Atlanta Georgian. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, March 12, 1920, Morning, Image 6

Atlanta Georgian., March 12, 1920, Morning, Image 6

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Newspaper Page TextTHE ATLANTA GEORGIAN o o B : A Clean Newspaper for Southern Homes % e FRIDAY, MARCH 12, 1920. £ THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN'S MAGAZINE AND FICTION PAGE “Robert Says: We Met, That Was Happiness;3 We Loved, That Is Divinity; Our Love Sur vives, That Is Immortality.”’—Ella Wheeler Wilecox. g - e ———————— ee et * (The following hitherto unpublished letters rmm‘ America's grmlentl poetess to her favorite brother, Marcus P. Wheeler, Windsor, Wis., a Civil 1 War veteran, constitute a remarkable hwman document. At ome and the i same téme they set forth what she believed her certain kmowledge of the | life hereafter, based upon communicalions from her husband, Robert .ll.: Wilcoz, 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. f J'hese letters will be printed in daily installments.) l London, Oct. 13, 1918, EAR MARCUS: D lam “hoovering” in paper @ you see—using a left-over from France. Thought you might like to see enclosed nice letter. | have been three days in London and amazing things have happened. lLady Palmer, wife of Sir Everett Palmer, Bart-—and a great worker intotal abstinence-—has been to see me to ask jne to&l:r house tomor row to meet a rvelous medium who is a friend of Sir Oliver Lodge. Lady Palmer is a psychic and has extraordinary experiences. Is hav ing it arranged for me to meet Helen Maxwell, who makes spirit pictures, Before I had been in London two hours, Mary Monteith came to call, She wrote an article on automatic writing which 1 will send you. She and I could get nothing fro mouija. But with a paper and pencil she wrote amazingly—her hand wrote. Robert came and welcomed me to london, and said I must be patient and await results. Then he said this beautiful thing: ! Remember all we have had. We met-—that was happiness. We loved—that was divinity, Our love o#tlivod death—that is immortality! When Miss M, read what her hand wrote she was much im pressed. She knew nothing of my life, save that I was a widow. She ovomes again Sunday. The ouija board has to have a certain combination—a ecertain vi bratory force—to make it a me dinum of communication between the two worlds. 1 have tried with at least 100 people, and just three in Amerjca and four here have proven the right ones, I am to meet Dotcor Wallace to morrow-—a great doctor and wriger and student of the occult. Conan Doyle speaks of him in his book. Lady Morton, also a great light in these matters, is w give a Party for me to meet the most distin guished ones. So you see Robert knew what he was talking about when he sent me here. But I did not expect to get going so soon. Meantime I've got to find a warmer and less expensive hotel. This is cold and costly! I am sorry to think Mr. Ray mer and Brandenberg are crippleds 1 don't see why. I believe both are unger than 1. 1 am as limber as r,’wu at 16—-—and have nerve en durance. 1 expect to be heer until next April. Good night, ELLA. %ﬁuf of Slain Avjator to _ | Have Him Meet Robert—lo PT. i Loondon, Nov, 8, 1918, ~ Dear Marcus: Well, another November ©6th mnt by and was made pleasant by ving an English friend remem _ber it and bring me lovely flowers. 1 was so surprised. Then a mes sage came from Robert, too—mak ‘ing him seem very near. Three nice women called, so the day was pleasant even though my wish for it to be my last was not granted. Good Night Stories ¢ By Blanche Silver. ‘ ~ BOBBY MEETS 808 WHITE. a OBBY gathered up his pop = gun and started out in search of an adventure, He ran out the gate and down the big road Jeading into the woods. And there he discovered a tiny path in the grasses scarcely more than two inches wide, “That’'s a queer littie path!” ex claimed Bobby, stopping to exam ine the beaten-down grasses. “I'll pust bet some of the good folks use it to get back and forth to their homes, or maybe to hide from the giants! Perhaps it leads to some, fairy palace!" then Bobby laughed. % “Wonderlng will mever get me any ~ Wwhere,” he laughed. “T'll just fol sow and see where it leads to.” Se. shouldering his popgun, Bob by followed the tiny path through the woods to a tumbled-down rail fence: There, sitting on the very top rail, dangling his legs in the _ajr. was Squeedee, Bobby's little _olfin friend from Joyland, and right _bheside him sat a queer-looking Quaker-like bird, all dresged in a sober brown coat with black and ‘white vest. The bird was terribly excited _when he spied Bobby's eap, and when he saw the gun on his should _er. He would have taken wing and have flown away if Squeedee hadn't 1 eanght hold of his brown coal feathers. " “That’s only my little friend, Bob by laughed Squeedee, beckoning 1o Bobby. L “"Well!” exclaimed the brown " bird. “He's no friend of mine it ~ he carries a gun on his shoulder.” ~ Once more he tried to fly away, wut Squeedee held him back. . By this time Bobby had reached g‘thq fence, and Squeedee introduced _his two friends. v 3 “So you're the fellow I hear call ing me nick-nam:im?" he laughed. _ “%Well, Mr. Quail; I'm glad to meet " “] don't understand” began Mr. i‘m‘lh‘zhon Squeedee Interrupted th a merry laugh. | “Oh, that's a good one, Bohby!" he laughed. “So you thought Mr. . "wn® was oplling you names when Lhe called, Bob, #Bob White; Oh, that's funny!” E “Well, who were you calling then?” asked Bobby. “My name's v, so I just thought you were jng me by calling me Bobh." ~ “You made a mistake that time" 18 Mr. Quail. ‘You see, we're ‘Bob White' because our call ‘to each other sounds like Bob, Bob “White, As for myself, I much pre " heing called Boh White. When | hear folks say ‘Quall’ it ‘makes ’n.!nvm run up and down my _ “Mikes you think of quail on &g‘l 1 suppose,” laughed Squeedee, and . Qua \xwwm._ Yesterday I gave a talk and Mrs. Randall recited some new poems for several hundred Australian sol diers—a wholly new audience. Again we scored a success, Mr. Gay, my publisher, was greatly as tonished at my powers as a speaker, t I am to give a poetry afternoon at the Lyceum Club on the Z2oth Dec. 1 speak on “After Death” at a large New Thought conference. [ &0 to a country (?) house the 16th to stay “till the 19th. The lady's only son was an aviator and was killed a year ago by a German flyer in the air. His pilot climbed into the dead boy's lap and got the . machine to earth. A few weeks later he became insane. ¢ Mrs. Bamber, the dead _hoy's mother, is in constant communica tion with him and is bringing out a book of his messages. 1 shall send it to you: “Claud’s Book." She says when I am there we will arrange to have (Claud and Robert meet, Sir Oliver Lodge is to be there one day. On Nov, 13th I am to take tea with Sir Willlam Barrett and lady Barrett, He was one of the first great men of science to come into knowledge of spirit communication and give it to the world. You see, it was to meet such people as these that I planned to come over the death charged seas when you and Mr. Brisbane and many others were s 0 opposed to the idea, and thought me presumptuous and absurd to butt in. KEvery day proves to me how well Robert knew what he was doing when he told me to come. 1 whall have another book ready be fore I leave here, 1 sent you today a new poem I wrote here, Every one is crazy over it. There are no copyrights on it save for book purposes, soo you can have it copled there. I have just found a nice little suite—two rooms and a bath-—and expect to go into them next week. It is less expensive and more com fortable than this hotel. Living is very expensive here, any way you manage, but I am glad I am here, The climate is as bad as they make it, besides—fog, rain—yet it is a fascinating old town all the same. Stich interesting people wherever you turn. The atmosphere is alive with the vibrations of wonderful minds. Never the dull, narrow or banal-—of course there are a lot of ~them, but I haven't come in touch with them. The war newe is daily more thrilling. RBut 1 do hope Halg's or ders to march peacefully but vieto riously into Berlin will be carried out. },t ig the only way to end the war Mth’dlgnlty. . Good night. ELLA., 21 Bedford Road. Copyright, 1920, King Feature Syndicate. (Continued Tomorrow.) NOTE-~This interesting se ries of letters will appear only in The Atlanta Georgian. s e A " 2 a,h c’, " . ’ Q ’. *\A\ 4 4. < S 'i N‘.‘k. =3 W 4 ".\ M.wa-' ’.’J 3 e g -~ _{ ? 3 0 . . ]- - 1 MR 41 H ,I)‘7.»‘ ‘J X N . \\ N;. O “ - L/ - e L) P Pl A N AN < . - “He's No Friend of Mine.” “Well, you need never be afraid or Bobby or of his relatives; they'll never try quail on toast.” “1 should say not!' gried Bobby.' “Why, daddy says you quails are his best friends. You fellows cer tainly do make short work _of weevils, And then, too, daddy sﬁ_\'s you more than pay for the [rwn lege of living on his land by edting the seeds of weeds that otherwise would destroy his crops, So you needn't be afraid of any one harm-* ing you on these grounds.,” Mr. Quall thanked hl\hh_\ and flew away to tell his wife and chil dren the good news, All through the summer months Bobby could hear them calling to one another through the woods and meadows. And whenever the quails saw Bobby and his gun, in stead of flying away they'd always fly down on the fence' rail for a chat. Peggy's Adv.ce. Peggy found that it was not an unmixed blessing, being the eldest girl of the family, and she felt this especially when told to put little Dorothy to bed one evening. Dor othy had the common infantile complaint of wanting everything she could think of before she would condescend to go to sleep. "1 want & drink of milk,” she announced loudly when Peggy had already made several trips upstairs. “1 lit the gas for you, didn't 17" demand ed Peggy. standing accusingly by the bedside. No answer. "And I've brought your Teddy Bear and black doll?" SBtill Dorothy vouchsafed no teply. “And 1 gave you a piece of white paper and a nice pencil?™ This time Dorethy pouted asssent “Well,” sald the big sister, with an air of finality. “Just vou take the pencil and paper and draw a cow, and Lheudon -can. miik it - And Yet Some Study Law A D , /f/”*‘ \f\\":':“. g ’”'\‘ | 2\ ( ‘l\.‘\\“‘§‘v’e:‘ . 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"‘," ‘\ ’, = ;». / __ A -\\ RN, 3 Qx ; SR \_’ k‘“’-’s\:\~ ',/’/' )// l‘i;i’. gm : ,“\‘\‘\\ ek e \ \ \\ Mahaid ol \\\;:\/, .‘ /// N e N\ iy /7/ \4 " \ 7\\‘\' Be\ T & f Bk \ R R . 3 7 : > A >\\\\\\ N M\--“\a;‘{‘&;g §l 7Y W lßeVelations of a Wife' | By Adele Garrison. | By ADELE GARRISON. WHAT HAPPENED WHEN MADGE AND DICKY LEFT THE COSGROVES' FOR HOME. THE farewell threat of Mrs. Allis to me, repeated in friendly warning by Mrs. Cosgrove, spoiled the remaining hours 1 spent in the Catskill - Mountain farmhouse, and shad - owed my journey home. : \Ve,:l left the farmhouse on the morning following Mrs. Allis’ de parture, left it with the reg{mg that we hTI known for years the sim ple, kindly people into whose lives our. own had been so strangely in terwoven for a week, departed with many assurances of return on our part and promises of future visits to us by the Cosgroves, Robert Savarin, Mrs. Cosgrove's brother, was to come to us for a week or two as soon as his sister was sure that his newly restored sanity would be able to stand the strain of a change from the peace ful surroundings in which he had spent 80 many years. | knew that Dickey looked forward with the naivete of a child to reintroduc ing the artist, grown famous whilg his brain slumbered, to the worid of the New York studios. & “Won't we make the fellows =it up, though!” he said to me gleeful ly as we sat on the deck of a Hud son River boat watching for the gecond time within a fortnight the ‘ wonderful panorama of cliff and mountain and vale covered with gorgeous autumnal coloring. “We'll give him a few small studio gath erings in town, real ones, with real | people, noge of your imitation Bo hemian teas. Of course, Lil and | the others will entertain him, and ‘ then we'll have the whole bunch | out for one rip-snorter of a time. | What's the matter? as' ha saw . me smiling to myself, | “DON'T BE RIDICULOUS." i “1 wag Just trying to imagine | Robert Savarin at a ‘rip-snorter of | a time,'" I rejoined. “A recluse of | ®o many years oxgxht to be intro | duced to the limelight more grad usally, 1 should imagine, and didn't you tell me that even years ago he was a shy, r;rer\'ed man " “What o that? Dicky de manded belligerently, “That's just what was the matter with him. It he'd known more people that Jeze bel whose little game you have just ; spoiled would never have been able | to get her hooks into him. And { you saw the old boy light up last | night when I was telling him about | the things he's missed out om all | these vears. 1 tell you he will lick up the right sort of a good time. What are you looking so glum about? He bhroke off ab ruptly and scrutinized my face “narrowly. | “Disapprove of my slang again, | or don't you fancy vourse!f in the | role of hostess to the lion of the | season? Let me tell you there will | be lots of women who would give | their eves to bhe vou when Robert Savarin comesg back to his own.™ | “Don’t be ridiculous, Diey " T re torted, a trifle sharply, for | did not L wish him to guess the real reason for the shadow that 1 knew had flitted across my face at Dicky's glndicuve allusion to ‘“that Jeze el.” ‘ < The very meption of Mrs. Allis made me shudder. 1 could hear again her parting message for me which Mrs. Cosgrove had given me as a warning. % ‘Tell your interesting friend you are so jealously guarding,” she had said, “that it may be years before 1 haye tl?e opportunity of repaying her for her courtesy, but pay my debt 1 surely will!" But 'I had no intention of con fiding my fears to Dicky. I had no desire td have him think me foolishly timorous, something which mygown common sense told me I was%st becoming. A FAREWELL KISS. So 1 hastened to modify the sharpness of my reply to Dicky. “You know I shall be awfully glad to entertain Mr. Savarin, and as for your slang, I'm getting cal loused to that”-—II shot him a mis chievous, smiling glance—"and I deny that 1 was looking glum. I was simply wondering if there could be anything the matter with your mother. Remember, we have bhad no message from her save that first post card since we left.” “If you had know her as long as 1 have you'd have' been surprised to have received that,” Dicky re turned carelessly., “The mater only writes letters when she is in a royal good humor, and you know she did not exactly approve of this little expedition of ours, so don't worry ‘your head about her.” He drew his chair up closer to mine and laid his arm across my shoulders. ‘“Let's forget mothers, romantic artists, picturesque gangs of picture thieves—everything ex cept our two selves,” he said, bend ing his face to mine with the lover lopk i® his eyes that thrills ‘me anew each time I see it, as I did when | first caught a glimpse of it in the beautiful, delirions days before my marriage. I nestled cozily against his arm for answer. There were few peo ple near us, for the crisp autumn air, which Dicky and 1 found so ,exhilarating, seemed to prove a de terrent to most of the voyagers, who huddled in the parlors down stairs. » 1 thlnk‘} shall never forget that return trid down the Hudson with Dicky. The big vessel glided as smoothly and noiselessly along as if she were a fairy ship drifting with us toward a land of enchant ment, and this effect of unreality was heightened as the early au tumn twilight swiftly melted into darkness, and lights began to flash from distant farmhouses and ham lets tucked away in the shelter of the highlands bordering the river. As the boat dropped farther down the river the lights increased. in number and brilliancy until along the last miles of the journey we seeméd to pass through towering cliff€ strung with stars. so bril liantly did the lghts in the apart ment buildings and factories gleam. We sat hand in hand, Dicky and I, reveling in the beauty of the snectacle. As the hoat neared the dock and we stood un to zo downs stairs, Dicky laid a detainine hand on my arm and w me into the ghelter of one of ?: lifeboats. ‘Give me a kisk for *the énd of Homemaking By Mrs. Christine Frederick. CHASING HOUSEHOLD BUG BEARS. : EAR in and year out we hear I some earnest housekeeper complain: “Oh, I don't mind cooking, but I never finish clean ing—that's my hardest work. ” And perhaps we hear some say: “Oh, I like to dust and clean and make the rooms irnmaculate, but I hate standing over a hot stove.” And so it goes, each woman hav ing a particular bete noire, as it were, or a kind of evil household genie which holds her in his grip and from which she seems unable to escape. When a similar situation arises in businfess the head of the firm sets to work to solve that one par ticular problem, spending all his energy to that effect, studying, in vestiggating and taking the ad vice of others. If he has money enougl, he may call in some effi ciency engineer to assist in solv ing this problem. L Why does not the woman in the home follow the same practical plan! If there is one task of housework more difficult, more drudgery, why not sit down and study that task until it has been solved so it no longer presents the same difficulties? Suppose it is cooking. Are there not different fuels or utensils or methods of coo King which will make it less . burdensome and require less standing over the stove? If it is cleaning, is there no more ef «ficient method, no improved tooi that will lessen both time and effort? Suppose it is the same old task of washing dishes. Can it not be uone in a better, easier way? Has any one of the women who com plained about its drudgery .sat down and studied how she did it, what steps she took, what motions she made, what tools she used? 1 venture to say that the woman who has thus analyzed her task will be doing it better than be fore., For instance, she might find out a number of things, as did the writer when she washed dishes three months in succession by every variety of method and me chanical dish-washer, She found out the height and depths of the sink, the position of the drainboard, all influenced either for or against dishwashing efficiency. By stack ing the dishes to the right, by us ing an improved plate scraper, and by having the draining shelf to the left, a great deal of time was saved. By placing the laying-away shelves ddjacent to the sink it was found unnecessary to carry a trayload of dishes, By pouring scalding water on the dishes they did not need to be dried by hand. (Copyright, 1920, Wheeler Syndicate, Inec.) a, perfect day,’ sweethgart,” he said, and, clasping me closely, pressed a kiss upon my lips that drove all, my foolish terrors away. I felt” as might a little thild, that “noth ing could get me” if Dicky were only near. (To Be Continued.) Boys and Girls Everyday Science. | veryday S : . Read This and Tell Dad . How Movie Camera Works By GRANT M. HYDE. “Every time I watch a moving picture, Daddy, I wonder what makes the pictures move. But every one whom I ask laughs at me and says that I ought to know.”. “If you were a little older, you would know, for when the moving picture was invented a few years ago it was so wonderful that almost {27 Y [ 4 "WIIINHI( i “‘{ M A { Il | i |2O T ! \:“‘s i i & f' 4 A " XA Pes 71S o i P Kb i e & oA / every one knew how it worked. And in the early pictures it was not so hard to see how it was done, be-, cause the picture flickered so that they gave the secret away. “A motion picture is a series of thousands of photographs, taken an instant apart and each just a little different from the next, thrown be fore vou one after another, so fast and so perfectly that they melt into one picture and make you think that you are watching one piclure in which persons are moving. Each picture in the camera is about as large as a special delivery postage stamp, and hundreds of them are taken, one above the other, on a long strip of celluloid. This strip is called a ‘film’—that is why movie plays are called ‘film plays.” The film that can be rolled on one big camera spool is called a ‘reel,’ and so we speak of two-reel and five reel plays because of the amount of film used in showing them. “The moving picture camera is a complicated affair, with two film reels, a crank, and an automatic shutter. As the camera man takes the picture, he turps the crank to wind the film from one reel to the other: and, as he cranks, the film passes in front of a shutter that keens openine and closing to take a different picture on each inch of film, so manv per second. Then the film is taken to a laboratory to he developed. Another film. or ‘pos itive,” muet be nrinted from it, just as we print kodak picturee “In the theater. the film i 3 cranked again. The projector. or lantern. has two reels, like the cam era, and the cranking, which is now usually done by an eleectric motor, brings the pictures one after an other between a powerful light and a lens. They are thus magnified to large size and thrown on a screen in rapid succession. In early mov ing pictures the change from one picture to the next resulted in a noticeable flicker on the screen, hut improved cameras and projec tors have practicallv done away with the flicker and you can npo longer count the pictures as they are thrown before you.” (How can a fellow be a rnil&oad erl—tomorrow.) DRAWN BY C. D. BATCHELOR How to Earn Money. ~ . . . Dick Hazzard Swings Big Deal in Laundry Business By BELLE CASE HARRINGTON. “Say, if you and I can come to terius,” said Dick Hazzard, “I'll bet 1 can work after school and double yvour business out in our section of town next year.” Dick was talking to the manager of the laundry which did his fam fly’s washing. He knew what he was talking about, too. He had had a laundry agency in the town in which he had formerly lived, but had been forced to give it up when his family moved. Diek got the job and made his word good, too. But if he hadn't landed that one, he would have got ton some other kind of an_agency. A laundry agency was not the only kind he knew -about. He would have landed a job selling ice cream, books, aluminum wear, magazines, extracts, spices, or any one of a number of other articles. And he would have made quite a bit of money at it, too, in his spare time. So can you, if you go after it. 1 } & A v / = wi B 2 ;(L*.w], 7 W A\« U™ &‘\\‘ - dvy-nr"' ) ‘/' | 'AF R < W\ & 5 L 3 % ‘v.““l \ ; \“ Y N \J LU & el --&-— At If you're going into the agency business, be happy. People don't like to buy things from a,_grouch. They like to deal with a fellow who is cheerful and businesslike at the same time, They also want a fel low who will do what he says he will. So don't make any promises you can't carry out. You'll lose your business that way. An agency business is one that grows. II you are the right sort of fellow and keep at it, you will, after a time, work up a list of reg ular customers. All you need to do is go around every so often, sece them, and get their orders. They will get into the habit of depending on you and planning to give their orders to you. This gives vou a great deal more time to work up new trade. Don’t exnect the profits to begin to roll in the first month It takes time to establish a reputation and to get people in the habit of de pending on you. But when busi ness does begin to come yvour way, for a while it will roll up like a snowball and you will get paid ‘ By Frances Duvall BON VOYAGE. 'LL take you on board and Icome back to see about the baggage,” said Bennett to Keitha, when they had passed through the gate to the pier. “Thank you,” murmured Keitha, not daring to . look at him. ‘I should like to change.” “Poor kid, you must be drenched,” he said, with sudden compas sion. “But as for changing, you'll have a mighty poor chance until the boneheads around here get through going over your luggage. I'll send it in to you as soon as they discover that you have o dynamite or corn liquor hidden in your vanity case.” He was assisting her up a wet gangplank, whose oozing surface was treacherous to ¥French heels. She laid one steadying hand on the rail and withdrew it with a moue of disgust at her wet, discolored glove. The ship was warm and cheer ful in contrast with the gray fog ' that ~ was almost impenetrable around the water front. Keitha re frained from looking out the port holes and busied herself. in her stateroom with an effort to dry off a bit. But the dampness had even pen etrated there and her fur cot would not dry. Her feet, in her high heeled pumps, were unpleasantly wet and she thought with longing of the hose and shoes in her steam er trunk. Her coiffure was beyond redemption. She stook her hair down and shook it dry and finally arranged it in some sort of order, but, looking at herself critically in the glass, she had to admit that she resembled a summer girl whose bathing cap had leaked. Presently the creeping warmth of heat turned on permeated the stateroom and Keitha greeted it rapturously. She began to feel sleepy after her brief rest the night before and soon succumbed to slumber’s luring call. “For Heaven’'s .sake, Keitha, vou'll have a peach of a cold!” Ben nett's voice awoke her with a start. “What do you mean by sleeping in all those wet things?” She sat up stiffly and looked down ruefully at her frock, which was curshed beyond all semblance of its smartly tailored self. The stateroom was warm and steaming with the scent of drying cloth, “How silly of me! I must have been asleep for hours,” Keitha smothered a yawn. “I'll say you have,” returned Ben nett, grimly, “and I've been sitting out there on that damned whart in the rain—". * “Why, we haven't sailed vet,” broke in Keitha hastily, hoping to avert the storm. She glanced toward the porthole. The same gray fog enshrouded the ship. Gulls, darker gray than the fog itself circled merrily, vanish ing like phantoms in the deeper mist. ; “It's only midday. Lprd, I feel as if I'd been up a week!” returned Bennett with a yawn. “Think I'll go take a nap myself. Here are your bags—better change if you're not already dry.” “Shall 1 call you before we sail?” “Not me—but don't forget to wake me when they start serving lunch,” he said with a grin. Arrayed in dry clothes and an impeccably tailored gown, her bright hair tgckod under a smart little hat and the whole covered with a veil whose yards of graceful chiffon fell almost to the hem of her skirt, Keitha went out on deck. The last of the luggage was being lowered into the hold. Passengers were still coming aboard, and stew ards were hurrying by laden with hand luggage, shawls, books, boxes of flowers and baskets of superb California fruit, tied with flaunt ingly gay ribbons—the bon vovage gifts of San Franciscans to their departing friends. A big white-haired, rosy-cheeked man pushed near Keitha to curse a small Jap who, staggering under heaped-up luggage, dropped a steamer rug. Catching Keitha's eye, he lifted his hat with an apology. “Sailing alone?” he enquired. “With my husband,” replied Kei tha, frigidly, walking on. Near the head of the gangplank a dowdy little woman sat perched on a crate, reading a Bible. She looked upswith a cheerful smile as Keitha approached. “I'm getting my last breath of alr before we sail. 'After that yvou won't see me until we reach Honolulu. But you’'ll hear me, because I'll be very seasick.” (Copyright 1920 Wheeler Syndicate, Inc.) (To Be Continued.) What She Feared. MecGinty had not been a model hushand: he had ill-treated his wife. had refused her the nacessary money for housekeeping, and had been a “bad lot.” Eventually he committed a crime which brought him within the clutches of the law, and was sentenced to three yvears’ penal servitude. In her poor little home ‘that night his wife sat alone sobbing so bitterly that at length a kindly neighbor ventured to go in. “Don't take on so!” she pleaded, gently stroking the weeping woman’s hair. “Three years seems a long time, but probably your hus hand will come back before then. Prisoners can get their sentences reduced, vou know, by good beha vior.” Checking her sobs, the weeping wife replied: “That’s just it! An’ my "usband can be a per fect angel when he likes!” Retaining Knowledge. Mother—Henry, does Yyour ear ache? Henrv—No, mother, Mother—Then why have you put cotton wool in it? Henry—Well, you know, mother, vou keep on telling me that T'learn so little because what goes in one ear comes out of the other, so I've plugged the other ohe up. A AR AAPAA AN APPPAPD back for all your months of work which gave you a low return or perhaps no return at all. So don't give up too quick. Stiek it out till you know your stuff won't =ell, (Do you envy the nhatoplay iter? writer? Learn how to “: one to morrow.)