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“BEATRICE FAIRFAX"™
The Stars in Episode No. 7
79
“A Name for a Baby
Jimmy Barton— Argorter tor e XY __Hapry Fox
Beatrice Fairfax— ©f the N. Y. Evening _(race Darling
This splendid series of exciting human interest stories ia’
produced in motion pictures by Wharton Inc. Studios for the
International Film Service, Inc.
- See the motion pictures at your favorite theater nextweek
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX,
(Novelized From the Scenario of 8. Basil Dickey.)
(Copyright, 1916, International News Service.)
E found the baby lying in the
W straw, crying with a lusty
vigor, which gave evidence of
the fact that he had not been very
badly injured.
Madge seemed to want nothing
more. Her own ordeal was over and
the child was safe. For a moment
she was so happy that she seemed to
forget even her one great unfulfllled
desire—a name for the baby.
Our part in the transaction seemed
over, but Jimmy's face was alight
with a certain fire and fervor of
purpose.
“And now, my man, we'll have your
story,” sald he. “I'll take it down
and Miss Fairfax will sign as a wit-
\A Coup de Theater :: ByC.N.,
fTNHE Grahams had lived at Green
r well for centuries. Graham led
a hay and clover sort of life.
He was good through force of cir
cumstances, like a lot more. The
womenfolk of Greenwell were rather
& tepid lot.
When Stoneham asked him to come
up to London for a week, Graham was
mildly surprised. |
“Here is Stoneham asking me to go
up to London for a week, Isabel.”
“Whatever for?” Mrs, Graham asked
him as she hunted for a piece of toast
done to her taste. “Has he come into
Some money or something 7
“That is just it, Isabel; he has, He
wants me to advise him about several
mmn
“You can't refuse a cousin,” Isabel
Grabam said decisively., “It would
80 all over the family. 1 can not come
with you; there is that dinner at the
Chase's. They would never forgive me
if 1 went away.”
- - . . - - .
Stoneham over a plpe admitted he
was in a hole—a perfect devil of a
hole. He wore a purple silk dressing
gown and a frown sat on his good
looking brow.
“What do you call a hole?” Graham
asked placidly, as he sipped his gin
and vermouth. “I ghould have thought
you would have been overjoyed at
having such a lot of money come to
you; quite unexpectedly, too.”
“My dear Graham, I have not slept.
for ten nights, I think I shall have to
take drugs. I have watched the moon
light on the floor until I am sick of the
sight of it. I don't think the papers
ought to make it public when a chap
comes into a fortune. It ought to be
put to a stop, too. Why is she——"
“Oh, it is a she?' Graham said,
“This begins to be interesting.” He
essayed a wink. The atmosphere of
Stoneham's suite of rooms was quite
exhilarating after his own blameless
home decoration.
“She hardly noticed me of lne.“‘
Stoneham sald with bitterness. “She
knew—everybody knew—l was in
debt, that I was a financlal tottering
ruin, 80 to speak. Then the papers
all began to scream about my in
heriting poor Mac's money, and hey,
m!n
“Is she——" sald Stoneham soft
ly. “Take my advice and never get
yourself mixed up with a married
woman. They are the very devil.” |
Graham sat more upright in his
‘eousin's big Chesterfleld.
- “J—l don't know,” he mumbled.
“Good thing for you you don't”
sald Btoneham with emphasis. “Here
1 am booked to run away with an
other man's wife the day after to
rw. You've got to get me out of
~ “} have got to! Won't nomebody‘
else do? |
“No; you have got to help m-,"i
m M flatly. “You are re-
Jated to me. I will remember your
| en in my will. Listen, she 1s
coming her tonight. 1 want you to
talk to her for me, to lecture her it
ou can. Then I'll burst in and you'l
take sort of possession of me—way I
must come down and settle i Green
‘well, see? That puts off my running
fi; h, does I!' Graham murmured
%'
The room was guiet and Graham
sat as If on thorns. He had no very
clear recollection of eating any din
ner, Stoneham had never for a mo
ment stopped giving him directions
how to behave. His cigarette tasted
funny, he felt all nerves and then the
‘ness, and you can be glad that I let
you off with a thrashing and a talk
ing to—for what you've done would
land you in prison, all right—if 1
thought you were responsible for it.”
Jimmy's voice seemed to linger a
little bit on that last “you.” And so
almost before 1 heard Wilkins' story
I suspected what it would be.
And the nebulous plan and pur
pose which had led me to Margaret
Payne crystallized now into definite
form. We must use what methods
we could. Madge Minturn's mother
love bad justified her even more than
did the very facts of her story in her
plea that we help her get “a name for
the baby.” 4
“I seen this hére girl comin’ out of |
valet showed somebody into the room.,
Graham rose mechanically and ad
vanced toward the door. Facing him
- was the prettiest woman he had ever
'seen in his life, a blonde with won
‘derful hair and a complexion of cream,
She wore a long brocade cloak and a
collar of white fox.
“The man told me Mr, Stoneham
was here,” she sald In vexed accents,
“He will be back in a moment,”
sald Graham meekly, “Perhaps 1 can
entertain you.”
“It is horrid of him to be out.” She
seemed very uncomfortable and un
happy and Graham vaguely felt as ltl‘
he would like to punch his cousin’s
head. She seemd suddenly to ma.ke]
a declsion, I
“I'll write him a note,” she said,
showing a little, black evening dreui
with a rose pinned on the shoulder,
Graham laid aside the cloak and tolt‘
he loved the perfume of it.
“I should not have come at lll."i
she said at last, “but 1 hate to break
a promise, He has treated me very
badly. He did not tell you anything
about me, did he?”
Graham turned a little aside, l
“l see,’ she said instantly, “He dld.‘
Oh, how could he?" i
“He told me nothing,” sald Gra
ham loyally. “What should he tell
me?”
Tears shone in her beautiful eyes.
She was most beautiful, he thought,
and seemed broken-hearted.
“l came to tell him,” she sald—and
‘a sob caught in her throat—"to tell
‘him I have changed my mind. Tell
him that when you give him this let
ter from me.”
. . - - - . .
When Stoneham burst into the
room with a well-rehedrsed speech
on his lips, he found nobody there,
lLess than an hour later Graham re
y turned.
“She has changed her mind,” he
sald. “I took her back homg.”
Stoneham grasped his hand. “You
are a pal” he said. *I thought you
would have a terrible scene. You
have no idea what she is like when
she is angry.”
“She gave me this letter to you,”
Graham said.
Stoneham grasped it and tore the
envelope. He hastily read the letter,
and then he laughed strangely.
~ “You took her home, you say?" he
‘said,
| “Yes; she cried very much, I left
|hu at the door of the apartment
house. She is very lovely, I think.”
“Yes, she is lovely,” burst out
Stoneham. “You see, it's the wronc‘
woman, This was Miss Eve Du-uu.l
the girl 1 want to marry. She had
found out all about Mrs. Holton u4l
that wretched. business, and she has
broken off our engagement.” ‘
The telephone bell rang. ltoao-i
lhnm groaned. |
“That must be Mrs. Holton now,"
he sald impatiently. “Please answer
the phone for me, like a good chap. I
know it is not your fault. Tell the
wretched woman I'm off to Indian to
wretched woman I'm off for India to
me.”
Graham rose nervously, |
“You don't think this will be anyone
else, do you?" he sald timidly. He
took up the receiver and held it to his
ear. “Yes," he sald, “hello.”
“Is that you, Stoneham?” a female
voice asked. “Oh, 1 did mean to get
around to see you tonight, but my
husband stayed in all night, He has
Just gone to bed——u" ]
~ When at last he walked away from
m« phone Graham mopped his brow,
d drank thirstily from his tumbler,
% "Go::d‘ bordh!“ What ‘lhould 1 'l.\'n;:
done both turned up
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ARSI LR SR e ST AR e T
Madge Minturn walks with her baby while Conley and Wilkins lurk in the background.
the woods this mornin’ carryin’ ‘the
kid. She looked kinder good to me—
an’ I ain't so crazy about women,
neither.”
The evil leer on the creature's face
as he spoke made me send up a quick
prayer of thanksgiving that Jimmy
and 1 had been allowed to arrive in
time,
He Becomes Jealous.
“I liked her, kinder, an® then when
I seen a good lookir’ chap drive up
‘this afternoon and her a-greetin’ him
lso lovin' I got awful mad—kinder
| Jjealous.
“Him and her went a-walkin' in
the woods, takin' the kid aiong, an’ 1
followed and listened to what they
was a-sayin’,
~ “I wanted her for my girl—and 1
didn’t llke the idea of no city chap
comin’ to see her and likin’ her him
self,
“Then all of a sudden I kinder got
wise to the fact that he didn't like
her none too well—that he was kinder
afrald of her. She was holdin’ up
the kid an’ pleadin’ with him, and he
- Smart Hats for the Coming Season
These are a few of the many up-to-date models in ‘“Good Housekeeping,”
the nation’s greatest home magazine. The September number in enlarged
form contains not only the last word in fashions, but articies of supreme
interest to every woman.
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That sailors are illiterate {s dis
proved by this one of black hat.
ter's plush with envelopes for a
brim: their polnted flaps are
sealed with crests of taupe and
white ostrich. The velvet scart
slipped in while furs were a little
nnd *~ tha waatne»
was fidgettin' around kinder uneasy
and like he wished he was anywhere
else. 1 got wise to the sort of a girl
she was then——"
Madge interrupted suddenly. “Oh,
Miss Fairfax, don't let him talk about
me like that. I can’'t bear to think
what he's going to say about me next
to you and Mr. Barton.”
“Never mind wha he says about
you next to us,” said Jimmy, in his
very friendliest tone. “I've got your
number, little girl. What I want is
somebody else’'s—now, do you re
member just what Conley said to You
when you showed him-—his boy?
“Oh, yes, sir; indeed I do. Every
thing he ever said to me seems just
engraved on my mind—l used to be
lieve all Richard said—and now 1
just can't believe anything. That's
what hur's. . . . These were his
words, though: ‘T'll do the right
thing, Madge, but let me break the
news to Margaret in my own way.'"”
“Did you hear that?" asked Jimmy,
turning suddenly on Wilkins.
“l sure did. And I seen him kiss
v ()
her and swear to it—but I knew he
meant money,” added the fellow, with
the uncanny shrewdness which a
certain type of wrongly developed
meniality often shows.
Conley Makes an Offer.
Then the story went on, Wilkins
and Madge corroborating each other,
while Jimmy, who had come upon the
scene a few moments too late, filled
the gaps with philosophical deduc
tions as to the meaning of it all.
Jimmy had arrived just in time to
see Conley step out of the woods and
then return hastily, as if he had for
gotten something. As a matter of
‘fact. he had forgotten a check for
ssoo—with which he had expected
to buy off the girl to whom he owed
love, loyalty and protection.
The other in the meantime, seeing
his path clear to reach the girl, was
about to confront Madge. Then his
ucute sense of hearing warned him
of his rival’s return, and instead he
turned and faced the city man.
Each of them expected an attack.
Finally Coniey asked Wilkins if he
Instead of allowing its crown to overflow the brim Just above the
brows, as did the old-fashioned tam-o'-shanter, this model of black vel.
vet makes a high bulwark of its brim and the velvet crown breaks over
at the top where a stream of paradise feathers shoots out. To the left,
a fiyaway toque of purple velvet with one wing spread fanwise and the
other furled
Novelized from the Great Film Play
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX
had been following the girl, and, if '
so, why.
Having decided that he was a
match for his rival, Wilkins insolently
answered: “Well, what if 1 was?"
“What I want to know is, are you
interested in her—are you in love
with her? Would you like to marry
her?”
Wilkins' reply was an evil grin.
“Well, you can have her and a
thousad dollars in cash—but you'll
have to marry her—and be good to
her and the baby—mighty good. Do
you understand?” asked Conley, who
}had no thought of the terrible evil
’wlth which he might be engulfiing
Madge. He was not a psychologist—
and he never guessed that he was of
fering to sell Madge to a man of
brute instinct and iow mentality.
What he thought was that he was
at once procuring a husband for the
sweetheart of whom he had tired, a
name for his babdy, and his own free
dom to marry Margaret Payne and
satisfy his errant emotions and his
father’'s ambitious designs,
None of this had Jimmy heard. He
,had only seen the two men wander-'
ing off toward the cabin with a cer
‘tain absorbed interest in each other
‘whxch he did not then understand, but
which was now unpleasantly clear.
' And so it was arranged. Richargd
Conley and Wilkins hatched their
plot,
The Baby Stolen.
fiadge was wandering through the
Iwoods toward her own home, crooning
to her baby, almost cheerfully. She
felt strangely elated.” Richard had
come from the city at sound of her
voice. llf that could call him back to
‘her side temporarily, she felt sure that
‘the living tie the child in her arms
represented would eventually bind him
%to her.
Baby glimpsed a patch of red flow
ers at the top of a bank by the road
side and began screaming lustily for
‘them. To quiet him Madge Jaid him
in the grass and climbed after the
bright objects which had attracted
the little lad, A minute later she re
turned triumphantly bearing the flow
ers. .
Baby was gone!
Then the mother heard its cries and
followed the sound. Straight to the
cabin those cries led her. And when
the mother reached the door of the
dilapidated cottage she plunged in to
rescue her baby. The man flung the
door shut after her and bolted it. Then
he seized her and fastened her secure
ly. A second later he hurried out,
carrying the baby away under her tor
tured eyes.
“Gosh! That was sort of fun—'most
as much as when I take one of the
kittens and the old mother cat meows
for it. I hid the kid in the barn, an*
then T went back and told the girl
she’'s got to marry me or else I'd leave
the kid to starve. It was lots of fun
8. Beads @~ 4
3 By JANE McLEAN.
AN AR ANNARAARARAA A A A
HE hours are like a string of colored beads
l Strung on a golden chain,
First come the small ones like a row of deeds
That speak not loss nor gain.
Then comes an amber bead that speaks a day
Of languorous golden hours
When Time, in lingering, dreams itself away
Among the poppy flowers.
Then comes a bead of jade that brings a breath
Caught from its liquid heart,
Of warring passions, pain and grief and death,
A sad day set apart. 3
Then comes a red bead like a drop of fire,
A glorious pagan thing,
When Love and Youth, forgetful of earth’s mire,
Lift up their hearts and sing.
ATLANTA COLLEGE OF PHARMACY §
Starts Oct. 2. Teaching by men who know. ['g-to-date laboratories. De
mand for our graduates greater than the supply. ur men have been very suc
cessful. Come and see us at work and think for yourself. Write for bulletin
No. 3. Address Dr. George F. Payne, Pr esident, 255 Courtland St., Atlanta, Ga. t
L
=
off |k —_——}
J TR | o /’ ‘
Ag, « Z |
i )
He’s as Near as Your
”»
Telephone
“You don’t have to take tire
some trips or waste half a day in :
traveling when you wish to see him. :
“He’s as near as your tele
phone, if you travel the Bell way. 4
You are there instantly and back
again at work when he says ‘Good- |
bye."” :
Surely this is the ideal way to ‘
travel!
S. B. MATTHEWSON, Mgr,
SOUTHERN BELL TELEPHONE
AND TELEGRAPH COMPANY ‘
R
seein’ her cry and beg for mercy—
more than I knew when Conley
thought of the plan an’ I made the
bargain with him.”
Madge's face had gone white and
was twisting with pain and horror.
She thought her lover a pitiless vil
lain. I knew that he was a driven
weakling who had never guessed to
what he was subjecting the girl he
once loved.
At last Wilkins had untied his cap
tive and had told her to choose be
tween her freedom and her baby’s life.
The girl rushed wildly out with a cer~
tain terrified expectation of pursuit,
and then in an anguish of doubt she
returned.
Mother love had prevailed—nothing
mattered but the life of her baby. Beat
en and pathetic, she re-entered the
cabin., She knew she was going to ut
ter degradation, But she was ready:;
she must brave all for the sake of
her baby.
But wave on wave of horror went
over her when Wilkins seized her and
crushed her in his arms. She felt her
self helpless to cope with the force
of his brutality; she thought herself
alone in those gloomy woods, but nor
mal instincts of self-preservation had
made her shriek for help, and her
cries had led Jimmy and me straight
to the cabin door.
And that was the story Wilkins told
and I witnessed. i
“And now, Miss Beatrice, will your
sense of ethics and honesty prevent
your using the story to Madge's ad
vantage?” asked Jimmy. “Are you
ready to fight fire with fire—will you
do a little evil that good may come?”
With tense breathlessness Madge
Minturn watched me—and I knew
what my answer must be, X
(To Be Continued Tomorrow.)