Newspaper Page Text
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!! Nights ""ith Uncle Remus -.%.%....
i SISTER JANE (Continued).
i TPHAS BULLARD remained on his
C plantation, looked ecarefully after
his interests, and thrived, He de
yoted himself so closely to his business
that his wealth [ usm————
grew apace. By the 4
time he was !MH.",‘ e 1
he had made ‘\:i N :
much money as his § ,;*:1 i
father had been § e o
able to make after® Afi?: '_’» b
vears of hard 'w»g sN "f
bor. By that time E ‘:,!j’_ T
100, he came to hv§ i e g i
. kpown as the bach ,' ’é':“‘ i
plor planter, and§'§. 2v& i
he showed no more 5 ,A;“L;”, H 4
disposition to mar Y 1 i
ry &t that age than x
e had shown at e |
twenty. He set up
% grist mill on his
place, and invested im a wool-carding
machine. He rolged his own mules and
horses and they were fine ones. He
made his own corn, meat and all his
plantation supplies except the clothing
necessary for his negroes. He bought
shoes, cloth, hats, and blankets from
the wholesale houses. Ry the time he
was thirty-five he had formed the hab
#t of going north every year, for the
- purpose of laying In these supplies, ‘
It was on one of these trips (and
_while the stage-coach was journeying
iim Virginia) that he met the lady |
i became his wife, and she hl-rnvlf‘
18 the authority for the facts rnnrorn-i
,? that episode. I heard her tell them |
& Sister Jane with many dainty (n»-l
tures, and in a manner not without
suggestions of humor. FHer volce wan!
“post, low and well modulated, and she
‘made It more effective by the air of
Mfiy 1 have tried to describe.
. Bhe wae the daughter of Cecil Bran-
=
i
My Boy, Go
Ly Y, |
g
it |
| To Church
i
o
. ByDr. W. A McKeever,
_ One of the Nation’s Best-Known So
- ciological Writers,
66 HE churches are no good any
L more. HEverybody Is quit
w ting them and attending
some kind of Sunday entertainment
dnstead. I have not been in a church
pr two months.”
« These statements taken from the
@tter of an 18-year-old boy living
Aiway from home without doubt typi
¥ & new youthful attitude of mind
Bre in America, and they relate to
_cause for general alarm. There is
othing In the history of mankind
p show a gontinued period of general
welf. among any people that ran
ontemporaneous with a weak and
gbilitated church
. There s absolutely nothing in hu
pan experience of the past or human
ihieritance of the present to wnrrun('
“M 8 in the belief that society can stand
(long, much less !mprove, unless thel
‘ are kept constantly in touch
vith wholesome religion.
i But, my young friend, vou are
‘'Wrong. The churches are not going
BWN eny more than they are going
@ip. You have been reading quota
jons from the church alarmists. Does
4t ooccur to you that these denuncla
lons of the church would not get into
sprint If they were ndt unusual? That
ihe thousands of good things which
jiild be said about the church do
Bt get into print because they are
O COm mon *
" What church do you like best, young
n? I have my preference, but the!
iOne you like best is the one you|
aould attend, and regularly. If it is
Mot very good, make it better by going
here. And do not expect some stran-
Fer to come forward and wring your
4 after the service. This may or
BAY not happen. You may repel
0 by a forbidding look. The point
I go early, or stay late, and get ac-
Suainted with someone. Tell him who
¥OU are and ask him who he is. The
wery first man you approach may be a
| atranger like yourself. At least, warm
WP to somebody at the church. Ask
#ome questions.
" Find out about the Sunday school
~;( young people’'s soclety. At.
tend one of these and say something
fhere to wvouse a fellow feeling in
ur behalf. Read a verse from the
thle: ask for a certain hymn; tell
# others how you have felt hungry
ffil’h‘lmal kinship with somebody
#d that you came there to find it,
i them how much you need the
B¥mpathy of the church people and
o glad you would be to render
e sevice to others.
fatholic and Protestant, Jew and
#ntile, and Christian Scientist
Bae are all ready to help vou, my
; L provided you feel drawn to them
R will go to them seeking soul nur
ite,. Why not go at once?
& Xou, and thousands like you, are
e - about the big city on Sunday
Bend at night trying to find satifac
M in mere entertalnment and sen
-88l idulgence. But you know that
e Mhings do not satisfy the hun
£Of your soul, You know that oft
[ they leave you with a heavy head
" A sad, depressing splrit You
¢ that all this is little better than
ind of coarse intoxication.
50 to church somewhere and work
. Your own salvation with fear and
IWDHRR: otherwise. sooner or later
“will damn yourself and suffer
B bitter remorse. Go to chureh
termined to fll[n‘l a way to do some
dos gcod. Go to give something
#he precious littla that yvou have
er than to get something
[y boy, I wish I could make you
@ Mme for just one trial. Break
iy from the dizzy whirl of mere
sure and excitement and give the
IPEH A test for just one month, Go
D Win son et ing for your soul's
B And in time you will most
[tainly feel like thanking me for
m to go to ‘;urn-h.
M AGCAZIENEAND SO C IR I Z-RAGTES
don, of Brandon -on-the-James (she
pronounced it Brondon-on-the-Jeems),
and must have heen a very lively young
{lady according to her own account——
fond of horses, dogs and of going to the
fnlu\' when the players strolled to Rich
; mond,
| "I was nothing but a ehild, Jane
[only seventeen. Just think of that—
| positively a mere chiid. | can see 1t all
| now, Wt than T thausht T wes 8 prown
|lady. That was my father's fault. You
| have heard of Cecil Brandon, of Bran
| don-on-the Jeemy. The fumlly Is older
| than the history of England. He was
| the best man that ever lived, Jans—
a perfect gentleman. RBut he was llke
all gentlemen, For months. - yes,
| months, Jane—he’'d allow me to have
Y OWn way, never crossing me in any
i!hhw and then all of a sudden-p.r-r-t"
she made a sharp, chlrping sound
| with her lips—‘“his temper would be
gone, and peace would take wings and
| fly from the place. At such times he
forbads my most Innocent amusements.
He was a mgn, Jane, and you know a
man doesn’t know when to be rough
’:md when to be tender. Why, if 1 were a
man, I'd be mean and cruel sometimes,
‘but always at the right time.*
1 The Colonel's wife laughed as she
sald this, and her eyes sparkled almost
A 8 brightly as the jewels that flashed
on her fingers. 1
The upshot of it was that once, when
Cecll Brandon of Brandon-on-the-James
was In one of his tantrums, Fanny Bra
don mounted her horse, rode to Rich
mond te the house of a kinsman, and
sat out the play that night in borrowed
finery. Her father concluded that this
prank was part of a disposition that
should be tamed, whereupon he had his
daughter's trunk packed, bundled heg
in the carringe, got In himself, and set
out on a Journey to Washington, in
tending to take Fanny te a convent
school in Baltimore,
“Think of that, Jane!" exclaimed the
Colonel's wife In telling of the episode.
“Think of a convent for a young girl
who had been used to having her own
way except at odd times!”
The second day the carriage broke
down, and the hreak was mo serious
that it could be mended neither by
Cecll Brandon nor hig negro driver. Still
overwhelmed in the tantrums, Mr. Bran
don determined to wait for the stage
coach, which they had passed on the
rosd an hour or two before. He bade
the negro driver to take the horses
‘home, pald a farmer not far from the
roadside to haul the wreck of the ear
lrun away and hold it untl] sent for,
halled the stage-coach ‘when it came
along, and with little. or no palaver,
found a place for Fanny Brandon in
side, while he rode on top. Evidently
he was a man who did even small
things in a large way, and before such
men all difficulties are apt to disap
pear, |
An accommodating passenger surren
dered his seat inside to pretty Fanny
Brandon, and when she had fairly sot.
tled herself, the first man on whom
her eyves fell was Colonel Cephas Bul
lard, the man who was to be her hus
band,
“l never dreamed of such a thing,
Jane. Why, he was old enough to be .
my father; but you see how it Is; we
never know what Providence has in
store for us." 1
Colonel Brandon, swinging his hn‘
from the top of the eoach, was not long
in finding congenial company, and was
soon teiling Jokes and laughing heartily.
He found, too, some gentlemen of the
green cloth, and as few things suited
him better than a long today and a
brisk game of cards (the statement Is
his daughter's word for word), he made
arrangements for a tussle with chance
when Washington was reached, ™
Now, Fanny Brandon, though she was
- Good N ight Stories
OBBY was busy with paper and
twine when his lttle friend, Tom
my, oame running up.
“Making a kite™ he asked, Bobby
never answered. “Wish | had one.”
“Make one!" exclaimed Bobby, hold
ing it up to look at his work, “If you
think I'm going to let you play with
this one you're mistaken, ‘cause I'm
not!*
“Can't 1 even hold it while you give
‘\ 30
o VR
I
, ’
g
i l ’;‘ I »
]
| X ?'l’
|
1 1
: g W
W T
; S
*“Too Much Tail."
it a start?™ asked ‘Tommy, eagerly.
stooping to pick up the string
'Lt that alone!” cried Bobby, snateh
ing It out of his friend's hands.
. Tommy backea sway, leaned against
the fence and then he ran on home
“Fine day for flying,” mused Bobby.
“Any kite could fly in this wind. Let
him get & kite of his own. That's what
’ 1 did.”
But with all the lovely breeze, Boh
by's kite would enly g 0 up in the air
Just A little way, then drop to the
\(ruund ugain
"Too much tall,”’ laughed Bobby. but
Lady Duff Gordon Will Have an Exceptionally Interesting Page in Next Sunday’s American,
;dnubllfinn looking very pretty, was far
from happy. and when she heard her
!vmhrr" jolly Inugh nothing would do but
lshe must “fall to crying softly. ‘This
being gO, it was natural that Colonel
| Cophas Bullard, sitting opposite, should
14 xtend his sympathies, and offer his
'wervices, and make all efforts to con
sole her He was so guccessful that
‘l“.um_\- HBrandon was soon able to smile
shyly at him At the next stopoing.
| place, which was a tavern where they
had dinner, Colonel Bullard made bold
tg Introduce himself to Cecil Brandon,
agd it turned out--these Virginians hav
ing n great knack of knowing in person
Lor by repute everybody that Is worth
knowing--that Mr. Brandon knew of
(the HBullards and had a good part of
their family history at his tongue's end.
Indeed, he hinted that there was kin
}M.w somewhere In the background.
When the travelers reached Washing
ton, Ceell Brandon placed his daughter
in charge of Colonel Cephas Bullard,
begging him to see her safe to Baltimore
and to the conventual school, and be
took himegelf to the card table. Thia
wias providential. Fanny Brandon had
no more idea of entering the convent
#chool than she had of flying, and when
they arrived in Baltimore ghe turned to
Colonel Bullard and sald (1 can Imagine
with what a charming alr):
“I'll not go on, and 1 can't go back;
80 what sghall 1 do?
Colonel Cephas wag taken by surprise,
He was helpless, He ecould not com
mand, and he would not desert. While
he was considering what was proper to
do under these unparalleled circumstan
ces, Fanny Brandon threw her head
back defiantly, ecrying out: *“1 wish
some respectable gentleman would ask
meé to marry him!"
Colonel Cephas strode up and down a
few moments, paused in front of the
young lady and said simply: “Would
you marry me?"’ |
“Would 17" exclaimed Panny Bran
don, and placed her hand in his, |
“Don’t you think that was a queer
courtship, Jane?' the Colonel's wife
paused to inquire when narrating these
circynstances. And Sister Jane replied: |
“There’'s nothing quare, Fanny, after
you get used to it {
They married, and Colonel Bullard
instead of going on to New York went
back to Washington with his wife,
sought out Cecil Brandon, of Brandon
on-the-James, and informed him that
his daughter, Fanny Brandon, had now
become Mrs. Bullard. Mr. Brandon was
paralyzed for a moment, and it was the
fall of an eyelash whether he would
seize Clolonel Cephas by the throat and
cane him. But Brandon's humor came
to the rescue. He burst into a roar
ing laugh. ‘
“Damn it, sir, give me your hand! 1
like tyou. T'll lay you five to one, sir,
that Fan popped the question. Come,
Fan! Didn't you?' And when Fan
demurely admitted it, Brandon of Bran
don-on-the-James roared so loudly that
the windows of the room rattled.
That was the way Fanny Brandon be
came Mrs. Cephas Bullard. The Colonel
brought her to his plantation home—a
very fine place, not far from the Oco
nee. But after a time she grew tired
of the quiet life, whereupon the Colonel
bought the Clopton mansion In the vil
lage, furnished it in grand style, and
brought his young bride there. The
society she found here was probably
different from that she had been used
to in Virginia; it may have lacked re
finement, as it certainly wanted gayety;
but for one reason or the other, or for
all together, young Mrs. Bullard grad
ually secluded herself. :
(finpyrlg:t. 1881, 1883 and 1911, bl the
Contury mpany; 1883 by Joel Chandler
Harris; 1911 b‘ Wsthor Laßose Harris.
ALL RIGHTS ESERVED. Pflnt.l‘g
permission of ug(tg specinl arrangem
with Heughton, Miflin Company.)
(Continued Monday.)
when he went to tear off a plece he
found a queer little elfin hanging on
to it with all his mirht,
“Who're you, and where did you come
from,” exclaimed Bobby, who could
hardly believe his eyes,
The little elfin laughed while the two
big tears ran down his funny little
face,
“I'm Fear Fire Imp Selfishness from
Out of Sorts Land!" he orled. “And
don't say you don't want me when
you invited me yourself.™
“l nevor either!” RBobby orled. “I've
never seen you before, and, besides, if
I wanted any one to play with me it
would be Tommy. You let go my kite
tall #o 1 ean fly "
“I'd dearly love to do as you wish,
little boy," replied Fear Fire Imp Sel.
fishness, “but as long as you refuse
10 let Tommy or any one else play with
your kite, then I must. You're simply
calling on me when you're acting self
ishly. " -
“let him get p kite of his own,”
exclaimed Bobby crossly.
“And if he did have one £nd you
didn’t, wouldn't he let you play with
him?" asked Fear Fire Imp Selfish
ness. “Certainly he would, It really
makes me very unhappy to have you
eall on me this way, and not only does
It make Tommy unhappy, but also you
yourself. Selfishness will make anyone
unhappy. ['m Selfishness, and here 1
am making you unhappy. But I'm sor
"
“And Pm sorry | made Tommy un
happy, 100" laughed Bobby,
Then forgetting all about his lttle
Imp playmate, Hobby ran after Tommy
and called him back, and when they
went to fly the kite away she leaped
up among the clouds, her long tail
switehing in the breegze, for the little
Fear Fire Imp BSelfishness had disap
peared
Bobby never forgol his visit from the
Fear Fire Imp Selfishness, though he
tever saw him again, for Bobby hlq
learned that selfishness only brings un:
happiness i
PHONOGRAPH'S EARS MOST _
" DELICATE, SAYS PONSELLE
' Miss Rosa Ponselle, lately of vaude
ville, but now & star-—-and a most bril-
Hant star—of the Metropolitan Opera
Company, wag in a graclous mood
after singing to the wounded soldiers
at Fort McPherson. But Miss Pon
selle Is always gracious, for her pretty
hedd has not been turned by her un
precedented rise,
“And how do you like singing to
the largest audience in the world?”
asked the interviewer,
“Do you mean the audience at the
Auditorium ?” returned Miss Ponselle,
“It is wonderful. , But T am not sure
‘it I 8 the largest we are singing to.
You forget another audience which
may be listening to my volee today.
It may not be in silks and satins—
part of it may be miles away from
cven the tiniest theater. But it may
be larger than even that which fills
your great Auditorium here, and it
may be even more hupgry for music.”
“You mean the ghnno raph?”
Sings For A?l.
“Yes,” sald the young soprano.
“There is nothing that gives me more
pleasure than to think that my voice
may be pleasing someone far away
from a center of muslc—perhaps
someone who can not hear.opera or
concerts, like those poor boys at the
MePherson hospital, for instance,
“But it is hard work, llnglng for
the phonograph, 'The Columbia peo
ple will have nothing but one's very
best. In concert or in opera one pre
pares very carefully and tries very
hard, but when you have sung you
have sung, and whether it is very
#ood or not so good, it is done for that
time and you can mot improve it.
"But for the phonograph recording
there is much to be done. One must
learn to sing for the record, to sing
in a certain way, It takes practice
and training before one is ready. And
then, it must be perfection. Why, an
artist might sing wonderfully until
the very last note, but if that last
note were imperfect, she must begin
again and make an entirely new rec
ord. It is trying work, but it is a
great help to a singer, as it teaches
her much.”
The Best?
“And which of your records do you
like best?” ‘
“l 1 really can not say,” said Miss
Ponselle. “Of course, I am fond of
the big aria from ‘La Forza del Des
tino,” for it was in that opera I made
my debut in New York and in At
lanta. But there are few more lovely
airs than ‘One Fine Day’ from ‘But
terfly,’ and the air from ‘Cavalleria
Rusticana’ requires a fine bit of emo
tional singing which the Columbia
people are kind enough to say I do
very well. You heard me sing Tosti's
¢
Biscuits That
é Will Keep
- W 1 ee
Here are recipes for varlous forms
of biscults and cakes suitable for
packing up with a lunch or dinner.
The quantities given below are for
those who make on a large scale, but
they can be halved or quartered.
Thick Biscuits,
Two pounds of brown or whole
meal flour, half a pound of white
flour, half a pound of lard or marga
rine, four ounces of moist sugar, a
quarter of an ounce of cream of tar
tar, a quarter of on ounce of bicar
bonate of soda, half a pint of milk.
If margarine is used a little salt must
be added. Sift into the flour, mix well
with the meal, rub the fat and sugar
in finely, then mix up to a very stiff
dough with the milk. The dough must
‘be stiff. Roll it out as square as you
can to half an inch in thickness, with
a sharp knife cut a strip three inches
wide, and divide into three-inch
squares; use all up in square pieces.
Prick the tops with a skewer, put
them on & tin, let them stand for half
an hour, then bake in a hot oven,
Fruit Biscuits.
These biscuits, containing fruit, are
of a richer kind than the other, but
will also keep for a long time. :
One pound of wholemeal, one pound
of white flour or two pounds of all
white or brown flour—six ouneces of
sugar, four ounces of margarine, half
a pound of cleaned currants, two
ounces of finely chopped peel, three
eges, three gills of milk, a quarter of
an ounce of volatile. Mix the flours
together, rub the margarine and sugar
in f(inely, beat up the eggs and adad
them to the milk—also the volatile;
then mix the whole up 1o a stiff
dough, adding the fruit to the last; it
should be fairly stiff, Roll it out to
half an inch In thickness, prick all
over with a skewer, cut into three.
inch squares, put on flat tins, and
bake in a moderate oven.
Cocoanut Biscuits,
Three pounds of tlour, half a pound
of arrowroot, half a pound of fine
cocoanut, half an ounce of cream of
tartar, a quarter of an ounce of hi*
carbonate of soda, one pound four
ounces of margarine, one pound eight
ounces of sugar, six eggs, a little lem
on extraet, Sift the powders, arrow
root and cocoanut together, cream up
the sugar, margarine and eggs, add
the lemon, then mix the flour, ete., in
o make a firm paste; no lquid is
needed. Roll it out thinly, cut out
with a two-inch cutter, put upon tins,
wet the tops, dredge with coecoanut,
and bake in a moderate oven,
Currant Meal Cakes.
These are very nourishing and ean
be made plain or with fruit,
One pound of wholemeal, half pound
of white flour, half ounce of cream of
tartar, quarter ounce of bicarbonate
of soda, half pound of margarine, a
pinch of salt, half pound of sugar, half
pound of currants, one wnt of milk.
Sift the chemlicals into the flour, rub
the fat and aufu in finely, aad the
currants and mix up to a paste with
the milk. Let it lie a little while,
then roll out to quarter inch in thick
ness, Cut out to any size, put on tins
and bake in a moderate oven,
Wholemeal goods should never be
baked in an oven that yould bake a
white loaf, as & crust is not desirable
wpon whole meal goods,
Al g,
. ’ 4 i S .
R o ot ; >
,-'"’"" AN 50 | ;
A T e P S -
4 v,-—-»:v.«—r«»:-gr- eey S
’ e e
gl - TP N v '
:;e : i
ST TR Y s Wi 6 :
iV e RN i
"/. 3&&1 éfi e E
N L RN 1 k- o K
U S TR R S PR P e
E R I A SO b 7 ? § d
AR Far 5 o b ?“ £ s .‘:3
e PR M , : :
Rosa Ponselle, great new singer of the Metrßpolitan, who tells
of thrills in singing for records that will outlive her.
‘Good-bye’ at the hospital, and 1 only
hope the public likes my record of
that as well as the soldiers seemed to
like it. And I have also made a rec
ord of a song I like very much and
which will perhaps reach thousands
who do not eare for opera—'Keep the
Home Fires Burning.’ And ne= you
must excuse me, for I have « bit of
study to do. If you think we opr-a
folk sing like larks, without thinking
about our work and preparing for it,
Brilliant Audience
Al Laßoheme Fvent
At Puccini’'s charming opera, “La
Boheme,” Friday evening the audi
€fnce was marked by prominent and
distinguished Atlanta matrons, mem
bers of the younger set and hundreds
of opera visitors, who are in the city
for the week, and others who arrived
Friday for the week-end.
The boxes were filled with beautiful
women elegantly gowned, and many
handsome women were noted seated
in the arena of the Auditorium. With
Colonel and Mrs. William Lawson
Peel were Judge and Mrs. Price Gil
bert and Mr. and Mrs. E. P, Mcßur
ney.
Mr. and Mrs. Frank Ellis enter
tained as their guests Rear Admiral
and Mrs. W. E. Beattje, of Charles
ton, 8. C.
Judge and Mrs. Willlam Bailey La.-
mar, of Washington City, entertained
@8 their guests Mr. and Mrs. Hollins
Randolph.
With Mr. and Mvs. Clark Howell
were Mrs. Albert iiowell and Miss
Louise Martin, of Augusta.
St. John Courtney entertained as
his guests Miss Bland Williams, ot‘
Camden, 8. C.; Mrs. H. B. Richard
son, of Columbia, 8. C.; Mrs. David
Hemphill, of Chester, 8. C.; Mrs,
’Chulel Northen, and Campbell
Courtney, of Newry, S. C.
With Mrs, Frank Hawkins were
Mrs. Paul Norcross, Miss Norcross
and Mrs, J. 8. Cohen.
Mr. and Mrs, Ten Eyck Brown and
Mr. and Mrs. Frank Inman occupied
a box together. /
Mr. and Mrs, Milton Dargan enter
tained in their box Mrs. Dozier
Lowndes and Mrs. Milton Dargan, Jr.
With Mrs. John Marshall Slaton
were Mr. and Mrs, James Ruhgan
and Homer Hunt.
Mr. and Mrs. Bugene V. Haynes'
guests were Miss Margaret McCarty
and H. R. Calif,
Mr. and Mrs. Willlam Kiser, Mr,
and Mrse. Robert Maddox, Dr. and
Mrs. Dunbar Roy occupled a box to
gether,
Mrs. Albert E. Thornton had as
her guests Mrs. Walter Gordon Roper
‘snd Mr. and Mrs. Albert Thornton,
Jr.
~ With Mr. and Mrs. Preston Ark
wright were Mrs. William Marshall,
of Washington City; Mrs. Orton
Bishop Brown, of Berlin, N. H., and
Dr. and Mrs. Charles Giddings.
Miss Maude Jones entertained as
her guests Dr, and Mrs. 8. 8. Wal
lace and W, W, Beck.
With Arthur Beall were Misses
Martha Louise (Cassels, Lols Mclm,vra‘
and Frank Beall .
{Do You Know---|
N i s A AP
Brazillan cocoanut palms are belleved to
live from six hundred to seven hundred
years, and the date from two hundred to
three hundred vears,
.
William the Conaueror introduced horse
shoes in Eungland. Stirrups were, however,
unknown to the ancients, who had posts
erected on their roads to enable horsemen
to mount.
. s .
Sugar is extracted from sgixteen varieties
of palms which grow in Ceylon.
T 8»
It has been noticed that a bat can not
Fise from a perfectly level surface
.. * .
Soldiers once received salt as part of
their pay. When the salt was commuted
for eash, the latter was called 'salevium.”
salt money, or “salary ™
you are very, very much mistaken.”
Miss Ponselle sings in Atlanta two
of the numbers which she has done
for the Columbia Graphaphone Com
pany. The first was on the opening
night, when she sang in “La Forza
del Destino” the aria, “May Angels
Guard Thee.” The second will be on
Saturday night, when in “Cavalleria
Rusticana” she sings the confession
of Santuzza, “Well, You Know, Good
Mother.”
Mr. and Mrs. 8¢ C. Dobbs enter
tained Mr. and Mrs. Charles How
ard candler.
W. Morris Fuller had as his guests
B: 8. Awtrey, F. W, Porr and R\ F.
W. Watkins. |
With Mr. and Mrs. R, J. Flournoy‘
were Mr. and Mrs. Fred Waters, of
Macon.
Mr. and Mrs. John D. Little's guests
were Mrs. Louis O, Stevens, of Ma
con, and W. W. Miller, of Baltimore,
Ma.
With Mr. and Mrs. .gm W. Grant
were Mr. and Mrs. Richard Wilmer,
of Panama, and Mr, and Mrs. Wil
liam D. Grant, Jr.
Major and Mrs. Phinizy, Mr. and
Mrs. Cobb Caldwell and Mr, and Mrs.
Edwin Johnson formed a congenial
party. "
Miss Marjorie Brown entertained as
her guests Lieutenant Colonel and
Mrs. Frank Boland, Miss Louise
Walker, of Monnoe; Miss Mary
Mitchell, Lieutenant Dan Sullivan and
Lieutenant Bohm Linloch.
Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Calhoun, Mrs, |
W. 8. Witham and Mrs. Stuart With
am occupied a box together. |
Dr. and Mrs. W. 8. Elkin, Mr, and
Mrs, Edward H. Inman and Mr. and
Mrs. Daniel McDougald were togeth
er.
Mr. and Mrs. L. H. Beck enter
tained as their guests Mrs. Jacob
Phinizy, of Augusta; Mrs., Fontaine
and Dr. and Mrs. Willis Westmore
land.
Mr, and Mrs. John E, Murphy en
tertained Miss Julia Murphy and
Miss Katherine Murphy.
Miss Leone Lad<on, Mr., and Mrs.
Ronald Ransom and Lynn Werner oo
cupied a box. ;
W. B. Welborn entertained as his
guests Mrs, Charles Graves, of Rome;
Mry, J. F. Matthews, of Anniston,
Ala., and Mrs, W. F. Dent, of Mont
gomery, Ala.
With Mrs Margaret Stewart Dil
lard were Miss Anne Bucher, of New
Mexico; Mr. and Mrs. Frank Calla
way, Mrs, Herbert Spencer Struble,
Mr. and Mrs. Dudley Cowles, Mrs.
itowart. Major Gill and Remsen
Ling.
Mr. and Mrs. Charles Adamson, of
Philadelphia, Pa., and CedArtown, en
tertained Misses Sarah and Kath
erine Adamson, Miss Margaret Cook
and Alonzo Richardson.
Miss Elizabeth Morton entertained
Mr. and Mrs, J. T. King and Lieuten
ant Van Burgin,
Mr. and Mrs. . N, Conrad enter
tained Mrs, Otis, Mrs., Bohannon,
Misses Freeman and Miss Clark.
At Keith's Lyrio, ]
“The Girl From Milwaukee” is one of
the attractive features of _the bill at
Keith's Lyrie Saturday. Five standard
acts are on the program in addition to the
latest news plctures. There are four per
formances on Saturday starting at 1:30,
3, 7:30 and 9:15.
l At Loew's Grand.
Five acts of vaudeville will be presents
!m‘l at Loew's Grand today as well as the
feature K’u-mm, “The Love That Dates’
staring Madeline Traverse, comedies and
Loew's Current Events. The show is con
| tinwous from 1 to 11 p. m. with four vau
| deville performances starting at 2,4, 7
and 9 p. m. The vaudevile bill {8 headed
‘h,v the celebrated Golden Troupe of Ruse
| sian singers, dancers and instrumentals
ists,
BRITISH LABOR BACKS WILSON,
LONDON, April 26-—~A British labor
group, headed by Arthur Henderson, Fri
day telegraphed congratulations to Presi
dent Wilson's in his stand against the |
ftaliana, J
I The Revelations of a Wite
. A New Story of Married Life.
By Adele Garrison.
CIF | CANLT
BOUT that servant question,”
A 1 began, after Dicky was com
fortably settled and emiling
over his cigar. "1 will employ one, &
first-class, really competent housekeep
er, if you will make no objection to
this.”
1 opened the letter and handed it to
him. He read it through, his face grow
ing angry at every line, When he had
finished he threw it on the floor.
“Well, 1 guess not,” he exclaimed. “l\
know that club game; it's the limit.
There's nothing in it. They’ll pay only &
beggarly sum, and you'll be tied to that
“ame afternoon once a week for a year.
Suppose we had something we wanted
to do on that day? We would have to
let it go hang.” |
“I suppose if we had something w"
wanted to do on & day when you had a
commission to execute you would leave!
your work and go,” 1 answered quietly.‘
“That's entirely different,” returned
Dicky. *“T'm responsible for the support
of this family. You are not. All you
have to do is to enjoy yourself and
make home comfortable for me.” |
We were Interrupted by the door bon‘
Dicky went to the door while I hastily’
dropped the portieres between the living
room and the dining room. 1 heard
Dicky’'s deep voice in greeting. 1
“This is good of you, Lil,” and Lillian’
Gale came into the foom with out
stretched hand. . |
“Perhaps 1 shouldn’'t have come so
soon,” she said, ‘“but you see I am
bound to know you, even if Dicky does
spirit you away when we want you to
join us.” ‘
She threw him a laughing glance as
sghe clasped my hand. 1
“l am so glad you have come,™ I said |
cordially, but inwardly | flercely reaenbf
ed her intrusion, as [ deemed it
But what was my horro rto hear
Dicky say casually:
* “You've come at a most opportune
time, Lil. Madge has had an offer from
some woman's club to do a lecturing
lntunt on history, her specialty, you
know, and she wants to take it. I wish
you'd help me persuade her out of it.”
| “I can not imagine why we should
trouble Mrs. Underwood with so person
al a matter,” 1 heard myself saying
faintly,
Mrs. Underwood laughed boisterously
“wiy, I'm one of the family, my dear
child,” she said heartily. Then she
looked at me keenly.
“l might have known that one man
would have no chance with two women,””
Dicky growled. His tone held capitula
tion, I knew I had won my battle.
But was it my victory or this.woman's
I so detested?
“Don’'t let this man bully you,” she
adviged, half-laughingly. ‘“He's per
fectly capable of it. I know him. By
all maens accept the offer if you think
When a Girl Marries |
A STORY OF EARLY WEDDED LIFE i
By Ann Lisle. |
(Copyright, 1919, King Feature Syndi
cate, Inc.) {
CHAPTER CXIV. ‘
HERE in the grim and secretive
T apartment which Terry and Car.
lotta Sturges and I were ran
sacking for some clue to Betty, a sud
dea inspiration came to me.
Betty had said, “Not tonight-soon,
perhaps, Anne,” when 1 begged for the
opportunity of standing by her as she
always did by me—and I felt that was
almost a promise. I became certain
that she had written to me—l would go
home and find a letter there. '
Terry leaped at any suggestion that
meant action, moving toward some clue
in his search. Carlotta volunteered io
try to find what taxi company Betty
called just before leaving.
“That girl's a brick,” sald Terry,
quietly, as we rode down town in the
elevated. Anthony Norreys had used
his very words.
- Our taxi was waiting when we got
down to the street. We fairiy leaped
into the car and in almost complete si
lence drove to my apartment.
When we arrived there I hurried at
once to get my mail
There were three letters in the Har
rison box. I jerked them out. One for
me from Neal, a typed envelope for Jim
and an announcement from a milliner.
That was all-no line from Betty.
‘1 tried to ignore the sudden sinking
of my heart,
“Come up and walt for Jim. He's
fond of Betty, too, and he'll teil us
what a pair of sillies we are to fuss just
because she goes off on some affairs
of her own and doesn't consult us*
Word From Jim.
“Yes, I'd like to see old Jimmie,"
agreed Terry, as he stumbled into the
elevator after me.
The grinning elevator boy turned to
me with an announcement:
“Mistah Harrison, he phone. Yas'm,
he do. He say tell you he be here 3.
reckly--no later than ‘leven.”
“It's after that now,” declared Terry,
glancing at his wrist watch as he spoke.
“Nine forty-five,” he reported with an
air of amazement. I thought it was
midnight."”
He smiled at me wanly but apolo
getically as we last the elevator, and
added with a little effort to poke fun
at himself: :
“It's been a wretchedly long even
g, even though I've spent part of
it with you, dear lady."”
1 turned from furabling to locate the
keyhole and lald my hand on Terry's
arm,
“Terry, 1 know,” T said. *“I love Bet
ty, too. I only found it out last night,
but it's been trying to come through to
daylight for a long while.”
Then 1 got the door open, switched
on the lights, ste out an ash tray, ei
garetes and matches and hurried into
my bedroom.
I took a long time removing my can
teen cap and apron and hanging away
my cape. When [ felt I'd given Terry
('-n :::—.————
P"——‘fi, p— -—M N
i srl £, fi“ég ’}
i AV TYASE G
» )&
/.“f» B 4 AN ’
i At '.'.%" s G
it's worth while, ANI these husbands
are a bit archaie yet, you know. They
don't realies that women have jM
the human rate.” :
“Come, Dickybird,” she rattled on as
she saw hie darkening face. “Don't be,
silly. You'll have to give . You'rey
just 60 years behind the times, you|
know."” {
During the remainder of Mra TUn
derwood’s brief call she ignored Dicky.
and devoted herself to me. There i
no denying the fact that she has grea®,
charm when she chooses to exercise it
Dicky, however, appeared entirely ob-|
livious of it, sitting in moody silence
until she rose to go. v ;
“You ought to preserve that grouch’™
she carelessly advised, as he stood hold
ing the door open for her, *“Carefully
corked In a glass jar, it ought to keep
to give to your grandchildren as & horrd- |
ble example.” !
Dicky grinned retuctantly and bowed
low as she passed out of the room with
a cordial adieu to me, but no soomer
had the door closed behind her than be
turned to me angrily.
“Look here, Madge,” he exclalmefl,
“are you really In earnmest about taking
that blasted position?*
“Why, of course I am,” I answeref.,
“It seems providential, coming just as
you Insigt upon having a mald. I canm
engage onée with a clear consclenos
now."”
Dicky sprang to his feet with a mwub
tered word that sounded suspiclousty
like an oath, and began to walk rapidly
up and down the room, his hands be
hind his back, and his face dark with
anger. Up and down, up and down he
paced, while I, sitting quietly In my
chair, walted, nerving myself for the
scene ] antiolpated.
When it came, however, it surprised
me with the turn it took. Dicky stopped
suddenly in his pacing, and ocoming
swiftly over to me, dropped on ome
knee beside my chair and put his arm
around me.
“Sweetheart,” he said softly, *T Sowrt
want to quarrel about this, nor do I wish
to be unreasonable about it. But, real
ly, it means an awful lot to me. ¥
don't want you to do it. Won't you
give it up for me?™
I returned Dicky’s kiss, and held hm
tightly as I answered:
“Dear boy, I'll think it owver wvery
carefully. If I possibly can, I will do as
you wish. But, remember, I say If 1
can. I havent made you a definite
promise yet.”
“But you will, I know; that’s my owa
dear girl. Good-bye. I'll have to rush
back to the studio now.”
Dicky's tone was light and confidemt:
as he rose. Life always has been easy
for Dicky. I heard him say once he
never could remember the time when
he didn’t get his own way.
- (Continued Monday.)
time enough to adjust himself to the
disappointment of finding no word from
Betty even here at my home, I went
out to him. He was striding up and
down the room, his hands clasped be
hind him, his head low, but at the
sound of my appraoch he hurried to me
almost shyly,
A Qualification.
“Anne,” he said, accepting the pew
status my calling him “Terry” had
established. *Anne—you just said—you
loved her.”
He stumbled over the words a bit. ¥
took his hands as if he were a Ilittle boy
~—as, indeed, what man in trouble isn's
—and led him to the big couch. K
pushed him down in the very ocomw
flest corner and sank into a little low
chair, facing him. Then, looking at
him with the big-sister smile that no
one had needed since Neal left me, X
said, slowly and quietly:
“Terry, what I said was that I Joved
Betty, TOO!™
Terry looked at me in the greatest
astonishment. He didn't dream how
very evident his feeling for Betty had
always been to me. For a second, a
boyish, almost shamefaced grin flicken
ed out on his face. It made me like him
better than ever, and I held out my
hands In pleading.
“Oh, Terry! can’t you trust me?
You've been so loyal to Jim and me.
Aren't we really friends? Betty said
friendship has to—go two ways.”
Again Terry smiled—a man's smiw
now, a little wan, perhaps, but very
real and true, for all that. And at
his first words I knew that the bam.
riers of his reserve had gone down—
swept away not by chance but by his
own cholce. Terry did trust me,
“So you've guessed that I-—care? On,
Anne, I'd die just to have Betty happy..
And she's ghost.ridden!”
“Ghost-ridden? Jim sald that wvery
thing, Terry. He said you both were—.
for & man who probably did not deserws
it. Oh, Terry, Terry, don't you think
you need some one to look at things far:
you and see them simply and without
any of the awful background of the War
and bloody flelds that seem to be sth
fling—stiging things for you and Bettyt
Don’'t you?'
After I had said it T was frightened.
I coul r
00, Sopuning T g
if they were mere curiosity, For al
minute he was silent-—still as if cut out
of stone. Then he leaned forward,
clasped his hands and dropped them
between his knees. A tiny smile etched '
Itaelf across the sombreness of his face.
““Ghost-ridden. Both of us, Perhaps ™
he said, slowly. *“Well, Sister Anne, you
love Hetty, too. And so I'm going fl
tell you the whole story—hers and min
and Atherton's.”
j (To Be Continuedy
S—————————"
Professional Fees.
“Tell the doctor,” sald a cobbler, after
a brief examination oe n“rlr of boots of«
sered him to ropnh:, “that these boots
aln't worth mending.”” “Then, of course,™
gnld n-ee doctor's servant, turning :wuy"
1 don't want anything done to them.
"But'l charge you a &unflrr Just the
same.” *“What for? ‘Well, your master
charged me $2 the other day for telling
me there wasn't anything the nintter with
me "™