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THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN g y.T A Clean Newspaper for Southern Homes e 0 THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 1920.
&£ THE ATLANTA GEORGIANS MAGAZINE AND FICTION PAGE £
LETTERS OF ELLA WHEELER WILCOX ON LIFEBEYOND THE GRAVE
“Have My M Absol
.
ave My Vessage: Absolute
Proof That Robert Exists and
Of His Continuity of Memory”
—FElla Wheeler Wilcox. .
(The following hitherto wunpublished letters from America’s greatest
poctess to her favorite brother, Marcus I'. Wheeler, Windsor, Wis., a Oivil
War veteran, constitute a remarkable human document. At one and the
pame time they set forth what she believed her certain knowledge of the
life herecafter, based wupon communications from her hushand, Robert M.
Wilcox, who died in 1916, and also very interesting sidelights on the daily
life and views of this writer, whose name i 3 known to every one who reads.
These letters will be printed in daily installments,)
Short Beach, Conn,,
October 29th.
EAR Marcus:
D Your letter with some twen
ty others came just now; I
had finished one hour of my two
harp practise; and the other comes
this evening, from nine to ten. My
secretary comes in about an hour
and answers a thousand letters and
does a chapter or two 1 have
sketched out for her on my Autio
blography (pardon spelling.) Doran
and Co, a big publisher in New
York induced me to write gn ab
breviated story of my life for im
mediate publication, instead of Ado
ing the “Memoirs” 1 intended,
which would be published after my
demise and would contain a lot of
things unfit for publication during
my life and the life of some others.
(No abuse or retaliation but just a
philosophic dissertation on some
people and their influence on my
life.) |
But that part I can leave to be
put into my book after I Jjoin
Robert. So,l am deep in my story
and of course it is the most fasci
nating work possible; to write of
one's seilf. And then to be literally
paid for it, (Often folks are willing
to pay us for NOT talking of our
selves, you know.)
About the Cosmopolitan, don't
you know Hearst has owned it for
five years or more? that and Good
Housekeeping and Harper's Ba
zarr and his own Hearst's Maga
zine, and Nasts in London. That
is how I gave them all my work for
four years. Then when the tidal
wave swept over me I could not
write anything except my Sonnets
of Sorrow, and I threw the contract
J: the winds and all its large
lary.
Well, in the late winter I be
gan to write a few things; and
some of them were published in
other magazines (after first being
refused by the Hearst periodicals as
too sad). Then they wanted me
back again, so now I am contracted
to give them all my work; bui, as
[ do no more prose, at a smaller
salary (larger, however, probably
than any other noet gets today).
They use my work so beautifully
that I am twice paid. The very
best artsts illustrate it in every
Cosmopolitan.
1 never wrote with so much ease
and a sense of limitless power fills
me. | am never ‘lred; everybody
is amazed at me.” The neighbors
are all talking about the marvelous
change. One neighbor saw me go
across the lawn and asked his —'#~
what had happened, He said 1
looked twenty years younger, and
just like the old day: when I was
the life of Bungalow Court. 1 sim
ply told his wife (a sweet woman
of orthodox training, yet not a
bigot) that I had found that which
I had lived for since Robert was
taken; and that life was a glory
and the future an ascending path
brilliant with light, and that no
sickness, poverty or loneliness could
ever take from me the great hap
piness which now crowned exist
ence for me,
In time the whole world will hear
my story; and the scientific world
will have to sit up and take notice
and bite its finger nails and try to
think up an explanation; and the
Atheists will laugh a loud asinine
brav' and the orthodox bigots will
say “She is In league with the
gevil; boil her in oil” And those
that hage ears will hear; and those
that are ready will be stirred and
thrilled and those that are in great
sorrow will ery “God Bless Her.”
I no longer discuss or argue or do
more than skim over anybody's talk
on these syhiects I HAVE MY
MESSAGE: I HAV. MY ABSO.
LUTE PROOF OF ROBERT'S EX
ISTENSE AND CONTINUITY OF
MEMORY: AND I HAVE BSTILL
MORE WONDERFUL THINGS
THAN THAT.
No one ever lived on earth, who
had such overwhelming evidence as
has been given to me; and 1 can
afford to be silent and wait my time
10 give the story to the world.
Meantime I am thankink God
every day that He took Robert and
left me; Robert never could have
gone through what I have, and I
never could have sent from space
what he is sending, because he was
far more advanced psychically than
I. So the Great W¢ k he always
longed to d¢ for humanity -~-*
grieved that he could not do,
“
.. (Clean Rugs at
- . »
-. The Capital City
- Spring is here—with its Spring Cleaning to be
- considered,. Make the rugs vour first considera
. . tion—send them to The Capital City FIRST
- THINC!
. The Capital City Laundry and Cleanery
. M. 1050
18 being given him to do through
e now. Nothing can ever take
him away from me again; and
every shadow from earth has van
ished. 1 wake singing and go to
‘sleep with my heart thrilling with
love and happiness.
In California during all the
months 1 was makins researches, 1
was called a doubter and scolded
by many people because I would
not take many things that came
as PROOF. 1 said:
“They interest me; they are
curious and pubbling; but I do not
feel they aAre from Robert.”
So when the tremendous, glorious
and overwhelming proof did come,
I was unprepared for it, so dis
couraged had I become, And now
it sweeps on and on, every week
with greater and more wonderful
messages. Four people have been
with me, one an w?lm-nt scholar
and student, and profoundly scien
tific in mind, and all are just as
stirred and convinced as [ am. One
woman said to me:
“No church or book or sermon
ever took me so close to God as this
hour with you.” . |
Another sald: |
“l feel that I ean never have a
sad or rebellious thought again
after witnessing and receiving with
you these most amazing proofs of
Life Immortal.” »
80 now let us drop this subject;
it is all T have to say at present.
Of course no arguments or discus
slons of any kind can affect me
any more than vou would be af
fected by someone who had never
been in the Civil War who under
took to tell you there had been no
war; and that no one had ever been
on a long march. I NO LONGER
RELY ON BELIEF: I KNOW,
My Sonnets of Sorrow are coming
out in January: with two sonnets
added called TRIUMPHUS.
Then another book of verses “Our
Verses” will appear in the fall
They are the verses Robert sug
gested and will each have the little ]
story of how they came to be writ
ten, A testimonial to his influence
on my life, my literary life, I mean.
Then my autobiography will per
haps run first in Good Housekeep
ing: before it goes into book form.
I close up here November 30th,
1 go to New York for two weeks;
then to Whshington for a month,
and then, as soon as [ can find
the right ship to France, I have
my commission from the Red Star
Society, beside many other plans
for work over there. RBeside ''~%
1 have a Higher Commission. You
may perhaps remember Bret
Harte's poem: the man would not
go out with hunters because the
horses and dogs were too wild; nor |
with the sailors because the seas |
were so rough: but hunters and
sailors came safely home; while he
was swallowed by the earthquake.
We go when the alarm clock strikes |
our hour: nr‘l going means such |
glory to me I do not worry how |
1 go. Yet stayine means glory too,
and so every way I look at it all is |
quite agreeable. 1
I shall soon tr; and send you
some Y. M. C, A. things, that is
some things of mine they are ex- |
ploiting for the education and moral
welfare of the soldlers. |
We have had a most glorious
stormm here; and 1 was so ¥nfortu
nate as to be in New York that
day. The sea rose even with the
lawn. And they all say it was a
superb sight., And no great damage
done, Twenty-four years ago we
had such a storm, but in August,
and boats were dashed into splin
ters and we had no breakwater or
walls then and our lawns were dam
aged and trees uprooted,
Now this is a long letter, and 1
must do other things. I am made
very happy indeed by having you
tell me my letter helped you to
rise out of depression. | am sure
Lotie is glad, too: and that she is
trying to tell you so, Dear Lotie;
I remember her with such affection
and tenderness. 1 can see her face
as If it were yestbrday, What joy
it will be to meet and talk with her
again.
Faithfully,
FLLA WHEELER WILCOX,
Copyright, 1920, King Feature Syndlcate.
(To Be Continued.)
NOTE-—This interesting wse
ries of letters will appear only
in The Atlanta Georgian.
APRIL FOLLY » » by -Ay
| By Cynthia Stockley.
| FTERWARD they would mooch
A home through the shimmer
noontide heat, deliciously
tired, wrapped in reflection and
their towels. Ghostie provided a
perpetual jest by wearing a sfart
Paris hat with a high cerigse crown.
She said it had once belonged to
the fastest woman in South Africa,
who had given it to her as a joke;
but she did not mention the lady's
name or say in what her “fagtness’
consisted, This was characteristic
of visitors at Ho-la-le-la; they
sometimes stated facts, but never
talked scandal. When April asked
them to call her by her own name
instead of “Diana” they did so with
out comment, accepting her as one
of themselves and asking no ques
tion about England, the voyage or
the Cape. The scandalous tragedy
of the April fool had never reached
them, and if it had they would have
taken little interest except to be
sorry for the girl
In the evenings, when work was
put away, Clive played to them on
the 'cello.
“l was determined to have music
in my life,” she told April, “and
as you can't lug a piano and mu
gician all over the shop with you,
I saw no way of getting it but to
darn well teach myself.”
And very well she had done it,
though why she had chosen a
'cello, which also needed some lug
ging, no one knew but herself. Sit
ting with it between her heavy
boots amd breeched legs, the eter
nal cigarette drooping from her
mouth, she looked more than ever.
like Galahad, her blue, austere gaze
seeming to search beyond the noble
mountain tops of her own pictures
for some Holy Grail she would
never find. No complicated music
was hers; just grand, simple things
like Handel's “Largo,” Van Biene's
Revelations of a Wife
By Adele Garrison.
WHAT HAPPENED IN MRS. AL
LIS'S ROOM. y
T RUE to Dicky's prediction,
Mrs. Allis questioned me
very adroitly concerning
our sleeping arrangements while
we were drinking tea together
in her room. Remembering the
injunction he had laid upon
me before I joined Mrs. Alils,
' answered all her questions fully,
even volunteering information,
~ when all the time | yearned to re
buff her coldly for her smiling
~ impertinence.
I had to struggle all the time,
too, against losing myself in spec
ulation as to the woman’'s motive
in inviting me to her room and
thus pumping me. That it had
some bearing upon her plan—
which, unkngwn to her, I had
discovered—to steal the paintings
in the Cosgrove parlor, I was cer
tain. But just how she expected
to use her knowledge of our rooms
and habits in her scheme I could
not see.
Of course I realized the reason
for her look of satisfaction in hear
ing that Dicky was a heavy sleep
er—information which Dicky had
laid great stress upon my giving
her. Naturally, she would not like
to have light sleepers in the house
when attempting a daring plan
like hers. But how the fact that
Dicky slept in the back room and
[ In the front room could interest
her was beyond me, although
Dicky had warned me that she
would ask me that very thing.
What did Dicky suspect? He
had said just before I left him to
go to Mrs, Allis's room that he
was sure he saw through her
scheme. 1 felt as if I could not
wait to get back to him and find
out what he meant.
“JOIN ME EACH NIGHT.”
1 dared not show the least im
patience, however, and it seemed
to me that the tea drinking would
never end. It was all most un
real to me, this prosaic room of
the Cosgrove farmhouse which
Mrs. Allis had converted into a
bizarre den with her Orienial dra
peries and pillows. She had robed
herself in a gorgeous kimono, and
in the soft light of the candles
with which she had displaced the
kerosene lamp, she looked mystic,
dangerous,
But finally, after she had ex
~ tracted a great variety of informa
~ tion from me, she said as she
i proffered me a third cup of tea:
| “You don't know what a God
send you have been to me tonight,
Mrs, Graham. [ haven't a soul to
speak to who knows anything of
life outside of these mountains.
These yokels, with their talk of
crops and gardens—heaven pre
serve us! If it were not for my
physician's orders 1 could not
stand it here. | always brew my
self a cup of tea just before | go
to bed. Won't you take pity on
me and join me each night while
you are here?"’
Perhaps it was because [ was
wrought up, but I imagined I saw
her eyes glitter with suppressed
emotion as she waited for my an
swer. I had a sudden conviction
that my presence in her room each
evening was somehow necessary
to her plot, and 1 tried to make
my volce nonchalant as I replied:
“l 1 shall be very glad, indeed, to
come. | have never tasted more
delicious tea.”
BACK TO DICKY AGAIN.
1 saw her lips curve into a tiny
smile, and knew that she ught
the purely feminine thru-tq? had
given her. But 1 told myself
grimly that not even to lull her
suspiciong would I pretend pleas
ure in her company, 1 could truth.
fully say the tea was delicious. 1
had never drank anything Ilike
it before.
She stood smiling after me as 1
left her room and entered mine. I
make no pretentions to clairvoy
ance, but as she closed her door it
seemed to me 1 could see her
clench her fist and shake it after
®
Watch for This Storiy
. . r
In Moving Pictures
6 A PRIL FOLLY,” scon to be seen in leading motion pie
ture theaters, is a Cosmopolitan production, released
through Famous Players-Lasky Corporation as a Paramount-
Artcraft picture, direction of Robert Z. Leonard. Scenario
by Adrian Johnson.
“Broken Melody,” Ave Maria,” or
some of Squire’s sweet airs.
NIGHT VIEWS. '
Sometimes at night they went out
and climbed upon a huge rock that
stood in the apricot orchard, It
was big enough to build a house on
and called by Clive her “counsel
rock,” because there she took coun
sel with the stars when things
went wrong v*lth the farm. Lying
flat on their Backs, they could feel
the warmth of the day still in the
stone, as they gaged at the purple
and-silver panoply of heaven spread
above them.
A week slid past, and April barely
noticed its passing. No word came
from the outer world. It was not
the custom to read newspapers at
Ho-la-le-la, and all letters were
stuffed unopened into a drawer, in
case they might be bills, Close
friends were wise enough to coms
municate by telegram or, better
gtill, dump themselves in person
upon the doorstep. The only rea
gon that April had been expected,
and fetched, was that a “home let
ter” had heralded the likely advent
of Lady Diana and given the date
and hotel at which she would be
staying. Home letters were never
stuffed away unopened.
Late one afternoon, however,
- me, and hear her murmur:
“You poor fool, how gullible you
are!”
Dicky was waiting for me. He
had tucked his bathrobe around
him, and was reading a magazine
he had bought on the boat. As I
closed and locked my door he
sprang out of bed and hurried
toward me,
“Why, you are as white as a
sheet, sweetheart!” he said, but I
noticed that even in his solicitude
. he remembered to keep his voice
at a low pitch. “What's the mat
ter? She didn't dare say anything
to annoy you!”
His fists had clenched, his eyes
were black with anger.
* “Oh, no, no, Dicky!” I whispered
back, “she was exceedingly courte
ous, but T am awfully afraid of
her. She is just like a tiger cat.”
“Here, you get into this bed,”
he said authoritatively, as I leaned
against him with my teeth chat
tering. He lifted me bodily and
put me into my bed, then began
rummaging in his traveling bag.
“Drink this,” he commanded a
moment later, having poured out
some brandy from an emergency
flask he always carried into a tiny
silver drinking cup. “Here, T'll get
you some water to take after it.”
He poured out a glass of water
from the pitcher one of the Cos
grove boys had brought up after
supper, and with its aid T managed
to get down the fiery draught he
had measured for me. It brought
back the color to my cheeks and
quieted the shaking of my limbs.
My unreasoning hysterical terror,
of which I was thoroughly ashamed,
slipped away, and I was soon
able to tell him everything that had
heen said while I was in Mrs. Al
lis's rooms.
“T thought so,” was his com
ment when 1 reached her invita
tion to drink tea with her every
night,
1 took him by the shoulders and
shook him impatiently,
“Tell me what you mean this
minute,” I whispered.
“She’'s simply planning to drop
something in your tea the night
she gets ready to nab the- pie
tures,” he replied. “What else
she's up to I don’t know, but I'm
going to make a good stab at find
ing out.”
(To Be Continued.)
Society Notes
Argentine Club Dance.
The Argentine Club will give a
special dance Saturday evening,
February 28, at the club's hall, Se
gadlo's, on East Pine street, for
members and Invited guests.
The Saturday evening dances
were started last October and will
continue every other Saturday dur
ing March,
Dancing will last from 9 until 12,
Memorial Association to Meet.
The Ladies’ Memorial Association
will meet Friday morning at 10
o'cloek at Carnegie Library. Mrs,
Willlam A, Wright, president, re
quests a full attendance,
Dances For College Set.
A dance will be given for the
college set at Segadlo'y Friday
evening from 10 to 12, and on Sat
urday afternoon a tea dance will
be given from 5:30 to 7.30 o'clock.
Miss Knox Hostess.
Miss Jennle Knox will give a
luncheon Friday at the Capital City
Club for Miss Virginia McCormick
of Baltimore and Mrs. Horace
Eppes of Washington. The guests
will be Miss McCormick, Mrs,
Eppes, Miss Winnie Perry, Mrs,
Fitzhugh Knox and Miss Knox.
Mrs. Florence Watts, who has
been spepding several months with
relatives in Texas, has réturned
home and is with her daughter,
Mrs. Guy King, in Peachtree circle.
Valentine Party. g
The Valentine party the ladies of
there was an unexpected announce-»
ment. The boch-ma-Kkeer-ie bird
began to cry in the orchard, and
Clive said it was a surer sign of
visitors than any that came from
the telegraph office.
“Tomorrow is Sunday. We'll have
vigitors as sure as a gun,” she
prophesied.
* April quailed. She could not bear
the peaceful drifting to end, and
wish for no reminder of that
outer word where Bellew, the mail
boat for England, and the dreary
task of breaking an old man’s heart
awaited her. Sometimes, in spite
of herself, she was obliged to con
sider these things, and the consid
ering threw shadows under her
eyes and hollowed her cheeks. Sarle
too, though he was a dream by day,
became very real at night, when
she knew now that she could never
escape from the memory of him,
and the thought that he was suf
fering from her silence and defec
tion tortured her. What must he
think of her slinking guiltily away
without a word of explanation or |
farewell? Doubtless Kenna would |
set him right.
A PERFECT SUNDAY.
“Faithful are the wounds of a
friend,” she thought bitterly.
‘ Married Strangers
By Frances Duvall.
THE MAN IN THE CASE.
HEN Keitha joined Mlle. For
\K} astier on the beach, the latter
looked up sleepily from under
her orange sun shade.
“Bonjour, Madame,” she laughed.
It is so sleepy, your California air.
I try so hard but I can not keep
awake.”
“Our whole household is sleep
ing late after the dance,” returned
Keitha, seating herself on the sand
beside the lithe French girl. “Lester
’ and I are the only ones abroad. He
rides a great deal in the early morn
ing.”
2. o l&e to ride,” said the
French girl. “Do you think he might
take me, or Mme. Bennett, would
she object.” :
Keitha experienced a sudden
sense of shock. It was obvious
that Bennett had not told her Mlle.
Forestier, that she, Keitha, was his
wife. She had thought, of course,
that he would straighten out her
ridiculous contention to being his
sister-in-law when he had his long
serious talk with the French girl.
It struck a false note somehow
and shook a little of the confidence
in her young husband that Keitha
had felt awakening. It would have
been so easy to explain then, but
now it was necessary to keep up the
play and it would inevitably lead to
some embarrassing denouement.
But it was too late now, so with
a sigh, Keitha resolved to continue
to be a good sport.
“Do you mean his wife or his
mother,” parried Keitha.
“Oh, but what a iot of relatives,”
exclaimed Mlle. I“q;stler. with a
comical grimace. oor Lestair!
- How—what do you call it—henpeck.
He must be!”
“He has another yet who rules
him with an iron band,” smiled
Keitha. “I see her coming down
through the garden now."”
Anita in one of her usual bril
| liant morning gowns, waved her sis
~ ter-in-law greeting with a cubist
Business of Homemaking
By Mrs. Christine Frederick.
WITH BRUSH AND PAINTPOT.
AINT and paint brush should
P be as close friends to the
housewife as are needle and
thread. Perhags it is the uncon
scious psychology exercised on us
wemen by good paint advertising,
or perhaps it is Dbecause we are
skilful at it that we enjoy odd
bits of painting about the house.
The can of “ready mixed' covers
a multitude of sins of commissions
from heels, hands, Kknocks, scrap
h‘ln and rough treatment geners
ally
There is the baby buggy of
wicker, stained and dirty from
summer's use. A small can of
stain and a couple of coats of
black on the springs and wheels
wi'l make it withstand the still
harder test of winter rain and
snow. Then baby’s iron crib looks
as if it has incipient measles
where baby had dented off the
enamel with the stock of his toy
gun. Two goats, or better, three,
of white rfilm and enamel will
cever up the blisters and make the
¢rib as sanitary and pleasing as
when new,
On close inspection the gas stove
and lits pipes appear rustily dingy
and down in the mouth, as it
were. Ah, just the thing! A small
can of special stove paint in black
A AN AN AP P
Circle 3 of Inman Park Baptist
Church postponed on account of
sickness will be given Friday aft
ernoon at the home of Mrs. J. L.
Braswell, 44 Eimira place. All the
ladies and friends of the church
are invited,
> Better far and braver to have
done the explaining and setting
right herself, if only she could have
found some way of releasing her
self from the compact of silence
made with Diana and Bellew,
Sunday morning dawned very
perfectly. They were all sleeping
on the stoop, their beds in line
against the wall. Clive upon the
oak chest, which her austere self
discipline commanded. At 3 o'clock,
though a few stars lingered, the
sky was already tinting itself with
the lovely luster of a pink pearl
No sound broke the stillness but
the soft, perpetual drip of acorns
from the branches overhead.
The beauty and peace of it smote
April to the heart. She pressed her
fingers over her eyes, and tears
oozed through them, trickling down
her face, When, at last, she looked
again, tHe stars were gone and the
sky ws blue as thrush's egg, with
a fluff of rose-red clouds &Knitted
together overhead and a few crim
son rags scuddling across the Qua-
Quas.
A dove suddenly cried, “Choo-coo
—choo-coo!” and others took up the
refrain, until, in the hills and woods,
hundreds of doves were greeting
the morning with their soft, thrill
ing cries. Fowls straying from a
barn nearby started scratching in
the sand. The first streak of sun
shine shot across the hills and
struck a bush of pomegranates
blossoming scarlet by the gate.
Presently the farm workers be
gan to come from their huts and
file past the stoop toward the out
houses.
Clive, awake by now on het oak
chest, sprang with one leap into
her top-boots. Passing April's bed,
she touched the girl's eyelids ten
derly, and her finger tips came
away wet.
(To Be Continued Tomorrow.)
- parasol of startling black' and
white design. When she reached
the two girls and saw who was un
der the orange sun shade, she stif
fened visibly.
“Have you met Mlle, Forestier
Anita?” asked Keitha easily. “This
is Miss Bennett, mademoiselle.” ¢
Anita acknowledged the introdue
tion, with a curt inclination of her
head, and addressed Keitha,
“Mother and I are waiting for
you to go to town with us to select
some favors for the house party,”
she said significantly.
With deliberate malice, Keitha
rose with seeming reluctance.
“Mademoiselle and I were hav
ing such a cozy chat,” she said re
gretfully.
Anita stalked away without a
word of farewell to the French girl.
Keitha held out her hand and
gripped the other girl's warmly.
“We must find time for a long
chat some afternoon, mademoiselle.
There is a little tea shop further up
the beach where we can talk un
disturbed.”
The girl looked up at her, her
great dark eyes shining with grati
tude.
“You are so good,” she said, ‘“per
haps you and your ver fine
brother-in-law may help me find
my lover.”
Keitha felt a swift pang of pity
for the girl.
“We will do the best we can”
she promised, and then feminine
curosity being quite too much for
her, she could not resist adding:
“Remember I do not even know
his name.”
The Fremch girl's eyes opened
wide in astonishment.
“I did not tell you? But how
stupid of me. He was one ver'
grand ecapitaine—Tasker Bland
Holmes.”
The sea, the beach and the garden
beyond seemed to whirl around
Keitha.
Poor Marcia! And poor Mlle.
Forestier!
(Copyright, 1920, Whaeler Syndicate, Inec.)
(To Be Continued.)
- will make the stove gleam happily
again and remove its unkempt air.
Perhaps, too, the radiators are
spotted and shineless. It is only
the work of a half hour to paint
them with special silver or gold
ra‘Lator paint so that they will
emerge radiant radiators,
The kitchen is an important field
for the use of paint brush and
paint. Frequently unsightly
plumbing can, as suggested, be
made attractive by the various
lacquer paints. The pantry shelves
need never be hard to clean it
they are treated to one or two
coats of white enamel. Table
drawers also can be painted, which
will prevent them from absorbing
grease and getting so dirty. If
we are using the ordinary kitchen
tab'e its legs and front will look
better and stay clean longer if
given a coat of paint harmonizing
with the other colors in the room.
Wcoden salt boxes, strips on which
to hang utensils, the space between
shelves in many closets An all be
made brighter and more sanitary
by a liberal use of paint,
Under the head of paint we must
inciude the great variety of stains
combined with varnish or various
other wood finishes. These are
rarticularly useful in “touching up”
tloors, woodwork, certain pleces of
furniture and in staining sofled
wicker and basket work. Perhaps
it is a favorite rocker which we
are loath to part with but which
has been kicked and knocked until
the finish is spoiled. It is not
very difficult to “touch it up” or
to refinish it entirely, first sand
papering it to remove the old var
-lish and then handling it as if it
were an entirely new piece.
(Copyright, 1920, Wheeler Syndicate, Inc.)
Good Night Stories
By Blanch Silver.
DICKY AND GOCOMgBACK
VISIT MAMA SEAL.
T was a dreadfully warm day and
I Dicky sat under the maple tree
in the shade trying to keep
cool.
“l wish it wauld always stay just
halfway good weather,” he mused,
wiping his forehead with his
handkerchief. *“I can't play when
the sun's so hot, I wish—"
Before Dicky could voice his
wish there was a rustie in the
grasses at his feet, and Gocome
back, the Travel Elfin, peeped at
him from behind a blade of grass.
“Some warm day, isn't it?” he
laughed merrily. “And I bet you
were just going to wish it was
cooler, now weren't you?”
“You're right, Gocomeback,” re
plied Dicky. “That's just what I
was going to wish for, cold weather
again.”
“Well, I wouldn't do that,”
laughed the elfin, “for maybe some
folks are glad it's warm. Rather
wish that you could visit a cooler
place, then I might be able to help
you. Fact is, I was just on my
way to a much cooler place to
visit one of my friends. Suppose
you join me—what do you say?”
Dicky laughed; he had nothing
to say; *he just jumped up and
caught hold of Gocomeback's
Jhand, and——
They sailed over the housetops,
treetops, mountains and seas until
they reached a strange land.
As far as Dicky could see there
was fce and snow. No signs of
life anywhere,
“Guess you wonder where we
are,” laughed the merry elfin.
“We're in Greenland.”
“Greenland!” exclaimed Dicky.
“What a funny name for such a
barren land. I should call it Ice
land or Whiteland, for I can’t see
even one speck of green. Surely
you're not expecting to visit any
one who lives here?”
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This is the age With an average daily varia
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Their unquestioned superiori
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Jewelers
47 Whitehall
T. H. Latham, Pres. R. P. Stahl, Vice Pres.
J. P. Allen & Co.
49-53 Whitehall
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Friday and Saturday Sale
Of Fashi
f Fashion
T hat have a very, very modest price
$ 5 .00
You will say that the universal topie of high cost
has “waned a trifle” when you consider a really
smart hat at this really “old time" price—ss.oo,
But—it is the object of our medium price section
to always offer something very good for the smallest
possible cost.
Straw and fabric combinations of Late Fashion-—
and a quality that you will not expect at so small a
price—Friday and Saturday.
. ~Third Floor,
J. P. Allen & Co.
Gocomeback laughed and pointed
to a hole in the ice almost unde{
their feet. Then Gocomeback ’fig.p
ped at the side of the hole and a
great, big seal poked its head up
through the hole and greeted the
elfin.
Gocomeback introduced Dicky to
Mama Seal, and she invited them
down into her cozy little home,
which she had chiseled out under
the surface of the ice. It was dome
shaped, and looked a great deal like
the inside of the snow house Dicky
had visited with Gocomeback a
long time ago,
“But what do you do when fHe
ice freezes over your doorway?”
asked Dicky, stroking the baby
seal’'s soft brown coat.
“Cut it open again with the
sharp claws on my flippers,” re
plied Mama Seal. “While we can
and do live most of the time under
water, we have to have breathing
places, for we're air-breathing ani
mals, you know. The. ice I chip
away I throw down into the Wes
and it washes away.” \
Just then a fluffy white paw
carefully crept into the doorway
and almost touched Dicky’s hat.
Mama Seal gave a loud cry of
fear and Dicky dodged back—
there's no telling what might have
happened if Gocomeback with his
magic hadn’t brought the ice to
gether with a click that made he
owner of the paw cry out in pain,
and when Gocomeback let him
loose again Mr. White Bear—for that
wag who it was—ran howling away
across the ice.
. “Poor Mama Seal has a terrible
time between dodging the white
bears and the natives,” said G&—s
comeback, as he and Dicky were
once more flying toward home.
“But I guess that old fellow won't
disturb her for some time to come.”
Dicky thanked Gocomeback for
his lovely trip. It had cooled him
off, and he went on playing, feel
ing a great deal better. After all
—he told his mother—he’d rather
live in a changeable country than
one covered with ice and snow al
most all the time.