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THE HIDDEN HAND
Don’t Fail te See This Thrilling
Serial in Motion Pictures at the
Best Theaters.--The Cast, Headed
By the Beautiful and Talented
Doris Kenyon, Is in Keeping
With the Excellence of the Story.
SYNOPSIS.
Doris Whitney, heiress of Judsom Whitney, coming to the library to meet
her father, finds him shot and e stranger who was calling on him also shot.
Bke calls help and the dying man accuses his secretary, Jack Ramsay of
'shooting him. Whitney dies and the stranger, who proves to be the Grand
Duke Alevievitch, speaks out.
BY ARTHUR B. REEVE,
Creator of the “Craig ¥ennedy” mystery stories, which appear e -clusively
5 Cosmopolitan Magazine. |
EPISODE 1. |
"'The Gauntlet of Death.” |
F LATT shook his head, turning to Abner, who happened to be
standing by, and topping his forehead with his forefinger.!
“Nutty,’’ he muttered. w
The stranger, however, was not so easily disposed of. He mo-j
tioned feebly to his breast pocket, and Flatt reached in. }
‘““Well, I’ll be blowed!”” he exclaimed, drawing forth a doeu
ment bearing a royal coat of arms and a seal. ‘‘That guy’s right!”’ 1
Flatt was now ready to pay more attention to the demand of
the Grand Duke that Doris be brought nearer to him.
““Weuld, you mind, Miss, stepping over here?’’ asked Flatt,
trying hard to be polite. |
For the moment Scarley stared blankly into the fireplace.
Verda had eyes only for Ramsay, while Abner fumed. Wonder
ingly, Doris approached. As she came closer, it seemed as if the
eyes of the Grand Duke would pop out of his head, not so much at
seeing her as at the strange locket she wore about her neck. Weak
ly, he stretched forth and grasped her hand, kissing it fervently.
In her tears, she tried to draw her hand away., |
“Do not weep for Judson Whitney,’’ hastened the Grand
Duke, eagerly. ‘‘He was not your father. You are my daughter.
You were born eighteen years ago in the Winter Palace.’’
Utter amazement now seized all in the room. |
‘“Listen—let me tell you my story—your story—the story of
that locket.’’
With a great effort, propped up on the divan, the Grand Duke
The Other Woman
By Virginia Terhune Van de
Water.
CHAPTER LVI.
(Copyright, 1917, Star Company.)
F I had expected Mrs. Hampton to
l show any change in her manner
toward me when next we met I
would have been mistaken. She was
Just as pleasant as she had ever
been.
Jack saw this, and, with a man’s
failure to go beneath the surface or
back of appearances, he took it for
granted that his mother’s manner
was indicative of an unchanged or
increased condition of loyalty be
tween herseif and me,
But I, with my feminine intuition
and tendency to analysls, realized
that matters were not as they had
been before my mother-in-law’'s frank
talk with me. I noticed that she
asked me no questions about my pri
wate affairs. For instance, she never
thquired where we were going or
awhat we had on hand when I men
tioned that Jack and I had an en-
*\{@é‘
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These fragrant super - creamy
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Follow ‘““The Hidden Hand’’ on This Page. ,It ’s amTfi:ilf ing Story of Adv enturg
'gagement for a certain time. Once or
‘twice she started as if to make some
inquiry, then checked herself and
flushed with embarrassment. I never
let her know that I had witnessed
this momentary struggle with her im
pulse,
Moreover, when I began, as I soon
did, to wear a few soft colors, she
made no comment. I almost wished
that she would, for I felt that at
heart she was wondering how I so
easily could forget my sorrow.
Perhaps this was why, on the day
preceding the anniversary of my
father's death, I told Mrs. Hampton
that I'was going out to Woodlawn
Cemetery the following morning.
“It will be just a year tomorrow
‘since my father\died," I explained.
~ “Yes,” she s=aid, “I remember the
date. And, by the way, dear, I am
going to take the liberty of order
ing a few flowers sént to you early
tomorrow morning. Perhaps you
would not mind carrying them owt to
Wodlawn with you and laying them
on your mother's grave? She was
always most kind to me—and I was
fond of her and grateful to her.”
“Thank you,” I rejoined. “It is very
good of you to propose dolng this—
but really it is not necessary.”
I did not intend to rebuff her, yet
for a moment I felt as if her action
had been a bit officious. My sorrow
was my own. Why need she intrude
upon {t?
A Pretty Thought.
I was ashamed of my petty and un
generous thought as I saw the look
that came into my mother-in-law’s
face. It was the look that mlight have
come to the face of a child who had
meant to please someone, and who,
instead, had done the wrong thing.
“I know it is not necessary, my
dear,” she acknowledged apologetical
ly. “And I do not want to intrude.
Perhaps you would rather that no
body sent flowers out there tomorrow
except you yourself.”
“Oh, no, I did not mean that” I
began, but she interrupted me with:
“As it will be the anniversary nf
your father’s death I can understana
that you will probably want no blos
soms put on his grave except those
you bring. But I thought that, as you
were going to Woodlawn anyway, you
might not mind taking a do%en car
nations with you and laying them
‘on your mother’s resting place for
me.”
“Of course I would not mind,” I
assured her.
She was silent for a moment and
then remarked: “Come to think of it,
it was a bit inconsiderate of me to
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Doris and her uncle listen to her dying father accuse Ramsay of shooting him.
began to speak as the others, too startled to interrupt, listened. la. baby, there was at the court a man who was my mortal enemy.
‘‘Eighteen years ago,”’ he began, to Doris, ‘‘when you were ! His name, you may have guessed---Rascon, the Mad Monk, who
A SERIAL OF
INTIMATE APPEAL
ask that of you, wasn't it? If you
have to carry your own box from the
florist’s it is a good deal to ask you
to carry one from me, too.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” I insisted.
When I was ready to start from
‘my home at 11 o’clock the next morn
fng my mother-in-law’s flowers had
not come. I telephoned to her board
ing house to ask about them, but was
informed that Mrs. Hampton was out
and would not be in before noontime.
Well, it was no fault of mine that
her gift had not arrived. I was at
heart a bit relieved that I need not
carry her gift all the way out to the
cemetery,
When I reached my section in
Woodlawn I started with surprise to
see lying on my mother’'s grave a
sheaf of beautiful carnations. There
were a dozen of them, and they were
of the color that Mrs. Hampton espe
cially admired. Had she been here
ahead of me?
There were no flowers on my
father's grave and I arranged there
those I had brought with me. Then,
before leaving, I looked once more at
the carnations. How could I ascer
tain whether Mrs. Hampton haéd
brought them herself, or had sent
them?
An idea occurred to me. Jack's
father was buried in Woodlawn. My
husband and I had visited his grave
together. I knew the way to the
Hampton plot. It was not far off,
and I walked there rapidly.
The Problem Solved.
The probiem was solved when I
reached the place I sought.
In the section there was but one
grave, that of my husband’s father.
On it was laid a number of exquisite
roses. It wz. e¢vident that the widow
had been here and to my section
early this morning.
When I saw Mrg Hampton again
I thanked her for the carnations she
had left on my mother’s grave,
“You went to needless trouble,” I
told her, “for T would have been glad
to carry the flowers there for you. I
hope you did not imagine I would ob
ject to doing so?”
The words may have sounded like a
challenge, but her reply disarmed me,
“Oh, no, dear, but I decided to go
myself to my own plot that morning,
so I just took the carnations at the
same time.”
“I see,” I said meekly.
It would have been petty to be re
sentful. It would also have been posi
tively unkind to appear ungracious.
Yet in my heart I was not as grate
ful as I tried to seem.
(To Be Continued.)
Teacher---A Short Story |
By AGNES LOU
EACHER was lonely. With the
T exception of Johnny Scely, the
scholars had all gone. It was
nearing the early sunset of a Novem
ber day and the country was sparsely
settled. She was “waiting out” a bad
fit of Johnny's, until he could—or
would—spell “cantankerous” correctly.
Johnny was in no hurry. So she
took the little piece of newspaper out
of her pockethook again and read it.
There were only a few words. But
they were balefully fascinating to her,
“MARRIED, in New York City, on the
18th inst., Mary Elizabeth, daughter
of Mr. and Mrs. Everett Winwood, and
Francis Blake.”
Teacher looked up. The light was
fading fast in the little schoolroom.
“Johnny, are you ready with the spell
ing lessons?” she asked.
“No, ma’'am.” Johnny winked a
beady black eye at an imaginary con
federate. He meant to stay her out.
“Why not?” “It's getting dark and 1
can't see the book, ma'am.”
“You may go over to the window-—
and study.” “Yes, ma’am.” Obedi
ently Johnny rose and carried his
book to the window. Teacher sighed
once, sadly, and returned to her con
templation of the clipping.
She had read that first, many miles
from the little New England village,
where she had come to lose herself, to
bury her heartache, if she might.
Many miles, too, from the great city
where the wedding had taken place.
It had come as a climax to the love
liest summer of all her life—the sum
mer when, in her Waestern home,
Francis Blake had wooed and won
her. He had come to her native city
cn a business trip; had gone away
betrothed to her. Letters had come
‘every day at first. Then a strange
silence had intervented. She had
written; but there was no reply.
She had waited till waiting grew
unbearable. Then had come this mar
riage notice. And she understood.
Heartbroken, she had sought out some
relatives in the far East. She had
come to them for solace, to bury her
identity in that of “teacher,” as she
was called in the little village.
“Teacher.” As if in echo of her
thoughts Johnny’s voice shattered the
stillness. She glanced up. Johnny
had risen and was standing on his
toes, his eyes bulging. ‘“Teacher!”
he called again, snapping his fingers
excitedly.
“Well, Johnny?” Teacher's patience
was exhausted. She looked for some
trifling diversion now. “What is it?”
TUESDAY, NOV, 27, 1917.
ISE PRATT
She dropped her eyes aéain. “A'ots
termobile. An’ it's broke, an’ they're
comin’ up the path. Can I go home
now ?” :
Teachéer came to the window. Saw
the disabled party, one man attend
ing to the trouble; a woman in ex
pensive furs, and another man com
ing up the path toward the open
outer door of the schoolhouse. “Yes,
Johnny,” teacher remarked, “you may
g 0 now.”
She knew wild horses couldn’t keep
him from participation in the scene
out there, and her will was powerless
to hold him. The strangers had in
terrupted the session anyway, so his
heels went clattering out through the
entry just as the strangers came to
ward the old box stove, snapping with
a good wood fire.
The young woman walked quietly
into the room. The man halted near
the doorway. Teacher hardly noticed
him.
“Oh, how splendid!” She was hard
ly more than a girl who spread her
hands to the grateful warmth. “May
we stay a minute? The machine
broke and it is so cold. Then we
saw the door of the schoolhouse
open. “You are the teacher?’ she
broke off suddenly to ask.
“Yes,”” and the teacher saw as she
opened the collar of her fur coat a
pretty face and twin sparkling eyes.
“We are on our wedding tour,” the
girl explained, though Teacher asked
no questions. “My husband is out
there with the machine.” She laugh
ed heartily. Then she curned to the
man in the doorway. “Come over
here, Francis,” she called, “isn’'t it
funny?”
What she was going to say was
never recorded, for the eyes of
Teacher and the strangcr met. She
gasped “Francis,” and he—he was
'pale, ill looking. He answered sim
ply: “Helen, I was ill, following an
accident. No one had your address
and when I came back,” he smiled,
“to earth you were gone.”
“You know each other?” The little
bride grasped the situation instantly.
She solved the whole mystery with a
single sentence, “My husband’'s name
is Francis Blake, too. They're
cousins.”
She seemed to know, by intuition,
whas was required to untangle the
mixup and supplied it.
And when the other Francis called
from the doorway, “All taut and sea
worthy now,” Francis Blakefi the un
married, stayed behind—with Teach
er.
A Wonderful Serial by the Famous
ARTHUR B. REEVE
Nights With Uncle Remus
LXVlll—Brother Fox Makes a Narrow Escape.
By Joel Chandler Harris.
HE next time the little boy had
T an opportunity to visit Uncle
| Remus the old man wag alone,
'but he appeared to be in good spirits,
He was cobbling away upon what the
youngster recognized as 'Tildy's Sun
day shoes, and singing snatches of a
song something like this:
“O Mr. Rabbit! yo’ eye mighty big—
Yes, my Lord! dey er made fer ter
see;
O Mr. Rabbit! yo' tail mighty short—
Yes, my Lord! hit des fits me!”
The child waited to hear more, but
the song was the same thing over and
over again—always about Brather
Rabbit’s big eyes and hig short tail.
After a while Uncle Remus acknowl
edged the presence of his little part
ner by remarking:
fWell, sie, we er all ‘yer: Brep
Jack and Sis Tempy en dat ar 'Tildy
nigger may be a-pacin’ 'roun’ lookin’
in de fence-cornders sere Chris-mus,
but me en you en ole Brer Rabbit,
we er all yer, en es we aint right on
de spot, we er mighty close erroun’.
Yasser, we is dat; mo’ speshually ole
Brer Rabbit, wid he big eye and he
short tail. Don’t tell me 'bout Brer
Rabbit!” exclaimed Uncle Remus,
with a great apparent enthusiasm,
“'kaze dey aint no use er talkin’
’bout dat cretur.” ‘
The little boy was very anxious to
know why. ‘
“Well, I tell you,” said the old man.
“One time dey wuz a monst'us dryi
season in de settlement whar all de
creeturs live at, en drinkin'-water got
mighty skace. De creeks got low, en‘
de branches went dry, en all de
springs make der disappearance
‘cep’'n one great big un whar all de
crecturs drunk at. Dey’'d all meet dar,
dey woul,d en de bigges’ 'ud drink
fus’, en by de time de big uns all done
swaje der thus (1) dey wa'n’'t a drap
lef' fer de little uns skacely.
“Co'se Brer Rabbit 'uz on de happy
side. Es anybody gwine git water
Brer Rabbit de man. De creeturs 'ud
see he track 'roun’ de spring, but dey
aint nev' ketch 'im. Hit got so atter
w'ile dat de big creeturs 'ud crowd
Brer Fox out, en den 't wa'n't long
'fo’ he hunt up Brer Rabbit en ax
'im w'at he gwine do. ‘
“Brer Rabbit, he sorter study, en
den he up'n tell Brer Fox fer ter go
home en rub some ’lasses all on his-
Read It Here Each Day. Then— ?'
SEE IT ON TRE FILM{
g WHO'S WHO IN THE NEW FILM. l
DORIS WHITNEY .......................DOBIS KENYON
Dr. Soßrloy .......ovovueniiiineiiaadiinnds .o ASROIGON NN
Weorda Orame. .. ..ccovthieioirianevesvnensssin i o
JOoK RADIBAY .....occcvuvenrescsncsssibonse s NN NN
1
ruled the Asiatic Church, as he called it, and kept the weak Em
peror in fear of him. s
“On the day that you were born.
there came to this demon a plan to
avenge himself on me. Before the
Emperor and EmpreNs, this Rascon,
surrounded by his satellites, pretend
ed to go into a trance, in which he
professed to see visions of the future.
“There, in his evil mind, was born
the terrible thing that has happened
to us. In this false trance Rascon
made his fatal prophecy.
“‘This day there is born in the
palace of the Emperor a girl baby,
who will become the most beautiful
woman in the world, who will cause
the Emperor to go mad with love for
her, and accomplish the destruction
of the empire before her eighteenth
birthday.’
“Rascon chanted this prophecy in a
low drone,” continued the Grand
Duke. “As he finished, the weak Em
peror was very frightened. I looked
at the Empress. She was actually
enraged and jealous. $I knew that it
was my own child that the Mad Monk
Short Items of Interest
Tasmanian Mammals.
There is a species of mammals in
Tasmania the females of which lay
eggs from which the young are
hatched like the young of birds. This
mammal, the echidna, is perhaps of
the lowest order of mammals, and is
a kind of connecting link between
mammals and reptiles. They are
about the size of a baby porcupine,
are covered with strong spines set
thickly all over their skins, and by
way of a nose they have a slender
and narrow beak of white horn. The
echidna has very long, sharp claws,
with which it digs a deep burrow. In
this burrow it builds a nest for its
young and deposits one or two eggs,
which are enclosed in a strong flex
ible shell three-fourths of an inch in
length by two-thirds of an inch in
diameter,
* . .
\ :
A Critic’s Blunder.
Tlan Hay, the famous author of “The
First Hundred Thousand,” tells an
amusing story against himself. It
[se'f en den go out en waller In de
leafs. Brer Fox ax w'at he mus’ do
;den, en Brer Rabbit say he mus' go
down by de spring, en w'en de cree
turs come ter de spring fer ter git
dey water, he mus’ jump out at um,
en den atter dat he mus’ waller lak
he one er dem ar kinder varment w’at
got bugs on um.
“Brer Fox, he put out fer home,
he did, en w'en he git 'dar he run ter
de cubbud (2) des gawm his hisse'f
wid 'lasses, en den he went out in de
bushes, he did, en waller in de leafs
en trash twel he look mos’ bad ez
Brer Rabbit w’en he play Wull-er-de-
Wust on de creeturs.
“W'en Brer Fox git hisse'f all fix
up he went down ter de spring en
hide hisse'f. Bimeby all de creeturs
come atter der water, en w'iles dey
uz’ a-scuflin’ en a-hunchin’, en a
pushin’ en a-scrougin’, Brer Fox he
jump out'n de bushes en sorter switch
hisse’t 'roun’, en, bless yo' soul, he
look lak de Ole Boy.
“Brer Wolf tuck'n see 'lm fus’, en
he jump spang over Bre} B'ar head.
Brer B'ar, he lip back, en ax who dat,
en des time he do dis de t'er creeturs
dey tuck'n make a break, dey did, lak
punkins rollin’ own hill, en mos’ 'fo’
youk’'n wink yo' eye-ball, Brer Fox
had de range er de spring all by
hisse’f.
“Yit 't wa'n't fur long, 'kaze 'fo’ de
creeturs mov'd fur, dey tuck'n tu'n
'roun’, dey did, en crope back fer ter
see w’at dat ar skeery lookin’ varment
doin’. W’en dey git back in seein’
distuns dar 'uz Brer Fox walkin’ up
en down switchin’ hisse'f.
* “De creeturs dunner w'at ter make
un ’im. Dey watch, en Brer Fox
march; dey watch, en he march. Hit
keep on dis a-way twel bimeby Brer
Fox ’'gun ter waller in the water, en%
right dar,” continued Uncle Remus, |
leaning back to laugh, “right dar 'uz
whar Brer Rabbit had 'm. Time he
'gun ter waller in de water de 'lasses‘
'gun ter melt, en 't wa'n't no time
skacely 'fo’ de ’lasses en he leafs
done all wash off, en dar 'uz ole Brer‘
Fox des ez natchul ez life,
“De fus’ Brer Fox know ’bout de“
leafs comin’ off, he year Brer B'ar
holler on top er de hill: |
“ “You head 'im off down dar, Brer
Wolf, en I'll head ’'im off 'roun’ yer!’
“Brer I'ox look 'roun’ en he see all
de leafs done come off, en wid dat he
make a break, en he wa'n’'t none tco
‘,"T _:.,’?,? T i ‘:1
i i i !;.’;’;‘. ) 4 i .
il ofFice il i g! i
| s 1 ' XL ¥i %
L BN |
ifé”fi%:z:.z,-“ :d/\rf%\ E ’,‘ l
meant. And even as I prayed fer
mercy, the Emperor threw me aside
and begged that rascally Rascon to
tell him what he should do. His
only answer was to continue his
weird chant until finally he Iq}l
swooning on the floor. I knew that
all was lost. -J_ ¢
“The Emperor himself raised Ras
con from the floor and revived him.
There the fate of the child was seal
ed. I begged, I besought, I prayed.
It was all of no avail. The Emperor
waved his hand to .two of the Mad
Monk's satellites, who rushed off teo
tear the baby from her mother. .
A moment later thiey returned with
the innocent little thing. Pleading
was useless. I was sent into exile.
The Grand Duchess mnever recovered
from the shock. She dled that very
day. And from that day to ‘this'l
have never seen my daughter” = -
(To Be Continued Tolroorrow.)
seems that after his great war book
had brought him popularity his pub
lishers received some of his earlier
stories and republished them. They
were well recelved, although the au
thor regarded them rather as ama
teur efforts. But a ecritic in New
York waxed enthusiastic over them
and congratulated him on his ime
provement as a writer since the pro
duction of his p.opular book, Wt
- s
The Gnat. e
The gnat is but one of many species
of mosquito. Altogether there are no
fewer than thirty-five described as
natives of Kurope, while as many as
one hundred and thirty different va=
rieties are found scattered over the
rest of the world. Of this large num=
ber, some are known by the Span
name of mosquito—that {s, & “lit
fly”"—while others are given the ti
of “gnat,” but from a scientific point
of view there is no difference be
tween the insect known under these
different names,
soon, n'er, 'kaze little mo’ en de ¢rees
turs 'ud ’a’ kotch 'im.”
Without giving the little boy time
to ask any questions, Uncle Remus
added another verse to his Rabbit
song, and harped on it for several
minutes: i
“O Mr. Rabbit! yo' year mighty long—
Yes, my Lord! dey made fer ter lag’;
O Mr. Rabbit! o’ toof mighty sharp—
Yes, my Lord! dey cuts down
grass!”
(1) Assuaged their thirst. 86
(2) Cupboard.
(Copyright, 1881, 1883, 1909 and 1911,
by The Century Company; 1883, by
Joel Chandler Harris: 1911, by Es%
La Rose Harris. ALL RIGHTS -
SERVED. Printed by permission of
and by special arrangement with
Houghton Mifflin {'ompany.) B
Tomorrow — Brother Fox’s
Fish Trap. ’
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