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Read the Sixth Installment-of the Seventh Episode of “BEATRICE FAIRFAX,” New Film Serial, Here Today
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“BEATRICE FAIRFAX™
[he Stars in Episode No. 7
e dtars in Lupisode [No.
1
“A Name for a Baby
Jimmy Barton— Attt the XY. __Harry Fox
Beatrice Fairfax— Of the ¥ X Evening _Grace Darling
This splendid series of exciting human interest stories is'
produced in motion pictures by Wharton Inc. Studios for the
International Film Service, Inc.
See the motion pictures at your favorite theater nextweeh |
R iki iiimn ibt io b i
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX,
(Novelized From the Scenario of 8. Basil Dickey.)
(Copyright, 1916, International News Service.)
‘6 ELL, granny, if you think
W it's all right, 1 suppose it
is. But it doesn't seem ex
actly ethical to me for Beatrice Fair
fax, of The Journal, to do evil that
good may come,” said I.
Granny smile with the patient wis
dom of her 70 years. “Don’t he a
Puritan, Beatrice. One of the best
laws of morality I have ever heard is,
‘Play the game!’ 1 don’t like most of
your modern slang, but I do approve
of that little saying. KEverybody has
to play the game—Jimmy Barton |
seems to know how, and I advise my
girl to follow his lead.” l
“Do you actually think It's justi
fiable, granny, dear?”
“Justifiable!” Granny's keen blue
eyes flashed behind the gold-bowed |
spectacles she had adjusted in order!
to examine the tulle which was!/
draped across the back of my eve-|
ning gown. “That girl Mary never|
does hook you up just right, Here.i
come to your granny while I straight
en things out, and don't fuss anyl
more. You look very nice, and I'm]|
5 the wedding will he a great nuc-!
cess. 1 like you in blue,” concluded |
granny, irrelevantly,
As far as she was concerned, thel
conversation was concluded. When
granny chooses to dismliss a subject,
woe betide a persistent person who
attempts to continue discussing it.
Well, later events have proven that
granny was right. And after all, the
PUT UP AT AUCTION
e e e i
“THIS {s the third time I have
asked you to marry me, Miss
Townsend, and- "
“Please don't ask me again, Mr.
"Bteele,” Interrupted the delicately pret
ty young girl, iocoking distressedly at
the elderly man. ‘I thank you sincere
ly for the honor you do me, but I can
ndvpr marry you. I don’t love you, and
~—and-—well, it can never be, and these
occasions only give both of us pain"”
“I know what you would say,” re
plied the man, raspingly, a sneering
smile curving his thin lips. “You mean
you are practically engaged to Jack
Forester. Well, I have made up my
mind, so you had better understand that.
1 can't allow that young man to inter
fere with my plans. You are going to
marry me. If not willingly, then "
“Mr, Steele. how dare you!" flamed
Hilda Townsend, starting to her feet.
"How dare you speak in such a man
ner?"’
As she hesitated a moment, at a loss
for words, Steele looked at her in open
admiration, for she made a beautiful
picture as she stood panting with anger,
ber face flushed, with flashing gray
eyes, framed in golden brown hair,
Then controlling her anger, she moved
toward the door, saying lclly:
“I will send the maid to show you
out.”
“Your father will suffer If you defy
me,"” came the curt response, in cyni
_eay, unemotienal tones.
*What do you mean?” demanded the
girl, haughtily, but with a cluteh of fear
At her heart, as she stopped and turned
toward him,
~ "I mean that I can ruin your father,
and unless you are =easonable | shall
f"Xfi power without hesitation.”
Kk of dread came Into Hilda's
Wh't
Y Sk.
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; cream, being delicately scented
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¢ cream,
Don't be dark complected
and coarse ekinned —g»t 4 box
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your druggist. If he won't
supply you, we will, if you will
send us 26¢ in stamps or coin
The Laxaret Co.,
P. O, Box 409
Atlanta, Ga.
Agents Wanted
e
end does justify the means—if you ean
be sure of the end.
Jimmy and I had been sent special
invitations to the “Conley-Payne”
wedding. So for the evening we
doffed our workaday clothes and made
ourselves fine and splendid in keeping
lwith the limousine soclety with which
we were golng to mingle.
} Men seem to be divided into two
!clnnseu——thoso who can wear full dress
clothes and those who can't. Jimmy
‘could. Grandmother's glance rested
‘upon him with affectionate approval.
'He had a look of grooming and breed-
Hng and indifference to his own at
‘tractiveness which only added to it.
| In a Limousine.
1 And we went to that wedding in a
limousine which had quite as long a
‘wheel base and an engine of just as|
numerous horsepower as those of Mins'
Margaret Payne's more exclusive inti
mates,
The Payne drawing room represent
ed the very best in the interior deco
rator's art, plus a florist's work un
trammeled by thought of expense,
When we entered it and I beheld the
floral altar of marvelous roses banked
across one end of the room, my heart
gave a sudden contraction, half fear
and half pity. You see, I was re
membering the tumbledown cabin in
the woods and the sullen-faced de
generate who wanted Madge Minturn
for his own.
And then Richard Conley entered
PN AN NINT INI ININISNINS SIS ANTSSNININI SN
eyes, for she knew that her father was
heavily in debt to this man. Sinking
on to a chalr at the table, she remained
silent, thinking desperately what to do
or say,
Steele walted, calm and confident.
Then with sudden determination she
spoke. ‘
“Mr. Steele, will you please explain
yourself quite fully? This is a matter
that must be settled now--once for all."
“That is all 1 ask. I am a wealthy
man, and can offer you infinitely more
than young Forester will ever be able
to. He Is pottering away his life among
musty old relles, and is——"",
“I won't allow you to speak disparag
ingly of Mr. Forester,” interrupted Hil
da, Indignantly. *“As for his prospects,
although young, he is already con
sidered an expert judge of antiques.”
“Very well, we will leave him _out
of the question,” replied Steele, with
frritating calmness. “Then it simply
amounts to this. Your father owes me
some SIO,OOO for which I hold a mort
gage on his house and furniture, and
unless you marry me I shall foreclose.
That's putting it bluntly, perhaps, but
you drive me to it.”
“Bluntly! It's brutal!"
| A Time Limit,
. “Well, well, as you like, but we shall
not make things better by quarreling.
iThree weeks today 1 shall expect a
definite answer from’ you, and as | dis
}llk. such scenes as this, 1 shall nml
trouble you agaln until then. That is
all 1 have to say, but because | have
sald it quietly, don't imagine thta it's
not meant. 1 am in deadly earnest.”
For some moments Hilda remained
silent, then she rose and stood proud
ly before the man who threatened her.
“1 must give you credit for being can
did, Mr. Steele, and 1 will be equally
!nu," she replied. “1 would rather mar
ry Mr, Forester as a beggar than you
‘as a milionaire. Now we understand,
‘each other. For the presnt, then, mat
ters remain as they are. For the fu
ture—we shall see.”
| She left him without walting for a
ireply. but she caught the sound of a
cold, contemptuous laughter that sent
a chill of fear through her.
Although Steele admired Hilda, he was
not in love, he was too selfish to love
any one but himself. He had set his
mind on her because she fulfilleq his
idea of what his wife should be, beau
titul and well connected, and being ace
customed to having his own way in all
things her persistent refusal made him
the more determined that she should
marry him,
- . -
The public gardens of the small town
where Hilda lived were almost deserted
as she walked slowly along a shady
path between the pines, where a sweet
scented sea brecze tempered the heat of
the sun.
Walking with head bent, apparently
lost in thought she did not notice the
figure of 4 well set-up young man ap
proaching rapidly from the opposite di
rection.
When within a few feet he stopped,
barring the way, and Hilda looked up
suddenly
“Jack! How voun startled me.”
“I'm wsorry, ra
brightening b Jooked fla.:dbohr‘.' Dt
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Young Conley discovers he has married Madge after all. Beatrice Fairfax (Grace Darling) and Jimmy Barton
(Harry Fox) look on.
the room and crossed to the floral
altar back of which stood the sur
pliced minister. His face was chalk
white—set into a mold of repression
and not looking at all like that of an
expectant bridegroom.
~ln the front row of spectators stood
}Rk‘hlrd'n father-—dominant, arrogant,
evidently the master figure in the sit-
A A A A AAN A AAAAAN A AN AN
NP NININTNINININTNININININENINININININGNINNS AR A PSPPI
you woukin't notice my wavings. How
glad I am that we met, though. I've
great news, and thought I'd have to
keep it until tonight.”
_"l‘ hope it's good news, Jack, for I'm
feeling very despondent. 1 had a letter
from Mr. Steele this morning. He has
told his lawyers to foreclose unless they |
receive the money by the 27th, ang hel
ends up by telling me that I know the
only alternative. It would kill dear old
dad, in his state of health, yet I can
see no way out.”
““The blackguard!"” exclaimed Jack,
hotly. “But never mind, dear, don't
worry any more. I've a plan to outwit
him, which I must jexplain hurriedly
now, as I'm on my way to an appoint
ment. We can talk it over tonight.”
Jack Has a Plan.
Jack went on to say that, when look-
Ing at some goods that were to be sold
by auction, he had come across a very
valuable vase that apparently no one
knew its value because it was lumped
in with two other common ornaments
as one lot. Jack valued it at about $lO,-
000, and his plan was to secure it, resell,
and pay off the money owing to Steele.
“Oh, Jack, are you sure?"’ asked
Hilda, breathiess with excitement,
“Yes, absolutely certain, and if I can
get it for a small sum, we'll pay that
scoundrel, Steele, and then I'll give him
a thrashing."”
Jack looked well able to carry out the
threat, and Hilda felt a comforting
sense of protection as she glanced at
his stern face and strong figure.
““But suppose some one else discovers
its value ‘and bids against you?' she
saild, doubtfully.
““There’'s not much risk of that,
There are no antiques in the sale to at
tract those who would know, 1 tried to
buy it privately to make certain, but
the goods must be sold by auction, so
we will have to take our chance. But,
at any rate, 1 have managed to arrange
& temporary loan. Yes, dear, in few
days you'll be free from worry."”
“It seems too good to be true, Jack,‘
but 1 hope~oh, how I do hope it will be
as you say!"
“Never fear, Hilda, love, and now .
really must hurry on again. I'll come in
'nrly tonight.
’ "By the way,” he called back, pausing
after a few steps, “it's Lot Thirteen;
the number won't prove unlucky for us,
anyway."
“No, indeed,"” she responded, laugh
ingly, as she waved adieu, “we'll make
it our lucky number.” |
The sound of thelr footsteps died
laway, and for a few moments there was
| sllence. Then, with a faint rustiing,
there rose above the low hedge,” by
lvhlch the lovers had been standing, the
head and shoukders of Matthew Steele.
“Not unlucky!" he snarled, looking in
the direction Jack had taken. *'l will
see to it that the traditional bad luck
'holdl good in your case, my friend,
l\'ou shall bitterly regret having tried m‘
outwit me.'"’
He sank down again upon the rustic
seat to which he came almost every day
Itor A rest in the open air.
“What luck,” he mussed, “that they
t-h\mkl have met within my hummi
| They would have bedten me otherwise,
! but now-——-"
- " »
l The auction room of the little market
town was well fllhd.'m the day being
"
uation which he had created for his
son.
There was a stir among the guests.
An organ hidden somewhere in the
house pealed forth “The Voice That
Breathed O'er Eden,” and then swung
into the refrain of Lohengrin's “Wed
ding March.”
Winchester Payne, banker an@
AAAAAAA A A A AP AN
A A A AAAA AAN A AP AN
hot and close, the buyvers were listless,
s 0 that, despite the efforts of a very
energetic auctioneer, bidding was slow.
Jack was well to the front, and close
by, in a quiet corner, sat Hilda, look
ing rather anxious.
| The room, with ite plain benches and
|desks, its walls that were bare except
for a few placards, and its grimy, un
shaded windows, appealed to Hilda as a
commonplace, matter-of-fact setting for
the momentous event about to take
place in her life.
The sale commenced, and by the time
Lot Eleven was disposed of the bidding
had almost ceased.
Lot Twelve was not bid for at all.
“Come, gentlemen,” cried the auc
tioneer in desperation, “you are missing
some splendid chances, Now, if you
don't want furniture here's something
smaller. Lot Thirteen, A pair of hand
some vases, and an odd one thrown in.
What offers for L("t Thirteen? They
are—""
“Ten dollars,” came a bid.
“The wid one alone is worth more
than that. What advance on ten? 1
can't take—""
“Fifteen.”
“Twenty-five."
“Thirty."”
Bids came at first from various parts
of the room, but at thirty only Jack
and another man were bidding."”
“What advance on S3O for Lot Thir
teen? The vases are worth more than
that, gentlemen. Lot Thirteen going
for S3O. Any advance?"
“One hundred dollars."
The words, snapped out by a sour
visaged, elderly man at the back of the
crowd, sent a thrill of excitement
through the room. Every one turned
and looked curiously at the bidder, a
grim-looking figure, standing there in
silence.
Jack glanced at his new opponent,
and met the vindictive eyes of Matthew
Steele!
Face to Face.
A look of eynical amusement crossed
Steele's face as he saw Jack and Hilda
exchange glaces, in which he could read
doubt and apprehension.
The auctioneer’'s businesslike volce
broke sharply through the buzz of ex
citement.
Up and up went the price, bids fol
lowing each other rapidly. Alternately |
came Jack's elear voice and Steele's
harsh note, running each other up until
the bid was $4,500,
Jack began to show signs of emo
tion, his bids coming hesitatingly, hut'
each time the harsh voice instantly bid
higher, and there was no sign of emo-'
tion on the grim face.
The excitement became intense, peo
ple standing on benches and chairs to
obtain a view of the two bidders. Hilda
was now standing by Jack, and they
would exchange a few words and anx
lous looks before Jack made hig ad
vances. 1
Steele's last bid was $4.500, and Jack
had not replied.
“Going at —-"
85,000 " hesitatingly.
“$5,000!" came ke a flash.
“Any advance?' glancing at Jack.
“Lot xys going for “.‘00.“ l
Dow;n :::\c t:;flhyam“mu;‘. .:‘24 Lot 13
Pushing g{: way unconcernedly
Idiplomat, entered his drawing room,
and on his arm leaned the veiled fig
{ure of the bride.
» And then the ceremony began—the
| ceremony which gave Margaret to
| Richard as wife.
Presently it was finished and the
minister pronounced the benediction.
l Then the groom leaned forward and
AAAAAAA A A A A AP
A Clever Story of a Ruse
i e i S SAN
Whereby a Young Man Won His Sweetheart
o (=) -
AAAA A A A A AAN AP
through the excited crowd, he ostenta
tiously paid the auctioneer's clerk in
bank notes, saying he would take the
vases away with him. |
Hilda and Jack were close by, but be
yond a glance of triumph as he passed
he ignored them.
They appeared to be greatly agitated,
and his mean soul felt a sense of grati
fication at the thought of their distress.
- ; - -
After gecuring the vases Steele made
no further move. There was still near
ly a week left to Miss Townend before
she must give him a definite reply, and,
although he knew what that reply must
be, the idea of keeping the young cou
ple in suspense pleased him.
Feeling that he had them completely
in his power, he would sit at home, or
in his office, gloating over the visions
he conjured up. He pictured their dis
tress at thelr own helplessness ang half.
expected them to make an effort to come
to terms. That would give him just the
opportunity he waited for.
He would listen to their pleadings and
pretend to waver, so as to raise their
hopes. Then, when his time limit to
Hilda had expired, he would immediate
ly take drastic steps against her father,
letting the girl know that he would
not stop them until she was actually
his wife. 1
He was musing thus one afternoon
in his handsomely furnished office when
Jack and Hilda were announced. }
With a thrill of exultant satisfaction
he told his clerk to show them in, and
prepared to play the part. l
They entered, and, rather to Steele's
surprise, were looking very happy. When
they were seated, Jack turned to Mr.
Steele, |
“We came to ask.,” he said, *“if you
would care to part with the small vase
you secured at the auction. We're not |
interested in the other two, but that one
we would like as a memento,” |
Steele was somewhat taken back.
He had not anticipated this move, and
was silent a while, wondering what it
meant. Suddenly he understood Jack
hoped to secure it even at a high price
and still sell at a profit. 1
“Well,”” he replied, with an assump- |
tion of interest, “at a price I would.
What will you offer?” |
“l doubt if you know its real value.
Still, T'll give you $5, although it's not
really worth it.” 3
Although irritated at what he comld-;
ered Jack's childish attempt at bluff,
Steéle outwardly kept his temper. |
His Expert Opinion. ‘
“lI suppose you would,” he replied,
unable to keep a sneer from his tone.‘
“I understand it's worth nearly double
what 1 gave for the three. It happens
that I knew what I was buying. I act- |
ed on the opinion of an expert—a friend |
of Miss Townsend." (
He watched their faces to see the ef
fect of this thrust, but to his chagrin
they showed no sign. {
“Then you have been misled,” sald
Jack coolly. 1 have some knowledge of
such things, and 1 value it at about $5.
But if you won't accept my offer there's
nothing more to be said. So we'll be
going."
At this unexpected attitude Steele lost
his temper, »
“You lie!"” he shouted. I heard you
Novelized from the Great Fllmplz;
~By BEATRICE FAIRFAX
threw back the bride’s veil. I clutched
Jimmy's arm and watched the guests
who waited for the sentimental mo
ment when the newly-made husband
kisses his bride for all men to see.
A stir went through the assemblage
of guests. Richard Conley, Sr., leaped
forward with a shout of rage.
For when the bride's veil was
AARAR AA A AR AR ARAAAAAARAAAARAAAS
myself; you said 1t was worth—-""'
“We know all about that,” interrupted
Jack, imperturbably. *You heard Miss
Townsend and me talking aboyt it in
the gardens, but we Kknew you were
there.
““We were aware of yvour habit of rest.
ing there each day, and we arranged the
meeting accordingly. We tricked you
into buying a Vvalueless vase for a large
sum. You drove us to it.,”
Steele went livid with passion, and as
he spoke he crashed his fist on the desk
in front of him.
“You fool!” he eried, hoarsely. Sup
posing that’s true, what good will it do
you? What is $6,000 to me? And now
I'll show no merey—none whatever,
That's all you shall gain by your trick
ery.”
He turned furiously to Hilda, ecom
pletely losing control of himself,
The Debt Paid.
“I demand your answer now. Prom
ise to marry me or I will take instant
proceedings against your father. Come!
your promise at once. You won't have
another chance. I'll-——-'"
Jack started to his feet, flushing an
grily, but Hilda signed to him to keep
silent, then turned and spoke calmly
10 the enraged man.
“I will tell you something, Mr. Steele,
that will itseif be sufficient answer to
your cowardly attempt to blackmail me,
We have just come from your lawyer,
to whom we have paid the debt in
fun!
Steele fell back in his chair, his face
distorted with impotent rage.
Frustrated! And by this young cou
ple. But, no, it was impossible.
“You—you—it can’t be,” he stuttered,
““You—l don’'t believe it. You had no
money—neither of you. Don't try to
fool me. It's another confounded trick
to—""
“I will allow no more of this,” inter
rupted Jack, suddenly springing up and
striding threateningly toward Steele,
who rose nervously to his feet. *An
other discourteous word to Miss Town
send and I'll knock you down, you
blackguard! It's only because my flancee
wishes to avoid publicity that you es
cape the thrashing you deserve, but I
warn you not to try me further.”
Still angry, but thoroughly cowed,
Steele made no reply. He stood there
silent and sullen, knowing he was
beaten,
“Come, Jack,” said Hilda, breaking
the silence. “I'll tell him what we real.
ly came to say, and then we had better
gO." Then, turning to Mr. Steele:
“I paid the debt with money I re
cently became possessed of, and as you
helped me indirectly, 1 suppose I ought
to thank you.”
“lI helped you? 1-1 don't under
stand.” .
“Well, you see,” replied Hilda, mer
rily, as they went from the room. “Lot
Th)ir(een was mine!"
Hopeful.
Mrs, Sibley-—Has my new perambula
tor come? Shopkeeper—-No, madam; I'm
sorry to say it has not, but it won't
v ived,
Mea. Bikiey—Oh Pin 56 siad ekt
part of it “gcom! Do show it to me!
thrown back the face framed in the
folds of white tulle was not that of
Margaret Payne, but of a starry-eyed,
tremulous-lipped girl whom Jimmy
and I had substituted for the bride.
“It isn't legal. I'll have it annulled,”
shricked Conley, senior.
. Silent and wondering, Conley, ‘
{ junior, faced his bride. ‘
I wondered what thoughts were
rushing into his conscience as he
faced the girl who had dared s 0 much
for love of him. I wondered what
thoughts would eclaim him when he
knew how near Madge Minturn had
come to what was worse than death
for the sake of the little son whose
father had denied him even a name.
But Richard Conley said nothing.
A little muscle across his jaw was
twitching and his eyes had grown
very dark and were shining with a
clear steadiness. Some purpose
seemed to be setting his weak mouth
into a mold—was it stubbornness or
strength?
“Oh, I guess it's legal, all right,”
said Jimmy, stepring forward and
holding out a paper—the signed con
fession of Wilkins. “You see, this is
a license making it legal. Mrs. Rich
ard Conley, Jr., got it today.”
Still Richard Conley said nothing—
still that look of ugly stubbornness—
or was it strength?—held his face in
a mask of immobility.
And then another actor came upon
the scene. In the doorway stood the
butler leading Harry Wilkins—the
evil man of Blue Cove. Jimmy point
ed to him and spoke in a low veice to
Richard.
“If it isn't legal, you will make it
S 0 or go to the penitentiary.”
The Baby Appears.
Madge trembled with fear at the
words. “Oh, I thought I only wanted
a name for my baby—but it’'s more
Shells
| HEY sat at the end of a break-
T water, staring out at the far-‘
away tide. All about them the
’sand stretched damp and go:denl
'brown—~a giant east coast chrysan
themum--speckled here and there
lwith long trails of seaweed, like theJ
discarded strands of some mermaid
en’s hair. Shells, too, there were in
plenty, quite ordinary shells, the usual
treasure trove of the sea, but nonel
the less pretty for all that. Pink and
brown, and amber and gray-mauve.l
frilled and rounded and curly, and
tucked away in each polished head a
little, monotonous, hammerlike whis
per of the sea whence it came.
The lap of the girl's white dress was
full of these little, crinkly, rubbishy
things, and f)resently. when the glare
of the water stretching ahead becamel
too sown with the sun's diamonds forl
the human eye to contemplate com
fortably, it was at the shells in herl
t’;p she looked rather than at the man
t her side.
It was as if the sense of coming
separation had woven a swift veil of
shyness between her and this brand
new husband of hers so that she
dared no longer look at him. But the
man at least had no mind to waste
time,
“Clara, look at me,” he said imperi
ously, as the silence and aloofness
endured. “Don’t give all your atten
tion to those rotten shells. You'll!
have plenty of time to admire that
rubbish later.”
" But still the girl avoided the toc
ardent look of nis dark eyes,
“They are so pretty,” she murmured
self-excusingly. “See this little pink
one”—she held up a tiny pink shell,
exquisite as an uncurled roseleaf.
“And this"—she held out a bigger
ghell, ribbed and brown, and curved
like a boat. “I wonder to what en-
Ichanted isle this traveled in its day
and what became of the little fairy
Jason who sailed within her?”
But the man, ignoring the pretty
fancy, stared instead at the hand that
held the shell.
“The nails of your hand are prettier
than any shell,” he told her, with all a
lover's rhapsody. “Let's talk about
ourselves while we can.” He edged
closer to the hem of her white frock.
“My train leaves in an hour, and only
Heaven and a bullet knows whether I
shall ever see you again.”
She melted at that, and her shyness
dropped from her as she clung to him,
“Oh, my dear—my dear! 1 was
trying to forget,” she nol?bed. “It is
80 hard to let you go. I could have
borne it better a week ago. But love
makes one weak.
That was true at least, Strong man
though he was, he remembered how
his blood had turned to water when
for the first time in that quiet hotel
room he had called her wife. A little
afraid of the tempest he had raised, he
tried to calm her.
“Little goose, 1 was only teasing
you, Of course I shall come back,” he
promised. “See,” his hand closed upon
something in her lap. “I shall take
your little pink shell with me as a
mascot. If that does not keep me
from harm”--he ,was laughing
The tears still wet upon her cheek,
but a new interest in her eyes, she
watched him place It inside his pock
etbook.
“Take this brown one, too,” she
T ARe e e A A
than that. I love Richard, T don't
want him to go to prison,” she whis
pered to me.
We stood alone, a little Broup ma
rooned in the midst of the frighteneq
guests who had withdrawn to the
farther side of the room, leaving y
to work out our drama uncheckeq 0y
them.
At Jimmy’s words, Richard Con.
ley’s lips twisted into a snarl Go
to the penitentiary on the word of
the village idiot!” said he. “Wel 1
guess not—how dare you folks inter.
sere? What do you mean by playing
providence like this? Have yoy
thought of the other girl—of Margs.
ret?”
But before we could answer Mar.
garet Payne appeared in the doorway
of her home. In her arms was the
little, nameless, blue-eyed baby
which looked so much like the father
who had never owned it. And then a
sudden change came across Richard
Conley’s face. There is an instinoct
of fatherhood, too. He walked over
to the side of the girl he had meant
to marry and from her arms he took
his baby.
“Come, Madge—we'll go home”
said he. Perhaps there was not lovs
and longing in his voice—but I think
there was tenderness even then.
The baby was christened last week
—Margaret Payne and I were the god
mothers and the godfathers were two
very distinguished gentlemen—Jim
my Barton, of The Journal, and Win
chester Payne, banker and diplomat,
Really, granny should have had
some honor at that christening—for
if she had persuaded me to forget
ethics and remember humanity thers
might not have been a name for
Madge Minturn’s baby.
(Watch for the next episode, |t
will start in Monday's magazine
page.)
By Louise Heilgers
pleaded, “the one like a boat, with my
heart inside it for Jason,”
He shook his head. “One is enough,”
he told her lightly. “No excess bag
gage allowed, you know, in the way
of hearts. I've got all I want, ths
shell that reminds me"”—he crushed
her 40 him with sudden passion— ot
your little pink hands and your litils
pink ears, and the pink color in your
cheeks when I kiss you like this.”
“I shall be jealous of the shell,” sha
whispered. “It goes with you while [
stay here.” ]
“The best part of me stays hera,
t 00,” he whispered back upon her hair,
“My faith, my hope, my dreams it
is just the empty shell of me I take
away. You have the rest.”
It might be so, but she thought that
night she would sooner all his hopes
and faith and dreams had gone to
France, so long as what he had called
the empty shell remained with it. It
is the outward things of love that
appeal most to women—the look, the
kiss, the clasping hand. No woman
can grow roses on memories,
- - - - - . .
Three short weeks afterward shs
went to France, too, summoned thera
by a telegram that gave little hope.
What little she had managed to
conserve vanished when she kneeled
beside the narrow bed in the long
ward and saw what she might have
taken for just a heap of bandages, ex
cept that out of the bandages his eyes
looked at her—beyond her—not seeing
her, 3
“He was terribly hurt by a she!l”
she heard the nurse say, “but in spita
of that he is always asking us to find
him one and put it in his hand-a
pink shell he Insists it must be.” The
nurse sighed. “I suspect he 1s mixing
it up with all the blood, poor so!
low.”
The bandaged man on the hed
stared unseeingly at the fair-haired
woman at his side,
“The shell—where the deuce is that
shell?”” he murmured.
“There, you see,” whispered (14
nurse.
But the wife understood. The shell
that had meant so little to him on ths
beach had now come to mean all o
him,
“Where are his things? she asie!
as she stood up.
He smiled like a child when pre:-
ently thie little pink shell, found quite
uninjured in his pocketbook, was pit
into his hand. It was in his hand
when he died without a word or look ‘
for the woman who only a few wecks
ago had meant more to him than «:) -
thing else in this world, To him all
that remalined of life had becons
merged in that small pink shell .
the shell that had torn blood and 3o |
from him, of the wife he had wors
shiped, he remembered nothing. f‘ ]
do the lesser u;lnu in life alwo:s
L |
o wish T Souid spin_you & pre''’
ending to this tale, and tell you I ‘
one war bride, at least, remaircd |
forever a recluse, nursing a heart t e
had turned from a flower into an
empty pink shell. But as this hao- J
pens to be a true story—well, s
time | saw her she wore mauve 2 .
was dining with a sapper. She mis '
never have heard of a pink shell, '
look at her. Sometimes I think th»
if her husband had died with her han!
in his instead of clasping that pin¢
shell she might have remembered
But still 1 don’t know, W
As I sald before, women do not «
roses out of memoriea