan to cross-question him.
“Are you a good child?” she asked
of him.
“Humph—yes.”
“What do you want to be when you
grow* up?”
“Man.”
“Yes, of course. But what sort of a
man?”
“One that isn’t always asking silly
questions,”
Beatrice Fairfax Writes on
Is Man or Woman
® More Selfish? ®
Ask Yourself the Question and Draw Your Own
Conclusions.
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
E VERY one in the world is selfish
at heart. Some of us think we
are not and others of us like to
be told we are not, but If our minds
could be dissected and read there would
be found in ea # ch case a region of gray
matter held by the ogre we call selfish
ness.
He would be Intrenched there and
armed with arguments as elusive as
a submarine and reasons as cogent
as a seventy-five centermeter gun, al
ways ready for business, always alert
and always ingratiating.
Have you never stopped to think
what selfishness really is?
Has It never occurred to you that
what you may like to term self-sac
rifice is Selfishness dressed up In one
of his many disguises? For he is
the greatest Masquerader in the world!
Look around you and ask yourself
how many persons you know who are
unselfish? How many persons strive
to make others happy and do so at a
cost to themselves?
"Would you consider it unselfish If
you were worth a million dollars if
you gave five dollars to & beggar?
Would you consider it unselfish if
you gave up going somewhere to please
a friend when you really did not want
to go?
The man who comes home because
he has nowhere else to go is not par- j
tlcularly unselfish. The woman who ,
never corrects her children is not un-
selfish. The child who has learned to !
be automatically polite is not unselfish, i
I knew a man who earned about forty]
dollars a week. He had a host of
friends and he was in continual demand.
Then his wife was taken ill. He gave
up his friends to take care of her and
his children. She was in bed for years
and he had to work hard at his office.
Yet he always saw that the little boys
and girls—there were four in all—had
breakfast with him. and he saw that
they went to school promptly, and he
made it his business that they were
attentive to their mother.
That man was unselfish—he wanted
to see his friends. His wife used to
urge him to see them but he put all
that life aside. How many of us are
like that?
How many of us in a similar case
would have gone on year in and year
out with a smile and no mention of
trouble?
Selfishness knows not sex nor age nor
oondttion We do not have to read a
Baconian essay to recognize it, even
though it has as many varieties as the
trees of a continent.
It Is a universal disease with one cure.
The Golden Rule, “Do unto others as
you would have them do unto you,”
when properly applied, is a never failing
panacea for selfishness.
And the best part of it is it Is one of
the few medicines that the patient likes.
It Is followed by a certain glow of sat
isfaction that makes the ogre totter In
his stronghold.
You have heard again and again the
remark that “all men are selfish,” but
this is a mere sounding phase, no more
true than as If you said that all women
are selfish.
The truth is that most of us have a
lot of little ways that we call tempera
ment, which are really- selfishness wear
ing a mask.
You, Mr. Husband, are too tired to
go to the theater with your wife, but
not too tired to play bridge with Smith
or Jones. Why? Because you perfer
bridge to the theater—you are selfish.
You, Mrs. Wife, are not too busy to
give your time to charity, but far too
busy to walk with your own children.
You get no credit for the latter—and
much praise for the former—you are
selfish.
And so It goes—many a man and
many a woman are governed by ulterior
motives In doing apparently unselfish
deeds—they act from selfishness.
How many times have you been real
ly. truly satisfied with the knowledge
that you have given something of your
self for the happiness of others—con
tent that no one should know?
Take the woman who expects every
thing. the woman who must have what
she things is necessary at any coat.
How about selfishness in a case like
this?
There are men working their Uvea
away for women who require everything
but have nothing to give in return.
They will not give even understanding,
but are content to live like parasites.
Too litle, indeed, is said of the selfish
ness of this kind which is more deadly
than the worst thoughtlessness.
There is too much complaint in this
world and too little frank understanding
among us of each other’s capabilities.
The woman who allows a man to be
really selfish because he fails her in con
stant attendance is admitting her own
fault.
Behind the Bars.
The Sunday ’was a wet one and she
was allowed to accompany her parents
to church.
It was her first experience of that
kind.
The minister was of the energetic,
pulpit-thumping type, and he preached
from a rostrum raileq in, above the peo
ple.
He excelled himself this day irf the
thumping tactics and had worked him
self up to a pitch of high excitement.
Esther was cowering close to her
mother’s side, and when he reached a
point which he empnasized more than
all the others, she exclaimed, in a
frightened whisper:
"Ma! what would we do if he got
out?”
A Lost Mining Camp.
Silver Mountain, once a famous min
ing camp of Idaho for a few weeks, is
now deserted except for one citizen, a
forest ranger. The deserted town on
the top of Silver Mountain had a mush
roomlike growth thirty years ago. when
an English syndicate decided that the
place ha<1 a wonderful mining future.
Money was poured Into the enterprise,
and a town and a quartz mill were built.
Altogether it is estimated by pioneers
that $1,600,000 in good money was sunk
in the project. The mill ran just ten
days, the “mine” gave out, and it was
not long before the place was deserted.
All the Difference.
The wise man, .who thought he had
learned all there was to know about
human nature, was airing his knowl
edge.
“Tell me what you and your friends
read,” he boasted widely, “and I will
tell you what you are.”
“Well, what about my wife?” asked
the skeptical man, whose yellow face
spoke of a troublesome digestion.
“She’s forever reading cookery books
and recipes.”
The wise man smiled, with a look
of “how-easy-everything-is.”
“That’s simple,” he said, decidedly.
“She’s a cook.
“No,” the other corrected, sadly, “she
only thinks she is!”
The Lap of Luxury.
“What is meant by the lap of lux
ury?” asked a teacher of a class of lit
tle girls.
“Please, ma’am. I know.” exclaimed
the smallest of the lot, holding up her
hand.
“Well, what is it. dear?” inquired
the teacher, kindly.
“It’s when the cat steals into the
larder and licks the cream off the milk,”
responded the little one.
And the teacher, on reflection, wasn't
quite sure that her pupil was wrong.
T
The Right-0
® Stories ®
Broken Hearts Absurd,
Says the Stenographer,
By DOROTHY DIX.
TE tender passion appears to
be unusually fatal this sea
son,” observed the Stenogra
pher, giving an additional allck to her
peeled onion effect coiffure.
“It always Is,” agreed the Bookkeeper
sourly, "few that make love escape ma
trimony. It*s ae dangerous as playing
with dynamite. But what's on your
mind Just now?”
“Suicide,” replied the Stenographer:
“every paper that you pick up Is full of
accounts of Romeos and Juliets who
have hiked out for the Great Beyond
over the rough-on-rats route, or the
gas express, because he or she got
turned down for some other Jammy
young thing, or love’s young dream
struck some kind of a snag.”
“Well,” exclaimed the Bookkeeper
“you’ll never hear of me blowing out my
alleged brains over any female lady gtri
person, but all the same It does give a
fellow a grouch to part with his hank-
earned coin trotting a girl around te
theaters and dances and. staking h*r omul
to fgeeds, and then fqr her turn him
down for some skate who is not one*
two-three In the running.”
“Surest thing you know,** assented}
the Stenographer, “but It seems to
that under such circumstances
of going Into the discard a man should
go out and offer up burnt offerings to
the great god Luck. For If the girt
didn’t appreciate him it shows that she
wasn’t the bill of lading he thought ghe
was.”
“Rlght-o,” said the Bookkeeper. **and
It’s curious what a slump & gird's stock
takes after you find out that she prefera
another to you. Before you can say
‘scat’ you flip over from the bull side to
the bear side of her market and wonder
what ever made you fool enough to
think that you wanted her for a perma
nent investment.”
“All that is wanted to cure the wort
case of blighted affection Is twenty**
four hours and a liver pill,” remarked
the Stenographer, “and if these Blighted
Beings would only give themselves that
kind of treatment they would be patting,
themselves on their backs as favorites ofl
fortune Instead of hunting for the prus-«
sic acid bottle.
“They’d be saying, ‘Oh, I'm a Saga
cious Sue, or Wise willy, to have missed
running my neck into the matrimonial
noose with a life partner that is such a
bonehead he or she couldn’t appreciate
a good thing like ME when he or she
saw it. Oh, I’m the great original Hon-*
olulu Hunch! I’m the Darling of tha
Gods! You can’t fool ME!’
“Marriage Is a con game any way you
look at it, said the Bookkeeper, gloom-
lly. “You newer know what you are
getting until you have got it, and then
it s too late to duck and run.
“Marriage *a the great transformation
act of the world,” replied the Stenog
rapher. “I’ve seen it turn living skele
tons into feather beds and roly poly
dumplings into living skeletons. I’ve
seen men who were how|ing swells be
fore marriage wheeling a baby carriage
after marriage. I’ve seen six-footers,
who could whip theirjtvelght in wild
cats. cower before a little two-by-four
piece of femininity to whose apron
string they were tied*
“And I've seen a weman fish a thing
out of the gutter and'fnarry it and make
a man of it. And as for dispositions,
nobody living Is able to tell whether
matrimony is going to turn a man or
women into a manufactory of the milk
of human kindness or a vinegar fac
tory-
“That's the reason I wouldn’t worrv
over what I didn’t get,’ agreed the
Bookkeeper.
“You never hear of a|g>roken heart
being assigned as a reasonkfor a mar
ried man committing suicide,” said the
Stenographer.
“After a man Is married he jfcever haa
time to think of his blighted afTeo-
tions,” returned the Bookkeeper “be
sides. it isn’t his heart that ache s and
has an empty void In it. Tt’t his
pocket.”
“Did you ever meet an old love %?ho
had given you the icy mitt in the $ekr*.
gone by?” inquired the Stenographe
sentimentally. &
"One,” grinned the Bookkeeper.
“What did you do?” asked the Ste
nographer.
“I took her husband out and bought
him a drink,” replied the Bookkeeper,
“and then I sent an anonymous dona
tion to the church as a thanks offering
for having been delivered from great
peril.”
You know what Cottolene
is made of
It is an exact combination of pure ultra-refined cottonseed oil (a
grade so high it is not listed in the market) with beef-stearine
from selected, high-grade leaf beef suet
That is what produces the splendid qualities for shortening frying
and cake-making in
Cottolene
There is an appetizing appeal in the thought that your foods are cooked with
Cottolene—made of an oil that is far superior to most salad oils and as fine
as the best, combined with the choicest part of rich, leaf beef suet.
Order a pail of Cottolene from your grocer today and use
it in shortening, frying, or cake-making. It is economical—
you use one-third less than of any ordinary cooking fat.
Arrange with your grocer for a regular supply.
Write to our Genera, Offices, Chicago, for our real cook
book—“HOME HELPS”—free.
E5HEK FA IR B A N KabSESEO
t( Cottolene makes good cooking better ”
-T'W>,.41U.